a Touch of Intrigue (25 page)

GG yanked the lasso. “You thinking you can lead me away from the cottage? Stupid. I know this land better than you ever will. Been waiting for the day you’d show up. Had nothing better to do than learn every inch of it.”

Damn it. He’d read my intention before I could execute it. His spy training probably ran a tight second to Pierce and Fred, so I’d have to up my game, and wait for a solid opening before I made my move. I glared at him, my mind running through possible kill scenarios, but that damn shotgun had caution written all over it.
Time to regroup, Everly. Question him to death.
“How did you get on my land in the first place? Through the mazes?”

“I know people. Manipulate the shit out of them.” There was so much pride in his voice, a body could trip over it.

The itch between my shoulder blades told me he was staring at me. I dared a glance over my shoulder. It must have pissed him off because he lifted the gun, aimed at my chest.

We’d reached the turn off for the cottage, so I stopped, but didn’t turn around.

He gathered some of the slack in the rope, then jabbed me in the back with the shotgun.

It ticked me off. “Who in the fricking hell
are
you?”

“Your mama’s best friend. The person she turned to when she needed help to get her out of the mess she’d created.”

I shook my head. “My mother didn’t need help.”

“Au contraire. I run a tightly closed ship, even Mitchell Hunt didn’t know he was working for the KGB.”

My heart and knees dissolved simultaneously. If that damn lasso hadn’t been squeezing the life out of me, I’d have landed on the ground.

“Ah, I finally have your attention. Buck up, Sweeting. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss it before it’s your turn to join him in the hereafter.”

What the fuck was with this guy? Had to be severe mental illness.

“Move it. Cottage is just up ahead. Or I could put out the order to eliminate the Kekoa’s. I’ll be saving your lover’s parents for later, when he’s here to appreciate my various and assorted talents.”

I kept my mouth shut. Better GG learn first hand about Tynan in warrior mode.

The threat of death, and the rush of adrenaline only hang around so long before the body adjusts. I was a long way from complacent, but Ghost Guy had been toying with me for a while, and my mind had shifted from fight mode to thinking mode. I wasn’t in all that much danger, and probably wouldn’t be until I produced something that resembled my mother’s formula. I could play with that for a bit, wait for my chance to immobilize him.

But the Millie and Harlan threat worried me. They were showing their age, especially Millie since she was still recuperating from the accident that had burned her so badly. And their secrets nagged at me. My parent’s hadn’t socialized with the older couple, and there was always an invisible barrier between them.

That wasn’t true for me. I went to Millie for hugs, and cookies, and scraped knees almost as often as I did my parents. As a child, it hadn’t occurred to me to question the situation. Why would it? When my parents were home, they raised me. When they traveled, which they often did, Millie and Harlan had stepped in to fill the void. Why had I never wondered about their personal life, about something as basic as their last name? In true southern tradition, they were Miz Millie and Mr. Harlan.

It had only been in the last twenty-four hours that I’d finally begun to know the real…Kekoa’s. Which meant that Aukele had most likely done something to keep me from asking questions about them. Probably to keep them safe from little Niele’s insatiable curiosity. They had spent most of their lives protecting me, and in spite of the intrigue my family had woven around me, I loved them.

Anger burned hot in my belly. I’d lost my parents to Fion Connor and Eamon Grady, and assaulting my family ended there. Ghost Guy had made a lethal mistake when he used Millie and Harlan to threaten me.

He prodded me toward the cottage with the business end of the Benelli.

And Fred stepped onto the porch.

TWENTY-FOUR

MY STOMACH DID A PITCH
and roll. Fred strolling out of Millie and Harlan’s cottage like he belonged was expected. That he was here
now
was not.

Tension radiated from Ghost Guy, and the smell of sickness gagged me. But he’d moved closer, almost within kicking distance. If Fred held his attention, kept his focus away from me, I could…

“Hello, Martin.” Fred sounded cheerful.

“What is this? Old home week?” Anger seeped into my words.

