Mason allowed Gillian to pull him into the kitchen. He wasn’t looking forward to meeting Birdie. Once again his wife’s heart acted before her brain. What in the world was she thinking, to bring a vagrant home with her? With all the danger hanging over her head, the last thing he needed was an unknown factor thrown into the equation.
The first thing he noticed was how neat and orderly the kitchen was. With Gillian preparing their meals for the past week, the kitchen had looked like a cyclone hit. The delicious smell wafting through the room was the second thing he noticed. The third was the older woman standing by the sink looking scared but proud. Birdie didn’t look like any of the homeless people he saw sleeping on benches, in doorways or over the exhaust grates dotting the downtown area.
Birdie looked like a grandmother. Her hair was short, mostly gray, and had the remnants of a long-ago perm. Her dress was neat and clean and boasted violets, lots of violets. A pair of sturdy white shoes graced her feet, and a string of fake pearls adorned her throat. Birdie’s cheeks held the healthy glow of sunshine and a pair of silver-framed glasses were perched on her nose. The thought of this gentle woman searching through garbage bins for her next meal sickened him.
“Hello, I’m Mason Blacksword.”
She placed the tray of deviled eggs she had been holding onto the counter and wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist. “Hello, Mr. Blacksword. I’m Bertha Cummings.” She reached out her hand. “My friends call me Birdie.”
Mason shook her hand and knew instantly what Gillian had meant. There wasn’t a nasty bone in Birdie’s body. “My friends call me Mason.”
One of Gillian’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t say a word.
“I know your wife said I could stay in the apartment above the garage, but I won’t hold her to it if you decide otherwise. I’ll go right now if you like.”
Mason didn’t like the feeling of being put on the spot, but he admired Birdie’s integrity. He glanced at the array of food sitting on the counter and frowned. He could tell his wife hadn’t made a single dish. None of them was in her repertoire. He had seen her short list. Hell, he had tasted every item on that list at least once already. “How about if we have a two-week trial period?” He gave her a friendly smile and tried not to drool over the bowl of potato salad and the strawberry shortcake sitting on the counter. “You might discover you don’t like working for us.”
Birdie blinked rapidly and returned his smile. “Thank you, sir.”
“It’s Mason, Birdie.” He had seen the tears forming behind her glasses and was relieved none had fallen. He didn’t want her gratitude, he wanted dinner. “How soon before dinner is ready?”
“It’s all done, except for the grilling of the steaks.” Gillian picked up the tray holding three thick porterhouse steaks. “I’ll go put them on the grill.”
Mason glanced at the steaks. “We need another one. Jon’s coming.”
“I know.” Gillian headed for the door leading to the back patio.
“What about Birdie?” He glanced at the older woman and then back at the steaks his wife was holding.
“Don’t worry, Mason. I won’t starve. I have a nice fresh spinach salad in the refrigerator for me.”
Mason looked appalled. “Spinach salad?”
Birdie chuckled. “I guess I should mention that I’m a vegetarian. I don’t mind cooking meat, but I draw the line at eating it.”
“Oh.” It was the only response Mason could think of. He just employed a cook who was a vegetarian. It sounded like hiring a pilot who was afraid to fly. He followed Gillian out to the patio. He loved thick, juicy steaks and wasn’t about to give them up. If he hadn’t given them up after all the medical reports on cholesterol and fats, he wasn’t giving them up to please Birdie.
Mason glanced around the brick patio. “I see that the furniture we ordered was delivered.” A round table with four chairs sat beneath a flowered umbrella. All the chairs and the two chaises were padded with the same pink-and-green floral print. Their new grill sat to the side. “They set up the grill?”
“No, I put it together while Birdie was-making dinner.” Gillian turned a couple of knobs, smiled and placed the steaks on the rack.
“You put it together?” He backed up a step and eyed the propane gas tank sitting below the grill.
