Magic & Mayhem

by Susan Conley

  Love for him shone in her eyes. Lovemaking had indeed secured the bond between them. He kissed the top of her head and smiled at her soft sigh. Now he could get on with saving her hide.

  Chapter 24

  It’s Not Easy Being a Modern Man

  They climbed down the mountain later that afternoon. Calum kissed Beth at the front door of their rustic retreat then went around back to split wood for a fire. She went inside to make tea. After a few minutes, she heard a noise and wondered what it was, then laughed when she noticed the whistling kettle — she’d been sidetracked by happiness. Envisioning the rest of her life as a repeat of the last few days was bliss. And why couldn’t she have bliss?

  Oh, right — life. Sooner, not later they’d have to climb the rest of the way down the mountain and participate in the real world where she’d been accused of a terrible crime.

  She had to remember she’d done nothing wrong. Now that they believed Matthew and Bruce were the culprits, she felt confident in approaching the police. Calum tended to be overprotective, so she would be firm when she told him her decision, yet she wouldn’t scoff at 200 pounds of muscle–ripped warrior with supernatural contacts.

  Beth tossed a chamomile tea bag into her cup. Outside, the rhythm of wood splitting pealed through the mountain. Tea in hand, she went out to join him. He looked up as she walked off the deck toward him. His bare back glistened in the last of the sun. Oh nice, she thought, but it was his sensuous smile that tumbled erotically through her womb.

  “Sit down, m’eudail, I’m nearly finished.”

  “Are you expecting a hard winter?” On one side lay a collection of dead wood, on the other, a neatly stacked pile.”

  He snorted. “Old habit, I guess.” But he kept on, steadying another log for the blade. “What are you thinking about, lass?”

  She’d been thinking about not wanting to use that key. “I was thinking what a nuisance it is being a wanted jewel thief.”

  A low rumble of exertion sounded as the blade sliced the piece in two. “Nuisance is it? Hmmph. I don’t want you to worry. I will handle it. I give you my word.” His arms swept up in an arc, splitting the half to quarters. Put herself in those hands? Okay, she could do that. He let the ax drop and then caught it deftly repositioning his grip.

  “I know you’ll be wanting to talk with your father, but I won’t risk you being recognized until I’m sure you’re out of harm’s way. I will invoke Finn to get off the mountain. But I’ll go alone. You’ll stay here safe.”

  “I don’t think so, Calum.” This was no good. They didn’t need Finn, what they needed was the car. She was the one who had to go.

  He rested the ax blade on the stump and regarded her. “I’ll come back for you, lass.”

  “That wasn’t my concern. I do need to talk to my dad. It’s not as if there’ll be a posse waiting for us, no one knows where we are. I’m going with you, Calum.”

  “No.” He picked up another piece of wood and brought the blade down with a crack.

  Beth stood up and took two steps closer. “No?”

  “It’s too risky and for what? Tell me how I may contact your father, and I will allay his fears and get caught up on the news. I will also check on a few particulars.”

  “But you suggested we go to town together earlier. Why are you so concerned now?”

  “I only made that suggestion to confirm there was no town. I didn’t intend to let you be seen. News will have travelled by now.”

  “I am not staying here alone, waiting and wondering what the heck’s going on.”

  One sandy brow rose. “You’ve little choice, as I’ll not take you with me. Matthew had you in his hands the last time I let you out of my sight. I’m not taking that chance again. You’ll stay here — safe.”

  “Of all the outdated chauvinistic attitudes! Who do you think you are, telling me where I’ll stay? I’ll do what I like, Mister-Stuck-In-The-First-Century. Times have changed, Bucko. Women no longer take orders from men.”

  He set the ax down. Gone was the ever present ardent expression. She took a step back.

  “I’m not ordering you, Beth, not yet. I’ve a gut feeling that you should stay here. I only wish you had a care for your own safety, and like I told you before, take one step toward hell–fire and you’re over my shoulder. And don’t,” he added in a low growl, “call me Bucko.”

