Profiling Nathan: Romancing the Guardians, Book Five Page 11

  “Let’s put your feet up,” he said, helping her swivel sideways and swing her legs onto the couch. “I’ll grab something for your back.” He hurried into the bedroom, returning in seconds to stuff a bed pillow behind her. Sliding his hand beneath her long hair, he spread it over the soft support.

  “Thank you, Nate.” She smiled up at him.

  “You’re welcome. Do you want something to drink?” he asked, hooking his thumb toward the kitchen. “I stocked up on juice and sodas, or would you rather have ice water?”

  She waved off his suggestions. “I don’t need anything right now. Why don’t you sit down? We need to talk.” Bending her knees up to give him room, she pointed to the end of the small couch.

  He looked startled then wary. “Okaaay.” Sitting where she indicated, he lifted her feet onto his lap, slipped off her shoes and set them aside.

  “Now, I want to hear about that secret weapon of yours.”

  “That’s not important, Tally.” He rubbed her feet. “You should rest. I’ll get a blanket for you.” He started to rise but she kicked his leg, not too hard, to stop him.

  “Stay there and stop putting me off,” she said, glaring at him. “Tell me about the laser weapon. Now.”

  He scowled, brows meeting over his nose. “Damn, you are one stubborn woman.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he sighed and nodded. “All right then, but you probably won’t believe me.”

  She crossed her arms. “Try me.”

  “The weapon isn’t exactly a laser, not like you might see on TV.” He twisted around to face her, expression grim. “It’s me. I’m the instrument of death.”

  An astonished laugh burst from her throat. “What are you saying? Are you some kind of super hero?”

  He grinned. “You could say that.”

  “Stop joking,” she snapped, annoyed by his flippancy.

  “Sorry. You’re right. It’s nothing to joke about. The plain truth is I can kill with a stare.” Before she could react to his absurd claim, he held up his hand. “Let me prove it to you. Watch the wall above the TV.” Pointing to the spot, he turned to stare at it.

  Wondering if he’d lost his mind, she did as he said and within seconds, a red beam of light struck the wall. Instantly, a small hole appeared, smoking around the edge. Talia caught her breath. Darting a look at Nate, she gasped. The fiery light came from his eyes. Her jaw dropped. She stared in shock, clutching the edges of the couch cushion.

  The deadly ray subsided. Nate looked at her, making her cringe in fear. He leaned close, catching hold of her shoulder. “Hey, don’t be afraid of me. I’d never hurt you. Don’t you know that?”

  She gulped and stammered, “Y-yes, of course, but it … it staggers my mind.”

  “It is pretty far out. I get that.” He released her and sat back. Frowning, he looked away. “And there’s more.”

  “More! You have another killing power?” She knew her eyes were practically bugging out of her head.

  “No, not that.” He chuckled but quickly grew serious. “What I’m about to tell you, I’m only supposed to reveal to my true mate,” he said, umber eyes trapping hers.

  Caught off guard by his declaration, she opened her mouth but no words immerged for a moment. Finally, she asked, “Am I your true mate? Are you asking me to marry you, Nate?

  He smiled crookedly. “If I am, what would your answer be?”

  “I-I don’t know.” She nervously licked her lips. “This is so unexpected and I –”

  “It’s okay,” he interrupted, waving her to silence. “You don’t need to answer, not now anyhow. Either way, I’ve decided you deserve to know everything.”

  “Alright,” she murmured, somewhat fearful of what he was about to tell her.

  “First, have you heard of the Tuatha Dé Danann?”

  “I think I have.” Creasing her brow in thought, she said, “Yes, I remember reading about them in a book of Irish mythology. They were supposed to be magical beings who lived in Ireland long ago.”

  “Right, but they were no myth. They were real and they possessed powers that ordinary people saw as magic. Some could heal with a touch, others were mind readers, still others saw visions of the future.” Nate paused, absently rubbing her feet again. “And some were warriors who could kill with the power of their mind.”

  Talia sucked in her breath sharply. “Like you!”

