Treasure Tides

Chapter TWO Kurt knocked, well actually pounded for the third time, while continuing to press the button that activated the doorbell.

“Becki, what is going on?” he yelled, “open the door!” That girl ran full-steam ahead, and when she crashed, she was hard to wake up. He dialed her cell number hoping that if he could make enough noise, it might just wake sleeping beauty. Actually it would be more like waking a sleeping beast as she tended to be extremely grouchy if her eyes were forced to open before noon. Kurt didn’t have a choice today; he had to meet subcontractors at the jobsite this morning.

Pressing the doorbell button with his left hand, while beating on the door with his other fist, did not seem to be electing a response. He was about two seconds from taking the door off the hinges but yelled one last warning, “Becki, if you want to keep your front door intact, I suggest you open it.”

Big chocolate-brown eyes peeked out through the door still glazed with sleep. “Did you have to come this early,” she grouched, opening the door to let Kurt inside, “I just got to bed a few hours ago,” she complained with a glare. Becki absolutely hated being woken up before the sun shined directly overhead. There was nothing on earth that had to be taken care of prior to twelve noon, at least nothing she could think of.

“You said ‘stop by,’” Kurt defended with a shrug, “I’m stopping by. Now, what was this about needing my help?”

Becki rolled her eyes and said, “I’m just sure I added ‘nothing is wrong’? Meaning you did not need to come straight over here first thing this morning.”

“You think I don’t know by now? You would say that, even if there was something wrong.”

Ok, he had a point there. Without giving him the satisfaction of acknowledging the accusation, she explained, “I found a crate yesterday when Jonah and I were diving; I wanted to see if you could open it for me.”

“Let me take a look at it. I don’t have a lot of time this morning, but I can work on it later.”

‘Later’ would have been just fine to begin with. Shooting him one more narrow-eyed glare, Becki turned and stomped toward the patio door located in the kitchen, pausing to turn on the coffee maker as she passed by.

After sliding the patio door open with more force than necessary, she pointed toward the crate. Kurt moved forward, frowning as he spotted symbols etched into the top of the crate, outlining the parameter of the lid. A heat advisory had been issued for today; the temperature was already nearing ninety degrees. Kurt, however, was suddenly chilled to the bone.

“Where did you say you found this?” he asked, moving closer to the crate.

“I found it in the cove yesterday when Jonah, Natie, and I were looking for sharks’ teeth. Well, Natie wasn’t looking for teeth, you know she won’t step foot in the water. She lounged on deck and caught some rays.”

Kurt tested the weight of the crate. Damn, it was heavy. He wanted to load it in his truck and remove it from Becki’s house as quickly as possible. Truthfully, he wanted to get it far, far away from Becki as quickly as possible.

“It seemed a lot lighter when I pulled it out of the water yesterday,” she remarked with a perplexed expression on her face. She shrugged and continued, “I don’t know, it must have been that buoyancy thing. Either that, or you and Landon are getting weak with age,” she added, still not over the fact that she had been awoken far too early.

“Landon?” Kurt prompted, running his fingers over the symbols etched into the crate’s lid. The symbols were very intricate, the lines clean, indications that a powerful force had crafted this container.

“Yes, Landon!” Becki confirmed, rolling her eyes. “He helped me move it home from the boat last night. It wouldn’t fit in my car,” Becki explained.

As Kurt scanned the markings on the lid, hoping to find something he could interpret, Becki suddenly moved in for a closer look.

“I don’t remember seeing those yesterday,” she said with a frown, “but then again, it is hard to think straight with Natie and Jonah around.” Abruptly turning to make her way back inside, she called, “I need caffeine; do you want a cup of coffee?”

“Huh?” Kurt responded, still concentrating on the crate. “Coffee, do you want coffee?”

“No thanks. I’m trying to quit,” he answered quickly.

Becki liked her coffee strong and sweet. Her favorite recipe consisted of one part coffee, strong enough to stand a spoon in, added to an equal part of cinnamon creamer. As if that were not enough to eat the lining of a person’s stomach, she topped it off with whipped cream, from a can.

“What the hell is going on?” he muttered, as he pulled a cell phone from his pocket. Kurt’s stomach was already churning, and the last thing he needed was a cup of her coffee. He had seen designs like this only once before during a top-secret mission in the Middle East. As he punched in Landon’s number, he wondered how the crate had ended up here, of all places. Good Witch? Bad Witch? It was hard to tell, but most definitely the work of a Witch.

The call went straight to Landon’s voice mail. “Landon, we’ve got trouble. It’s about that damn box you brought to Becki’s last night. Didn’t you sense anything? Find me as soon as you get this message. We may need to call in some markers.”

Pressing the ‘end call’ button, he mentally rearranged his day. He would call Roger to meet him at the job site, hand off the punch list, then find Landon. They had to move this crate as soon as possible if they were to protect Becki from whatever might be inside.

“Can you get it opened?” Becki startled him as she spoke.

“Not now. I don’t have the right tools with me,” Kurt lied without hesitation. “I’ll get things started at the jobsite and then come back to pick it up. I have something at home I think might work to pry the lid off.”

“Ok, sounds good. I’m going to drink my coffee and work up the courage to face the day,” she said with a grimace.

“Go back to bed,” he urged forcing a grin. “You know you want to. I’ll walk around through the gate and grab it a little later.”

“Ok, but don’t go through it without me,” Becki stipulated.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving you out of it,” Kurt promised as he opened the patio door, motioning for her to precede him into the house.

There was no way in hell Becki would be allowed anywhere near that crate once it had been opened. Kurt would simply tell her the crate had been empty and it had fallen apart from being sea-logged. The dumpster was being emptied tomorrow so he had disposed of it at the job site. He only hoped it would be that simple.

As Royce listened to their conversation, he surmised that Becki’s visitor knew more than the average civilian. As their voices drifted away, he pushed against the top of the crate once more hoping to force it open. Sean said the moon would trigger an unlock sequence, since it was now daylight, he assumed the crate should be opening soon. He only hoped it was soon enough.

“Sean! We have a problem,” Royce whispered urgently.

“I’m on it boss,” came the immediate reply.

#

Kurt wracked his brain, as he drove toward Charleston trying to remember what the symbols on the crate stood for. Most of them he could not decipher, but one appeared to resemble the moon. He had tried to pick the crate up, hoping to take it with him, but there was no possible way of moving it himself. Regardless of what Becki said, that damn thing was heavy.

Pulling his cell out to dial again, he waited for Landon to answer. Voice mail, again! Where the hell was Landon, and why was his phone going to voice mail?

“Call me as soon as you get this message,” Kurt barked into the phone, after dialing for the third time. “Did you notice markings on the lid of that damn crate? We are in real trouble here.”

Kurt slammed on the brakes as traffic stopped in front of him. “Great,” he muttered seeing traffic backed up half-way across the bridge.

