Authors: t
purse, trying to ignore the amused look on the captain’s face. “Do you have
any leads?” she asked, suddenly aware that her mode of dress probably
didn’t look exactly professional. She placed her purse on her lap, trying to
cover some of her thighs. Gavin looked heavenward and sighed again. Well,
geez. How was she supposed to know they’d end up at PD tonight?
“Not exactly,” Captain Johnson said as if mulling over how much information
he wanted to share. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about Jake
Baxter? Why would he be in a ritzy neighborhood like that in the middle of
the night?”
Chloe glanced at Gavin, but he was looking stoically ahead. It was almost
like he was avoiding looking at her legs…was she piquing his interest just a
little? A tingle shot through her belly. She refocused on the captain.
“I think Jake was following up on the disappearance of Mr. Smith’s
veterinarian who had those dragon visits,” she said.
The captain shuffled some papers, picking one up and sliding it across the
desk. “That case is wide open. According to the New Orleans PD, Sophie
Cameron disappeared on August 1st. So did a man named Michael McCain.
Interestingly, there have been no dragon sightings—or whatever they
were—since then. Did your friend think that a coincidence?”
“I don’t know. I was in California when all this was going on. Miss Cameron
worked for Mr. Smith. So did that other woman—Sara something—who also
disappeared last spring. Do you think it was a coincidence?”
The captain looked surprised that she’d turned the question on him.
“Anything’s possible in police work.” He turned to Gavin. “I understand Mr.
Smith has hired you privately to investigate the disappearances both
because of your experience and also that you were a personal friend of
Lucas Ramsey.” He paused and gave Chloe a hard stare. “I also understand
that you were a friend of Jake Baxter’s, but if I allow you to remain in this
room for the rest of the conversation, you will have to swear to me that the
information will not be leaked in any form or matter.”
Chloe squirmed, feeling like a specimen under a microscope. As a reporter,
her duty was to ferret out the truth and make it available to the public.
However, her vivid imagination as a wannabe romance writer knew no such
bounds. Besides, she had to know what had happened to Jake. Slowly, she
nodded.
“Say it,” Captain Johnson demanded as Gavin gave her a dark, hooded look
that told her not to push this.
“I swear I will keep all of this confidential—but when the case is solved, can
I break it?”
The captain smiled mirthlessly. “Don’t hold your breath.” He turned back to
Gavin. “Since you are not here officially, I can’t order you to share what you
know, but it would behoove all of us to work together.”
“Certainly,” Gavin replied. “And, since I am not here officially, I will request
that what I am about to say not be repeated unnecessarily.”
The captain’s eyebrows both rose. “That’s an unusual request.”
“Perhaps not, once you hear the information.”
When the captain nodded, Gavin gave Chloe another look, deliberately
scanning her orange and pink hair, his gaze traveling over her scant attire—
which made the tingle start again in really nice places—and then returned to
her hair.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said. “I may not look like a news anchor, but I can
keep my mouth shut.” Gavin sighed again as if he were dealing with a
querulous child. She was really going to have work on his attitude. It was a
good thing for him that sex pheromones practically glittered in the air
around him.
“All right,” Gavin said and took a deep breath. “My friend, Lucas, unearthed
a manuscript written in medieval Gaelic that was auctioned at Sotheby’s.
The highest bidder was Sara Kincaid, working for John Smith.”
“Yes, we know that. Mr. Smith is rather infamous for his medieval
collections.”
“The second-highest bidder was a man named Adam Baylor. Have you heard
of him?”
Captain Johnson frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“He runs a brokerage house in London. Although it has never been proven,
Interpol and M-15 are quite sure he launders money to support the various
terrorist organizations around the world, as well as the drug trade in Asia
and Mexico.”
“Why? Is he some religious fanatic?”
“Hardly. His goals are much more mercenary. He wants complete global
control.”
Captain Johnson’s eyes widened. “Another dictator?”
“Probably worse. Baylor wants to control the world, not just a country. At
any rate, the manuscript held the clue for one of four ancient Celtic relics
believed to have the capability to enhance personal power.”
“Like magic?” Chloe interrupted.
The captain shook his head. “I’m a cop. We don’t—“
Gavin held up a hand. “I know. Our rational minds do not accept the
paranormal, but the psychological profile done on Baylor says he does.
Enough so that he would kill for the relics.”
“Go on.”
“When the Yard found out what the manuscript contained, they sent Lucas
to the States to locate the object—a spear—before Adam Baylor did.”
“Wow! You’re telling me Scotland Yard believes in magic?” Chloe asked,
almost bouncing in her chair. “I just knew there was something special—”
Gavin gave her a curious look. “No, Miss Whitney. At least not officially, but
no one wanted to take any chances.” He turned back to Johnson. “Baylor’s
profile classifies him as a total sociopath. It is my hope that Lucas found the
spear and is safeguarding it.”
“What about the vet and that other guy?” Chloe interrupted again. “They’re
missing too.”
“According to Lucas, the manuscript listed the four relics and the order in
which they would be found. My guess is that Miss Cameron and her friend
were seeking the sword. And, since they have also disappeared, but Adam
Baylor has not, my second assumption is that they found it as well.”
“So what’s next?” Johnson asked.
“A dish. Actually, a golden platter. Baylor will be desperate to get his hands
on it and he won’t hesitate to kill.”
“So you think he killed Jake?” Chloe asked.
Gavin shook his head. “Baylor never involves himself directly with any kind
of hit—or anything illegal. That’s why Interpol has never been able to charge
him. He’s clever, resourceful and extremely dangerous. Since Smith
procured the manuscript and both clues were linked to employees of his, it is
logical to assume Baylor is having his house watched for any action related
to a clue for the platter.”
