THE RISK OF LOVE AND MAGIC (12 page)

They parked behind a hedge and Nadine carried her Target bag to the side door, hoping Maximus had a key and that they wouldn’t set off any security alarms.

The enormous stainless steel and granite kitchen echoed, striking Nadine as a deserted space station. “I could stand here and pick up the vibrations of the universe,” she said in awe. “May I pitch a tent in the kitchen?”

Magnus issued one of his you’re-nuts snorts, took her arm, and steered her into the next room.

“I’m not sure I trust you with this much space,” he concluded gruffly. “Promise not to bungee jump off the balcony?”

She gazed up at the atrium balcony spilling foliage in the filtered sunlight from the enormous front windows. “Hang glide, maybe?”

He actually laughed at that, which warmed her better than hot chocolate. When Maximus Grandus relaxed, he was awesome.

She halted in the atrium to study a marble statue taller than she was. It adorned a two-story, ceiling-to-floor waterfall fountain. When she realized the statue was a stylized nude couple wrapped around each other, she blushed, and hurried ahead.

Behind her, Max chuckled. “I need to take you to museums?” he called as she took the soaring stairs upward.

“Please,” she said honestly. “Just don’t catch me by surprise like that.”

“With statues or naked?”

She blushed again. “I’ve led a sheltered life,” she replied, aiming for haughty but probably fooling no one.

“So I’ve gathered.” He started opening doors on the second floor. “Bedrooms. Find one that looks unused, I guess.”

She looked for one with a view, settling on one decorated in pale blues, greens, and sand so it brought the outdoors in. It looked as if the decorator had done her job but no one had ever moved in. No personal effects or clothing made this a home. The balcony was a bonus.

Her first night alone—no guards outside the door, no Magnus watching to see that she didn’t take flight.

She wasn’t entirely certain she had any idea how to be alone.

Uneasy with that realization, she peered around the door into the hall to see which room Magnus took—the one across from hers, naturally.

Strangely comforted knowing he was nearby, she emptied her meager belongings into a drawer, set Vera’s pink bunny on the bed, and wished for a bread crumb trail to lead her back to the kitchen.

The security intercom buzzed.

Nadine hurried into the hall, looking for a way to answer it. Magnus appeared, opened a panel cover, and hit one of the many switches behind it. She stuck her tongue out at him. He raised a quizzical eyebrow but told the garbled voice from the security gate to send someone in.

“How did you know where they hid the speaker?” she demanded as they descended the stairs.

“I looked. That panel was the obvious choice. Francesca just arrived. She brought dinner. I hope you like Chinese.”

“Just because she’s of Chinese origin doesn’t mean she’ll bring Chinese.”

“It does when I told Dorrie to send some.” He hit the foyer ahead of her.

“You’re a smartass, Maximus!” she shouted after him.

Giddy with her new freedom and by Francesca’s arrival, Nadine dashed down the rest of the stone stairs to the grandiose foyer. Magnus already had the door open.

No one entered, but in her mind, a sudden image of the general loomed—wearing his uniform, shouting, and looking livid.

Nadine grabbed her temples and sank to her knees.

When Nadine fell to her knees, holding her temples, Magnus flung Francesca a suspicious look but kept his hands to himself. He’d learned not to grab La Loca in one of her fits.

Instinctively, he crouched down, shielding her from the intruder. He placed himself in a position to catch her in case she toppled and bit back his curses so he wouldn’t interfere with whatever was happening inside her head.

Utter relief washed over him when she didn’t repeat the seizure routine.

This time, she recovered in seconds, catching his arm to steady herself before she glared up at Francesca.

Magnus had met the helicopter pilot, Dorrie’s cousin, before. She was tall and elegant, wearing her shiny black hair pulled back in a simple cream ribbon matching her silk shirt and slacks. She carried a sack of still-steaming cartons of food, but she maintained an expressionless composure while Magnus helped Nadine to her feet.

Uneasy, but not having a clue about what was happening here, he remained silent and watchful as the two women gauged each other. Even with her hair dyed brown, Nadine was the more colorful of the two in her orange gauze shirt, yellow tank top, and blue jean capris. She was shorter than Francesca and less sure of herself—and still she balled her fingers into her fists and stuck her chin out pugnaciously.

