The Lost Enchantress (10 page)

Revenge would be sweet, he thought, entertaining a vision of those green eyes flashing up at him, temper heating her cheeks and pulling her full bottom lip into a pout. Maybe too sweet.

“Tempting,” he said to Taggart. “But no. Let Vasil make the next move. He and his henchman can have the pleasure of dealing with the clever little witch. Once they’ve managed to take the pendant from her, Vasil can name his price for it and I’ll pay.”

Taggart’s brows lifted. “You’d rather do business with Vasil?”

“Any day. Vasil can be bought. I’m not so sure about the witch.”

He was recalling the way she’d looked when she told him that the pendant wasn’t for sale, with her shoulders squared and her chin high, determined and magnificent. For a heartbeat of time, his resentment had slipped and instead of a deceitful witch, he saw before him a beautiful woman. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen or ever hoped to see, in fact, and something wild inside him had responded fiercely. It was something he hadn’t felt in a very long time and hadn’t expected to feel again. The witch had found her way past defenses he’d thought impenetrable, and that was another good reason to do business with Vasil instead.

Still, he couldn’t help thinking about how the warlocks would respond to such a show of spirit on her part. Violently no doubt; the image wasn’t pretty. He pushed it away and reached for the whiskey, pouring some for Taggart before carrying the bottle with him to a high-back leather chair by the fireplace.

On the way by, he flipped the switch that started flames dancing in the hearth, fed not by wood but a stream of gas. It wasn’t a proper fire; a fire ought to smell of wood that you carried and arranged yourself, carefully placing the logs so that the hardest woods, those that would burn longest, were on the bottom; elm and hickory to start, with birch and poplar next, or maybe maple. Pine went last, placed on top for a fast burn that would give off sparks to ignite the rest. That kind of fire would burn through the night and warm a man body and soul. What flickered before him now wasn’t a real fire anymore than this was a real home or his was a real life. But it warmed well enough and tonight he’d settle for that. He’d become very good at settling.

“To victory delayed,” he said, lifting his glass in a mock toast. “When this is done, your debt will be paid, I’ll have the pendant and Vasil will no doubt have pocketed an outrageous profit. Everyone wins.”

Everyone except the witch, and she wasn’t his problem.

And if the warlocks should inflict any damage while retrieving the pendant, well, that wasn’t his problem either. Any bumps and bruises she suffered wouldn’t be on his conscience.

He tried not to think about the long flawless line of Eve Lockhart’s throat and the pale curve of her shoulders. That was her name, Eve Lockhart; he’d troubled himself to learn that much, and he knew that a few minutes at the computer would reveal a great deal more. Research was simply another kind of hunting, and it never failed to amaze him how a few of the right keystrokes could unlock worlds of secrets. He could easily learn a few of Eve Lockhart’s secrets before the night was through if he were interested. Which, he reminded himself, he was not.

The witch didn’t warrant his concern, and she certainly didn’t need his protection; she’d proven she could take care of herself. Look how quickly and efficiently she’d managed to conjure a protection shield strong enough to keep both of them from being shredded
and
send the warlocks into a full retreat.

He swirled the liquid in his glass and stared at it. Why
had
she bothered to protect him when she could just have easily conjured a shield for one and left him to fend off the attack on his own?

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was laying claim to the pendant as quickly and simply as possible, and that meant not tangling with the witch. She’d managed to manipulate him with her magic . . . twice. He’d be a fool to risk it happening again. Let her try her hand with the warlocks; she was more than a match for them.

Unless, of course, they brought along reinforcements. Or took her by surprise. Which was entirely possible since she had no way of knowing their assailants had been sent by a brutal and tenacious loan shark who would keep sending them until he got what he was after. She wouldn’t know to take extra precautions or to watch her lovely back, unless someone warned her. And again, not his problem.

There was a time when he would have made it his problem without a second’s hesitation. Witch or not, she was still a woman and that used to mean something to him. She was a woman facing something bigger than she was, in what promised to be an unfair fight. Once upon a time that would have been more than enough to send him charging to her rescue no matter the odds, no matter the cost.

