CHAPTER NINE #2
But it had been her first time. She discovered passion last night at the age of twenty-nine.
The cops were looking for him, so their outing to the Met was a dangerous one.
Tabby knew it, but she was nervous more because of his masculinity than because the cops might recognize him and decide to gun him down.
Every time their eyes connected she felt like jumping out of her skin—or into his arms. And it was hard keeping her eyes off him—those jeans fit perfectly.
She wished she knew what she should do about him and them, but she didn’t have a clue.
“What’s that?” Macleod asked.
She kept her voice low. “We have to go through a metal-detector machine, and all bags go through an X-ray. No one is allowed to bring weapons into the museum.”
His eyes flickered. His mouth curved ever so slightly.
Tabby became alarmed. He had a weapon? “Macleod?”
“Aye, a wee dagger in my boot.”
Her temperature soared. She was wearing a skirt, a cashmere turtleneck and her boots, but she wished she were in a thin jersey dress.
She had her coat over her arm, and she held the turtleneck away from her throat.
But it didn’t help. They were probably going to get nailed the moment they reached the security guard and the metal detectors.
“We need to leave and get rid of it and then come back,” she whispered.
“Ye even worry like a shrew,” he said calmly. “When will ye trust me?”
Tabby was taken aback as his dark blue gaze held hers, and she realized that she did not want to trust him—not ever. Trust might complicate matters. Except, their relationship really couldn’t be more complicated.
Tabby felt him stiffen.
Alarmed all over again, she followed his glance.
A civilian stood beyond the security line, already inside the museum, with a cup of steaming coffee in his hand.
He was with a woman—probably his girlfriend—and although she was chatting to him, he wasn’t paying her any attention.
His dark eyes were casually scanning the huge lobby. Macleod had him in his sights.
To distract him, Tabby plucked his sleeve. That man looked like a cop or some other kind of government agent.
As she did so, the man looked at them, apparently aware of their stares.
Instantly Tabby dropped her eyes, only to realize that Macleod stared back with a cold, ruthless stare that was a challenge and possibly the prelude to violence.
She jerked on his arm. Only one person was ahead of them now. “Who is that?” she asked.
“A soldier.”
Tabby went still. “Please don’t tell me he’s a cop?”
“Aye, he’s off duty, but he’s thinkin’ about work tonight. He’s thinkin’ about me.”
Tabby inhaled and said unnecessarily, “Are you sure?”
“Oh, I can hear his evil thoughts verra loudly.”
She tensed. “Is he evil, or are you simply mad?”
He gave her a look. “He may be a soldier, but he’s evil.”
There were good cops and bad cops. It was just their luck to be standing twenty feet from a bad one—who was thinking about the Sword Murderer.
“Hey, you two lovebirds. Move it. You’re holding up the line.”
Although Macleod’s expression never changed, Tabby seized his hand.
He probably never allowed anyone to speak to him in such a way.
She glanced up at him and he gave her a lazy look.
She realized he was in absolute control, and not about to blow up.
He was not even worried. Maybe, for him, this was a walk in the park.
Relieved, Tabby stepped forward, and then realized that she was still holding his hand.
She released it as if burned and handed the inspector her purse.
Macleod never noticed. He was too busy staring at the inspector. It took Tabby one moment to realize he was using his otherworldly powers of persuasion on him.
The inspector opened her bag but then looked up instead of going through it. He stared at Macleod, perplexed, then riveted.
But enchanting him wouldn’t stop the metal detector from going off. And the bad cop was still hanging around, although he seemed to be checking everybody out. Hopefully, it was just a habit of his nature.
The inspector now handed her bag back to her, not having looked through it. “Go on,” he said, waving them through the metal detector.
Tabby went through first, her heart thundering. When she was on the other side, the metal detector suddenly rocked wildly, as if struck by a huge force. She saw Macleod’s power blazing.
She cringed.
The people in line behind him gasped, moving back from the blazing machine.
Macleod stood innocently on the other side, awaiting his turn to go through.
The metal detector was still.
Her heart pounding, Tabby looked at everyone present. Yes, a few people were whispering and staring with wide eyes at Macleod. How could he use his powers so openly? It was too dangerous!
Macleod was still as a statue. Even his impassive expression was set in stone.
“What the hell?” the security inspector exclaimed.
