Stealing Cupid's Bow (13 page)

She let the sheet drop to the floor and walked to the chair to put on her clothes. The joy from last night had been replaced with a hollow disappointment and a ravenous hunger. She wolfed down the food he left, amazed at how many calories could be burned during a night of hot sex.

She checked her phone. At some point last night she’d texted her mother to let her know not to wait up, she would be home late. She hadn’t planned to be
this
late. No way to sneak upstairs before they noticed now. Time to come up with some lame excuse. Even though they were all adults, she couldn’t very well tell them the truth about where she’d been all night.

She picked up her purse and went down the stairs to the front door. With her hand on the knob, she froze in her tracks as a thought struck her like lightning.

The bow and arrows.

They were real, too. He had trained men to use equipment like his to set up the matches. That meant that maybe, just maybe, she could do it, too.

But steal his equipment? She hesitated. And then the thought of her father packing his things rose in her mind. And the thought of having to split her visits between them. Of seeing the unspoken questions in their eyes about each other when she did. There was no way she would be able to bear it. And if she went out this door now, she might never have the chance again to try and save them and Jane. She hung her purse on the doorknob, needing both hands to look around, and prayed he hadn’t taken them with him.

The question was, where would he keep them? They had to be here in his apartment. She couldn’t imagine he’d store them far away. But where? She quickly searched the living room looking under couches and behind doors, paintings and tapestries. In the kitchen she checked the larger cupboards and, in the dining room, under the table.

Nothing.

She ran up the stairs and into the billiards room. Not a lot of places to look there. She perfunctorily checked the bar in the corner of the room and looked under the table itself. She was beginning to despair that she was wrong. She patted the walls for good measure. Could there be a secret wall maybe? The bedroom was next. She stopped just inside the doorway and assessed.

Where could it be? There was nothing under the bed, not even a dust bunny. She started checking behind the curtains, moving each of the seven that covered the window wall. Lush fabric hung decoratively in other of spots around the room, so she checked them as well.

She lifted one curtain and then another only to find blank wall beneath. Approaching the last possible hiding place, her hope wavered. But she lifted it anyway. What lay beneath caused her breath to catch. It concealed a statue locked behind a Plexiglas security door. Gathering the curtain, she found the tie that was used to hold it to the side.

It was the most beautiful marble sculpture she’d ever seen. Stepping back, she looked over the life-size figure. It was a man. His stance portrayed an easy power and the expression on his face was pleasant. It took a second, but she realized it was Alexander. Definitely a younger version of him but there was no mistaking those features. Whoever the artist was, they’d captured him quite well.

Then she noticed the leather strap and cord that crossed his chest. Arrow fletching stuck out to the side of his head along with the tip of a bow. Her heart leaped in her chest. This was it! She’d found it!

Now the question was, how to get it out? It was locked behind the security door.

On the right hand side a keypad had been installed on the wall. Her heart sank. She wasn’t a burglar. How was she supposed to get around a security system?

Her eye caught the small letters at the bottom of the pad. DSSI. She knew those letters. Why did she know those letters? It came back to her in a flash. Brad worked for them. They were the manufacturer of the security system. This was one of the units he sold and it unlocked using a four-digit code. Some part of her had been listening as he had droned on and on about his job. Well, complained was more like it.

Sifting through the memories, she tried to remember what he’d said. Boy had he liked to complain. But an important nugget of information lay within the complaints. He’d grouched about the fact that people didn’t make passwords that were complex enough. That anyone could figure out what the password was within the first ten tries if they knew anything about the person.

She stared at the keypad trying to decide. But what if the alarm went off when she put in the wrong code? Did she have ten tries?

She squeezed the memories from her brain. Brad had always loved to go on and on in detail about the products he sold. Whenever they were at parties he would take any and every opportunity to bring them up.

That’s when the answer came to her. Four tries! It was four tries! She remembered him repeating it to several of her friends at a dinner. Her heart beat with excitement.

Stepping closer to the keypad to see it better, she eyed the statue within. Was it staring back at her?

Clenching her fingers together, she tried to think what the password might be and started to get nervous. If she took too long, he might come back. She had to get on with it.

Okay…common passwords that people used tended to be names, places, dates, and other things of significance to them. Oh man but he was ancient! It could be anything!

She frowned, unwilling to give up. She had to try. Using the letters beneath the numbers on the keypad, she typed the first four letters of his name. A-L-E-X.

The unit bleeped a warning and a red light flashed making her jump.

Okay, what else could it be? She typed in the letters L-O-V-E. Warning bleep and flash again. Of course he wouldn’t use the word love. She ran a hand through her hair in frustration.

Two more tries.

Many things ran through her mind that she could associate with him but none of them were four digits. If it was a date, she was screwed. She decided to stick with words.

Wait a minute. He’d reeled off a list of names yesterday. A list of names he’d been called throughout time. She tried to remember them…

Amor, Eros…. That was it! It had to be one of them. What better password than an old name that he no longer used?

A-M-O-R, she typed in. Again the warning bleep and flash of red light. She gave a frustrated huff, nerves on edge. This was her last try. If she got it wrong again, the alarm would go off. Her hand shook as it hovered over the buttons. How would she ever explain if it went off and she was caught?

Throwing caution to the wind, her determination fused her backbone and she quickly typed in her last and final try. E-R-O-S.

The keypad blinked green and the door clicked and slid into the wall with a
whoosh
.

Joy infused her and she took a moment to dance a jig. She did it! She did it!

Then she settled down and touched the cool marble of the statue, marveling at the likeness. Only a master could have gotten the expression just right. “I’m sorry,” she told it, and lifted the bow and quiver.

