Spirited Legacy (Lost Library) (11 page)

“I wanted to talk to you about Sarah. Actually, more about what we can do for Sarah.” She declined Harrington’s silent offer of coffee with a quick shake of her head. She still needed to squeeze another two or three hours out of the day, but coffee would have her bouncing off the walls all night. Then she’d never get over her jet lag.

“We’ve made every effort to ensure she’s receiving exceptional care. Did you find it lacking in some respect?” Harrington inquired as he seated himself on a much less squishy loveseat.

“Not at all. Actually, the opposite. I met Harry during my visit. He seems quite knowledgeable. Fabulous, in fact—and not even a little bit modest.” Remembering her encounter with Harry brightened her mood. Not easy in such challenging circumstances. But he was that guy—the one who just made you want to smile.

“And meeting…uh, Harry, that made you think—what, exactly?” Harrington prompted, bringing her back to the conversation at hand.

“Sorry,” she said with a small shake of her head. “Is doing some investigative work to determine what caused the coma, and see if there’s a way to reverse it, does that fall within the scope of my internship?”

“Absolutely. We can’t know what’s in the Library, helpful or otherwise, without additional organization and cataloguing. But I’ve already given Heike instructions to look for any connection to Sarah’s condition as she translates the texts. I envisioned you doing the same.” He brushed off a bit of invisible—to Lizzie—lint from his trouser leg. “Anything else?”

Harrington had basically just given her free range to investigate. Thoughts of unfettered access to the Library flitted through her head. But there was one gnat.

Lizzie chewed on the corner of her lip. “Heike,” she said in reply to his question.

Harrington waited politely, face impassive, for her to verbalize her concerns.

“After everything she did…I don’t understand how you can hire her to work here.” Again, her teeth started to worry the corner of her bottom lip.

“And what exactly did Ms. Schlegel do?” Harrington asked.

Since it didn’t appear to be a rhetorical question, she replied, “She worked with Worth. Mad genius, kidnapping Worth. She must have known something was wrong with Pilar and me—and she did nothing.”

“Employment and disinterest. Ms. Schlegel—Heike—is my employee. I’m satisfied that she’s a good candidate for IPPC.” Harrington paused, looking down casually at the spot where he’d removed the lint. “If that isn’t sufficient, then perhaps we should discuss the suitability of
your
employment here.”

Well, shit.

“You asked,” Lizzie grumbled. Gah. Now she was sounding a little juvenile. Time to be a grown-up.
Dang it.

Harrington didn’t deign to respond to her mumbles. When it was clear she wasn’t going to add anything else, he said, “Do you have any other questions?” Harrington was clearly impatient to move on.

Lizzie was happy to drop it. Working with Heike didn’t sit right. But Harrington had a point. She’d had a job, one that she’d fulfilled well by all accounts. And neither she nor Pilar had actually confided in Heike. She hadn’t invited late night girl chats, but she and Pilar could have said something to her. In a pinch, Lizzie wouldn’t trust her. But they were surrounded by security men. And their work seemed safe enough. That would have to be good enough for now.

Lizzie shifted to a less flammable topic. “I’ll meet with the librarian at some point? To get an idea of how the cataloguing will work?”

“Emme Roberts holds the position. She’s out for a few days, an unexpected personal matter. If that’s all, I have some business I need to see to.” And she was dismissed.

It wasn’t until she was out the door and walking down the hall that she realized—nothing about her mentorship had been discussed. She may have alienated her mentor by implying she didn’t trust his judgment.
Great.
That had been a big part of the reason she’d come, initially. Well, that, and her knee-jerk response to being told what she could do, as well as, where, when, and with whom.

But that had all changed when she met Sarah. Sarah, who was lying, half-dead, in a hospital bed because she’d tried to save Lizzie. Because Lizzie had been just a little too slow to stop Worth.
Well, okay, Harrington. Fire me as your mentee. I’m still here for Sarah.

And that little bit of righteous sass got her all the way to her room. At which point she sat on her bed and decided she wasn’t actually that sassy, and having a mentor would be
really
helpful.
Dang.
She needed to work on her “take that,”
snap
, attitude. She was polite. She liked to be liked. She generally followed the rules. She was pretty terrible at this sassy thing.

