THE RISK OF LOVE AND MAGIC

by Patricia Rice

  She didn’t want to feel safe with the big oaf.

  She shook off his grip but followed him down the gravel path. Aging timbers led the way down to a rocky shore.

  Surf crashed against rocks, boulders, and patches of sand. In near delirium at finally reaching this one dream, Nadine raced toward the rolling waves. Cold water slapped over her new flip-flops, and she squealed, hopping up and down like a kid until she got used to it. A wave hit high, splashing her legs and wetting her jean shorts.

  For just this one moment, she was real. She didn’t have to think, to plot, to do anything more than absorb the sun on her hair and the surf on her toes. The salt water erased all thought of the general and his minions.

  Flinging her arms in the air, she danced in circles, startling a gull. She laughed until she cried, finally finding a release for all the jumbled emotion she usually had to conceal. She didn’t stop until she stubbed a toe against a rock and stumbled in pain.

  “Impressive,” Magnus said from above the tide line. “Do you do encores or do I need to splint your toe?”

  “Killjoy.” Nadine climbed out of the water to sit on a rock and examine her toe. There was something weirdly satisfying about sitting beside the big lug while sopping wet. “I think I remember playing in the surf when I was really little. All those memories disappeared with our family albums.”

  He crouched down and moved her toe back and forth. She wanted to snatch her foot back, but at the same time, she wanted more of his hand on her ankle. The man was dangerous to her peace of mind in more ways than one.

  She had to remember they had different goals. Hers was to find Vera and run for safety. His was . . . She wasn’t entirely certain but it seemed to involve finding the general and probably throttling him. That was a stupidly dangerous goal when shutting down his networks would safely paralyze everything he owned and destroy his spider web.

  “What happened to the family albums?” he asked.

  “They burned in a house fire when I was about nine.” She froze at an unwelcome thought. “Mom agreed to marry Jo-jo not long after that. That’s how he did it.”

  “Hysterical, paranoid, or a useful insight?” Max inquired gravely, helping her to stand.

  “All three.” Grumpily, she let him hold her arm if it made him feel better to do so. She wasn’t used to anyone looking after her. “I was a kid then and just delighted to have a dad. It’s all kind of fuzzy, but Mom was out of work, and things were really tight. She cried a lot.”

  Anger shook her as those feelings of long-ago anxiety came tumbling back and matched the fear she’d learned since. “I recognize his tactics now! He burned us out so we had nowhere else to go—no memories to keep us going. The bastard. He probably got her fired, too, so she was helpless.”

  She tramped toward the stairs, steaming. “What precisely is it you want to do with the general if you find him?” she demanded.

  “He stole military secrets. I’ll bring him to justice,” he replied without hesitation.

  “You can’t and you won’t and it’s dangerous to even try,” she warned. “He and his sons are venomous spiders hiding in dark places. Best just to spray their web.”

  “Sorry, not enough. I want him and his thugs behind bars before they kill anyone else. I understand that if they’re your family, you’re reluctant to help.”

  “I thought they were family,” she said gloomily. “Jo-jo really was the only dad I knew, and he provided all the material things a kid could ever want. I’ve tried to find excuses for him.” That felt right. Her mother hadn’t loved the bastard. Jo-jo had forced her to marry him, even if she hadn’t realized it at the time. “But I just spent months in a loony bin because of him and his miserable sons. I’m not his tool anymore. If I can access his network, I’ll take it down. Once I find Vera and we’re somewhere safe, I’ll help you find him.”

  “Thank you,” Maximus Grandus said. “Some sanity has returned. I feared you might be suffering from Stockholm syndrome.” He caught her waist and carried her the rest of the way up the stairs.

  Nadine swatted him again, although she was aware his muscled biceps suffered no more harm than if it had been bit by a fly. “Quit hauling me around. I’m standing on my own two feet for the first time in my life. Let me get used to it.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He set her down on the street at the top of the stairs. She felt inexplicably cold where he’d been pressed against her side—and slightly off balance. She tilted her head and tried knocking water out of her ears.

