CHAPTER 3

 

 

 

Karsia refused to admit the spark of electricity she’d felt the instant her skin touched his. Her old self—from before—believed in fairy tales and improbable miracles like love at first sight. She’d even believed in the instant recognition of one’s soul mate. In another life, she might have seen Morgan for the man, the god, he truly was. She might have recognized his place in her life and his position in her future.

She stared at the man holding her hand, his smoky-gray eyes crinkled in a smile and his mouth plump and pert. Inviting. He was attractive…in a scholarly way. His hair was sun-streaked brown and shot through with silver. A handsome man. An intelligent one, who saw through her charade.

“You know, you still haven’t offered me a seat,” she told Morgan, and wiped her suddenly sweaty palm on the leg of her jeans. “Or have your manners flown the coop with your collagen production?”

“Ah, a joke about my age. Very nice.” If only she knew the half of it. He shot her a smile and gestured. “And absolutely. Please, Miss Cavaldi, choose a chair and let’s talk.”

“It took you long enough.”

She couldn’t help the jab, making herself comfortable and tamping down the last embers of her temper. He can help you, she chastised. Play nice. Unfortunately, playing nice was no longer her forte. “You know, sir, you have a rusty sense of social graces.”

“Spoken by a woman who nearly blew a hole through my ceiling without the pleasure of a first date.”

Morgan and Karsia held eye contact and seconds passed in silence, each appraising the other and storing the information away for later inspection. He missed nothing. Duly noted. Karsia saw the instant he dropped his guard and drove in for the kill.

He shouldn’t have.

“I see what you’re trying to do.”

“What?” he asked innocently.

“Getting a read on me without really reading my mind. I feel you in there.” She clucked her tongue at him. “Tread carefully. You have no clue what I’m capable of doing.”

The appreciative glint in those eyes had Karsia putting her back up. There was no use for a man in her current situation. Not that Morgan Gauthier lacked good looks. He certainly turned a few heads in a nerdy, slightly awkward way.

“I’m serious,” she said. “Stop looking at me like you’re ready to gobble me whole. There are things about me that would make you cry like a little girl. And that’s why I need to know more about the script you helped translate.”

“We’re back to the tablet? Fine.” Morgan drew in a long breath and sat. “It was a historical recounting, by accounts, carbon-dated back to the end of the Dark Ages around 1200 AD. Much of the language on the tablet isn’t spoken anymore.” Which wasn’t to say he couldn’t figure it out if he wanted. With his parentage, he had only to say the word and the translation was clear.

Unfortunately, Morgan was stubborn. He preferred to do things the hard way. The old-fashioned way. The human way.

“Some of the scripts can’t be recovered without more research. I can’t be sure of anything, let alone how it will help you, although I do consider my own documentations some of the best available.”

Karsia sighed and roughly pushed her hair away from her face. “It doesn’t matter how it will help me. That’s none of your business. Tell me everything you know and try not to toot your own horn while you’re at it.”

Morgan drummed his fingers on the desk, unconsciously echoing her earlier melody. “Toot my own horn. Nice.” He’d rather she do it for him. Would it be rude to tell her that? “I’ll give you access to my considerable knowledge on the subject—”

“Finally.”

“—on one condition.”

Karsia scowled at him. “I don’t appreciate blackmail. And you’re not getting a bribe out of me.”

This meeting wasn’t going the way she’d anticipated. During the very long drive from Miami to Lake Michigan, she’d considered every possible way for getting him to talk. While Chinese water torture appealed greatly to her sadistic side, she decided to go with reason, determining it to be the better method. Or attempt to, at any rate. At the moment, despite her threats, she felt the balance of power shift slightly away from her.

It was enough to have her appraising Morgan a second time.

“I don’t consider this blackmail.” He chuckled. “Let’s talk over dinner sometime. Perhaps tomorrow? Are you free?”

Karsia started at the request. She should have seen it coming. There was heat in his gaze when he looked at her. Then he smiled, one of those smiles that reeked of eternal understanding. It spoke to something deep inside of her, buried so deep it was near nonexistent. His smile said he understood her the way she wanted to be understood. Believed in her when she couldn’t believe in herself anymore. And reassured her that she was in precisely the right place. Damn if she could hold out against it.

Her gut lurched.

No, there could be no dating. What was she thinking?

“Do you make a habit of asking out every random woman who barges into your office at night?” she asked.

First, he shook his head politely, and then his face broke into that sunny and understanding smile. As if they’d been on the same page the entire time. “Nope. Just you.”

