He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) (15 page)

Well, I was successful,
she thought bitterly. She’d gotten him sober, and now she knew the truth. Drew could practically see the pity in her mother’s eyes when she found out Drew’s predicament.
“You can’t fix everything, Drew.”

Drew had never felt so lost in her life.

Oh well,
she told herself as her eyes filled.
He’s way too old, way too prickly and sarcastic, and not someone I could love anyway.

She scuffed along the sandy path. What to do now? Slink home and go for a massage at the Ritz-Carlton with Jane? That felt so wrong in her gut it almost made her nauseous.

Then what was right, for God’s sake? If her mother were here, Drew would almost be tempted to ask her to throw the damned tarot cards. She felt that confused and directionless.

Okay. This wasn’t like her. Drew Tremaine was optimistic and directed. She just needed to see this whole situation from another angle.

Maybe he wasn’t the One. Maybe he was just a stop on the
way
to the man who was her destiny. Maybe he had a relative, or maybe Alice had a brother. This whole attraction thing was just a mistake, because he had the gene from Merlin. But he might not be the
only
one with the gene. She might still find someone she could make a life with. Did he know why he could find things? If he knew about the DNA, it would sure make it a lot easier to just ask him if he knew anyone else who had it. If he didn’t know he had magic, she’d just sound crazy.

She’d have to find out what he thought about what he was. And what Alice must have been. She’d have gotten a power too, when they had fallen in love. That thought hurt.

But her destiny had to be here somewhere. She just had to figure out where in this pile-of-dung situation she could find the pony.

So she wasn’t going home. Not yet, by God.

She started down the trail again and heard a car go by. The road was close. She found a branching path that cut over to it, and walked back toward the cabin as the afternoon waned. Clouds were piling up in the west and the day was darkening prematurely. If she weren’t careful, she’d get a tropical soaking. She hurried her step, thinking all the while about how she could broach the subject of magic DNA with Dowser.

She had to look carefully for the track that led down to the cabin, even though she knew roughly where it should be. As she turned into the tunnel through the vines hanging from the trees, she noticed that the rusted mailbox mostly concealed in the foliage was stuffed to the gills. The door wouldn’t even close. Glancing at the sky, she scooped the contents into her arms. Looked like Dowser didn’t take too much interest in his mail.

She couldn’t help but glance at the pile as she walked up the track. What wasn’t junk mail all seemed to be business envelopes from the same place. Odd. Her steps slowed. They were from someplace called Redmond, Inc. in New York. The paper visible through the window of the envelope sort of looked like a check. That was a common way of getting people to open junk mail—make them think there was a check inside. But so many envelopes sent from the same place? They weren’t junk mail.

Biting her lip, she pulled out the top envelope. This was so bad. But she held it up to what was left of the light anyway. She couldn’t tell anything. She should
not
be going through Dowser’s mail. She resolutely quickened her step until she got to the cabin.

*****

Dowser toweled down after his shower. He’d made it a cold one. That helped. He looked in the mirror. His reflection was probably pretty normal for a drunk who’d had the crap beat out of him three days ago. The bruises were going green around the edges. The scabs were puckering and hard. The alcohol had left bloodshot eyes with dark circles and a drawn look. His hair and beard were still streaked with gray. When had he gotten this old?

He heard her come in. He pulled on his jeans and opened the door. He just had to keep his thoughts straight for a few minutes here. He could survive that. She looked great. Her throat had a glow of sweat on it from her walk. Her red blouse was now tied up under her breasts leaving her midriff bare. Her flat belly disappeared into the band of her jeans
. Uh
-
oh.

“You look better,” she said, putting down a load of papers and envelopes on the table.

“I feel better.” He finished toweling his wet hair, briskly. Not going to think about her. “So, uh, thanks for what you did for me. And since I’m okay now, you’re free to go back to Miami and get on with whatever you were doing.” That jogged his memory. She’d wanted to hire
The Purgatory.

She bit her lip, thinking. “Uh, I don’t think I should do that.”

“I’m fine now, really.”

“You’ll just go into town and buy booze. And ... and tomorrow is Thursday.” She brightened. “You have a job to do, so you have to stay sober.”

“A job?” He frowned.

“Yeah. That guy, St. Claire, said he was coming back on Thursday so you could go treasure hunting. Which is tomorrow. You need the money, remember?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Why else would I put up with a prick like St. Claire?”

“So, since your car is still down by the
boat.…”
She was grinning now. “I’ll just stay until I can take you in tomorrow and see you get to your job, sober and chipper and raring to go. Then you can pick up your car when you’re done, and I’m out of your hair.”

One more night.
She wanted to stay one more night. Only now he was feeling better, and she was doing things to him even now that made him want to untie that knot under her breasts and pull her into his body where he could feel her bare skin against his. Could he stand it?

But suddenly, he didn’t want her to leave either. He watched her, gray eyes alight, a grin on her face.
Naïve
as she was and so bossy she had actually tied him up to keep him away from booze, she seemed more alive than anyone he’d met since Alice. He felt like she was pulling him back from the brink in more ways than one.

He didn’t want to pull back from the brink. He didn’t.

“Okay. One more night,” he growled. “Only I’m sleeping on the couch tonight.”

“Deal,” she said, her smile sunny as she ignored his foul mood. “I brought up your mail.”

He stared at the pile on the table. Yeah. He’d actually forgotten they were out there.

“There are quite a few envelopes from the same place. They must want to get in contact with you pretty badly.”

“They do.” He hoped that was damping enough.

She was not one to be dampened though. “Don’t you want to know what’s in them?”

