by D. N. Leo
He looked at himself in the mirror and could see the fury burning in his eyes, in his soul.
He made medicine, and he was one of the best. Yet his father died with illness before he could say a parting word to him. And Robert? What could he have done to save him from a bullet in the head?
Through his haze of anger, Ciaran heard a knock on the door. He ignored it.
Then came a bang.
He brushed his hair back with his fingers, mumbled some profanity, and, leaving the water and blood to drip down his body, yanked open the door.
In front of him was Madeline in her hotel robe and bare feet—and if he was not mistaken, she was angry. Ciaran braced his arm on the door frame, more to maintain his balance than to appear intimidating.
Madeline had her hands on her hips, and he knew from the set of that beautiful mouth that venom was coming his way.
She looked him up and down, and then her arms flopped down to her sides, and her big brown eyes watered.
Ciaran cursed on the inside. “You’re here to give me another round of sympathy kisses? Or did you want to upgrade it to charity sex?” he asked.
Madeline snarled and flew at him. He caught her hand in the air before it hit his face. He could have let it slip and taken the slap. He certainly needed it.
“Leave me alone, Madeline,” Ciaran said and retreated inside.
“Oh for pity’s sake . . .” Madeline said and shoved him from behind so hard that he almost fell on his face. “You want to bleed to death, go ahead. I’ll stand here and watch. But I’m going nowhere.” She kicked the door closed.
That was it. His rage was coming on full-force. Ciaran stood up. “Get away from me. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Madeline kept her stance, blocking the door. Ciaran tried to yank it open to shove her out, but she was a lot stronger than he thought. Or maybe he was a lot weaker. He snarled and walked back into the room. The next thing he knew, a tray of crystal and a decanter flew across the room.
“Keep your distance from Madeline, or you’ll hurt her” was the only thought in his mind at the moment. His father had been the only person who could help him control his rage. But his father wasn’t here.
Now, he had to destroy.
Had to burn.
Had to ruin.
The fury clawed at him. It was a battle between Ciaran and the inanimate objects in the room, with the objects at a distinct disadvantage in the fight. He flew at a cabinet. The cabinet doors cracked and crumbled, one after the other. He crushed the bedside table. He destroyed everything and anything within those four walls. Then he stared at the mirror in the bathroom.
He felt her hands pulling him back from behind. He heard her beg, “Please stop, Ciaran. That’s enough.”
He fell to the floor, exhausted, and Madeline grabbed a towel to stanch the bleeding from his wound. He got up, staggered to the bed, and dropped face down onto a pillow, letting the fury wash over him.
It was strong and irresistible, and there was nothing he could do about it. Then he felt the warmth of her hands, wiping the blood from his back.
In his near delirium, he reached out and grabbed her hand. “Please stay.”
Part II
Path
Chapter 22
A few hours passed. Madeline still stared at the broken cabinet doors. Lying in the bed in Ciaran’s arms, she felt every movement of his body, his energy. Their bodies fit like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that were meant to be next to each other.
What would the big picture be like? Her life? His life? And everyone else around them? Would they make a complete picture? Would the other pieces fit to one another?
His heart rate had slowed, the pain that was seeping out of his pores had subdued, and he was once again peacefully asleep. Then he stirred. Madeline propped up on her elbow and rolled away from Ciaran. He opened his eyes, then sprung to his feet.
He looked her up and down. “Madeline, did I …”
“No. I didn’t offer anything, and you didn’t take anything.”
He let out a sign of relief, and looked around the room, or what was left of it. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. But the furniture wouldn’t say the same.”
“I asked you to leave. Why didn’t you?”
“I thought you were going to turn into a werewolf, so I was curious,” she joked. “But I didn’t see any paws or fur. Plus, you needed a hugging pillow.” She shrugged.
Ciaran stared at her. He shook his head and smiled, but his eyes suggested a laugh on the inside. He tilted her chin up and gazed into her big brown eyes. He rubbed the dimple on her left cheek with his thumb. “I’m sorry for what I said before.”
“What did you say? I can’t remember.”
“I have issues with my anger, Madeline. When the rage comes, I know I’ll say and do things I’ll regret. It rarely comes but when it does, I don’t have any control over it.”
“What about an anger management program?”
Ciaran laughed and shook his head. Once the laughter had died, his eyes were once again intense. “The problem isn’t psychological.”
She should have known. The energy of his fury was strong and primal. It came in waves, and it was so catastrophic that she saw it in her psychic mind. The weight of his grief blasted at her like an explosion. This was what Mrs. Hanson had talked about. It wasn’t Robert’s death but what came afterward. It wasn’t what the death had taken away but what the living carried with them. His grief was contagious, and now she was carrying the same baggage because of her psychic ability.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“Starving.”
“Well, there’s an absolute feast in my room that used to be dinner. But given that it’s now three in the morning, I’d call it breakfast. Interested?”
Ciaran tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. “I’d love to.”
Later on, after Madeline told Ciaran everything, he looked at her over the rim of the glass of red wine, contemplating, and smiled to himself.
“What?” Madeline asked.
“Regarding this Stephen character, have you ever considered giving him a chance?”
