Authors: Ann Macela
Tags: #General, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Paranormal, #Romance, #Suspense
Wild Magic (3 page)
His hand still on the frame, he suddenly froze for a few seconds, then whipped around.
And looked right into her eyes.
He could see her.
How was that possible?
Irenee stood as he approached, the V of his white tuxedo shirt gleaming in the dim light. Who was this man who clearly saw right through her spells? How did he do it?
He wasn’t a warlock. If he was, he wouldn’t have used the gadget to open the safe—or not without checking for enchantments. He certainly hadn’t cast a discover spell to find her or she would have felt it. Besides, she knew every practitioner capable of recognizing, by sight or otherwise, that she was in the room.
Was he a thief? Who would dare to steal from Alton? No common criminal would trifle with the Finster security forces. Those who tried were usually beaten to a pulp. Corporate espionage? Maybe. What would he expect to find here?
Despite his lock-picking entry, the man wasn’t evil. Not a whiff of corruption radiated from him.
If he wasn’t a thief, and he wasn’t evil, what was he? What was he after? Whatever it was, she knew its likely location—in the safe under her feet.
She was running out of time. The auction would be starting, and the guards would be making another round. She had to get rid of him. If she helped him find his objective, he might leave her alone—after all, he was here as secretly as she was. As a last resort, if he objected, she could always stun him and make her escape.
Although ... she really hoped she didn’t have to do that. The man intrigued her for reasons she couldn’t identify—or were her own reactions surprising her?
As she looked at him, a pulse of excitement ran down her backbone, and she was suddenly filled with a sense of well-being and ... joy? Her magic center under her breastbone fluttered.
By sheer force of will, she succeeded in quelling her peculiar response to this stranger, who was moving silently and lithely, staring into her eyes as if he meant to mesmerize her, his prey. She cancelled her invisibility spell. It obviously wasn’t working. He couldn’t hurt her, she told herself. She was a Sword.
As he walked around the desk and headed toward the woman, Jim Tylan could still feel the tingling in the back of his head from what he called his “hunch mechanism.” That physical response always meant something important or dangerous was about to happen. Why hadn’t it alerted him when he walked in the room? He’d probably been so focused on the wall safe, he—and it—simply didn’t notice her crouched in the corner.
He mentally cursed when he stopped before her. It was bad enough he hadn’t found Finster’s clandestine financial records, even though his informant said they were in a safe in the study. No one, however, was supposed to know he was executing a secret search warrant under Homeland Security and Department of Justice auspices. Now he had to deal with a witness.
A witness with a
glow,
both around her and in the rug in front of her.
glow,
both around her and in the rug in front of her.
The radiance cloaking her abruptly vanished when he came within two feet of her. He sent her one of his most accusatory cop glares. She only returned a distinctly puzzled look with no hint of guilt at being caught inside a locked private room.
“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” he asked in a low voice. He’d seen no one in the hall, but the last thing he needed was for someone to hear them and come in.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” she returned in the same tone.
“What business is it of yours?”
“I think I can help you.”
“How?”
“You’re standing on it.” She pointed to the carpet.
“What?” He glanced down. The rug still glowed.
“Step back,” she ordered, crouching to lift the rug’s corner.
He understood then, knelt, and pulled the carpet back himself. A safe was set into a depression under a clear cover level with the floor. “Why is it shining? Why were
you
glowing?”
you
glowing?”
She gave him no answer, only shook her head, as if she didn’t understand a word he was saying.
He turned his attention to the safe. When he reached for the cover, she put out a hand to stop him. As they touched, a jolt of heat raced up his arm and through his body. They both jerked back, so she must have felt it, too. Despite the shock, he somehow managed to keep a poker face. What the hell was going on here?
“Let me,” she told him. She held her hands over the safe for several seconds, and the glow diminished until it disappeared altogether. She removed the cover, turned the handle, and opened the door. A tiny light came on inside the opening.
