Read Wild Magic Online

Authors: Ann Macela

Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Suspense

Wild Magic (9 page)

BOOK: Wild Magic
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This business with the Cataclysm Stone, however, was clearly a special case, and her active role was yet undetermined. At the meeting last night, they had only decided to keep investigating. Various Defenders, both on her team and not, were working on Alton’s and Bruce Ubell’s movements and activities, searching for any trace of the larger remnant, or monitoring Alton’s condition. Until they knew more, she was to go about her regular business. Even with no team task, at least she could think about the situation.
Alton was out of commission, so he couldn’t tell them who had the rest of the Stone. Several team members thought his cousin might be the second villain and possibly, even probably, the holder of the other remnant. Their reasoning was based mostly on Ubell’s close association with Alton since childhood, his ambiguous “vice president” position with undefined duties within Finster Shipping, and his reputation for being the power behind Alton’s throne.
Until they could do so from a position of certainty, however, nobody wanted to ask Ubell where the rest of the evil item was. Indeed, practitioner law was against accusation without proof. If Ubell had found the notice she left, he certainly hadn’t contacted them, and his lack of action raised everyone’s suspicions even higher.
Irenee had never met Ubell face-to-face, only seen him at a distance—like at the gala—a situation the other Defenders shared. They were working on ways to get physically close to him without making a formal call. One good sniff and they’d know if he was evil. Unfortunately, you had to be standing next to the person to pick up the odor of evil. Thank goodness she hadn’t had to spend much time near Alton on Saturday night, or she might have thrown up from the stench.
Oh, wait a minute. Alton hadn’t reeked of evil when they crossed paths before, had he? Before he’d used his Stone out of the protected place he’d obviously been casting from. Ubell might not smell, either. Nobody had thought of that particular point yesterday.
On the theory Alton and another had been casting with the pieces for years, several people, herself included, thought the remnant was hidden in the mansion under a pile of shields and protections. It was the only way the item could be used in total privacy. The nineteenth-century building was sure to have nooks and crannies modern construction lacked. Oh, to be able to get into that house for a more thorough search.
Ubell, however, had moved into the family homestead from his high-rise condo by Lake Michigan. According to their surveillance reports of this morning, he was running the companies from there and, except for Finster executives and his administrative assistant, not accepting visitors. Since Alton’s transfer to the private hospital Sunday morning, Bruce had not visited his cousin’s bedside.
Did his reclusiveness guarantee the location of the Cataclysm remnant in the house? If so, where exactly? Had he and Alton truly been casting evil spells for years? Again, where? What had possessed Alton to cast with his piece out in the open? Too many questions, not enough answers.
At least Uncle Dylan had found out who her fellow thief was—Jim Tylan, a DEA agent who had once saved the life of an ambassador. Assuming his agency was going after the Finster drug activities, what effect he and his agency might have on the Defenders’ search for the rest of the Stone concerned them all. Fergus had people researching Tylan also.
Forcing her mind back to business, she exited the elevator on three and walked quickly down the hall. The box was beginning to slip off her hip, and her grip on the briefcase was loosening. Good thing her office was right around the corner.
“Let me help you with that,” a deep voice said when she ran right into the man standing in front of her door.
She froze and stared up, directly into the eyes of Mr. Mysterious. He caught the box just as she lost control of it.
Now she knew what color his eyes were—green with gold flecks, a golden green. A stormy golden green. The turbulence in them went with the determined expression on his face. At the same time, the heat in his gaze made her want to throw herself into his arms so much she almost would have—if not for the box between them.
She broke eye contact to look at the rest of him. His nose had still been broken. His hair was still curly. His shoulders were as broad in a sports jacket as they had been in a tux, but he seemed taller today.
Idiot! You had on three-inch heels at the party, not flats. Wake up! He’s found you.
She blinked a couple of times and took a deep breath. Saw his gaze travel down to her chest, then back up.
Men!
“We need to talk,” he said, frowning at her.
“What do you want?” she asked in, she hoped, a no-nonsense tone, and she forced herself to stand still when a hot shiver ran up her backbone and heated her center.
“Do you really want to discuss our last meeting standing in a public hallway?”
She gave him a hard look, which he returned—doubled. Reminding herself she was strong and couldn’t be intimidated, she opened the door.
He followed her in, right on her heels as if he thought she’d try to shut the door on him.
“Put the box over there,” she told him and pointed to the desk where her assistant would eventually sit.
He did as she ordered.
She continued into her own office, where she laid her briefcase and purse on her desk. She decided to see how much she could get out of him before luring him to the HeatherRidge and Fergus. Her hands on her hips, she turned to face him. “All right, who are you, and what do you want?”
He came only as far as her doorway. Arms crossed over his chest, he leaned against the jamb and looked around her office as if he was taking inventory.
Not that there was much to see—desk, chairs, computer, printer, filing cabinets, a bookshelf, a couple of plants, a desk lamp, and some promo goodies she’d used in past events. True, she did have a nice colorful print by a contemporary artist on the wall, but, except for a photo of her family, no fanciness or personal stuff. The office was neat because that’s the kind of person she was—organized. She rarely met clients here, and the decor suited her work style. If he didn’t like it, too bad.
His gaze returned to her. “What did you take out of Finster’s safe, and why? What was the book, and what was in the bag?”
“Why should I tell you anything? I don’t even know who you are.”
