by Rebecca York
Another ran around to the back of the house. And the third one smashed the butt of his gun against the window glass. Luckily it was an old-fashioned storm window, so the metal only went through the outside pane.
To get to the inner one, the man had to reach through the jagged glass. When he tried, he cried out as he sliced the skin of his arm.
It all happened with lightning speed. Luke was almost as fast. He grabbed Olivia’s hand and hustled her back up the stairs.
As she ran, she managed to ask. “Why didn’t they shoot?”
“Maybe they don’t want to risk it in a residential neighborhood.”
“People will hear the glass breaking,” she managed to say.
“Not necessarily. These lots are big. That gives the Poisoned Ones privacy. I guess they think they’ve got us trapped—and they can grab the box and get out of here before the cops come.”
She was breathing hard as Luke dragged her down the hall to the computer room.
“We have to get the box to safety,” he told her as they ran.
“But how? Where?”
When they reached the upstairs office, Luke hit a key that deleted the Web site where he’d been communicating with the Moon Cult. Then, without going through the shutdown procedure, he pressed the power button and the screen went blank. She knew that could damage the computer. But they had much more urgent problems. From downstairs, they could hear sounds of breaking and entering.
Olivia looked wildly around. “What are we going to do? There’s no way out of here. Are you thinking we can climb into the attic?”
“No. They are trained to think of every hiding place inside the house. We have to disappear.”
Before turning her toward him, he set the box on the floor right beside them.
“We can hide. In the cave where I made love to you.”
She stared up at him, trying to take that in. “But. . .”
The protest was cut off when his mouth came down on hers, swallowing whatever she had been going to say.
He spoke against her lips, his voice low and urgent. “Focus on me, Olivia. It won’t work unless you and I are on the same wavelength.”
Oh sure. He wanted to make her hot—when murderers were closing in on them?
Still, she tried to do as he asked because she knew it was their last chance. Or—to put it another way—it was their best chance, if she believed they could do what they had done before.
But she didn’t have the same level of concentration as Luke. And the sounds of breaking glass and then the door slamming open were too much of a distraction.
“Stay with me, Olivia. Only me.”
Luke gathered her to him, his lips moving over hers, and as he did, she felt some kind of bubble form around them. Her eyes were open, and she could still see the room—but now she was looking at it through a gauze-covered lens.
As her vision changed, the sounds from the rest of the house receded into the background.
“Focus on me, Olivia. Remember how good we are together.”
Who had spoken to her? Luke or Zabastian?
She knew it was both of them. The man she had known for weeks and the other one—the warrior who had come roaring into her life. He kept kissing her as his hands stroked up and down her back, finding the knobs of her spine, playing with each one with sweet attention.
His hands and his lips centered her. As she gave him her total concentration, the room where they stood faded away. She could see the cave now—glimmering in the darkness, not quite solid but more real than the office where they had been standing.
It was a strange sensation. Somewhere outside their time bubble, she thought she heard at least one of the men rushing up the stairs toward them. She tensed, but Luke brought her back to him with his lips and tongue, and the stroking of his hands over her bottom.
The two images of reality still hung around her—the room and the cave—and she wondered if the two scenes were fighting for dominance.
Would the men still see them—as dimly as she saw the room? Would they know where she and Luke had gone? Could they follow?
That question sent a shiver over her skin.
“We must leave. And quickly,” Luke murmured against her lips, telling her that they’d better be out of here before one of the thugs found the office.
That piece of news wasn’t the ideal spur to arousal. Yet she called on all the feelings of connection she had to Luke. As she bent her entire focus on him, the room faded out of her sight, and she and the man who held her in his arms were back in the cave where he’d thrilled her with his lovemaking.
The fire still flickered, although it had burned lower since they’d been here earlier. The bed of furs still waited in the corner. Luke’s torn tee shirt lay on the floor. And the wind still howled outside their refuge.
He breathed out a sigh. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“Not if you wanted to avoid getting killed.”
oOo
Mr. Smith stopped in the doorway to the home office. Then, crossing to the computer, he put his hand on the metal casing. It was warm. Someone had been here. Probably the man and woman who had taken the box. At least, Peterbalm had seen someone he knew through the window.
Jones was in the basement, checking every hiding place. Brown was on the first floor.
Smith methodically went through the rest of the rooms on the upper story, but they were empty. And all the windows were closed. When he tried to open one, he found the mechanism rusty with disuse. Opening and closing it again would have taken valuable time.
Sure nobody had gone out a window, he looked above him for the panel that closed off the attic. It was in the middle of the hallway. He pulled a chair over, pushed away the panel and swung himself up. With his flashlight, he examined the dusty space. After assuring himself there was no places where a person could hide, he lowered himself to the floor again.
When he came back down to the first floor, the man named Peterbalm was lying unconscious on the living room rug.
“He had a list of clients with him,” Brown observed.
“We should kill him,” Jones said.
“No. We should torture him. He may have information.”