Johnson poked around in his papers and picked one up. “Preliminary autopsy
reports says Baxter was mauled by something.”
Taking a deep breath, Gavin nodded. “Claw and scorch marks would indicate
the dragon hasn’t disappeared. Baylor probably controls it.”
The captain closed his eyes and rubbed them with one hand, then he slowly
looked at Gavin. “You’re saying the dragon is real? The sightings were all
speculation—”
“I am afraid the dragon exists. One other thing you should probably know.”
“What?” he asked warily.
“Lucas mentioned that the Kincaid woman was a witch and McCain a
warlock.”
“How cool is that?” Chloe said. “Covens and dragons—and it’s almost
Halloween! Awesome!” The dour looks both the captain and Gavin gave her
squelched her responsive enthusiasm. Geez. A real paranormal story right
here in Dallas—
“Oh, yeah. Totally awesome,” Johnson said. “I can’t go to my superiors with
that kind of crap. I’ll be lucky if I don’t get a motorized escort to the psycho
ward.”
Gavin stood up, motioning for Chloe to join him. “Like I said, perhaps it’s not
necessary to repeat this—at least, not yet.”
“Not ever,” the captain muttered as they showed themselves out.
Morgan took her place in the Circle of the Sisterhood, smoothing the pale
blue linen of her robe down over her naked body. Most of the other witches
wore undergarments, but she felt freer without such restrictions. Of course,
they were all good, little white witches, who believed in ‘harming none’. They
wasted precious magic casting spells for recovery of the economy and an
end to war and terrorism. Or for healing and helping the homeless.
Resigned, she raised her arms in unison with the others and chorused their
welcoming incantation, as if braying to the moon as it rose over the lake in
the dusk was going to do any good.
When were they going to teach her spells she could really use? Spells so
powerful that she could use Adam Baylor’s power against him? She’d whored
herself out to him—albeit it willingly in return for an excellent modeling
contract—but she was tired of obeying his every demand. Women were
meant to rule as the Goddess had done since Eve made a fool of Adam. Isis,
Gaia, Demeter, Danu, Frigg were all names for the Great Mother. Nekhbet,
Athena, Minerva, Brigid, Freya—all protectors of kings—and didn’t that prove
that women were superior, if men needed protecting?—but perhaps the most
powerful of all were the goddesses of the underworld: Nephthys, Hecate,
Persephone, the Morrigan. It was this last goddess whom Morgan truly
worshiped, for she was her namesake.
It wasn’t until Adam’s brother, Lucien, had rutted with her, reaming her so
thoroughly she’d actually passed out, that Morgan realized she could harness
that power and make it hers. Sexual lust was a powerful emotion—just look
at all those politicians who knew their lives were open books, but still went
ahead with desires anyway—as were hate, anger, and revenge. Adam was
consumed with those, although Morgan didn’t know why. What she had
discovered, though, was a way to suck the power of those emotions from
him while he was deep inside her, thinking he was the dominant one. Power
that she was slowly accumulating and storing in her soul.
All she had to do was learn the spells to unleash it properly and she could
demand whatever she wished. The possibilities were endless.
Accepting a candle-lit blue glass globe from their leader, Brianna, Morgan
studied her covertly. Small, delicate-looking with platinum hair and sky-blue
eyes, their seer looked more like a Madonna than a witch. Outwardly, she
was always calm and serene, yet Morgan knew her husband had been
brutally murdered several years ago, the suspect never caught.
Did Brianna not harbor revenge? How could she not? If someone Morgan had
loved—she stopped. Had she ever loved someone? She’d had countless men.
She liked sex. Maybe even needed it—a shrink had once told her she had
nympho-tendencies. Certainly, no man had ever complained about her
insatiable desire for more, but had she ever felt the need to wake up to one
in the morning, other than for another good screwing? She couldn’t recall—
except for Michael.
Mindlessly, she turned and followed the others as they circled widdershins,
holding their globes high, drawing down the moon’s beams. Michael was
different. She frowned slightly as she nearly stumbled on an exposed root.
Michael had been the coven’s druid, balancing the energy in the circle, but
that wasn’t what she cared about. Michael had been hot, hot, hot—she
craved running her fingers over the chiseled muscles of his chest and the
hard ridges of his belly, her hands sliding lower to grasp his shaft, making it
become granite and then clamping her legs around his waist while he thrust
deeply into her—by the goddess, she had wanted him, hungered for him
even—and he had rejected her, preferring that plain, dowdy veterinarian
who wore no make-up to her.
Morgan bumped into the witch ahead of her and realized the group had
stopped to begin another chant. “Sorry,” she muttered and tried to
remember whichever silly, useless incantation they were using. Michael was
gone—he’d disappeared along with the vet and earlier, her fellow witch, Sara
Kincaid and that hunky Scottish guy who looked like a throw-back to some
medieval warrior. He would have an interesting lay, too, Morgan was sure of
it, but she hadn’t got the chance to find out.
This whole mess was somehow tied up to the Celtic relics that Adam Baylor
was looking for. He had simply said they were valuable, but Morgan was
smarter than that. She knew they held power.
She would do anything she needed to do to help Adam find them. And
then—with the right spells, she would curse Adam Baylor to hell and the
power would be hers.
****
some different clothes,” Chloe told Gavin as they parked at a north Dallas
mall the next evening.
Gavin frowned, adjusting a burgundy silk tie. “What is wrong with the way I
dress?”
“Texans don’t run around in Armani suits,” she answered, shaking her head
and making the big gold loops dance from her ears.
“Actually, this is custom-tailored,” Gavin answered.
Chloe rolled her eyes. “Even worse. We aren’t going to the symphony.”
He looked affronted. “I would not wear this to a symphony. I’d wear a tux.”
And he’d probably look ravishing in it—if men could be ravished. While other