Dragon Warrior (Midnight Bay)

by Janet Chapman

  “You broadcast a Mayday? Saying what . . . that there was a naked, laughing woman swimming in the Gulf of Maine?” she asked, hoping to make light of what he was saying, as she sure as hell couldn’t comprehend it.

  He glowered at her. “You of all people know the symptoms of hypothermia: mental confusion, the sensation of warmth, euphoria.”

  “But a person can’t survive more than an hour—two hours tops—in water that cold, Trace.” Maddy also stood up. “And you’d been swimming around in it for what? Half an hour yourself? Have you considered that maybe you were the one experiencing confusion? You probably mistook a seal or a porpoise for a person at first, and only thought it was a naked woman once the cold started getting to you.”

  “I’m trained not to let the cold get to me. I could have swum the ten miles to shore if I’d had to. Dammit, Maddy, I need you to believe me!” He started to say more, but suddenly turned away and stood rigid, staring at the river.

  Maddy had no idea what to say, either.

  Or do.

  Or even think.

  “And because of my Mayday,” he said, his back still to her, “now there’s a rumor going around town that poor Trace Huntsman must have snapped over in Afghanistan, because he called the Coast Guard to come rescue a mermaid.”

  “And did you snap in Afghanistan?” she asked softly. “Is that why you came home, Trace, because they sent you home?”

  He turned to her, and Maddy nearly cried out at the pain in his eyes. “I took myself out of the game before I snapped.” Apparently in an attempt to appear indifferent, he gave a shrug, though Maddy knew he was anything but. “If they chose to believe my beating a man nearly to death meant I was losing it, who was I to argue with them?”

  She took a shuddering breath. “And did you . . . when you . . . had you reached some point of no return, Trace?”

  “I beat the bastard because he deserved it.” He slashed the air with his hand. “And that’s all I’m saying on the subject, so let’s get back to my mermaid.”

  “But—”

  “I returned to the same spot the very next day,” he continued, “and have gone there every day since, except today.” His hands balled into fists again. “And I saw her three more times: last Thursday, again Friday, and then again yesterday.” He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. “Yesterday she surfaced not ten feet from my boat and hit me square in the chest with this,” he said, holding his hand toward her.

  Maddy stared at the tiny metal object.

  “I’ve decided it’s a coin,” he said, taking her wrist to lift her hand, and pressing the object into her palm. “An ancient coin made of some metal I don’t recognize. I spent today at the library searching the stacks and online, but I wasn’t able to find anything like it. I couldn’t find anything resembling the symbol stamped on it, either.”

  When she still said nothing, he turned the coin over, leaving it sitting in her palm. “But I think the marking on the back is a word, and near as I can tell, it’s Sanskrit.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “Sanskrit?”

  “It’s an ancient Indic language used around twelve hundred to four hundred B.C.”

  “Indic?”

  “It was spoken in India and is still used in some parts of it today. Sanskrit is supposedly as old as Latin and Greek.”

  She squinted down at the coin. “Do you know what the word is?”

  He lifted it out of her hand and held it up to study the marking. “No. It’s worn smooth in places, and I don’t know jack about ancient languages.”

  “Do you know anyone who does?”

  He shoved the coin back into his pocket and clasped both of her hands between his. “What’s on the coin doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it’s real. And now I need you to confirm for me that the woman is also real.”

  Maddy felt a bit like flotsam, herself. “I-I don’t know what to say, Trace.”

  “Say you’ll come out on my boat with me Saturday. And once you see her, say you’ll help me figure out how a woman can be swimming around in the Gulf of Maine as if it were a heated pool.”

  “And if I don’t see her?”

  “Then we go back out on Sunday.”

  “And if I go out there with you every day and I still don’t see her?”

  He took hold of her shoulders—more to anchor himself than hold her in place, Maddy suspected. “Then we concentrate on figuring out where that coin came from.”

