THE RISK OF LOVE AND MAGIC

by Patricia Rice

  She’d done it. She’d finally had sex. And it had been miraculous. And incredibly painful. Exhilarating and . . . dangerous to the heart. Rather like she’d imagined a roller coaster ride.

  It had almost made her mind as sore as her lower parts. She’d never had a vision that had taken her outside her body! Or maybe that had been the wine.

  She wasn’t certain she wanted to try again, but the craving for the adrenalin rush was strong.

  Except, Magnificent Max had made it perfectly clear that she’d merely been a one-night stand. She was good with that. More than good. She didn’t think she could take another night like that.

  But her stupid heart yearned for hot kisses and tender touches. And adrenalin rushes.

  Vera. Vera came first.

  Nadine hurriedly showered and dressed. Grabbing her glasses and the laptop, she headed downstairs, following the scent of coffee.

  In the kitchen, Maximus was leaning against the counter top, sipping his coffee, while gorgeous Francesca munched daintily on some granola concoction. Nadine grabbed the cup Max handed her and headed out to the patio to avoid interaction. Francesca’s mind was an uncomfortable place.

  Max followed and flung a blanket from the cabana over her shoulders. The morning was still misty and chilly.

  “Conan’s team is stationed around the address, making certain no one is watching but them.” He leaned over and hit a few keys on her keyboard. “I set up this account for you earlier. That’s where they send their reports.”

  She was placing a lot of trust in the Oswin family, for good reason, she supposed. They’d accomplished miracles over the past year. She wished she could be the one rescuing Vera, but she was smart enough to know that her presence was more danger than help. The general would kill to find her.

  Donning her glasses, Nadine impatiently scanned the cryptic notes of the team members, then hit the live video links. Her heart raced as the computer called up the images of the team stationing themselves around a simple bungalow. The camera showed a house on a street of similar tiny houses with patches of sand for yard. Landscaping consisted of a few scraggly palms and extremely large cacti.

  Magnus hovering over her with his big hand on the chair back reduced her formidable concentration to nil. Nadine sipped her coffee black, forgetting that she hated black coffee.

  “Who’s filming this?” she asked as a scrawny dog or coyote raced down the street and a rusty Ford pick-up trundled past on the screen.

  “I doubt it’s Conan. He’s snug in bed with Dorrie. One of his team, I assume. He makes certain they have the latest tech. This looks like a dashboard cam. He’s been building the team since the nanny snatched Oz’s kid. It practically runs itself these days.”

  “They find lost kids?” Nadine asked, just so she didn’t have to think too hard about Vera and never seeing Magnus again after this.

  “Lost and stolen kids mostly. Teens are tougher because they often go off on their own. But Vera wants to be found, apparently, and that’s a different angle. Besides, we’ve pretty much declared war on the general for what he did to Dorrie’s family and others like them. Conan would finance the devil to bring him down.”

  Nadine didn’t say anything in response, couldn’t. The front door of the bungalow on the screen was opening. Vera walked out carrying a backpack and walking a small fluffy dog.

  Nadine closed her eyes and sent up a prayer of gratitude. Eagerly, she returned to the screen and the dashboard view of Vera.

  The blond wig looked ridiculous, but Nadine recognized the way her sister held her shoulders and strode with grace and purpose. She wasn’t acting terrified. Vera pushed open the gate to a little park next to the bungalow, as if taking her pet out for its morning constitutional.

  The gate closed, shutting her off from the camera.

  Magnus instantly punched his phone screen. “She’s out of sight. Have your guys spotted her?”

  Conan spoke sleepily through the speaker phone. “The team is stationed on both sides of the block. There’s another gate over there, but my guys don’t have a camera on that side. Keep your hat on.”

  Nadine chewed her thumbnail and stared at the empty street on the screen, as if staring would bring Vera back in sight. Magnus squeezed her shoulder but even his understanding didn’t reassure her.

  “Jessica is approaching our target through the back gate,” Conan reported through the speaker phone. “She’s carrying a flyer bearing the code words.”