  “We need more clothes,” he told her while striding down the alley. “There’s a thrift shop a few blocks inland. Are you planning any more fits or do you want to see what they have?”

  “I don’t plan fits.” She hurried to keep up with him. “I’ve pretty much regimented all the rest of my life, because I can’t control the part that I don’t understand. Visions are freaky and unsettling. If what I saw was real, Vera might have been highly emotional and trying to reach me mentally. She doesn’t usually do that because she’s bad at it.”

  “How do you know that?” he asked.

  “Because the general made us practice until our heads hurt and we quit telling him anything. We pretended his experiments didn’t work.”

  “So he gave up on mental telepathy but you kept practicing?”

  Nadine sent him a suspicious look at his apparent complacence. “Not that you believe me, but yes. That’s how I learned it was easier to receive numbers and images than words. Sometimes touching something personal like a toy bunny forges a connection. Vera was sending me an image. Something is desperately wrong. I just don’t know what.”

  She tucked away his reference to Stockholm syndrome to look up later. She ought to know how it worked, but she seemed to have blocked it—the way she’d blocked a lot of her childhood. The mind could only take so much—particularly one like hers crowded with so many other issues.

  “You saw a schoolroom,” he prompted her.

  “I don’t know where. There were tables and desks and whiteboards and kids working. No address. Nothing visible out the high windows. No identifiers. Vera was taking education classes at school. Maybe she was substitute teaching. I don’t know her regular routine anymore. I couldn’t communicate well from a mental institution.”

  Nadine stalked into the thrift store. Racks of clothing and shelves of junk emitted a musty odor, but she’d never seen a store like this. Fascinated, she skimmed through the clothing, locating a size larger than she used to wear and hoping for the best. Delighted at discovering a bright orange tank top for a few dollars, she kept hunting until she’d located a large gauzy blue shirt and loose jeans. And a pair of white shorts and a green hoodie! It wouldn’t matter if the jeans didn’t fit right if the loose tops covered them.

  Arms full, she cruised the perimeter. Scissors. Round brush still in the packaging. Purple beads.

  “Why did no one tell me places like this exist?” she asked deliriously, piling up treasures on the counter. “I detest malls, but this is perfect! I’ll just do without underwear.”

  She practically felt Magnus Max’s gaze dip to her breasts. She definitely felt her nipples tighten.

  He dropped jeans and various shirts on the counter. “There are other stores around,” he said in that gravelly deep voice that had the ability to pierce her innards. “Socks and shoes might be useful. Toothbrushes and razors because a B&B won’t provide them. I’m starting to feel like a porcupine.”

  She studied his studly villain appearance: stubborn square jaw, strong cheekbones, planed jaw bristling with manly beard, and the damned crew-cut. “You could grow a beard as a disguise and I’d call you Black Bart,” she offered. “But if you have to be practical . . .” She tried to give him a disapproving look, hoping he’d back off.

  Sloppy, nerdy her was becoming entirely too aware of jock pilot him.

  He slapped cash on the counter and carried her sacks outside, forcing her to follow. “No beard,” he said. “No Black Bart.
If you won’t go all goofy over racks of pink princess outfits, we can Google up a Target and drive inland, pick up the necessities and maybe a pizza for dinner.”

  “Goofy?” Letting him stride ahead of her, she stopped in front of a salon. She could whack her own hair with her new scissors as she’d been doing since college, but just once . . . wouldn’t it be nice to have it professionally done?

  She hated asking Mad Max for anything more. Maybe tomorrow, when she had her own card. Wickedly, she stepped inside, just to see how long it would take him to discover she wasn’t trailing behind him.

  She made an appointment for the next morning. Max was waiting for her outside when she emerged.

  “You could have signaled,” he said, waiting patiently for her to precede him down the street this time.

  “You wouldn’t have noticed if I’d smacked you on the back of the head with a palm tree.” She wanted to investigate all the fascinating little boutiques they passed. She apparently hesitated too long admiring the work of a tattoo artist—Max caught her arm and moved her onward.