“I know what’s in them.”

She frowned. After a pause she said, “There’s no use avoiding bill collectors. They’ll just take your boat. And if it’s a summons, they send the sheriff.”

Okay, she might not be a stone-cold bitch, but she was nosey as hell. “They’re checks. So nobody’s going to come after me if I don’t cash them.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, and she blinked several times, looking around. “If ... if they’re checks, then maybe you wouldn’t have to take jobs you don’t want. I mean, if the checks are big enough.”

“They’re big enough. But cashing them is worse than working for St. Claire.”

“Oh.”

“Can we move on from my personal business?”

“Right.” She stared at him for a minute, probably wondering what she could possibly do to get him to explain. Wisely, she realized she was stymied. “I’ll get dinner on.”

He would bet money she’d retrench and broach the subject again. Stubborn. Well, she had just met her match. “I’ll change the sheets.”

*****

“Hardwick can’t find a drawing of the sword,” Jason said.

The old woman concentrated on breathing. She had an oxygen mask now. Could he be lying to her? “Hardwick knows what will happen if he fails,” she managed.

With satisfaction, she saw Jason go pale. “He’s got the picture of the prow of that other wreck. The famous one everybody’s been looking for,” he said hastily. “He can overnight it.”

“Yes. But he keeps looking,” she said. “For the sword.”

“Hardwick,” Jason said into the phone in a low voice. “Do the overnight, but uh, keep looking for a picture of the sword. No, it’s absolutely necessary or the guy can’t find it. She ... uh ... really wants it badly. Yeah. Yeah, that bad.” He looked up. “He gets it. He’ll find a picture.”

*****

She was a good cook. He could taste food for the first time in months. They’d washed up the dishes together. But now the evening stretched ahead and all he wanted was a drink.
Gin, rum, whiskey, anything.
He found his eyes darting around the little cabin as she turned on the lights. Damn. Five miles into Sugarloaf and he could be upending a bottle in twenty minutes, because he wouldn’t even have to find the distributor cap. She’d given up hiding it.

“Want to play cards?” she asked sharply, peering at him. “I saw a deck here somewhere.”

“What games do you know? Old Maid? Go Fish?”

She put her hands on her hips. “I prefer five-card stud if there’s only two of us, but we could probably manage Texas hold ’em since that’s all the rage.”

He snorted. “Like Ms. College Preppie knows how to play poker.”

“I have brothers.” As if that explained everything. She got the deck of cards from the top of the chest of drawers in the corner. “What are the stakes?”

He thought about playing for booze, but she’d never go for that. Tempting though. He was Delta Force. Poker was practically part of the training. It was going to be like shooting fish in a barrel. “How about strip poker?” Damn! Why had he said that? He’d never survive a game of strip poker.
Especially if she lost.

“Nothing doing, wise guy,” she said, sitting down at the table. “We can use those shells piled on the porch.” She raised her eyebrows as she shuffled the cards. She was a good shuffler.

“Not much of a game. If you can’t afford to lose money....” Stupid. Playing for money wouldn’t be right when he was sure to win. Even he wasn’t that low.

She stopped her shuffling and looked up at him, speculating. “How about we play for answers? To the question of the winner’s choice.”

He only let his mouth smile a little before he stopped it. Now that was more like it. He’d find out everything there was to know about her.
Boyfriend, why she was here, her heart’s desire, everything.
And he wanted to know everything. “Answer has to be true and complete?”

She nodded, looking like the cat that ate the canary. She’d be a terrible poker player with that face. “True and complete.”

“You’re on.” He pulled up the only other chair to the table and tossed the mail onto the floor. “We pay up after every hand.” She nodded and flipped the cards into surprisingly neat piles in front of each of them. He picked his hand up. Not much—a pair of jacks.
Enough to open.
“Three.” She flipped three cards his way.

She was looking at her own cards. Pretty good poker face after all. “Dealer takes two.” She was probably trying to complete a straight or a flush. He liked his odds.

Lady Luck wasn’t with him. He got nothing in his draw. But when she drew hers, her lips made a small moue of disappointment before she caught herself and went blank. He still liked his odds. Let’s see what kind of a gambler she was. “I bet a question.”

“I see your question, and I raise you a question.”

Bluffing. But game. She’d have to be punished for that, he thought, thoroughly enjoying the prospect. “I see your two questions, and raise you a question.”

An uncertain look crossed her face. She was too frightened to push it. “Call.”

He laid out his jacks.

“Too bad,” she said, and laid down three twos.

He stared at them. “You’re kidding, right?” She’d won with shit-ass twos.

“Absolutely not.”

Okay. This did not mean she was a good player. She’d just had a lucky first draw. But this wasn’t how he’d planned the game. He looked up at her, eyes hard. “Go.”

She shuffled for a minute, cocking her head as she thought. Three questions. She got three questions out of her crummy three twos because he’d raised her. Reckless, as it turned out.

“Let’s start with an easy one. What’s your real name?”

Like that was easy. He took a breath. “Michelangelo Redmond.”

She smiled. It turned into a grin. He was used to that. “I bet your buddies call you Mike. Let’s see if I can guess. Italian mother? Father....” Her eyes got big. “Redmond is an Irish name, isn’t it, or maybe Scottish?”

“Is that your second question?” He shouldn’t have given her an out, just answered.

“No,” she said hastily. Her gaze strayed to the stack of envelopes.
The ones from Redmond, Inc.
She was remembering what he’d said about them. She turned those clear, gray eyes on him again. “What are those checks for?”