“Look at me.” He held up his hand. “I prefer him not to know that we know he’s there. And I doubt you would spot him, in any case. He’s very good.”
“How did you spot him?”
“I’ve had centuries of examining human behavior. It’s an advantage.”
Just as he had sized her up by studying her office. “Why is this person following you?”
Her fondest hope had been that despite the client, this job might be normal or, at least, without danger. Instead, she had a gorgeous, supposedly immortal royal prince sitting across from her, blithely explaining that someone was following them.
Richard crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not entirely sure what he wants. My best guess is that it’s possible our stalker has something to do with a business enterprise run by my brother.”
“Can’t you have your brother deal with it, then?”
“Unfortunately not. My brother is dead.”
“Dead? I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you.”
“But,” she said, “wasn’t your brother also immortal?”
“Being immortal only means I won’t age. We can be killed. He was killed several months ago.”
“You think the man following us is the one who killed him?” She clutched the arms of her chair tighter, fighting the growing urge to bolt. Anyone who could kill an immortal prince was more trouble than a thousand customs officers.
“The man following us could be my brother’s killer or associated with those who killed him, yes.”
“Richard, I’m an excellent historian and I have considerable resources to locate various items in Europe, but I’m not equipped to be thrown into the middle of some sort of immortal blood feud.” That sick feeling of dread, the same as in the airport, was back in the pit of her stomach.
“Blood feuds are ridiculous.” He sighed. “I’d intended to leave my brother’s death alone and finish my quest before dealing with all that. But, apparently, it’s not to be.”
“Do you want me to go while you do this?”
He stood. “Stay, please. You may be of some service.”
“How?”
“We can’t head off to Europe with an enemy lurking in the shadows behind us.”
She swallowed back the nasty taste of fear. “What do we do?”
“For now, watch and wait and talk about the work I need you to do.”
“What if he does something?”
“I can handle it. But no sense acting before we know which way the wave breaks.”
His casual pose gave away no sign he was disturbed. She folded her hands on her lap. There was no real reason to be afraid, even if she knew she was in over her head. She could turn phantom and no one could hurt her.
She cleared her throat. “What do you need me to find for you, Richard?”
“Rasputin’s corpse.”
“What?” She sat forward, her hands flat on the table. “Of all the things you could have said, I didn’t expect that.” She shook her head. “You’re asking the impossible. Rasputin’s body was burned by the Bolsheviks and his ashes scattered.”
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“It’s true that in the chaos of war and rebellion, sometimes reports are wrong, but the destruction of Rasputin’s corpse isn’t a rumor, it’s something established by respectable historians.” But the Soviets were known for obscuring truth.
“You’re intrigued, Marian.”
“You must have information I don’t. What is it?”
“The Court’s sources say Rasputin’s body was relocated from a public grave before the rebellion succeeded in toppling the czar. The body was spirited out of the country, unknown to but a few. The Bolsheviks vented their anger on an anonymous corpse.”
“I suppose that’s possible, especially if your source is good.” She took a deep breath. “But why do you want Rasputin? Did he mean something to a member of your court?” Some people collected rare corpses. Creepy but occasionally lucrative to the Doyles. How disappointing if Richard was one of those people.
“The Court’s scientists want to examine Rasputin’s DNA.”
“Why?”
“You’re familiar with the Mad Monk’s history. Guess.”
That was a test. If she flunked, would he refuse to hire her? That would be a way to get out of this job filled with immortals and someone stalking them. But…
“Rasputin was rumored to have true healing powers. That’s why Empress Alexandra depended on him, because she needed him to treat her son, Alexei, who was a hemophiliac. If that’s true, that would make Rasputin a psychic, like me or you.”
“Not like us,” Richard snapped. “I can heal myself but not others.”
“You need his DNA to find out how to heal others? But if members of your court are immortal, who needs to be healed?”
Richard avoided her gaze and looked across the street, where taxis were pulling up to the hotel. “The Court is always interested in ways to unlock psychic gifts, and the gift of healing others is incredibly rare.”
“Rasputin had daughters, and at least one of those daughters had children. Why not ask for a sample of their DNA, if that’s what you’re interested in? They’d be much easier to locate.”
“I’m glad you have information on the family already committed to memory.” Richard looked at her this time. “Rasputin didn’t pass on his abilities to his children, therefore they are missing the quirk of DNA that led to his healing and other abilities. I need his DNA and no other.”
“Other abilities? He had more than one?”
“He could create explosions. My information indicates he caused the massive explosion in Siberia in 1908.”
“Holy crap. A psychic can do that?” She sat back in the chair. “Here I thought my gift was powerful. Maybe it’s a good thing he was killed.” She muttered the last sentence.
“Nothing to worry about. We have only to deal with his corpse and not the man himself.”
She took a deep breath and stood. No, hadn’t she just vowed a day ago not to go down the rabbit hole? Handsome prince or not, this was enough. This chaos was exactly what she wanted to avoid. She wanted something normal. Ordinary. Something that didn’t break the laws of several countries.
