CHAPTER FIVE #2
Tabby knew the mind-set of the police. They were heroes—they defended the Innocent every single day—but they were merciless when one of their own went down. “He saved us today, Nick. He’s a Master, and he would never hurt a police officer on purpose. It had to be self-defense.”
“Don’t tell me,” Nick said. He patted her shoulder clumsily. “You look like hell. Go home and rest. Let us worry about the Highlander. And, Tabby, he’s probably long gone by now.”
Tabby couldn’t smile back. The Highlander was in trouble, and clearly he knew it.
He’d fled at the sound of the sirens. On the other hand, he looked capable of surviving an apocalypse.
But the police might shoot first and ask questions later.
The Masters weren’t immortal. Enough bullets could kill him.
Even though the odds were that he was gone, she was worried, terribly so.
“Can’t you use your clout with the NYPD?
Can’t you insist he be brought in alive and unharmed? ”
“I’ve already used all the clout I have,” Nick said. “You know, you’re so worried that I’m beginning to wonder if he’s swept you off your feet. Remember your little cousin, Brie? She fell for Aidan of Awe in about two seconds, and Aidan was turned.”
Tabby was aghast at the mere notion. “I am a human being,” she cried. “I may be obsessed, but I am not in love.”
His eyes widened, and his smile vanished. Sam was staring, too.
Tabby flushed.
“You see him again, you call me, ASAP. And that is not a request, sweetheart, so even if you are in love, I will expect that call.” He walked back to Kristin and Vanderkirk.
Tabby had never really liked Nick Forrester.
He was a hero, of course, and on their side, but she didn’t like his type, especially after Randall.
He was arrogant, powerful, macho and controlling, just like her ex.
As they stepped outside into the frigid night, she looked at Sam.
The Highlander made Nick seem soft and easy, she thought.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Sam demanded.
It was too cold to pause, so their pace quickened. “I saw him at the Met yesterday,” Tabby said swiftly. “He was bloody and burned, Sam. I know he came to me from An Tùir-Tara.”
“You’re telling me now?” Sam said, sounding upset.
Tabby looked at her. Her sister was never distressed.
“Our paths are clearly meant to meet. They’ve crossed twice now, at the Met, and at school.
” Her stomach churned with worry. “But he was not bloody and burned this morning. He had not come from the fire at Melvaig. What on earth could that mean?”
Sam glanced sharply at her.
“When you left me at the Met, I tried to cast a spell to bring him to me. Did my spell work? Did I bring him here, but from the wrong time?”
Sam’s eyes widened. “You’ve never cast such a powerful spell, Tabby!”
“Sam, if it worked, it backfired.” Tabby’s teeth were chattering now, even though she spoke slowly and chose her words with care.
“Why do I want to help him? Am I supposed to help him? The Highlander does not need me or anybody. He is a hard, dangerous soldier. He was conscienceless, Sam.” Tabby shivered, but not from the cold.
“Tabby, he’s medieval. It’s do or die in that world.”
“I know.” She tried not to think about Angel.
Sam was silent. Tabby glanced at her and she said, “You’re so worried about him.”
Tabby hesitated. “I am worried about him, which is senseless. The man who rescued us today doesn’t need me.” She added, “He scares me.”
“Are you sure?”
Tabby halted in her tracks.
“There’s no such thing as coincidence. If your spell backfired, it was meant to be. If he came here, he was meant to help you.” Sam shrugged. “Maybe you’re meant to help him, too. You’ll have to play this one out, Tabby.”
Tabby felt her heart lurch. Sam was right. “What if I’m not up to this?” she asked slowly. It was the kind of intimate revelation she would only make to her sister, Allie or Brie.
“You’re up to it.” Sam was firm.
Tabby softened. Sam had more faith in her than she ever had in herself. “What are we going to do about Nick?” she asked, as they rushed through a red light, the street devoid of traffic.
“Nick won’t mess this up. He’s a good guy, remember?” Sam said. “I’m certain he’d like to debrief the Highlander, but he really means to protect him. As long as he stays in the city, he’s in danger from the cops and vigilantes.”
Tabby stared at her as they hurried down the last block toward their apartment building. “You like Nick.” It wasn’t a question.
“His courage and ambition outweigh his less than stellar personality. He’d die for any of his agents, Tabby. He’d die for any Innocent. And he has his own demons, I think.”
Tabby had wanted to know something for a long time. “I know this is not my business, but I hope you aren’t sleeping with Forrester.”