Once. But not now.

That time, and that man, no longer existed.

 

 

She felt him before she saw him.

There was a flutter of awareness along her spine and a quick stirring in her blood and Eve knew. Instinctively. Irrevocably.

Gabriel Hazard had entered the building.

And that, she told herself, was as far as he was going to get.

The WWRI studio and offices occupied the top three floors of the Pelham Building. Like anyone entering without an employee ID, Hazard would have to stop at the front desk so the security guard could check for his name on the day’s list of approved visitors. When he didn’t find it, he would call to get her okay before allowing him up.

She wouldn’t give it.

I’ll be in touch.
Those had been his parting words to her last night, and she had no doubt he’d meant them. She just didn’t know where, or when, to expect him. Considering how many questions and suspicions she had about him, Eve wouldn’t go so far as to say she was prepared for their next meeting, but she’d thought about it long into the night—at least for as long as she could keep her eyes open—and had decided on a few ground rules.

If he showed up at work, her first objective would be to keep him from traipsing through the newsroom, attracting attention and inviting speculation. Hazard wasn’t the type to go unnoticed. She also wanted to avoid being alone with him in her office, hoping to preempt another incident like the one in the parking garage. The smart thing to do was to go down and meet him in the lobby where there were always plenty of people coming and going, and where she could walk away whenever she wanted to.

Those who dealt in magic—both light and dark—sought to avoid exposure. Not out of fear; a mortal was no match for a mage, even one with minimal skill and power, and whoever had attacked them last night was definitely not in the minimal weight class in either category. Discretion was simply a matter of convenience. The less drabs knew, the less chance there was of them getting in the way and causing complications or unforeseen consequences. It never ended well when mortals tried to interfere with the intricate and arcane world of magic.

Leaning back in her chair, she stared at the oversized map of Rhode Island hanging across from her desk and waited for the phone to ring. The map was dotted with Post-it notes and colored pushpins relating to stories she was currently working on, but work was far from her mind at the moment. She felt anxious, which she supposed was normal under the circumstances. More troubling was the other feeling that had bubbled to life in the pit of her stomach when she realized Hazard was there, a feeling of anticipation bordering on outright excitement. She was like a jittery sixteen-year-old, perched on the edge of her seat, heart pounding, palms sweaty, waiting for her date to ring the doorbell.

It was ridiculous. Hazard was
not
a date; for all she knew, he wasn’t even human. At least not entirely.

A minute passed. Then another.

Eve rolled a pencil beneath her fingertips, counted to ten and wondered what on earth was taking so long.

Maybe there was a backlog of visitors in the lobby. It was Monday morning after all. Mondays were always busy.

Any second now the phone would ring.

It had to, because there was no way she had imagined or misread what she’d felt. Hazard was close by; the hair on the back of her neck was sure of it. To convince the rest of her, she closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts of everything else, and sure enough, she felt it again, the same buzz of warmth and heightened awareness she’d felt a few minutes ago, only stronger now.

A quick knock made her jump and swivel around in her chair.

Hazard was standing in the doorway holding a bouquet of red roses, lots and lots of roses, enough, it seemed to Eve, to deck a parade float or the winner’s circle at the Kentucky Derby. The long stems were wrapped in dark green tissue and tied with a wide ribbon in a paler shade of green.

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” he said, the words at odds with his dry and distinctly nonapologetic tone.

“You didn’t. I just closed my eyes to . . . think. It helps me concentrate.” Ignoring the silent, sardonic lift of one dark brow, she glanced at the roses. “Are those supposed to soften me up?”

“Would it work?”

“Definitely not.”

“Then no. Actually, they’re more of a ruse. May I come in?”

She wanted to say no, but she knew the newsroom staff well enough to know that the arrival of an attractive man bearing roses, lots and lots of roses, would have them already craning and straining to see and hear as much as they could. Since her goal was to reveal as little about her dealing with Hazard as possible, she reluctantly waved him in.