  “Yeah, like me. I’m a direct descendant of one branch of the Tuatha Dé Danann. By the way, their name means People of the Goddess Danu. They believed she was their creator.”

  “Interesting. But after so long a time, how could you possibly know you’re their descendant?” She shook her head, wondering if he was telling her a tall tale – or if he’d gone slightly mad. But what about the death ray he’d demonstrated? That was no tall tale.

  He pinched his eyes, shoulders drooping. “I know because before he died, my father taught me about our family heritage and where my dangerous gift came from. He also introduced me to a small group of others like us.” He gave a half-hearted smile. “The group your friend Dev convinced me I urgently need to meet with.”

  “Why is it so urgent?” She frowned. “If you’re allowed to tell me.”

  “You might as well know the rest. There are seven Guardians – that’s what we’re called – sworn to protect a set of scrolls handed down through time from the Old Ones. Now, from what Dev said, we’re facing a threat from outsiders who have already murdered our leader, the High Guardian.”

  Talia sat bolt upright. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes, ma’am, and I’m betting his killers want to get their hands on the scrolls.”

  Chewing on a knuckle in thought, she slowly nodded. “I can see why. The scrolls must be very valuable, being so old. No doubt ruthless collectors of ancient artifacts would do anything to possess them.”

  “Yeah, but it’s what’s written on the scrolls that really makes them valuable. You see, each one contains a prophesy of the distant future. In the wrong hands, they could be used to influence world events, not necessarily in a good way.”

  She leaned back, frowning skeptically. “That sounds pretty farfetched.”

  Nate pursed his lips. “Stay here,” he said. Setting her feet aside, he rose and strode into the kitchen. He opened the freezer compartment of the small refrigerator, dug around inside and pulled out something. Whatever the object, it was obviously very cold, because he moved to the sink and ran water over it for a minute or two to warm it. Then he carefully dried it and turned, revealing the small, blue-gray metal tube in his hand.

  Talia watched in fascination as he resumed his place on the couch and unscrewed one end of the tube. Tipping it, he removed an ivory colored scroll that appeared to be made of parchment. He carefully unfurled the document and showed Talia the front, covered by strange pictographic characters.

  “You can read that?” she asked, eyeing him in astonishment.

  “Didn’t know I’m a student of ancient languages, eh?” He grinned at her impatient frown. “I’m joking. My father translated it for me before he died and made me memorize the prophesy. I should have learned the Tuatha Dé Danann language and translated it myself, but he didn’t have enough time left to teach me.” In a hoarse voice, he added, “He had cancer and it was eating him up.”

  “I’m sorry, Nate,” she said softly, wishing she could hold and comfort him. If she wasn’t still so darn sore, she would have done so.

  He smiled. “Thanks, babe.” He cleared his throat. “Okay, let me tell you what the scroll says.” With that, he looked off into space and began to recite the prophesy.

  I am Dubhrin, bearer of the red ray of death. Upon me our all-knowing Mother Danu has laid a fearful vision of this our adopted world’s far off future. We of the Tuatha Dé Danann will be long departed by then, but a few of our descendants, bred with the race of man, will yet live.

  In that distant time humankind will have shrunken greatly, a result of war, plague and famine. Bands of lawless
, violent survivors will vie for food, water and other resources. Caring only for themselves, they will terrorize enclaves of peaceful folk attempting to rebuild their lives.

  However, I foresee a spark of hope. Over a span of decades, perhaps centuries, brave men and women will emerge to quell the violence and restore order. The earth will slowly recover from devastation and life will flourish once more.

  Contrary to my former belief, I now see the beings we consider inferior are a resilient species capable of overcoming even the worst aspects of their nature. For this insight, I thank the Great Goddess.

  Talia listened in growing shock. When he finished reciting, she sat in stunned silence for several moments, trying to imagine life in such a world. She returned to the present at the touch of Nate’s hand on hers.

  “Hey, are you okay?” he asked, peering at her in concern.