Thirty minutes later he had not moved a single inch. Giving up the thought of moving off the bridge anytime soon, Kurt tried to call Landon again. This time, his call didn’t even go to voice mail. What the hell? He checked the display on his cell phone, no signal? What else could possibly go wrong? And then, with a certainty rooted deep in the pit of his stomach, he knew; Witches.

“Holy Mother of--,” he said leaping out of the truck not bothering to lock the doors. Feeling panic race through his body with every beat of his heart, he ran.

#

“It’s about damn time,” Royce muttered as the final strands of the spell floated away, taking with it the crate that had been his jail for the last two years.

The moon had worked magic during the night, as anticipated. Surprisingly the moon had triggered not only an unlocking sequence but had also included a self-destruct finale. It was a pretty clever way to tidy up, Royce acknowledged. By ending with a “self-destruct”, the spell had effectively eliminated any and all evidence of Witchy-meddling.

His body soon adjusted to the climate and pressure of the atmosphere, transforming him into a solid mass of lean muscle and strength. He stretched working out the kinks. God that felt good. Side effects my ass, Royce thought. He made a mental note to get even with Sean. After spending two years in the same clothes, the first order of business was a long hot shower.

Royce entered the house, sliding the patio door silently open. Didn’t the girl know to keep her doors locked? He moved quietly in the direction of the bathroom, stopping abruptly as he spotted a mound of blankets piled on the couch. The mound began to move; one incredibly long leg, toes pointed, poked out for a brief moment, and then ducked back beneath the covers.

Was something written on her foot? The blankets shifted again, he held his breath as a wild mass of tangled black hair and the face of an angel emerged. Her eyes were still firmly closed, and he found himself wondering what color they might be. A sprinkle of freckles covered her nose. He loved freckles and wondered where else they might be hidden. Royce resisted the urge to unwrap whatever present might be buried in that pile of blankets.

A cell phone, lying on the coffee table, began to ring. A hand suddenly appeared from beneath the blankets to silence the ring and disappeared again just as quickly.

The ringing cell phone snapped him back to reality. What was wrong with him? He’d clearly been without a woman too long.

#

Royce stepped out of the shower and reached over to snag the small white towel hanging beside the shower door. Unfortunately, there had been two clean towels in the cabinet; neither was made for a man of his size. Wrapping the miniscule towel around his waist, he moved toward the sink, looking forward to the extra toothbrush and disposable razor he had located in the medicine cabinet. Talk about a five o’clock shadow. As he filled his palm with heavy, floral scented shaving cream, he fervently hoped the scent would not linger.

Sean should arrive within the next couple of hours. There were a lot of blanks waiting to be filled in. What had he missed? What had been happening at home over the last two years?

Home was a fortress located in the mountains of North Carolina. The sprawling compound provided each member of ART their own private residence. Meals were often eaten together in the main lodge when assignments permitted. Sunday was “family day”. A special lunch was followed by an afternoon of outdoor fun and games--, a day to rest, regroup, and spend time with family and friends. Elsa, their on-site chef, was nothing short of an artisan in the kitchen. She refused to worry about fat and calories for “Sunday Meal” but no one complained. It was so worth the extra work-out Monday morning.

State-of-the-art security systems kept their compound hidden from prying eyes and would-be trespassers.

Home held painful memories for Royce now. Time has a way of healing, and good memories were starting to overshadow bad ones. Time had done nothing, however, to help ease his loneliness, emptiness, or guilt. After this mission, he might go home for a break, maybe.

Royce threw away the toothbrush and razor then cleaned up any remaining evidence of his visit. Luckily, he still retained possession of his wallet, and it contained plenty of cash. He pulled out two fifty-dollar bills and tucked them under the toothbrush holder. Royce secured his towel a little tighter and cautiously opened the bathroom door. Surely a girl who looked like that had an occasional overnight guest. Hopefully one who had left behind a change of clothes?

Becki yawned and stretched her tired limbs not bothering to open her eyes. Since she had been so rudely awakened too early by Kurt this morning, she planned to spend most of the day lazing on her couch and catching up on sleep. Unfortunately, her sleep had been filled with dreams--, some good, some not-so-good. The dream she was having right now, however, was downright mouthwatering.

Adonis stood in her living room, wearing nothing but a small white towel. “Please don’t wake up, please don’t wake up,” she mumbled, wishing she could touch him.

“Ummm,” she mumbled appreciatively. God, his abs were no measly six-pack; they were a full twelve. And he smelled like… her favorite shaving gel?

Wrinkling her nose, she brushed the tangled mass of hair out of her face, and sat up.

Brown, Royce thought as her eyes suddenly opened wide. Before he could even attempt to explain, she launched herself toward him; a bundle of fury tangled in blankets, limbs flying. Before he could manage to wrap his arms around her, she succeeded in connecting a hard right hook to his chin.

His head snapped back, a move more aimed at self-preservation than in actual response to her punch. He tightened his arms, the blankets effectively trapping her in a soft cocoon.

“Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you,” Royce soothed.

“I’m sure that is what all murdering psychopaths say right before they torture and murder their victims! Let go of me!” Becki demanded, as she struggled to break free. Royce tightened his hold slightly not wanting to risk injury to her or himself.

Damn her knuckles hurt. She had already succeeded in landing one good punch. If she could get away from him and make it as far as the front porch, her nosey neighbor would call the police. Barring that possibility, she would run to her bedroom and introduce him to the Glock Uncle Kurt had given her last year.

Seriously? This pervert had come into her house wearing only a towel? It was a small towel, at that! If he thought she was going to be easy prey, he had another think coming. She was tempted to show him just how accurate she could be with that Glock, and the more he pissed her off, the more likely it was to become reality.

“A*shole,” she said, stepping down hard on his foot, “let me go, dammit.” Jerking her body right and then left, she yelled, “You dumb pervert. Get. The. Hell. Out of my house!” She annunciated each word, as if he were slow to understand in addition to being hard-of-hearing.

Royce grunted, Damn it, that hurt. Now he was getting pissed. She needed to be taught a lesson in how to deal with “criminals”. This approach would likely get her killed if he were indeed a criminal. She probably planned to free herself and then pull a gun on him. What she didn’t know, was that he could disarm her before the weapon even cleared its hiding spot. He felt her body shift and knew she was preparing for a head-butt.

“You freaking idiot! I said--”

“Enough!” Royce interrupted as he tightened and then slightly loosened his hold; squeezing her in an effort to get her attention. “I just said I’m not going to hurt you,” he reminded the squirming woman, his tone much less soothing than it had been earlier. He might smell like a girl, but he would be damned if he would let himself be beaten-up by one.

“Go to hell! You crazy son-of-a-bitch, I said let me gooo!” she demanded, raising her knee to take him down, just like Landon had taught her.

