Lure of Song and Magic

by Patricia Rice

  “Damn, I need to talk to Oz.” Dumping her plate in the dishwasher, Pippa went in search of her phone.

  ***

  Bakersfield the Librarian’s text read. Oz glared at the screen.

  Was this her response to the message Conan had implanted in the server? If so, it told Oz so much that he had to collapse on his couch to absorb all the parameters. Bakersfield, where Pippa had been found. Bakersfield, where the Librarian wanted him to have Pippa sing the seal song? Where Donal might be held?

  He wanted to race across the mountains and tear the town apart, but unlike Santa Domenica, Bakersfield was a sprawling city with nearly a third of a million people in it.

  If he ever found Donal, he was implanting a GPS signal in the kid. Oz dropped his head in his hands and tried to focus.

  After leaving Pippa, he had returned to L.A. to refresh his wardrobe. The stark white walls of his condo pressed in on him now. Even opening Donal’s nursery and wrenching open every hole in his heart couldn’t firm his resolve. Focusing was out of the question when every nerve was set on full alert. He needed action, but it needed to be the right action.

  If he persuaded Pippa to sing in Bakersfield, was he drawing her into a trap?

  Thinking like that was unproductive. Pippa was stronger than a five-year-old boy. He could surround Pippa with bodyguards.

  First, he had to persuade her to appear on a stage. She’d grown up in Bakersfield. People there were more likely to recognize her than anywhere else. He didn’t like that any better than she would.

  His phone rang just as he was wondering if he dared call her. To his amazement, caller ID brought up Pippa’s number.

  “Is everything okay?” he asked in alarm.

  She didn’t seem startled by his abrupt response. Hers was equally blunt. “If there really are madmen after Malcolms, we’re all in danger if we put a show together where they can find us. You don’t want Donal anywhere near me. Or maybe even you. That could be why Alys took him and ran.”

  “Putting us all in one place may be what someone is after,” Oz reluctantly admitted. “I just had a message from the Librarian. I think she wants us to do a show in Bakersfield.”

  Oz imagined he could hear the curses in her silence.

  “I want to take the kidnapper down,” she finally replied.

  “After we get Donal out,” he warned.

  “How? How are we supposed to lure Donal from his kidnappers by going to Bakersfield and singing a stupid song if we don’t use my stage name?”

  “I don’t know, but I’ll do everything in my power to make it happen if you’re on board. I’ll start talking to my PR people as soon as you give the word. I want the whole damned town to know the famous children’s author Philippa James is filming a TV show about seals.”

  “Then I can wear a disguise and read a book while the song is played in the background?”

  Oz rumpled his hair in indecision. “I just don’t know. She sent me after Syrene. Or maybe… She wrote Syren, with a y and no final e. I’m hoping all that matters is that it’s you. Will your adopted parents recognize you? Maybe the Librarian knows them? It’s all coming together too fast. My God… Bakersfield?”

  “Hell on earth,” Pippa concluded. “My adopted parents moved to Seattle after I split the music scene. They’re not a problem. But I went to school there.”

  Oz waited, heart in throat.

  “If the Librarian doesn’t know I’m Philippa James, I don’t see how this will work,” she finally said with a weary sigh. “Maybe you ought to start hunting Malcolms while you’re at it, bring the whole clan to town, see if any of them are psychic. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She hung up. But Oz smiled. He wanted this woman with her intelligence and courage. He wanted her enough to chase her to the ends of the earth. He didn’t think that had ever happened to him. He was a persistent bastard and had worn Alys down, but this was different. He wanted Pippa to want him, too.

  That might take a miracle, he acknowledged. He had nothing whatsoever to offer her except grief.

  ***

  Monday morning, Pippa didn’t know whether to fall down laughing or go looking for a baseball bat when she walked down her garden path and discovered a house-size RV parked in the day care’s lot—with Oz sitting at an outdoor camp table, sipping coffee.

