Claimed (10 page)

Chapter Seven

Caroline sat at the bedroom window, watching the dawn become daylight. She’d tried sleeping, but finally decided it was a lost cause. At least she didn’t have to work today and try to hide the effects of her sleeplessness with makeup.

She had other ways to occupy her time.

The programmed coffeemaker began its drip, drip, drip and filled the kitchen with the fragrant aroma. When the scent wafted down the hall and to the chair where Caroline rested, she padded to the kitchen and began her familiar morning ritual. Her favorite cup waited on the counter. She pulled the hazelnut creamer from the refrigerator and poured in a generous amount before opening two yellow packets of sweetener and dumping them in.

She sat at the small drop-leaf table and opened the red journal in which she wrote every morning and every evening, a suggestion by a psychologist before she left the hospital. Caroline knew he’d meant it as a way for her to vent her feelings, and sometimes that was exactly what she used it for.

Most times, though, she filled its pages with observations of the world around her and worlds unseen. She flipped to the entry she made after the odd incident in the diner parking lot. She’d done the right thing in making that call.

She hoped.

Sighing, she began to write on a blank page, capturing her dream before it slipped away entirely. She called it a dream although she knew what the agency psychologist would say, if she bothered to see him anymore. He’d say her memories were returning as she slept, and she should see him even more to talk about them.

Caroline was tired of talking. After the agency finished debriefing her, she had spent a mandatory two weeks living where shrinks could watch everything she did and listen to everything she said. She’d managed to fool her keepers during the day, telling them what she thought they wanted to hear. But the nights…

She buried her face in her hands. Time was supposed to heal things. Memories were supposed to fade.

Last night, she’d heard the drums again, felt the beat run through her body, threw off the covers as her blood heated. She’d been back in Haiti under the sultry sun, partnering with Creed Davies as they chased a particularly wily demon.

Her conscience was still clear then. She was tightly focused on a goal. Kill the demon, go home and collect a bonus for getting the job done fast. If she’d been Creed, nothing could have stopped her from doing her duty.

But she wasn’t like him. She wasn’t able to turn her back on everyone and everything except what the agency wanted. When she’d seen that young mother encased in the aura of death, she’d let her sympathy rule.

The sudden, loud burr of the phone dragged her back into the moment, back to the peaceful neighborhood where everyone knew her as a quiet, single woman who grew roses.

“Hello?”

“Miss Morton, this is Eastside Animal Clinic.”

Caroline relaxed as she confirmed Beggar’s appointment for the next day. The shreds of the past slid away, replaced by the careful routine she’d established over the last three years. She started with a breakfast of one egg and an English muffin then hopped into the shower. She grabbed the list of errands off the refrigerator as she went out the door and followed it for the next two hours. Library, grocery store, a stop at the no-appointment beauty salon to have her hair trimmed and her eyebrows waxed.

Back home, Caroline fixed herself a ham sandwich for lunch, refilled Beggar’s food dish and headed across town to do her weekly penance, an afternoon volunteering at the veterans’ hospital. Home again to chores spaced out to fill the hours between dinner and bedtime, augmented by a television show or two to keep her mind filled with make-believe.

There were still too many empty minutes left for worry to creep in. Worry that she’d been wrong to make the call, worry that she’d done the right thing. She’d learned at a devastating cost that sometimes, nothing you did made a difference.

* * * *

Rhori longed for the world he once knew, where he was a man among men, a warrior dedicated to his god Odin. The longer he spent on this plane, the deeper grew the sorrow in his heart. Unable to walk as a man, he stretched his wings and soared above the dirty city, seeking the woman warrior Chiana. He’d found her once; he could do so again.

That experience had taught him much. She surrounded herself with other warriors, men who felt their blood sing for battle as he did. She had learned to hide herself within the limitations of this world, tamping down her heritage.

He was stronger now. He was learning more of this world’s ways.

Valhalla awaited.

Sweeping down low, he searched for the energy of the man who had been with Odin’s chosen when he first found her. Maintaining human form wearied his spirit. Inhabiting a creature such as that one would allow him to pursue her in a way she would never expect. She would welcome this warrior.

When he saw the shiny building with the lights of many colors, Rhori knew the man was near. This was where he first saw her, walking into the building with the man he sought. This was where he’d tried to take her before he knew how heavy this world was for him, what the challenge was that Odin put before him.

Patience was a warrior’s weapon as much as his sword or his arrow. Rhori was prepared to wait as long it took for the man to come back. He flew in narrowing circles until he spotted a metal pipe coming from the top of the building and felt the warmth emanating from it.

Here he would watch.

Here he would wait.

For as long as it might take.

* * * *

Mick rolled over and cursed at the alarm clock beside his bed. Six-frigging-thirty a.m. He should be sound asleep, enjoying his first Saturday off for weeks. Would be, if that weird shit at the diner hadn’t gone down.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat up and buried his face in his hands.

What the hell was he going to do?

He’d tried the tracker and got nothing. Nada. Zip. The device should have given him a steady blinking yellow that he could follow when the Mustang was in motion, a blink that would turn green when he got within five miles.

The thing had a radius of two hundred and fifty miles. No way could she have gotten that far away. Which meant Davies had taken her away. Her beloved Mustang, the only thing she truly valued in life, must still be sitting by that piece-of-crap church he’d found her in.