  Beth let go a frustrated shriek. “Don’t you threaten me with your brawn. You get your way because you’re bigger than me? I don’t think so.”

  “It’s reality,” he countered. “Matthew is bigger than you, so is Popeye and the police. You don’t know how to defend yourself, and you don’t seriously understand what men are capable of.”

  “I know your capabilities. You’ve threatened, you’ve manhandled, and you’ve held me down and taken what you wanted.”

  Calum took a step forward. Beth took one back, averting the sight of his bared teeth. “Don’t think to degrade me,” he said. “I would never dishonour you.”

  She knew it was true, but she was past admitting it. He could order her or threaten her, anything short of tying her down. She had the key, and she had every intention of using it. The knowledge came out as a wicked smile that flashed back to Calum’s narrowed eyes.

  “I’ll take my tea elsewhere.” She turned her back on him. The blade sounded a crack that likely went clear through the stump. She flinched as she reached the cabin.

  • • •

  “Bloody woman,” Calum growled, steadying a piece of wood the girth of his thigh. He raised the ax and swung in full fury. A thundering crack peeled through the forest as the wood fractured and fell to the ground.

  Stuck in the first century. Hardly. Little could he help it if she didn’t approve his progress as a man. He’d moved through time just as she had. Had he not proven it so the other day? He’d not walloped her arse like he’d wanted to. And look where it had gotten him. How was that progress? He’d like to get her back over his knee right about now, obdurate hellion, and for the record, that was a trait of Beth’s he didn’t pine for.

  What did she think his brawn was good for if not to protect her? And if she thought he wouldn’t use it against her, she’d be sorely mistaken. Bloody hell. Hadn’t she noticed he loved to manhandle her, that it turned him on to no end to rouse her spirit that way? He snatched a log from the ground and julienned it like a carrot.

  He’d seen the look on Matthew’s face after that car door closed on Beth. Calum knew that look, and it bore no resemblance to a man bent on protecting his woman. Matthew was dangerous. Unease crawled up the nape of his neck as if the man was close.

  He’d held her down and taken what he wanted? Calum had no desire to dominate Beth or any other woman that way. Not in any bloody lifetime — that reeked of force he would never use on a woman. Hold her down and give her what she wanted — that he would do, and he’d challenge her to admit she didn’t crave it. There was a gross dissimilarity between rousing a spirit and crushing it, and she’d do well to see the difference.

  It hadn’t been his intent to invoke Finn yet. He wanted another day with Beth, though at that particular moment his amorous mood had taken a sharp nosedive.

  The wood clapped into place as he stacked it behind a good measure yet to be cut. Perhaps when the ground lay clear, he’d have worked off sufficient frustration to talk sense into the lass without losing his good temper.

  From the far side of the cabin, Calum heard the Mercedes’ engine rev. Apparently Beth hadn’t had her fill of the mountain yet today. So be it. It’d do them both good if her steam dissipated in a direction he wasn’t standing in. After all, she couldn’t go far. Calum hauled a length of hardwood into position and got to work.

  • • •

  Bloody man! It was just like him to throw his weight around expecting her to topple to
his command. Not this time … “Bucko!”

  Beth took the crimson key from the glove box, slipped it into the ignition and hit the gas. She half expected Calum to tackle the car, but he didn’t know she could leave Finn’s world. Ha! One didn’t have to be a warrior to reign triumphant.

  As if she’d pop into place in the grocery store, where Matthew or the police would have tracked her and stood waiting for four days ready to snatch her back. The odds were ridiculously in her favour that she could phone her father and pick up a newspaper without being recognized. And it occurred to her, Calum would ask where she got the newspaper from. She could make him guess — that way she’d not have told him — and having technically followed Finn’s rules, the key would still work. Besides, he had a way of invoking the immortal.

  She knew Calum had a caveman mentality about protecting her. As infuriating as it was to be on the receiving end of his obstinacy, she secretly conceded the thoroughly feminine strand in her that rooted for the warrior in him. That was the strand that savoured being treasured and traitorously relished it when he held her still and had his way — her insides trembled their acquiescence at the thought. Beth sighed. She was hopelessly in love with the warrior.