  He waved at her and continued reading his newspaper.

  The man was downright uncanny. She wanted to jump his bones right then and there. He understood.

  She could walk past him without a word, and he wouldn’t be offended. What would he do if she…?

  Rather than wonder, she walked over, took down his paper, leaned over, and planted a big one on him.

  He was right there in an instant, cupping her head and applying his tongue full throttle. He tasted of coffee and smelled of shaving cream, and he nearly melted her knees with the strength of his desire.

  She pulled back before he got any ideas of dragging her into that sardine can before she was ready.

  “Practical solutions,” he said smugly, sitting back and admiring the green stripes she’d applied to her hair to match her green sundress and blue face paint. “The crew will be assembling shortly. Will your mother mind if we work around your pool?”

  “Unlike me, I think she’ll enjoy the company. She’s been alone for too long. I forgot to thank you for finding her for me.” Pippa wiped a smear of her lipstick off his mouth. Her heart pattered too fast to be sensible. She liked that he’d found a compromise that worked for both of them. He was good. She wasn’t certain what to call the humming vibrations he set off inside her, but they balanced her world in ways she could love.

  Oz captured her hand and licked her finger before she could retrieve it. Sheer lust shot through her so quickly, she actually contemplated the damned RV. She yanked her finger back. “Slow down, Oswin. Gratitude does not mean I want to get dressed a second time this morning.”

  He chuckled. “But I made you think about it. And kept you from remembering the Librarian and that your mother found us rather than the other way around. But maybe if you’re thinking of me, you won’t be thinking about Bakersfield.”

  “That’s not happening. Better that you give me a picture of your son so I can keep his image in my mind while you’re torturing me.”

  His smile disappeared. “I’ve already given posters with his photo to the Bakersfield police. Go read to the kids. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

  She nodded and walked away even though every cell in her body cried out for sweaty naked skin contact.

  She’d learned to separate need, want, and reality. More than ever, she had to practice what she’d learned so she could move forward.

  Chapter 28

  Wearily, Pippa ran her fingers through her hair, knowing that she had it standing straight up after working all afternoon with Oz’s crew. At least they all seemed to take her at face value as no more than a children’s book author.

  In the growing dusk, Oz lit her citronella candles while his director made notes in a hastily scribbled script they’d patched together.

  Some of his crew had already returned to the city for the evening. Gloria had retreated to the house hours ago. Only the scriptwriters, the director, and a few flunkies remained, although Oz spent half his time on the phone with the missing members of his staff, arranging this impromptu rehearsal. Or show. Marketing wanted to tape with a live audience.

  It seemed ridiculous to go to this much trouble for what was essentially no more than a reading—something she did every day. But this was Oz’s job—producing a marketable production. With a live audience to test it on, he couldn’t scorn the opportunity, even if not knowing whether it would lead to his son was killing him.

  Pippa watched the tired lines on his face as he returned to the lounge he’d claimed
as his. She knew he simply wanted to go to Bakersfield and let her loose, but if they didn’t use her Syrene name, then they had to drum up publicity or she’d have no audience. So they had to plot and plan—without telling his crew what he hoped to accomplish with this rushed production.

  She wanted to help, but she was relatively useless at this end of the business. So she’d worked at rewriting the Ronan story with her new experience as a writer rather than with the heartbreak of a lonely teen. Passion needed grammar and structure.

  Conan had just arrived a little while ago. She didn’t know why he was here, but she kept an uneasy eye on him while he worked the tiny keyboard of his netbook.

  Boxes of Lizzy’s pizza were scattered everywhere. Gloria had prepared raw vegetables and a salad. Half-eaten bowls of lettuce were still strewn about. Oz grabbed a handful of carrot sticks and scooped out the last of a veggie dip, but Pippa figured he was ready for a steak.