“What did you do that for?” Nadine demanded.

Francesca shrugged. “That creep has been in my head like that ever since my cousin Bo encountered him. If you were raised by that bastard, we can’t trust you.”

Catching the gist of the argument and not particularly wanting to hear more craziness, Magnus swiped the food from Francesca’s hand and stomped toward the kitchen. “Whatever you just did, cut it out. Nadine was the one who helped me and Bo out of that hole, and you’re the one who can leave if you won’t trust her.”

He surprised himself in saying that. He liked to remain objective, but his rescuer complex had kicked in. He’d seen Nadine’s genuine fear and distress and heard her stories. She was the victim here.

“I need that man out of my head,” Francesca insisted without an ounce of remorse. “Why aren’t we going after him instead of some kid who is probably playing hooky to go to the beach with her boyfriend?”

Nadine halted so fast that Magnus hadn’t realized she wasn’t still behind him until he heard her speak.

“Vera is not just a kid. She’s an exceptionally intelligent and motivated teacher who understands people far better than I ever will. She’s lived under
that man’s
thumb most of her life and is terrified of him. She will not do anything to endanger me or to reveal herself to the general. If she’s disappeared, it’s because she felt threatened.”

Magnus raised an admiring eyebrow as Nadine stalked past him, into the kitchen. Maybe she didn’t precisely need rescuing—just a keeper.

He glanced back at Francesca, who didn’t appear properly chastised. “We get the innocent to safety first,” he told her. “That’s proper hostage procedure.”

Nadine began opening cabinets, not acknowledging the
hostage
comment. Magnus engaged in a brief stare-off with Dorrie’s pilot cousin. Once upon a time Francesca would have been just his type—ultra chic, mechanically adept, gorgeous, and able to look out for herself.

Diane had been like that, he’d thought, but obviously, his judgment was skewed. Francesca held no appeal for him now. Apparently, his new type was blatantly crazy and terrified, a stubborn, independent ball of orange fluff. He’d be adopting kittens next.

Disgruntled, he began setting boxes of Chinese on the long contemporary inlaid wood table and let the women settle their differences.

“You picked up the whole image I sent you?” Francesca asked, hunting through drawers for silverware.

“If you mean did I see the general in full uniform and engaging in one of his tirades, yes. I shut down after that.” Nadine slapped some dishes on the table.

Magnus winced. He remembered the general that way the one time he’d met the old buzzard. He’d been behind bars and unable to plow a fist into the bastard’s jaw.
That
was the image Francesca had been projecting? Bo had been there, too. She’d actually
seen
that image in Bo’s head?

This psychic business was damned peculiar. And useless.

“It was extremely rude to broadcast that loudly if you know what you’re doing,” Nadine stated matter-of-factly.

Francesca made a dismissive gesture and scattered forks and napkins around the table. “It’s not as if I know anyone else besides my grandmother who is receptive. Generally, I’m the one on the receiving end.”

Magnus grabbed a box, settled on a stool, and began dishing food onto a plate, trying to pretend this was normal dinner conversation. Nadine’s silence, closed eyes, and faintly constipated expression warned it was anything but.

Francesca froze and frowned.

Rolling his eyes, Magnus scooped up whatever delicious concoction Dorrie had chosen for them and started eating.

Francesca continued frowning and spooning up soup as she tried to catch whatever image Nadine was “sending.”

“I can see someone who looks like the photo that Conan sent me of Vera. I can’t tell what she’s doing.” Francesca tilted her head and closed her eyes. “No, that’s all I’m getting.”

“That’s a start.” Nadine set a cold beer in front of him.

How had she noticed his preference for beer when he hadn’t been drinking any?

“But it’s too easy when we’re in the same room and know we’re sending images,” Nadine continued. “We’re both receptors and Vera isn’t. The chances of reaching her are slim unless she’s half asleep or in a hole and sensory deprived.”

As he and Bo had been, Magnus conceded. That Bo had been able to project their location had been a freaky miracle. The psychic business was for crazy people like Adams—an interesting option, but a well-engineered drone would work better.