  Maybe she should keep dallying so he’d keep holding on to her. Except she needed to focus on Vera, not the improbable.

  “The more time we spend in public, the more likely we are to be noticed. I don’t think the general will take your escape lightly. All it takes is one Facebook photo . . .” He let the sentence dangle ominously.

  She hurried onward but the reminder only made her angrier. “I’ve never had a life,” she protested bitterly. “Once I find Vera and get out of here, I’m going to be a shopkeeper. I’ll make my own hours and go shopping anytime I like. Or go bowling. Or to a fair.”

  “You’ve never done any of that?” he asked with frank curiosity, studying her through those clear gray eyes that gave her shivers.

  “Jo-jo’s idea of fun was target practice and karate. Want me to chop a board in two?”

  “No, thank you. You’re better off knowing how to kick an assailant in the nuts. Muggers normally don’t carry boards.”

  “Yeah, my thought exactly. And mostly, the real thieves are hidden behind computers anyway. Or carry guns. I wouldn’t stand a chance against a gun, even if I owned one. So I’m thinking it’s best not to go places where people carry guns.” Nadine wondered if they’d be safe in Costa Rica. She would look up crime statistics.

  “Better yet, don’t flash gold in places where people carry guns. And don’t do drugs or rob banks.”

  She jabbed a bony elbow into his side. “You’re not amusing.” She’d never talked to a man the way she did with this one, but Magnus Maximus begged for retaliation.

  “I’m just trying to figure out if you have any idea that gun control is a serious political issue or if you’re simply making up maxims out of the clear blue sky of your head.” He opened the passenger door of their rental car to help her in.

  “Politics are irrelevant since I’ve never been allowed to vote. I caught the occasional on-line news snippet, but finding Malcolms was Jo-jo’s obsession. Keeping up with his business files was pretty much a 24/7 job. And see, I even know slang.”

  “From college, six years ago.” He started the engine and pulled out of the B&B’s driveway. “You’re like someone who’s spent her whole life in a museum or a time warp. You’re not quite real.”

  She sank into her seat rather than acknowledge the truth of that.

  “What was the last film you saw?” he asked.

  “Other than the film the newscast promises at eleven?” she asked with just a touch of sarcasm. “What part of 24/7 don’t you understand?”

  “Pretty much all of it. No one can work in front of a computer all day and all night, all of their life. You had to get out sometime, at least before they locked you up.”

  Nadine crunched her frizzy hair between her fingers but didn’t bother ripping it out as she had for a time as a teenager. “Don’t try to analyze what you don’t understand. I’m a geek. I like computers. I thought I was saving the world while not making a fool of myself having fits in public. End of story.”

  “Loco,” he said succinctly.

  “You don’t think I haven’t considered that?” she asked angrily. “Why do you think I minored in psychology?”

  Eight

  While La Loca shopped for underwear in Target, Magnus picked up his own necessities. While he walked the aisles, he called Conan to try to persuade him that Dorrie or her family would do a far better job of housing Nadine.

  Conan laughed. “We’re planning a wedding, big bro. Have you seen women planning a wedding? Her ancient grandmother is toddling around Oz’s place as we speak, rearranging the furniture for good luck or good spirits or gourmet chee or whatever. Even Pippa has been reduced to hiding in her studio. Dorrie’s cousins would be eternally grateful if you’d give them tasks that would take them off the map. Want me to send you the Chinese twins and see if they can sniff her out?”

  “No, she doesn’t want them involved, says the general hates Dorrie’s family. I still want to send Nadine to Francesca. Those two can play telepath and drive each other nuts. Better yet, send me to Francesca. She has a pilot’s license and can fly me to the moon.”

  Conan snorted. “I’m not entirely certain Francesca is female, but I’ll talk to her. Her family owes the Librarian almost as much as we do. I doubt that she has a place where you can hide though.”

