CHAPTER SIX #2
When his brogue intensified, she’d noticed, he was either aroused or upset.
He was upset now. She couldn’t blame him.
He didn’t want to share the details of his life, and his worst nightmares, with her or anyone.
It was his right. But CDA needed to find and defeat evil, to protect the citizens of this country.
It was the classic clash of national security and the individual’s right to privacy.
Being a soldier meant she believed that the interest of national security won.
She wet her lips. “I work for an agency that hunts evil, Maclean. The Bureau is a cover. You probably know this because of your telepathy. We keep vast, detailed records. The agency goes back to the time of Thomas Jefferson. We have files on demons and demonic crimes that are centuries old. Because of your father, and your penchant for taking art that doesn’t belong to you, we have a record on you, too. ”
He stared at her, aghast. “I want the file.”
“It’s classified.” But her mind scrambled. Perhaps they could use his file to make a deal.
“I want to meet your boss. Immediately.”
“Nick Forrester runs HCU, a department in the agency, not the agency itself. And he won’t give you a copy of that file. But I’m sure he’d love to meet you. You guys have quite a bit in common.” She wondered if he’d hand over the page for his file.
“Set it up,” he demanded.
Sam did not like being ordered around, but she nodded. “I’ll speak with him first thing.” She studied him. “That page is in a safe place, isn’t it? I mean, no one wants it crumbling to dust.”
“It’s in a very safe place.” He whirled and started pacing.
Sam watched, trying really hard not to feel sorry for him.
He faced her. “Ye should have told me about the file sooner. Who else has seen it?”
“I’m not sure. Probably everyone who is working on getting the page into government hands.”
“An’ how many people would that be?” he demanded. “Ten, twenty—a hundred?”
He was really upset at the idea that other people knew about his ordeal. “Probably less than five or six of us have seen it. Nick likes to keep things really tight and in his control. If he could, we’d all be puppets on his really short string.”
He nodded, his eyes still blazing.
Sam wanted to tell him that there were no details on his captivity in his file. It was hard to control the urge. The information would undoubtedly soothe him, but if he found that out, they’d lose their leverage—if his file could be used against him.
“I want to see Nick tomorrow,” he said with warning. He was already at her door.
“Don’t worry. I’ll bet he wants to see you, too.”
Ian stopped, his hand on the knob. He didn’t turn it. “Ye need to be careful of Hemmer. I came here to warn ye.”
Sam started, genuinely surprised. Maclean was warning her of danger? Why would he do that? And how could Hemmer pose a threat? “Why? By now he knows you stole his favorite new toy, unless you dismantled his surveillance system.”
“He knows I stole the page. But he mentioned ye, Sam. He thinks to use ye in our little war.” His eyes flashed silver all over again.
Sam wasn’t particularly disturbed or convinced. “Maclean, how can he use me? Why would he use me? I’m not very easy to use, by the way.” She didn’t smile. “You can attest to that.”
His face hardened impossibly. “He’ll use ye against me.”
His single statement sent a rush of desire through her. She refused to acknowledge that. She couldn’t be used against Maclean—he didn’t care what happened to her. “You must have laughed like crazy at him.”
His expression never changed. “Hemmer is evil,” he warned. “He may be human, but he has power an’ he has deamhan friends. He’ll do whatever he can to have revenge on me. Stay far from him.”
“Like you care,” she said slowly. “Because you just said it—he is after you, not me.”
“I have no wish to see anyone hurt or used,” he said firmly.
“Well, then you’ve fooled me.” When he didn’t speak, she added, “Are you trying to convince me that you’re a good guy after all? Because I’ve seen you in action and we have your file. Even our supercomputer has all kinds of doubts about you.”
He shrugged.
“Is it even remotely possible that you inherited some predisposition toward heroism from your father?”
“I am nothing like my father.”
She’d hit a nerve. “Too bad. I liked him—once he was redeemed.”
He stared at her and Sam realized he was trembling. “Why are you pissed? We can’t talk about you or your dad? Why is he off-limits? He’s a hero. Frankly, I’d love to see some of Aidan’s drive to destroy evil emerge in you.”
“I don’t care what ye want or hope for! I came to warn ye that Hemmer is evil and he has plans to use ye against me,” Ian snapped.
Another subject he didn’t like. “Hemmer doesn’t worry me.”
“Of course he doesn’t, because you have no fear.”