  “How does he know this?” Nadine whispered, listening raptly. “Sending a woman was brilliant. The general doesn’t usually employ women.”

  “Conan’s team will be reporting directly to him. He has about a gazillion monitors and computers tuned in to anything he deems important. He’s probably hacked security cameras in the area, and he’ll be receiving text messages from the other members of the team. He may sound like he’s half asleep but Conan can do this with his eyes closed.” Magnus checked her laptop screen over her shoulder. “No one’s moving in the street. If she’s being watched, they’re not looking for her yet. Making contact behind the walls of the park was good strategy. Your sister isn’t dumb.”

  “We’ve got her,” Conan murmured neutrally. “The driver says she’s walking with Jess toward the car. They’re carrying the dog and acting as if they’re discussing pets. We’re good. No one in sight.”

  Nadine reached up and squeezed Max’s hand in excitement. “Please, let them be okay.”

  “They’re in the car,” Conan reported. “Hang up and I’ll have her call.”

  Magnus handed her the phone. Nadine clutched it with hope and a prayer. She’d been terrified for weeks. Her throat clogged with all the things she needed to say. Please, let Vera be okay.

  The video on her laptop went dark but text messages started flying back and forth across the screen, mostly in gibberish she didn’t attempt to interpret while she waited anxiously for the phone to ring. Magnus read the text over her shoulder.

  Finally, the phone broke into a weird rap song. She punched it on, glancing at Magnus with a quizzically lifted eyebrow at the choice of rings.

  “Unknown caller ring,” he whispered.

  “Nadine?” came a familiar voice, sounding just a little excited and worried.

  “Vera!” With relief, Nadine clung to the phone and tried not to weep. “You’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. These people said they’re taking me to you. I hope that doesn’t mean they’re locking me up with you.”

  “No, no, you’re in excellent hands. I’m in a secure place. We’ll discuss what to do next after you get here, but you’re safe. Is that your dog?”

  “You saw Mr T?” she asked in delight. “I found him. Can I keep him?”

  “I guess that depends on what you tell us when you get here. I’m just thrilled to know you’re safe. You scared me to death.”

  “I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t have a choice. Jessica says we can’t talk long. They’re really cautious. Are they spies?”

  “Better. You’ll meet everyone eventually. I love you, kid. Stay safe.”

  “Love you, too, Sis. I’m so happy I’ll see you again! Too-da-loo.” She broke the connection.

  “Too-da-loo?” Magnus asked gravely, taking the phone while Nadine wiped moisture from her eyes.

  Trying to pull her shattered nerves together, she was grateful for his silly question. It gave her time to breathe instead of plot and plan.

  “Mama used to say things like that,” she said, remembering a kinder era with fondness. “Drove Jo-jo crazy. He called it nonsense talk, but now I know he was afraid we were speaking a language he didn’t understand, and he couldn’t control.” Still shaky from speaking to the sister she hadn’t spoken to in two years, she took the offer of Max’s strong hand to stand up. She dropped the blanket on the lounge.

  “He thought you were using magic curses?” he asked in amusement.

  “Maybe. He’s ridiculously superstitious, which is probably another
reason he hunts my family. He really believes Po-po was cursed by a Malcolm witch. What he can’t control, he’ll destroy,” she said sadly, understanding so much more than she had as a child.

  Inside the kitchen, Francesca was adjusting her shoulder bag and removing her keys. “I take it the lost lamb is found? Maybe she can give us the general’s direction.” Her look was challenging.

  “Don’t place any bets,” Nadine warned, no longer as intimidated by Francesca’s curtness as she had been. But she took off her geek glasses anyway. No point in advertising her lack of elegance. “The general won’t be easily found, and I doubt that it’s safe to look for him. I thank you for helping find my sister. I don’t want to repay your kindness by causing harm.”

  “Nadine’s a wuss,” Maximus Irritatus said. “We’ll bring her around.”