Fred was truly a bastard, everyone agreed on that, but there was no chance he’d let Ghost Guy Martin shoot me. Not before he had the poison safely in his hands.

“You could say that, Ms. Gray. You have everything she needs to make the stuff, Martin?”

I was so fricking screwed.

Martin stepped closer, lowered the backpack to the ground. “
Ya.
”

“Well, bring it on in so she can get started.” Fred held the door open.

Good, that kept his hands busy.

I inched back a half step.

The rope went slack.

I spun, caught Martin’s chin with a solid kick, and we both went down.

A second later my topknot came loose, and my hair slipped down in a mass of unruly curls. Irritating. Before I could blow it out of my eyes, Fred had the Benelli aimed at Martin.

“Been waiting a lot of years for this day, Martin. Let go of the rope.”

He jerked it tight. “You can have the toxin,
mon ami.
I only want the other, the healing elixir.” He stood, pushed the gun aside. “I’m dying. Brain cancer is an ugly way to go.”

Fred nodded. And was that sympathy softening his cold, brown eyes? “Thought you looked sick when you were following me around.”

How the hell he’d managed to keep that rope in a viselike grip was beyond me? I rolled to my side, got to my knees, finally managed to get my feet under me. “Rope. Off.” There was no mistaking the threat in my words.

Martin dropped it, and I worked my way free of the Lasso. “You.” I poked my finger in Fred’s chest. “Allowed him.” I jabbed my finger at Ghost Guy. “To have free access to
my
property? What in the fricking hell were you thinking?”

“That you make beautiful bait, Ms. Gray.” His smile was full, straightening the skewed cleft in his chin.

“What?” I laced the single word with enough ice to withstand a Hawaiian heat wave, and then grabbed the Benelli out of his hand, and emptied the magazine.

“Martin here was the last loose end from Xola’s mission. Needed to be cleaned up before I retire, and you provided the perfect insurance that he’d show up right where I wanted him.”

Fred was old. Martin was dying. And Whitney had seen to it that my right hook packed a bit of power. There was no question I could take both of them, but before I landed the first punch, Pierce hauled up behind me and grabbed my arm.

“Let me, Belisama.” His fist connected with Fred’s jaw.

He stumbled back, clutching his jaw. Stumbled. Not knocked out cold. Pierce had totally pulled that punch.

“Goddammit, Tap. That hurt like a bitch.”

I grinned at Pierce. “Thanks, Love. You’re the best. Can you get these two locked up someplace so Siofra, Millie, and I can work on Mom’s project?”

Fred bristled. “Don’t even think about it, Tap. I need to pass Martin through proper channels. Chopper’s been here waiting most of the night.”

I craned my neck, looking up. It stood out, black and sinister, against the soft glow of the afternoon sky, then I turned back to Pierce. “Tell me again, why did you send me to Fred for training?”

Pierce tugged on one of my loose curls. “For us, Everly.”

Right. “Then let’s get a move on. I’m ready for the fun part of us.”

The sound of running feet had all four of us swiveling our heads toward the side of the cottage. Lorcán stormed into the yard, his face a thundercloud of unhappy. “Could.” Gasp. “Have.” Gasp. “Warned me.” Gasp. “About ’hundred yard dash.”

Pierce tipped his head toward Fred and Martin. “Had to defuse them.”

And he had. The two old men stood there, complacent, shoulders sagging, weary written on their faces. I wanted to drop-kick both of them into the stratosphere, but instead I was going to do my best to come up with a healing formula to test on Ghost Guy Martin. Seemed the least he could do for mankind, considering. I nudged Pierce. “How about you lock them up somewhere so I can get to work? What’s the SITREP from home?”

“Harlan’s escorting Aukele here.
Mo mháthair
and Millie are cooking. We’re here.”

Fred shuffled his feet. “Gotta get going.”