“I’m not stupid, Mason. I do know how to work a screwdriver and read directions.”
Mason glanced at the sizzling steaks. His wife obviously knew what she was doing. The sound of a car pulling up caught their attention. “That must be Jon. I’ll go meet him.” He walked away from Gillian and around the side of the house.
Forty minutes later four adults sat under the umbrella and groaned. Correction, three of them groaned. Birdie looked like an indulgent grandmother and a woman who had found something very precious to her. Dinner had been wonderful, as well as entertaining. Fred was contentedly rolling around in the grass, munching on a thick steak bone.
Jon, whom Gillian had only met at their wedding, turned out to be the center of the conversation. He enlightened them with some amusing tales from his years on the force and seemed totally enslaved by Birdie’s cooking. Gillian was in danger of losing her cook before she even had a chance to unpack.
“So this is how married people eat.” Jon patted his flat stomach in an extravagant gesture. “Maybe I should try it.”
“What, get married?” Mason questioned.
“No.” Jon grinned at Birdie. “Visit married couples more often.”
Gillian laughed and started to pile the dirty dishes onto a tray. “If you ate like that at every meal, no one would ask you.”
“What, to come on over for dinner?” Jon stood up and picked up the near-empty bowl of potato salad and the plate holding the remaining deviled eggs.
“No—” Gillian grinned, “—to get married.”
It was Jon’s turn to laugh. “No woman in her right mind would want me.”
Mason frowned at the easy banter between Jon and his wife. “I think it’s time we got down to some business.”
Jon’s smile vanished. “I’m sorry, Mason. We were having such a good time I nearly forgot what I came for.” Jon headed for the kitchen.
Mason nodded and helped by carrying in the tray of dirty dishes Gillian had piled up.
Gillian didn’t like the seriousness in Mason’s eyes. Whatever had happened to him today really must have shaken him.
“We’ll be in Mason’s office,” Gillian said to Birdie, jerking her head in the direction of the room. “We’ll be out in time for dessert.” She glanced at the dishes and food littering the counter. “Don’t you dare bother with this mess. I’ll take care of it when we’re done.”
Birdie retied the apron around her waist. “I’ll put on a pot of coffee.” She shooed them from the kitchen. “My cake tastes best with a fresh cup of coffee.
Mason led the way to his office. Gillian closed the door behind them before saying, “I’m not going to like this, am I?”
Jon stood there and glanced between the two.
“No, you’re not, Gillian, and I’m sorry.” Mason took a deep breath and said, “From now on, you can’t go anywhere without a bodyguard.”
Gillian looked at Mason and slowly shook her head. “I don’t believe I heard you correctly.”
Mason opened the top desk drawer and pulled out the envelope he had placed there before dinner. “I received this at my office today.” He held the envelope out to Jon.
Jon read the envelope and studied the postmark before carefully shaking the contents onto the desk. Gillian gasped as she recognized the photos. They were all of her. Jon muttered an expletive that should have earned him a reprimand from Gillian. Instead she felt like muttering one or two of her own. How dare this person follow her around and invade her privacy!
Jon carefully spread open the letter and read the pasted message. He glanced across the desk at Mason. “My guess is, it caused more than a few gray hairs.”
Mason
continued to stare at his wife. “Something like that.”
Gillian read the words and wanted to weep. It was one thing to try to scare her, it was another thing altogether to frighten her husband. No wonder Mason called home in such a state. She glanced up at her husband and met his worried gaze. “Sorry.”
“What the hell do you have to be sorry for?” Mason ran his fingers through his hair and looked away.
“He’s playing with your mind now instead of mine.”
“She could have a point there, Mason,” Jon said. He studied the assorted photos. “Each picture shows Gillian in a vulnerable position. If this guy had been shooting a rifle instead of a camera, you’d be a widower by now.” He picked up a snapshot of Gillian standing outside of their home talking to the man from the lawn service and handed it to Mason. “This guy wants to play with you for a while. If he wanted to harm Gillian, he’s had plenty of opportunity, and he wants you to know that.”
