Motor City Fae (7 page)

“Are you a business associate of Aidan’s?” she asked as she began to scoot her chair away from the table.

“Not business, really. More of a…” He hesitated briefly. “A long-time acquaintance of the family. You could say we were practically related.”

“Owain.”

Meagan jumped. When had Ric come out of the house? His voice was harder and colder than she’d ever heard it. He stood behind her, one strong hand clamped down on her shoulder. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Simply chatting with our delightful young artist.”

Owen’s kindly features sharpened as he looked up at Ric.

“Is that a problem, Alaric?”

Alaric? She’d assumed Ric was short for Richard. She filed that away to think about later. Right now she was focused on the hostility between the two men.

“I don’t believe you were invited,” Ric replied. His grip on her shoulder was starting to hurt. Okay, time to separate these two before they came to blows at Aidan’s party.

“Mr. Ferris was asking about my painting,” she interjected. “Ric, maybe you could walk up to our room with me to get Elise’s business card.”

“Who’s Elise?”

Jeez, sometimes she forgot how little they knew about one another. “The person who sells my paintings. I’ve got her cards in my purse.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Meagan. I believe Mr.
Ferris
will be leaving.” There was so much menace in his icy tone and rigid stance that even Meagan was tempted to flee. That was assuming she could wriggle out of his death grip.

Ferris narrowed his own gaze in response. “My, my, the bard is being protective of his pet. How touching. Is she that good, or is screwing her merely a side benefit of your errand? What better way to influence her in favor of your boss than charming her into your bed? Have you even told her yet that your meeting was no coincidence? That she’s nothing more than your latest assignment?” He smirked at Meagan’s stunned look. “I didn’t think so.”

Ric growled, his fingers digging even harder into her flesh. She shrugged at the pain and he lightened up. “You are not welcome here.”

There was a torrent of words back and forth in some language she didn’t recognize. Maybe Welsh? Whatever it was, she was beginning to feel like a rope caught between two pit bulls playing tug-of-war. All the hairs on her arms were standing on end and it was starting to piss her off.

“Look, guys, this is really no big deal. Mr. Ferris, if you want to look at my paintings, contact Elise Sutton at the Parkside Gallery in Birmingham. Meanwhile, I think
Alaric
and I need to have a conversation in private.”

“Fine.” Still snarling, Ric waved his hand toward the enormous bartender, who nodded once, then set down his cocktail shaker and wiped his hands on a towel.

When the giant rounded the bar—with his shaven head, he looked more like a professional wrestler than a waiter—Ferris sighed. “Why must you always insist on dramatics, bard? It’s so positively
human
.” His shudder made sure the word was an insult. Then he turned a kindly expression on Meagan. “Don’t fall for his lies, my dear. His motives for finding you are far from altruistic and though I suspect he’s quite capable of using you for a dalliance, it isn’t your charming person that has drawn his attention.”

He handed her a card. “When you’d like to learn the truth about your situation, call this number. I’ll be happy to enlighten you.”

The burly bartender reached the table and Ferris sighed again, with a condescending sneer. “It seems I shall be going now.” With dexterity and speed unexpected in a man of his age, he ducked under the arm of the larger man and disappeared around a corner of the house. The bartender, or maybe bouncer was a better word, moved to follow, his pace steady and swift until he, too, rounded the corner and was out of sight.

Meagan whirled on Ric, confused, pissed and mostly hurt. “Care to explain what
that
was all about?”

“Not here, no.” His voice was colder than she’d ever heard it, sending shivers down Meagan’s spine, reminding her that she really, really didn’t know him all that well.

She was beginning to come to the conclusion that this whole weekend was a whopping huge mistake.

“Was he lying?” She met Ric’s gaze squarely, daring him to tell more lies. Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the table.

Ric opened his mouth, but winced visibly at whatever he’d been about to say. He closed his eyes, pressed his lips into a thin white line and tipped his chin as he seemed to make up his mind. “Not entirely, no.” Now he met her gaze and she thought she could see honesty shining in his eyes. If she hadn’t been so furious at his manipulation, she might even have been able to forgive him.

