by Brenda Joyce
To get to her bedroom, she had to pass Tabby’s door.
Tabby’s bedroom door was closed. Sam always kept it shut. When Tabby had first gone back in time, abducted by Macleod, Sam had expected her to return. Every time she’d passed by her bedroom, she glanced inside, but Tabby hadn’t been there. It wasn’t like her to leave without saying goodbye. But no one could resist Fate, and Tabby’s was in the past. One day, Sam had shut her door, resolved to never open it again. In her heart, she knew she’d see Tabby again, sooner or later. There was simply no other possibility.
Just then, she wished it were sooner. Sam shoved her shoulder against the door and opened it, then turned on the lights. Tabby’s bedroom was classic and elegant, just like Tabby. It was as neat as her sister had been. The décor was blue and white, right down to the French Etoile design of the bedding and drapes. For one moment, she could see her sister reading in that bed and Tabby smiling warmly at her.
A huge pang went through Sam. “Okay, I miss you, sis,” Sam said, feeling foolish. “And I could really use your advice. Can you believe it? I need advice! So…where are you? How can I get to you? I’m getting antsy, Tabby. I really expected our paths to cross before now. Of course, you’ve only been gone for seven months, but it feels like years! And I do know you’re happy…This is so dumb, but in a few days I turn twenty-eight, and you have never missed my birthday.”
They’d always had amazing telepathy, from the time they were toddlers, only a year and a half separating them in age. But Tabby didn’t answer her now, and Sam didn’t expect her to. After all, she was centuries away. But she’d meant her words. If she had the ability to go back in time, she would visit her sister and talk her ear off. And she’d do it tomorrow. Enough was enough, really.
But which time should she go to?
Maclean had taken her back to the late thirteenth century. When Sam had gone back with Nick to look for Brie, they’d found Tabby in 1502 and she’d been two hundred years older.
Time-travel changed reality, big time.
While Sam considered herself and her sister perfectly human, they weren’t exactly ordinary. Tabby had the power of magic, and Sam was aware that her strength wasn’t average, not at all. And she’d always had a few kinetic abilities up her sleeve, too. The razor-edged DVD that she kept taped to her arm could be summoned to come down into her hand; she could will her stiletto out of her garter and move small objects around, too—like forks across the table. She could even push open the occasional door or gate. Her coworkers thought her truly skilled with weapons; Nick was probably the only one who knew she had a bit of extra-worldly help. But the interesting fact was that Tabby had lived for over two centuries, which made Sam wonder about the old family joke that a Rose woman only got better with age. That little jest had always been delivered with a wink.
Sam knew exactly how her sister would react to Ian Maclean, if they should ever meet. Tabby would feel sorry for him. She’d excuse his behavior, rationalize it all. She’d cook him a gourmet dinner, pour him really good wine, give him lectures on life, and top it off with a bear hug.
He wouldn’t be immune to her kindness. Everyone liked Tabby. Ian would probably act human around her for a change.
Sam couldn’t imagine that. She couldn’t imagine having a normal conversation with him. Even thinking it was a bad idea—and she didn’t want to have a conversation with him, not really. She closed the door, reminding herself of how selfish and screwed up he was. And he frigging owed her a car, not that she’d ever collect.
She limped into her own bedroom, which was painted brown and beige and was as starkly modern as Tabby’s was genteel. She stripped, showered and slipped on gray fleece shorts and a plain white T-shirt. All the while, she thought about how insanely he’d driven that taxicab during the car chase, which kept replaying in her mind. She was certain that he didn’t care if he died.
But then, he didn’t seem to care about anyone or anything, did he?
She knew she shouldn’t go there, but it was sort of sad. He was Aidan of Awe’s son. Ian had inherited so much white power from his father—which he wasn’t using. Or rather, he wasn’t using it as he should. He was using his powers to steal art and accumulate wealth. There wasn’t a trace of evil in him, even if his grandfather had been a demon, but there was so much indifference, as real as his shocking selfishness.
And then there was his pain.
