Scent of Danger Page 5
“I don’t need any jewelry.”
Undaunted, he placed his hand at her lower back, making her tense. “What harm is there in looking? Let’s see what they have.”
Propelled forward by his firm pressure, she reluctantly crossed the threshold and looked in the first case. She didn’t say anything, but he noticed her gaze go to the rings, in particular a platinum ring with a blue gem. It was shaped like a heart and the metal waved around it, accenting the gem in a pleasing manner.
“These are very nice,” he prompted when she remained silent. “Why don’t you try one on?” He motioned to the shopkeeper to open the case.
“Oh, I can’t.” Helpless in the face of his determination and her guilty desire to try out the ring, she allowed him to capture her hand—her left hand.
Realizing what she’d done, she tried to withdraw it. It was too late. Mathin deftly slipped the cool platinum over her ring finger.
It fit perfectly.
Tears pricked her eyes. He couldn’t be serious. They barely knew each other! If this was his way of flirting, it hurt.
Uncertain why she was so quiet, for he’d intended the ring to make her happy, he lifted her chin and gently asked, “Don’t you think you deserve it, sweetheart?”
No. Andrea sniffed, unable to answer him truthfully without sounding pathetic. “I can’t afford it.” She winced. Even that sounded pitiful. “At least not right now,” she qualified.
He flashed her a heart-melting smile. “No problem. My treat.” While she stammered a protest, he paid the jeweler and took her hand, towing her out of the shop.
Overwhelmed by his show of generosity and uncertain what he expected in repayment, she persisted, “Mathin, I can’t accept this. Really, it’s far too much.”
He stopped and held her wrists gently keep her from removing the ring. “If you return it, you will rob me of my pleasure in giving it, besides being unspeakably rude. Is this your intention?”
Stung, she urgently shook her head and opened her mouth to protest.
Mathin put his fingers over her lips. “No more.” Both his tone and expression brooked no argument.
Resigned to the guilty pleasure of owning such an expensive keepsake, she nodded and said no more.
The hint of a smile touched his mouth. “I would accept a thank you, however.”
She laughed in embarrassment at his prompting. “Thank you. It’s very pretty.”
He winked. “I knew you liked it.” Taking her hand, he led her towards the doors.
“What about the groceries?” she asked, reminding him of their errand.
“First we shop for the house. Weren’t you supposed to buy furnishings? When you are finished we can purchase groceries.”
An hour and much shopping later, she shook her head in dismay. “We’re never going to fit all this stuff in the car.” In addition to new bedspreads, throw pillows and rugs, she’d also bought a selection of kitchen equipment at Mathin’s urging. There was no way that the Diablo would ever accommodate it all.
“We’ll have it delivered,” was his calm reply. “Surely they have such services here. In the meantime, why don’t we find a place to eat? You’ve had little all day, and I’m hungry.”
She smiled. Though he hadn’t complained, it wasn’t hard to tell that he was getting tired of shopping. But then, he’d looked disappointed since viewing the gun counter. Maybe he’d been hoping for something more impressive, like a display of bazookas. She consulted her list of stores copied from the yellow pages, then glanced at her map. “There’s probably a deli at the grocery store if you’re not picky. If we go there we can be finished much more quickly.”
“Done.” Relieved to be quit of this place and its depressing selection of weaponry, he made arrangements for delivery and then escorted Andrea to the car. He couldn’t help a frown as she slid behind the wheel. Driving was one of the things he would have to learn if he stayed here much longer.
Would he want to? He looked around at the traffic lights and passing cars as he considered the question. This world was very different from his, and he wouldn’t like to give up the Dark Lands.
Fallon seemed content enough straddling two worlds, and although he’d come along as a curious visitor, Mathin couldn’t help but wonder how he’d feel about that. Certainly it would take more study than the overview he’d absorbed about Earth before their journey here.
Not that he’d want to be the ambassador Fallon was. Long ago Fallon’s father had volunteered to be a diplomat between the Haunt who’d left and those who’d stayed behind, keeping the door open for any who wished to migrate. Fallon had inherited the duties when his father had passed on, and he seemed to enjoy them.
Occasionally there was trouble here that demanded finesse and a strong arm to solve, such as criminal Haunt wishing to cross over to escape prosecution. At such times Fallon had to deal with the difficulties—often alone—and did so with expertise. Mathin knew he wouldn’t have the patience. His way was much more direct.
He looked at Andrea out of the corner of his eye. She seemed to like her safe, contained life. He’d bet she’d have a problem letting go and trusting her instincts, of letting someone else guide events. She’d probably fight him at first.
He understood that. As a warrior, he needed to be in control of himself and his actions at all times. The difference was that he knew he couldn’t control others, only react. A man could choose to be Mathin’s enemy or his friend, and there was nothing he could do about it. A woman could desire him on sight or despise him for his reputation, and all he could do was accept.
Andrea did not accept; not her desire for him or the control he was about to exercise in her life. His calculated confession had opened up the expected vulnerability in her, made her consider him with new eyes. And she feared it.