Royce shifted, blocking her move. So that’s how it was going to be. Ok, if she wanted to play dirty, he could play dirty; no one threatened the family jewels. Bad temper suddenly overrode normally good judgment, causing him to softly goad, “Or what?”

Becki careened her head to look at him. Did he really just say, what she thought he said? That stupid son-of-a-bitch was just about to be schooled.

Royce saw Armageddon in her eyes.

Becki drew a deep breath preparing for an all-out, blood-curdling scream, sure to bring Mr. McGregor running. Her neighbor might be nosey, but he loved Becki. He especially loved the chocolate chip cookies she dropped over to him from time to time, and he always kept a .45 caliber pistol tucked into the waistband of his pants. Perhaps the fact that he was the retired Chief of Police had something to do with it.

Royce knew he had crossed the line. His head was beginning to pound again, thanks to her right hook. His foot was bruised, he had barely spoiled her attempt to crush his manhood, and he was not in the mood to have his ear drums assaulted, so he stopped her the only way he possibly could.

As he covered her mouth with his, she stopped screaming, clamped her mouth shut and stood deathly still. Who would have imagined? He slid one hand to the nape of her neck, tilting her head, deciding to enjoy this unexpected turn of events. His lips tugged and pulled, his tongue gently traced the seam of her lips, begging for entry. She gasped, pulling back to look at him with wide eyes, her body still firmly trapped against him. For a moment, a heartbeat, neither moved; and then suddenly she was kissing him. Groaning, Royce shifted to bring her body more fully in contact with his.

Becki pressed closer, practically trying to crawl inside his skin. As his hands roamed the small of her back and below, she arched into him wishing her hands were not trapped in the mess of blankets still entangling her body.

“What am I doing?” she moaned, dropping her head to rest on his chest as she struggled to catch her breath.

Royce loosened his arms slightly, unwilling to let her get too far away. Not only did he enjoy holding her close, but his towel had slipped, and that cold shower was now a distant memory.

“Who are you?” Becki finally managed to ask as she looked into the deepest emerald green eyes she had ever seen. Suddenly becoming aware that she was still wrapped in his muscular arms, Becki tried to take a step back. Royce responded immediately by tightening his grip on her.

She tried to step away once more only to be wrapped even more closely in his strong arms.

“Ok, hot-shot, you’re starting to tick me off,” she said managing to free her hands. Becki pushed against his chest with both hands, “It’s time for you to let me go”.

“I can’t do that,” he replied.

“Now,” she reiterated, pushing against him as she tried to wiggle out of his arms.

“Uh, my towel slipped so unless you want--”

“What towel-- Oh my God,” Becki said, wrenching herself out of his arms and throwing the blankets at him all in the same fluid motion. “Stay right there, I’ll get you some clothes.”

As she hurried away, his gaze lingered on the strip of skin left bare by a tank top that ended just below her breasts and short-shorts that would be illegal in most countries. As he watched, she stopped, wrinkled her brow, and scratched her head as if puzzled. Suddenly she spun around and stalked back across the room, not stopping until she was directly in front of him.

Tilting her head to one side and squinting up at him, she got directly to the point. “What did you say you were doing in my house again, naked?” she asked.

Becki wrinkled her nose as she caught the scent of her favorite shaving cream. She leaned closer to him, and sniffed. “Did you use my twenty five dollar can of shaving gel?” she said incredulously, poking him hard with a finger in the center of his chest.

Royce raised his hands in the universal sign of surrender, “If you will get me something to wear, I’ll explain,” he negotiated.

She looked at him as if he had three heads, folded her arms, and began taping her foot; clearly indicating that she was not going anywhere.

“I’m a friend of Ryker’s--” he began.

“Ryker? My landlord Ryker?”

“Yes,” he confirmed, “we’ve been friends for years. I’m going to be in town for a couple of weeks and I usually stay here when I’m in the area.”

His stomach clinched as he lied to her, but there was no other explanation he could offer, at least not an explanation that was reasonable.

“Well you are not staying here this time. It’s occupied,” she said with a glare.

“So noted; I’m sorry I frightened you,” he apologized, then offered a bribe, “I’ll buy you a new can of shaving cream if you find some clothes for me.”

She narrowed her eyes and planted her hands on her hips. However, she had stopped tapping her foot which Royce decided to view as progress.

“Two cans,” he quickly upped the ante. “Two cans of shaving cream for a shirt and pair of shorts,” he bargained flashing his dimples.

“Deal,” she agreed, before turning to rush from the room. She had better find those clothes…quickly. When he flashed that smile, her first impulse had been to tackle him to the floor and have her wicked way with him.

He fleetingly wished he could spend some time with her, get to know her a little better (maybe even a lot better). You might as well stop right there buddy. Royce shook his head at the foolishness of wishing. Time was one thing he did not have. The mission was already two years behind schedule, so there was literally no more time to spare. He had a job to do, a team to lead, and a coin to find. He also needed to figure out the Witches’ agenda; they always had an agenda. He didn’t know what they were up to, or why they were meddling in the recovery operation, but he was damn sure going to find out. Glancing at his watch, he wondered what the hell could be keeping Sean.

Becki moved quickly from her bedroom, through the living room, continuing out the patio door onto her deck. She paused momentarily to fling shorts and a T shirt in Royce’s general direction as she passed through the living room.

Royce heard Becki re-enter the living room and looked up to see clothes sail through the air toward him.

“Thank you,” he called to the rapidly retreating figure. “Chicken,” he murmured, chuckling to himself. It really was a shame he had to move on so quickly.

Outside, Becki paced from one end of her deck to the other and back again. Biting the nail on her index finger, she relived the last few minutes. Did she just make out with a perfect stranger? Perfect was right. Oh my.

“Shit, shit, shit,” she muttered rubbing her forehead. Was it too much to ask for the ground to open up and swallow her right now.

“Coffee?” Adonis asked, handing her a steaming cup with all the essentials.

Looking at the perfectly tipped swirl of whipped cream floating on the top, she asked, “How did you…”

“The creamer and whipped cream were sitting next to each other in the fridge. I just heated the coffee that was cooling in the pot,” he said as he moved to sit in one of the chairs surrounding the patio table.

Becki sipped her coffee, and wondered if she had hit the “man lottery”. He looked like a model sitting at the table, actually drinking her coffee. Uncle Kurt’s “Divers Do It Better” T-shirt had certainly never looked so fine.

She abruptly sat her coffee down on the table. “I’ll go put your clothes in the washing machine,” she mumbled.

Before she could make her escape, Royce snagged her wrist. “I already did. Now, why don’t you sit down and relax with me for a few minutes.”

He softly caressed her wrist, running his thumb over the pulse-point. Standing, Royce pulled out the chair for Becki, right next to his.

Dropping into the chair next to him, she hoped he had set the washing machine on speed cycle. This man positively oozed trouble. Then again, she thought with a smile tugging at her lips, a little trouble never hurt anyone.

