Dark Lover
Page 21
Sam’s mind raced. Ian should be in 1527, the year the monk had come from. If he went back, as the laws of the universe required, he’d grow old in the sixteenth century and the next centuries following it.
But he sure as hell wouldn’t be in 2009—not for a really long time.
“We know that Ian blames Aidan for everything. We understand why. Aidan blames himself still. And that’s a wound Aidan lives with. It’s the one blemish on our life.”
Sam sat up straighter. “Why are you telling me this?”
Brie hesitated. “Because Ian is with you, isn’t he?”
She was shaken. There was no such thing as coincidence—he was in her life, now, for a reason…“What have you seen?”
Brie smiled. Sam felt it. “Sam, you’re on the verge of fulfilling your destiny.”
“What the hell does that mean?” She was bewildered. “I came into my destiny long ago. I’m a Slayer.”
“Sam, your destiny is a bit greater than that.”
Sam stared at the table in the hallway, thinking about Maclean. “Could you be more cryptic?”
“I can’t tell you your future. It’s not allowed and you know it.”
Sam sighed. “Why haven’t you gotten in touch with me?”
“Because I have my destiny, and I’ve been awfully busy fulfilling it.” Sam felt another smile. Brie had changed so much. She felt so calm and deep, so secure, stable, womanly. “You’re coming into your destiny. This is the way it’s meant to be. I know it’s probably been hard, being left alone, as you have.”
“I’m fine.” Sam was silent, certain that Brie had more to say, but she didn’t speak. “I’m on a case, Brie. I work for Nick now. Remember Moray?”
Brie made a sound. “I’d actually put him behind us. He was a true nightmare, trying to destroy his own son, with me in his way.”
“He’s got henchmen running around the city, looking for the page of illusion—a page from the Duisean. I’m up to my neck in the dirty, and so is Maclean.”
“Thank the gods Moray is dead. But I don’t like the idea of his cronies taking up where he left off.” Brie sounded uneasy. “Can you handle this, Sam?”
“I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to wait and see. What do you know about a monk from the early 1500s? A really powerful, really evil, demon monk with a French accent?” After all, Brie had lived in the monk’s time.
“You must mean the monk of Carlisle.” Tension filled Brie’s tone. “I remember him well. He is the kind of demon no one could ever forget.”
“He’s here in New York, and he’s got a lot of power.”
“Moray had some of the powers that belonged to the Brotherhood, Sam. He confessed that to me—bragged, actually. You know, don’t you, that the Duisean, which means the Book of Power, was given to the Masters eons ago by the Ancients, to protect humanity from destruction. Every power known to mankind is in that book. But it was stolen long ago. Moray boasted that he’d hidden some pages in your time—in New York.”
“I know, Brie. We debriefed you, remember? For me, it was only seven months ago.” But she shivered, thinking of such power in the wrong hands.
“The monk was terribly powerful in his time. He controlled evil in the sixteenth century, Sam.”
“Great,” Sam muttered. She was chilled, thinking of how he’d turned her own weapons against her.
“There were terrible battles between him and various Masters, including Aidan. He left a wake of devastation wherever he went. He ruled Carlisle and the Lowlands for a long time. Highlanders like Aidan were hurt. Some were destroyed.” She paused. “I can’t recall what happened to the monk in the end,” she said, sounding puzzled. “But it might be recorded in the history books.”
Sam stood up. Even if Brie knew what happened to the monk, it was against every rule to tell her. She’d have to play this one out. “He said he’s from 1527. I guess that’s his heyday. Is he still alive in 2009 or just here from the past?”
“I don’t know,” Brie said. “I wish I could be of more help.”
“Maybe you can be.”
“Sam, I’m an old woman now. And it’s not my place to interfere. It’s forbidden. This is your time.”
“Yippee,” Sam murmured, but she was thinking of Ian now.
“I’m almost afraid to ask, but how is Ian?”
“He’s got the page of illusion. He’s planning on selling it to the highest bidder, instead of turning it over to us. He’s basically a not-quite-mortal train wreck.”