  She elbowed him in the solar plexus but he didn’t even grunt. Rather than argue, she aimed for the dauntingly large refrigerator. Eggs, she could cook.

  “We’ll see you at the wedding then. Bringing down the general would be a lovely wedding gift considering what he’s done to Dorrie.” Francesca swung out, looking model-thin, gorgeous, and supremely self-confident.

  “I hate her,” Nadine said to no one in particular as she hunted for ingredients to go with the eggs. “She’s another militaristic control-freak like you, isn’t she?”

  “No, that’s just your paranoia speaking.” Magnus reached over her head to a carton of juice. “Francesca is just a normal, run-of-the-mill, bossy bitch.”

  Nadine elbowed him again and slipped out from under his arm. “You don’t get to call women bitches unless you allow an alternative derogatory term for men.”

  “There isn’t one,” he pointed out. “Men got to invent vocabulary for millions of years. About the best term I can summon is randy dog, and that’s almost a superlative in comparison.”

  “Cantankerous grouch works for me.” Nadine buttered a skillet and whacked an egg into it. She was too jittery to be reasonable.

  “Except that term doesn’t relate to sex.”

  He may have meant that as an insult to her current behavior, but sex hung in the air between them. She’d told him she was good with no commitment, just a simple roll in the hay. Why then, did she see SEX written in capital letters over her head?

  She steamed silently, unable to find a suitable retort.

  “Are we arguing?” he asked with interest, sprinkling green herbs on two of the eggs she’d dropped in the skillet.

  “When have we not been?” she countered, poking the yolks of her eggs until they bled out. “We’re from different planets.”

  “You’re a space alien?” he asked with that same noncommittal curiosity. “To-da-loo really is a foreign language?”

  She smacked his hand with the rubber spatula. “You know what I mean. You’re a man of the world. I’ve never been outside Southern California. You have a job and family and a normal life. I’m living under an alias and hiding from so-called family. Different planets,” she asserted.

  “Put the general behind bars and you can have normalcy.” He backed off to drop bread into a toaster.

  Unaccountably, she missed his presence looming over her. She had to get away from him quickly before she became a pawn again—this time on the opposite side of the fence.

  “I can’t do much without access to his systems, and so far, I haven’t found any. Once Vera and I are out of the country, we’ll help in any other way we can,” she agreed. “But I don’t think there’s much we can do or we would have done it.”

  “Nope, you probably wouldn’t have,” he corrected, while hunting through the refrigerator. “Revisit Stockholm Syndrome—hostages are known to develop sympathy for their captors. But now you’re out of his clutches, you can clear your head. He’ll find more victims if he’s not stopped.”

  “Vera and I are the only crazy stepdaughters he has to torment,” she answered dryly. “I don’t think he’ll take in anymore.”

  Even as she said it, she realized the flaw in her statement. She had been speaking from her narrow childhood and not reality. Nothing prevented the general from marrying again, from adopting any children he liked, or playing the part of sympathetic generous donor to families in need of help . . .

  And he had that entire Malcolm genealogy website full of psychic possibilities. She should have dismantled that sticky web when she had a chance—except she’d hoped it would lead her to more people like her. Now the general had the names and addresses of every gifted Malcolm child whose family had ever tracked their family name.

  Reality sucked.

  “How long before Vera and the others will arrive?” she asked as they ate their breakfasts and read their on-line newspapers.

  “ETA around noon. We have a few hours. Conan’s people aren’t cops. They won’t hold her for interrogation, but they may stop for food and whatnot.” Magnus glanced up. “You want to walk the beach?”

  She didn’t know what she wanted. She just felt ready to explode with nervous energy. Vera had been found. She didn’t have a purpose any longer except to plan an escape route, and she needed Vera’s cooperation for that. She was having difficulty wrapping her head around her lack of purpose while sitting across from the most gorgeous specimen of manhood she’d ever met. And she couldn’t have him. Didn’t want him, she corrected.

  SEX still hovered over their heads. Magnus didn’t precisely hide his interest. Her awareness of his physical proximity was so high up the scale that she could scarcely function.

