KICK ASS: A Boxed Set (56 page)

His uncle was in a lot of trouble.

“Think maybe we’ve been watching too much
Dr. Phil
?” he asked Cat, not wanting to consider the consequences for Rafe if Mariah couldn’t free him from the stone. Would he have a second chance at life? Could he find someone else to love him? Or was the woman who triggered the initial awakening the only one who could finish the job?

Cat slid her hand over his. “Isn’t it funny how pop psychology gives us all the tools to deal with everyone’s problems except our own?”

“We don’t have any issues we can’t deal with,” he said.

“But we don’t deal with them,” she replied.

She was right. After what amounted to a chance meeting fueled by an instantaneous and combustible attraction, Cat had given up her entire life to help him reunite his family. She’d shared his fears, his triumphs and his bed for more than a year. When she’d exhibited misgivings about chasing after Mariah, had he reassured her? Told her how deeply he cared about her? Promised that his past relationship with the Aussie treasure hunter was just that—the past?

No, he’d made jokes.

“Thank you for doing this,” he whispered into the speaker.

“Doing what?”

“Everything,” he replied. “Flying into the line of fire with me, more than once. Helping find Rafe. He’s a little shell-shocked, but excited to know that three of his brothers are alive. But mostly for putting up with Mariah. I know she dredges up a lot of unresolved shit from my past.”

“It’s your past, Ben, not mine. The only person who can put it to rest is you.”

“Mariah and never had what you and I have. Or what we could have, if my crazy family would stop getting in our way.”

“We wouldn’t have met without your crazy family,” she reminded him, her gaze drifting out into the darkness of the night sky. Her luscious lips turned downward at the corners, and when she turned back to him, her eyes were sad in a way that made his chest hurt. Her inky irises possessed a heart-wrenching melancholy, but her voice, when she spoke, was as strong and forthright as ever. “If you had to put a label on us, what would it be?”

He took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles, then pressed her flesh to his cheek. “We have what we’ve had from the start—a whole lot of trouble.”

She pulled her hand away with a snap. “You’re going to avoid this conversation, aren’t you?”

Again with the jokes. After a deep breath, he checked the instruments for any sign of upcoming turbulence and, when he saw none, he twisted around to close the small door between the cockpit and the cabin, taking the extra second to engage the lock. Then he removed his headphones, undid his seat belt, did the same to Cat and pulled her onto his lap.

“No,” he said, burying his nose against her neck and inhaling the very essence of her. “Up until tonight, I admit, I’ve been avoiding the conversation, trying to get around telling you how much I care about you in words and relying on only actions. But that’s not enough, is it?”

Cat licked her lips, and Ben suddenly wondered why, with all the cross-country flying they’d done in their time together, they’d never made love in the sky.

“Your actions have been very nice,” she admitted huskily. “And I haven’t exactly been shouting endearments from the rooftops, either. We’ve both been living in the moment, but with one foot firmly planted in the past. Your relationships with your father and Mariah. Mine with—” Her voice drifted off. Cat’s previous boyfriend had died because of the quest for Rogan’s magic. Though there had been no love lost between them at the end, she had not come to this point unscathed. “When this is all over, when your family is all together, we’ll concentrate on the future.
Our
future.”

“You’re willing to wait that long?” he asked, surprised. Possibly more shocked because
he
didn’t think he could wait for the completion of a task that might never be finished.

Cat pressed her mouth to his and kissed him until he was certain he’d inadvertently spun the plane into an inverted roll.

“Maybe not for all your family to show themselves,” she replied. “But let’s get this uncle solid and breathing and then we’ll take some time off for ourselves. Agreed?”

He didn’t bother answering with words, though for the first time, he honestly wanted to say them. He hesitated, not because of the consequences or the expectations of saying, “I love you,” to a woman who mattered, but he wanted to say it right—when they were alone, in the most romantic setting he could imagine. Not on a plane. Not while on the run.

But, while he had her here and the skies were clear, Ben decided that now was as good a time as any to practice a bit more of showing his love through actions and not words.