“To what?”
Ciaran chuckled. “He likes you.”
Madeline laughed. “Stephen is harmless!”
“Uhmm!” Ciaran smiled and said nothing, but made some kind of sound that Madeline was pretty sure meant he didn’t believe her.
“Don’t call Stephen a character—he’s a real cop!”
“I see! On that note, would you bring him into this later on?”
“Not if I could help it.”
“You meant if ‘I’ could help?”
Right. Madeline rolled her eyes. Egotistical clash of the male species. She said nothing, just smiled. She thought that would be best.
“Why don’t you tell Zen that I’m the White Knight? I can talk to him and make him believe me. Then we can arrange a fake John Dee’s tomb for him to dig up. When we’ve got him snug in our trap, we can politely hand him over to Stephen-the-cop and get Jo out of trouble.”
Ciaran plainly played out the strategy out loud while leaning back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass, and looking as if he was playing a harmless game of Monopoly.
Madeline said nothing. He made it sound so easy. Jo wasn’t the only one good at games, Madeline thought.
“Don’t like the plan?”
“Oh, yes, of course. It’s perfect . . . So you don’t think there’s a real John Dee’s tomb?”
“There must be one somewhere, but I’m not interested in his gold, nor do I have any desire to dig up a grave.”
“Zen is a computer game fanatic. You think you can make him believe you?”
Ciaran smiled. “I’m an excellent player.”
“Have you ever gotten into trouble with the police?”
Ciaran kept sipping this wine.
“Just a rhetorical question,” Madeline muttered and smiled, looking at
Ciaran. Her prince had returned to his full, magnificent form, post-surgery. “What . . . what are you going to do about Robert?”
His face was unfathomable. “We’ll pay his family a visit.” He stood up to leave the room.
“I don’t think your room is inhabitable at the moment.”
“You slept on my bed before!”
“I didn’t. But you did.”
He nodded. “I’ll arrange another room.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Another hotel room?”
“We can come back to One Hyde Park. I’ve got it reserved for a couple of days.”
“A couple of days! Don’t you have a home? A permanent address?”
He gazed into her eyes. She couldn’t read his emotion. Whatever skills she’d obtained in her day job didn’t work on him. Her psychic ability gave her nothing but his contagious grief.
“I have a number of addresses. They’re permanent because they are mine. But none of them truly qualifies as a home. The apartment at One Hyde Park will do for a week,”
“Then what?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Then we’ll see.” Then he turned around and walked back to the mess he called his room.
Chapter 23
The lush carpeted corridor of LeBlanc Pharmaceuticals unfolded before Madeline as she walked alongside Ciaran to his corporate wing. People greeted him, some with a smile, some with words, and some with a courteous nod. But they all had one thing in common—respect. But it wasn’t respect based on the power and intimidation that money could buy. Madeline didn’t need her psychic ability to be aware of the aura around Ciaran. Something about him was insanely humane but yet distant and powerful at the same time.
She would be scared if she got on his bad side. None of the people here had seen his rage—she was sure of it.
The corridor opened to a reception area at the entrance where a large secretary’s desk was located. The secretary was busy on the phone when Ciaran and Madeline entered. At the corner of the room, Madeline saw the most gorgeous dog ever, fast asleep on the carpet on his back with four legs in the air. A bowl of dog food was tucked in the corner, and the most of the food had been spilled all over the carpet. Bags of extra food and toys were scattered all over the floor of the ‘dog quarters’.
“What we have here?” Madeline asked.
The puppy woke instantly as Ciaran approached. “He jumped into my car when I was stuck in a traffic jam,” Ciaran said as he crouched and reached his hand out to the dog. The puppy dove into Ciaran, wagging his tail in excitement and licking Ciaran’s hand. Ciaran frowned at the sign the puppy wore around his neck, which stated: “I am Ciaran’s dog. Please treat me nicely.”
That would explain all the food and toys the dog had. The smile faded from Ciaran’s face. He put the dog down and approached the secretary, who had finished on the phone.
“Ciaran,” she greeted.
Ciaran smiled. “Good morning, Lily. This is my friend, Madeline. I have some changes in my schedule. Could you cancel my meetings in France for the next couple of days? Ask Lindsay to address all questions.”
“Yes, Ciaran.” Lily typed quickly on the computer.
“And take the dog to the pound,” Ciaran said, wrapping his arm around Madeline’s waist to lead her to his office.
“Excuse me? Ciaran!” Lily asked.
Ciaran stopped on the way and turned around, “I said, take the dog to the pound. I don’t want to see it anymore.”
Lily’s eyes teared up. “Yes, Ciaran.”
When the office door had closed behind him, Ciaran went to the desk and made a call. Madeline sat down in a chair and waited. Ciaran finished the call.
“Would you like something to drink? I’ve arranged a car. We can go to Robert’s and then drop by Mortlake to visit Mrs. Hanson.”
Then he saw the look on Madeline’s face. “What, Madeline?”
“If you want Lily to adopt the dog, you should just ask her. I’m sure she will.”
Ciaran sat down at this desk. He didn’t smile, but his eyes twinkled.