  Magnus twitched his shoulders with discomfort. He was getting too damned close to Nadine, to the extent that he almost understood her insanity. He scanned the store in search of her as he talked. “Have you learned anything about the sister?”

  “The student registered under the name you gave me hasn’t been in class for a week. I’m working on friends and neighbors,” Conan replied grimly.

  Damn. Magnus didn’t want to tell Nadine that.

  “I’m useless without her direction. Keep on it.” Magnus signed off, mentally cursing. How did he tell Nadine that they’d verified Vera had gone off the map? Was she likely to go ballistic again?

  And that was only one of his many problems. A kid he didn’t know and who may have wandered off on her own wasn’t as immediate as his current dilemma. Being full red-blooded male, he couldn’t help notice that Nadine was sexily female. She had curves in all the right places. He didn’t need a full rack, just a juicy handful, and she filled the bill.

  They were living together. It was natural to think about sex—except she was scarcely more than a naïve teenager with apparent tendencies to imprint on those who looked out for her.

  And she was crazy. He had a bad record with crazies. He had to put her somewhere safer than with him.

  He stopped in the health care aisle to pick up shaving soap and razor. As an added precaution, he threw in condoms because he was trained to be prepared. And then he checked out before Nadine so she wouldn’t notice.

  He’d given her a stack of cash, but he waited by the registers in case she needed more. She’d filled a basket but managed to stay within the exact dollar amount he gave her. She had to be a walking calculator to perform that feat.

  He tried his best not to notice what she was buying, although the scissors she’d purchased earlier had worried him. Diane had threatened herself with scissors once. He hadn’t believe the threat. He paid more attention with Nadine. At least Nadine had the sense to keep her hair concealed beneath the hat and her glasses hidden in a pocket so she wasn’t quite as noticeable.

  “Want a pizza?” he asked, taking most of her bags and heaving them over his shoulder. He led her out into the suburban shopping strip with its choice of fast foods.

  “Please. I’ve lived on sawdust for a year. Can we take it back to the hotel? I’ve thought of a few more places online that I can check. And if those don’t work, I warn you, I’ll start hacking,” she said, following him into the neighboring pizza joint.

  “I figured you already had. See what damage you can do from my phone while I order at the counter. Any preferences on pizza?” Magnus gestured at the ov
erhead menu. He’d lived on pizza for years and considered it a basic food group.

  She studied the menu and heaved a heartfelt sigh. “Better make mine a salad. I did nothing but get flabby this past year.”

  Magnus glanced down at her in incredulity. Her clothes didn’t reveal cleavage, but he could see nice high C-cups. Her jeans revealed soft hips a man with big hands like his could dig into. She was dangerously close to perfect. “Flabby? In what world?”

  She glared back. “Flabby. Chunky. Overweight. And I want salad.”

  “My God, I finally find a woman who doesn’t look like a spike, and she thinks she’s fat. Never, in ten million years, never will I understand the female mind. You’re all loco.” He stalked up to the counter and ordered one pizza with everything on it, doubled the salad so he could pretend he was eating healthy, too, and added cookies.

  By the time Magnus gave his order, Nadine had taken a booth, donned her computer glasses, and was punching the keyboard of his high-tech phone. She glanced up at his approach and eyed him warily. “You really don’t think I’m fat? I’ve never been thin.”

  “You’re not meant to be a swizzle stick.” He dropped their Target bags into a booth. “Not any more than I’m meant to be a pencil. I’m big-boned. You’re well-rounded. What matters is if we’re healthy. And quit fishing for compliments. Have you made any progress?”

  “Compliments?” She stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown two heads and one of them was green. “I look like a four-eyed orangutan. I don’t expect compliments! All I said was that I needed to lose weight. You’re the one with some personal neurosis about size. And yes and no on the progress.”

  “Four-eyed orangutan! Orangutan? I’m taking you to the zoo when this is done. Have you ever seen an orangutan? First thing you’ll notice—their hair doesn’t curl. And my weight is muscle. With exercise, yours can be, too. No neurosis there. What did you find?”