Time Thief: A Time Thief Novel (15 page)

“Mechanical? You mean like farm equipment or something?”

“More like watches. Electronics. Televisions.”

“That’s a really specific, and yet seriously odd, question.” I drove in silence for two minutes before answering.
“Carla—my foster mom, who was also my mother’s bestie—once told me that my mother could not only
not
wear watches, but she also stopped clocks if she got close to them. I’m kinda the same way, although mostly I just can’t wear watches.”

“Ah. Your mother was the Traveller, then.” He nodded just as if that made sense. “You are a half-breed.”

“I beg your—look, buster, you may be Mr. Elizabeth Taylor Eyes, but that doesn’t mean you get to insult me!”

“I didn’t insult you.”

“For your information,” I said, breathing loudly through my nose, “the term ‘half-breed’ is seriously unpolitically correct.”

“Bah. That is a mortal conception, and we are not beholden to their beliefs.”

I would have stared at him in outright shock, but I didn’t want to plow us into another car, so I contented myself with shooting him disbelieving little glances, and saying, “What the hell does that mean?”

“Exactly what it sounds like it means. Pull over there.” He gestured as we rolled into town.

“You are not beholden to mortal beliefs?” I repeated, doing as he requested by stopping next to a boarded-up sporting goods store. “I hate to break this to you, Peter, but unless your name is really Clark Kent, you are not a superman. You are mortal.”

“As you so erotically pointed out, I am a Traveller. I am not mortal.”

“I pointed this out?” Now that we had parked, I could indulge in outright gawking.

“Yes. You put your hand on my chest and invited me to kiss you by looking at me with those big eyes that hold so much promise.”

I blinked my big, promising eyes at him. “And because of this, you think you’re immortal?”

“Not immortal. I can be killed. I simply have the ability to avoid dying of natural causes. All Travellers can do so. Even you.”

“You’re nuts.”

“And you’re in denial. No, do not protest.” He put a finger across my lips, froze at the contact, then leaned forward and gave me the kiss that I’d secretly been waiting for since I first laid eyes on him. His mouth was warm on mine, warm and soft and so very wonderful that I wanted to melt into a big old puddle of Kiya right there in full view of everyone on Main Street.

His tongue teased my lips into parting, but before I could really taste him, he pulled back, his eyes so hot I swear they raised the temperature in the car by at least ten degrees.

“That, I’m afraid, will have to be continued another time. If my cousins are in town as you say they are, I have work that must be done now. But first, I have to make sure Sunil is still in the car.”

My brain was so bemused by the heat of the kiss—and the overwhelming desire I had to fling myself on Peter and demand he kiss me again—that his words didn’t register until he was striding away from the car.

“Hey!” I yelled, clambering out of the car to go after him. “You can’t say things like that and walk away. Peter? Peter!”

I stopped after running around the side of the church motel. The yard was empty. He had disappeared, leaving me sexually smoldering, confused, and with at least a hundred questions about what he meant. He didn’t think he was mortal? Worse, he didn’t believe I was? And
cousins? His
cousins
were in town? Andrew and Gregory? But that would mean…“Holy jebus,” I swore softly to myself as I slowly retraced my steps back to Eloise. “Either he’s deranged, or he’s…I can’t believe this…. He’s Mrs. Faa’s
grandson
. Whichever it is, he has a whole lot of questions to answer.”

“D
alton McKay.”

Peter frowned at his cell phone before putting it back to his ear, ignoring the sharp jab of pain that the action caused. It must have been the frustrating conversation with the delectable Kiya that caused him to think something was awry with his employer. That or the phone was distorting Dalton’s voice. “There you are. I’ve been calling you for the last twelve hours. Where have you been?”

“Peter. My apologies—I was called away briefly.”

“Did you get any information from the magician?”

“The magician?” Dalton sounded oddly surprised. “Ah, him. No, I haven’t seen him. I don’t think he’s worth investigating after all.”

“Bad lead?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, your timing is as bad as ever,” Peter said, taking fresh clothing from his suitcase.

