“Just do it,” Jessica had said. “Do it for me.”
Bree had. The atelier had burned to the ground that night. Somehow Jessica had known and had saved the collection. Unfortunately, she hadn’t saved herself.
* * *
Mark rapped on the windshield, making Bree jump. Jonathan woke with a whimper. The door opened and the doctor leaned in. “Is he awake enough to drink something?”
Bree sat Jonathan up. Mark had a half-pint carton of chocolate milk and was crushing pills into it, using just his fingers to pulverize each tablet to a fine dust. Bree blinked at that, stunned by the strength in his long, fine fingers. Then he pinched the top of the carton tight and shook it up before sticking a straw in the top and giving it to Bree. “Make sure he drinks it all.”
“What did you put in it?”
“Mostly iron. His count is extremely low. It should help.”
“For how long?”
“Long enough to get where we’re going. I know you said you didn’t want to go to Los Angeles, but it’s his best chance.” His grim expression was back. “The clinic there will have the equipment I need for conclusive tests.”
“Los Angeles?” It had been the scene of so much unhappiness in her life.
His tone gave no room for argument. “It’s where we’ll all be the safest.”
Bree’s heart pounded with alarm. Would they make it that far? She tried to keep her voice level as she guided the straw to Jonathan’s mouth. “That’s a long way.”
“We can share the driving till my friend can arrange a plane or a chopper to pick us up.”
“Why not just get a regular flight?” But she knew the answer the moment she said it. After the incident at Gleeford, the police wanted them for questioning. They’d never make it through an airport.
“By car we can stay off the beaten track.” He turned to look at her and Jonathan curled up in the backseat. “Buckle up. After my car, this ride is going to suck.”
Bree got Jonathan settled into the car seat. Mark got in the driver’s seat and turned the key. The station wagon sputtered to life with a cough like a pack-a-day smoker. She couldn’t help smiling at his disgusted expression. “It’s an honorable man who will abandon his Lexus in the service of the greater good.”
Mark flinched. “I’m not abandoning her. I’m keeping her out of harm’s way. Her paint’s already been wounded.”
They rode in silence for a few minutes as Bree got the rest of the chocolate milk into Jonathan. For all Mark’s complaining, the wagon moved at a good clip.
Mark caught her gaze in the rearview mirror. “Did you ever meet my friend Jack Anderson?” The question sounded wistful.
“The one who took the dress. Yes. He seemed nice.” And then he’d died. Another sad story.
“How did he come to have it?” Mark asked. “If you don’t mind. Like I said, he was a friend.”
She stroked Jonathan’s hair. He’d fallen asleep clutching the plastic dinosaur Mark had given him. The little toy snarled back at her with painted white teeth. If you want to protect a treasure, ask a dragon.
She knew who her treasure was. She still wasn’t completely sure about the guardian. They’d only just met. “Like I said, these aren’t all my tales. I don’t have the right to say everything.”
But Bree had already started to tell her story. Now she felt the rest of it pressing against her, wanting to get out. She was at a crossroad where secrets weren’t helping her anymore.
“Jessica gave him the dress for safekeeping,” she said. “The bodice was covered with the Marcari diamonds.”
“I know,” Mark said softly. “But it wasn’t just the diamonds they were after, was it?”
“No,” she replied with a sigh. This was it, the secret she had sworn to keep. But if something happened to her on the road, who would ever know the truth? Mark was a mystery, but had done his best to keep them alive. Maybe she did owe him some trust. “It was all about the book.”
So she told Mark about the day his friend had come to meet with Jessica, and how Jessica had given her the journal. Bree had taken it home, as Jessica had asked, but grown more and more uneasy as the night went on. Caution was one thing, but Jessica had clearly been afraid.
She’d finally given in to her nerves and called the atelier.
“It’s Bree,” she’d said as soon as her boss picked up.
“Take the book and leave town,” Jessica had said in a rush. “Find Jack and give the book to him. Don’t give it to anyone else. No one, do you understand? Only Jack.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s gone.” Jessica’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “Now they’ve come for it. They’re here now. Jack will know what to do. Please, Bree, find him. It’s important. It’s up to you.”
Jessica’s voice had risen in a wild, enraged cry that finished in a shriek of pain. Then the line went dead.
Bree had left town with her baby before first light. The next morning, news of the tragic death of designer Jessica Lark had been buried by a media storm about the surprise discovery of Prince Kyle’s illegitimate son. The DNA reports were fiction. The timing looked like clever manipulation of the press. The public, and most officials on the case, never gave Lark’s supposed death by fire a second thought.
* * *
Bree was panting when she finished, but she was done with tears. All she felt now was a hot, red ache in her chest. She closed her eyes, shutting out the late afternoon sun that sank lower on the horizon. They’d made it back to the coast and were nearing the Oregon border.
Jonathan nestled against her side, holding tight.
“A sketchbook,” Mark mused. “Did you ever call Jack about it? Did you ever tell him what was in it?”
