There was nothing but casual interest in either his voice or his expression, and yet that odd watchfulness was still very much present.
The waitress reappeared, filling our glasses with water, then taking our orders.
“I can’t see there’d be any difference to the current situation if either of us did get pregnant,” I said, once she’d left. “We’d just hire in someone to take our place. Why?”
“As I said, I was just curious as to whether you’d given it any thought.” He produced a small manila folder and handed it to me, then lightly began to tap the table. I wondered whether it was impatience or something else.
“That’s all the information I could find on those properties you asked me about,” he said. “I believe the bulk of the information has already been shredded.”
I looked through the folder. The information wasn’t even as detailed as what Stane had told me, though what information it did contain was the same.
I handed the folder back and said, “Would it be possible to talk to either Sands or Macintyre and ask them if they remember anything about the properties in question?”
“Macintyre?” He frowned. “That’s the first time I believe you’ve mentioned someone by that name.”
I silently cursed the slip, even as I wondered whether it was a slip. “Sorry, I meant Greenfield. He apparently owned one of the properties my friend is interested in.”
“Absentmindedness seems to be catching lately.” His brief smile appeared warmer than it actually was. “Even I’ve been struck with the malady. Most inconvenient—though not unexpected, given my age.”
“I’d hardly call you old,” I said.
“Very gallant of you to say so, even though you must know I’m in my sixties.”
He didn’t look it—or at least, he hadn’t up until tonight. And while his somewhat gaunt and tired expression did add more than a few years on him, it was more his eyes that told of his age. They were a clear gray and not only filled with a vast sense of power but oddly magnetic . . . I felt myself leaning forward and jerked back with a frown. What the fuck was going on? I had no sense of magic, either coming from Mike or in the near vicinity, and surely I would have if some sort of spell was in operation.
I cleared my throat and said, “As I said, if you have contact details for either Sands or Greenfield, I’d really appreciate it.”
“If I had such details, you could have them. But they have not been clients of mine for some years now, and I only have these records on the off chance the tax department queries me about them.”
“That’s unlikely after all this time, isn’t it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “As unlikely as either of those two remembering anything about properties they owned so long ago.”
Touché, I thought. I took a sip of water, then said, “Do you remember anything about either of them?”
“Nothing much. My dealings with them were strictly business, and I basically only advised them on a couple of transactions before they moved away.”
“Any idea where?”
He hesitated. “I believe Sands went to Sydney and Greenfield to the Gold Coast.”
Again, he seemed to be watching me just a little too intently. But why would he mention either location if he had something to hide? I took another sip of water and wished I’d never come here. I wasn’t any good at this sort of cat-and-mouse game—if that was what was actually happening.
“No wonder you lost contact with them.” I shrugged. “I might see if Stane can track them down for me. They might not remember anything, but at least I can say I tried.”
“Indeed.” He was still tapping his fingers, and the sound was almost as mesmerizing as his eyes had been moments before. “I saw on the news that a converted warehouse in Richmond had been blown apart, and it looked an awful lot like yours—was it?”
I nodded, my unease increasing even though I still had no real idea why. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“What on earth happened?”
It was a combination of my demon sword and the backlash of a witch’s spell, and it blew the hell out of both my father and the house. The words were right on the tip of my tongue, ready to blurt out, but I somehow restrained them. Maybe I was more tired than I thought. Or maybe, I thought, my gaze flicking briefly to his fingers, something else was going on.
But if it was magic, it was so subtle that I couldn’t feel it.
“I believe they’re still investigating,” I said, a little more abruptly than I should have, “but they suspect a faulty gas pipe.”
“Then it was fortunate no one was caught in the blast.” He paused. In the brief silence, his rhythmic tapping seemed to echo, a sound that had my nerves crawling. “Though I would have thought a blast strong enough to create such a crater would have at least damaged the houses on either side.”
“Obviously, the fates decided it wasn’t anyone else’s turn to die right then.”
“Anyone else’s?” He raised an eyebrow. “That’s an odd way of putting it. It almost sounds as if someone did die.”
That’s because someone did. Again I had to bite down on the comment. Which was weird. I might think those sorts of things, but I rarely came so close to blurting them out that it was an effort to restrain them.
Except, maybe, when that restraint involved Hunter. Though I could and did hold back comments from her, and more easily than I was here. It was almost as if I’d been slipped some sort of truth drug . . . but if I had, when had it happened? The waitress had brought our water in a jug, and I doubted it had been tainted with anything, as she’d used the same jug to fill the newlyweds’ glasses.
I frowned, my gaze again going to his fingers. The uneasy sensation that something was happening got stronger. Maybe the tapping had nothing to do with my sudden urge to answer more honestly than I should, but could I take the risk?
“No, no one died, because there was no one in the house at the time.” I hesitated, then added, somewhat testily, “I hate to say this, but your finger tapping is getting damn annoying.”
He glanced down at his hand, his expression surprised. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was doing it.”
