Dark Dream’s Trap

by I. T. Lucas

  “You’ve learned to behave. And you should not be surprised that I was so scared of you after that kissing attack you launched. What the hell was that about?”

  “I’m sorry about that. It’s just that I’m not used to women refusing me. And sometimes a woman says no when she means yes. She just needs a little convincing. It’s a very old game that males and females have been playing for ages.”

  Ella rolled her eyes. “That’s such bullshit, Logan. Nowadays, if a girl wants to hook up with someone, she’s not playing games and pretending that she needs convincing. That might have been true fifty years ago.”

  He cocked a brow. “Do you do that? Just hook up with some random guy and go for it?”

  “Well, no. But that’s because of what I’ve been through. I don’t want to hook up with anyone. Not yet, anyway. But when I’m ready, I’m not going to pretend that I don’t want to when I do. A no is a no. And a yes is a yes.”

  “That’s because you are an American. Where I come from, women are not so progressive and things are very old fashioned.”

  “Why is that?”

  He shrugged. “My country is very religious, and modesty is enforced.”

  Ella widened her eyes, affecting innocence. “Are you from Iran? I would never have guessed. You have no foreign accent.”

  Logan laughed. “Why Iran?”

  “Hot climate, very religious, and bent on world domination. It all fits.”

  “I’m not from Iran.”

  “So where are you from? Pakistan? Afghanistan?”

  He shook his head. “None of those. I come from a very small nation that you’ve never heard of, and I can’t tell you which one it is.”

  Ella wondered if her eye trick would work on him. Probably not, and she didn’t really need him to confess where he was from because she knew, but she was curious.

  “Tell me something about yourself. I know that you like being mysterious and all that, and you think that it makes you sexy, but how can I develop feelings for you when I know nothing about you? Do you have brothers or sisters? Are you close to any of them?”

  He sighed. “I have many brothers, but we are not close. We share a father, but each of us has a different mother.”

  She arched a brow. “Your father has a harem?”

  Ella knew the answer to that, but she had to pretend surprise. Besides, she was curious to find out how Logan felt about it, and whether the focused gaze that had other people open up to her was working on him.

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  Wow, it seemed that it did. Either that or Logan was in the right mood for revealing stuff about himself.

  “Oh, boy. That’s horrible. Is your mother okay with that?”

  He grimaced. “I don’t know.”

  “You never asked?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  Ella stopped and took his hand. “Did she die?”

  “Probably. But I have no way of knowing because my father doesn’t let his sons grow up in his harem. We were raised by caregivers.”

  “Why?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s move to more pleasant subjects. Did you email your application to Georgetown?”

  It seemed that she’d discovered Logan’s Achilles heel. The guy was angry at his father for getting rid of his mother or just separating them.

  Why would Navuh do that, though? He was such a monster, even to his own children.

  Taking his hand, she smiled at Logan in an effort to restore his good mood. He was scary when angry. “I’m waiting for my transcripts to arrive.”

  “The fake ones, I presume.”

  She nodded. “I don’t like having to do a deceitful thing like that. My real grades were probably good enough to get in, but I can’t use them because I’m supposed to be dead.”

  He gave her hand a little squeeze that reminded her of Julian.

  Crap, don’t think about him! Ella tried to visualize Jim, but it was no use. Instead, she wrapped her other hand around Logan’s wrist to enhance the contact.

  He smiled down at her. “I’m glad you are alive. And don’t worry about the fake grades. It happens all the time and in various ways. Those academic echelons are just as corrupt as any other organization where people can get bribed or blackmailed.”

  “How do you know that?”

  He shrugged. “All of humanity is like that, even those who purport themselves as saints.”

  “I’m not like that. My mother is not like that. And I know a lot of good people who are not like that. You have a very warped perception of humanity.”

  He arched a brow. “Do I? Perhaps you can find good people among the common folks who are powerless. But once given power, people abuse it. It's just human nature.”

  “So what are you saying? That there is no hope for us?”

  He sighed. “Don’t mind me, Ella. I’m just an old, jaded warlord.”

  Her heart aching for him, Ella forced a snort. “Logan, are you having a mid-life crisis at twenty-eight? Because you can’t be a day older than that.”

  8

  Bridget

  “I’m glad to be rid of that ring,’” Bridget said as Sandoval’s driver eased into traffic. “I didn’t feel safe carrying it around.”

  Tuner clasped her hand. “I don’t know why. Okidu drove us to the airstrip, we took the clan’s private jet, and Sandoval’s men picked us up from the airport. At no time were we exposed to danger.”

  “I know. Still, I feel lighter without it.”

  “That's because it is no longer on your finger. That thing was massive.”

  For some reason, Turner had decided that the ring was safer on her finger than hidden within a purse. Bridget hadn’t been happy about wearing it, and not for security concerns alone. The ring had a bad juju.

  Shaking her head, she berated herself for believing in superstitious nonsense. She was supposed to be a scientist and stick to the facts. Nothing had happened on the way, and the trip was a success.