It was almost an accusation. “There’s no point in being afraid. One day I’m going to die. We both know I’ll go down in battle. And my death will be Fate.”
His face was so hard now that Sam was surprised it didn’t crack. “What are you thinking?” she asked. “What does that livid look mean? I know you don’t care if I live or die.”
He took her chin and tilted it up. Sam went still. His grasp was brutal. She didn’t flinch; their gazes locked. “Sometimes Fate isn’t what ye think it will be.” He dropped his hand abruptly.
Comprehension began to grow in Sam. “You expected to grow up in Castle Awe in the fifteenth century—not in modern day New York City.”
His mouth twisted. “Yer a fool to drive like ye did—to have no fear—to think you’ll die on yer terms.”
“So are you! And I’m not the one with a death wish!” She stopped. Full comprehension finally struck her. “Wait. You don’t care whether you live or die. That car chase proved it—and I know why.”
He whirled and strode for the door.
Sam didn’t follow. “You lived through sixty-six years of hell. And that makes death acceptable,” she cried after him.
He did not look back; he slammed out.
Sam stared at her front door. She had just figured him out. He didn’t exactly have a death wish. It was just that death wasn’t the worst that could happen to a man—and no one knew it better than Ian Maclean.
SAM HAD JUST STEPPED OUT of the shower and was towel-drying her hair when her telephone rang. “Hello, Samantha,” Rupert Hemmer said.
Sam went still, dropping the towel. What did Hemmer want? It was ten at night. “Hello, Mr. Hemmer.” She went into a battle-ready mode.
“I’m downstairs,” he said, surprising her yet again. “May I come up?”
Her mind raced. The last time she’d seen Hemmer was that morning, when he was on his way to his office—but he hadn’t seen her.
Prior to that, she’d been at his wife’s birthday party, and he hadn’t been happy with her or Maclean.
However, before she’d left the party last night, she’d apologized.
He’d been suave, displaying some male interest, as if he knew she’d put out sooner or later.
She’d come on to him just a bit, as well.
In spite of the mild flirtation, she was almost certain he’d made her, not as CDA, but as a Fed. Now, she intended to find out.
Besides, there was something evil in his vault. She hadn’t forgotten—it needed to be checked out.
She slowly smiled. “Sure. Why not?” She couldn’t wait to find out what he wanted, and she didn’t think sex was on the top of his list. He wanted his artifact back. But why come to her?
“I didn’t think you’d be resistant,” he murmured, hanging up.
Bring it on, you rotten sonuvabitch, she thought.
She could manage Hemmer and whatever game he meant to play.
Sam hung up and leapt into jeans and a sexy jersey top, adding Black Orchid perfume.
The buzzer from downstairs rang. Carrying lip gloss and dangerously high heels, she ran through the loft to her intercom and let him into the building.
She stepped into the sandals, ignoring her sprain.
She put on the gloss, finger combed her hair, and when her door bell rang, she opened it and smiled at him.
Maclean had mentioned that he was human, but evil.
Maclean wanted her to fear him. If Hemmer was your average malicious human, hoping misfortunes upon others, his evil would not be detectable to her.
Except, he wasn’t average—he was a billionaire.
Sam decided she should proceed with the assumption that Maclean knew what he was talking about.
“Come on in,” she murmured. “What a pleasant surprise.”
He came in, his gaze moving over her body with real relish. “I’m so glad you’re pleased to see me.”
“What woman isn’t?” She closed the door.
“You make my wife look like a silly cheerleader,” he said softly.
An interesting opening shot, she thought. “You can’t buy experience, can you? Or intelligence.”
“No, you can’t.” He handed her a bottle of wine.
It was a Rothschild burgundy, which had to have cost hundreds of dollars—if you could ever find it on the shelf.
Sam didn’t react. Did he know she had a thing for really good red wine?
That would mean he’d done some homework, or had some telepathic ability.
Both ideas were equally interesting. “Just as you can’t buy fortitude. ”
Sam’s eyes widened. What did that mean?
“It’s from my cellar,” he added pleasantly, glancing around her loft as she thanked him. “Another room I would love to personally show you. You’d appreciate it as much as my art collection.”
Okay, he was onto her. “I would love to see it—and anything else you’d like to show me,” Sam said as softly, glancing at his tight midsection. He knew she was after something in his art collection. That was not good.
But hadn’t Maclean warned her?
He smiled. “A woman after my own darkest desires,” he said. “I hope.”