I stared at him, torn between wanting to believe him and suspecting a lie. His surprise seemed genuine, but part of me just wasn’t buying it. But that same part was also looking—almost hoping—for evil to be found here rather than somewhere closer to home.
“Sorry, it’s just been a shit day. I didn’t mean to sound so snappy.”
He waved the comment away. “And I didn’t mean to be overly inquisitive. I just—” He hesitated and waved his hand again, this time the movement overly dramatic. “I promised your mother to keep an eye on you if anything ever happened to her. I know our relationship is a merely professional one, but I’d still feel remiss if I didn’t at least try to keep my word.”
I suspected it was said to make me feel bad, and in that, he succeeded. And yet, I still couldn’t escape the notion that something was very off—with this situation, and with him.
Azriel? Is there anyone else in this restaurant who seems to be acting oddly? Or anyone who appears overly interested in what might be going on in this room?
There was no reply. Where the warm buzz of Azriel’s thoughts usually was, there was only radio silence. I had no sense that anything was wrong—and I surely would have, given that we were now linked body and soul—so that could only mean he was somehow being blocked.
And that required magic.
Which meant that either Lauren was near, or Mike was a whole lot more than he ever seemed.
And despite half hoping that he might be the betrayer in my life, I really didn’t want to believe it. It didn’t matter whether he was simply involved with Lauren or was the shape-shifting sorceress herself; the key problem was, his lies and evil had infiltrated not only my life, but my mom’s, as well. And in the growing pile of things I could never forgive, that would be right up there on the top.
Am here, Amaya said. Can
eat if wish. No more lies then.
I hesitated, oddly tempted. But I’d already taken one innocent life; I would not take another. Not until I at least had some definite evidence—and the presence of magic in this restaurant wasn’t that. So I simply said, Can you feel the magic?
Some, she said. Near.
Define near.
Near, she repeated. Not here.
Which was not at all helpful, although I guess it did mean whatever magic was active in this restaurant wasn’t actually coming from Mike himself. I reached for my glass again, but as my fingers wrapped around it, Mike caught my wrist, stopping me.
“This is new.” His thumb brushed the multicolored ribbon-and-stone tattoo around my right wrist. “And very unusual.”
His touch had my skin crawling again, and yet there was nothing inherently wrong with it. It was no longer even moist.
“Yes, it is.” I gently tried to pull my hand from his, but his grip only tightened.
“Does it represent anything in particular?” His gaze narrowed as he leaned a little closer to study it. “The ink is unusually vibrant. It almost appears to be real ribbon rather than merely ink.”
“That’s what you get for going to a good tattooist,” I said. “Mike, please let go. You’re hurting me.”
“My dear girl, I’m so sorry.” He released me immediately, but his gaze, when it met mine, was anything but contrite. And the tension I’d sensed earlier was back, only this time it had an almost furious edge. “I’ve just never seen something so . . . intricate before. Whoever designed it for you was very proficient at his or her craft.”
“Which is why they get the big money.” I smiled at the waitress as she placed our meals on the table, somewhat relieved at the interruption.
When she left, Mike placed his napkin on the table and rose. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Your bladder has very inconvenient timing,” I said, hoping my relief at getting a brief respite from his presence didn’t show.
“That,” he said, amusement in his voice, “is also another problem that comes with age. I won’t be long.”
I nodded and picked up my utensils, tucking into my shepherd’s pie as he walked away. But the minute he’d left the room, I scrambled to my feet and all but ran to the door. I peered around the edge of the frame to watch him, torn between wanting him to leave—and therefore prove himself a bad guy—and not wanting it to happen.
He didn’t leave. He did what he said he was doing—went to the bathroom.
I swung around and hightailed it to the rear of the dining room. The couple glanced at me and smiled but quickly went back to staring adoringly into each other’s eyes.
Thankfully, the door out to the small courtyard wasn’t locked. I opened it and stepped out. Almost immediately, Azriel appeared, though he was in the left rear corner, squashed between a fountain and a planter box filled with colorful pansies.
“I’m gathering there’s some sort of barrier around the café,” I said, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice or expression. “And that’s why you are where you are.”
“Indeed,” he said. “And it is a most uncomfortable position.”
“It looks it.” My smile faded. “What sort of barrier is it?”
“It is similar in feel—although decidedly darker—to the barrier we raised around the building that held both the weapons exhibition and the second key.”
Meaning there were undoubtedly wards placed on each corner of this building, because that was the only way to raise such a complete barrier. “Do you think it’s worth hunting around to find them? I might be able to displace them.”
“No, because whoever placed the wards would undoubtedly have taken into account the location and the possibility of accidental or purposeful displacement.” He paused, his gaze narrowing. “I smell something odd on you.”
I frowned. “Define odd.”
“Odd,” he said, almost echoing my sword’s response not so long ago. “A scent that wasn’t evident when you entered this place. It has an almost otherworldly feel.”
“Otherworldly as in magical?”
“Perhaps.” His concern raced through me, knife sharp but edged with anger. “Perhaps it would be wise for you to disappear now. The fact there is magic both around this place and on you very much suggests that Mike is at least involved with Lauren.”