Sam did not want to think about him on his hands and knees, crying. But she wasn’t ever going to forget the way he’d vanquished that demon. The scene was engraved on her mind, unfortunately.
Sam would like to think that he had vanquished the demon out of concern for the war on evil, but that was a helluva stretch. He’d vanquished John out of personal vengeance. He didn’t care about the war on evil. He’d pretty much proven that.
Her stomach was churning, and not because she was drinking on an empty stomach. She wished she had someone to talk to. Maclean remained an enigma. Tabby would encourage her to be soft and kind, which was not a good idea. Of that, Sam was certain.
Especially since he now had the page and she was determined to get it back.
The thought was barely formed when the downstairs buzzer sounded. Sam limped into the kitchen, curious. She never had uninvited callers. Everyone knew how much she protected her privacy.
“Hey, Sam, it’s me,” Kit said. “Can I come up?”
Kit never dropped by, but Sam was relieved to hear her voice. Kit was smart. She loved research. She was logical. Maybe she could help her figure Maclean out. “Come on up.”
Kit appeared with a grocery bag and a bottle of wine. “I heard about last night and today,” she said, setting the bag on the counter. She withdrew a bottle of red wine, a bag of baked soy chips and avocado and yogurt dip. She added mini soy dogs, and started to put a batch in the microwave. She was a health nut.
“By last night, do you mean the happy videos of me fending off Maclean’s sexual advances?”
Kit gave her a worried look. “That, too. But that’s not so odd—he’s a guy. I heard he went really nuts on a demon.”
“Yeah, he did.” Sam poured her a glass of wine and Kit dumped the chips into a bowl. They went back into the living room.
“You look really bad,” Kit said. “So what happened today?”
“I decided to chase him down, not realizing that he has a death wish. We had a car chase that ended with him driving off a rooftop.”
Kit sat down and said, “Don’t let him take you to the grave with him. He could have gotten you killed, for God’s sake!”
Sam had to smile. That would be a travesty, because she intended to die slaying demons. Then, carefully, she said with guilt, “He won this round. I feel really responsible for his having the page from the Duisean. I have to get it back.”
“It’s not your fault. But I don’t think he’ll hand it over to you.”
Sam laughed without mirth. “No, he won’t. He’s going to sell it to the highest bidder. And there’s a good chance that bidder will be someone far more evil than Hemmer. We don’t have the budget to even make a decent bid! How pissed is Nick?”
“It’s a good thing you skipped out.”
Sam sighed. “Maclean simply doesn’t care who’s good and who’s bad. He doesn’t care about anything except himself and his impossible sex drive.”
Kit blinked. Then she blushed.
Sam looked closely at her. She’d just embarrassed her. Although she was in her midtwenties, sometimes Kit acted like a virgin. “He’s into sex, Kit. And with me, he’ll use it as a weapon—if he can.”
“He’s really attractive,” Kit said.
Sam grimaced. “Until you get to know him.”
“And you do?”
She sobered. “No, I don’t. In fact, I bet no one knows him—and he wants it that way. But he’s in the game—a game we have to win.”
“Is that it? Or are you just a wee bit intrigued by all that brooding sex appeal?”
&n
bsp; “He’s hot but I am not intrigued.” Kit was staring skeptically now. “I shouldn’t want to know what makes him tick, except as an agent. I know that. But, Kit, I’m a bit shaken from what I saw last night. He went berserk with the demon. He was out of control, crazed. And afterward, he had a brief breakdown. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”
Kit’s eyes were wide. “You’re never moved by anything or anyone. Are you telling me you feel sorry for Maclean?”
It was hard not to be moved by a man as powerful as Maclean losing it to the point of tears, Sam thought. “I’m a pro, remember? I’d never allow myself to feel sorry for him! But he’s the number one player in this game, and the stakes are high. The more we know about him, the better.”
Sam had the funny feeling that she was lying. It was her job to figure him out, but he turned her on and he’d shaken her up. In fact, she almost felt confused. She looked at Kit.
“How can you not feel sorry for him, as a human being?” Kit asked.