  Both parties were happy with the deal they’d struck, and after Turner had verified that the twenty-two million had been wired into the clan’s Swiss account, they had parted with hugs and kisses and promises of meeting again in Los Angeles for dinner.

  Right. As if Bridget was going to allow that. The last time Turner had gone to a dinner meeting with Sandoval, it had been a trap set up by the guy’s nephew who’d hired hitmen to assassinate her man.

  “Are you sure that you want to waste the rest of the day at a quilting convention?” Turner asked. “Instead, we can play tourists in Miami, getting driven around in Sandoval’s limo.”

  Knowing her mate, Bridget had come up with a productive twist for their sightseeing. She hadn’t expected him to complain about it.

  “There isn’t much we can see in half a day. I’d rather check out the convention.”

  “I’m sure it’s going to be a waste of time. What are the chances of Roni’s grandmother being one of the finalists?”

  Bridget shrugged. “Statistically, probably none. I know that you are going to scoff at this, but I’ve come to believe that the Fates play a much larger part in us finding suitable partners than anything we do intentionally. But if we sit around the village and do not get out there, they can’t put us in their path. Like Julian and that psychic convention. If he hadn’t gone there, he would’ve not met Vivian.”

  The partition was up, and the driver couldn’t hear their conversation, but there was always a chance that Sandoval had listening devices in his limo, and it wasn’t as if Turner could search the vehicle. Which meant that they had to communicate in code and not use terms like Dormants and immortals.

  “There is a big difference between that and a quilting competition. It made sense to search for special people in a psychic convention.”

  She smirked. “And it makes sense to search for a talented quilter in a quilting competition.”

  “They have them all over. It’s not like this is the only one.”
/>
  “True.” Bridget crossed her arms over her chest. “But this one is the biggest and most prestigious.” She smiled. “Besides, I want to buy a quilt for Julian and Ella. I have a feeling she is going to move in with him soon, and his place needs a feminine touch. Nothing like a beautiful quilt to brighten up a bedroom.”

  Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, Turner kissed the top of her head. “Under that no-nonsense façade of yours, you are a closet romantic. Isn’t it too soon for buying quilts?”

  “I’m not going to give it to them until they move in together. I don’t want to be the pushy mother who sticks her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Did Julian tell you about them having plans to do that?”

  “No, but they are so in love. Everyone can see that. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Turner shook his head. “She is too young. If I were her father, I would not be happy about this. She needs to go to college and experience life before committing to a life-long relationship.”

  “Right.” Bridget snorted. “Would you have listened to anyone telling you to do that after you met me?”

  “You can’t compare us to them. We weren’t kids when we met.”

  She leaned and kissed his cheek. “Consider them luckier. They don’t have to spend years looking for that special someone. They’ve already found each other. And as I said many times before, eighteen is not too young. If she can be drafted into the army and trusted with a rifle, she can be trusted to know her heart and choose who she wants to spend the rest of her life with.”

  Pulling up to the building where the quilt competition was taking place, the driver stopped at the curb and lowered the partition. “Call me when you are ready to leave.”

  “Thank you,” Bridget said.

  “We won’t be long,” Turner added. “I have better things to do than spend the day looking at quilts,” he murmured under his breath.

  9

  Turner

  As Turner and Bridget went from room to room, he scanned the audience while Bridget oohed and aahed at the quilts.

  Come to think of it, there was no reason for them to be there. Most large venues like this convention center had surveillance cameras, and he doubted they were closed circuit. He should have Roni check on that. If the kid could hack into them and then run the recordings through William’s facial recognition software, that would increase the chances of them catching Roni’s grandmother.

  Normally, Turner wouldn’t have diverted resources to such a long-shot pursuit, but since Roni had a vested interest in it, he could do that in his spare time. If he had any.

  The kid was suffering from the same affliction Turner and Kian had been cursed with. Not knowing when to quit. Luckily for the three of them, they had mates to force some time off on them.

  “Look at this one,” Bridget said. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”

  “It is. And so is the price. Five thousand dollars for a quilt?”

  Not all the rooms were dedicated to competition pieces. Some had been rented by quilting artists to put their work up for sale.

  The prices were extravagant. Not that they weren’t justified. He could imagine how many work hours went into each quilt, but there were cheaper ways to produce them. An artist could make a computer rendering and have the quilt sewn in India or some other country with low wages. In fact, he was pretty sure some of them had done it. After all, even artists had to make a living.

  She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s a one of a kind work of art, not a quilt mass produced in China.”

  “Then it should hang on the wall instead of covering the bed.”

  “They can do with it whatever they please. I’m getting it.”

  He glanced at the other quilts hanging on the walls. All of them were beautiful, but the one Bridget had chosen was indeed unique.

  “Fine with me.”

  As she whipped out her credit card and approached the artist, Turner was struck by a thought. What if Roni’s grandmother was selling quilts as a way to support herself?