Brie was silent for a moment. “No one should have had to endure what he did, Sam. I hope you can go easy on him.”
Sam hesitated. “Don’t faint. Not only am I giving him a break, I’m backing him up.”
Sam felt how pleased Brie was.
“Thank you,” she finally said, softly. “He has a good heart.”
“Is that wishful thinking? Because I can’t decide if he’s heartless or not. His mood swings are amazing.”
“I know he’s good. Don’t turn away from him, Sam. He needs you. He needs all the help and kindness he can get—almost exactly the way his father did, so long ago.”
Brie had always been kind, she’d just been so shy and retiring, it hadn’t been obvious. But Ian was her stepson, so of course she’d believe in him. Sam thought about Tabby. Her sister would also encourage her to be kind and supportive of Maclean. But Brie hadn’t said a word about Tabby. Dread churned in her. “I have to ask. Is Tabby around?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Brie cried. “Tabby is alive and well. They live in a beautiful home they built about two hundred years ago, not far from Blayde’s ruins. And they’re constantly surrounded by generations of Macleod men and Rose women.”
Sam started. There’d be more Rose women to carry on the fight. She was so thrilled. “Then why hasn’t she called me, Brie?”
“Every Rose woman has a destiny, Sam. She’s living hers. We’re waiting for you to live yours—so you can join us.”
SAM SLOWED as she approached Ian’s bedroom suite. She was thoughtful now.
The conversation with Brie had warmed her, but it had dismayed her, too. She’d suspected that Brie and Tabby might be around, but she’d tried not to think about it. Well, there was no avoiding thinking about the facts now. Her sister and cousin were old and happy women, who’d lived long and full lives. Sam still missed them as she’d last seen them, with Brie being twenty-six, and Tabby two years her senior. It crossed her mind that in two more days, on her birthday, they could all be together. But her sister and her cousin were old ladies now. What kind of reunion would it be? Would she be downing Bellini martinis while they sipped tea? She’d tell stories about sex and the street, while they showed her photograph albums? God, it didn’t feel right—or fair.
Sam knew there was no going back to the days when they all fought evil together, when they were a young, reckless and fearless trio of powerful females and their R & R was a wild night in the Hamptons, not babysitting the grandkids. Damn it, it made her sad. She shouldn’t be whining. She was happy for them, she truly was. Brie and Tabby were fulfilled, and at the end of their lives. Hers was only just beginning—unless the monk of Carlisle was too hot for her to handle.
But now, she wanted to go back in time more than ever—and not just to find the Duisean or what was left of it.
Sam halted outside of Ian’s suite. If she went back, she’d find her sister as she’d last seen her. Even if it was only for a moment, it would be such a wonderful reunion. Didn’t they deserve one final time together, the way it had been? Tabby had left so suddenly.
Damn it, she suddenly felt lonely.
She looked around Ian’s high-end home. How could she be lonely? She was on assignment. She was always on assignment! But this time, it was somehow different. She knew Fate had cast its net for her. Brie had alluded to as much. That was all about Maclean and the tragedy that was his life.
Ian had been hurt while trying to heal Gerard. He was, just possibly,
in over his head.
She could never abandon him now, not when she knew the score.
And Nick knew what she had to openly admit to herself now. She’d been really scared when he’d passed out. He’d seemed more dead than alive. She’d been terrified when she’d found the medics shocking his heart back to life.
She thought of what the monk had done to Ian and the extent of her anger surprised her. She had to nail the bastard. There had to be justice, this one time. She knew firsthand how elusive justice could be but she boiled with the need to bring him down. She realized she wanted to avenge Ian.
And she did not want to admit what that might mean.
Sam cursed. The sensation of being lonely was gone. She was too busy to be lonely, too involved.
She refused to consider that. Instead, her priority was recovering the page for Nick and CDA. And now she had the excuse of going back to the sixteenth century to find the other lost pages. Come hell or high water, she was going back, and not just to hunt the lost powers of the Duisean.