  She pressed her palms to his chest, but instead of feeling a racing heartbeat like she’d expected, she felt a strong, steady, surprisingly slow thumping; and Maddy realized that Trace wasn’t nearly as desperate to confirm his sanity as he was deadly serious about proving that the coin-throwing woman actually existed.

  “You’ve been deployed to Afghanistan at least twice that I know of in the last five years,” she said. “Which, if I remember my high school geography, is one country away from India. There’s a good chance you came across the coin during one of your tours, forgot about it, and just found it again in the pocket of an old pair of your jeans.”

  “I came home with only the clothes on my back. I gave everything I owned to some kid and his mother in Kabul.”

  “Everything? But why?”

  He shrugged again, and this time she knew he truly was indifferent. “I figured they needed it more than I did.”

  Maddy looked deep into his storm-gray eyes. “Oh, Trace. What happened to you over there? Where’s the boy who chased me halfway home when he caught me watching him screwing Leslie Simpson in the woods and then threatened to cut off all my hair if I told anyone?”

  “He left Midnight Bay ten years ago.” He enveloped her in a heartbreakingly fierce embrace. “And for the last three years, he’s been trying his damnedest to get back here in one piece.”

  Maddy felt him suddenly tense; his arms around her coiling with energy, every muscle in his body poised to respond.

  “Ye’d best be telling me you’re her brother,” a deep, threatening voice said from directly behind her.

  Maddy gasped and tried to step back, but Trace held her firmly, threading his fingers through her hair to hold her head pressed against his chest. “Are you the bastard who put that bruise on her face?” he asked far too softly.

  “Well now, I was just about to ask you the same question.”

  Trace’s grip slackened ever so slightly, though he continued to hold her facing him. “Is this your boyfriend, Peeps?” he asked—loud enough for William to hear.

  Maddy tensed. Damn. Saying yes would only encourage William, but saying no might get him beat up. And with both men being equal in strength and stature, and apparently temperament, well . . . things could get really ugly real fast.

  Trace gave a chuckle, though it lacked any humor. “Are you still hung up on jocks, Maddy? I would have thought you learned your lesson with Billy.”

  “Trust me, I did,” she muttered into his shirt.

  “Then why does this . . . gentleman look like he wants to rip out my throat if I don’t get my hands off what he obviously considers his property?”

  “Please don’t antagonize him, Trace.”

  “Why? Because he might suddenly turn violent? Tell me who hit you.”

  “I fell off the porch.”

  “I don’t doubt you did—right after someone slapped your face. Tell me who, Maddy. I promise I won’t kill the bastard; I just want to have a little talk with him. Or,” he said when she said nothing, “at least give me your word that this guy isn’t the bastard.”

  “He isn’t.”

  He suddenly opened his arms, but when she started to turn, Trace took hold of her shoulder to stop her. “Okay then, prove it to me.”

  She blinked at him. “Prove what?”

  “That he’s your boyfriend.” He gave her a nudge. “Go on, prove it.”

  “How?” she growled, fully aware that William could hear every damn last word of their crazy conversation.

  “By kiss
ing him.”

  Maddy narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what he was up to. “What in hell would that prove?”

  Trace crossed his arms over his chest and relaxed his weight back on his hips. “Well for starters, it would prove you’re not afraid of him, which would go a long way in convincing me that it’s not his handprint on your face. And second, it would go an even longer way in convincing him that I’m not your boyfriend.”

  Dammit all to hell and back! If she knew anything about Trace, it was that once he went off on a tangent, nothing short of a nuclear explosion could make him change course. “I am so going to make you pay for this,” she hissed, pivoting around and marching up to William. “I feel even a hint of your tongue, Killkenny, I will bite it off. You got that?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” William said, his eyes sparkling like sapphires in the sunlight. He held his arms out from his sides. “Give me your best shot, lass.”

  She so wanted to punch him in the stomach, if for no other reason than to wipe that grin off his face. Honest to God, all men were trouble, every damn last one of them. Maddy clapped her hands on William’s clean-shaven cheeks and yanked his head down; and with her lips pursed as tight as a clam hanging over a pot of boiling water, she pressed her mouth against his—all while trying her damnedest not to notice how really nice he smelled.