“But why me? I’m not rich enough to ransom or blackmail and you certainly don’t need to con women into having sex with you. Why pick me for whatever game you’re playing?” Pure indignation gave her the strength to speak past the lump in her throat.

“It isn’t a game, Meagan.” He flopped into the chair next to her, his voice pitched low, his tone rough. “Yes, I was looking for someone and I suspect it may be you. But that isn’t the only reason I asked you out. Whatever has been going on between us has nothing to do with the other, I swear it.”

“That still doesn’t explain why me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it more mussed than before. “Do you really want to do this here, in full view of everyone, or can we move it inside?”

She glanced around and realized they had attracted quite a bit of attention. She bit her lip and shook her head.

“Neither. All I want right now is to go home. Maybe later, when we both cool off, you can call me and explain.”

“Fine. Let me get my car.”

“No.” She held up a hand to fend him off. “Call me a cab. Or maybe your friend can loan you a chauffeur, or something. I don’t want to be with you right now.”

Because anger was losing ground to hurt and she’d rather have hot needles poked into her eyeballs than let him see her cry.

Ric rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He looked torn, like he was weighing two equally unacceptable options. Finally, defeat registered in his amber gaze. “Would Greg be an acceptable chauffeur? I know he’s my friend, but I promise, you can trust him. You can even call your friend Jase and stay on the cell the whole way home. I’d feel better if you weren’t in some cab with a stranger.”

He really seemed upset by the idea of her leaving in a cab, so she caved. Greg seemed like a reasonable choice, as long as he didn’t spend the whole trip trying to convince her that Ric was a good guy. She nodded. “As long as Greg doesn’t mind leaving the party to drive me home.”

Ten minutes later she was in a battered red pickup heading out the back gates. Now this was much closer to her usual style. She leaned back against the seat, closed her eyes and tried to relax. After she’d wrestled her tears under control, she decided it was time to get some answers.

Greg remained silent, for the most part, answering direct questions with monosyllabic grunts, which wasn’t helping her temper any. The longest response he seemed capable of was the oft-repeated refrain, “Maybe you should ask Ric.”

She stared at her escort, trying to make sense of him, Ric, the whole situation. Then she giggled, despite her miserable mood.

“What?” His voice was low-pitched and sexy as hell, but it didn’t make her toes curl. That only happened with Ric-the-rat. “Do I have lipstick on my collar or something?”

“Not your collar. It’s on your ear.” He’d brushed his longish, tangled black locks behind his ear, revealing an ice-pink smear on the upper curve.

He swore and scrubbed at it with his right hand, easily guiding the truck with his left. Then he chuckled.

“Busted. Now you know why it took Ernie so long to find me. Aidan’s new secretary is one hot babe.”

Okay, now she knew he was nuts, unless the blond ice queen suffered from multiple personality disorder. Still, to each his own. She smiled back, even though Greg was watching the road and couldn’t see her. “Why do you call him Ernie?”

He hesitated, but finally replied. “It’s a long story, kind of an inside joke. You’ll have to ask Ric about that one, okay?”

So they were back to that refrain. Ask Ric. She wanted to scream. Finally, as they turned onto her block, she tried one last time. “At least answer this. Do you know what this is all about?” Even she could hear the hurt and anger that laced her voice.

But Greg ignored it. “Yes.”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“Not my place.”

“Please, Greg, I need to know this much.” She wasn’t sure why, but she’d decided she could trust this man’s answers. He was too abrupt and straightforward to be a liar. “Was Ric’s meeting me really an accident?” She didn’t know why she wanted so badly to believe that the whole thing hadn’t been some elaborately contrived plot.

After all, she should have known a guy like that wouldn’t have gone crazy over someone like her.

Greg turned his pickup into Meagan’s driveway, killed the engine and looked at her with an exasperated sigh.

“Accident, coincidence, fate—depends on what you believe in. Ask yourself this, Meagan. Doesn’t the guy deserve the chance to make his own explanations?”

She shrugged, fighting back tears. “Maybe. Later.”

When she wasn’t too hurt to cope with answers she didn’t want to hear, or too pissed to listen.

“Well, don’t wait too long. Bad things are going down and you might be caught in the middle.” He hopped out of the truck, slamming his door. She scrambled out herself, grabbing her tote bag as she did. Greg stopped at her door, set down her garment bag and held out his hand, apparently waiting for her key.