“No. I had no idea where he was. I could have tracked him down, but I had other things on my mind. The moment I tried to leave New York, the scandal magazines started running stories about Jonathan’s paternity. Suddenly the paparazzi were everywhere, hunting for me. Skip private detectives and surveillance cameras, those photographers are worse than bloodhounds.”
“What about the police? Did you go to them?”
Bree gave a choked laugh. “They demanded I turn over the book. When I phoned a few days later to check the names and badge numbers of the detectives I’d talked to, it turned out they didn’t exist. Right after that, they caught us in the airport. I’m pretty sure that call was what gave my location away. They were tracking the calls I made from my cell phone. I got a disposable one after that.”
“Is that when your pursuers tried to drug you? At the airport?”
“Yes. And this is where it gets even more confusing. I overheard a few of their conversations when they thought I was knocked out.” Fresh anxiety made her scrunch farther into the station wagon’s lumpy seat, pulling her son close. “They weren’t just after the book, or Jonathan. Not one or the other. They wanted both.”
Mark met her gaze again in the mirror. He had his sunglasses back on, so she couldn’t read his eyes, but his mouth was a firm, uncompromising line. “They won’t get him, Bree. Not Ferrel. Not whatever is making Jonathan sick. Nothing gets past me.”
Her gut uncoiled a degree. She desperately needed that reassurance. She’d held it together, all on her own, for far too long. She wanted to thank him, but remembered he hated that.
“Did they ever find out who killed Jack Anderson?” she asked in a small voice. “I wonder if they thought he had Jessica’s sketches.”
“They were caught.” Mark’s voice was firm. “They were brought to justice and the bridal dress was returned to Amelie. I gave it to her myself.”
That surprised her. Who is Mark Winspear, anyway?
“Now there is one thing you must tell me.” This time his voice was softer. “Where is the book?”
; Bree’s mouth fell open. She’d promised Jessica never to give it away.
Chapter 11
The moment Mark asked the question, he was distracted by what he saw in the rearview mirror. Like a blip on the horizon, a silver Escalade ghosted far behind them. By the fiery hells.
“I don’t have the book anymore,” Bree said. “I had another bag, one I lost when they kidnapped us.”
It was just more bad news. He swore under his breath. Would she have really lost something so important to her freshly murdered mentor? Mark clenched his teeth, wondering if she had lied—but this wasn’t the moment to question her about it.
“Our friends are following us again,” he said.
Bree turned to look out the back window. “How do you know it’s them?”
Mark’s beast stirred, wanting to fight the men who threatened the woman—my woman, the beast whispered—and her young. “A hunter always feels his prey.”
“Aren’t we the ones doing the running?”
“Not forever. My turn will come.”
Bree sagged back into her seat, looking small. “We changed cars. How did they find us?”
Mark swore softly, remembering what she’d said about her call to the police. “Because I’m an idiot. Do you have a cell phone?”
“Yes.” She’d bought a new one when she’d hit the road again. The old one had been dead for months. “It’s just a burner. I keep it switched off, though.”
“Take the battery out.”
“What?” Bree fumbled for her cell.
“It might be a burner, but somehow they’re tracking it. Maybe they got the number from a call you made. They’ve got the technical skills to do it.”
Bree swore under her breath.
Mark gave a rueful grimace. “Keeping it switched off doesn’t always work, but if there’s no battery, there’s no signal.”
“What about yours?”
He handed her his cell. “This one, too.”
She stared at the batteries in her hand. “How do we call for help?”
“We’re on our own.” He struggled to keep the strain from his voice. “We can’t make a call without giving ourselves away. Not on our own phones, anyway.”
“Great. Just great.”
The Columbia River was catching the fiery sunset, flashing back pinks and golds. Despite the beauty, his heart felt cold. Isolated. He could fight alone, but he had grown used to having the Company at his back, and Kenyon always there whenever he dialed the phone. Perhaps he was not such a hermit after all.
More important, he had Bree and Jonathan in his care—and with them, whatever traces remained of the secrets Lark had tried to pass on to Jack Anderson. He had to get them to safety, for far too many reasons. His friends had died for what was in that book.
Bree was the only one who knew what was in it. And she knows more than she’s saying.
And in the meantime, he had to come up with a plan. Well, this wasn’t the first time he’d had to play fox and outwit the hounds. His eyes narrowed as he hit on an idea.
“I know how to lose them,” Mark said, stepping on the gas. “We just have to keep our distance for a while.”
They drove another three hours, Mark biding his time with his questions. Centuries of practice had made him a stealthy hunter, and nothing would be gained by spooking Bree, who was already crawling out of her seat with anxiety.
They arrived in Depoe Bay well after dark. The town advertised itself as the world’s smallest harbor and seemed to cater to seaside tourists. Mark parked at a motel, gathered up their things and led the way to another place three long streets away.
“We should keep going,” Bree said, carrying a sleeping Jonathan. “I could drive if you need to rest.”
“I don’t need rest,” Mark said gruffly. “We need a different car. This is where we lose our tail.”
She looked around uncertainly. “How? I don’t see any car rental places around here.”
“Patience,” he urged. “I’ve done this before.” He’d pulled a similar trick during the French Revolution, but she didn’t need to know the particulars.