“How did you get past the security desk?”

“I told the guard it was the six-month anniversary of the day we met and that I wanted to present you with a suitable token of my affection. Hence a hundred and eighty roses.”

She quickly did the math. “One for every day of the six months. How wildly romantic of you.”

“The guard thought so too. Turns out he’s a sucker for romance. He said you’re a very nice lady and that he couldn’t remember you ever getting flowers at work before. I think pity may have factored into his decision to allow me in unannounced so I could surprise you.” He held the monster bouquet out to her with a faintly mocking expression. “Surprise.”

“It certainly is,” she said, folding her arms across her chest in a show of nonchalance. Inside she was bristling. So she never got flowers at work. Big deal. That was no reason for some busybody guard to go discussing her floral history with a complete stranger. “But you know what’s even more surprising? The fact that you would throw away whatever a hundred and eighty long-stem roses cost these days on a stupid ruse.”

He shrugged. “It worked. I’m standing here instead of being relegated to a few hurried moments of your time in the lobby. Educated guess,” he offered in response to her quick look of surprise. “Although it would help if I actually could read your mind. Then I’d know if the roses also succeeded in underscoring the point that when it comes to getting what I want, money is of no consequence.”

“Consider it underscored.”

“Good.”

“And in the interest of expediency, you should know that when it comes to refusing to sell the pendant to you, money is even less of a factor now than it was last night.”

It was Hazard’s turn to be surprised.

“Duly noted,” he murmured, glancing around for a place to put the flowers and settling on the top of the small file cabinet in the corner. “Although expediency doesn’t matter to me nearly as much as results.”

“Well, it matters to me. I get paid to report the news. And since money is very much of consequence when it comes time to pay my bills, I should get back to earning it.”

“I promise not to take too much of your time,” he told her, settling himself all comfylike against the deep window ledge, one leg hitched up so that his coat fell open, revealing a white shirt open at the throat and loosely tucked into a pair of impeccably tailored black slacks.

He seemed bigger than she remembered, his shoulders broader, his thigh distractingly well muscled. And with the morning sun slanting across his face, he also seemed harder somehow. It wasn’t a matter of lines or creases, but attitude. He might be younger than she was, but she’d bet he’d packed a lot more living into his years.

“So, what’s changed since last night?” he asked.

“I’ve learned a few things about the pendant that I didn’t know. When I got home, I showed it to my grandmother and she recognized it right away.”

His expression didn’t change, but the wariness that flickered in his eyes wasn’t lost on Eve. “Recognized it in what way?”

“From an old painting of one of our ancestors in Ireland,” she told him, filtering the details she shared. “It turns out the pendant has family associations that go back generations. I guess you could call it a long-lost family heirloom.”

“And you knew nothing about it when you decided to bid?”

Eve shook her head. “Not a thing. I just knew I wanted it. Now that I do know, of course, there’s no way I could part with it.”

“I’ll pay you ten times the auction price,” he stated in a cool, no-nonsense voice.

“Did you hear what I just said?”

“Fifty times.”

Eve rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry. No.”

“One hundred times. I’m offering you a hundred times what you paid. You do realize how much that is?”

It took her a little longer to do the math this time. When she finished, she stared at him, incredulous. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious. Think about it; you could quit your job.”

“I like my job.”

“You’d never have to worry about paying bills again.”

She shrugged. “I didn’t say I was worried. And even if I was drowning in debt I could never sell the pendant knowing it would break my grandmother’s heart. When she saw it, she was like a kid on Christmas morning.”

He didn’t even attempt an understanding smile. He just looked annoyed, and impatient, and the way he pressed his lips together made Eve think he was biting his tongue to avoid saying something he would later regret. Straightening from the window ledge, he moved unhurriedly across the office, taking his time checking out the impressive collection of framed certificates and awards hanging on the wall and paying particular attention to the one that meant the most to her. It was one Rory had made for her when she was in the first grade; in painstakingly drawn letters and a rainbow of bright colors it proclaimed her “The World’s Best Aunt
.
”