Dancing on the Wind (18 page)

silence, he stilled, water overflowing the pot then a loud hiss nearly deafened him.

“Wasteful hound! Shut off the water!”

Grinding his teeth—a muscle flexing in his jaw—Fallon filled the coffeemaker with

water and opened the overhead cabinet to take out a filter and the makings for his

morning coffee. He measured two scoops of coffee, a quarter cup of sugar, and dropped

both into the filter. He turned the machine on and walked into the living area where a

single recliner sat beside a table with a built-in lamp. Across the room stood a state-of-

the-art plasma TV next to a computer desk wall unit.

“Uncomfortable room,”
An Fear Liath Mor
observed.

“It has everything I need,” Fallon defended. He slumped down in the recliner,

totally unconscious of his nudity, and kicked the footrest back so his long legs shot out.

“Most pitiful accommodations,”
the beast stated
, “but as I was saying, I will assist you. I

have already instructed your mate on what I will do for her. All you need do is bring her to me.”

That got Fallon’s attention. He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“So I may grace her with certain skills she will need to put this charlatan out of

commission.”

“What certain skills?”

There was a long, metaphysical sigh that sounded like a rushing wind through

Fallon’s mind.

“She worried that the—what did she call it? Ah, yes! The con game. She was concerned that

in pretending to be a healer, this con game would hurt the innocents. Her dreams last eve were

filled with despondency about harming the gullible. I gently woke her and told her there was no

need for her to agonize over this. I will grant unto her the ability to heal.”

Fallon sat up so quickly, the recliner bounced under him. “You told her what?”

“It is well within the scope of my powers, hound,” An Fear Liath Mor
snapped.
“I take

care of my wards as best I can without interfering with the Great God’s plans for them. With

healing, He gifts me with the option of knowing when and how to intervene. There are of course

times when He overrules what I want to do, but that is His right as the Great God. When He has

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Dancing on the Wind

decided an innocent’s life race is run and it is time to be brought Home, He takes the matter out

of my hands.”

“You are going to give Keenan the ability to actually heal the sick?” Fallon wanted

clarified.

“Is that not what I said, hound! Why are you not paying attention to my words?”

Pushing up from the recliner, Fallon stomped into the kitchen to pour his coffee.

“You are playing with fire here, Coim,” he warned.

“I am not.”
The statement sounded miffed.

“You’re putting her in a bad spot. If people learn she can actually cure, they will

clamor all over her to be healed.”

There was silence for a moment.
“But isn’t that what you were planning anyway, pup?”

“No,” Fallon said, drawing the word out. “We want to put Keenan into the

organization so we can find out what kind of creature this Mignon Bolivar is using to

kill those who oppose her.”

“Creature. Aye, that was in your dreams. I remember now.”

“Stay the heck out of my dreams, okay?” Fallon asked. As awed by the beast as he

was, he still didn’t want it rifling through his mind and especially not when he was

asleep.

“Let me investigate this creature you mention,” An Fear Liath Mor
said.
“I will get back

with you on it by the time you bring her to me.”

“And just when…?”

Fallon stopped, feeling the entity pulling back out of his mind. He hissed, snatching

open a cabinet door to extract a coffee mug. It irritated him that Coim made no mention

of his request to stay out of Fallon’s dreams.

Leaning against the counter, he took a mouthful of the scalding hot coffee, winced,

then with a brutal scowl on his features stomped into the bathroom, needing a long,

cold shower to rid him of his anger.

* * * * *

“Good morning.”

Her voice was so soft, so welcoming, so sexy he wanted to reach through the phone

and cup her breasts.

“Good morning,” he said softly. “Had breakfast yet?”

“I was going to give you another ten minutes and call to see if you wanted to go

down to the cafeteria,” she replied. “I’d offer to cook for us but I still haven’t had a

chance to stock the fridge or shelves.”

“I’m on my way,” he said, and hung up the receiver, feeling like a randy teenager

eager to see his girlfriend.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

She was waiting at her door when he walked up. Her smile made his heart ache, his

body throb, and he snaked an arm around to pull her to him.

“Good morning,” he said again, kissing her gently on the lips.

She returned his kiss. “Did he wake you after I left?”

Fallon snorted. “It nearly blasted my eardrums out,” he complained. He stepped

back as she pulled her door closed, reluctantly sliding his arm from her, and then

reached down to thread his fingers through hers when she turned to face him.

“Did he tell you he wants you to drive us down to the Ozarks to meet him this

weekend?” She tilted her head to one side. “Do you think he has to be in the mountains

all the time?”

“Best way to stay hidden from those who it doesn’t want to see it,” he replied.

“Coim isn’t an it,” she said. “He’s very masculine.”

Something in her voice made Fallon glance down at her as they walked toward the

elevator. “Why are you blushing?”

“He saw me naked,” she said, ducking her head. “Again.”

“I’m going to have to have a talk with it,” he growled. “Only God knows how long

it was watching us lying there in the buff.”

She changed the subject, pulling him past the elevator and to the stairway door.

“Do you really think he can give me the power to heal the sick?”

“It says it can.” He was grateful she wasn’t making him ride down in the

claustrophobic cage. “How do you feel about that?”

“I’m no Aimee Semple McPherson and I don’t want people thinking I am, but if

during this assignment I can help people instead of conning them, I’m all for it.”

They were walking slowly down the stairs, the only people in the stairwell. She

stopped and gave him a worried look.

“Coim doesn’t want anyone to know he’s doing this. He doesn’t want anyone to

know about him or that we’re going down there to meet him.”