"Or we may lose valuable time."
“The computer was warm,” Smith told the others. “They can’t have been long gone. And they left a junk car in the driveway."
"How do you know it's theirs?"
"There is no ignition key. It was started by twisting wires together."
"Ah," Jones answered, then asked, “You think they saw us coming and got away? Or they saw Peterbalm—and that was enough?”
“Peterbalm alerted them. But I think they saw us.”
Smith stroked his chin, thinking. “I don’t see how they disappeared—unless they used magic.”
Jones’s expression hardened. “You mean they’re still in the house—but we can’t see them?”
“Yes,” the other man hissed. He looked around the living room. “I will stay here. You take Peterbalm and keep going down his list—in case I’m wrong.”
“You think it’s wise to split up?” Brown asked.
Smith glared at him. “I don’t like it. But I see no other option. If you have no success, come back.” He looked at his watch. “In two hours.”
His companions nodded.
Smith looked at Peterbalm. “Bind him up and put him in the trunk of his car. Then use his car to go to the other places.”
Brown went back to their rental car for duct tape. After they’d tied up the importer, Jones drove the car up the driveway and close to the house so they could transfer him to the trunk without anyone seeing.
The two men drove off, and Smith put on a pair of gloves before wandering around the house, picking up objects. It still amazed him how these Americans lived. They had a lifestyle that a king would envy in any other part of the world. But they were squandering global resources with their big cars and their c
entral air conditioning and all the other indulgences they loved.
oOo
Luke felt a shiver go through Olivia’s body and wished he hadn’t felt compelled to talk about death.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Stupid question. The warning had come from the warrior. They were coexisting pretty well at the moment. The guy had allowed Luke to be in charge of the conversation when they’d been drinking the hot chocolate—with some interjections here and there.
Still, Luke knew he wasn’t the one who had taken them back to this place and time.
Is this a real place? he asked inside his head.
Not exactly.
You mean, we couldn’t live here permanently?
You would not want to.
Thanks. How long can we stay?
A few hours.
Luke looked around.
It’s the same cave.
But you haven’t been to the interior. He reached for Olivia’s hand and knitted his fingers with hers.
“Come with me. We’re going farther in.”
Zabastian led her through an opening in the back of the cave that Luke would have sworn wasn’t there the first time they were here. They walked down a passageway where torches fixed to the walls provided flickering light.
He could feel the atmosphere getting warm and steamy, and he found out why when they stepped into another large room. In the center was a hot spring, gushing out of the rocks and into a pool, then running down a channel that led into an underground passage.
Beside him, Olivia looked around in wonder.
“Was this here before?”
“I don’t think so,” Luke answered.
“Then how . . . “
”I think this cave comes from Zabastian’s imagination—or maybe it’s a collection of memories.”
She made a frustrated sound. “I get the feeling you don’t know for sure.”
“No. But it’s a good place to hide out.”
She tipped her head and looked at him. “You’re talking like Luke, but Zabastian brought us here.”
“I think you can deal with me as one guy—Luke. Unless there’s some reason for the big Z to assert himself.”
“Thanks. I think.”
“Let’s not waste time talking.” Before she could answer, he set down the box on a rock ledge high above the water, then bent his head and rubbed his lips back and forth against hers, this time more softly, because they really did have time to enjoy this place. Hiding out wasn’t an option—it was a necessity.
He sucked at her bottom lip, then slipped one hand under her shirt, sliding his fingers in delicious circles over her back, entranced by her soft skin. With more finesse than he’d managed the first time, he unhooked her bra and heard her breathing change.
The needy sound jolted up his arousal another notch, and he’d already been fully aroused and ready to make love with her when he brought her here. But he wasn’t going to rush this. Not hardly.
He slid one hand down her spine again, then cupped the fullness of her bottom, pulling her more firmly against his swollen cock.
The Luke Garner part of him wanted to tell her he had fallen in love with her. But he wasn’t free to say it. Not when he knew that he had to deliver the box to the Moon Priests—or die trying. No options about that either.
He looked down so she wouldn’t see the resigned expression that crossed his face before shoving the thought to the back of his mind as he clasped Olivia’s body against his. If he died, then he would take these moments with Olivia to heaven with him.
Greedily, he turned his full attention to her as he put a little distance between them so he could reach the buttons that ran down the front of her borrowed blouse.
This time as he opened them, he was more careful not to tear them off. When the front of the shirt hung loosely, he bent his head, pressing his face between her breasts, then turning so that he could kiss the inner curve of one full mound and then the other.
She clasped the back of his head in her arms, holding him against her. Smiling, he slid his mouth to one taut nipple and circled it with his tongue before sucking it into his mouth.
He was rewarded by Olivia’s small gasp.
He switched to little kisses over her breast as he unsnapped her slacks, lowered the zipper and slicked the pants and her panties down her legs.
Without raising his head, he said, “Get me out of these jeans. They’re killing me.”