The wrinkles around his eyes gave him a distinguished look, something lacking in men of her generation. Okay, she should have gone the torture route. Then he wouldn’t tempt her.

“Let me see if I understand you correctly. You’re refusing to give me the information I need to save my life because you want to see if you can get me between the sheets? Nice. Real nice.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way…”

Karsia lifted a hand and sparks flew around the air above her fingertips. An unnatural wind picked up to ruffle the papers on his desk.

“I can make you talk, you know. It would be so much fun to see the blood rise to your face while I strangle you from the inside.” She bared her teeth in a gruesome parody of a grin. “Don’t underestimate me.”

Morgan quirked an eyebrow at her and casually snapped his fingers. At once the wind swirled back to her and Karsia’s breath caught in her throat. Strands of hair whipped at her face, leaving red marks in their wake.

Her power clicked off.

“I thought you’d have learned by now. You got a good read on me before. Know I’m not easily swayed by those displays.” He reached out and touched her, his hand resting on her arm in a warm, reassuring connection. Just there. For her. She couldn’t pull away, only absorb the heat from his skin. “Do I hear a yes to our date? I would enjoy the opportunity to get to know you a little better. In fact, I think there are a great many things we can find to speak about.”

Karsia exhaled loudly. “Who the fuck are you, mister?” she asked again, though she didn’t expect an answer.

“I’m a man, Miss Cavaldi.”

She hated giving in, more than ever before. Something about the darkness twisted what was already inside of her, an inherent stubbornness, and amplified the characteristic. How she would love to make good on her threat and follow through with the evil suggestions whispering in her subconscious. She wanted to tell him to fuck off on principle. Just to see his face drop and the remains of his grin disintegrate into dust.

But this man had power. And information. And she needed him if she ever wanted to be free.

“Sure. I guess.” She offered the answer like she didn’t care about the outcome either way and chewed on her lower lip. “One date couldn’t hurt.” She hoped.

Morgan made little indication of his happiness, nodding to her. “Good. I’m glad we could come to an understanding. I think you’ll find the opportunity a lot more pleasurable than you imagine. How about I meet you tomorrow at a small bistro downtown. I assume you don’t know the area?”

“You assume correctly.” Like a petulant child, Karsia glowered at the wall with a pout marring her features while she waited for Morgan to scribble an address on a small piece of scrap paper.

He dotted the I with a flourish and held it out to her. “Here. It’s a little hole-in-the-wall Italian place where I know we won’t be disturbed. I’ll tell you about my research then. Does seven o’clock work for you?”

“It doesn’t matter what time. All I need is the information,” she repeated, staring down at the paper with the scrawled handwriting, her thumb lingering.

“Well then, at least we can both have a nice meal while we talk.”

“Whatever.” Karsia folded the slip. “I’ll be there.”

“I can’t wait,” Morgan replied. The odd thing was, he sounded sincere.

She shoved the scrap deep into her pocket and sent him a final sour look. She’d give him this one opportunity to hand over the information freely. If nothing turned up—or if Morgan tried to turn it around and flirt her to death—then she would make good on her threat. Simple. She didn’t have the time for second chances.

Abruptly she got to her feet and strode from the room without a second look. She missed Morgan’s smirk completely.

 

**

 

The car had made it to Wisconsin in one piece, which was a surprise. She hadn’t expected it to push through to the bitter end or survive the entire fourteen-hundred-mile-long journey, but it did. And with only the slightest shuddering and smoke rising from the engine. There were a few touch and go moments around those identical middle states, but both she and the car managed to come through unscathed.

Go figure. The damn thing cost her as much as a designer purse and proved to be much more worthwhile in the end.

She pushed the rust bucket a bit further and pulled into the parking lot of a cheap motel about ten miles off the college campus. The closer she was to her target, the better able to keep a close watch. She was prepared to focus her attention on Morgan and what he could do for her.

When she exited the driver’s side and drew in a breath of cold air, she knew home was close. Too close for comfort.

The familiar scent, slightly musty, was both a balm and a bane. There was no other way to describe it. She remembered the happiness of the past, but it felt like it had happened to someone else. Her childhood was spent near the water, wading through the reeds and wild columbines, watching in delight and awe as her mother urged the trillium to grow and wind their way around unsuspecting swimmers near their summer cabin.

There were days of baking on the sand and nights of slipping away into the water’s embrace, nothing but moon and sky and her. Alone.

It was fun. Fun and games, until suddenly it wasn’t anymore.