“If he is, then we can’t afford to make him suspect we’re aware of that,” I said. “Lauren undoubtedly has a dozen other identities she could disappear into, and if that happens, we lose her.”
Though his expression gave little away, he could no longer keep his feelings from me, and to say he was not happy would be something of an understatement. “You placed the tracker?”
“I did.” I hesitated. “If we want to track him, though, we need some form of transportation. My car was blown up with the house, and he knows my bike too well. Do you think you can convince someone to lend us a car?”
“I shall appropriate one immediately.” He paused. “Mike is on the way back.”
I blew Azriel a kiss, then scooted back to the table and quickly demolished several mouthfuls so that it would seem as if I’d been eating the whole time he was gone. I glanced up as he sat back down. His expression was less than happy. “Is everything okay?”
He nodded. “Although I’m afraid I may have to cut our dinner a little short. I have another meeting I forgot about.”
I raised my eyebrows. Coincidence or truth? And was that “other meeting” a result of a phone call he’d made while in the bathroom? A phone call to Lauren, perhaps? It seemed likely, given that he’d so abruptly left the table after examining the ward on my wrist—and it would certainly explain his expression now.
“You need to get yourself a portable memory device,” I said. “You know, a smartphone.”
He picked up his knife and fork and began eating. “I do have one; I just prefer not to put my life onto a device that could be stolen.”
“They’re fingerprint secured nowadays,” I said. “No one but you can access them.” Well, no one but a hacker of high skill. Like Stane, for instance. And maybe that was something we needed to do.
He waved the comment away. “I still prefer to rely on my brain, even if I do occasionally forget things of late.”
“If you were a woman, I’d ask if you were pregnant.” Though the comment was lightly said, I couldn’t help but watch his reaction carefully. Because if he was Lauren, then he would be pregnant. Lucian had been absolutely certain, and I had no reason to doubt him given that a similar conviction with Ilianna had proved true. And though I had no idea how a full-body shift would affect any child she/he might be carrying, Lucian had been well aware of what Lauren was, and he wouldn’t have impregnated her if there’d been any risk of a shift damaging or aborting his child.
Mike snorted, the sound somewhat disparaging. And yet, there was something about his reaction that had me frowning—something that didn’t quite sit right. Maybe it was just the glimmer of smugness that had flared briefly in his eyes.
“If I was female, and a lot younger, then that would be a possibility,” he said, “because I am certainly not a monk.”
“Age is no barrier to pregnancy these days.”
“No, but being male is.” He eyed me severely for a moment. “This is a very odd line of questioning.”
I smiled. “I’m not questioning; I was merely having a bit of fun.”
“Ah.” He glanced at his watch and shook his head. “I really do have to go. Perhaps we can reset this dinner for a later date?”
“Sure. Though I hope you don’t mind if I finish my meal first.”
“By all means, go ahead.” He took his wallet from his pocket and placed some cash on the table. “I am sorry I have to leave so abruptly.”
I wasn’t. But I smiled and waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it, Mike. We’ll catch up again when you have a chance.”
He nodded and
rose, sweeping his coat off the back of the chair, then giving me a slight, old-fashioned bow. “Till next we meet.”
I nodded, and he left. I waited until I was sure he wasn’t coming back, then reached down into my purse and grabbed the tracking device. Once I’d turned it on, a street map appeared, accompanied by a small red dot that was steadily moving away from the restaurant’s position on Smith Street. I scooped up a few more mouthfuls of the delicious pie, then grabbed my bag and headed out the door. Mike was half a block ahead, climbing into his silver Mercedes.
Turn right, Azriel said. I have acquired a car, but it is parked around the corner from the restaurant.
I glanced Mike’s way again, then headed right. Azriel was standing beside a white Ford Focus.
“Good car choice,” I said, as he tossed me the keys. “It’s fast, but common enough not to stand out. Who’d you steal it from?”
“I do not steal. I merely borrow.”
I grinned as I climbed in and started the car. “So that coffee you acquired from McDonald’s for me not so long ago was merely borrowed? Am I supposed to regurgitate it at some point and give it back?”
“Now,” he said, his expression severe but amusement dancing in his eyes, “you are just being silly.”
“Totally.” I checked for traffic, pulled out of the parking spot, then handed him the tracker. “You can direct me.”
“A situation I should probably enjoy, given it is the only time you are likely to take direction from me without some form of argument.”
My amusement grew. “I don’t argue all the time.”
“No,” he agreed. “Just ninety-eight percent of the time. Mike is on the move and is several blocks ahead of us.”
I swung onto Smith Street but kept just below the speed limit. With the tracker in place and working, there was no need to get too close. We drove through Collingwood, then made our way onto Hoddle Street, but didn’t—as I’d half expected—head toward Mike’s office. Instead, he continued on, driving over the Yarra River and onto Punt Road.
“You know,” I said into the silence, “I have no idea where Mike actually lives.”
Azriel glanced at me. “Why not? Has he not been in your life since you were born?”