Together they peered into the foot-square compartment. The contents consisted of three manila envelopes, a black plastic four-inch-square box, a red leather-bound paperback-sized book, and a red drawstring bag embroidered with symbols. The bag glowed—probably the gold embroidery reflecting the dim light.
She picked up the black box and held it out to him. “Is this what you’re looking for? Or one of the envelopes?”
Jim stared at her for a moment. Nothing was making any sense. What had happened to the glow around the safe? How did she know what he wanted? Who was she?
The cop in him immediately categorized her: five-foot-seven or eight, dark red hair, dark eyes—too little light to tell the exact color—slim, dressed in a dark blue or black dress. Then the man in him took over. She was gorgeous, curves in the right places, skin almost luminescent. Her wavy, shoulder-length hair made his fingers itch to touch and find out if it was as silky as it looked. She smelled good, and he inhaled deeply as her scent wound its way to him—and through him. Her full mouth was made for kissing—an idea that caused him to lick his lips in anticipation.
She nudged his hand with the box and brought him back to business.
“Yes,” he replied, took the box, and opened it. Success. The two small flash drives inside had to contain the data his informant described. He took his specially constructed PDA out of his pocket, plugged in one of the drives, and hit the buttons for copying.
While the machine worked, he watched the woman pick up the book and look at a few pages, a puzzled look on her face. She put it and the bag in her purse, her slightly
glowing
purse, took out an envelope, and laid it in the safe. Was she a thief who left a receipt?
glowing
purse, took out an envelope, and laid it in the safe. Was she a thief who left a receipt?
His gadget signaled completion of the copy, and he began the process for the second drive.
“Who are you?” he asked again. “What are you after?” He put his hand on hers, as if the physical connection would gain him answers. It only raised more questions when the jolt went to his toes this time, after making a couple of stops, one behind his solar plexus and the other lower down. He tried to ignore both the itch in his middle and the hardening in his loins.
She frowned. “Nobody and nothing that concerns you,” she answered as his PDA clicked again. “We need to hurry. The auction begins in three minutes, I must be there, and I have to reset the alarms on the safe.”
He restored the second drive to its box and handed it to her. She replaced it in the safe and, after she closed its door, said, “You’d better leave while I do it. The guard is due on his rounds, and it wouldn’t do for both of us to be caught here.”
He didn’t like it, but he acquiesced. He rose. “I’ll see you outside.”
He silently unlocked the door and checked the hall. It was empty. He looked back at her, and she was putting the cover on the safe. He stepped into the hall and took up a position close to the stairs where he could see her when she came out. They had some talking to do.
CHAPTER TWO
Ten minutes later, Jim lounged inside the wide doorway leading into the gold-and-white ballroom, where chairs had been set up auditorium-style. His plan to wait for her had been interrupted when a guard had come along, tried the study door and found it locked, then looked pointedly at him. He’d had no choice except to come upstairs.
Damn the woman. His quarry came in a side door in the middle of the left-hand wall. She took a seat on the end of a row, one obviously being saved for her by a short, balding older man who stood and gave her a peck on the cheek. Okay, at least he knew where she was.
He turned his attention to the front of the room where Alton Finster was standing by a lectern on a small stage elevated between large round columns. The man certainly didn’t look to be in his early fifties. He was a good-looking SOB, dark-blond hair going gray at the temples, his body showing he exercised regularly. He gave the impression of being in control, both of himself and of Finster Shipping, a global company of trucks, ships, and planes. He came over to Jim’s mystery woman, leaned over, and said something. They and the balding man all laughed.
Jim stopped himself from growling. What was the redhead to Finster? Why this rush of anger at the sight of them laughing together? He thought about taking the open seat behind her. They couldn’t talk in the middle of the audience, however, and he didn’t want to draw attention to himself. No, he’d grab her on the way out.