But their current dilemma came first. Ian had apparently regained consciousness and had been moved upstairs to his own bed. His vital signs were normal, or so she understood, and he was recovering as only a near-immortal could. According to the medics, he’d simply overdone it when healing Gerard. Healers who weren’t proficient could actually destroy themselves by transferring too much of their white power to the injured. It was one more thing to worry about. The good news was, Ian didn’t like healing. She didn’t think he’d be so swift to offer up that magic again.
He’d healed her.
She’d been his first, and she hadn’t even been at death’s door.
Sam crossed the living room of the suite, trying not to acknowledge the tingle of elation that brought her. She reminded herself that he was complicated. Any number of reasons could have motivated him—including his hatred of evil and the need for her as backup. It didn’t mean he cared. It did not mean that he was involved. Maclean would never care about a woman. She had to be careful.
Sam halted on the threshold of his bedroom.
Ian sat in bed, against a number of big pillows, the covers at his waist. He was bare-chested. His pectoral muscles were barely dusted with hair, and the cross he wore on the leather cord remained nestled in the hollow of his collarbone. Every time he breathed, his tight six pack rippled. He looked sexy enough to make her mouth water.
With the most recent crisis averted, she had the intense urge to join him in that bed.
But Jan was with him. Incredibly, she sat on the bed by his hip, smiling and talking quietly to him. Ian lifted his gaze and sent Sam a direct look.
By now, Sam was used to his changing gears in mere heartbeats. He’d been furious and desperate an hour ago, then horrified over Gerard’s near murder. Now, he was steaming.
But so was she.
Ian leaned back against the pillows. “Still here?”
“You bet. Gee, I hope I’m not interrupting.” Sam looked at Jan. “Why are you still here?”
Jan didn’t move off the bed. “Nick asked me to debrief Ian. But he hasn’t been very cooperative…yet.” She smiled at him. “So what happened when you got back from Hemmer’s tonight, Ian?”
Sam was perplexed. “I thought this place was our version of Candid Camera.”
Jan glanced at her. “Someone disabled all of our feeds.”
Sam hid a smile and met Ian’s glance. His mouth curled. “I can’t imagine who could or would do such a thing.”
“We want to help, Ian. We don’t want to see civilians hurt or murdered in this war. It would really help if you could fill in a few blanks for us.”
“Ask her.” Ian stared at Sam.
Jan glanced at Sam. “Sam will file her report first thing tomorrow, or maybe even tonight. We can help you fight off the monk. Why won’t you accept our help?”
“I don’t need yer help. And I won’t repay ye with the page.” He suddenly threw the covers off and got out of the bed.
Sam inhaled. He was stark naked.
He gave her an arrogant smile. “I beg yer pardon.”
Jan made a sound.
Sam looked at her. Jan stood. While she wasn’t blushing, she was certainly checking the entire package out. Only a blind woman could ignore such male beauty and virility. Ian walked past her, clearly indifferent to the fact that he had not a stitch of clothing on, disappearing into his dressing room.
Sam crossed her arms.
Jan looked at her. “Don’t worry. He’s not my type.” But she was pale now. She’d seen his back.
Jan was now feeling sorry for him; Sam was sure of it.
Jan started from the room. “I am going to debrief him, Sam, after he gets dressed. You can stay, if you want. But I can get more accomplished if you leave.”
Sam decided to ignore her. She walked past her, following Maclean into a large dressing room and walk-in closet.
He’d stepped into his jeans, and she saw that he hadn’t bothered with underwear. He gave her a suggestive look as he jerked the zipper up.
She swallowed. All was forgotten. The video and his reaction to it, his destruction of his own home theatre, his nastiness and anger. “Where are you going?”
“Downstairs.”
Jan would be waiting for him. “Why don’t you give her what she wants? I mean info.”
He stared and there was no mistaking what he wanted. “I don’t feel like talking with Jan. I need a drink.”
She bet he did. So did she. It had been a long night.