  She wished she knew what she was doing. He’d handed her a framed photograph of his smiling toddler when she’d returned to the house at noon. This one was better than the one she’d seen in his condo. The boy had huge heartbreakingly cinnamon-colored eyes just like his father’s.

  Oz dropped down on his chair and gestured toward her with his carrots. “Your turn, Pip. Let us hear what you’ve got.” He crunched off the ends of the handful of carrots as if he were biting off someone’s ear.

  He was as nervous about this as she was.

  “It’s a children’s story,” she warned when every head turned in her direction. She’d tried to remain unobtrusive, but she knew they had been studying her, wondering if Oz was going to all this work for some bimbo he wanted to boff. If any of them had recognized her as Syrene, they showed no sign of it, which gave her a small measure of confidence. “The book Oz wants me to do hasn’t been edited or published yet, and we have no illustrations.”

  She was stalling. They all waited patiently. With a sigh, she scrolled to the opening of the document and began to read about Ronan the Lonely Seal who imitated everyone he knew in hopes of making friends with them, but no one loved him—until he barked. Ronan had the best, the loudest, the most musical bark in the entire Pacific.

  She read as she did to the children, with only a fraction of her Voice, just enough to hold them still and enraptured with the story.

  A production assistant was wiping her eyes and sniffling by the time Pippa stopped reading. The men looked a little stunned—sitting silently, as if in deep meditative thought about a stupid story.

  Oz crunched his carrots and watched his crew’s reaction. Looking up from his computer, Conan stared at them, mystified.

  She’d mesmerized everyone but the Oswin brothers—who had Malcolms in their family tree. Interesting.

  Enthusiastic applause finally broke out, and Pippa blushed. It had been a long, long time since she’d last heard applause. She still wasn’t ready for a theater audience, but at least her recitation hadn’t harmed anyone. She hoped.

  “Brilliant,” Oz declared, kissing the back of her hand—the first intimate gesture he’d made since she’d returned from the day care. “We’re gonna do this, folks. We’ve got a winner.”

  Taking that as a signal, the remaining crew began packing up.

  Conan ambled over, removed her laptop, and replaced it with his netbook. “I hacked the genealogy site. I’ve left open the page from the early nineteen-hundreds where your California Malcolms divided from our East Coast Ives branch. Looks like our umpteen-great grandpappy Ives had wanderlust and took off with his California Malcolm wife for the Far East. Since then, his descendants have scattered around the world, leaving them relatively unscathed. Your branch stayed here, to disastrous effect, since the late fifties.”

  “The fifties, when people began moving to California in droves?” Oz asked, forgetting to crunch his carrots.

  “When Disneyland opened,” Pippa suggested.

  “When Elvis was king,” Conan added dryly. “All probably irrelevant.”

  “So, why Donal?” Oz demanded. “Different century, different family tree.”

  “My guess, as far-fetched as it sounds, is that we’re dealing with a computer-oriented generation of California geeks who know Malcolms are different and are trying to tap into their differences.” Conan leaned against the wall, sipping his water and watching the sun set.

  Did that mean Conan actually believed Malcolms were different, or was he humoring her?

  “California Malcolms are more likely to learn about the website by word of mouth as Pippa did,” he continued. “The site has gone viral. Until Alys—someone who lived here all her life and heard about the site—our branch has been mostly too scattered to know of the website’s existence. The East Coast lot probably doesn’t even know about the Malcolm connection and have never ventured near the family tree. Yet. That website is one sticky web. Who hasn’t tried to look up their ancestry just once? And once someone visits, the site’s bug crawls into their computer and checks them out.”

  “This is all ridiculous speculation, you realize,” Oz said, removing the netbook from Pippa’s hands to study it. He waved his farewell to the last of the departing crew without lifting his gaze from the screen. He snorted in amusement. “Looking at these biographies, you’ll notice no one on our side of the family has an iota of talent. No singers, dancers, or artists. Our grandfather, the senator, is listed with the name of his wife and children, but Aunt Bessie’s marriage isn’t listed because she married a grocer and never makes the news. Our father owned a chain of hotels, but we grew up in half a dozen cities so the site doesn’t record where we live. Magnus lies low, so they only have his name. Someone may have used a clipping service in the past to follow Dad and found our names that way but not birthdates or other vitals.”