“My name is Jim Tylan,” he answered.
“And ...?” She made a coaxing gesture with her hands.
“And what did you take out of Finster’s safe?”
“Why should I answer your questions? Are you with the police? You were evidently after something also. What was on those flash drives you copied?”
“Let’s just say it’s a matter of homeland security.”
“Show me some identification if you want answers.”
“ID is on a need-to-know basis. You don’t qualify.”
Irenee shook her head. “If you use the words
homeland security
, are you a government agent? If so, what agency and what kind of officer? Don’t you have to identify yourself? Are you going to take me in for interrogation?”
He straightened off the doorjamb and took three steps to loom over her and stare down into her eyes. She glared right back.
He was so close, she could feel the heat in him. She could see the little golden flecks in his green eyes and smell him, too—an alluring, indefinable scent that made her nostrils flare, and which was
not evil
in any way, shape, or form.
A strong urge struck to move into his arms and discover if his body was as hard as it appeared. She actually felt her muscles prepare to take the step, and she relaxed them by sheer force of will. Where had such an idea come from? She recovered her focus and concentrated on standing her ground.
“Answer my questions, Ms. Sabel.” Obviously intent on domination, he bent farther, and they scowled at each other for some seconds, nose to nose.
Or rather, her straight nose to his once-broken one. She wondered what he’d do if she did something outrageous, like bite his nose—or kiss those lips drawn into a straight line by his anger.
The thoughts—irreverent and unexpected as they were, under the circumstances—tickled her funny bone. She couldn’t stop her lips from quirking up in a smile. The smile became a grin. She struggled for a few more moments to keep a straight face—until she lost the battle irrevocably.
When she started snickering, he drew himself up as if she’d insulted his parentage.
When she started giggling, he blinked first, but regained control before his shock at her reaction lasted more than a second.
He must think she was a wimp. Irenee the Sword, a wimp! She started laughing.
“Look, lady...”
His clear exasperation, accompanied by his leaning on her desk and bending over to put their faces at the same level—nose to nose again—set her off completely. He actually thought he could bulldoze her into talking.
She took a step backward and held onto her sides while she laughed so hard, she lost her breath and began coughing.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered and, straightening up, thumped her back until she waved him off.
“I’m all right,” she wheezed after a moment. She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at the tears in her eyes. When she could see again, she snuck a glance at him.
“I’m glad you find it funny. Let me assure you, however, this is no laughing matter,” he growled.
She sighed. “I realize that, but I don’t know you. Honestly, why should I even talk to you?”
Before he could speak, a new voice called from the outer office.
“Irenee, are you here?” Tiffany Blake and her mother, Bitsy, breezed into the room and stopped abruptly inside the doorway. Both women gave Tylan the once-over and smiled appreciatively.
“Oh, are we interrupting something?” Bitsy asked in a tone full of innuendo.
Oh, great, what a time for Chicago’s most notorious celebrity darling—and her mother—to show up. Irenee and Tiffany had known each other since grade school, but had never run in the same social circles, and never would. Wishing she could throw a go-away spell at the intruders, Irenee put a smile on her face. “What can I do for you ladies?”
“We need to see you about organizing an extremely important, wonderful, once-in-a-lifetime event for us,” Bitsy answered, never taking her eyes off Tylan.
“I’m sorry,” Irenee said, “but my calendar is full for the next year, and I don’t have the time to discuss taking on any new work at the present time.”
“Oh, Irenee,” Tiffany said, her little high-pitched voice grating on Irenee’s frazzled nerves, “you must, simply
must
manage our event. There’s no one else in the world who can.” She sauntered in and took a seat like she owned the place.
Tylan cleared his throat. “Excuse us, ladies. If I could speak to you for a moment, Ms. Sabel ...” He hustled Irenee into the outer office and closed the door behind him. “Look, we do have to talk.”
Irenee grabbed his arm and tugged him toward the door into the hall. She wouldn’t put it past Bitsy to put her ear to the door to eavesdrop. On the other hand, the interruption gave her the chance to get Tylan out of her office and to put the man in Fergus’s clutches.
“I agree,” she whispered. “Look, it’s going to take me a while to get rid of the queen and the princess in there. Why don’t you meet me at the HeatherRidge Center in Barrington at five this afternoon. We won’t have these disruptions. Do you know where that is?”
“Yeah, I’ll find it,” he grumbled. Then he glanced at the door to her office and shuddered. “No tricks? You’ll be there?”
“My word on it.” She held out her hand to shake and raised her eyes to his.
He gave her a distrusting look, but locked gazes and took her hand.
She felt the zing clear to her toes.
He seemed startled, too, as their fingers tightened.
They stood unmoving for a long moment, until they both let go at the same time.
He recovered first, opened the door, and said, “Five o’clock.”
“Ask for me at the reception desk.”
He nodded and left.
Irenee took a long, deep breath while she watched the door close. Wooooeeeee. What was that? She’d never had such a reaction to a man before. Her insides were practically tingling, and a sliver of heat rolled up and down her backbone to settle in her middle.
She probably would have stood there longer, replaying their conversation, remembering his eyes—and the look in them. Unfortunately, the sound of Tiffany’s high-pitched giggle penetrated the walls. She turned around to face her office and squared her shoulders. Now to get rid of the Blakes. No way was she going to get involved in their celebrity shenanigans.
Just before she opened her office door, she paused to rub her slightly aching, slightly itching breastbone. Even her body was repulsed by the idea of dealing with them.
She plastered a professional smile on her face, marched into her office, and sat behind her desk. “What’s going on, Tiffany?”
BOOK: Wild Magic
5.74Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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