“Peter-ji, would it be acceptable to you if I was to explore the most intriguing grounds of this holy place? I will absolutely keep to the plants and shrubs and green growing things that surround it, so that the mortals will not see me and be startled or even frightened.”

Peter nodded and opened a window enough for Sunil’s tiny ball of light to slip out. He watched for a minute as the animus zipped this way and that across the lawn before disappearing into the cool, dark woods.

“Bad timing? Me?” Dalton gave a short, harsh laugh, but Peter didn’t really hear it. He pulled off his shirt and frowned at the mirrored image. The two stab wounds had healed, as he knew they would. Travellers might not have a lot of healing abilities, but they shared a common trait with most other denizens of the Otherworld, and did not suffer physical hurts for long. It was the Traveller mark that he looked at now.

What had Kiya called it? A lightning flower. Hers was on her arm, her soft, smooth, silky arm. He envisioned kissing a line down that arm, then told himself that he really shouldn’t be thinking inappropriate things about a woman who was working for Lenore Faa. At least now he knew that she wasn’t wed to one of his cousins. That thought had consoled him through the long hours of the morning.

Then again, she did manage to get him away from his murderous cousins, so she couldn’t be wholly under their sway. She certainly was intriguing enough to keep his mind from being where it should be: on the murder investigation. He owed it to the victims to stay focused. Why, then, did Kiya keep pushing her way to the front of his mind?

“It’s not like she is anything spectacular to look at,” he said aloud, sitting on the edge of his bed. “She’s just normal. Breasts and legs and arms and a face.”

“Who is normal?”

“Hmm?”

“Who are you talking about?”

“No one you know.”

“I see. What did you want if not to tell me about this woman?”

Oh, who was he trying to fool? She was gorgeous. She was his ideal personified. She had curves in all the places he liked women to be curved, and she smelled good. Not perfumed, but just…good. Attractive. Sensual, even. And her mouth, oh, how he wanted to taste that mouth again. Her lips seemed to hold an unholy attraction for him to the point where even now, just thinking about that mouth was making him aroused.

“Peter?”

“Yes?”

Then there was her mind. He liked that, as well, although if he had to put it up against her curves and mouth, he might have a hard time picking which one he liked better. He smiled to himself, sure that if he told her that, she’d punch him in the arm, and lecture him for being shallow and not looking beneath the surface to what really mattered about a person. Then he’d have to admit that he really did like the way her mind worked, as well as the fact that he never knew exactly what she was going to say or do next, following which he’d make love to her for at least three days straight. Maybe four if she was particularly flexible and had the needed stamina.

“Why did you call me?”

“Oh, hello, Dalton.”

Really, it was a good thing that he was an experienced man of the world who could compartmentalize his interest in the gorgeous Kiya—for truly, she was a very beautiful woman, and he’d take umbrage with anyone who said otherwise—and he congratulated himself that he could keep his personal and professional lives separate.

“I really don’t have time to waste like this.”

What was she doing at that moment? Probably damning him for blithely walking away from her seductive, too-tempting self. If only she knew how hard it had been for him to do so. Then again, what if she was happy to see the back of him? What if she was a whole lot friendlier with his cousins than she had let on? What if they had set her to spy on him? Worse, what if she was playing him along for her own purposes?

His hands fisted as he imagined her and Gregory laughing together about how easy it had been to pull the wool over his eyes.

“Dammit, I’ll kill him,” he muttered, picturing many ways he’d like to teach Gregory once and for all to stop meddling with him.

“I’d ask who, but you appear to have forgotten I’m on the phone with you, so instead, I’ll just hang up.”

As for Kiya, he’d like to…like to…“Hell,” he said, slamming down his fist onto his leg. He didn’t want to do anything but kiss her. And make love to her. And say outrageous things to her just to see what she’d do in response. And then make love again, just because.

Why hadn’t he gotten her cell phone number? By rights, he should call her up that very moment and demand to know what she thought she was doing by spying on him for Gregory. Then he’d lecture her about the wisdom of joining forces with the murderous bunch that was his family, and finally, he’d graciously accept her heartfelt apology for her role in the deception and possible vial theft, and grant her plea to save her from the family. Which of course he’d do, because he was nothing if not a gallant man. Following that, he’d get her into his bed. It was clearly the only way to keep her out of trouble
with his cousins. Yes, he would do it. It was for her own good.