“You are beautiful when you do that,” Royce murmured, staring intently at her lips.

Unsure how to respond to that, Becki blurted, “Do you have a name?” Her face immediately flamed in embarrassment.

“I do,” he said with a smile. “Royce St. John,” he introduced himself, extending his hand toward her in greeting. Lifting one sexy eyebrow he prompted, “And you are?”

“Becki Stephens,” she responded, placing her hand in his.

“Nice to meet you, Becki Stephens,” Royce said as he gently closed his fingers around hers.

“Nice to meet you, Royce St. John,” Becki said softly finding it difficult to breathe.

A slight lean forward would put him close enough to steal another kiss. His brain argued it was a really bad idea. However, his body did not seem to be in agreement. He tugged gently, pulling her toward him, lowering his head ever-so-slowly. His eyes remained firmly focused on hers.

“Uh, where are you from, and what do you do?” Becki asked in a rush, pulling away at the last moment to wrap both hands firmly around her coffee mug.

Royce picked up his own coffee before answering, “I own a home security business near Asheville.”

His stomach clinched again, protesting the lie he was forced to tell. He sat his coffee back down on the table without having taken a drink.

“Home Security” served as a cover for his team, which currently consisted of seven members, each possessing their own unique set of skills. ART (Artifact Recovery Team) had been formed by the Secret Council centuries ago, specifically to recover “artifacts” that had either been stolen, or simply gone missing. The majority of these items could be extremely dangerous in the wrong hands.

The Secret Council was just that-- a secret council-- keeping even bigger secrets. They were also the keepers of potentially harmful “artifacts”. However, with the amount of corruption and ongoing power struggles among the immortal communities, these “artifacts” were proving difficult to keep under wraps.

Royce’s team had been charged with recovering a collection of coins. The collection had been spelled by Merlin centuries ago. Each coin had been created for a specific purpose. If used improperly or by the wrong people, the world as we know it could altered. The coins had fallen into circulation upon the gruesome demise of the original thief, a rogue warlock who had originally been a trusted advisor to Merlin.

“Home security,” Becki repeated, the proverbial light-bulb turning on. “That’s how you know Ryker. I knew he was in some sort of security business.”

“Yes, Ryker and I have known each other most of our lives,” Royce confirmed. “Like I said, I didn’t realize the house was occupied. I’m sorry I barged in on you.”

“I fell in love with this place the first time I drove by it. My Uncle Kurt knew Ryker’s dad, so he hooked me up. Ryker said he only used this place as a beach-vacation house, and that since he was going to be gone for a while, it would help him out if I just stayed here.”

“I’ll bet he did,” Royce responded drearily.

Becki laughed, understanding what he failed to put into words. Ryker was quite a ladies’ man. Sexy as hell, and he knew it.

“Becki!” Kurt yelled as he ran around the corner of her house.

She jumped out of her chair and rushed toward him. His face was red, he was breathing hard, and he was ringing wet. He looked ready to collapse. Oh my God, was he having a heart attack?

“Royce!” Becki screamed. “Call 911. Something is wrong!”

Seeing that she was about to panic, Kurt shook his head and held one finger in the air signaling her to give him a minute. He was bent over at the waist resting his hands on his thighs, while attempting to draw gulps of precious air into his oxygen starved lungs. Ok, so he wasn’t in as great of shape as he had thought he was. That five mile sprint had been a bitch. Kurt had run three miles before flagging down a passing motorist. The sweet elderly woman had just dropped him off about two miles north of Becki’s house.

Glancing toward the deck in search of the crate, he noticed that Becki was not alone. Kurt stared intently at the man now standing with a comforting arm around his niece. He moved quickly toward the couple.

Becki, sensing that something was still not right, walked toward Kurt. “Are you--”

Before Becki could finish, Kurt grabbed her and shoved her roughly behind him. Shielding her with his body, he addressed the stranger, “Who are you?” Kurt’s mind raced. Was he one of them?

Royce stood rigidly assessing this intruder who dared to touch Becki in such a familiar way. Royce tried to determine whether the intruder was friend or foe, as rage poured through his system. He clinched his fists and fought the urge to knock the other man’s teeth out.

Becki squeezed between them shouting, “What in the world is wrong with you Kurt? This is my friend Royce.”

Kurt frowned. He had not heard of a friend Royce, and that T-shirt looked familiar. Didn’t he have one just like it?

“He knows Ryker!” Becki explained quickly, as if that would make Kurt feel better. “He didn’t know the beach house was occupied, so he-uh, stopped by this morning to check on things.”

Kurt relaxed his stance somewhat, and took a couple steps back.

“Royce,” Becki continued, “This is my uncle, Kurt Rodgers.”

Royce stepped around Becki and offered a hand-shake, “Royce St. John, pleased to meet you, Sir.”

Accepting the hand offered in greeting, Kurt responded in kind, “Nice to meet you as well.”

Royce immediately recognized the tattoo on Kurt’s forearm; it was identical to the one Ryker’s dad carried. Each person in Ryker’s old unit wore the same tat, commemorating a team member who had been lost. Hidden in the intricate design was a crest known only to those who worked with the Secret Council. He wore an identical crest, hidden in the shell of a sea turtle inked on his chest, just above his heart.

Picking up his cup of cold coffee, Royce asked, “Would you like a cup of coffee, sir?”

“No-, uh, no thanks, I came to pick something up,” Kurt said, looking around. “Has Landon been here already? I called him on my way over.”

Royce became suddenly interested in coffee grounds at the bottom of his cup. And then as luck would have it, his watch began to flash. Oh shit! Sean’s timing was spot-on as usual.

Royce quickly covered the flashing time-piece. While Becki had not noticed anything out of the ordinary, Kurt’s sharp eyes did not miss a thing. Becki watched both men curiously.

“Hey Kurt, what happened to your truck?” Landon asked, as he strolled out to join the party from inside the kitchen, coffee cup in hand.

“Landon, you have to stop picking my locks!” Becki complained.

“What? I knocked on my way in,” Landon said, adopting an air of innocence.

The fact of the matter was he had caught the scent of a stranger. When Becki did not immediately answer his knock on the door, he took matters into his own hands. He followed the trail into the kitchen and then picked up Kurt’s scent as well. Since he knew things were under control, he stopped to pour himself a cup of coffee before joining the crew outside. Landon frowned as he recognized the shirt Royce was wearing as one that belonged to Kurt. But who was he to make judgments?

Kurt shook his head grumbling, “Never mind about my truck. It’s a long story.”

Landon shrugged, and then sat his cup on the patio table, “Let’s get Becki’s crate loaded and see if we can get it opened up.” Landon frowned as he looked around, “Did you move it already?”

“No, I haven’t moved it; that son-of-a-bitch was heavy. I figured you had already been here and moved it.”