After a quick shower and a rushed prep for bed, Lizzie checked her cell for the time. It was past time to crash for the night. The Library staff had moved dinner late just for her and John. Then she’d met with Harrington. And now it was past her bedtime.
Sheesh.
Bedtime—she felt like a kid. She’d planned this whole acclimation schedule so she’d be over her jet lag as quickly as possible. But she’d been feeling like a night owl recently. Add to that, she’d planned to have a look at the translation paperwork and get a feel for the Library before she went to bed, and the decision was made. Besides, she’d sleep better if she had a plan of attack, she told herself. After waiting a few minutes, she decided to leave John a note rather than waiting for him. She slung a robe over her jammies, shoved on some flip-flops, and slipped out the door.

And almost ran into a very large, very broad, very solid green-eyed man. Green eyes? That’s odd. Before she could think beyond the fact that it was too dark to discern something like eye color, Mr. Green was backing up several steps, head tipped slightly to the side. By the time Lizzie had recovered from her near collision, he was standing a good five feet away.

“Lachlan? Lachlan McClellan, right?” They’d been introduced very briefly at dinner but hadn’t spoken beyond a brief “hello.” And Lizzie wasn’t exactly great with names.

“Lizzie Smith,” he said, and dipped his head in acknowledgment.

Lizzie offered him a wide, open smile, one that seemed to take him aback. Seeing him cock his head slightly to the side, Lizzie thought she must have confused the poor man by providing such a friendly response.

“My name,” she said by way of explanation. “It’s just—you’re one of the few people here who calls me Lizzie Smith.” Lizzie remembered that when she’d been introduced, only her first name had been used. She hadn’t thought about it at the time, especially since the tone of the late dinner had been casual. But perhaps that omission had been intentional. An attempt to keep the peace between her and John.

“Ah, I see.” And from the intonation, Lizzie knew immediately that Lachlan was up to date on the drama that was her love life. Another bonus for the Alpha Mate—no privacy in her personal life. “Then Lizzie Smith it is, until you tell me otherwise. Deal?”

“Thanks.” It was nice for her opinion on this whole name mess to be a factor. Lachlan was the first one, so far, to even consider what she preferred. The magical community assumed she’d take John’s name. From what she’d learned it wasn’t even really a Lycan tradition, just a casual assumption made by semi-strangers.
Grrr. She wasn’t married.

It belatedly occurred to her that she might be stirring the pot. “Although, I don’t particularly want my…uh, John upset with anyone over something so small.”

Lachlan’s chuckle rumbled up unexpectedly, deep and sexy.
Huh. Where did that come from?
She wasn’t into him at all. Weird, spidey-sense feeling; visible-in-the-dark green eyes; unwanted sexual attraction. Something was up with this guy. Lizzie casually backed up a step.

“I’m not worried about your little wolf, Lizzie Smith. But I appreciate your concern,” he said, the amusement still evident in his voice.

Okay.
She wasn’t sure where to even start. Offended that he’d just called a Lycan, her Lycan, a little wolf—like John was a little ball of fluff? Worried she was in the hall by herself with him? Glad that such a scary guy was on her side?

Lachlan was an enigma. He was in charge of security. He was clearly some kind of magic-user—she suspected a kind she hadn’t met before—and he seemed a good sort and likable. Yet, he set off her creepy alert. She mentally shrugged and filed him away with the five hundred and thirty-three other odd things she couldn’t easily explain. That list was only growing now that magic had taken up residence in her life.

Deciding that she didn’t need to figure out Lachlan right this second, she opted for retreat. “I’m just headed down to the Library for a bit. Harrington said he’d cleared it through security.”

“No problem. I’ll just walk you down.” He motioned to the stairs.

“Not necessary,” John said, coming up the stairs.

Lizzie jumped. Only a little bit—but still embarrassing to have been startled by her own…whatever he was. He was like a damn cat. She gave him a hard look, one that he simply accepted and returned with a bland smile.

With an odd little formal quarter bow to John, Lachlan said, “Of course.” He turned to Lizzie. “Good evening, Ms. Smith.” Turning back to John, he said simply, “Braxton.” And continued along the corridor.