  This was another avenue to investigate.

  What if she’d done it in other venues like this one? There couldn’t be too many quilting artists selling their creations in conventions, and they all probably knew each other. At least by sight.

  Walking over to where Bridget was chatting with the woman, he pulled out his phone and showed her the grandmother’s picture. “I was wondering if you’ve seen this quilter around.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry.” She handed him the phone back.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I would’ve remembered a young woman like that because quilters tend to be much older. But you should ask Cheryl. She knows everyone.”

  “Who’s Cheryl?”

  “She’s one of the organizers.” The woman pushed to her feet. “Let me get her for you.”

  Before either of them had a chance to say anything, the quilter ran out of the room, leaving them alone with her creation.

  “Isn’t she afraid someone might steal one of her works?” Bridget asked.

  “They probably have them tagged.”

  “True. But I can’t see any.”

  A few moments later their quilter returned with a woman who he assumed was Cheryl. A ball of energy with a mountain of white hair piled up high on top of her head.

  “I heard that you’re looking for someone?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He pulled out his phone and brought up the picture again. “Have you seen her?”

  As Cheryl took the phone, her pupils dilated momentarily, indicating recognition. “Why are you looking for her?”

  “A good friend of mine is looking for his cousin who he has lost track of. He said she’s a gifted quilter, and if I see her while I’m here to tell her to call him. Do you know where I can find her?”

  She looked at the picture again. “I only met her once, and it was five years ago, I think. I’m not sure. I think her name is Melinda. Is that right?” She quirked a brow.

  “The truth is that I don’t know what name she uses.” Turner went with the truth. “She’s gotten in some trouble and changed her name. That’s why my friend lost track of her.”

  Cheryl narrowed her eyes at him. “That friend of yours, is he really her cousin? And if he is, why is it so important for him to find her?”

  “He is estranged from his parents, and she is the only other family he has.”

  The woman didn’t look convinced. “I can’t really tell you where you can find her, but I remember her talking about selling her quilts online. She told me the name of her website, and I even checked it out, but I can’t remember the name of it for the life of me.”

  “What kind of quilts did she make?” Bridget asked.

  “Mandalas. All of her quilts were gorgeous mandalas. But that’s not uncommon. It’s a popular motif.”

  “Did she win any prizes?”

  “Not that I know of. If she did, it was probably in some small-town competition.”

  Bridget cast Turner a questioning look. “I think that’s enough to go on.”

  “Perhaps.”

  10

  Ella

  Ella adjusted the camera’s angle and returned to the chair she’d put in front of the white backdrop.

  “Try it now,” she told Tessa.

  “Looks good.” The girl gave her a thumbs up.

  The dining hall was getting transformed into a theater, with girls pushing tables aside and stacking them one on top of the other.

  They were making room for the extra chairs that were being collected from all of the classrooms. Altogether, nearly a hundred girls resided currently in the sanctuary, and all of them were going to attend Ella’s presentation.

  The only speech she’d prepared was a warning about what she was about to do, so whoever was not up to hearing her story could leave. Newcomers were especially vulnerable, and it might be too much for them to be exposed to a retelling so soon after their rescue.

  When h
er phone rang, she knew who it was before looking at the screen.

  “Hi, Julian.”

  “How are you holding up?”

  She got up and started pacing. “I’m nervous.”

  “I have good news for you that will cheer you up.”

  “Shoot. I need an infusion of positive before I plunge into the abyss.”

  “Turner called me. He sold the ring.”

  “For how much?”

  “Are you sitting down? Twenty-two million.”

  That was a hell of a lot more than she’d expected. Ella let out a whistle. “How many halfway houses will that much money buy us?”

  “Maybe two.”

  “Are you kidding me? That should be enough for thirty.”

  “Real estate prices in the Los Angeles area are insane, and then you need to factor in the cost of remodeling and furnishing and hiring staff and all that.”

  “What if we move the houses somewhere else? I’m sure we can buy double that in Nevada or Arizona. And if we go to places like Kentucky, we can build a small town for that much money.”

  He chuckled. “I’m not sure about that, but in principle you’re right. The problem is that the clan is here.”

  She glanced around and whispered, “Kian should’ve built the village somewhere else.”

  “We need a large metropolis to hide in plain sight. And New York prices aren’t any better.”

  “Right. Well, at least we can have two. Is it in addition to the one you’re remodeling now?”

  “I hope so. But I’m not an expert. I’ll have to pay a visit to our accounting department and have a professional go over the numbers.”

  “I didn’t know we had an accounting department.”

  “It’s only four people. The rest is done by outside firms.”

  Ella still had so much to learn about the village and the business empire the clan owned, and how it was all managed. Heck, she’d learned that there was an entire rulebook of clan-specific laws. She wanted to take a look at that too. It should be fascinating to find out how the organization functioned, and she was sure it wasn’t as difficult to understand as the medical research papers she’d tried to tackle for Merlin.