  Or how really good he tasted.

  Or how badly she wanted to stick her tongue in his mouth.

  She tried stepping away the moment she felt his arms start to wrap around her, but she wasn’t fast enough. William canted her head into the crook of his arm and kissed her so soundly that a herd of bumblebees started buzzing around in her belly. Only before she could even think about poking him in the ribs he suddenly set her away, but then had to grab hold of her shoulders when her knees started to buckle.

  “No wonder you’re still single after six years,” Trace said with a chuckle from right behind her. “That wasn’t a kiss, Peeps, that was an assault. Good thing at least one of you knows what you’re doing.” He extended his hand to William. “Trace Huntsman, Maddy’s cousin.”

  “William Killkenny, Maddy’s boyfriend,” William said, tucking her against his side to return Trace’s handshake.

  It was as she was trying to figure out just how much trouble that kiss was going to cause her that Maddy suddenly noticed something more than a handshake was happening. Apparently in some secret code only men knew, they reached some sort of unspoken agreement as their eyes locked and they both nodded ever so slightly.

  Wonderful. Now there would be no dealing with either one of them.

  Only semiconfident that her knees wouldn’t buckle again—seeing how that herd of bumblebees was still buzzing inside her—Maddy glanced toward the nursing home so neither of them would see her licking her lips. But she stopped in mid-lick when she spotted several sets of eyes staring out the window.

  She immediately reared back. “Omigod,” she muttered, covering her face with her hands. “We have an audience.” She glared up at William when he chuckled, then turned her glare on Trace when he snickered. “This is not funny! It’s bad enough they’re after me to ask out every single male who walks in the door—regardless of age; I didn’t need them to see me kissing their new pet project.”

  When they both only laughed harder, Maddy gave them one final glare and stormed limping toward the door. She suddenly stopped with her hand on the knob and looked back. “Oh, okay, dammit! You’re still invited to dinner tonight.”

  Trace nodded. “Thanks, Peeps. William and I will be there at six sharp.”

  Maddy’s chin dropped nearly down to her chest.

  “I hope your brother will be home this evening,” William added, “as I am quite looking forward to meeting Rick.”

  Maddy snapped her mouth shut then opened it again, but she couldn’t seem to so much as squeak. Her shoulders slumping in defeat, she turned around and quietly limped inside.

  Chapter Five

  William felt the evening was going quite well, considering the people crowded around Patricia Lane’s dinner table ranged in ages from nine years old to twelve hundred. Little Sarah, though, appeared more interested in the various conversations going on than in eating; Trace and Maddy were too busy catching up with each other to realize they weren’t the only people at the table; Rick was more interested in his food than in talking to anyone; and Maddy’s mother, Patricia, seemed quite interested in William—particularly regarding his interest in her daughter.

  William could have bowed down to Trace for tricking Maddy into inviting him to dinner, right after he hugged him for daring the lass to kiss her boyfriend.

  Kenzie had informed William that Maddy’s cousin was stopping by to visit her, so he’d had a good idea whose arms he’d found wrapped around her down by the river. But knowing the best way to size up a man was to threaten him, William had approached them rather aggressively. And not liking the idea of anyone’s arms around Maddy but his own, cousin or nay, the threat had for the most part been real.

  Which Trace Huntsman had immediately realized.

  As for sizing up his reaction, William had immediately decided he liked Trace. He’d been impressed not only by the man countering his threat by offering one of his own, but Trace had in turn sized up William by reading Maddy’s reaction.

  William knew right then he was dealing with a fellow warrior, as well as with a man who was equally determined to find out who had slapped her.

  “Mabel told me you were in the military with Kenzie,” Patricia Lane said to William. “Were the two of you in the same unit or something, and that’s what brought you to Midnight Bay? I’ve heard fighting together forms a strong bond between men.”