“What bad things, Greg?” She handed him the key, not caring enough to fight about the small stuff.

“Again, not my place.” He paused while she used the remote to deactivate her alarm, then he pushed open the door and stepped inside, closing the door right in her face.

She was too stunned for a moment to do anything.

Before she could even yell or pound on the door, he came back out, this time holding the door for her to proceed inside.

“You can believe this,” he said as he followed her in.

“Ric Thornhill is one of the good guys and he has your best interests at heart. Owen Ferris is definitely a bad guy. Don’t trust him. Listen to your instincts and as soon as you get a grip on yourself, call Ric.”

Her stomach clenched and she leaned against the doorjamb for support. “But I still don’t understand,” she whispered. “What can any of this possibly have to do with me?” All kinds of things had run through her mind—

drugs, prostitution, organized crime—but none of them made any sense at all.

Greg raked his eyes up and down her, shaking his head. “Ask Ric. But there’s something he needs to know and he’s been too worried about offending you to ask the sixty-four thousand-dollar question. So now I’m going to do it for him. Were you or weren’t you adopted as an infant?”

Shock waves rolled through her system. How had he known? Was
that
what this was all about? Did Ric and his friend know something about her natural parents? Her knees weakened and she leaned hard against the wall next to the door.

“Yes.” Her whisper was so soft and broken even she didn’t hear it, but Greg seemed satisfied. He took her arm and guided her to her couch.

“Call Ric.” His voice was still gruff, but with an underlying gentleness that soothed her frazzled nerves.

“He’s on your side, I promise.”

Ric sat in the car, waiting for Meagan to call. Greg had assured him that she would, she simply needed some time.

He hoped like hell that his friend had been right.

Even though he’d been waiting for it, the shrill chirping of his cell phone startled him and only his catlike Fae reflexes saved him from dumping hot coffee all over his lap. He mentally flicked the hands-free switch, without bothering to check the display. Mistake.

“Must I send another agent to Detroit? One who isn’t as likely to be distracted by a pretty face? Madog
is
available.”

Ric cringed at the glacial fury in his queen’s tone.

“Did your sources also mention that Owain crashed Aidan’s house party? Not only do I have to find your heiress and persuade her to give up her entire life as she knows it to take her place at your court, I have to protect her from your enemies at the same time. If you want something to keep Madog busy, sic him on Owain.”

Madog ap Arnoc was a half-ogre/half-elf, who had been the queen’s personal enforcer for centuries. He was devoted and loyal to her but had absolutely no other scruples. Ric didn’t even want to think about him anywhere near Meagan. He’d always gotten along decently with Madog, despite the differences in their styles, but if the massive bruiser laid one meaty hand on Meagan, Ric was going to have to kill him.

“Are you certain that this girl is the one? You only have two days left, bard. You had best not be wasting your time and mine in pursuit of, how do they phrase it? Oh yes, a nice piece of tail.”

Ow!
He hated it when Llyris resorted to human idiom.

It meant she was beyond pissed and that Madog’s next assignment might well be the assassination of an errant bard.

“Well, Alaric? Are you convinced that she is the one?”

He didn’t have proof yet. But the instincts that had guided him for over eight hundred years all pointed to only one possible outcome. Besides, it was the only answer she wanted to hear. “Yes, my liege. Meagan Kelly is the daughter of Emery of Rose and his human wife.”

“Then quit wasting time and bring her here.”

“She has to be willing, Your Majesty. If we abduct her against her will, she’s likely to side with Owain. He’s already done a thorough job of planting doubts in her mind.”
And whose fault is that?

“Fine. Seduce the chit and
then
bring her to me. But get on with it, bard. Or prepare to spend the rest of your miserably short life as a human.”

Ric slumped in the seat, leaning his forehead on the steering wheel. Two weeks ago, living out a meager human lifespan with no access to Fae magic or resources had seemed like the worst fate imaginable. Now he wasn’t so sure. At least if he was human, he might get to be with Meagan, though he was pretty sure that when the truth came out she wasn’t going to want anything to do with him, powers or no.