Love Everlastin' Book 3 (34 page)

Then Lachlan demanded in
Winston's defense, "Release him!"

"As soon as I know wha' the
bloody hell is going on here!" another stranger barked.

"She has wings!" the man in
black cried, then laughed hysterically. "She has 'em hidden 'neath
her nightdress! Check! Check and you'll see!"

"Weel," the second officer
laughed without mirth, "if it isn't Robbie Donnely in the flesh."
He reached out and pulled off the ski mask. A thick mass of steel
gray hair tumbled free about the man's head and a gold ring in the
left ear became visible. "Aye, Donnely, you slime. Had a busy
night, tonight, did you?"

Winston shucked free of the
hold on his arm and walked to where he saw a black sack lying on
the floor by one of the chairs. Crouching, he spilled the contents
onto the floor.

"Wha' have we here?" asked
the officer who'd held Winston, his tone dryly humorous.

Silver and gold artifacts
ranging from jewelry to figurines lay upon the floor. One piece
didn't fit with the accumulation. It was a large serrated knife
with smears of blood on the steel blade.

"Don't touch anythin’,"
ordered the officer, passing Winston a warning look. "We've been
efter this bastard for months."

"This is a ruse," said
Winston, standing and glaring at the intruder. "Earlier, he
attempted to kill me."

"Tha' so?" the restraining
officer murmured, also standing and eyeing Donnely.

"I found the friggin’
thing!" Donnely wailed. "Ou' in the snow!"

The second officer who had
manacled Donnely, frowned at his partner. "Should I call for
backup? The car's a fair walk and the ground is so
slick."

"We dinna have a phone,"
said Lachlan, pale now that his adrenaline had slowed.

"What's going on?" Beth
burst into the room and looked horrified when her assessing gaze
found Lachlan. Rushing to him, she tenderly touched his bruised
face and bleeding lower lip.

"What happened to you?" she
asked, desperation lending her tone a raspy edge. Her gaze followed
Lachlan's to the stranger and returned to search Lachlan's
face.

"I heard someone in here and
found him goin’ through the sideboard," Lachlan said, glaring at
the stranger. His gaze drifted to something on the floor near the
wall by the door. A pinched sound escaped him and, leaving Beth to
stare at him in bewilderment, he stopped and retrieved some of the
shattered crystal segments scattered on the floor. When he stood
and faced the others, he held out some of them on a leveled palm.
He looked like a man who had lost someone dear to his heart. A man
devastated beyond endurance.

"Twas ma great-grandmither's
cherished paperweight," he choked, an accusing, tear-brimmed glare
targeting the man in black. "I didna realize wha' I was throwin’ at
you to stop yer escape." Clenching the hand, the segments biting
into his flesh, he shook it at the man. "Tis worth mair'n yer sorry
hide!"

"Calm down," demanded the
first officer, a man older than his partner by a good decade. His
cold-chapped cheeks were round, his blue eyes as crisp as the night
air. "Sir, wha's yer name?" he asked while removing a pad and pen
from an inside pocket of his coat.

"Lachlan Baird."

Winston felt a stab of panic
and locked eyes with the laird, who also realized his mistake.
Roan, standing by the fireplace, stepped forward and cast Winston
and Lachlan a conspiratorial look, letting them know he, too, was
aware of Lachlan's lack of foresight. However, it wasn't until the
officer completed jotting down Lachlan's name, suspicion crept into
his features. He leveled a dour look of impatience on Lachlan and
released a snort.

"Lachlan Baird, is it? Weel,
tha' wouldn't be the name o' the infamous ghost who supposedly
haunts this house now, is it?"

"Aye," said Lachlan, his
shoulders squared defiantly.

"Are you a
descendent?"

"Och, mon, I was murdered
afore I had a family o' ma own!"

Lachlan's outburst brought
upon the room an unnerving silence and stillness. Even Robbie
Donnely was as frozen as a statue, his skin the color of
sun-bleached bone.

Lachlan glanced at the
deadpan expressions staring his way.

"Dammit, Lannie, wha' have
you done?" Roan grumbled, raking his fingers through his
hair.

"So," the older officer
said, "ye're the ghost, are you? Is tha' wha' ye're
saying?"