A mechanical bell tone sounded when she entered the main lobby. Glaring colors popped out at her in retro shades of orange and green, a throwback to better times. A plaid couch opposite a rack of magazines echoed the motif and carried it through the room and into the next.

The short, nearly bald man behind the counter gave her a look when she entered, then looked once more.

“Can I help you, miss?” The man blinked like his nervous system was about to shut down. Faster when she approached the counter and slapped down a stack of twenties.

“Room,” she told him.

“Any particular preference, or…”

Karsia glared at him and imagined the things she could do to end his life. It would be a simple thing. The never-married forty-something-year-old was as thin as a rail and still lived with his mother. His life’s story whispered to her, the good things he’d done, and the bad.

How fun it would be to push him to go through with his deepest, darkest wishes. How unbearably easy to assure him that yes, killing his mother was the right thing to do, something he’d only dreamed about, because then he would finally be free to go where he wanted. Be who he wanted.

No, a dark voice whispered through her subconscious. Better to be rid of him entirely. He was nothing to her. A nuisance. Thinking about her naked and picturing the things he’d like to do to her. It was filthy.

She raised her hand in preparation to snap his neck, surprised when she felt a large fist close over hers.

“No no, dear. We do not kill people for pleasure.” Morgan sent a smile to the clerk. “Whatever room you have available will do, sir. We’ll take it.”

Karsia ground her teeth and wrenched her hand out of his grip. “Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me around?”

“Sadly, no. I have time to spare. You looked out of sorts when you left my office.”

“So you followed me.”

“Didn’t want you to get lost,” he answered wryly.

The man behind the counter hustled to ring her up and never bothered to ask for identification. And somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized why she hadn’t picked up that Morgan was behind her: She couldn’t read him the same way she could everyone else. He was like a locked room. A vault door slammed shut. His wards were impeccable.

“Are you going to come up and watch me sleep?” she asked, then shot Morgan a lecherous glare over her shoulder. “I’ll make it worth your while if you do.”

He slid his hands into his pockets, leaning forward on the tips of his toes before rocking back. “I’ll have to decline, thank you. I followed you here to make sure you had everything you need. Now that my thirst for chivalry has been appeased, and I’ve stopped you from following through on a truly heinous whim, I’ll say good night.”

Morgan tipped his head and swiveled lightly on his heel.

Karsia stared after him, her mouth open. “You’re leaving?”

“I appear to be, yes.”

“You followed me here…and you’re leaving,” she said. “You can’t just walk out.”

“Don’t sound so sad, dear. We still have our date to look forward to.”

She accepted the key, a physical thing instead of the cards they issued at better hotels, and wrenched it out of the clerk’s hand. “He’s unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath. “Isn’t he just un-frickin’-believable?”

The clerk opened his mouth to answer and she walked off, striding down the hall toward room 207. The rest of the rooms remained quiet as she passed.

It took several tries to jimmy the door open. Finally, she pushed her shoulder into the flimsy wood and made it inside. “Perfect.” She closed the door behind her and leaned against it. “Just perfect.”

It was a scant bit better than the other hellholes she’d frequented. A green duster with faded tropical flowers wrapped around the double bed and tucked in at the sides like wrapping paper. Someone had taken the time to run a vacuum over the carpet and spray a cloud of aerosolized fragrance in the air.

Karsia made the rounds, checking the bathroom and under the bed. There was one thing she could say about the Midwest: dated and drab the décor may be, but cleanliness was a source of pride. The room gleamed, and the positive vibes of the housekeeper lingered behind as surely as the scent of cleanser.

It made her sick.

Suddenly exhausted, she threw herself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes traced paths in the popcorn. She knew she was on the right path by tracking Morgan down. It felt appropriate, seeing him. Something inside her stilled. A constant motion she hadn’t been aware of before, almost like their meeting felt weighted.

Fate, she thought, shaking her head. A glimmer of the innocent she used to be smiled at the thought. The potential for love, if she survived long enough. Love was the leap that couldn’t be denied.

Where had she heard that saying before?

Her mind clouded and her dark passenger rose to take hold again. Karsia scoffed, rolling over and punching the pillow until there was an acceptable indentation.

She was prepared for Morgan’s particular brand of wining and dining, thinking ahead to the date. It was a game she’d once played for fun. If he wanted to flirt a little, fuck a little, she would oblige and go along until he told her what she wanted to know. Then he could scurry back to whatever hole in the wall he’d come from and bother someone else.

Instead of thinking about it further, she pushed herself up and moved to the door to flip the lock. Isolation was necessary; it reduced the chances of her hurting anyone. That way, the only one standing in the firing range was herself.