* * *

Rafe’s experience with hotel suites had been limited, but when he awoke the next day beside Mariah in a bed big enough for a small family, he realized that wealth had its privileges. He’d always eschewed his father’s predilection for luxury, even going as far as building a
vardo
at age fifteen out of an abandoned infantry wagon and several splintered doors and dragging the traditional Gypsy dwelling into the middle of his father’s carefully tended English garden, where he announced he would follow the traditions of his mother’s ancestors.

One rainstorm in the middle of a frigid German winter had convinced him that a solid roof over his head and a blazing fire in the hearth weren’t something to scoff at, but moving back inside the manor estate had done nothing to increase his appreciation for comforts like cool silk sheets, downy pillows and room service.

Until now, with Mariah.

They’d arrived in Texas just before dawn, so Rafe had retreated into the stone after watching Mariah stumble into the hotel owned by Cat’s friend. Though he’d lost corporeal form, he had not surrendered to sleep until after she’d picked over a plate of scrambled eggs, showered and slid safely into bed. She’d said very little to him during that time, but he’d sensed, from the moment after she’d returned from talking with Catalina Reyes in the front of the small plane, that she was deeply troubled.

Troubled enough to have slept all day.

A knock sounded from the other room, but Mariah merely turned over and placed a pillow over her head. With a grin, Rafe closed the double doors between the bedroom and the living area, then answered the summons. Ben stood there, not with his father as expected, but with a single sheet of paper clutched in his hands and a concerned expression knitting his brow.

“What is this?” he asked, taking the parchment from his nephew.
His nephew
. He was having a hard time accepting this, since at nearly forty, Ben was older than he was. In normal years.

“A message,” Ben replied.

“From Paxton?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, suddenly appearing as weary as Mariah. “I spoke to my father this morning. He has strong reasons, let’s say, to want to avoid any dealings with Farrow Pryce. He’s going to meet us in Florida. After we’ve taken care of this.”

Rafe motioned Ben inside as he scanned the paper. The type was small and seemed to contain only a series of numbers underneath Mariah’s name, which was printed in big, bold letters.

“It’s called a fax,” Ben explained. “The plane was recognized in Mexico as belonging to Chandler Enterprises. The entire chain of hotels received this message.”

Rafe focused on the part of the situation he understood. “What are these numbers?”

Ben sighed in exasperation. “A phone number, but when I… Do you know what a phone is?”

Rafe nodded.

“When I call, whoever answers doesn’t reply. The number is unlisted and untraceable. Could be Hector Velez. Could be Farrow Pryce. Either option isn’t good. But whoever it is wants to talk to Mariah, and Mariah only.”

“She’s—” Rafe started, but stopped when he heard the slide of the doors behind him.

“I’m awake,” she said softly, a different kind of exhaustion in her voice. As if she weren’t just tired from physical activity, but was utterly spent—body and soul. “What is it?”

Rafe wanted to touch her. He sensed waves of indifference rolling off her skin. He both marveled and mourned her ability to contain her emotions so expertly.

He crossed his arms over his chest while Ben explained. As she listened, Mariah continued to look pale and tired, even after nearly sixteen solid hours of sleep. Rafe was about to interrupt to suggest she order a meal before they dealt with the fax, when Mariah accepted Ben’s cell phone and started to dial.

She paced as she waited for someone on the other end to respond. She motioned for the two of them to remain silent and then pressed a button that allowed them to hear both ends of the conversation.

“This is Mariah Hunter,” she said once a trilling sound ended with a distinctive click.

“I suppose Dr. Rousseau is with you?”

“No,” she answered with a saucy smirk, despite her hooded eyelids. “I swiped his phone. Look, doesn’t matter who is here, does it? Just say your piece.”

“I have your coins,” Farrow Pryce replied.

She swore to herself. Rafe had not thought to recover the coins in the jungle. His only concern had been rescuing Mariah and taking her as far away from Farrow Pryce as possible. Once the smoke had cleared, Pryce had taken the coins to use as leverage.

“Of course you do,” Mariah replied coolly.

“I’m willing to arrange a trade.”

“How very predictable.”

