The Eye of the Wolf (38 page)

Will turned to her, his eyes
dark and that grin that had told Mikayla the first time she met him that he was
trouble dancing on his lips. “Let’s go.”

The rain was pouring down as
Will slit the police tape that sealed the heavy doors to the museum with the
knife he had brought from Mikayla’s kitchen. Hair plastered to his forehead and
his shorts soaked beneath the edge of the rain jacket he had thrown on before
striding out the door. Mikayla huddled next to him, her face turned away from
the street, her body blocking him. To a passerby, their body positions would
have looked like a passionate embrace instead of a crime in process.

With one last glance over his
shoulder, he ushered Mikayla through the doors into the dim. The door slid
closed behind them, echoing across the chamber. Will flicked on his flashlight
and shone it across the room to the glass case where the crown of King Henry
was to reside. His heart was in his throat and sweat beaded on his forehead as
he led the way across the room. They shouldn’t be here; he knew they shouldn’t,
yet here they were.

Their shoes squished on the
marble floor. The flashlight beam danced in the corners of the room. They moved
slowly, nervousness dancing across every limb. They drew closer to the case. It
gleamed in the gloom like a diamond in the dark.

The case was sealed with bright
yellow police tape. Powder covered the case where fingerprints had been dusted.
Mikayla stopped short within a few feet of the jewel case. Her breath caught in
her throat; she panted and gripped Will’s hand weakly in her own. Her eyes were
riveted. Her mind whirled around the moment that she had found him, blood
seeping across the floor. The screaming that had erupted from her lungs as she
slipped in his blood. He had grabbed her and held her, his mouth working,
trying to tell her something.

Will followed her gaze to the
floor as it traced the white chalk outline of Dejeune’s body on the marble. A
strange mixture of sadness and fury filled him. A desire to protect and a
desire to kill conflicted within him as he thought of the moment that had
brought the two of them, sneaking into a place that once had welcomed tourists
and now was a tomb of death. He released Mikayla’s hand and put the arm around
her shoulders. He leaned into her, his breath warm on her ear. He whispered
comforting words in French, words he remembered his grandfather whispering to
him after his brother’s death, words that had made him better even if they
hadn’t solved the problem.

Slowly, Mikayla’s trembling
soothed until she stood still, her head leaning against the strong shoulder
beside her. Her hand unclenched and released his wet jacket. Her breathing
slowed. Her head lifted and her eyes were clear once again. She mumbled an
apology and took a step closer to the jewel case, avoiding the body outline on
the floor.

Will hefted the flashlight
again and stepped up to the case next to her. The lights that had once
illuminated the case had been turned off. The museum was indefinitely closed
until the police resolved their murder investigation. Will shone the light into
the case.

Mikayla found that she had been
holding her breath. It exhaled painfully as her eyes rested on the gilded gold
and many jewels of King Henry’s crown, resting peacefully on the satin pillow,
his scepter beside it, brilliant in the beam of light. “No!” Her exclamation
reverberated off of the walls, sounding like a shout into the Grand Canyon.

Will clamped his free hand over
Mikayla’s mouth; his eyes the only warning she needed to be reminded that they
were thieves, stealing into the crime scene when they had no right to be there.
She nodded slightly and he removed his hand with one last fierce glance.

Mikayla leaned into him. Her
fingers clutched at his jacket, pulling him closer. “Will, I swear to you, that
case was empty when I found Dejeune. I swear it!” Her voice raised an octave as
the stress began to take its toll.

Will nodded his head and gently
pried her plucking fingers loose. He didn’t believe her. He would never admit
he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t. How was he to believe that the crown had
been stolen when it was sitting in the case right where it had always been. She
had imagined it, along with everything else that had occurred. She was
suffering from some sort of hysteria, brought on by the accusations leveled
against her. He had humored her on this, but now, it was time to get her out of
there and back to the house. They could continue the discussion and the
research there, but they couldn’t stay in the museum any longer.

Will took Mikayla’s hand and
began to tug her across the floor despite her whispered protests. She grabbed
his hand with her free one and began to pry at his fingers. Her voice became
more adamant, demanding that he release her, pleading for him to understand
that the crown had been missing. Her mind returned to the moment that she had
found Dejeune and the way he had held her firmly in place until death had
finally claimed him. He had been trying to tell her something.

He had been alive when she had
found him.

Finally, she tugged her hand
free and stopped in the center of the museum. Without bothering to whisper, she
addressed him, using that haughty professor voice that both infuriated him and
turned him on.

“Will, I swear to you that
crown was not there. I don’t know what it means, but it means something. I need
to open the case. I need to look at the crown.”

Will stared at her. His mind
circling around in confusion. “Mikayla, I have to get you out of here. We
aren’t supposed to be here.” He gestured to the case with the now darkened
flashlight. His whisper crept across the floor to her. “I brought you here to
satisfy this drive in you, but we have to go.”

Mikayla crossed the floor to
him in three strides, her long legs carrying her across the distance with that
smoothness he had noticed the first time they had met. “Will, Dejeune was alive
when I found him. He died right there, in front of me. I think he was trying to
tell me something, but I can’t remember what.” She tugged at his hand. Those
blue eyes pleaded, melting his resolve. “I just need to look at the crown,
Will. That’s all I need.”

Will held his ground, even as
his decision to leave melted away into the darkness. He needed to know one
thing. “Why, Luv? Why is it so important?”

Mikayla looked across the floor
of the museum. It was now the moment of truth. For this, she would have to
trust him. She couldn’t get him to help her if he didn’t know the truth,
whether it was the best thing or not. She needed his help. With a heavy sigh,
Mikayla withdrew the diary of King Malachi from her pocket of her skirt. She
handed it to Will.