He heard her soft laugh, then felt her unbuckle his belt and lower his zipper.
He held his breath, willing her to reach inside and take him in her hand. When she did, he sighed in pleasure.
“Lord, that’s good,” he told her, as she squeezed and stroked him. But he knew he could only take so much of that focused attention. He lifted her hand away from his cock, then pushed his jeans and undershorts down so he could step out of them.
She was still wearing her shirt, and he slid it off her shoulders and down her arms, tossing it onto the rocks. Taking her hand, he led her to stone steps carved into the side of the pool.
As they descended hand in hand into the steamy water, she made a soft sound of pleasure.
“Nice.”
“Oh yeah,” he answered, testing his footing as he led her farther into the pool. The water was a little more than waist high. With a grin, he dragged her down into the water, crouching beside her as she floated on the surface of the natural hot tub.
He kept one arm under her. With the other, he began to stroke her, enjoying the view of her floating body as he aroused her to a high peak of pleasure, bringing her to the edge of orgasm and then letting her settle.
“Luke,” she gasped. “I need. . .”
“Yes.” He lifted her in his arms, then set her on a narrow shelf that jutted from the side of the pool. Opening her legs, he moved between them so that he could easily thrust inside her.
“Oh!”
The water slowed his movements, inciting his need and yet governing the pace.
Standing in front of her, he had wonderful access to her body. He stroked her as he moved in and out of her, one hand on the spot where her pleasure centered and the other caressing her breast.
He felt her inner muscles spasm, heard her gasp when she came undone for him.
As she clenched around him, he followed her over the edge, shouting in satisfaction as he absorbed the pleasure she gave him.
Then she was gathering him to her, holding on tightly, and he clung to her just as fiercely.
He held her for long minutes, feeling her head droop to his shoulder.
“I wish we could stay here,” she murmured.
“For a little while,” he answered.
“This isn’t real life.”
He lifted his head and looked down at her. “No.”
She cuddled against him. Finally he pulled away and plunged into the water, submerging himself, then coming to the surface and floating the way she had earlier.
She leaned down to kiss him, and he reached up a hand to cup her head.
And somehow they got tangled up together. He went down, sputtering, then surfacing.
“Are you all right?”
“Um hum.” He didn’t know when they would be together again like this. And he couldn’t stand the thought of it ending—not yet. So he stood, pulling the length of her slick body against his.
Clasping her close, he climbed out of the pool, then carried her to a dark corner of the cave where spongy leaves made a perfect bed. As he laid her down and began to kiss and caress her, he struggled to keep the feeling of desperation from the front of his mind. He’d told her this wasn’t real life. Would they ever have that together? He prayed for the chance to build a life together. But he knew deep in his heart that his prayers might not be answered. This might be the last time they would ever make love.
oOo
Back in Baltimore, another man was feeling just as desperate. It was Carl Peterbalm, lying in the trunk of his own car wit
h his hands bound and a gag wadded into his mouth.
There was only one good thing about the situation. It was his car.
He’d woken up when the thugs were binding his hands and feet, and he’d still been groggy when they’d slapped him around and asked a bunch of questions. He’d told the truth—that he’d bought the shipment of antiques.
And he didn’t know where the hell the box had gone. He’d hoped they’d let him go. Instead, they’d carried him to the car. As soon as they had shut the lid, his whole life flashed before his eyes.
He could easily die here. Only he wasn’t going to let that happen, because he’d imagined this scenario for years.
Well, not exactly this scenario. Not three fierce, foreign-looking men driving around searching for an antique box.
They wanted the damn thing. And badly. Which meant it was valuable. Too bad they’d picked up his trail when he was looking for Olivia and Luke.
Somehow, the two of them had escaped from the house and were on the loose again.
If the men didn’t find Luke and Olivia soon, they were going to haul him out of here and make life very unpleasant for him. This time they’d work harder to get every scrap of information out of him that they could. Then they’d kill him.
His only option was to get away before they opened the trunk again.
Sweat poured off his body. And he had to keep fighting off the panic attack that threatened to make his heart pound its way through the wall of his chest.
It was one thing to imagine getting locked in the trunk of your car. It was quite different to have it actually happen.
He struggled not to let the fear envelop him. If he gave in to fear, he was dead. The men who had kidnapped him were good fighters. And smart. But they didn’t know American vehicles the way Carl did.
He’d been a car buff all his life, and he’d picked this model because he’d been worried about carjackings. The big plus was an interior release button in the trunk.
When he’d pictured this scenario in the past, he’d always thought that if someone stuffed him into the trunk, they’d tie him up first. Which was why he’d rigged up a sharp piece of metal hidden beside the left brake light.
Since the ride had begun, he’d maneuvered himself so that his hands were positioned against the sharp edge. The kidnappers hadn’t used rope. They’d bound him with duct tape, which made cutting through it easier. Ordering himself to work slowly and carefully, he started sawing at the binding.
