Dangerous (21 page)

“Now you look all gloomy,” Matt said, eyeing his sister.

Winnie perked up. “Do I?” she asked, smiling at him. “I don’t feel gloomy,” she lied.

He smiled. “Okay. Just checking.”

H
ER MOTHER MADE A
fuss over the pretty white suit and protested when Winnie got a vase from one of the nurses and made a bouquet for Gail out of her bridal bouquet.

“No, you’ll want to save that,” Gail protested.

“What for?” Winnie asked, smiling. “It’s just flowers. Our marriage probably won’t last much longer than they will.”

Kilraven felt those words like a stab in the heart. He looked at Winnie as if he thought she was needling him, but he realized quite suddenly that she wasn’t. Maybe he was taking the lack of frills at their wedding harder than she was. Winnie was a realist.

His hands were clenched in his pockets as he watched her move around the room. She had an easy grace in her walk, elegance personified. She was pretty and sweet and intelligent; she’d finished two years of college before she quit and went home to work for the Jacobsville Police Department as a clerk. He frowned. Why had she dropped out of college, he wondered. He’d never asked.

Of course, he’d never talked to her long enough to get around to personal questions. He’d tried to be remote and inaccessible, to discourage her from daydreaming about him. This marriage wasn’t going to do much to cure that crush she had on him, that was for sure.

Still, if anything happened down in Nassau, he wouldn’t be taking advantage of a single woman. He pursed his lips as he studied her trim figure, her slight breasts, her long, pretty legs. He loved that long, blond hair. He remembered the feel of it, clenched in his fingers while he kissed her. He remembered the taste of her bare breasts… His body made a sudden and visible statement about how it had enjoyed that long, sweet taste of her. It wanted more.

“Going for coffee. Want any?” he asked Winnie, as he started toward the door.

“Yes, please,” she said.

He waved a hand and kept walking.

“He’s acting very oddly,” Winnie remarked. She grimaced. “I think he’s comparing me with his first wife,” she told her mother, “and I don’t imagine I compare well.”

“You don’t know that,” Gail said soothingly. “It’s hard for men to get married. He’s got a lot on his mind, too.”

“Yes. This case.” She perched on the chair by her mother’s bed. “I painted a picture of a raven and gave it to him for Christmas. It was supposed to be an anonymous present, but he knew immediately that I’d done it, and he was furious. He walked out without saying a word to me.” She sighed. “Then he took me to his house and showed me a picture just like it. His daughter had drawn and colored it just before she was killed. They were identical. He wanted to know how I knew to paint something like that. I don’t know.”

“I’ve had that ability all my life,” Gail told her. “I can crack cold cases that other detectives can’t. I get feelings, intuition. I can feel it when something’s not right.”

“So it runs in the family.”

“I don’t know. I don’t recall my parents or their parents ever knowing something was going to happen before it did.” She smiled. “I guess you inherited it from me. So did Matt,” she added. “He knows when I’m in trouble.”

“And you know about him.”

Gail nodded. “He’s quite a boy.”

“Dad would have been proud of him,” Winnie told her. “I’m so sorry he wouldn’t listen to you.”

“Baby, you’re not half as sorry as I am,” Gail said. “But the past twelve years have taught me to be self-sufficient, to take care of myself. I went from my home straight into marriage, at an age when most girls are just learning about boys and dating. I missed so much.” She smiled sadly. “Your father was handsome and charming. He convinced me that marrying him was the smart thing to do, so I did it. He was twelve years older than me. That’s not a lot, but it’s almost a generation.”

“I know,” Winnie said quietly. “That’s the argument Kilraven uses with me. He’s ten years older than me.”

“He’s dangerous,” Gail said, her voice quiet and intense. “I don’t mean that he’d ever hurt you, I know he wouldn’t. But he takes chances. He lives on the edge. He’s done things you wouldn’t believe in the line of duty.”

“Warning me off him?” Winnie teased.

“It’s far too late for that,” Gail replied. “Just try not to go in headfirst, okay? You may be hoping for a long-term commitment, but that man isn’t ready for one. He hasn’t faced his own tragedy. Until he does, he’s a walking time bomb, waiting to self-destruct.”

“I couldn’t say no,” Winnie replied. “I love him,” she confessed, averting her eyes.

“I know that. I’m sorry.”

