Books by Maggie Shayne (96 page)

"I need to know the name of the hotel where Curtis Rogers is staying, in L'Ombre," she said simply.
 
"Can you get it?"

"
Oui
.
 
It might take awhile, but--"

"I'll call you back in twenty minutes."
 
She hung up.

It wouldn't take long to do the shopping.
 
After all, she knew exactly what she wanted, and price was no object, so why waste time?
 
She had important things to do.

She said she was going shopping."

Roland felt as if he would explode.
 
Shopping!
 
By God, Rhiannon was more than reckless.
 
She was utterly insane!
 
"Why the hell didn't someone come and let me know?"

Eric pulled Tamara aside and stepped in front of her, as if to guard her from Roland's anger.
 
"I've been looking for you for two hours, Roland.
 
I had no idea where to find you, and you ignored my summons.
 
What more could we do?"

Roland pushed one hand through his hair, and let his eyes fall closed.
 
"We have to find her.
 
There are DPI operatives all over the village.
 
And if Curtis hasn't told them about the castle, you can bet he's told them about her.
 
They'll spot her in a second.
 
She stands out from other women like a swan among crows."

He ignored the meaningful glance Tamara shot Eric.
 
"Might be nice if
she
could hear you say so."
 
Roland only shook his head.
 
"Honestly, Roland, I don't know why you're so worded.
 
She isn't going to do anything risky," Tamara said.

"Hah!
 
She likes nothing better than to risk her pretty neck at every opportunity.
 
If you knew her at all, you would be worded, too."
 
He was racked with worry.
 
Why on earth had he let her out of his sight after she'd been nearly killed?
 
Why in the name of God had he thought she'd exercise some caution after that incident?
 
Didn't he know her better?
 
He ought to have been watching her every move.
 
Instead, he'd deliberately closed off his mind so she wouldn't be able to track him down while he visited the little
cimetière
in the small wood lot near the castle.
 
He'd felt a sudden need to be there, to remind himself what he'd done to his family, and to the only other woman who'd ever stirred him to this kind of madness.
 
He'd come close to letting those sins slip his mind yesterday, and doing that would only doom him to repeat them.

As he started for the door, Eric gripped his shoulder.
 
"I'll come with you."

He glanced through the window where Frederick and Jamey frolicked with Pandora in the safety of the courtyard.

"And leave only Tamara to watch over Jamey?"

"What do you suppose Rogers would do if he found her here with only gentle Freddy and a cat for protection?"

Tamara tossed her head, flipping her hair behind her shoulders in exactly the way Rhiannon always did.
 
"I'm no helpless mortal," she declared.
 
"I can take care of myself."

Eric bit his inner cheek to keep from smiling, Roland noted.
 
"You've been around Rhiannon too much, fledgling," Roland said.

"And you haven't been around her enough," she snapped.
 
"Either that, or you're a blind fool.
 
She thinks you dislike her.
 
She thinks you believe she's not good enough for you.
 
If she does do something crazy, it will probably only be her way of trying to show you how wrong you are."

"Where on earth do you get these notions?
 
Rhiannon believes herself good enough for God himself, to say nothing about me."

"It's not what
she
thinks that matters, it's what she believes
you
think."
 
When he only frowned and shook his head, she fumed.
 
"I could just shake you!"

Eric caught her shoulders and drew her back against him.

"Easy, my love.
 
You might hurt him."
 
He glanced up at Roland.
 
"Go on, go find your rebel.
 
I'll keep things secure here."

Roland left the castle, but he couldn't help wondering about Tamara's words.
 
Was there the slightest chance that Rhiannon felt she had to prove herself to him?
 
It was utterly ridiculous, of course.
 
But then, Rhiannon had made that remark about his seeing her as inferior.
 
Perhaps there was some truth to Tamara's theory.

Now, though, he had no time to worry about theories or motivations.
 
Rhiannon was out on her own, and there were at least two potentially lethal enemies lurking in the village.
 
He needed to find her right away.

He began at the house she'd told him she was renting, just outside the village.
 
That she'd been there was without question.
 
The bloodstained skirt and his white shirt lay on the floor, and the tub's interior was coated in droplets announcing its recent use.
 
The room still smelled of the scented candles she'd burned.
 
The candle wax was still warm.

A suitcase lay on the bed, laden with clothing.
 
He assumed she was planning to bring it back to the castle with her on the return trip, but wondered if he was assuming too much.
 
She'd been fairly angry when he'd last seen her.

He shook his head, and checked the room thoroughly.
 
He saw the notepad and pencil near the phone and he hurried to it.
 
She'd written something on the top sheet, obviously.
 
But she'd torn it off.
 
He licked his lips, lifting the pad to the light to try to make out the indentations of the pencil.
 
No luck.
 
Angry, he turned to fling the thing at the wastebasket... and he saw the small bit of yellow paper, crumpled and resting atop some other rubbish.
 
He picked it up, and smoothed it out.

There was an address, and a room number.
 
Beneath those, underlined, one word:
 
"Rogers."

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

Rhiannon saw the two men silhouetted by the lamplight.
 
They sat in the hotel suite's front room.
 
She clung to the windowsill, fifteen stories up, peering in at them as the sounds of traffic and mortal activity filled the night.
 
She was at the window of a bedroom, but she could see them both clearly through the open door.
 