“I haven’t told anyone,” Fallon said. “I purposefully left it out of my report that we

encountered anything other than the blood fiends up in Canada.” He shrugged. “That

would have opened a whole other can of worms for
An Fear Liath Mor
.”

“So what do we tell the Supervisor about where we’re going this weekend?”

“We don’t need to tell him anything,” Fallon replied. “Our off time is our own. I

think we’re due some down time, don’t you?”

She nodded and they continued down the stairs.

“There is one problem,” he said as they reached the ground floor and he opened the

door for her.

“What?”

“I don’t have a car and unless you’re into riding on the back of my motorcycle, we’ll

have to take yours.”

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Dancing on the Wind

“You don’t have a car?” she said, eyebrows elevated.

He shook his head. “Never wanted one. I like my bike. It suits me.”

She tilted her head to one side, seeing him in her mind’s eye astride a bruising

chopper, tearing down the highway at breakneck speed.

“It’s a Harley, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Is there any other?” he countered.

She leaned in to him as they walked through the lobby and out into the early

morning sunlight shining down on the monorail platform.

“If you had to have a car, what kind would you buy?”

He shrugged. “I don’t want a car.”

“But if you were forced to buy one, what kind would it be?”

He pulled her around and encircled her with his arms as they waited for the train to

arrive. “What would you have me buy,
myneeast caillagh
?”

She thought about it for a moment. “A sports car. Something sleek and black and

fast and terribly decadent.”

Three Exchange employees exited the dorm building and started toward them so

Fallon released her, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning his back against a

stanchion. He didn’t speak to the newcomers and they made no effort to speak to him

or Keenan.

“Stepford drones,” he said under his breath, and Keenan giggled, thinking the same

thing.

Once inside the train, he held on to the pole above her head, bumping into her as

the car began moving.

“So what kind of car do you have?” he asked. When she told him, he groaned. “My

God,
lhiannan
, that’s a granny car. I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of those ugly ass

things.”

She raised her chin. “I like my car, and since that’s what we’ll be taking this

weekend, you’ll just have to live with it.” At his grunt, she laughed.

The cafeteria was bustling with people by the time they arrived, picked out their

food and found a table. Matty waved to them from across the room where he was

sitting with a tall, Amazon-looking woman.

“Our medical examiner Dr. Phyllis Papadopoulos,” Fallon told her. “They are on-

again, off-again lovers. They are working on some kind of DNA cloning project

together.”

“Dolly the sheep kind of stuff?” she asked as she salted her scrambled eggs.

“I guess. That shit doesn’t interest me, so when he starts spouting all that medical

research mumbo-jumbo at me, I zone out,” he answered.

Keenan looked down at his tray as he began off-loading his breakfast onto the table

and shook her head. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“Hey, what can I say? I’m a growing boy.”

Three fried eggs, eight pieces of bacon, two slices of ham, a huge dollop of fried

potatoes, a large bowl of assorted fruit, a stack of pancakes, six sausage patties and

bowl of raisin bran littered the table.

“Reapers have large appetites,” he said. He nudged his chin toward the oversized

glass of orange juice he’d taken instead of more coffee. “And a sweet tooth like you

wouldn’t believe.” He salt and peppered his eggs and potatoes. “I think the love of

sugar counterbalances having the Sustenance each morning.”

She felt a slight wave of nausea push at the back of her throat but she tamped it

down, deliberately taking a large gulp of her apple juice to aid in the process.

“Too much sugar for my kind can prove to be a problem though,” he said.

“Why?”

“It works like a super-charged aphrodisiac,” he replied, wagging his brows.

“Remind me to keep the candy at a minimum then,” she muttered. “My mother is a

diabetic so we rarely had it at home when I was growing up.”

“Where does she live?” he asked as he gobbled a huge forkful of pancake slathered

with blueberry syrup.

“In Colquitt, Georgia,” she said. “It’s near Albany.” She speared a glob of egg. “I

haven’t seen her in two years.”

“Maybe you’ll get to visit her when the assignment is over.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, looking across the room.

“I take it you don’t have a close relationship then?”

She shook her head. “Far from it. She thinks I should be married to Zack and giving

him a son. She knew I’d never bond with him so he posed no threat.” She turned back

to him. “Hell, she doesn’t even like children. Why want one to dislike?”

He shoved his plate away—appetite gone, although there was very little food left to

begin with. His amber eyes locked on hers. “I’m not going to allow that asshole to

become a problem for us,
myneeast caillagh
,” he warned. “I’ll take him apart piece by

bloody piece before I allow him to come between us.”

Keenan laid her hand on his forearm. “There isn’t going to be a problem, Fallon. I

am with you, I want to be with you, and I am going to
stay
with you.” She squeezed his

arm. “That’s the way it is.”

Neither noticed the young woman who had approached the table until she cleared

her throat. Both jerked their heads around and up to scowl at the intrusion.

“What?” Fallon growled.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your breakfast, Agent Fallon, but the Supervisor asks that

you and Agent McCullough be in the training room by 0800,” the young woman stated.

A flickering smile trembled on her lips then she turned and walked away.

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Dancing on the Wind

“I’m finished anyway,” Keenan said. She pushed her chair back as Fallon got to his

feet.

Since the cleaning staff would clear the table, they left the cafeteria, silent as they

made their way to the third floor, taking the stairs. When they reached the third floor

landing, Fallon reached out to take Keenan’s arm. She turned to face him where he

stood a step down from her.

“I’m possessive and you know that,” he said. “And I can be a son of a bitch.”

“A word of advice?” she asked, covering his hand with hers. He nodded, gaze

wary. “Don’t let him push your buttons. He’s going to try, but the best way to get his

goat is not to let him get to you.”