“Nope,” Landon said, raising his face slightly to draw in a deep breath through his nose. The only scents he picked up were those of Becki, Kurt, and her visitor.

Royce caught Landon’s slight movement, the lifting of his face, the “sniff”. Evidently he wasn’t the only one keeping secrets. As Royce’s eyes lingered on Landon, he raised his eyebrows slightly in silent question.

Becki spun around, visually scanning the deck. How had she missed the fact that her crate was gone? “I can’t believe someone would have the nerve to walk right up on my deck and steal it,” she complained.

“I have a hard time believing that myself,” Kurt said, staring hard at Royce. “That sure is strange,” he mused. “Doesn’t that strike you as strange, Landon?” Kurt pressed, never once taking his eyes off Royce.

Landon, who picked up on Kurt’s coded message right away, moved to stand directly behind Kurt.

“How would you explain something like that?” Kurt directed his question to Royce as both men began to steadily advance toward him.

Royce stood and waited; he didn’t want to have to fight these two. Although there was no doubt he could kick their collective asses. He had a trick or two up his sleeve and could cause enough damage to Landon to at least slow him down. He really didn’t want to hurt either of them. Becki would most likely be very unhappy with him if he did.

“For Heaven’s sake, back off you two,” Becki said as she stepped in front of Royce.

Royce’s hands immediately went to Becki’s waist to push her gently aside. If Landon was not skilled enough to resist his Wolf’s desire to shift, he did not want Becki to be hurt.

Standing behind Royce now, eyes blazing, she struggled to get back in front of him. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked Royce through jaws locked shut in frustration.

Finally deciding she was not going to get around him, she shouted, “You all are starting to piss me off. You act like I’m sixteen instead of twenty-two. It’s Halloween, you idiots; the kids have been pulling pranks all week. I’m sure the stupid box will turn up. What exactly are you accusing him of anyway? And, Royce will you stop pushing me around!”

“Becki,” Royce intervened smoothly, “could I ask you to go put my clothes in the dryer?”

Had he lost his mind? Becki sputtered, “You want me to go put your clothes in the dryer, now? In case you haven’t noticed, Landon and my Uncle are--”

“That is a great idea, Becki,” Kurt agreed, interrupting her. “Go put his clothes in the dryer, please.”

“But--”

“Now,” both men said in unison.

“This is bull shit,” Becki said as she stomped across the deck and flung the patio door open wide. Spinning around to pin the three men with a lethal stare she complained, “This is total bullshit, and you know it!” She stepped into the kitchen and then slammed the door behind her, the glass literally rattled in its frame.

If Kurt had to fix her door after this, it would serve him right. Who the hell did they think they were, ordering her off her own deck? She flung Royce’s wet things in the dryer and then ran a sink full of dish water. She hated washing dishes by hand, but she was pissed right now, and could not sit still.

“How do you know Ryker?” Kurt asked as soon as the patio door slammed shut.

Royce may have him by a good eight inches and probably twenty years, but he had been trained to fight for his life. He also knew Landon’s secret. There would be no contest between Landon and the mortal. Unfortunately, that would bring a lot of questions to the surface, questions he would like to avoid.

“I work with him,” Royce answered. “Well, to be more accurate, he works for me at ART Security.”

Recognition-- and something else-- flared in Kurt’s eyes. ART. Royce was part of the Secret Council’s team? Why would the Council have someone working in the Charleston area? Kurt’s contacts still kept him apprised of any local situations. He had not heard of any activity in the area for a couple of years. Since special Ops guys didn’t stay in one place too long, Kurt knew Becki would be in no danger. The two men backed up, and Royce relaxed his stance.

“How long will you be in town?” Kurt asked.

Royce reached for his coffee mug, and emptied the now-cold liquid into a potted banana tree before answering. “As soon as I get things wrapped up here, I’ll be heading back to Asheville.” Glancing toward the kitchen door Becki had just slammed, he continued, “The sooner the better.”

Kurt had served with Ryker’s dad in Bahrain several years ago, and had every intention of calling Ryker Senior the minute he left Becki’s. Something didn’t feel right. If “The Council” was involved, it could only mean one thing: danger was near. He knew that Royce would not hurt Becki, but whomever or whatever he was tracking could, and Kurt didn’t want Becki anywhere around it.

Kurt nodded and moved toward the back door, “Landon, I need to get back to work.” With a quick nod to Royce, Kurt added, “I trust your business here will be concluded quickly. Keep her out of it.”

At Royce’s affirmative nod, Kurt continued through the door. Becki dried the last dish before slamming it down on the counter.

Kurt pinned her with his gaze, announcing, “I want to see you at my house for dinner tomorrow night.”

This time, he didn’t wait for a response before he took his leave.

Looking shell-shocked, Becki responded to a now empty room, “Ok, I’ll be there.”

What the hell? Why was Kurt acting so weird this morning? There was only one way to find out. Flinging the towel down on the counter she headed toward the back door with a purpose.

#

“What was that all about?” she asked as soon as she saw Royce, who was leaning with both forearms propped on the deck rail, thoughtfully staring into her back yard.

Royce shook his head and stepped away from the railing, “I guess he doesn’t like strange men at your house so early in the morning,” he said with a wicked smile.

“Don’t give me that,” Beck scoffed. Pulling her bangs up, she continued, “Do I have ‘stupid’ written on my forehead?”

He stepped forward cupping the back of her head to stare intently at the exposed strip of flesh directly above her eyebrows. As if he were indeed looking to see if something was written there. Royce suddenly smiled and buzzed a kiss in the middle of her forehead. “No, I don’t see anything written there. All I see is--”

Becki shoved him away, “It was a rhetorical question, ass.”

Royce walked over to the table and picked up the empty coffee mugs, intending to take them back into the kitchen. He hoped she had put his clothes on speed-dry; she was too cute for her own good.

“I’ll get those,” she said pointing to the coffee mugs he was currently holding.

“It’s no trouble. It’s the least I can--”

“I said I would get them,” she all but snarled now.

He sat them back down on the table, not wishing to upset her further. “Ok, I’m--”

“What- exactly- is it that you do?” There was a mystery here, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Home security,” he responded automatically.

“I see, home security,” she smiled, like a Cheshire cat.

Becki slowly shook her head and began moving toward him with slow, deliberate steps. Something told him, he was in trouble.

“You said Ryker works for you?” she asked, moving one step closer to him.

“You confirmed that he is out of the country?” another step.

Oh shit! He was being stalked like some rodent.

“Do you provide a lot of home security outside of the U.S.?” yet another step closer.

“How was it you said you got here?” Becki’s head started spinning, but still she pressed on.

Without giving him an opportunity to respond to any of the previous questions, she went straight for the juggler, “And why, pray tell,” she paused, suddenly grabbing the hem of his shirt to jerk it upward, exposing his left pectoral muscle, “do you have the same crest hidden in your tattoo that I’ve seen hidden in Kurt’s?”