Sam didn’t even crack a smile. “I thought about it. He thought about it. But I like my job and you know how it goes—not a good idea to shag the boss.” She added, “I do like Nick, Tabby, and that’s the best reason not to sleep with him.”
Tabby knew she’d never really understand Sam, who had never been friends with a lover and didn’t seem to ever want friendship from a lover.
“That is a relief.” Tabby ran to their building’s door, ripping off her gloves to find her keys.
Her sister simply stood behind her, so she said, “Call me the moment you hear something.”
“Yeah. Any news about your Highlander, I’ll call.”
Tabby hesitated, aware of how Sam had used the word your. She almost sounded unhappy. Something was wrong, and for the first time in her life, she simply couldn’t deal with it. She hugged her sister. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Sam said, and when Tabby was safely inside, she strode off.
SHIVERING, TABBY hurried into the elevator. A moment later, she was safely inside her loft.
She was chilled to the bone and before she even took her coat off, she put on a pot of water to boil. Then she began to tremble, partly in exhaustion, partly from the cold, and partly because she was worried about the Highlander. Her mind knew better, but her heart wouldn’t listen. It never had.
The fire in the classroom had raised all those feelings related to An Tùir-Tara.
She did not like that. She had never had any odd reaction to the sight of fire before.
Even thinking about it now made her stomach churn.
Was she picking up on his emotions? She was doubtful.
She was certain he was not capable of the love she’d felt.
The kettle began to sing and as it did, someone knocked on her living-area window.
Tabby started and cried out. He was standing on her fire escape!
She froze. In the night, through the glass pane, their gazes locked.
He knocked again. Tabby came to her senses.
He was wearing a thin linen tunic and a wool plaid; he was bare-legged in his boots.
She rushed across the room, unlocked and opened the window.
He climbed inside and with him came a frigid burst of air.
She slammed it closed and turned, stunned.
“You followed me home?” she cried breathlessly.
He towered over her. His face was hard and set, his shockingly intense blue eyes unwavering upon her. “Ye summoned me. Why?”
He was angry—and he reeked of male power.
And they were alone in her loft. She was alone with a medieval warrior, one capable of beheading a man in a single second.
Worse, she was suddenly aware of his huge, muscular body and his proximity to her.
She didn’t like it! “What? What are you talking about?” She backed up.
She looked at his arm and the blood crusted there. “Are you hurt?”
He stepped forward, closing the distance between them, not allowing her to escape. “No one commands me, Tabitha.”
She felt dread. “I still don’t know what you are talking about!”
“Your power,” he snapped. “Ye brought me to ye…Why?”
Tabby went still, dazed by his powerful presence and trying to make sense of what he was telling her. “My spell worked?”
“Aye. I ken ye’re a witch. I felt yer powers strongly in the school, an’ now. Why did ye bring me here?” he demanded.
Tabby began shaking her head. It was really hard to speak. “To help you,” she managed to say, a hoarse whisper. “I wanted to help you!”
He cursed and strode away.
Tabby felt her knees buckle. He made every recollection of every bad romance novel she’d ever read about the Vikings and other conquerors return, full force. She could picture him dragging women off to his bed by their hair!
Then she went still. Her spell had worked?
He turned, hands fisted on his hips. “Aye, yer magic brought me here.”
She was amazed and even excited. He stood across the loft from her, and damn it, as daunting as he was, the distance between them allowed her to really look at those high cheekbones, that square jaw and those stunningly dark blue eyes.
Her pulse escalated wildly. He was pure male.
His hard expression eased fractionally. Tabby had the unhappy notion that he was aware of her interest—except, she wasn’t interested, not that way.
But how could she not notice that face and that body?
His attire was skimpy! The tunic clung to his huge frame, and the two belts he wore helped delineate his anatomy.
The plaid pinned to one shoulder highlighted his broad shoulders and equally broad and muscular chest. The short sleeves of his tunic and his current posture revealed his huge, bulging biceps, but of course he was built—he wielded heavy, huge swords on a daily basis.
The belts made it clear that he had a six-pack—no, a twelve-pack.
Worse, she was pretty certain a huge amount of muscle was beneath that oddly drifting short skirt.
She decided not to look at his legs. She didn’t have to. They’d been impossible to miss, bare between the top of his boots and the skirt and entirely corded with muscle. That man wasn’t the product of the Zone Diet and steroids; he ran hills and rode horses.