Finster left the redhead and spoke to a man who had come in the side door. Jim recognized him—Bruce Ubell, Finster’s cousin. A “person of interest” in their investigation. Tall like Finster, but Finster was solid, and Ubell was skinny. Where Finster stood out in a crowd, Jim doubted anybody would notice Ubell with his thinning light brown hair and ordinary looks. Just the kind of face eyewitnesses would have trouble describing. No distinguishing marks or features.
A few in the agency questioned which cousin was running the show. Most put their money on Finster. Seeing them together, however, Jim wasn’t so sure. Ubell’s body language said he was in charge. Jim studied them for about thirty seconds and turned his head when both men scanned the audience. He felt his hunch mechanism tickle again, but he couldn’t tell whose gaze had crossed him. Whichever it was, that one was the boss. His hunches were never wrong.
He looked at the redhead again, talking animatedly to the guy next to her. Nothing from his hunch apparatus. Sometimes he thought he had wiggling antennae attached to the mechanism. Neither was fidgeting or tingling. He idly rubbed an itch under his breastbone and turned his attention back to the cousins.
Ubell exited, and Finster walked back to the lectern, picked up a microphone, and spoke some words of welcome, encouraging everyone to bid lavishly during the auction for the good cause. He turned the proceedings over to an auctioneer and stood by the side of the room. As the auction progressed, he gently heckled the bidders to give more and applauded the winners for their generosity.
Jim studied his “complication” while she bid on several items. She appeared to be as innocent as everybody else, but he noticed she kept a firm grasp on her purse with the mysterious book and bag in it. Who was this woman? Too bad he couldn’t ask Finster directly. He surveyed the crowd again. Somebody in the bunch of society types ought to know her.
Spotting an ambassador whose life he’d saved several years ago, Jim worked his way around the crowd to the man. Bill Anderson was delighted to see him and happy to provide information.
“She’s Irenee Sabel,” Anderson said. He pronounced the name
I-ree-nee.
“Sabel Industries, the big conglomerate run by her mother and her brother. Father’s Hugh Sabel, the economics genius who left academia to ‘dabble’ in the stock market, where he made millions. The whole family keeps a low profile. Very old money. Irenee’s an event planner, puts together fancy shindigs, although I don’t think she handled this one. She’s definitely in the background, keeps her name off letterheads and her picture out of the papers. Hasn’t been in the business long, and already has a good reputation.” He shot a glance at Jim. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
I-ree-nee.
“Sabel Industries, the big conglomerate run by her mother and her brother. Father’s Hugh Sabel, the economics genius who left academia to ‘dabble’ in the stock market, where he made millions. The whole family keeps a low profile. Very old money. Irenee’s an event planner, puts together fancy shindigs, although I don’t think she handled this one. She’s definitely in the background, keeps her name off letterheads and her picture out of the papers. Hasn’t been in the business long, and already has a good reputation.” He shot a glance at Jim. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”
“Yes, sir, she is.” Let the ambassador think he was attracted to Sabel as a woman. The fiction obscured his true objective. “Who’s the guy sitting next to her?”
“Dylan Hampton. Does something in a medical field, I believe. They’re related somehow. As far as I know, she’s never been linked with a boyfriend.” Anderson smiled faintly. “Your coast is clear.”
Grinning like Anderson had given him the best possible news, Jim shook the man’s hand. “Thanks for the information, sir. I’d appreciate your keeping our conversation confidential.”
Anderson grinned back and winked. “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”
Jim kept a careful eye on Irenee Sabel for the remainder of the auction. At one point, the infuriating woman actually waved merrily at him, then pointed him out to Hampton.
When the bidding was completed, the buyers congratulated, and the floor being cleared for dancing, he started across the room to her. Unfortunately, the crowd was packed together, and he lost her.
He stalked out the side exit she’d used previously, and it took him into a hall, around the ballroom, down the stairs, and into the entrance hall, where she was walking out the door. He tried to reach her, but a group of people suddenly blocked his way, and by the time he came out on the steps, she was climbing into a limo, which quickly moved away from the curb. It turned the corner and was gone.
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