Feeling immensely virtuous over the fact that he had decided to save Kiya despite the temptation she posed him, not to mention interruptions to work she was sure to cause, he wrapped up the phone call so he could get on with the saving. No, that wasn’t right. First he had to catch the murderers; then he could save Kiya by seducing her. Yes, yes, it was a good plan, a sound plan, a plan that a man could really sink his teeth into. “Sorry, Dalton, I have to go. I want to search a tent for the vial, just in case I’m completely wrong and she is with them after all. Not that I think she is, not really. It’s just an extremely slight possibility, and you hired me because I am nothing if not thorough. Also, it would be just like them to hide it in her tent assuming I wouldn’t look there because she had nothing to do with them. Yes, the more I think about that, the more it makes sense. I’ll see you at the rendezvous spot at nine tonight, as planned.”

He clicked off the phone, filled with all kinds of righteousness at his plan.

Half an hour later, washed, dressed, and with his plan in place, he stepped out of the motel and immediately forgot all about his good intentions.

Kiya lounged on a faded lap blanket in the shade of the trees that backed the motel property, a couple of plastic containers of food and some paper plates set on the edge of the blanket. She sat up when she saw him, and waved.

He was instantly hard. This made walking toward her extremely painful, but there was no way on this good, green earth he was going to be able to walk away from her a second time that day. He lurched toward her, praying
she wouldn’t think he’d suddenly lost the control of one or both legs. “What are you doing here?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound stern and businesslike. To his ears, he sounded just like a happy puppy begging for attention.

“I thought we could have a picnic. Unless you’ve had lunch? Ouch. That…uh…looks kind of painful. I hope I didn’t interrupt some quality time with the local porn channel?”

He steadfastly ignored her gaze on his bulging fly lest it make matters worse. “There is no television in my room.”

“Oh?” A sudden smile spread over her face, warming him to the tips of his toenails. “Are you happy to see me, then?”

He willed his erection away. Or rather, he tried, but it was still painful walking the last couple of steps to her. “I am not here to discuss my penis’s inappropriate behavior, and I am certainly not responsible for its method of greeting the sight of you.”

“Kind of like how my boobs go all happy when they see you,” she said, and instantly, his gaze was on her chest. The lovely little mounds of breasts visible through the opening of her shirt made his mouth water. “They just see you, and whammo! They’re fully into their happy place.”

With an effort, he dragged his gaze from her breasts. “You will now tell me how you knew to find me here.”

One side of her mouth quirked up higher than the other when she smiled. He loved that about her. “I brought you here last night, remember?”

“But how did you know I came here now?”

“Dude, really?” She gave a short laugh. “You got out
of my car half a block from the motel. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out where you went. And last night, that hussy who runs the place told me that there was a separate entrance to your room, so I figured you’d probably go in and out that way rather than risk running into other people staying here. You hungry? I have some fried chicken I bought from the bait shop—which turns out also to be some sort of greasy spoon diner. I picked up a potato salad, and a fruit salad that has a lemonade-based dressing, as well.”

He relaxed, and sat down at the edge of the blanket. Of course she hadn’t been following him. She hadn’t a deceptive bone in her body. Unless…unless Gregory or Andrew had followed him, and told her where he was. “No, I am not hungry.”

“Man, what is with your face? One minute you have a stony expression that wouldn’t be out of place on Mount Rushmore, and the next you look like you’re thinking how much you like strawberries.”

“I am a man of many moods,” he said loftily, absently taking a piece of chicken, and accepting a plate of food from Kiya, who giggled when he did so. “I have many deep thoughts of which I am not allowed to tell you.”

“Oh, I can tell you’re full of it,” she said, giggling even more when he raised his eyebrows. “Deep thoughts, that is. So, tell me about this vial you lost. And why you’re pestering Mrs. Faa, even though you say you aren’t. And just exactly what happened to you when you got stabbed? Who stabbed you? Why were you stabbed?”