“I owe you for putting my grandfather in his place, Richard. But I admit, between the person following us, the people out there who killed your brother and a search for a corpse that may not exist, I don’t think this is the job for me.”
“You’re refusing me?” He stood to face her.
He sounded more puzzled than angry.
“Yes. This is way over my head.” She braced herself, ready for Richard to pass judgment on her as a coward. He’d be right too.
“You underestimate yourself.” He stepped closer to her. “You are more than your fear. I need your knowledge. I need your help, Angel.”
Again, he said Angel in the sexiest whisper.
“I’m a coward.”
“I know cowards. You’re not one.”
What was she afraid of? Losing control. Yes, exactly. She could easily be bowled over by Richard.
He put his hand on her arm. “I’ll make you a deal. Follow my lead now and if you’re still reluctant after today, then I’ll leave you alone. You have current sources in artifacts of Russian history, yes?”
“I do.” She knew exactly the expert they needed to consult.
“And if we find the corpse, I’m going to need your special skills to smuggle him into the United States. Just give me a chance.”
He stepped closer again, and she felt of the pull of a sun’s gravity.
She blinked. “All right.”
“Stellar,” he said in a California surfer accent.
She smiled. “So now what?”
“Our watcher has had enough time to become c
omplacent.” He closed his hand around hers.
She felt like blushing. And she had no doubt Richard knew the effect of his physical touch on her.
“How have you hidden yourself for six hundred years if you possess this kind of magnetic charm?”
“California helps. There are beautiful people everywhere there. No one like you, of course.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it. The brush of his lips against her skin only made things worse because it felt so good.
“Now we get our watcher to reveal himself.”
“How?”
“The easiest way would be to make him think you’re in danger.”
“What? Why would he care?”
“If he comes to your rescue, he’s a man with some morals. We might be able to discuss things rationally with him and his people. I told you, I hate blood feuds. I meant it.”
“What if he’s not a good guy?”
“Then he’s no doubt an enemy and I’ll have to take some precautions to protect us before we leave on our quest.”
“Precautions such as?”
“Leave that to me.” Richard led her toward the carousal, still quiet this early in the morning. “Tell me, what are the limits of your power? Can you survive being hit by a car, for instance?”
“If you’re thinking of pushing me in front of a car to draw him out, forget it.” She shook her head. He caught on fast to the possibilities inherent in her gift. “I probably could survive, but I won’t take the risk.”
“Why not?”
It wasn’t an accusation of cowardice, only a request for more information.
“What I do is psychic manipulation of molecules and atoms. The more molecules in motion, the harder it becomes to maintain the phantom state. The window I walked through in my office was unmoving. The air that I walked on moved a little, but I could handle that. But a car is going at a good speed and it’s heavy. So that means a lot of molecules—from me, from the car, from the air, from the driver of the car—going every which way. I could survive if it was a small car, but it would be unpleasant.”
“Unpleasant?”
“Like a million nasty needles against my skin. The more mass moving through me, the sharper the needles get.”
“Ah. Not a good idea, then.” He frowned. “Does that mean you can’t turn intangible in water?”
“I can if the water is relatively still. It becomes exponentially more difficult once it’s in motion. Water molecules are heavy. They slam into you.”
“Don’t I know it. I’ll have to teach you how to surf in the normal way, then.”
Teach her to surf?
He looked past the carousel. “Then we will do this in a time-honored fashion: a simple misdirection. Pretend as if I’m dragging you somewhere with a gun at your back. We’ll see if that draws out our follower.”
“Do you have a gun?”
“No.”
The whole situation seemed absurd but she was sure Richard wasn’t going to hurt her. And she really wanted to know if he was right and someone was following them.
“All right, Richard.”
“Stellar,” he said again.
Chapter Five
It was as if he was in the tunnel of a wave, enveloped by a wall of water, with one wrong move meaning a wipeout. This would be exhilarating or a disaster. That was the fun of it.
Richard grasped Marian’s arm as she pretended to protest and pulled her past the silent, unmoving carousal. He put one hand in his pocket, to signal that he had a weapon to whoever was out there.
Marian did her part, struggling in his hold but not too hard. Curls fell in front of her eyes as she continued the mock struggle. “It’s a good act,” he whispered in her ear.
She clenched her jaw tighter. “I’m trusting you.”
“I know.”
His angel. She was a bit overwhelmed by his presence but not intimidated. Not entirely certain she wanted to be with him, either. A nice challenge. He liked having her close, liked the smell of vanilla that clung to her, liked her intelligence and even her skepticism.
And her courage. This was not without danger.
The attack came from his left. He saw the man an instant before fingers clamped down on his wrist, yanking his hand out of his pocket.
Richard dropped his hold on Marian. She spun around to face them.
“Lady, get out of here. I’ll handle this,” the attacker said.