She took them to the bed to look them over. Closer inspection revealed exquisite and detailed work on the limbs of the golden, recurved bow. As she looked at them, the symbols and patterns on it seemed to resonate within her. She found herself
liking
the bow, which was odd. She sucked in a breath. These were
the
bow and arrows. The bow and arrows that Cupid had used over the centuries to cause people to fall in love. She felt something close to reverence for them.

What would Jane say if she told her that she’d held them in her hands? Although the style seemed old the equipment looked brand new. Was it because they were magical?

What if they were just decoys? Maybe that’s why they looked unused. What if Alexander’s security was on their way to apprehend her right now? She quelled her nervous thoughts and scolded herself.

She knew deep within these were exactly the same ones she’d glimpsed the other day. The day she’d seen Alexander shoot the woman in the hotel.

She lifted the bow in her hands and tested the string on it with a finger, finding it to be taut.

The quiver of arrows was just as beautiful. The leather of the strap and barrel had also been worked into a lovely, although more muted, pattern. She pulled an arrow from it to examine. The shaft was gold as was the sharp, triangular tip. It was light in her hand yet strong when she tested its flexibility. The fletching was sleek and in varying shades of gold, red, and maroon. She wondered from which bird’s feathers they could possibly have been made.

Could they really be his bow and arrows? They didn’t even look as if they had ever been used. They had to be decorative. Or were they made of some special godly material that never wore? Maybe there was a way to test them. She didn’t want to go shooting them at her family if they were a decoy.

And then she remembered what Alexander had said. When he held the bow he was hidden from the sight of others. Well, except her that is. Maybe she could test it to see if that’s what it did then she would know it was the real one.

She picked up the bow and moved to the large mirror standing at the corner of the room. She fumbled and almost dropped it, then was finally able to place her hand on the grip. She held it in front of her toward the mirror.

Her reflection didn’t change. In the mirror she saw…well, herself holding the bow. Maybe it was a combination of things? She retrieved the arrow and then went back to the mirror. Lifting the bow in one hand, she tried to align the arrow so that the string was in the notch and the shaft was resting on the shelf of the grip. She pointed it at her reflection in the mirror. Still no change. Now she just looked like a silly girl holding a very large bow and arrow. Well, he’d said she could see through the glamour hadn’t he? But how to make sure they were the real thing then? Thank goodness she could see them, how would she be able to notch an arrow otherwise?

Sighing, she lowered them. They slipped in her hands and almost went clattering to the floor but she stopped them in time. How the heck was she going to pull this off with her motor skills? She racked her brains for a way to be sure they were what she thought they were as she returned to the bed to stuff the arrow back into the quiver. She snapped her fingers as she remembered something else Alexander had said.

The bow hid itself when slung
. She walked back to the mirror with both bow and quiver. She eased one arm and her head through both the quiver and the bow and let them hang across her.

Praying, she let go and peeked at her reflection.

She could still see them. The brightly colored fletching of the arrows reflected next to her head in the mirror. Maybe the wearer could see them at all times? That would make sense. How else would they be able to use them? Duh.

It was just her then. She couldn’t see the others’ bows when they were wearing them just using them. Now how to figure out if they were the real thing?

She remembered the shower of gold dust when the man and women had been struck before. Would they do the same when striking inanimate objects? Here went nothing. She lifted the slim shaft and threw it across the room. It struck the carpet and disappeared. The glittering shower it left behind rose in a poof and then the sparks slowly drifted to the floor and vanished.

Hope returned to her with this new discovery, and increased exponentially. She’d seen the effect his arrow had had on that couple in the lobby. It had been as instantaneous and real as real would ever be. That had to be good enough for her parents no matter what Alexander said. It would be ten times better than leaving them alone.

So much had happened in the last twelve hours she didn’t know how she would ever wrap her mind around it all. But she didn’t have time to ponder. There was work to do.

***

Alexander couldn’t think of anything else but Raine. He’d thought about her all through his meeting with a Texas billionaire. He wanted the same thing many others had wanted. For him to deliver a hot woman with no brain that would worship them and do whatever they said. The man was a sleazebag and Alexander decided he wouldn’t be taking him on as a client. He would be refused as the others had been. There’d been no need to listen to the man’s long list of requirements in a potential mate. The guy wasn’t anywhere near being able to feel love for someone else. And, he’d never be able to find a woman who would feel anything true with someone so selfish. Some kind of spark was the bare minimum requirement. A decent soul of some kind. He had to draw a line somewhere. Even though he might be ambivalent about love he still did have a conscience. Forced matches had always troubled him. Maybe it was time to raise the bar a bit higher.

He flipped through the papers on his desk but his mind was on Raine. There seemed to be an inexplicable energy that drew him to her. Each time he saw her, each time he spoke to her, he found himself more and more drawn to who she was. He admired the sincerity and conviction that shone from her green eyes with her passionate words. There weren’t many that challenged him these days, but she did.

She believed in him. He’d forgotten what it felt like to have the faith of a human being. He used to have many worshippers. Temples and statues and paintings had been created in his honor. People had prayed to him. And then gradually, through the years it had all faded away. He hadn’t even noticed until Raine. He wondered if any of the other gods had perceived it. But he hadn’t been in touch with any of them in a long time. He doubted much had changed on Mount Olympus.

“But you are a god. The god of love,”
she’d said in protest.

Her words had conveyed a great deal to him. In one night, Raine had shown him what was missing in his life. Her faith, that of just one person, reached out to him like an infusion to his soul. She believed in him, even though he no longer believed in himself, and she believed in the power of love. It affected him like a drug.

Maybe he should help her parents out. She was right that it wouldn’t be much different from helping any of his other clients. There was no way he would take money from her. The look of joy on her face would be reward enough. Just the thought of it lifted his spirits.