And there went the bland look John had worn. She
knew
the Smith comment would piss him off. It was a small enough thing, accepting a name that wasn’t really hers. Maybe she should—wait, what was she saying? That actually wasn’t a small thing. Not a small thing, at all.

And the sass was back.

“I’m headed to the Library,” Lizzie said as she passed by John on her way down the stairs.

“In your nightgown?” John raised an eyebrow as she paused next to him on the stairs.

“I’m not wearing a nightgown—” And before Lizzie could comment on her jammie choice for the evening, John had lifted her, wrapped her legs around his waist, and kissed her breathless.

“Um, that’s not what I meant,” she said, panting a little in between words.

With his hand supporting her bum, he could hardly have missed that she was wearing something under her robe. In contrast to the nothing that he’d clearly pictured.

“I’d be lying if I said ‘no problem.’” She could feel his smile, since his mouth was pressed against her neck, nibbling and licking his way to her ear.

As soon as she felt his tongue on her ear, she made a squeaky, startled noise. Seriously—she knew it was coming, so how did he manage to make her scream like a teenager every time?

“We’re on the stairs. In public, basically,” she mumbled between pants.

“Really?” She could just hear the leer in his voice, the degenerate.

She smiled. She was sure he could hear the laughter in her voice when she said, “Yes, you letch. Really. What is it with you and public places? This is basically my office.”

It was cute but a little inconvenient. Because he was ridiculously difficult to resist. And she
did not
need Harrington running into the two of them screwing like bunnies on the stairs. Her situation was hard enough without
that
being thrown in the mix.

He hesitated a moment, then reluctantly, slowly lowered her to the ground. Her body slid against his in a way that made her mind wander to the joys of public sex. Really, it wasn’t such a bad idea.

Once he saw that she had her balance and wasn’t in danger of tumbling down the stairs, he discreetly shifted his erection. Jeans, no underwear, rigid cock…ack. That could not be good.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Lizzie said diffidently.

He grinned. “No problem.”

She tugged his arm slightly, indicating her readiness to head down the stairs. “What’s with the fuck-me-now kiss?” She avoided his gaze, concentrating on the stairs. She still couldn’t look him in the face and say “fuck.” Baby steps.

“Are you complaining?” He was so laughing at her.

“Never mind. Forget I asked.” She tried to keep the sheepish tone from her voice, but she couldn’t help that she embarrassed easily. She was quickly and quietly making her way down the stairs while she spoke.

She was starting to weigh the risks of public sex versus Harrington interruptus. She was even reconsidering her views on public intercourse. Before her thoughts traveled too far afield, they ran into another security guard.

“Library,” John said in explanation of their late night appearance.

The guard just nodded and kept walking.

When they reached the Library door, both tried to speak at once and stopped. After a small pause, Lizzie spoke up. “I’m just planning to stay a little while then head to bed.”

“You think you’ll be at least half an hour?” He looked a bit fidgety.

That’s when Lizzie realized he’d been cooped up on a plane all day and likely had been tied up at IPPC in London too long to go for a run.

“Plenty of time for you to catch a run.” She tried to act nonchalant when she said, “I bet there are a few security guys who usually catch a late night run.”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Worried?” He reached out to tap the tip of her nose, but she ducked. “I’ll be fine. See you in a bit.”

By the time Lizzie walked into the Library and settled into a chair, she’d decided she was only going to stay long enough to review the librarian’s notes outlining the new organization and filing structure of the Library. She’d read through some basic notes, a few lists of proposed topic-related categories, and was reviewing a sketch of the Library with shelving options penciled in when she realized she’d stayed a little longer than planned.

She was tired and more than ready to be done for the night. She was especially edgy that evening, but she didn’t think about why until much later. Pent up sexual frustration, sitting in the same seat in the Library for a long time, or jet lag? Whatever the reason, she screamed like a little girl when she heard a loud thump directly behind her.

Chapter 14

S
he was in a house full of magic-using security guards, most of whom likely had super-hearing. So it was no surprise when, seconds later, one of the guards appeared. Before she could do more than scream, jump, retrieve her heart from her throat, and turn around—not necessarily in that order—the guard was there. Dougal, Fergus, Tavish? She couldn’t remember who was who, and they all had Scottish names.