They went in the front of one hotel, through the lobby and out the back exit. A few minutes later, they were walking up the driveway to a slightly shabby motel, so bland and average that it looked like the set for a Stephen King horror story. Mark shouldered open the glass door, holding it open while Bree carried Jonathan inside. He then strolled up to the desk, renting a room for Mr. and Mrs. Anderson and their son, Kyle, freshly arrived from the nearby bus depot and looking for an inexpensive seaside holiday.
* * *
By the time he’d finished, Bree almost believed him. He lied with charm and ease, and that set her on edge. He saved me. He held me while I cried for Jessica. And he wants her book. Could he have wanted it all along? Was he just setting her up? She was tired and confused, unable to separate what was real and what was the paranoid babbling of her fear. The dark night outside pressed in through the lobby doors. Not far away, the Escalade was hunting them.
Mark turned, ushering her to the elevator. Wordlessly, Bree followed.
Room number six was one story up and faced the pool at the back. Despite the decor needing a push into the twenty-first century, it was clean and quiet. There were two double beds. Bree laid Jonathan down on the one closest to the door. The boy was still dead to the world.
“He’s slept since you gave him medicine,” she said.
“Good.”
She rounded on him, giving vent to her anxiety. “I may not be a doctor, but I know sleeping pills aren’t good for children.”
He lifted a brow. “I didn’t give him any.”
“Then why is he still asleep?”
Mark sat down on the bed next to Jonathan, feeling his pulse and the temperature of his skin. The boy had been feverish earlier, but he was cool to the touch now. Almost too cool, Bree thought uneasily. She watched the doctor carefully, trying to see past his professional mask. Mark’s face didn’t give anything away.
“His pulse and breathing are good. I don’t see anything here to be alarmed about. Children can sleep very deeply when they’ve been ill. It’s nature’s way of recharging their batteries.”
She folded her arms protectively across her chest. “Are you sure?”
“I am, for now. Rest in a proper bed is the best thing, at least while we prepare for the next leg of the journey.” He put a hand on Jonathan’s head for a moment, a gesture that seemed almost paternal. “I’ll watch him carefully.”
“Did you ever have children?”
His head jerked up in surprise. Their gazes met, and his look was guarded. She’d struck a sore spot. Nevertheless, he answered. “A long time ago. I had two sons.”
His tone was like a slamming door, raising the fine hair on the back of her neck. His bitterness curled through the room like a wisp of dragon’s breath. He got up, pacing to the sliding glass door that looked over the pool. “That incident in the airport—you said you were given a knockout drug with a syringe.”
“Yes.”
“Were you sick afterward?”
She thought back. “I was sick to my stomach. It felt like the flu.”
“For how long?”
“A couple weeks. Hard to say. I was running for my life at the time, so I wasn’t really paying much attention to aches and pains.”
He crossed the room to her with quick steps, catching her hand and drawing her to the pool of light thrown by the bedside lamp. One hand cupped her chin as he turned her face to the light, his dark eyes searching every inch of her features. He tipped back the shade impatiently. The bulb dazzled her, making the dim room seem cavelike by comparison.
“What?” she asked, a vague sense of threat gathering around her.
“Open your mouth.”
She obeyed as he tilted her head back for a better angle. The only comment he made was a considering grunt, then he took her pulse. “You’re healthy enough.”
“Were you expecting something else?”
“It was just an idea.”
He looked down into her eyes, serious. Some of the gruffness had left him, replaced by a concern that was easy to read. It was what she needed to see right then, giving her courage.
“What idea?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “Something in the shot. But you’re fine.”
She bit her lip, wanting to scream in frustration.
“Hey,” he said gently, touching her cheek.
“Jonathan’s like a piece of me that broke loose and is suddenly on its own,” she said, her voice rough. “It’s not under my own skin where I can protect it. It drives me crazy.”
Mark gave a slow nod. “That’s what children do to you.”
“Yours?”
“Hush.” He leaned forward, his dark, liquid eyes that much closer. She’d been aware of them under those sunglasses all day. They’d been like a veiled weapon, but they were out in full force now, shadowed by long, dark lashes. No man had a right to lashes like that.
Bree swallowed, telling herself they were an accident of genetics, not an excuse to lose her wits. And still they affected her like one too many glasses of wine. But she didn’t drink anymore. That way led to danger.
Danger. Maybe his mouth was the culprit. For once, it wasn’t pressed into an impatient line. It was full and soft and right there, just inches from hers. She already knew what it tasted like, and her belly twisted in anticipation. She wanted to taste him again but couldn’t. Jonathan was fast asleep, but she had no business taking her attention from him for one second.
But there wasn’t another moment to think of that. Mark’s lips were on hers, hard and yielding at the same time, exactly the way a man was supposed to be. A perfect combination of gentleness and command. He caught the fullness of her lower lip with his teeth, tugging, demanding entry.
Good sense said she should pull back, end the moment. Things were complicated enough without adding a lover to the mix. It just wasn’t wise.
Possessed by An Immortal Page 10