“Vera has always been a lark who goes to bed early,” Nadine said, pouring wine for herself and Francesca. “Perhaps if we wait until dark and send a message every fifteen minutes, there will be some chance she’ll notice and realize we’re trying to reach her.”

Magnus glanced around to see where she’d found the wine. On the far side of the Sub-Zero was an immense wine rack. The lady might be a few bulbs short of a chandelier, but she was a keen observer. And lacked normal social boundaries—like asking permission to appropriate expensive drinks.

“What message do you want to send?” Francesca asked.

Nadine wrinkled her nose. She didn’t have a redhead’s freckles, Magnus noted. From lack of sun?

“I’ve been thinking about that. If she’s in a place where she can follow the news, then she must know that I’ve escaped, and the general is after us.”

Francesca nodded and sipped her wine. “Nice wine. What is it?”

Magnus glanced at the towering wine rack. “Probably a hundred dollars a bottle, so let’s not ding Oz’s budget too badly.”

Both women shrugged and poured more. Well, he’d wanted independent women. Obedience didn’t come with the territory.

“I want to send Vera a simple password to a basic Dropbox account so we can communicate,” Nadine continued. “We used to share one when she was in high school, but the general thought we were keeping secrets and made me take it down.”

“Were you keeping secrets?” Magnus asked, because he couldn’t help himself.

“Of course,” both women replied and laughed.

That would teach him to keep his mouth shut.

They put away the leftovers and Magnus made coffee while the women explored the house. Francesca was insisting on appropriate feng shui for their experiment while Nadine was more concerned about the sound of ocean waves, warmth, and cushions for some yoga position she claimed helped open up her mind.

If he wanted to learn what made them tick, scientific research required that he just shut up and watch. Up to a point.

They chose the balcony off Nadine’s bedroom, then decorated it with appropriate plants and gewgaws from the rest of the house. As the sun began to hover above the waves, they settled on yoga mats.

Magnus found a wicker chair in the shadows of the room and stayed out of sight. He was out of his element and needed an oily rag and a spark plug to clean.

Admittedly, the ocean waves were relaxing. The soft murmur of voices dissipated when the women concentrated on the paper with the password written on it—image and numbers. Magnus put up his feet and leaned back and closed his eyes.

He hadn’t been this relaxed in days. Weeks. Maybe years. The tide burbled out in a gentle rhythm. The women spoke in harmony. He kept one ear open for anything out of synch.

The next thing he knew, he startled awake with a snore. Anxiously, he checked on Nadine. She and Francesca were finishing off the bottle of wine on the balcony—while perched on the rail three stories above the street.

Nadine—naturally—was blowing bubbles with a giant wand. Where the hell had she found bubbles? Laughing, she swung her arm wide, wafting iridescent soap into the night—and nearly toppling off the edge.

Not crazy, just drunk.

Magnus strode onto the balcony. Ignoring a startled Francesca, he grabbed Nadine by the waist and carried her into the en suite bathroom, where he dumped her into the shower stall and turned on the water. “You’re sticking to one glass of wine until you develop a head for it.”

Nadine sent him a sultry smile and began unfastening her shirt. Caught off guard, Magnus almost stayed to watch. Almost. The water had plastered the gauze and knit to her breasts, which apparently hadn’t been confined in one of the bras she’d insisted on buying. His prick rose straight up for the occasion.

Even more irked, he slammed out of the bathroom and watched Francesca carry off the wine bottle. She gave him a happy wave and a wink and sauntered down the hall. How many bottles had they emptied?

What the hell was happening to him? He knew Nadine was another crazy, too mixed-up to know what she was doing. He had no business looking at an emotionally disturbed and possibly mentally unstable female as he just had.

He had the urge to dive into the waves from three stories up just to see if he could straighten out his head—or his hormones.

Instead, he grabbed the sheet of paper containing the password they’d been trying to convey and located Nadine’s laptop on the balcony. They’d apparently been celebrating something, and he hoped he’d find out what in here. He clicked on her Dropbox and looked for messages from the beyond.

He opened the box’s only contents— a recently received document. An address and a time appeared with no other information. Had they
really
contacted Vera?

He could grab his keys, hop in the car, and be on the other side of the mountain in time to case this joint before the given time. He reached in his pockets to confirm he had the keys.