She watched as he walked away, wondering why he’d shade his eyes on a cloudy day. Whom did he really work for? Mr. Smith would probably like to know.
“Miss?”
She turned back to the man behind the Purchases counter. He was holding a leather portfolio. “The manuscript has been shrink-wrapped to prevent exposure. But if you’d like to examine it before you leave, I can show you to a private room.”
“That won’t be necessary. I saw it earlier.”
He nodded. “Let me call a security guard to escort you to your transportation.”
The guard was young and friendly, more like a college kid than a private bobby. “Let me hail a hack for you,” he said as they went outside to the curb. He took a few steps into the street to signal one just as a small, black car careened around the corner of St. George’s Street with a screech of tires and raced straight toward them. For a moment Sara stood transfixed as the front tire leapt the curb and at the same time she felt a huge tug on her shoulder. Instinctively, she cradled the portfolio, but before she could turn around, someone caught her around the waist, diving to the ground with her as the car whistled past, regaining the road.
The man had cushioned her fall with his body and she was aware of how very muscular that body was, even with it dressed in a suit and tie. He wore a hat over tawny hair and sunglasses—what was it with Londoners anyhow?—but she had a glimpse of a full, sensual mouth inches from hers before he rolled her off him. Before she could thank him, the security guard was back, helping her onto her feet with a worried look on his face. Several people had come running out of Sotheby’s and a couple of witnesses were telling anyone who would listen what happened.
“Are you quite all right, ma’am?” the young guard asked.
Sara brushed dust off her skirt and nodded, trying not to look shaken. Had the car been meant to kill her? Or was it a distraction so the pickpocket could grab her case? With the turmoil of a runaway car and a woman knocked down, no one would have noticed a snatching. Or had he been only an opportunist? No, she knew that answer was wrong. Whoever the attacker had been, he knew what he wanted. He didn’t even attempt to grab her purse. And where was the hottie who had so gallantly rescued her? She wasn’t used to being rescued; she could usually take care of herself. Still, she should thank the man, but he seemed to have disappeared.
Sara shifted her attention back to who the pickpocket might have been. The nervous young man who had brushed by her on his way out? He would have had time to call someone, for she doubted he was bidding for the manuscript on his own. If they wanted the manuscript seriously enough—and it appeared someone did—there would have been time to arrange it, especially if whoever the mastermind was had thought ahead with an alternative plan.
The other possibility was the dark-haired man who had purchased the Templar Shield. He, too, had walked out before she completed her purchase. She looked around. He was nowhere to be seen either. And he had admitted he worked for someone else.
“We can arrange for someone to go with you to your hotel, if you wish.”
Sara gave the earnest guard a smile. “No, I’ll be all right. I just need to pick up my things there and then head straight for Heathrow. Airport security these days is about as tight as I can get. But thanks.”
The guard nodded and opened the door of the cab and she slid gratefully into the darkened interior. She just wished she felt as confident as she sounded. Too bad that well-muscled package of pure testosterone had disappeared. She wouldn’t mind allowing herself to feel a little bit safe in his strong embrace.
****
Lucas Ramsey felt the bristling fur begin to subside beneath the collar of his shirt as he watched the hack drive away. He tugged at his necktie. He hated wearing one on any occasion; when he began to shift it became a choke collar. But he couldn’t very well walk around a fashionable neighborhood wearing his kilt and sash, unless he wanted to attract attention, which was something he definitely did not want to do. It was, in fact, the reason he had sent Gavin to purchase the Shield and bid on the manuscript, even though the vampire preferred to stay inside during the day. The fewer people who knew that Lucas still existed, the better.
He had waited in a car down the street and Gavin had just finished explaining that the manuscript was bought by an American when the black car made its entrance. Even though Lucas could move with supernatural speed when needed, he also had to control the wolf. It always wanted to break free at times of crisis. And if a colorful Scotsman walking down the street would attract attention, he didn’t even want to think what well-heeled shoppers would do at the sight of a huge lobo loping along in the heart of the city. Even the brief time his arm had encircled the American’s slender waist and he’d felt her soft breasts pressed against his chest had made the wolf growl.
The woman was safe now. At least for the moment. And he would be at the airport. He gave himself a moment to appreciate her. Long, glossy, black hair that had cascaded around his face like a curtain when she fell. And then when she tossed it back, the most startling shade of blue eyes, like looking into the depths of an ocean. An ivory complexion with high cheekbones, straight nose, and full lips. Luscious lips. The kind that made the man in him want to claim her and the wolf want to devour her.Don’t even think about the glimpse of creamy thigh when her skirt hiked up… He had gotten away as quickly as he could.
The wolf was the bane of his human existence. It tended to emerge in moments of passion as well as times of crisis. During the Dark Ages, it had been fairly easy to manage. Peasants, even though they made the sign to ward off the evil eye when they saw him, simply took him to be one of many wolves who roamed the countryside.
If only they knew whose evil eye they should be warding themselves against, he thought. Balor. Once a sun god, he became greedy for more power. Personal power. In her wisdom, the Goddess banished Balor. Enraged, Balor swore to wreak havoc in the mortal world forever. And he had done that well. Never was the world so close to destroying itself. The time was close when he must be stopped.Well, that’s why I’m here. I’m the grandson he doesn’t know he has.He fingered the ancient gold Templar cross he wore on a gold chain. Although it kept him from recognizing—or being recognized—by other Immortals that might be about in the present day, it also protected his identity from Balor.
He refocused his attention on his friend, sitting in the driver’s seat of the Audi. “How are you feeling?”
Gavin shrugged. “The new meds make the light tolerable, but I still prefer the night.” He turned the ignition. “Where to?”
“To the flat, first. Then Heathrow.” Lucas slid the slim laptop out from its special compartment under the glove box, tapped in a request for airline flights leaving for the United States that afternoon, and punched in a reservation for each carrier. Whichever flight she would be on, so was he.
Gavin put the car into gear. “You’re going after her?”
And looking forward to it. He hadn’t met a woman that plucky in centuries—not since Gwenhwyfar had been tied to the stake and spat at her would-be murderers—but perhaps this woman wouldn’t need any more dramatic rescues. He hoped not. She had been scared—the wolf could smell it—but she hadn’t showed it. Damn brave of her. And she was smart too—had kept her wits about her and not let loose of that case.
“I have to. If there’s any chance the manuscript is genuine, I must see it. It would hold the answer to the Templar treasure. Or, at least, the part I need.”
“I failed at getting the manuscript,” Gavin said in a dismal tone, “although I did get the Shield.”
Lucas glanced at him. The two of them had been lucky to have escaped the arrests that fatal Friday in 1307. He knew Gavin had tried his best.
“Doona worry about it,” he said, slipping into the natural brogue he preferred using. “Ye did well enough.” Reaching into the back seat he brought the Shield forward and unwrapped it. “’Tis really priceless. The fools dinna ken what they had.”
Gavin gave it an appreciative look before he turned his eyes back to traffic. “It’s the one, then? Jacques de Molay’s?”