Sam slowly wet her lips, which felt full. She knew what would happen if she stayed. She wanted it to happen. “Okay.”
“Did I ask ye to join me?” He was wry.
“Yeah, you did, with those remarkable gray eyes.”
“Ye just gave me a compliment?”
“You know how hot you are.”
His gaze held hers. “But that’s the point—I’m no boy,” he murmured.
Jan appeared on the dressing room’s threshold and looked back and forth between them. “I need half an hour before you two go at it.”
Ian seemed amused. The facade was back. “In case ye’ve forgotten, I’m not one of your agents. I’m not answering any questions.” He shrugged on a T-shirt.
Jan stiffened. “Sam? You debrief him, then.” She left.
Sam saluted her. She didn’t take orders from Jan, and she never would. She loved that Ian had dismissed her as he had.
They walked out of the dressing room and then his suite. His heat was scalding behind her. There was so much power and so much virility. But she was surprised when he paused at the elevator, clearly intent on using it. He’d avoided it the other night. As the door opened and they stepped inside, she tried not to look at him. From the corner of her eye, she watched his hands. He didn’t toy with the T-shirt collar. He kept both of his hands in the front pockets of his jeans.
He was in control, she thought. After everything that had happened, she didn’t know how he’d managed it, but he’d gone from a skid on black ice to all-wheel drive on packed dirt. She was amazed.
He led her into a salon she hadn’t seen before and paused before an intercom. “Gerard, can you bring Ms. Rose and I something light to eat?”
“Yes, sir,” Gerard’s voice replied.
Ian gave her a sexy look and went to a red marble wet bar. “I can open up a fine wine, or would ye prefer something else?”
Sam walked over to the bar, sliding onto a leather bar stool with antique brass legs. “That scotch looks good.”
He smiled. “It is good.”
He never smiled like that, without pain, anger or mocking sarcasm. As if he realized the slip of humanity, he turned away, beginning to pour two drinks. Shaken, Sam said, “I just spoke to Brie. As it turns out, she’s in Edinburgh with your father.”
He handed her a glass. “I know.”
She hesitated. “Do you visit?”
“No.” He sipped, apparently unperturbed.
He drained his drink. “Will ye visit?”
“I don’t know. She’s old and gray now.” Sam hesitated. “It would make me sad.”
He started, his gaze slamming to hers.
Sam felt like a fool. Where had that stupid comment come from? She was big bad Sam, not into self-pity parties. “She’s had an incredible life. There are children and grandchildren. She’s happy and I’m happy for her.”
He poured himself another drink. “But ye’d visit if ye could go back.”
Sam looked at her scotch. “Yeah, I would.” She looked up. Their gazes met.
“Have Nick send ye,” he said abruptly.
Nick wanted her to work Ian and locate the page, at least. Sam finished her drink and handed him her glass for a refill. Their fingers brushed. She shivered, tightening. Tonight was going to be off the charts, she thought, and she was glad she hadn’t brought up the sore subject of the monk to blow it. She smiled slowly at him.
He smiled back.
“I do have a question,” she said. “Why haven’t you tried to use the power of the page of illusion to fight our enemies?”
He was unsmiling now. “Ye like warring with evil. I don’t.”
“You lured the demon off the Internet so you could kill him for preying on kids. I think it was revenge. I think it was about what they did to you.” The moment she’d spoken, she wished she hadn’t. They were having a quiet drink. It had been a hellish day. He was hot and so was she. Sex was imminent. She didn’t want to awaken the tiger.
But he didn’t take the bait. He sipped. “Ye can think whatever ye wish, Sam. I only want sex. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, from that day in Oban.”
Her tension was different now, as if it were dismay. But that made no sense. Sex was all she ever wanted from a guy, anyway. Wasn’t it? “And now you have what you want, don’t you?”
“I have everything I want,” he said, nodding at the expensively furnished room.
Sam drained her scotch, suddenly feeling empty and deflated. Wanting more from Maclean was insane. “Is the page safe, Ian?”