"I'm no' a ghost," Lachlan
murmured. His opened his hand to reveal blood-coated segments of
crystal. "Anymair. I'm back to stay."

The older officer bobbed his
head humorously. "You're a fine-lookin’ mon for someone—wha'?—a
hundred and fifty years old or so. Have you been imbibin’,
sir?"

Lachlan gulped and guiltily
met Beth's worried gaze. "Aye, sir, I have, but I'm sober
enough."

Beth went to Lachlan's side,
linking one arm through his in a protective manner. She tried to
smile at the older officer, but her effort fell short. "He's been
bruised and battered. Surely this questioning can wait."

The officer poised his pen
above the pad and asked with mock civility, "You must be Beth
Stables."

Deciding it prudent not to
correct his use of her last name, she nodded then widened her eyes
in horrified regret.

Grumbling beneath his
breath, the older officer lowered his hands and released a breath
of annoyance. "You know, before I left ma darlin’ wife this eve, I
told her I had a queer feelin’ in ma bones it was goin’ to be a
crazy night. Imagine ma surprise when I just begin ma shift and get
a call tha' yer neighbors, the Lauders, have been robbed, and the
robber was seen headin’ for Kist—beg your pardon—Baird
house."

"Officer," Winston prompted,
coming to stand in front of the man.

"Clare," he said dully,
eyeing Winston impatiently. "Bruce Clare. And yer name,
sir?"

"Winston Connery. I was
formerly wi' the Shields Agency. I believe you and I met while I
was in town last Christmas."

Recognition gleamed in the
man's eyes. "I remember now. You were efter the Phantom, if I'm no'
mistaken."

Winston nodded and glanced
at Robert Donnely. "Him."

"Him?" After a moment's
shock, the officer laughed. "Much as I would love to collar the
Phantom, Mr. Connery, this here bloody fool is no mair than a
thief. And a bad thief at tha'. He's spent mair time in our jail
than in his own home. Easy enough to check the dates, but I can
tell you he's no serial killer."

Winston's chest became
tight. He didn't know if it stemmed from relief or disappointment.
"He came at me wi' tha' knife," he said, pointing to where it lay
amidst the stolen treasures.

"We'll fill ou' a report,
Mr. Connery, tha' you can be sure. Is it true there's no phone
here?"

Winston nodded in
confirmation.

The older officer heaved a
breath of resignation. "We couldn't get up the drive." He glanced
at the thief and scowled. "Guess we'll just have to haul his royal
highness here down to the road."

"You didn't search tha’ one
for her wings!" Donnely cried, jerking his head in Deliah's
direction.

The older officer stepped
around Winston and comically glanced over the young woman's
graceful form. "You're lovely enough to be an angel, miss," he
smiled and dealt Donnely a look of exasperation. "You must have
really conked yer head. Aiken, haul him ou' o' here and wait at the
end o' the hall. I'll be wi' you, shortly. Donnely—" He gripped the
man's left ear as he started past him, and gave it a painful tug.
"—behave. I'm no' in the mood for histrionics.
Understand?"

"She does have wings,"
Donnely said with a glower. "Huge wings like a
butterfly!"

"The only butterflies in
this room are in yer mind," Bruce Clare said, then fell silent
while his partner led Donnely into the hall. He waited until
Donnely was out of earshot before speaking to the anxious group
remaining in the room. "We have enough to hold him for trial, but
I'll be expectin’ a detailed report from each o’ you." He gathered
the evidence into the sack and lifted it. "It'll be a while before
yer items are returned. You must be patient. We work as fast as we
can."

"We appreciate your
timeliness," said Winston.

"Nothin’ timely abou' our
arrival, 'cept to spare Donnely's life, it seems." Bruce Clare
released a weary chuff. "Where were you wounded, Mr. Connery? From
what's on the knife—"

"He merely nicked ma
shoulder," Winston said on a rushed breath, his right hand going up
to cover the area hidden behind his borrowed blue wool
jersey.

"Are you in need o' a
doctor?"

"No...thank you. Deliah
patched me up," he said lamely, knowing the officer could see the
telltale flush heating his cheeks.

Stepping to one side,
Officer Bruce Clare confronted the seemingly timid Deliah. "Are you
Deliah?"