For once, she wished she were older, more powerful.
 
She longed for the power to transmute herself into a mouse, and crawl about the room that way.
 
She'd heard there were a few who could achieve such a thing, the very ancient ones.
 
She'd tried it herself a few times, but always only managed to give herself a walloping headache for her trouble.

She did have the ability to entrance humans.
 
She could, possibly, lull them into a state of catatonia, and then dance through the rooms at will without arousing a response from them.
 
But there was a chance her efforts would only result in alerting them of her presence.
 
For the man with Curtis Rogers was the one who'd attacked her at the soccer match.
 
And she already knew he could guard his mind from hers.

A little shiver raced over her spine as she studied his face.
 
He was mean-looking, with a wide, pugnacious nose and a thick coating of dark stubble.
 
He was heavy, his arms big, but not fat.
 
He looked like one of the professional wrestlers she'd seen on cable TV a time or two.
 
He wore his dark hair cut close to his head, in short bristles.
 
His lips were too thick.

She listened intently, and heard little other than their voices, speaking low.
 
She sniffed the air, and smelled the big one's sweat, and Curtis's cologne, and expensive whiskey.

Silently, she hauled herself over the edge.

"We understand each other, then?"

Curtis shrugged.
 
Rhiannon slipped to one side, out of their range of vision should they look this way.
 
"I don't need to understand you.
 
If you can help me capture one of them, you can name your price."

The man shook his head.
 
"Not just any one of them.
 
Her.
 
She's the oldest, the most powerful.
 
It's her I want."
 
He slugged back the whiskey in his glass and licked his lips with a fat tongue.
 
"I want you to tranquilize her, and leave me alone with her, for as long as I need."

Curtis shook his head.
 
He got to his feet, crossed to the bar and gripped the amber-filled bottle by its neck.
 
"You want to screw her.
 
You're not fooling me.
 
Hell, I can't blame you.
 
She's a hot one."

The other man pursed his lips and said nothing.
 
He held his glass up when Curtis approached, and whiskey splashed into it.
 
"Maybe I will, but that isn't my main goal.
 
You certain she'll be absolutely helpless?"

"Absolutely.
 
This drug has been tested.
 
It works."
 
Curtis filled his own glass and paced away.
 
"You mind if I ask why you think you can capture her when the rest of us have failed?"

"I have certain abilities.
 
And I know their weaknesses."

"So do we."

"I know how to use them."

"Yeah, well, I can't say I have much confidence in your chances.
 
But if you can do it, you can have her as helpless and as often as you want her."

Rhiannon shuddered at the image.
 
She recalled too well the last time she'd been helpless at the hands of a DPI operative.
 
Weakened from the blood they'd drained away, she could only lie there, hands and feet restrained, as they tortured and touched her.

"Then you'll tell me where they are."

She stiffened, listening.

Curtis hesitated.
 
"There are others that interest me, besides her.
 
They're mine.
 
Mine alone, you understand?"

"Perfectly."
 
He chuckled and the sound made her shiver.
 
"You have special plans for them, no doubt.
 
I wouldn't dream of interfering."

"And you can tell no one else.
 
If their locale gets out, the entire DPI body will be staked out around the place.
 
I'll never get my hands on them," Curtis said.

The man nodded.
 
"Agreed."

Curtis sighed long and hard.
 
"They're at a castle called Le Chateau de Courtemanche, south of L'Ombre."

His accent was terrible.
 
The name of the village had sounded like "lumber."
 
Rhiannon wished she could simply kill the both of them.
 
God knew it would be justified.
 
Unfortunately, Roland would never forgive her.
 
He and his noble, knightly ideas about honor.
 
And he thought he had a demon in him.
 
Ha!
 
If he had a demon, then
she
must be one.

"It might be of help if I were to take a sample of the drug--"

"Forget it, pal.
 
That formula is top secret.
 
No one has it but me, and that's the way it's going to stay."

So you think, Curtis, dear, Rhiannon thought.

"All right.
 
I don't need it."
 
The man rose and turned toward the door.
 
Curtis turned to a table, out of Rhiannon's sight.
 
She moved to a more advantageous angle and peered at him.
 
He snapped the lid on a briefcase, and she glimpsed rows of test tubes, with rubber stoppers, inside.

The drug.

"Aren't you going to tell me how to reach you?
 
I don't even know your name."

The man opened the door and paused.
 
"I'll contact you, when it's necessary.
 
As for my name, you may call me Lucien, for now."

He left the room, leaving the door wide.
 
Curtis hurried to close it, shaking his head.
 
He carefully fastened the lock, and then came toward the room she was in.
 
She flung herself beneath the bed, and peered out to watch him.
 
He kept going, right through the door that led to the bathroom.
 
She pulled herself out, and hurried to grab the briefcase.
 
In seconds she was out the window once more, and clambering carefully down.

She reached jumping distance and leapt elegantly to the ground, landing with a little bounce, and fighting to stave off laughter.
 
She was nearly giddy with her success.

Arms came around her from behind and pulled her into a darkened alley.
 
She struggled, but the strength in them was unbelievable, and for just an instant, she fully expected to feel the jab of Lucien's blade in her side once more.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

 
"Roland!"
 
She turned in his grip, and went nearly limp with relief.
 
"You frightened me half to death.
 
I thought you were that hunk of beef who tried to knife me before."