Chapter Three—The Riddle
When Lucas arrived at the mansion the next morning, a rental car was parked in the driveway. Frowning, he knocked on the door, wondering if there was another guest. Sara had driven away last night in a Mustang convertible.
The frown left his face when he thought of her. It had been centuries since a woman had actually elicited electric-like sparks from him. He was pretty sure she felt them too and, for some reason, was resisting the chemistry.
Perhaps it was just as well. When he had teased her about not biting, the wolf had growled and the thought of nuzzling and nipping her bare throat had stirred deep desire.
He couldn’t help holding her gaze until she parted her lips and the tip of her tongue almost emerged.
How he wanted to capture that tip while his mouth captured hers in a soul-searing deep kiss.
But he also knew that when he took a woman, he must remain somewhat distracted to control the beast. Giving in to raw emotion was dangerous, and he had a feeling that was the way it would be with Sara.
A sudden image of her nude, legs spread wide to receive him, arching her back to take more, writhing beneath him in unbridled passion, made him hard instantly.
He forced the picture aside even as the wolf stirred from slumber.
He couldn’t take the chance on hurting her.
Twice last night the beast had tried to break through. Once, he thought she might have noticed, for she looked startled. He simply had to concentrate on the manuscript. Stay focused.
But something about her called to him on an otherworldly level.
He wondered if Sara were aware of the dormant power she possessed.
And the faerie…he hadn’t seen Nimue since she’d bested Merlin in a battle of wits that left him imprisoned in a tree.
Arthur had had the devil of a time convincing her that enough was enough.
The door opened, jarring him out of his thoughts. The butler inclined his head slightly. “Mr. Smith has been expecting you.”
He made it sound as though Lucas were late, which he knew he wasn’t. He resisted looking at his watch to check. He had visited in far too many homes where butlers and seneschals tried to be intimidating.
“I’ll take your bag, sir. Mr. Smith is in the study.”
He could hear voices as he approached the room. Male voices, not Sara’s. He sighed, wondering how long this guest would be staying. There could be no looking at the manuscript until he left.
“Ah, there you are, Mr. Ramsey!” Mr. Smith turned away from the sword wall he was showing his guest. “It seems my collection of things has suddenly become more public than I thought. Mr. Caldwell, here, is interested in doing an article on my medieval weapons. And he’s from England too. Isn’t that a coincidence?”
It certainly is. Lucas’s cross burned against his chest in warning, yet his lupine senses could detect no magic from this man.
Caldwell was almost as tall as Lucas, but more stockily built.
He had the thick neck and bulky shoulders of an American football player and reminded Lucas somewhat of an army tank.
The man held out his hand. “Al Caldwell,” he said cordially, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
Lucas shook hands and the fine hairs at the back of his neck began to bristle. This man was not who he seemed to be. Before he could home in on what he didn’t like, he heard Sara arrive.
“Mr. Ramsey, did you rent a—” She stopped as she saw Caldwell.
“The car is mine,” he said with a disarming smile and stepped forward to take her hand. “You must be the lovely assistant Mr. Smith told me about. I can’t believe my good luck in having access to these weapons and a beautiful woman to work with.” He bent low and brought her fingers to his lips.
Con man. Lucas’s eyes bore holes through the man’s back, but he didn’t notice. Sara was looking flustered, but at least she withdrew her hand.
“Have we met?” she asked.
Mr. Smith hastily made the introductions. “Mr. Caldwell will need a few days to go through my authenticity papers, to have the facts straight on each weapon.”
Lucas caught the questioning look in Sara’s eyes and shook his head slightly. They would have to wait on the manuscript. She nodded imperceptibly.
“I can pull those documents.” She set her purse on the coffee table and walked toward the door. “Where would you like for me to put them?”
Mr. Smith frowned, apparently just realizing that Caldwell presented a dilemma.
Sweat broke out on his balding forehead and he dabbed at it hastily with the linen handkerchief from his breast pocket.
“Well…” Then he brightened. “What about the billiard hall? It has several tables and chairs, and Mr. Caldwell could spread out the paperwork. That would leave us free to look at the manu—”
“Ah. Don’t worry about that,” Sara interrupted quickly. “Professor MacDonald is already working on the matter, remember? And, Mr. Ramsey, I believe you wanted to examine some Scottish earthenware from the sixteenth century?”