He’s intrigued. Madeline smiled and patted herself on the back.
“I prefer flexibility.” He smiled now and stood up from his chair to move around to the other side of his desk. Her stomach quivered and spasmed at an alarming level. Then he stopped on his way.
The computer screen on his desk flashed and turned itself on. He frowned. Madeline stood up, came around to where he was, and looked at the monitor. The screen was filled with static symbols. It flashed once, twice, and then some text appeared. “It’s time, Ciaran. The enemies are nearby.” Then the screen flashed again and turned itself off.
Ciaran dove at the keyboard and typed frantically. For a while, he sank into his work and didn’t look up once. Madeline sat in the chair, waiting. Then he stopped, turned it off, and stared at the blank screen.
“Hacker?” Madeline asked.
He shook his head.
“So it’s internal then?”
He swivelled his chair around, looking at her. His intense gray eyes were darkened, but he said nothing.
“Police?” Madeline guessed. “Spy? Cyber terrorist? Fanatic? Serial killer?” Madeline had her hands on her hips. “Vampire? Witch? Werewolf? Angel? Or demon? Come on, Ciaran!”
Ciaran gazed at the computer screen. “Extraterrestrial,” he said.
“It’s . . . it’s from aliens?”
Ciaran approached the cabinet at corner of the room and opened it. He drew out a decanter of scotch, and poured it into a crystal glass. He gestured to ask if Madeline wanted some. She shook her head.
“You knew this? You weren’t surprised?” she asked.
Ciaran sipped the spirits and stared out the window.
“You said your rage wasn’t psychological. Are you—?”
“No, I’m human, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Madeline nodded. “Why did the aliens say I’m your enemy?” She raised her voice.
“What? No. They weren’t referring to you.” Ciaran put the glass down and walked around the desk to approach Madeline.
“It has to be me. Someone gave me a mysterious note. Then I ran into you. Then you got shot, and Robert got killed. Disaster. I can only bring you disaster.” A tear rolled down her face. “I have to leave.”
Ciaran blocked her at the door. He grabbed her shoulders and directed her back inside. He lifted her and sat her on his desk. Then he embraced her, hard. His arms were like a vice—there was no way she could wriggle her way out of his grasp. For a while, she could feel his muscles vibrating along with her emotions.
Then he released her. He kissed her forehead, lifted her chin up, and looked into her eyes. “You’re not my enemy, Madeline. I have many of them, and you’re not on the list.”
“I lied to you about the game hacking.”
He snorted. “You’re an amateur when it comes to lying, Madeline. I trust you, and I don’t trust people easily.”
“Why?”
“Because no one that I’ve taken to One Hyde Park before has ever noticed I don’t have a TV, and that the apartment wasn’t my home.”
She smiled.
“Not a single woman before you has ever noticed that the meals I served them were takeout. All they saw in that apartment was the shine and the attraction of money and power.”
She laughed. “Exactly how many girls have you taken there?”
He smiled. “And none of them have ever cared how many others I’ve taken there.” He kissed her lips lightly. “You know very well I could have forced myself on you last night. You know I could have done the unthinkable. Yet you stayed with me.”
He deepened their kiss, and her head started to spin. She spoke, her breath quickening. “Because you asked me . . .”
He roamed his hands up and down her arms. “What else?”
“You needed a hugging pillow . . .”
His hands were under her blouse. She pulled at his shirt, untucking it from his waist.
“What else?” he asked.
“Because . . . you let a puppy into your car!”
He stopped kissing her and started laughing. When his laughter finally subsided to chuckles, he said, “I have many secrets, Madeline. A lot of them you’re better off not knowing. But if any of my secrets got you tangled up in my mess, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He tucked a stray hair behind her ear and rubbed his thumb on her dimple.
“So if all this wasn’t because of your secrets, I’ll be just another girl you took into your luxurious apartment?” She hopped down to the floor.
He grabbed her and put her back up on the desk.
“Without my mess, I’m sure I don’t have anything to hold you, Madeline.”
She frowned.
“You’re a very complicated woman.”
“It comes with the job.” She saw his eyes twinkle again.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he repeated.
“Same goes for me.” She hopped off his desk once again and strode toward the door. She didn’t look back, but she knew she had made his eyes twinkle again. She hadn’t intended to do that to impress him. But somehow, there was a rhythm in this thought and his emotion that she could tap into.
She felt him. And somehow, she knew he felt her, too.
Chapter 24
The town was charming, but she just felt something wrong was about to crash down on Ciaran and her. Ciaran parked his car in the yard of a cottage in Stow-on-the-Wold. The house was as cozy and charming as the ancient town in which it was located. Ciaran pushed the door open and walked straight into the house.
This used to be his home! Madeline thought.
A woman stormed out from the side room. She clung to Ciaran and sobbed. Ciaran embraced her and murmured something that Madeline knew was more than typical condolences. There was no formality between them. He held the woman tightly and said nothing until her weeping abated.
“This is my friend, Madeline Roux. Laurent Chandler, Robert’s wife.” Laurent Chandler was in her late thirties and quietly attractive.
