Chapter 8 #3
“What about a description of the man who hired you?” Sgott said. “Any visible scars? Anything that might set him apart?”
Raul hesitated. “We didn’t actually meet him.”
“But you saw him?”
Raul nodded. “He told us to park up on the sidewalk just up from twenty-seven. Saw this dapper-looking chap walking down the crossing, then slip into the house.”
“It was odd,” Jason piped up, “because he opened the front door but didn’t go in. Turned around and went through the side gate instead.”
Because as a Myrkálfar, he would have seen the spell haze. “Describe him.”
Raul shrugged. “Myrkálfar, but on the youngish end; well-dressed, nice shoes.”
I snorted. “Of all the damn things to notice—”
“Hey,” he cut in, “they were Loake Bedales, you know? Got a pair very similar to them.”
I glanced at Mathi, my eyebrows raised in question.
“Loake are considered one of the finest men’s shoemakers in the UK,” he immediately said, “and have been around since 1880.”
“Meaning they might have a record of his purchase?”
“Should have, yes.”
“Anything else you noticed?” Sgott asked our prisoners.
“His left hand,” Jason said. “It was deformed.”
“Deformed how?” I asked.
“Missing a couple of fingers.”
I hadn’t noticed that either time I’d seen him, but then, it wasn’t like I’d had a whole lot of time for any sort of in-depth examination.
“Yeah, he was,” Raul confirmed. “Fairly recent too. The scarring was pinkish.”
“That it?” Sgott asked. “Nothing else you remember?”
Both men shook their head. Sgott turned to the officer who’d been recording the entire conversation. “Accompany them both to the hospital. If they get chatty, take a record of it.”
He nodded, tucked his phone away, then stepped back so we could all exit.
“Hey,” Jason called after us. “What about removing the damn pixie shit from us?”
I glanced at Sgott, my eyebrows once again raised in question. He smiled. “Leave it for the time being. We’ll consider its removal once we’ve finished questioning them.”
I nodded, watched as the medic closed the ambulance’s rear door, and then said, “When did Kaitlyn get released from the hospital?”
“Yesterday. She’s currently working out of a secondary office outside the old city.” He glanced at me, amusement playing across his lips. “And I’ll be questioning her, young lady, not you.”
“She owes me a favor—I saved her life, remember.”
“And destroyed her home and her main business building in the process. She’s not happy, let me tell you that.”
“Then when you talk to her, tell her next time something untoward threatens her, she can look elsewhere for help.”
“She knows that is not in your nature, just as it wasn’t in your mother’s.”
“Thing is, there’s a lot more of my father in me than either Mom or I had realized.” It was bleakly said, and Sgott frowned at me.
“Meaning what?”
I waved the comment away. “Nothing. Do you need a statement from us?”
“Yes, but we can get it in the morning—”
“We’re off to Wales relic hunting for the council tomorrow morning,” Mathi said, “and are likely to be gone all day.”
“Ah, well then.” Sgott motioned another of his people over. “James here will take your statements now then. And please, if you have any other insights about our thief, inform me before you take any action on it. And that includes you, Mathi.”
“As you are no doubt well aware,” he replied evenly, “my father has cut my access to the IIT systems, so I am bereft of meaningful ‘insights’ and informational avenues.”
“You are many things, Mathi Dhār-Val, but you will never be bereft of insights, information, or indeed integrity.”
Mathi bowed slightly. “I shall take that as a compliment.”
“You should. I would not say the same about your father.” Sgott touched my arm, a gesture that was both affectionate and a warning to stay out of trouble, then moved away, heading toward the still-smoking ruins of the house. James took our statements and then asked if we needed a lift anywhere.
Mathi politely declined and then touched the small of my back, guiding me down the street to the worse-for-wear Merc.
A couple of cops were squatting near the front end, one appearing to scrape paint samples into specimen containers while the other took photos.
Henrick stood nearby, watching proceedings, but glanced around as we approached.
There was a briefcase in one hand, and over his shoulders were several leather bags, including my purse.
He handed me the latter when I was close enough, and I nodded my thanks.
“I called Marc, sir. He awaits just beyond the roundabout.”
“Excellent. And the Mercedes?”
“Will be out of action for repairs for at least a week, once the IIT have released it. I’ve already arranged a replacement.”
“Excellent work, Henrick. Thank you.”