Winnie shifted in the chair. “He might discover that he can’t live without me.”

“That’s a very long shot.”

“Well, we have to have goals to aim for,” Winnie said, trying to rally her sense of humor. “Some women want to go to Mars, I just want to keep Kilraven.”

“The women going to Mars will get their wish long before you get yours,” Gail assured her.

“You are so cynical.” Winnie laughed. “Just like Kilraven.”

“We’re L.E.O.s,” she replied with a wan smile. “The job makes us that way.”

“I do understand, a little,” Winnie said. “I work with people in law enforcement. I know what you go through, what you have to look at. I know how hard you work, and how unrewarding it can be. I know how critical the public is of you. The media notices every tiny slip you make, and ignores the big drug busts and the simple acts of kindness and the danger you endure just to do the job. I think it’s a great job,” she added with a smile. “And I’m proud that you’re one of those people.”

“Thank you,” Gail said softly. “That means a lot.”

There was a metallic sound, followed by a loud hum, and Matt came into the room. “Finally got here!” he exclaimed. “I got stuck on an elevator going up and I couldn’t get to the front in this to press the button for your floor. Kilraven and I got separated downstairs at the elevators. Where is he?” he asked suddenly.

“Gone after coffee,” Winnie said with a grin. She looked at her mother. “How do you like it? You should have seen Kilraven trying to disassemble it to get it in the trunk of the Jaguar! It’s complicated.”

“Yes, but he’s a whiz at machinery,” Matt enthused. “I wish I had the gift.”

“Don’t we all.” Gail sighed. She grinned at her son. “I do like the chair.”

“I hugged Boone,” he said. “He’s the greatest.”

“Yes, he is,” Winnie agreed.

“I like Clark, too,” Matt said quickly. “He’s great at video games!”

“And of course, that’s the best character reference he can give,” Gail said drolly.

Matt made a face at her. “Video games are my life, what can I say?”

“In about five years, girls will be your life, so enjoy it while you can,” his mother told him.

“Girls. Yuuck.” He hesitated. “Although, that girl in the wheelchair sure was pretty. I still have her e-mail address,” he added, and levered his eyebrows up and down.

“He’s going to be a ladykiller.” Winnie sighed.

“I am not killing women when I grow up,” Matt said indignantly.

“That’s not what it means,” Gail told him, and explained.

He grinned. “That wouldn’t be so bad. I could charm women out of their video games.”

“I think you have a problem,” Winnie told her mother.

“I know I do,” Gail replied.

Kilraven came back with coffee and they had a short visit. Matt was keen to get to Kilraven’s apartment and see those game consoles he’d heard about; not to mention the collection of first-person shooter games.

“Bloodthirsty boy,” Kilraven accused when they’d said goodbye to Gail and were on their way in the car.

“I’m not bloodthirsty, I just like to kill monsters,” Matt defended.

“Me, too.” Kilraven chuckled. He glanced over the backseat. “There’s this game,
Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion,
” he began.

“I played that at a friend’s house once. Everything in it looks so real!”

“Yes, it does. Well, every so often when I play it, I go to a tavern, get drunk, slug an Imperial Guard and steal his horse and ride it away.” He sighed. “I usually get halfway down the hill before they catch up with me and shoot me full of arrows.” He glanced at Matt, who was laughing. “Of course, I make a save just before I do all that, so I can go back to the save and it never happened. I do like to be law-abiding on record.”

Winnie was laughing, too. “That’s evil!” she charged.

“No, it’s evil if I do it in real life.” He leaned toward her as he stopped at a red light. “Not many Imperial Guards riding horses around San Antonio,” he added.

She laughed again. “I guess not.”

He pulled into his parking lot and reassembled Matt’s wheelchair, grabbing his overnight bag before they went into the lobby.

“I have returned with two people,” Kilraven began, addressing the security guard, “and I intend to take them upstairs for illicit purposes…”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Kilraven, get out of here!” the guard groaned.

Kilraven glared at him. “Have you no sense of honor at all? Will you sully the name of this fine establishment by allowing me to…”

“Out!” the guard gestured, standing. “Or I call the cops.”

“But I am the cops!” Kilraven wailed. “And I just got married!”

“A likely story!” the guard retorted.

“No, I did. Look.” He tugged Winnie’s hand toward the guard and displayed the pretty gold ring he’d put on her finger.