Richard sized up Marian’s rescuer. The man was nearly his own height, all solid muscle, dark hair, intense eyes and features that hinted at a mixed-race origin, possibly black plus some Asian heritage. Not a spy, he guessed. A soldier, and a good one.
“Your plan worked,” Marian said.
Richard grinned, wishing she sounded less surprised. “Believe me now?”
“Definitely.” She looked at the solider, who maintained the tight hold on Richard’s wrist. “Who are you?”
The man looked from him to Marian and back again. “I’ve been had. Fuck.”
“Only because you cared about her welfare,” Richard said. “There’s no shame in that.”
“You used her as a blind to get to me. You Genets don’t seem to give a damn about pulling innocent women into your schemes, do you?”
That explained where the soldier was from. The Phoenix Institute had opposed Edward’s scheme. They’d been part of his death. Richard curled his hand into a fist.
“I take it you’ve met my brother?”
“Only his corpse.”
Richard’s fist shot forward. Whatever else he’d done, Edward had been his brother.
But before Richard could make contact, his angel wrapped her hands around his chest from behind and pulled him off balance. He missed his opponent by several inches.
“I thought you wanted to talk to him and find out why he was following us,” she said. “I thought that was the point of getting him to show himself. You keep this up, we’ll all get arrested.”
How dare she? “He doesn’t want to talk. He’s made up his mind about who and what I am. And he insults my brother.” Odd. He hadn’t thought that would matter. But it did.
The soldier looked around, probably assessing whether someone had seen their altercation. Richard did the same, but so far, if anyone had seen, they didn’t plan to interfere.
Marian stepped between them.
“Lady, you shouldn’t be protecting him,” said the soldier.
“You were following us. And then when you reveal yourself, you get snide and mention his brother’s corpse. No wonder he took a swipe at you. Hell, I didn’t even know his brother and I wanted to hit you. What’s your deal?”
“I guess it does look bad on my end.” The soldier backed off several paces. “Let me start again. Miss Doyle, right? My name is Daz Montoya. I wasn’t following you, I was following him. We’ve had some trouble with his people and I was assigned to watch and make sure he didn’t cause any more.”
“So far, all he’s done is hire me for a perfectly legitimate job.”
If you could call looking for a corpse that didn’t belong to him and smuggling it into America a perfectly legitimate job.
I really like you, Angel.
“You were arguing with him,” Montoya said.
“We had a lively discussion about logistics,” she said.
The sunlight was in Montoya’s eyes. No doubt that was why Richard saw the red dot appear on the soldier’s chest before Montoya did.
Richard tackled Montoya and grabbed Marian’s waist. The three of them went down in a heap behind the carousel.
A bullet dinged off the sidewalk, raising small puffs of concrete dust.
Richard rolled free from their pile, moaned and grabbed the side of his chest. His fingers came up bloody. God’s eyes, he’d been so focused on the person stalking him that
he hadn’t considered someone else could be after Montoya.
“What’s going on?” Marian scrambled to her feet. He snatched her hand and pulled her back to the ground. “Who’s shooting at us?”
“Unknown sniper, after Montoya. Stay down, please, Angel.” Richard sat up, his back to the fence. Montoya was in a crouch, staring at the hotel windows, likely trying to locate the sniper.
“That bullet was aimed at me, Genet,” he said.
“I know. You’re welcome,” Richard said.
“I’m going to get us out of here,” Montoya said. “Be right back with transpo. Stay put.”
“Isn’t it dangerous to run out from cover?” Marian’s eyes were wide. But her voice was firm.
“Staying here and getting shot at is more dangerous. I can handle this. Stay down, miss. Besides, if he’s after me, you’ll be safer if I go.”
Richard liked Montoya a little already for trying to save Marian. He liked him even more now for protecting her. Edward might have misjudged these Phoenix Institute people. Which meant his brother had probably died needlessly. He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry about that. But he could do neither. Every breath he took was like a knife in his gut.
Marian, face white as a ghost, nodded at Montoya. “Okay.”
Montoya scrambled away, keeping structures in front of him as much as possible. No shots rang out. The sniper might have left already. Not that they could take that chance.
Marian turned to him and noticed the blood soaking through his T-shirt and into the gray hoodie.
“Oh my God, you’ve been shot! I’ll call 911.”
“No. Would you like to spend the next few hours in a police station? Very boring, and then we’ll have the questions as to why my bullet wound healed so quickly.” He inhaled, holding back a moan. He needed to use shorter words. The stabbing pain crested. He exhaled and felt his whole side turn to fire. That was his body, healing itself, and driving down some of the pain.
“You’re losing a lot of blood,” she said.
Yes. He wouldn’t fully heal if the bullet remained inside him, as he suspected it was. It would have to come out. Soon. He had an idea how. But not here.
“Slide off my sweatshirt and press it against the wound. It’ll slow the bleeding.”
Ghost Phoenix Page 5