“Wonderful,” growled Mason as he started to pace. “What’s our next step, Jon?”
“I can take this stuff back to the office and have it tested for prints, but I doubt if there are any.”
“What else?”
“That’s about it, legally. Without knowing who is sending the stuff there’s not much the police can do.”
“What about illegally?” Mason asked after a moment’s thought.
Gillian stared at her husband in disbelief. The Honorable Judge Blacksword was contemplating doing something from the wrong side of the law. As far as she knew, Mason considered the law to have only one side. The right side. His side. “Mason, I don’t think—”
“Dammit, Gillian, this guy is serious!”
Gillian gave Mason a slow smile. He was worried about her! Her husband actually cared what happened to her. She knew Mason cared about people and what happened to them, because of his profession. You didn’t go into the judicial system without caring. But this was personal—really personal.
She walked around to the back of the desk where Mason was standing and brushed a soft kiss across his cheek. “Thank you.” It wasn’t the declaration of undying love she had been hoping for, but it was a beginning. Caring was a nice, firm foundation to build the rest of their lives on. It was more than what a lot of marriages had. She gave him another smile as confusion flashed in his eyes. The poor man had no idea what she had just thanked him for.
She placed her hand inside his and gave it a light squeeze. “We won’t be doing anything illegal, Mason.” She turned and faced Jon.
“So, Jon, you’re the expert. What can we do?” she asked.
Jon carefully gathered up the photos. “I think we should notify some higher authority.”
“No.” Mason and Gillian answered at the same time.
Jon raised an eyebrow and waited for a further explanation.
“I can protect my own wife,” Mason growled.
Gillian glanced at Mason as his fingers tightened around hers. He was serious! Just the way he spoke, she knew he was referring to his powers. A warlock very rarely used his powers, and she had never known Mason to use his. That was what made him so revered within the circles of the society, because that was the key element in a great warlock. To have the powers and never use them. Throwing up the occasional shield or scanning was nothing. It came as naturally as breathing to a warlock or witch. The powers Mason possessed were phenomenal. A member of the society couldn’t help but notice the force that surrounded him. Now, after all these years, he wanted to use that force to protect her. She could think of no finer gift from her husband. But it was a gift she must refuse.
“I can protect myself, Mason.” She could not allow him to jeopardize his position in the society by possibly calling attention to himself. In all probability, one day he would sit on the Council, and she would not like to see a black mark against his name because of her. The Council frowned upon using one’s powers unless it was absolutely necessary. To use one’s powers was to call attention to oneself. Witches and warlocks were never to call attention to themselves. There had to be other options.
Jon glanced curiously between Mason and Gillian but didn’t comment on their strange conversation.
Gillian noticed Jon’s expression and wondered what he must be thinking. Mason trusted Jon, or he would never have asked for his help. Jon and Mason’s friendship went back years and she was positive that Jon suspected something was unusual about Mason.
Mason glared at Gillian. “I can protect you better.”
She knew the Council allowed the use of powers for the preservation of life. There were too few members in the society as it was. He probably could protect her better than the police or a bodyguard, but he didn’t have to go around banging his chest. Few could compete with his strength, including her, but it hurt that he had to bring up who was stronger, who was bigger and who was the male. Here she had been looking at their marriage as an equal partnership, not who was more powerful. She dropped his hand and moved away from his warmth.
She looked at Jon, who was trying very discreetly to disappear into the woodwork. “Jon, since it’s my life which seems to be in jeopardy, I will be calling all the shots. Mason is my husband, not my lord and master.” She gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t want this to go any farther than you in the department. I don’t want this leaked to the media. Mason’s well-known throughout the city and I’m sure the papers would have a field day with this.”