“Kit, we’re trained to be objective on the job.”
“I read his file.”
Sam went still. She needed to know what Kit had discovered, but suddenly she wished she didn’t have to go there.
“Sam? Why do you have a funny look on your face?”
Dryly, wishing she could confide in Kit, she said, “The suspense is killing me.”
“What’s going on between you two?”
Sam tensed. “Nothing. I mean, he wants into my pants, and I said no. He’s enjoying the chase. Don’t they all?”
“Why would you say no?” Kit was puzzled. “He’s a stud, just the way you like them. I’ve never known you to refuse a hot guy and then dump him on your terms.”
Sam became uncomfortable. An image flashed of her in Maclean’s bed. They’d tear each other apart, use each other up, she thought. It would be off-the-charts passion. She knew it. “He’s under investigation, Kit. Why are we talking about my sexual habits?”
“We’re not. We’re talking about you and Ian Maclean, a near-immortal with a two-inch-thick agency file, filled with flags. A near-immortal who, I might add, is a suspect in the thefts of art worth hundreds of millions of dollars. A near-immortal who spent decades in demonic captivity. He should be one of us—but he’s not. But he’s not one of them, either. I think it’s worth talking about how you’re dealing with him. And if you have feelings, I think that’s worth looking at, too. And that is why I’m here.” She flushed. “I’m worried about you.”
Sam’s first reaction was to laugh. Kit was a rookie, and compared to her, as innocent as a civilian when it came to evil. But then she recalled Maclean’s attack on John and his reaction afterward. “You don’t have to worry about me.” But she hesitated, her gaze locked with Kit’s. “I won’t allow myself to wonder about him, to worry or feel compassion.”
“But are you?”
“I don’t know!” Sam stood and started to pace, but her ankle remained sore and she paused, wincing. “I will never become involved with Maclean. That would be suicide.”
Kit stood, too. “Wow, that was an extreme answer. How could becoming involved equal suicide?”
Sam couldn’t believe she’d spoken as she had; she never got involved. “I might jump in the sack with him sometime, on my terms, but that would be it.”
“Can you tell Forrester you want out and let someone else hunt the page? It might be best, Sam. I mean, that car chase was nuts. Even if you caught up to him, then what? He has more power than you—he can leap. How were you going to get the page in the end?”
So many images flashed, all of Maclean in the last twenty-four hours. In half of those memories, she was in his arms.
Kit had made an irrefutable point. Chasing him had been bad judgment. She never had bad judgment, but she hadn’t thought it through. Unless he’d died in the car chase, there’d been no possible way for her to accomplish her mission and retrieve the page.
Kit was right. She should bow out. Maclean was a challenge she didn’t need.
Except she never refused a challenge and he intrigued her as no one ever had. “I’m not bowing out,” she said. “I’m in until this is done. What’s in his file? What did they do to him?” Her heart slammed as she spoke.
Kit sighed. “I didn’t think you’d back down. I don’t know what they did to him. That’s not in the file. No one knows. What I do know is that he was abducted in 1436 and released in 1502. Do the math. He was held prisoner for sixty-six years.”
Her gut churned violently. “Only a near-immortal could survive that. No wonder he’s so scarred—and not just physically. No wonder he has no social skills.”
“So you are feeling sorry for him?” Kit’s eyes widened.
Sam stared at her. Was she going down that road to disaster? “There’s a damned temptation to feel sorry for him. How couldn’t there be? He was probably tortured to within an inch of his life. Demons love pain. And he was just a child, wasn’t he, when they first grabbed him?” The churning in her abdomen increased.
“He was nine years old. They kept him under a spell, Sam. He stayed nine years old the entire sixty-six years.”
God, it was even worse than she’d thought. Sam rubbed her forehead, which ached. Or was it her heart that ached now? “If I allow myself to feel sorry for him, I’m screwed. He’ll figure it out and use it against me, then laugh in my face.” But she had a bad feeling that it was too late.