“Sometimes, the old ways are the best ways. It’s very simple: You give me the stone; I give you the coins.”

“Simple except for the fact that I’m not willing to part with my stone.”

“That is a problem,” Pryce said, exaggerated concern in his voice. “But you see, I’ve already been in touch with Hector Velez. I’ve let him know that not only do I have his coins, but that, thanks to your incompetence, I’m going to melt them one by one until you give me what I want. He did not react well to the news.”

Ben grabbed the phone and slammed it shut. Mariah started to protest, but he stopped her quickly with, “He could trace the call. Until we’re ready, we can’t verify exactly where we are. Now we know what he wants. Now we plan. We need to attack this from an offensive position. The man has money and power—both magical and otherwise. If we play our cards right, we’ll have more.”

Rafe felt a surge of familial pride. Ben reminded him much of his brothers on the night they’d ridden against Rogan. Perhaps if they’d strategized longer, they might not have fallen to Rogan’s curse.

“What are you talking about?” Mariah asked. “Rogan’s magic? Because Rafe doesn’t like to use it. It makes him—”

Rafe was about to protest when Ben interrupted. “I know what the magic does to him. Maybe there is another option. To find it, though, we need to make a deal with the devil.”

Mariah and Rafe exchanged confused looks. “What devil are you talking about?” she asked.

“A particularly crafty fiend by the name of Gemma Von Roan.”

* * *

“He’s not bluffing,” Gemma said, a humorless chuckle in her voice. Paschal held the phone to his shoulder while Ben waited on the other end of the line. If anyone could accurately predict Farrow Pryce’s next move, it was his former partner in crime. “He’ll melt those coins with glee if he thinks Mariah’s going to die a slow and painful death as a result. She’s committed the ultimate sin—she denied him something he wants and humiliated him in the process. I’ve never met her, but tell her she’s my new best friend.”

Paschal returned to the line and repeated what Gemma said, then added, “I’d advise you to have Mariah free Rafe from the stone and then just trade the marker for the coins, but freeing the phantom doesn’t entirely diminish the magic of the object. If Pryce has both the sword and the stone, there’s no telling how much power he’ll have at his disposal. He could go after the Source, and I’m sure you’ll agree that’s not a good idea. The K’vr leadership is small potatoes next to what he could do with such extreme power.”

His son agreed, but made him promise (again) to be careful and stay put in Florida until he, Cat, Rafe and Mariah took care of the problem. Paschal nearly asked to speak to Rafe, but then thought better of it. He didn’t want technology between him and his youngest brother. They’d never been particularly close, and centuries had only added to their separation. He did not wish to exchange small talk. He wanted to look his brother in the eyes and apologize for taking so long to find him.

Paschal slipped the phone into his pocket and watched Gemma twirl Rafe’s flute, which she hadn’t relinquished since her vision at the K’vr headquarters.

“Anything new?” he asked.

She looked up at him, just as surprised that he was off the phone as he was by the fact that she was still playing with the flute. Below, waves from the Atlantic Ocean ebbed and flowed across the Florida shore in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. The balcony of their suite at the Crown Chandler St. Augustine was lovely, but Paschal longed to return to Isla de Fantasmas, where this entire matter had begun.

“I was just thinking,” she said.

“About?”

She balanced the flute on the tip of her finger, a task made more difficult by the insistent night breeze. “The magic. My newly discovered ability. The combination of the two. I mean, I can copy paranormal powers, right? That’s what you believe.”

“Yes,” he answered cautiously.

“Then if I’m in the presence of someone who is controlling Rogan’s magic, then I’ll be able to steal that, too, right?”

Paschal’s mouth dried. He had no idea whether she could steal the magic, but her ambition was precisely what made her so intriguing. The woman was driven and ruthless in her need to rule the K’vr, but just like Pryce, her ambitions could explode, if given the right opportunity.

But he also knew better than to lie.

“I have no idea what will happen when you are exposed to the magic,” he responded.

Despite the progress she’d made in finding her authentic self, her grin was every bit as hungry as the first time he’d met her.

“Then what are we waiting for?” she asked, standing. “Let’s go find out.”

Twenty One