She nodded.

"Wha' is yer last name,
miss?"

She blankly looked to
Winston, then met the officer's shrewd gaze and said, "I be just
Deliah."

"One o' those fad things her
parents went through," Roan piped up, grinning inanely, his face
also flushed. "No last name, tha' is."

Clare nodded as if not
believing a word of what was being said. "Okay, folks. We'll-ah,
rehash all this at anither time when you all are in better frames
o' mind. Meanwhile, lock yer doors and have a good
night."

No one moved or spoke until
the officers and Donnely had left the house. Then it was Lachlan
who broke through the silence, slapping his unwounded palm to his
brow.

"Och! O' all the bloody
stupidity! Wha' was I thinkin’?"

"Only the truth," Roan
sighed miserably. "Damn me, but I didn't help matters, either, did
I? This day has been a helluva experience."

"I could have sworn he was
the Phantom," Winston murmured, now sickened that he'd nearly
strangled a somewhat innocent man. Thieving and murder were very
different crimes. He recalled the conversation he'd had with the
man outside, and disparagingly wondered if he hadn't imagined the
interchange because it somehow didn't fit right in his mind now.
People sometimes held mental conversations with themselves then
later believed someone else had spoken the "other's" words aloud.
It had never happened to him before, though. And yet it was
possible he'd charged at the man fully expecting just such a
conversation to ensue. For four years, the Phantom had been a very
real demon in Winston's mind.

Something nagged at his
conscience, but its meaning was too nebulous for him to grasp. He
felt drained and cloaked with self-loathing.

"Winston, are ye weel o'
mind?" Deliah asked softly. "Ye be as white as a cloud."

"I be nuts!" he spat, angry
at himself yet mocking her speech mannerism. "I need a
drink."

"I'll second tha'," muttered
Roan, and fell into step behind Winston as he headed toward the
parlor door.

"Aye," said Lachlan.
Brushing the crystal shards from his palm, he followed the men
across the parlor and into the hall.

Pique heightened the color
in Deliah's cheeks as she looked at Beth, who was pale and staring
at the doorway through a bleak, haunted expression.

"Beth, are ye feelin’
jaggey?"

The woman's dark blue eyes
swung to solemnly regard Deliah. A moment passed before she shook
her head. "I think I'm just tired of men, Deliah. It must be nice
to feel so damn detached from responsibility."

Saddened by Beth's sorrow,
she placed a consoling hand on the woman's shoulder. "Twas wrong o'
me to defend Lachlan to ye. There be no excuse for his behavior.
Nor the ithers."

"Welcome to the world of the
male mentality," Beth sighed.

"Aye, they be prideful, but
this is
no'
their
world. Have ye ever heard o' a faither nature?"

Despite the heaviness of her
heart, Beth chuckled. "No."

"And twill never be, I can
promise ye."

Beth nodded and said, "It's
about time to feed the babies."

"Can I somehow help ye? Rock
one while ye nurse the ither?" Deliah asked excitedly.

With a smile of
appreciation, Beth shook her head. "I'll manage. I'd like to be
alone with them. I hope you don't think I'm being too
selfish."

"No. Were they mine, I'd be
wantin’ mair than a wee time alone wi' them. But if ye need me,
I'll come."

Deliah stiffened when Beth's
arms circled her neck. The hug was brief, but
satisfying.

"Thank you. Oh, and Deliah?"
A mischievous grin formed on Beth's mouth. "I personally love your
wings. Only next time they're out, flutter them in Winston's face.
He could use a wee nudge in the sense of humor
department."

Deliah blushed. "Night,
Beth."

"You, too."

Deliah walked Beth to the
door to the hall then, for a time, leaned against the jamb, her
thoughts adrift, her gaze staring into nothingness. It had been an
unusually unusual day, and she couldn't shake the feeling it was
going to be a long night. She could hear the men toasting one
another, then the clinks of their glasses – a ritual she considered
puzzling. But then most things humans regarded as customs, struck
her to be silly rituals. Still, she wanted to be considered one of
them. Had yearned for decade after decade after long decade to be
among them. Talk their talk and walk their walk. Dress and eat and
view the world from their perspectives.