  “Yes, I … I’m just overwhelmed by the idea of such a future. It sounds like a sci-fi movie. Being in law enforcement, I have a hard time believing a day will come when laws mean nothing.”

  “I understand,” he said, inserting the rolled up scroll into its container. “But what if it’s true, and what if that future world is just around the corner?” He stretched his arm across the back of the couch and gazed intently into her eyes. “You said once that we might have been fated to meet. I think you were right. You’re intended to be my mate and our heirs are meant to ‘quell the violence and restore order’ like the prophesy says.”

  “Hold it!” Talia violently shook her head, paying no mind to the tight, painful stitches on the side of her throat. “This is getting way too woo-woo for me. Regardless of what I said, I’m a levelheaded woman, not some mystic who believes in crazy theories and predictions.”

  Nate sighed. “Alright, forget my ‘crazy theories’. Ignore the prophesy if you want to. But there’s one way you can at least know if I’m telling the truth about the Guardians. Come with me when I leave to meet Dev and Michaela.”

  Talia’s jaw dropped again. “I can’t! I need to return to D.C.”

  “Do you, or is that a handy excuse not to come with me?” He cocked an eyebrow dubiously.

  “No! How can you say that? I would gladly go with you, but I have a duty to the Bureau. I can’t just walk away.”

  “Okay, I get that. But how about asking for some time off to recuperate? Don’t you think you’ve earned it?”

  She blinked and lowered her eyes, finding no easy answer. Could she bring herself to do as Nate suggested? Did she want to? She was in love with him, she admitted, and he’d showed how much he cared for her, although he had yet to say he loved her. Was he right about her being his ‘true mate’? She just didn’t know.

  *

  Over the next few days, while Nate met with tattooists who might be qualified to run his shop while he was away, Talia fought a battle with herself. She’d survived one miserable marriage. Did loving Nate mean she was ready to risk another long-term relationship? And was she willing to put a career she’d devoted years of her life to on hold for God knows how long?

  What finally tipped the scales were Nate’s care and affection as she continued to recover and the fact that he never pressured her to go with him. She reached a decision after he took her to get her sutures out. The surgeon removed all except the staples securing the deep wound in her side, which pinched whenever she moved wrong. He insisted those stay in a few more days. Knowing how disappointed she was, Nate quietly held her hand during the ride home.

  Later that afternoon, he was downstairs with the man he’d hired to run the shop, showing him where supplies were stored and discussing other details. He’d spoken to Dev Medina a day ago. They’d set a date and place to meet, and Talia knew Nate would soon be leaving. It was time for her to act if she didn’t want to lose him.

  Sitting on a chair at the kitchen table, she punched in Dave’s number in D.C.

  “Hi Talia,” he said the moment he picked up, obviously seeing it was her calling. “I was just thinking about you. Does this phone call mean you’re returning to work soon? I hope.”

  “Um, no, I’m afraid not. Actually, Dave, I need to take a leave of absence.”

  “Your recovery isn’t going well?” he asked, sounding alarmed.

  “Physically, I’m doing fine, but my brush with death has left me shaken up,” she said, not an entirely false claim. “I need some time to … to just get away.”

  “I see.” Dave sighed. “Well, honestly, that’s to be expected. You suffered a serious shock to your body and your psyche. I think you’re right to take a breather.”

  “Thank you for understanding, Dave,” she said, frankly surprised by his support.

  “Sure, sure. You’re one of our best profilers, Talia. I don’t want to lose you, so take your time and get your head straight. I’ll put you on the temporarily disabled list. Just let me know when you’re ready to come back, alright?”

  “I will, I promise.”

  *

  The dinner hour was approaching when Nate mounted the stairs to his apartment with an aching sense of loss. Satisfied the guy he’d hired could manage the shop, he now had to inform Tally he planned to leave in the morning. He held little hope of her going with him, and the thought of parting with her tore a gaping hole in his heart. Even so, he intended to paste on the benign mask he’d worn for the past several days and tell her she was welcome to stay here until she felt ready to return to work in D.C.