Kit stood up and walked around the coffee table to stand beside her. “You’re so cool and detached about evil. I think it’s admirable. But how can you not feel sorry for him? I felt like crying just reading the bare facts about him. He’s been messed up. He was dealt a really bad hand.”
Sam winced. Kit was right. No one should have had to go through what he had. “What else is in the file?”
“It’s weird. Big Mama started building his file the moment we got her, in 2002. His file goes back exactly twenty-five years. And then there’s nothing, nada, zilch. It’s as if he appeared out of nowhere.”
“Maybe that was when he was released.”
“Maybe. If so, I do believe he’s supposed to be living in 1527, not 2009. That would make him a medieval man, not a modern one.”
“He can time travel. He can live in whatever time he wants.” But Sam tossed this new idea around. Maclean acted as contemporary as anyone.
“There are rules, Sam. The Masters are supposed to live in their time, not in someone else’s. They can leap time to save the Innocent, but then they need to go back to where they belong. It makes sense. Otherwise they’d encounter their own lives in the future, wouldn’t they?”
Sam had already surmised that. That would explain why Brie hadn’t dragged Aidan to the twenty-first century, and why Tabby had decided to stay in the past, too. “But he isn’t a Master. He clearly doesn’t play by their rules.”
Sam had barely gotten the words out when she felt him. She tensed, surprised. Maclean’s distinctive heat and power were nearby. Her buzzer sounded, and she knew he was downstairs.
Startled, she went to answer it. What did he want?
“Can I come up?” Ian Maclean said.
Sam found her composure, except that her heart seemed to be racing. “Only if you’re bringing me a check for fifty thousand dollars.”
CHAPTER SIX
SAM LOOKED at Kit, who said, “What does he want?”
“I have no idea. I don’t even know how he knows where I live.”
“Are you going to change?”
Sam smiled. She knew her tiny shorts and small T-shirt were inflammatory. That was fine with her. Let him suffer. She’d enjoy it. “I’m sure he can handle it.” Hadn’t she handled him with Becca, up close and really personal?
“Do you want him to seduce you?”
It crossed her mind that, in spite of the constant back and forth, he’d never turned on the full extent of his sexuality. Which might be good, because she wasn’t sure she could handle a full-scale assault. And
that was unsettling.
Before she could analyze that, the doorbell rang. Sam turned and opened it. Maclean smiled at her with his usual arrogance, looking damned good and somehow elegant in fitted and very frayed jeans, Gucci loafers and a sweater he’d paid hundreds of dollars for.
There was no way he could belong in 1527, she thought. He looked like what he was—a rich, conceited, jet-setting playboy. But that didn’t diminish his appeal.
And then she realized he hadn’t suffered a single scratch from the car chase. She was disbelieving. “You look like you just finished brunch in Soho.”
He didn’t answer. His eyes widened as he took in her black eye and wrapped ankle.
Then his gaze slammed down her body again, this time with heated male interest. “What happened?” He sauntered inside.
“You should know,” Sam said, closing the door. “You happened.”
“If I hit ye in the eye, I dinna recall, an’ my memory is good.”
Sam wondered if he thought he’d lost so much control last night that he’d hit her and couldn’t remember it. “I got the black eye chasing you the wrong way up an exit ramp,” she said wryly. “And I got the sprained ankle fighting with a broken heel last night, while you watched.”
His gaze moved over her T-shirt and her obviously bare breasts beneath. “Ye saw a doctor.”
She felt the moment his body heat went up a few more degrees, because her body responded in kind. She made sure to keep her tone casual. “What’s the big deal? And who taught you how to drive, anyway?”
He slowly lifted his gaze. “I taught myself.”
“Cars don’t fly.”
His mouth curved. “I’ll try to remember, next time we’re fender to bumper.”
His words washed through her, as soft and sexy in tone as that cashmere sweater had to be on his skin.
“Are you always a complete horndog?”
“Ye want it that way.”
She stared. His gaze was blinding and intense. Maybe she did. She sure expected his bad-boy behavior now. But she thought about his scars and the sixty-six years of captivity he’d endured. No one would be normal after that.