She jerked the hem of the shirt back down, put both hands on her hips and concluded the inquisition by demanding, “Why don’t you cut the bullshit and tell me what is really going on Royce?”

Royce watched as Becki stared at him expectantly. She had drilled him like a prosecuting attorney with an open-and-shut case. So, she wanted to know what was “really” going on. Sure, it was easy to explain. He was in charge of a recovery team, who worked for a mostly immortal secret council, whose current mission was to track down some missing coins spelled by Merlin centuries ago. His team had traced one of the coins to Charleston where he had indeed recovered said coin; unfortunately, his efforts had been sabotaged by a band of Witches before he could turn the magic coin over to the Secret Council of Elders. The past two years of his life had been spent locked inside a crate at the bottom of the ocean. The same crate she had found, picked up, and brought home; the same crate that had literally disappeared after magically unlocking a few short hours ago. Sure, that was believable, and easy to explain.

Clearing his throat, Royce said “Look, Becki, I wish I could, really, but I can’t. Some-things, you are better off not knowing. This is one of them.”

“Right.”

Royce reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and could not resist cupping her jaw in his hand to gently tilt her face toward his. “I appreciate your help in more ways than you know, but I can’t give you the answers you are looking for. I wish I could, but it’s just not possible,” he finished with a sigh letting his hand drop down to his side. “I need to be going. My things should be close to dry by now.”

She was the cutest thing with her brow wrinkled in confusion, but seeing disappointment flash in her eyes was almost physically painful. He had to get the hell out-- while he still could. The desire to scoop her up in his arms, head for the bedroom, and do all the things he hadn’t been able to do for the past two years was almost too much to resist. A man could get lost in her chocolate eyes.

“It was very nice to meet you Becki Stephens, and I do thank you from the bottom of my heart for all you’ve done for me. You have a couple of real heroes watching out for you. Don’t give them too much of a hard time.” He reached out to trace a finger over the frown lines marring her forehead, “Thanks for the shower, and coffee, and…thanks for everything.” Royce bent to kiss her softly on the forehead and then turned and moved away.

As she watched him walk through the doorway into her house, she mumbled, “Are you effing kidding me?” She stood where he had left her; outside on the deck, rooted to the spot by feelings of shock and betrayal. She couldn’t believe he would casually stroll away with no explanation, not even a meet-me-sometime-for-a-drink, nothing, nada.

Anger rose quickly and propelled her through the doorway, “Really? That’s it?” she yelled slamming the door once again. If the glass survived the remainder of this day, it would be a miracle.

Becki felt the sting of tears, but she would not let him see her cry. Evidently mind-numbing kisses could be one-sided, because it clearly meant nothing to him. He was going to kiss her on the forehead this time, like some child, and simply walk away without a backward glance. Well, that was fine, just fine! She had plenty of offers. Unfortunately none of them compared to the oh-so-perfect male specimen now pulling his clothes out of her dryer.

Royce closed his eyes as he heard tears in Becki’s voice. It almost killed him to know he had hurt her. His heart ached with the knowledge that he had to walk away from her, and walk he would. His life was dangerous. The Council had obviously not given him the full story concerning the coins, and who or what might be launching recovery efforts. He couldn’t, wouldn’t involve her.

He walked back into the kitchen. God, if she had thought he looked good in swim trunks, the sight of him in faded blue jeans and a black tight-fitting T-shirt took her breath away.

“Becki,” he returned softly, purposely keeping his distance. He knew if he touched her again he might not have the strength to leave. “Becki, it’s for the best. I have a job to do. I’m on a tight schedule and running behind.” Running two years behind, if you wanted to get technical.

Her tear drenched eyes suddenly dried, and shutters immediately dropped down over any expression remaining there. “I’m getting in the shower. Lock up when you leave,” she said evenly, “you never know who might just walk in.” With that, she brushed past him moving quickly toward her bedroom.

Doors opened and slammed; drawers slid open and then banged shut. “A tight schedule,” she mumbled furiously. “What an ass.”

She was mad now which was preferable to the tears he had seen earlier. Royce felt a smile tug at his lips as he listened to her slam things around and mutter curse words directed toward him. Her temper had bubbled over, and he sure wished he had time to take on that temper. The knowledge that she was getting naked in the next room made it difficult to even think about leaving. Had circumstances been different, had they met in a different time and place--. He heard the shower running and knew he had to go, now.

Royce saw the rental car pull up in front of the house-- a black SUV, how cliché. Sean had a twisted sense of humor; he knew Royce would rather have been riding in a red sports car. He was going to have a serious chat with that kid one of these days. Time to get moving, he had a lot of ground to make up. He locked the front door and pulled it shut behind him.

Becki replayed this morning’s events in her head becoming more frustrated and confused by the minute. “That’s what I get for waking up before noon,” she muttered. Natie should be calling soon. If she hurried there was enough time for a quick trip to the dive-shop. She had her eye on a pink snorkel and fin set, and God knew she needed a little retail therapy.

By the time Becki finished getting ready, the house was empty. Royce had gone, and she felt a great heaviness in her chest, a sadness she didn’t care to dwell on. He had made it very clear; he was busy and had things to do, and she didn’t fit into his schedule. “His loss,” she announced to herself flippantly. But if she were being honest, she was the one feeling a loss; feeling it all the way to the pit of her stomach.

#

“Heyyy Girl,” Vickie called as Becki strolled into Supreme Scuba. “What have you been up to?”

Vickie owned the local dive shop and had worked hard to “sex-up” the hobby. Her new line of female scuba fashion had taken off like gangbusters. She had all the newest gadgets with bling galore.

“You here for the pink set?” Vickie asked knowingly.

Becki had fallen in love with the new hot-pink snorkel and fin set as soon as she had spotted them.

“You know it,” Becki grinned. “I’ve gotta look good out there.”

“You always look good, and you know it,” Vicki scoffed. “Did you score some teeth for me yesterday?” she asked, her eyes shining in anticipation.

“No, but we did find a crate of some sort,” she said browsing through the sale rack of bikinis. “We couldn’t get the darn thing open, so I brought it home and put it on my deck last evening. Unfortunately, the brats decided to prank me last night and took it.”

“Awww, bummer; you might be the new rich girl and don’t even know it,” Vicki said, playing along. “Those crazy kids will probably call you later demanding a ransom of chocolate chip cookies.”

“I know, right? I’m sure it’s empty anyway or filled to the top with worthless crap. It wasn’t even a pretty crate, so I may just refuse their demands,” Becki joked as her cell phone rang.

“Hi, Natie, where are you guys? I’m at the dive shop. Go left at the next intersection, and it’s on the left. Ok, see you in a sec.”