  She got up, washed her plate and the frying pan, and was practically bouncing in nervousness. “Will they call again?”

  “Probably not. They’ll want to change phones and lessen the chances of being tracked.” Magnus sudsed off his plate with the sponge. “There’s enough food here to feed an army. We don’t need to hunt groceries.”

  “As long as they’re happy with sandwiches. I can’t cook.” She wanted the reassurance of Mad Max’s hug, but she knew where that led now. Not going there. Thinking about what they’d done last night left her even more jittery. She’d had all that raw male muscle in her arms . . . “Does this place have music?”

  He pointed at a speaker in the ceiling. “Everywhere.” He led the way down the hall to a casual room filled with plump sofas, a fireplace, and a view of the terrace and pool. He opened a cabinet. “Looks like it’s filed by genre. What would you like?”

  “To dance,” she decided impulsively. “Let me run upstairs to brush my teeth. Find something that plays fast.”

  ***

  La Loca wanted to dance. He really should quit calling her that but he wasn’t as adept at nicknames as Nadine was. Maximus Grandus! Loca, it was.

  They could spend the next few hours happily in bed working off their excess energy—and she wanted to dance. Could he hope that one would lead to the other?

  Not a smart idea, all things considered, but he wasn’t as good at smart as his brothers. He operated in simple terms. He wanted Nadine again. Last night had been the best thing to happen to him in far longer than he’d like to ponder. He felt as if the covers had been pulled off his head and the sun beamed down.

  Except he had this nagging suspicion that sex with Nadine was a little more complicated than just sex, so maybe it was better if they just danced.

  He returned to the family room before she did and hunted for a few basic tunes.

  An easy salsa blared from the speakers by the time Nadine returned. She was wearing a long, flouncy skirt—as if she’d anticipated his choice of music. If she really was psychic, maybe she had.

  If she was really reading his mind, they would be upstairs in bed, not down here pretending everything was cool.

  She twirled around in the empty center of the tiled room, swaying with the beat. “What do I do?”

  “Stand still,” Magnus said dryly. “Press your hand in an L-shape on my shoulder so you create tension. Follow my lead and the tempo. It’s pretty basic. Count the beats. The even bea
ts are the ones where your feet move.”

  “Beats?” she asked in amusement. “I’m supposed to know what that is? How do you even know what that is?”

  “Behavior modification therapy apparently,” he replied, catching her hands and showing her the position he wanted. “I wasn’t socially adept. I had no interest in books. After I took my father’s Mercedes engine apart, he decided I must be bored, and rather than reward me with more sports, he assigned dance lessons.”

  He counted the beats for her and walked her through the first few measures. Her waist was supple. She swung her hips naturally to the steps, distracting his counting. Or maybe it was the way her breasts bounced in that flimsy halter top.

  “You’re wearing heels,” he said. “Where did you get those?”

  “Someone had an entire closetful, and luckily, they’re my size. I’m short and you’re tall. I didn’t want you looking down my shirt while I tried to learn steps.” She offered a blazingly innocent smile that forced him to meet her eyes.

  The pain behind the laughing green nearly slayed him.

  “I can still look down your shirt,” he retorted, avoiding any interaction with emotion by moving her further down the floor and adding his own cha-cha hip motion. “And you’re not short. You’re average.”

  “And you’re not. I need an advantage and heels are it.”

  Almost defiantly, she picked up the count and the steps incredibly fast. He had her dancing backwards and sideways in the first half hour. Her quickness forced him to think outside his usual box to keep her moving. They weren’t aiming for a dance competition, so he didn’t feel compelled to torture her with proper instructions. He liked the way she swayed and followed whatever he did.

  Apparently, he didn’t need to explain anything. She analyzed his every motion, even to the stiff torso and keeping his legs close together.

  “More drama!” she finally demanded. “I watched those TV shows in the break room. The dancers did more than walk back and forth.”

  “I do patterns,” he informed her, “not creativity.”