His jaw tightened as he acknowledged that fact. She was not used to pursuit, and his determined hunt confused her, tore her between what she wanted and what she thought she needed. Not that he was going to back off. Instinct guided him here, as it had all his life. What they had between them was meant to be.
She would adapt.
Andrea wasn’t thinking about adapting or even Mathin at that moment. Instead she focused on the ridiculous turn her life was taking. Here she was, driving a cherry-red sports car on an errand to buy groceries for a man she barely knew. The wildness of it made her smile. What else did the future have in store for her?
The grocery expedition went flawlessly. Mathin was a helpful, though often silent, companion. It was easy to appreciate his lack of conversation when her attention was on filling her shopping list. Besides, dealing with the covetous looks of several female shoppers was bad enough. Not that Mathin did anything to attract them, she admitted to herself with a quiet sigh. With a body like that, all he had to do was breathe.
It was as they were loading their bags into the car that she felt it. Someone was watching them.
Mathin felt her freeze and instantly turned to investigate. “What is it?” he asked as he scanned first her startled face and then the parked cars. Sun sparkled off chrome and glass, distorting the shadows within.
“I...someone’s…” she trailed off as the feeling intensified. There. Her vision narrowed on a very unattractive woman who watched them from the passenger side of a slowly passing truck.
She had no eyebrows, and something blunt had flattened her nose at an angle. Her hair was unkempt and straggled around her face. It was her sad, deranged eyes that held Andrea spellbound, however. That and the way the woman gripped the side of the door, as if holding herself far away from the shadowy man driving the truck.
Terror gripped Andrea hard, tugged at her. She knew instinctively that the woman was sending her a warning. Whatever held this stranger in thrall, it wanted Andrea, too.
“Come,” Mathin ordered. He gripped her arm and escorted her to the driver’s side door. He had more than a passing idea who the woman might be, and he wanted Andrea out of there, fast.
Still and silent beside her, Mathin didn’t say a word. All his attention was for the rear view mirror as he made certain they weren’t followed. Not that it would make a difference if they weren’t; the old charmer had seen them, and willing or not, she would tell her masters all about Andrea.
Fallon had shown him the file on all known charmers, of which there were roughly seventy-five. Even without the pictures, Mathin would have known her by the way she drew Andrea’s attention and her reaction.
The Haunt knew all about charmers out of necessity, since knowledge often meant the difference between death and survival. Any charmer could identify another, thanks to their unique characteristics. It was said to be a magnetic repulsion, a feeling of wrongness yet sisterhood that guided them. For this very reason Andrea could be a very effective tool for sniffing out other charmers.
Unfortunately it also put her in danger from their masters, for the cults that used them didn’t care if a woman was willing.
Mathin didn’t have to ask to know that Andrea would not be. Even if she discovered the true nature of the Haunt and feared it, she would never seek to destroy them, not once she was assured that they were no threat.
It was giving her that reassurance that would be tricky.
Panic faded to a sense of foolishness as Andrea put away the groceries less than an hour later. Mathin had helped her bring the sacks into the kitchen and then disappeared—not that she blamed him. She grimaced, absently cradling a small canister of cocoa to her chest. He must think she was pretty weird just now. She didn’t even know what had happened.
The canister thumped as she set it aside and rustled through the plastic bags. The extra order of Kung Pao chicken and egg rolls Mathin had requested from the deli was on the bottom. A frown tugged at her brows as she considered the white cartons. For a man comfortable with chopsticks he’d been surprisingly ignorant of Chinese food. It was a sure bet he wasn’t oriental—and neither was Fallon, for that matter. So where had they acquired a taste for foreign utensils? Had they spent time in Asia?
For that matter, what did the two of them do for a living? Her grandmother had never said, but then, she’d never mentioned Mathin, either. Were they related? Business associates? Friends?
Just whom was she living with, anyway?
“That one,” Mathin told Fallon, swiveling the laptop so his friend could clearly see the face on the screen. “According to her file, she’s been with her cult six years now. Four Haunt kills to her record.”
“A poor pawn then. Either that or the Haunt here are more wily that we thought.”
“Or she resists.” Mathin didn’t flinch at Fallon’s doubtful look. “She wouldn’t be the first. Are you going to take care of her or send her name to the elders here to deal with?” He didn’t comment on Fallon’s expression of distaste. Killing women wasn’t something either of them relished, but not all Haunt felt that way, not when entire communities could be wiped out by one Haunt-sniffing, cult-controlled charmer.
Reporting her location would be the same as putting a sniper’s bullet in her brain.
“It’s not as if she could be returned to her family,” Fallon said quietly. “It’s the first place the cult would look. Nor can I offer her a refuge, should she want it. Not in my position.”
There was a moment of silence. “What if there was a way to take the charmer out of the charmer? Or at least mute the damage.”
Fallon frowned and propped his hip on the desk. “I’m listening.”
Mathin sat back and steepled his fingers, thinking out loud. “Remember Leo? Jasmine’s human friend from the swamps? She used her symbiont to make her body produce the charmer pheromone for a time. If she could do that, then perhaps she also knows a way to reverse the process.”