“Aye, lass,” Lucas said promptly, going along with her story and admiring her quick thinking. “I canna believe the wee bit of luck that led me here. Laird Smith ’tis a most generous mon to let me have a peek at the artifacts.”
Mr. Smith preened a little at being called a laird, and Lucas almost laughed, but he realized Caldwell was regarding him strangely.
Sara caught the look too. “He’s an archeologist,” she said.
“Ummm,” Caldwell said slowly as he assessed Lucas. Then he gave Sara an engaging grin. “May I help you carry the documents that I’ll be needing?”
“That won’t be necessary,” she answered.
“I’ll just need my key for access and be right back.
” She started for her purse, but Caldwell put up a hand to stop her.
“Allow me.” He leaned to pick up the purse, but his hand brushed against a brass candlestick, which toppled onto the purse and knocked it off the table.
“I’m terribly sorry,” he said as he quickly slid the tube of lipstick and a few coins back into the purse. “How clumsy of me.”
“No problem.” Sara had reached him by that time and took the handbag, digging through for her key. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”
Both men watched her go and, again, the hair began to bristle on the back of Lucas’s neck. Caldwell turned to look at him and gave him a cold smile.
“She’s going to be mine, Highlander. I just wanted you to know.”
The wolf growled, straining to be released.
“Well, well,” Mr. Smith said. “This should be interesting.”
****
Sara latched the door to the library and crossed the thick Aubusson carpet to reach up and tug at one of the leather-bound books.
The bookcase slid silently to one side and Sara pressed her thumbprint against the small technology pad that would allow her access.
The door clicked and she descended the steps into the concrete-lined bunker that her boss had especially built in case of nuclear fallout.
It was comfortably furnished with overstuffed leather chairs and sofas and a huge master bed.
In a strange mix of the twenty-first century and the Middle Ages, there was storage for six months of Army rations, supplies of batteries to run the laptops, radios, and a small TV present, plus oxygen tanks and protective body gear and several thousand beeswax candles.
The one thing the bunker lacked was a generator.
There was no way to ventilate it. The other intriguing thing about this underground secret was the vaults.
She didn’t have access to the big walk-in one, but the files she was looking for were available.
She pulled several portfolios and stacked them. Then she paused.
There was another, smaller, vault recessed into a wall, hidden by a rather imperfect replication of the Mona Lisa. The irony of her smile in a cheap painting protecting the valuables in the safe always made Sara smile too.
She glanced at her watch. In five minutes the timer would go off and she would have exactly one minute before it reset itself. Should she wait?
Sara knew Professor MacDonald would be diligent in his work, but she knew also that Lucas did not want to wait.
And, she admitted to herself, neither did she.
As much as she didn’t want to admit it, his dire prediction had struck a note of alarm deep inside.
The Sisterhood was going to meet tonight.
The moon was full. If she knew where the danger lay, she could use the energy of the circle to call on the power to help.
The vault clicked softly. She swung the picture out, opened the door, and removed the manila envelope. Returning the picture to its place, she gathered the portfolios and climbed the stairs. She slipped the document behind a book and returned to the study.
“Ah! There you are,” Mr. Smith exclaimed.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” Sara explained a bit breathlessly. “One of the files was misplaced and I had to hunt for it.”
Her boss frowned, but she didn’t give him time to react. “Mr. Caldwell, if you’ll follow me?”
“Call me Al,” he said with a smile and took the portfolios, letting his hands run over hers slowly. “Will you help me sort through these?”
Sara hesitated. There was something unsettling about the man. Maybe it was just that he was too smooth-talking, or maybe it was the fact that he had actually held her hands in a most proprietary way. His touch made her shiver.
“I believe I had an appointment for this morning,” Lucas spoke from across the room.
“Yes,” Sara turned quickly and caught Mr. Smith trying to hide a grin. “You did.” She turned back to Caldwell. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble sorting things out. The billiard hall is the first door on your left.”
His eyes hardened, although his smile stayed in place. “I may have some questions later.”
“Of course,” Mr. Smith interrupted. “I’ll just show you to the room myself.”
Sara waited until they were both gone. “I pulled the document.”
Lucas’ eyebrow rose. “Do you think that wise?”