Will took it in his hand,
disbelief written in every feature and distrust dancing across his face. He
flipped on the flashlight, shining the beam on the plain leather binding,
knowing instinctively that while he hadn’t been completely honest with her, she
hadn’t been completely honest with him. “I thought everything was stolen,
Mikayla.” His voice was hot, burning her.

Mikayla felt the heat of his
words, the anger beneath the calm. She felt small, insignificant. It was
amazing, she thought, how someone who obviously kept secrets of his own from
the person he proclaimed to love could make her feel silly for keeping her own
secrets. Her voice trembled in a whisper. “This was somewhere else in the
house. The thief didn’t get it. I’ve been reading it.”

Will leveled violent gray eyes
on her face. A snarl turned his lips. “So, you didn’t trust me enough to tell
me that you still had this?” He pointed at her with the leather book.

Mikayla gingerly took the diary
from his hand. “I’m sorry, Will, but I honestly didn’t know who to trust.” She
took a step away from him, putting physical distance where only emotional
distance had existed. “You lied to me about a great many things.”

Will threw up his hands, a
helpless gesture that wasn’t so helpless coming from him. “Oh, so that gives
you a right to hide things from me, part of my heritage?” His whisper was
fierce as he took a step closer to her. “Tell me, Mikayla, why must you look at
the crown. What is it in that diary that tells you to look at the crown?”

Mikayla glanced furtively over
her shoulder. The room was the same as it had been, yet she had felt something,
something in the air change, a charge electrifying the air. She looked back at
Will, her eyes wide, but he continued to stare at her, anger in every feature.
“Will, I promise you, if you let me look at the crown, I will tell you what it
is in the diary that tells me.”

Will grabbed her hand and
dragged her back to the jewel case, muttering under his breath about first not
wanting to leave and now wanting to get out. He stopped short of the case and
shone the beam of light on the lock. “Okay, Sherlock, how do we get around the
lock? I’m a prince, not a locksmith.”

If Will’s tone hadn’t been so
heated, Mikayla might have smirked, but instead she pointed to the office. “He
keeps a spare set of keys inside his desk drawer.”

Will spun away from her,
ordering her to stay put. He no longer cared about the cloak and dagger
routine. He no longer cared to whisper and walk softly. He wanted to get this
over-with so he could drag her into the street and yell until his heart was
content, until the anger had disappeared, until the feeling of betrayal was
gone. He pulled the steak knife from his pocket and slit the police tape that
sealed the office. He vanished inside only to return a moment later with the
keys jingling in his hand. He attempted to slip a key into the lock and swore
when it didn’t fit.

Mikayla held the flashlight
steady on the lock fighting back the grin that threatened to break across her
face. Forgotten was the nervousness and sudden cold that had come over her.
Forgotten was the fact that they were illegally breaking and entering. She only
knew the man beside her smelling of a fresh rain, strong and virile. A sudden
punch of lust assaulted her system as the final key slid easily into the lock
and turned.

Will lifted the glass case
carefully, praying the inspector didn’t return to dust for prints again now
that his prints were all over the case, implicating him in a crime. He held up
the glass lid and turned to look at Mikayla who was grinning at him, a
ridiculous grin that he couldn’t fight. He felt the tension go out of his limbs
and suddenly he felt as if he were on a grand adventure instead of committing a
crime. He smiled back and gestured with the flashlight for her to do whatever
it was she had needed to do so badly. His system fizzled when she pressed a
quick, hot kiss to his lips and then reached into the case.

Her hands wrapped around the
crown, feeling the coolness of the gilded metal. Mikayla lifted it from its
satin pillow, bringing it closer to her face. Her mind took her back to the
first day she had toured the museum, Dejeune at her side. He had let her hold
the crown, and she remembered the heat the metal had given off, the brilliance
of the gems. She wondered why it wasn’t giving off that same heat, why the gems
didn’t sparkle quite as brilliantly. She knew she could blame it on the dim
lighting, but she also knew that wasn’t the reason.

Will watched her, the rubies
reflecting off of her face, sparkles dancing across her beautiful skin. Her
eyes were half-closed, as if she were remembering something from the past. Her
lips were pursed in concentration, but on her face was the purest joy, joy he
couldn’t remember ever having seen before. He realized suddenly that this was
her life, regardless of the impossible fairy tales about Prince Charming and
his Cinderella, this moment was her life like he could never be. Sadness swam
over him even as need built inside him. He knew that if it hadn’t been that
time and that place, he would have taken her right then, but instead, he
lowered the glass lid and waited for her to speak.

Mikayla inhaled deeply and held
it as she tipped the crown to peer inside the band. She remembered seeing the
engraving. The engraving that matched the carving on the stones and the
embroidery on the tapestry. She remembered seeing it there and how fanatic
Dejeune had been about her not looking at it. She tipped the crown and peered
inside. Her breath exhaled in a loud whoosh. A faint smile in relief quirked at
the corners of her mouth.

“What is it, Luv?” Will leaned
over to look inside the crown. He saw nothing.

Mikayla turned her head. They
were just inches apart. “This is a fake, Will. This isn’t the original crown.”
Her fingers ran across the filigree work, feeling the rough edges left by the
mold that had cut the metal.

Will looked from the crown to
her eyes that danced with mischief. “How can you say that?”

Mikayla frowned at him and
tipped the crown for him to see closer. “When I first arrived here, Dejeune let
me hold King Henry’s crown. On the inside band was an engraving just like the
one we found in that stone at the top of the mountain. I didn’t remember it
until earlier today. This is a fake, Will. I estimate it is twentieth century,
but I can’t get any more specific than that without further study.” She
gestured for him to lift the lid and gently placed the crown back on the satin
pillow. “I can guarantee that that crown is not from the Middle Ages. Believe
me, I’m considered an expert.”