  But that didn’t mean he could order her around. She was open to suggestions, she would consider options, but when it came down to deciding how best to safeguard herself, she would rule.

  “Why not use your home equity to take that dream vacation you’ve longed for?”

  Beth jumped in her seat as her heart slammed against her ribcage. Who said that?

  “Or help your family. Or pay off debts.”

  The radio. She recognized the familiar ad for Brown’s Financial Services. Her heart resumed a normal pace as she realized she was back in the real world. That had been easy. The key had worked without even a ripple or a gust of wind or one measly earth shatter. She passed a road sign indicating she was back on Highway 89.

  The jingle on the radio continued. “Put your house to work for you. We can show you how at Brown’s Financial.” She changed the station. Home equity wasn’t a priority right now.

  She hit the brakes as a thought occurred to her. A few months ago, she’d seen a cheque on Matthew’s desk for over $300,000, payable to his law firm. She’d joked that he could buy them dinner in Paris that night. He’d explained the money wasn’t his, but was held in trust for a mortgage he’d handled for a client. What if Matthew decided to keep a few of those cheques for himself? But then the client wouldn’t get their house and Matthew would be caught.

  A car appeared in her rear–view mirror, so she pulled off to the shoulder as her thoughts accelerated — Matthew, Bruce, Belize … Mrs. Miller, Chantal Desjardins — two real estate lawyers, one tropical property, one homeowner, one real estate agent. They were all connected to real estate in some way. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she recalled her last conversation with Mrs. Miller from Meals on the Move. Last week, I found my passport, of all things, on the floor beside my desk instead of in the drawer where I always keep it.

  What if the client had no idea their house had been mortgaged? Was that possible?

  Mrs. Miller wasn’t suffering memory loss. What if someone took her passport, someone who needed a copy of her identification, so they could mortgage her house? Someone who planned to blame Beth.

  Because of her lottery winnings, Beth had not needed a mortgage to purchase her house in Ashbury, so she wasn’t clear on the paperwork required. To substantiate her budding theory, she needed to know if mortgages existed on Mrs. Miller’s house and possibly those belonging to some of the other Meals on the Move clients. The only person who might release this information to her was Matthew’s secretary. She’d known Amanda, his secretary, much longer than he had. Amanda was the little sister of one of Beth’s best friends.

  Was she taking an unnecessary risk by communicating with Amanda?

  No, she decided, if she had any hope of clearing her name, she might need to take a risk or two. Matthew would never disclose his personal business with anyone he worked with, especially his secretary, so Amanda wouldn’t be apprised of the recent developments between them. She would likely know of the accusations against Beth, but Beth would speak as if she had Matthew’s support and that he required this information.

  The service station should be 20 kilometers or so down the road. She would find a phone there. She also needed to check her cell phone messages. Hopefully Chantal Desjardins had returned her call.

  Ten minutes later, Beth pulled into the lot and parked. She slung her purse over her shoulder as she entered the restaurant. A phone hung on the wall beside the restroom. Pretending to study her fingernails, she waited for a tall man with some serious beard growth to finish his conversation. He smiled at her and said bonsoir. With her adequate French, she knew he’d not accused her of being a wanted criminal. The people in the restaurant didn’t even glance her way.

  Beth dialed Matthew’s law office, praying they hadn’t closed for the day. As soon as the phone rang, Amanda asked her to hold. A few minutes passed before her voice came back on line. “Thank you for waiting. How can I help you?”

  “Hi Amanda, it’s Beth.”

  “Oh, Beth. I’m so glad to hear from you. How are you? I just read the newspaper. What a ridiculous accusation. Hold on a minute.” Amanda sounded like she was on fast forward. Beth heard Jason, Matthew’s partner, asking her to call the bank right away. Amanda came back on the line. “Sorry, we’ve got one of Matthew’s irate clients here trying to get into their house, and we don’t have the papers from their bank yet. They’re taking a strip off Jason. I know Matthew is tied up trying to help you.”