  He found her standing by the stove stirring a pot of stew. She’d chased him to the market for the ingredients yesterday, insisting she was sick of take-out food. Figuring she was even more sick of being cooped up in his small quarters and needed something to do, he’d gladly run her errand.

  “Sure smells good in here,” he said, closing the door behind him.

  She turned to face him with a bright smile. “The stew should be ready soon. I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” Smiling in return, he strolled into the kitchen thinking she looked relaxed and happily domestic in her jeans and t-shirt, with her long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. He hesitated to speak of leaving. Before he found his voice, she set her mixing spoon aside and walked over to him.

  “I’ve made up my mind,” she said, twining her arms around his neck. “I’m going with you when you leave to meet Dev and Michaela.”

  He stared at her in astonishment, hands at her waist. “Are you certain, Tally? I don’t want you to do something your heart isn’t in.”

  She looked him straight in the eye. “I’m very certain, and don’t worry, my heart is in it all the way.”

  He shook his head, grinning. “You really know how to keep a man hanging, sweetheart. I thought sure we’d be saying goodbye.” Folding his arms around her loosely, not wanting to aggravate the wound in her side, he kissed her soundly. She responded with a passionate moan, tongue darting into his mouth, making him long to undress her and take her straight to bed, but it was too soon for any serious lovemaking.

  Breaking off their kiss before things went too far, he gently eased her arms from around his neck and stepped back, putting space between them. “We have to stop. You’re still hurting from what that crazy bitch did to you. When we make love I don’t want to cause you more pain.”

  “Sometimes, you drive me crazy, Maguire,” she said, reaching for him. “Stop playing the gentleman. I need you.”

  He grasped her wrists, holding her off. “I’m not playing. I need you too, baby,” he said hoarsely, “but I’ve seen you in enough pain. We’ll wait until those staples are out of your side, at least.”

  Glaring at him, she twisted her hands free and crossed her arms. “And when will that be? Who’s going to remove them while we’re running off to heaven knows where? You’ll need to stop and find a doctor, won’t you?” She bit her lip, tears gathering in her eyes. She swiped at one as it slid down her cheek. “Perhaps I shouldn’t go with you after all. I’ll just slow you down.”

  “Ah, honey, don’t
cry.” Sorry he’d brought up the subject, he gathered her close. “Michaela can remove your staples. She’s a doctor.”

  “She is?” Sniffling, she rubbed her head against the underside of his chin like a cat wanting to be petted.

  He obliged by rubbing her back, where there were no half-healed wounds. “Yup. She’s a psychiatrist over in Texas.”

  “A psychiatrist!” Her head snapped up. “I need staples removed, not my head shrunk,” she said indignantly, silver eyes glittering.

  Nate grinned. “Right, but Michaela must have attended medical school, don’t you think? I’m sure she remembers how to take out a few staples.”

  “I suppose so. It’s a good thing you don’t want to make love. I have more than a few ugly scars,” she said with a downcast expression. “You’ll probably turn and run when you see them all.”

  “No way, honey.” He tipped her chin up with the side of his finger and dropped a kiss on her nose. “I wish I could have gotten to that alley faster and saved you from so much pain and blood loss, but don’t ever think I mind your battle scars. You’re one hell of a fighter, woman, and you’re mine.”

  A soft glow suffused her features. “And you’re mine, Nathan Maguire.”

  They left early the next morning. Nate drove north to Interstate 10, which would lead them west across the Gulf states all the way to Houston, Texas. From there, they’d head north to Dallas/Fort Worth and the appointed meeting place. He planned to make the trip in short increments. Sitting in a car for long hours was grueling, and he didn’t want to tire Tally out too much.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  They arrived around mid-afternoon at an anonymous looking motel in Fort Worth on Interstate 20, the main east-west corridor through North Texas. After checking in and finding their room, Nate called the cell number Dev Medina had given him the last time they spoke. The man answered promptly.

  “Howdy friend. We’ve been waiting for your call.” Wasting no time, he added, “If you’re checked in, come on up to our room.” He gave the room number and was about to click off.