  “It’s kind of fascinating,” Pippa said. “I had no idea I was related to so many people.”

  “Damn good thing we’re distant relations,” Oz muttered, scrolling back to their shared ancestry. “What does this make us, cousins eight times removed? This screen is too small to get the whole picture.”

  Conan took back his fancy toy. “Reading through the bios on Pippa’s extended family, they’re mostly teachers. They’re talented in many ways, they have fascinating if not wealthy careers, and then they settle down in California, near their families, produce children, and teach. Until or unless they meet untimely ends. You have cousins with birth dates listed, no deaths recorded, and no bios. They’ve simply disappeared.”

  Gloria arrived bearing a tray of drinks. She set it on the table between Pippa and Oz and held out her hand for Conan’s toy. “We’re educators because of the empathic factor,” she explained in the tone of the teacher she must once have been. She studied the list of her ancestors. “It’s difficult to become rich and powerful if we’re more interested in improving the lives of others than in acquiring material things. That’s where Pippa was led astray. Had I raised her, she would no doubt be a music teacher, singing in local repertory musicals.”

  “And much happier,” Pippa agreed. “No offense, but wealth and power don’t ring my chimes.”

  “Whereas that’s what Oswins live for—ringing other people’s chimes.” Conan chortled. “It takes all kinds. But if we have a killer on the family tree, he’s an idiot for taking out harmless teachers instead of some of the power mongers on the East Coast.”

  Gloria smacked the netbook back into his hands. “Teachers are the most powerful tools we have for steering the future and the minds of entire generations. Don’t ever underestimate the power of education.”

  “Want us to throw him in the pool for you?” Oz asked helpfully.

  “Power has its uses, when wielded wisely,” Gloria conceded. “I’ll hope your mother taught you well. I assume my grandmother escaped unscathed because she moved to Texas, so as much as I hate to admit it, you may
be onto something. Are there any California Malcolms left who could be selling our family secrets?”

  “Scattered, but yes. Shall I send them invitations for a family reunion?” Conan suggested.

  “I doubt that a kidnapper would take Donal to a family reunion,” Pippa pointed out. “Catching an imaginary villain is secondary to finding Donal.”

  “And secondary to keeping Pippa safe,” Oz added. “Have you got a plan for that?”

  “I will once you give me the details,” Conan said. “The Adam Technology lead is taking me nowhere. The computer store is irrelevant. Some geeks bought it from one of the many, many divisions of Adam. I’ve checked, and they are genuinely repairing old computers for charities. If they know your Librarian, all she had to do was tell them a charity needed Pippa’s old hard drive, and they would hand it over, no questions asked.”

  “With my data still on it?” Pippa asked in disbelief.

  Conan shrugged. “So maybe she planted an employee who copied it. Things happen. I doubt we’ll ever know. But if all the Librarian did with the drive contents was send them to your mother, I can’t call that evil.”

  “She did something for the Librarian, so the Librarian returned the favor. Balance. Very Zen.” Pippa crossed her legs and pressed the heel of her hands into her eyes to ease the ache. “Let’s just do this.”

  She didn’t see Oz rise, but she felt him looming over her. Before she could uncover her eyes, he’d scooped her off the lounge. And she was grateful he was carrying her away from all this. Her arms circled his neck, and she buried her face in the enticing male scent of his hard chest and hoped he could make the world go away.

  “Get your crew lined up, bro,” Oz ordered. “We’ve got the largest auditorium we could find in Bakersfield signed up for a week from today, after school. The PR people are already on it. The six o’clock news will have carried it.”

  Pippa wished she could cover her ears as well as her eyes.