He sat up and blew out a breath. In thirty-six hours, their time off would be over and the agency would expect them back on the job. And Harrington, the bastard, would know if he reported in for duty and she didn’t.

Easy money. That’s all he’d seen when he made a bargain with that devil. Money he could stockpile until he had enough to tell the agency to go to hell. Money he could use to buy a house in the best neighborhood and establish himself as something other than a came-from-nothing kid who wound up hunting down beasties most people dismissed as a fairy tale.

His game plan meant his friends were few and his relationships casual. The women he chose were easy to walk away from. They met a need, the same way that a good steak satisfied his hunger when he was ravenous. When he reached his goal, when he had his big house, he’d look for the right kind of woman, one who would believe him when he said an investment in software paid off big for him.

If Chiana met him at the agency tomorrow night to go on the hunt for whatever hellish creature was on the loose, everything would be fine. If she didn’t…

He wasn’t going there. She’d show up. She never called in sick; she never took a personal day. Chiana took her position as senior agent seriously.

Mick turned the alarm clock around so he couldn’t see the time, slid back under the covers and punched the pillow beneath his head. He had nothing better to do than sleep, and he’d welcome a few hours of black unawareness. When he woke, it would be that much closer to time to go back to work, that much closer to knowing whether he’d live long enough to see his dream become reality or wind up with Harrington putting out a kill order on him.

* * * *

“It’s a good thing there’s no limit on my credit card.”

“Ha, ha, very funny.” Chiana studied the food in front of her with satisfaction. The steaks were perfectly cooked, the baked potato was rich with butter and sour cream and every golden kernel of the corn accompanying it was without flaw. She cut off the first bite of T-bone, popped it in her mouth and sighed.

“That,” she said, “was almost worth every bit of trouble it’s taken to get me to this place at this moment in time.”

Creed lifted an eyebrow.

“I said almost,” she retorted before taking the first fluffy forkful of her potato.

Across from her, Creed picked up his cheeseburger and took a bite. Unlike his companion, he viewed food as a simple necessity. The right combination of protein and carbs could keep him rolling.

Chiana demolished the first steak before he was halfway through his own large burger. She’d flagged down the waitress and ordered peach pie à la mode by the time his pile of fries had diminished. She wasn’t kidding when she demanded to eat; her body had needed sustenance.

Waiting for her to finish gave him time to think. The easiest thing was to call the agency and let them send a team to pick her up. Since she was one of their own, she’d be placed in what the agents called the VIP Suite, a hotel-like room with a one-way viewing window. She’d still be studied, tested and probed, but the experiments would be conducted with an eye to her dignity.

Trouble was the easiest thing wasn’t necessarily the right thing. Chiana’s mother must have gone to extraordinary lengths to give her daughter a life here, in this imperfect and often brutal world, which meant the empire over which Odin ruled must be pretty damn bad.

“Now what, oh great and mighty leader?” Chiana leaned back in her chair and stifled a burp with her fist.

“We find those caves.”

“Then what? We sit there until we die and some kid crawls in and finds our bones?”

Now there was a good question. He didn’t know what they’d do when they reached the caves; he only knew Lillian insisted that was where he should go with Chiana. Hiding made sense. Until he figured out a way to keep her personality swings between her usual self, the fighting machine and Ms. Sexy under control, they needed to stay away from other people.

“Give me that blue one,” he said, gesturing toward the stack of books on the seat next to her. He refilled his coffee cup from the plastic pot the waitress had left and began to scan the pages.

“I have to pee,” Chiana announced, sliding from the seat.

“Not without me.” Creed caught her arm and stood.

“It’s right over there. You can see the sign from here.”

“Humor me. I’ll walk you over and wait by the door.”

Chiana rolled her eyes. “Remind me to nominate you the next time a high school needs a chaperone for a bunch of horny teenagers at their senior prom. You’d probably issue every girl a chastity belt to wear under her formal.”

Creed smiled despite himself. She really was one of a kind; no wonder her partner was so protective of her.

Only after Chiana pushed open the door and walked into the ladies room did he think about windows. If he needed proof of her effect on him, there it was. He never went into a building without scouting the exterior, and he sure as hell knew better than to let someone he was protecting walk into danger. If there was a window, and the spirit or ghost or whatever the hell it was came after her, it was all over.

He tensed, listening for sounds that she was okay—the flush of a toilet, water running in a sink. The damn door seemed to serve as a muffler, hiding any sound from inside.

Creed glanced at the clock above the cash register area. How long had she been in there? Two minutes? Ten?

He watched the second hand sweep round and round. One more minute and he was going in after her.

Forty-seven seconds later, the door opened and out came Chiana. He frowned.

“What took you so long?”

With a devilish grin, Chiana put a hand on his shoulder, rose up on her toes and whispered, “Girl stuff,” before dropping down and heading back to their table. Creed caught up with her in three long strides, draping an arm around her shoulders. He had two reasons for his action. First, he wanted everyone to know she was his; he didn’t need trouble now. And second, he wanted her to remember who was in charge.

On their return to the booth, he let Chiana slide in before sitting next to her. He expected an objection, but didn’t get even an exasperated sigh. The binding spell, he suspected, was responsible in large part. That suited him. Until he could find out as much as he could about her mother and her life, Creed had no intention of letting the woman get more than a few feet away.

“What did you find?” Chiana’s hand was on his shoulder; her head tilted so she could read the same pages as Creed.

“An explanation of the time-space continuum I can almost understand.”