The cop ran over, as did two other museum security guards, but their attention was on the machine, not Macleod.
One of the guards started calming the crowd.
Tabby glanced at Macleod as they began trying to figure out if the machine still worked or not.
Someone suggested it had been shorted. The cop revealed his shoulder holster and gun, and went through.
The metal detector did not go off. Macleod looked at her, his blue eyes satisfied.
Tabby gave up. She shouldn’t have doubted his ability to get by a simple metal detector.
He had known what he was doing. She couldn’t help admiring him.
In a crisis, he was as cool as a cucumber.
She hated to admit it, but he would make a terrific partner for anyone in the war on evil. It was a shame and a waste that he hadn’t taken his vows. With that kind of courage, he should be on the streets, defending the Innocent, every single day.
“Oh, great. Now we have to frisk everybody,” the security inspector said. He turned. “Call Mel and tell him what happened.” He waved at Macleod. “Come here, buddy. We have to do it the old-fashioned way.”
Tabby held her breath, certain that Macleod would keep the inspector enchanted, and she was right. The balding inspector patted his chest and thighs and said, “Go on.” It was the worst frisk job ever.
Macleod smiled pleasantly at him and walked into the museum lobby.
Tabby breathed. Then she turned and saw the off-duty cop staring at her closely—no, he was watching Macleod as he joined her, and suspicion was written all over his face.
Her heart skipped too many beats to count. “He’s onto us,” she whispered.
“Aye, he suspects me, but I can destroy him easily enough,” Macleod told her softly.
“What if your powers fail you?”
He looked at her. “I could choke his life from him with my bare hands.”
She stared into his cold eyes. He meant his every word. If push came to shove, he’d break that cop’s neck as swiftly as he’d beheaded Angel.
She’d spent most of that morning thinking about having sex with him.
What was she doing? The fact remained that he was a medieval man.
Last night she had forgotten it. There would not be evenings at wine bars and trendy restaurants.
There wouldn’t be movies or ice skating.
There wouldn’t be weekends at a cozy cottage in the Hamptons.
She almost laughed at the idea of his doing any of those activities!
The only relationship they could possibly share was a sexual one—or a martial one.
Suddenly she was depressed. “Come on. The exhibit’s upstairs.”
His gaze turned searching as they started across the lobby. “Ye should stop thinkin’ so much.”
“I wish I could.” She realized she meant it.
It was too early for a line, and it was Tuesday, so the museum was quiet. Macleod left her behind, heading rapidly to the display case. Tabby hurried after him. She wasn’t surprised when she saw that he was staring at the gold amulet. Disbelief and shock were written all over his face.
“What is it? You recognize the talisman, don’t you?”
He began to tremble. Tabby was stunned by his agitation—and by the grief that flickered in his eyes and the anguish that crossed his face. Her head ached. She saw the fourteen-year-old boy, covered in blood and choking on grief, standing not far from an inferno.
“I am so sorry for what you went through,” she said softly, thinking about how terrible it must have been to lose your entire family and be the only one to survive.
He turned to look at her. For one more moment, she saw him as that grief-stricken and enraged boy. Then it was Macleod standing there, the grief replaced by fury. Behind them, the display case rattled. “The amulet is mine.”
Tabby went still and then dread arose swiftly. “Macleod, no! The pendant was found in the ruins of Melvaig quite recently. Apparently it was in the fire of 1550. It belongs to the British government.”
His expression was ruthless. “’Twas my mother’s. It belongs to me.”
She clung to his hand with both her hands now. “Don’t do anything rash. Please, let’s go and calmly discuss this.”
His smile was chilling. “There’s naught to discuss, Tabitha.”
This was not going well, Tabby thought. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the off-duty cop and his girlfriend across the room, wandering about the adjacent exhibit.
Her unease escalated. Had they followed them?
“Macleod. Let’s go. Let’s grab a coffee and talk about Melvaig, your enemies, the fire, and try to figure this out.
” She hadn’t even finished speaking when a security guard rounded the corner.
Macleod turned. The display case shattered. Alarms screamed.
“Damn it!” Tabby cried.
Macleod seized the pendant through the broken glass case.
“Hey, you! Halt! Put your hands up!” the security guard cried, training his gun at them.
“Let’s go,” Macleod said calmly to her.
“Put your hands up!” the guard screamed.