“My sister and her boyfriend are in town,” she explained to Vicki. “We wanted to go back out in the boat today, but the water is starting to get a little rough. I think we’ll walk around The Battery downtown instead.”

A bell over the door chimed as Natie breezed in. Becki immediately noticed her puffy eyes, and the way Jonah slunk around the shop wearing sour expression. They had obviously been fighting again. What a vacation. Poor Natie should have left his sorry ass at home. Come to think of it, she should have left him period.

“Hi, Natie,” Becki said giving her sister a hug and totally ignoring Jonah. “I thought we could go to White Point Gardens today. Since the wind is starting to pick up a little, the water is starting to get rough. The tropical storm is moving a little slower than expected, but I don’t think we should go out in the boat today.”

“That’s fine with me,” Natie said, looking through the rack of new swim suits. Holding up a blue bikini studded with Swarovski Crystals around the neck and waist she said, “This one is pretty.”

Leave it to Natie to pick out the most expensive suit in the store. An addiction to bling was one thing the sisters had in common.

“I love it! Vicki has the gray and black put back for me,” Becki said with a flash of her dimple. The suit might not be something she would want to wear diving, but it was killer beach wear.

Natie laughed. “I should have known,” she said, hanging the bikini back on the rack.

“OK guys, let’s head out,” Becki called to Natie and Jonah.

“It was nice to meet you, Vicki,” Natie said as she followed Jonah out the door.

“See ya, Vic,” Becki said, adding in a whisper, “I’ll take the blue one, too.”

Vicki gave her a “thumbs-up”, whispering back, “You’re a good sister.”

Retail therapy did help, but Becki still could not stop thinking about Royce. She longed to go home, turn the air-conditioner down to sixtyfive degrees, wrap-up in a blanket, sip hot sweet-tea, watch movies, and indulge in a well-deserved pity party. She could finish the evening by consuming about a gallon of ice cream. What part of the universe decided who attracted whom? And, what part of the universe made it ok for one person to feel the attraction all the way to the depth of their soul, while the other person evidently felt nothing?

Becki’s pity party would have to be put on hold. Natie and Jonah were waiting for her, and Uncle Kurt had made it pretty clear that he expected her for dinner tonight. She text him a reminder that Natie and Jonah would be there, too.

A few minutes later, Kurt responded that he was expecting them all for dinner. Frogmore Stew was on the menu, and she was in charge of dessert. Smiling, Becki decided that ice cream sundaes would be perfect.

#

Since Natie and Jonah were evidently not speaking to each other, Becki couldn’t wait to get the heck out of the car. Parking was always tricky, but walking downtown remained one of her favorite things to do. History positively oozed from each building, street, and alley with a life of its own. Beautiful colors, blooming flowers, cobble stone streets, and moss covered trees provided more color and depth than it was possible to absorb. An ocean breeze whispered through the moss, swinging it gently in the trees. Today it whispered more loudly than usual, thanks to the approaching storm.

The buildings downtown had survived centuries of weather, war, fire, even an earthquake or two. Cannons gleamed in the bright sun, a solemn reminder of those who had lost their lives on this very ground.

“If only these walls could talk,” Becki had heard her grandfather say many times, “just think of the stories they could tell.”

She imagined all kinds of stories; stories of ill-fated lovers, pirates, artists and thieves; stories of grand balls and elegant gowns; stories of wives and mistresses pacing the “widows’ walk” while watching, hoping , and praying this might be the tide that would bring their loved ones home safe and sound.

“Look, there is a wedding going on,” Natie said as they strolled on the pathway winding through White Point Gardens.

“Do you want to crash the party?” Becki asked with a smile and a twinkle in her eye.

A few years ago, their parents had decided everyone should meet in Tennessee over the Christmas holiday. After a large, rather fancy, family Christmas celebration, Natie decided they needed some girl-time, and a “refreshing beverage”.

Still clad in their festive Christmas attire, they had meandered through the atrium on their way to one of the hotel bars, enjoying the fountains and foliage. A bride, groom, and complete wedding entourage had practically run them over rushing to get to the reception on time. As the sisters backed quickly away from the main walkway in an attempt at self-preservation, they bumped into one of the many elaborately decorated Christmas trees gracing the common areas of the hotel. After getting an up-close and personal look at the groomsmen, Natie had grabbed two fake gifts out from under the Christmas tree, handed one to Becki with a wink, and joined the stream of wedding guests on their way to the reception.

After depositing their “wedding gift” on the appropriate table, they had enjoyed cocktails, danced with the groomsmen, and flirted shamelessly all evening. As the party began to wind down, the bride’s father had strolled over to the bar where they were seated, and ordered three shots of whisky. After handing them each a shot glass, he said, “I don’t know who you gals are, but thanks for livening up this party.” He tossed back his shot and then added, “I can’t wait to see them open up that gift tomorrow.” He chuckled, winked, and then kissed them each on the cheek.

Becki and Natie ordered another shot as they watched him collect his wife, kiss his daughter, and glide to the door, pausing to tip his hat to them before he left. Natie and Becki had collapsed with laughter, and when they could breathe again, had decided it was the best wedding reception they had never been invited to.

Glancing toward the happy couple currently pledging to “love, honor, and cherish” one another, Becki shook her head.

“I don’t know about this one, Natie; they seem a little stuffy,” Becki grinned.

“Well, then, it’s a good thing we’re here to save the day,” Natie announced as she locked arms with Becki preparing to drag her toward the festivities. It was fun to see Natie enjoying herself.

Immediately upon arriving at the gardens, Jonah had decided to walk back to their hotel to “take a nap”. Right. Whatever his true plans were, Becki was glad to have Natie all to herself for a few hours.

“Ok, let’s liven this place up,” Becki said, enjoying the moment.

As she and Natie moved toward the gazebo, the ceremony was winding down. “You may kiss your bride,” announced the minister.

As the newlyweds kissed, their guests whistled and cheered. Becki smiled as she absorbed the joy of the couple’s special moment. Suddenly, she caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning to investigate, she spied a familiar figure. The joy of the moment evaporated immediately.

“What the--” Natie began, as she felt her sister’s body tense and stiffen.

“Shhh, that’s him,” Becki said in a whisper, her eyes watching Royce with avid curiosity. What is he looking for? He seemed to be deep in thought, talking to himself and retracing his steps.

“Him- who?” Natie whispered back, ogling Royce. “Do you know that guy? Damn. He’s gorgeous--, and has a nice ass,” she observed as he bent to look under the branches of a small shrub. “Maybe we could help him find whatever he is looking for.

“Shut up, Natie,” Becki whispered, through clinched teeth.

“What are you so uptight about?” Natie asked, taking her eyes off Royce for a moment but only for a moment. “Seriously, do you know him?” Natie pressured, turning to watch him intently, again. “What is he looking for anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Becki hissed and simultaneously jerked Natie quickly behind a big oak tree.