Fallon shook his head. “You’re talking about a long shot and a prolonged journey to the swamps, Mathin. And this is assuming that the old woman wants your help.”
His eyes darkened. “The risk of you being caught by her keepers is not one I’m willing to take. Not with your knowledge of the crossing zone between our worlds.” The charmer had the ability to command a man under their influence to do nearly anything, given enough time. Their pheromones twined around the mind, muddied it so much that Haunt would reveal everything they knew about the location of others of their kind, even aiding in their capture. That was what made the charmer so dangerous, and so feared. If one got her hands on Mathin…
That disaster didn’t bear discussion.
“The best thing we can do at the moment is to move Andrea out of harm’s way.” He shared a sardonic look with Mathin. “If you can find a way to do that without moving her to murder or sending her into hysterics, I’d appreciate it. After all, I’m the one who’ll have to deal with inquiries from her friends.”
“Just tell them Andrea eloped with a rich landowner. If she doesn’t write they’ll likely assume she’s consumed with her new life and forgotten them.”
“Will it be true?”
“If I have my way.” He inclined his head and met Fallon’s measured gaze with calm assurance. “She wants me, Fallon. I would not have considered this otherwise. I know it’s the right move.”
Fallon considered him. He wasn’t as close to him as his cousin Keilor was, but he knew something about the man. Something more than desire was guiding him. “Is it one of your premonitions?”
“A strong one,” Mathin agreed. And he always honored his special instincts. They were part of what made him one of the most powerful warriors of the Haunt.
Satisfied, Fallon smiled. “Then I suggest you start wooing your woman, soldier.” His grin grew wicked. “After all, it’s going to take more than a liking for your pretty face to keep her from shooting you after she discovers what you are.”
CHAPTER 4
Andrea plotted as she made French dips for dinner. It was time she knew more about her employer, and she mentally tallied her questions as she assembled the paper-thin brisket on French bread. Loading the sandwiches, steaming broth and cob salad on a tray, she carried them into the dining room. The men were already there, waiting.
Mathin stood up. “Is there more in the kitchen?”
“A carafe of hot cider, but I can get it.” She frowned as he ignored her and headed into the kitchen. Shaking her head, she laid out the plates.
“This looks good,” Fallon said a little wistfully. “I wish my sinus weren’t dead right now so I could appreciate it.”
Mathin grinned as he returned from the kitchen bearing the carafe. “My nose is working fine. Smells delicious.” He inhaled appreciatively.
Frowning, Fallon shook his head. “You’re going to make yourself miserable.”
“Then you’ll be highly entertained this evening,” Mathin said cheerfully, placing his hands on Andrea’s shoulders for the blessing.
Andrea didn’t miss the wolfish look Mathin cast her as he sat opposite her. He purred in ecstasy at his first bite, and the glow in his eyes as he looked at her showed another kind of hunger. “Delicious. I can’t wait for dessert.”
She snorted softly and picked up her sandwich. After they’d taken the edge off, she asked Fallon, “So, what is it you do? Grandma never said.”
He shrugged. “I manage my investments and travel. I have some land, ah, overseas that requires my attention from time to time. My mother lives there.”
“Interesting. And where is there?”
“Near Mathin’s property.”
She slanted him a look for dodging her question, then turned her sights on Mathin. “And what do you do?”
He grinned at her. “I’m a mercenary who invested wisely. I do pretty much anything I please.”
Surely he was teasing her. She sent a doubtful look at Fallon, who smiled self-deprecatingly.
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“He’s not teasing, though he did leave out a few details. He’s filthy rich, if that matters.”
She frowned. “I don’t care if he’s rich.” She didn’t really believe him, anyway. Maybe she didn’t want to. If he really were sexy, foreign and rich, he’d definitely be out of her league. Not that she wanted him, she hastily assured herself. It was just the principle of the thing. There had to be some balance in the world.
Fixing Mathin with a dampening stare, she said coolly, “You’re not a mercenary.”
He just smiled.
Nettled, she finished her sandwich and started on her salad. She really had outdone herself. Mathin had already inhaled three French dips was working his way through a large helping of salad. The man acted like he hadn’t tasted food in days. “So how did you two meet?”
The men exchanged looks. “We were…rivals in our youth,” Fallon said with a small smile. “Recent events and mutual friends have caused us to make peace.”
Well, that was different. Fallon made them sound like wary allies, but Mathin was staying in his house. How weird was that?
Taking a guess, she said, “So this is kind of a…business trip or something? For Mathin, I mean.”
Mathin shrugged, a small smile playing about his mouth. “Or something. I was curious about the country…Fallon offered me a room.”
“Oh.” Okay, so she didn’t know much more about them than she had in the beginning. So much for her sleuthing skills. Sighing, she resigned herself to not knowing. Obviously they didn’t want her to pry, and maybe the less she knew the better. After all, it wasn’t as if she were going marry either of them, was it?
After dinner she retired to the renovated den and curled up on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. She had the room to herself for almost an hour before Mathin came strolling in. He must have showered, for his thick hair looked slightly damp and was drawn back from his face into a tail. Some of the intensity he’d had at dinner had calmed.