  “Yes, we’re fellow warriors,” William said, smiling at the older though more reserved version of Maddy. “We’ve even been known to occasionally fight on the same side.”

  That stopped Maddy and Trace’s conversation, making Maddy frown and Trace look thoughtful.

  “I’m not going to summer rec tomorrow,” Sarah said, once again injecting a comment at a lull in the conversation that had absolutely nothing to do with anything.

  “But you have to go to rec,” Maddy told her. “Gram’s going to Mrs. Bishop’s house to bake pies tomorrow, and you can’t stay home alone.”

  The young girl lifted her chin. “Rick sleeps until noon and then watches TV when he gets up, so I won’t be alone. And I have to stay home because I’m going to be really sick tomorrow when I wake up.”

  Maddy felt Sarah’s forehead as she eyed her daughter curiously. “You don’t have a temperature or look sick. I predict you’ll be just fine tomorrow morning,” she declared with a tender smile.

  Sarah leaned away to glare at her. “That’s the problem with having a mother who’s a nurse—you think you know everything!” the girl cried, sliding back her chair and running out of the room.

  “Let her go, Mom,” Maddy said over the sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs when she saw her mother push back her own chair. “I’ll talk with her at bedtime. I have an idea what’s bugging her,” she finished with a sigh, dropping her head in her hands to stare down at her plate.

  “What’s summer rec?” William asked.

  “It’s a program the town puts on for the kids while school’s out,” Patricia explained. “They play sports, do arts and crafts, swim, and sometimes take field trips.” She looked toward Maddy, who was still staring down at her plate. “Aren’t they going to Oak Harbor tomorrow, to the state park? Sarah’s been looking forward to that field trip all summer. Maddy, do you have any idea why she doesn’t want to go all of a sudden?”

  Madeline lifted her head, and after darting a quick glance across the table at William, she looked at her mother. “I imagine it’s because Billy’s fiancée lives in Oak Harbor.”

  “So?” Patricia said.

  “So, all of Sarah’s little buddies also know his fiancée lives there, and the snotty little girls will start pointing out the bus w
indow at every woman they pass and say, ‘Is that your new stepmom, Sarah? Cool, you can play dolls with her!’ Or maybe the snotty little boys will say, ‘Is that the hottie your daddy knocked up, Sarah? I heard my uncle say he must have balls of brass to be boinking something that young.’”

  “Madeline Marie Lane, they’re only children!” Patricia cried. “They don’t know what a hottie is, much less what knocked up or . . . or boinking means. And I don’t appreciate that kind of language at the table.”

  Maddy snorted. “I knew more about sex when I was ten than I do now. And trust me, they know exactly what those words mean, and they won’t be shy about explaining them to Sarah.”

  “And this is why she doesn’t wish to go to summer rec?” William asked. “The other children are teasing her? But it’s not unusual for a divorced man to remarry.”

  “The girl he’s marrying is eighteen,” Maddy growled. “She just graduated from high school two months ago.”

  Rick tossed his fork onto his plate, shoved his chair back, and stood up. “And word is she’s four months pregnant,” he sneered. “Sissy never hid the fact she wasn’t interested in any of us high school boys, not when there were real men around, ripe for the taking. Look up whore in the dictionary, and you’ll find a picture of Sissy Blake.”

  “Richard!” Patricia cried.

  Rick glared at his sister. “Sarah’s not the only one getting teased around here.”

  “Sarah is nine, Rick, not nineteen,” Trace said evenly.

  William saw the teenager’s hands ball into fists. “Yeah, well, having my cousin broadcast a Mayday that he saw a mermaid in the Gulf isn’t helping, either!” Rick kicked his chair out of the way so hard it banged to the floor. He stormed out to the porch, slamming the door hard enough to make the windows shudder.

  Maddy jumped to her feet to go after him.

  William also stood up, intending to head her off.

  But Trace—who remained seated—captured her by the wrist. “Let him go,” he said, gently pulling her back down into her seat. “I’ll check on him in town tonight, and keep him out of trouble.”