“Oh my God, you have lost it,” Natie observed, swallowing the urge to laugh. “Look, is he dangerous? Should we be running? Do I need to go punch him in the nose?”

Natie sometimes forgot she was every bit of five feet tall. When they had been sophomores in high school, Natie had actually punched one of Becki’s boyfriends and bloodied his nose because he was saying mean things to Becki.

His mother had actually called their mother to tell on Natie for punching her son in the nose. Of course, the fact that he was six feet six inches tall made the story even funnier. Natie had actually jumped up as she swung her fist to hit him in the nose.

“No,” Becki whispered furiously, “just shut the hell up for a hot minute.” She stretched on her tiptoes, peeking out from behind the tree.

“You’re going to think hot minute,” Natie growled. She had just about had all the fun she could have, hiding behind a tree.

“He was at my house this morning, but he said he had to leave. I thought he was leaving town, but I guess not.”

“He was at your house this morning!” Natie forgot to whisper.

Like a laser beam locking onto a target, Royce turned his head in their direction; his eyes zeroed in on the pair.

“Oh, hell no,” Royce muttered before clinching his teeth. He saw not one but two sets of eyes peeking out from behind one of the large oak trees scattered in the garden. He would know those chocolate eyes anywhere; they were eyes a man could get lost in.

This should have been a simple assignment, a simple search and seizure operation: grab the first coin, return it to the council, move on to the next. It was, in fact, turning out to be anything but simple, more like the-mission-that-never-ends.

Of course, no one had mentioned Witches in the initial briefing; obviously there were questions that he would now demand answers to. Why were Witches interested in the coins? Royce had instructed Joanna to stay completely away from the coins at all costs. One detail that had been shared by the council was the fact that the coins could be deadly to any Witch who came into direct contact with them.

He had contacted Arimus, the Council leader, and requested a video conference first thing in the morning. Until he had answers to all of his questions and felt assured that nothing had been overlooked, he had to stay especially alert. He was dealing with unknown danger at this point.

Eyes locked onto his prey, Royce stalked toward the oak tree with angry strides. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, he was making a huge mistake. He, however, was unable to stop himself.

“Shit,” Becki muttered, knowing she was in big trouble without having been told. It was time to make a hasty exit.

“What’s up boss? Did you find it?” Sean asked as he loped over and fell in behind Royce.

Royce did not slow his pace, did not acknowledge Sean, but kept moving forward with one purpose in mind. When he was finished with her, Becki would understand. She simply had to stay away from him.

Sean had arrived a few hours ago, insisting that he could track the coin more easily if he were on location. He had continued to tweak the software each time a signal was received from one of the coins. Unfortunately, the signals were still very random and infrequent. They had set up base camp in the condo at Fort Sumter House. The last known coordinates of this particular coin were somewhere east of the gazebo. Royce had been searching the area in hopes of finding a clue to what might have happened to the coin after the Witches “zapped” him.

He felt a “zap” of an entirely different kind when saw Becki. He hadn’t planned on seeing her again-- ever. If his life had been “normal” he could have--, make that would have, acted on these feelings, and found out where they would have taken him. Unfortunately, his life was far from normal. His life was downright complicated, and so were the lives of his team. They dealt with forces of good and evil, the stuff of dreams and nightmares. His world did not have room for an innocent, and her world was far too innocent to have room for him.

Royce might have mumbled, but Becki had heard him loud and clear; “hell no”. Grabbing Natie’s arm, she started walking in the opposite direction as quickly as her long legs would carry her. Becki was not up to being publicly rejected. This day just kept getting better and better.

“You’re hurting my arm,” Natie complained.

“The only thing hurting is your nibby nose,” Becki said, calling her out on the lie. “Hurry up! I promise I will explain it all, but we have to get out of here.”

“Becki,” Royce roared.

“Keep moving,” Becki urged Natie.

“Becki, I’m calling Uncle Kurt. This guy is pissed, and he could be crazy as well,” Natie said reaching for the cell phone in the back pocket of her jeans.

“He’s not crazy, but I think he is pissed,” Becki acknowledged. “Please don’t call Kurt. They’ve already met, and I don’t think they like each other.”

“Becki, damn it--” Royce had caught up with the two girls without ever altering his pace or stride.

Becki had no intention of acknowledging him; her heart was pounding with humiliation and rage. Royce reached out to catch her arm in his grasp; she jerked away from him while continuing to charge ahead, forgetting that she was still dragging Natie along behind her.

Sean caught up with Royce just in time to see one of the two stunningly beautiful women actually wrench her arm away from him. Apparently Royce had lost his touch, literally.

“Boss? Do I need to do something?” Sean asked hesitantly. Women did not generally walk away from the boss. Normally it was quite the opposite scenario, women going out of their way to attract his attention.

Royce didn’t bother to respond. He stalked with great determination, closely following the retreating women.

“Do you know them?” Sean asked, keeping pace with Royce.

Natie could not believe they were walking away, correction running away, from not one but two of the best looking men she had seen in-well, ever. Obviously, Becki knew these men. She said one of them had been at her house this morning? Becki didn’t do mornings, period. Whatever was playing out here, had Becki on the run, and that too was out of character for her sister.

“Becki, I’m warning you--” the man with dark hair said ominously.

“They are still following us,” Natie needlessly pointed out, curiosity killing her. This mystery needed to be solved, right now; enough was enough. Taking a deep breath, Natie planted her feet, refusing to budge another inch.

Becki stumbled, and would have fallen if the Adonis with green eyes, raven hair, and a perfect ass, hadn’t caught her in his arms.

“Are you alright?” Royce asked Becki as he steadied her on her feet.

Becki glared at him with narrowed eyes, which seriously lost their hateful effect as soon as they filled with tears, “As if you give a flying fu-”

Natie watched as, in the next instant, he grabbed Becki, jerked her tightly against his body, and planted a lip-lock on her sister like she had only seen in the movies. And then, wonder of wonders, Becki was kissing him right back. Natie grinned. Something had been skipped over during their girl-talk earlier today; something along the lines of, ‘Natie, I’ve met the most gorgeous guy. He was at my house this morning, and man-o-man is he a good kisser.’ Oh, yes, something had definitely been left out of their earlier conversation.

“Hi, I’m Sean. Are you ok?” the tall one with blue eyes asked. He had accidently bumped into her when she stopped so abruptly and was now bending down to look at her as if she were a little china doll. Tingles zipped over her skin where he touched her arm.

“I’m Natie, Becki’s sister.” Nodding toward Becki and her mystery man, Natie asked, “Who is kissing her?”

“That is my boss, Royce. They, uh, met earlier,” Sean said with a grin.

“I guess so,” Natie smiled up, way up, at him. He stood over six feet tall, a giant compared to her. “So,” she ventured, “do you want to grab a latte? It looks like they may be a while.”

* * * *