  Is that what he told her? “Yes, he’s quite busy at the moment and has asked me to get information for him, just a quick mortgage record.”

  “Okay, Beth, not a problem, but I’ll have to call you back or Jason will be dead meat.”

  That wouldn’t work. “My battery is dead. I’ll have to call you back, Amanda. All he needs are some mortgage numbers for a few clients — Edna Miller, Dorothy Fitzhenry and Lucille Wickwire.” She didn’t care about the numbers; she only wanted to know if mortgages existed.

  “Give me a half hour or so. Oh, and tell Matthew to call me right away, or he’s dead meat too.”

  Beth promised to relay the message. Hopefully Matthew would be dead meat soon. She hung up and retrieved her messages. Chantal had returned her call asking Beth to contact her as soon as possible to discuss the listing of her fake house. She dialed Chantal’s number.

  “Bonjour, RE/MAX, c’est Chantal Desjardins.”

  “Pardon, parlez-vous anglais?”

  “Yes, certainly.”

  “Hello, Chantal, this is Sue Smitherson calling.” Beth had assumed the name of her favourite high school teacher. She explained that she’d like to meet with Chantal the next day to discuss her relocation to Ontario. “I’ll need some mortgage advice as well, if you know anyone who can help.”

  “The stars must be aligned. Yes, I have a contact in Ontario for you, but I can’t see you tomorrow. I’m fully booked. I can fit you in right now if you are free. Why don’t you stop by my office, and we’ll talk about listing your house.”

  Stars aligned, my ass. Chantal Desjardins could be as corrupt as Matthew. “I’m sorry, Chantal, but I can’t today.” Not without her warrior bodyguard. “Can you recommend an agent who’s available tomorrow?”

  “Let me see.” A quick pause. “I do have some time first thing in the morning. Shall we say nine?” What a surprise.

  “Nine is good. I’ll see you then.” She hung up the phone, convinced that Chantal Desjardins should be approached with caution.

  Next, she dialed her father. When the answering machine picked up, she left a quick message saying she was fine and would call the next day. Hopefully she’d not need Dad’s lawye
r after all.

  Chapter 25

  Time Flies — Or Does It?

  Matthew squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into the paneled wood wall of the hunting cabin. He swallowed hard and stepped away from the bed where Bruce lay dead behind him. Forcing a deep breath in through his nose, he felt the warm exhale against the roof of his mouth. With each long breath in and out, his mind sharpened and composure flowed back through his veins.

  When Bruce had reacted to the peanut–laced chili and found his EpiPen empty, Matthew pretended to call 911. Earlier on, Matthew had dumped the epinephrine when Bruce had wandered into the woods for a piss. Bruce knew they were too far from the hospital for an ambulance to arrive in time, so Matthew insisted on driving Bruce out to meet them halfway. Unfortunately for Bruce, the ambulance never made it. When he’d dragged the body into the cabin from the van, Matthew’s cell phone had been ringing in his jacket pocket. He’d already ignored two messages from his office and that was out of character, so he needed to return that call.

  Matthew scanned the woods as he approached the van. Did the woods seem stiller than they had before? He shook off the odd feeling, retrieved his phone, and listened to his messages. One from Jason, two from Amanda, all concerning the McKinley’s mortgage closing that day. “Shit.” Perfect time for a fuck–up and one he had to deal with now. He checked his watch while dialing his office.

  Amanda answered and filled him in on the developing McKinley crisis. With steadiness that impressed even him, Matthew told her where to find the bank’s instructions.

  “Thanks, Matthew,” Amanda said. “The McKinley’s are due in an hour, and I didn’t know what I was going to tell them. If you can hold on a minute, I’ll get that information you wanted.”

  His mind scrambled through the past few days, but he couldn’t remember asking Amanda for any information. What the hell else had he forgotten? “Refresh my memory, Amanda. What information?”