“Well!” the guard exclaimed. He smiled at Winnie. “My condolences, Mrs. Kilraven,” he said formally. “You have put your neck in a guillotine that…”

“That’s enough,” Kilraven huffed. “Peasant!”

“Schwartzriter!”
the guard shot back.

Kilraven grinned, took Winnie’s hand, motioned to Matt and headed for the elevator.

“What’s a swartz…whatever he said?” Matt asked.

“Black rider. It’s German. They were famous in the sixteenth century,” Kilraven told him as they crowded into the elevator. “They carried several braces of pistols and rode in formations of columns. The first men on the line would fire and ride to the back of the line and reload. Their comrades would follow suit. They were like light artillery. Brave, cunning and deadly. He can call me a black rider anytime he likes.”

“I’ve got other names!” the security guard called as the door closed.

Kilraven chuckled. It was an ongoing battle of words and insults that he enjoyed. The security guard was also a history nut, and he was as deep into the sixteenth century as Kilraven was.

“You know a lot about that stuff, don’t you?” Matt asked.

“I do. I was a history major in college,” he confessed. “I still love it.”

“I hate history. It’s all dates and boring things.”

“Boring!” Kilraven exclaimed, horrified. “History?”

“Well,” Matt began, hesitating.

“When Lord Bothwell was falsely accused of insulting the queen of Scotland, he was sent into exile in England, where he was arrested. He wrote a note to an enemy of his, an earl who lived on the northern border of England and Scotland, asking for refuge. He was notorious for raiding the earl’s lands, mind. Well, the earl was so amused by the request that he honored it and invited Bothwell to stay at his estate and agreed to be his keeper. In the process, he discovered that Bothwell was intelligent and, as the Earl of Northumberland said, ‘not the man he was rumored to be.’ Does that sound boring?”

Matt laughed. “Not really. But don’t you have to memorize dates?”

“I do it for love of it, not because I have to,” Kilraven said, smiling at the boy.

“You like that Lord Bot…Bottle…?”

“Bothwell. James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell. He was the son of the ‘Fair Earl’ who was a suitor of the mother of Mary, Queen of Scots. Bothwell had no legitimate children, but his nephew—who was the son of his sister and the half brother of Mary Queen of Scots—inherited his title and estates. He was a bitter enemy and sometimes supporter of James the First of England. James was the son of Mary Queen of Scots.”

“Wait, wait,” Matt pleaded. “Too much information! My brain is exploding!”

Kilraven chuckled. “Sorry. I do tend to get carried away.”

“I’ll bet you’ve got every book ever written on the subject,” Winnie guessed.

He winked at her, smiling when she colored prettily. “I have, including a number of out-of-print ones. We’re home.”

He opened the apartment door and let Matt go in first.

“Hey, this is nice!” Matt exclaimed.

“Very nice, indeed. Come here, woman,” he told Winnie and abruptly bent and scooped her up in his arms. “I’m carrying you into my cave, in the best macho fashion.”

She clung to his neck, laughing. He was fun to be with.

“I like your cave,” she remarked.

He swung her around, making her hold on tighter. Then he bent his head and kissed her with muted hunger, mindful of small eyes watching.

“You’re home, Mrs. Kilraven,” he said, and he made the words sound new and bright.

She caught her breath. Her heart was racing like a wild thing. “Thanks, Mr. Kilraven,” she replied, smiling.

He rubbed his nose against hers. “Can you cook?”

“Can I cook!” she exclaimed haughtily. “I can make real bread. My sister-in-law taught me how.”

He was surprised. “Real bread? Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

He put her down. “Prove it.”

“Do you have yeast?”

He blinked. “Yeast what?”

“Yeast, like you put in bread, to make it,” she exclaimed.

He frowned. “I don’t know.” He moved into the kitchen and began rummaging through cabinets. “Jon made some sort of sourdough starter once. I think he used yeast…yes! Here it is. We’ve got plain flour, too.”

“How do you know the difference between plain and self-rising?” she asked curiously. “I don’t think of you as a cook.”

He grinned at her. “I’m not. I can do a few dishes, but I mostly get takeout. Jon is a gourmet chef,” he reminded her. “He can make anything. Well, mostly anything. He accidentally got the self-rising flour when he was making biscuits with baking soda. It was a disaster. He used some very bad words.”

“What bad words?” she teased.