I glared at him. “Do not mess with me. You will be contained in one of our storage areas, and Lorcán will keep watch.” I shook my finger at them. “I expect you to be on your best behavior or I won’t share tiddlywinks with you, much less the formula.” There was something comforting about having a bit of power, even if it was only over two old guys who’d served their countries the best way they knew how. Damn, but I was getting soft. Not good. I straightened my spine, and sucked in a breath.

Pierce and Lorcán nodded agreement.

“After you get these two settled, Tynan, please send Millie and Siofra back here. I want to get this finished. Done and over.”

Pierce caught my hand. “Might want to have one of them bandage your arm.”

I snagged my backpack and scrunchie from the ground, and headed toward the cottage. “Yeah. I don’t want to chance that any of the mixture we’re be brewing will touch it. Good grief, I sound like a witch.”

“Go brew. I’ll clean this up.” He winked.

I wanted to kiss him senseless, but instead followed the scent of burning coffee that was drifting from the cottage. Millie would be hot if Fred scorched her best percolator, especially since she didn’t own an automatic coffee maker, or even a French press. Millie wanted her fresh-ground beans to perk. Could be why her coffee always tasted so special. I dropped my backpack on the kitchen table, made use of the bathroom facilities, washed the sweat off my face, and poured some peroxide on my rope burn. Ready. Set. Time to channel Mom.

I spread the four bundles of leaves on the kitchen counter in order of the code numbers: 9—21—32—18.

Now I needed a recipe. And I wouldn’t turn down any goddess-guidance that came my way.

Between my formula-enhanced DNA, ESP fingers, Pierce-vision, and Siofra-taught hearing, I should be able to whip up a batch of Mom’s toxin—no sweat. Millie’s kitchen had been her workroom, and that meant her energy was still here, albeit buried under years of stuff.

I sat on the floor, wrapped my legs into a half-lotus, and closed my eyes. Somewhere in this room, there was a recipe. If I had been the keeper of a potentially world destroying formula, where would I hide it? There was no point in searching with my normal human senses, and my fingers weren’t tingling, so I tabled that approach.

Pierce-vision had almost become second nature, so I tried that first, scanning the cupboard doors for any sign of unusual DNA, whatever that might look like. Nothing popped, but my line of vision drifted toward an under-the-counter cupboard next to the refrigerator. I made a mental note of it, then moved on.

What did the kitchen have to tell me? Listening was more difficult, maybe because it was learned skill, whereas the gift of enhanced sight had been “inherited” through my blood bond with Pierce. I listened to my breath flowing in and out of my lungs, then expanded my awareness to include table and chairs. I sensed a low, slow vibration, but nothing I could truly hear. Frustrated, I traced a pattern on one of my sea glass bracelets.

It sang beautifully, but I was trying to hear the table. Maybe if I held the glass and touched the wood at the same time. I had been holding the plants when they spoke to me, so it made sense that touching was involved, especially considering my ESP fingers. Maybe there was a link between them.

I stood, scraped a chair back, and sat. Resting my forearms on the table, I rubbed the sea glass with my fingertips. The sound started as a reluctant rumble, like it was an effort for the wood to speak. The longer I listened, the clearer it became, until it developed a distinct voice of it’s own.

Not wanting to waste another second, I crossed the kitchen to the cupboard that had caught my attention earlier. I took off my bracelet with the largest piece of sea glass and held it between my thumb and index finger, and then rested my other hand on the cupboard door. And waited.

Not so much as a whisper touched my ears. I moved to the overhead cupboard, and immediately heard a scritchity-scritch sound that made me laugh. This was a happy, busy piece of wood that carried the essence of frequent contact with Millie. I tried another cupboard. A different voice, but it held a definite cadence that belonged to that piece of wood alone. So why was the first cupboard silent?

I dropped to my knees in front of it, smashed my left palm against the wood, and caressed the sea glass with my finger. Stone cold silence. It was unnerving after hearing the other wood speak so clearly. I opened the door, peered inside. Empty. That could explain it. Millie didn’t use this cupboard so maybe it was…hibernating. Or hiding something.