She ignored Mason, who was standing beside her looking like he wanted to explode. “My father has just been diagnosed with a heart condition. With proper medication and my mother’s care he should be fine, but the doctor warned against added stress. I believe having a psychopath after his eldest daughter constitutes stress.”
“Sorry about your Dad,” Jon said. “I understand your concern, but I think Mason may be right in insisting on you having some sort of bodyguard whenever you go out.”
“Are you volunteering your services?” she asked. Jon seemed like a reasonable person. She wouldn’t mind so much being stuck in his company. Hell, with an actual police detective watching over her, maybe Mason would allow her to go back into The Blades.
Mason took a step closer to Gillian and said, “I think I can take my wife wherever she has to go.”
She glanced at Mason in confusion. “You work all day.”
“Plan wherever you have to go for the evening.”
“What if I can’t?” She had two interviews scheduled this week with women who were interested in obtaining her services. She was due in court before Judge Cronan on Tuesday morning, and she had a list of twenty-eight unsupporting fathers she was trying to locate. How was she supposed to do all that at night?
“May I make a suggestion?” Jon asked.
Mason glared across the desk. “What?”
“Gillian, how about you try to do all your errands, work or whatever at night so your husband can accompany you. If there’s someplace you have to go during the day, and there’s no one around equipped to protect you, you may call me. I’m scheduled for the four-till-twelve shift next week so I’ll be free most days.”
“That sounds reasonable.” Gillian gave Jon a smile of gratitude. “I don’t like the idea of having someone with me every time I leave the house, but I understand the precaution.”
“Good,” snapped Mason. “If your brothers can’t make it, call me before disturbing Jon. I’ll see if I can’t rearrange my schedule.”
Gillian forced her mouth not to fall open. Mason was willing to rearrange his schedule because of her. She closed her eyes and waited for the miracle to occur. Nothing. No flashes of lightning, no blaring trumpets, not even a mild earthquake. She opened her eyes and glanced at Jon. He appeared to be shocked, too. Mason’s reputation had preceded him throughout the court system and the police force. Everyone knew about Mason’s notorious schedules. They might as well have been carved into two tablets and delivered from Mount Sinai by Moses himself.
“Thank you, Mason,” she said softly
. “I’ll try not to disturb your schedule too much.” She took his hint that he wanted her brothers to escort her before she called Jon. The detective might carry a gun, but her brothers had their powers. Mason didn’t want her chancing her safety to a mere human.
“Don’t worry about it.” He glanced at Jon and asked, “That’s it?”
“I’m still running down the remaining names on the list you faxed me.” He glanced at Gillian. “Try to stay out of the front yard. From what I’ve seen, the backyard looks pretty secure.”
“Okay, I can live with that.”
“Also, don’t let anyone in the house unless you know them personally. No delivery boys, nothing.”
“Anything else?” It was beginning to sound like a prison sentence to her. She could almost feel the walls start to close in around her. Don’t do that, don’t do this. Call this person. Call that person. Don’t breathe. Don’t walk. Don’t think!
“No, I think that should do it.”
All three looked at one another for a moment before both men turned and looked at Gillian. Mason reached out and brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. “Are you going to be okay with this?”
“Sure, why wouldn’t I be?” They didn’t have too many choices. Run-and-hide had never been her style. Hopefully this idiot would make his move and be caught, then she could get on with the rest of her life. She also knew her safety would be jeopardized if she didn’t follow Jon’s advice. “I just want it over with.”
“So do I.” Mason stepped closer and pulled her into his arms.
She felt safe wrapped in Mason’s arms. For the past week she had acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She hadn’t let Mason know how nervous she was. The box of leeches had really thrown her for a loop. This joker meant to scare her, and he had. She enjoyed the comfort of his arms for a moment longer before backing away and plastering a huge grin on her face. “I don’t know about you two, but I’m in the mood for some of Birdie’s strawberry shortcake and a hot cup of coffee.”
His Chosen Bride Page 15