Henrick nodded, then turned and led us down the street, turning left at the roundabout and striding toward the silver Mercedes—a carbon copy of the vehicle he drove—parked a little farther down. He opened the rear door, ushered us inside, then climbed into the front passenger seat.
“Home, sir?” Marc said.
“We’ll drop Ms. Aodhán off first, thanks, Marc.”
“Very good, sir.”
The privacy screen rolled up, and the vehicle pulled smoothly away. It was a Sunday night, so the traffic was light, and it didn’t take us all that long to reach the end of the lane.
“What time tomorrow morning?” I said as I undid my belt.
“I’ve made arrangements for a private plane—it’ll be more efficient than driving all that way—so about seven?”
“You’ll let Lugh know?”
“Indeed.”
“Thanks.” I climbed out, waited on the footpath while they left, then ran across the road and down the lane.
After checking everything was okay with Ingrid, I ran upstairs, dumped my stuff, and went straight into the shower.
The wind might have deflected most of the dust and debris, but I nevertheless felt caked in it.
After redressing in sweats, I ordered a meal from downstairs, made myself a pot of tea, then threw more logs onto the fire.
Once my steak, chips, and vegetables had arrived, I settled down on the sofa to eat, then slowly made my way through the other box of records.
I was only half done when the Bruadar came to life. Excitement pulsed through me, and my heart danced almost as fiercely as those stars. I took a deeper breath in a vague effort to calm down, then placed my tea mug on the coffee table and said, “Call accepted.”
For a second, nothing happened, then the stars flared even brighter, and the kaleidoscope once again swept me away.
This time, when I arrived in that cool darkness, I was not alone.
He was once again wearing jeans, but had added a black sweater that sadly hid his washboard abs while emphasizing the width of his shoulders and arms. His feet were bare, and his dark hair looked damp, suggesting he’d had a shower before calling me here.
His gaze met mine, and everything just seemed to stop. The twin beating of our hearts echoed and merged, and just for one precious second in time, we were one being rather than two.
Meant to be, instinct whispered.
Get a grip, the saner half replied.
He half reached out to me, a seemingly instinctive move that he stopped almost immediately.
I hated that. Hated the distance, the reluctance, that hovered between us.
Because of me. Because of what I’d said to him earlier.
And while I’d never regret being honest about my feelings and fears, I nevertheless needed to fix the divide it had caused.
If I really did only have nine months of life left, then I’d be damned if I was going to spend it resisting the insanely heated attraction that lay between us.
“Evening,” he said, his expression composed but his eyes anything but. “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything vital.”
“Well, if you consider sipping a cup of tea while going through Mom’s old records vital, then yes, you did. I take it you have some news to share?”
He nodded. “Although in truth, it’s simply an excuse to see you. I do miss you, you know.”
“And I you.” I wanted to say so much more—wanted to do so much more—than simply stand here. And yet, despite the resolution I’d made only a few seconds ago, I resisted, torn between my desire for him and the lingering need not to get hurt. “Shall I start?”
“As I’ve said before, I do like a woman unafraid to take control.”
A smile teased my lips. “And used it in a completely different context.”
“Whether in the bedroom or in conversation matters not. Both are ultimately sexy.”
“There are many who would disagree with that.”
“There are many who are fools.”
My smile grew. “Says the man who always gets the girl, be she outspoken or not.”
“And yet, before me stands one who will not allow herself to be caught.”
“The problem is not catching her, Cynwrig, it’s the fact that your people won’t let you marry her without you stepping away from everything you hold dear.”
“And if there was a way around that problem?”
I ignored the leap of hope and raised my eyebrows. “Is there?”
“It’s a theoretical question.”
Of course it was, because there was no way around it. Still... “Then theoretically, yes, she would be willing to marry, even if she’s only known the man for a short period of time.”
As Darby had noted, some leaps of faith were worth it.
“That is good to know.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Even if, as far as she and you are concerned, it is never going to happen?”
“‘Never’ is not a word within my vocabulary.”
I rolled my eyes, saw the answering flash of annoyance in his. And yet, surely he could understand my reluctance to take a theoretical marriage seriously. “Can we step out of the twilight zone now and concentrate on real matters?”
“If you insist.” He paused. “I would prefer to discuss said matters seated, however. Standing here will get uncomfortable in the long run.”
Once again, a smile tugged at my lips. “Are we talking chair comfortable or bed comfortable?”