“Okay. Here’s what I think happened. Morgan was expecting to find you. When you weren’t here, she added a little something—maybe mandrake or foxglove—”
“Just what the average witch carries around,” Michael said wryly.
Sara ignored him. “We all have those stashed in our cupboards as counteractions if needed.” She looked at Brianna. “Right?” At her friend’s nod, she continued, “—to Bri’s cup, but not her own. Then, when Bri got ill, she called you to get you over here.”
“I’ll admit that the woman has tried cornering me a few times,” Michael said, “but I’ve always turned her down. Why would she resort to such drastic measures to get me over here? Like I’m going to change my mind?”
“You might have, if you’d drunk the tea,” Sara said mischievously. “Woodrowel is an aphrodisiac.”
Michael stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am, and I suspect Morgan is, too,” Sara answered and then remembered something else. She turned to Brianna. “Woodrowel is also a hypnotic. With your natural gift of Sight, it might have triggered the vision you had. Did you feel yourself go into a trance?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” Brianna answered and laid her hand over Sara’s. “I’m sorry. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.”
Maybe. But the same black warrior throwing lightning bolts wasn’t a good omen in Sara’s book. And in Bri’s vision, the golden-haired Templar knight hadn’t even ridden to the rescue.
Golden, tawny hair. An image of the half-naked Lucas bursting into her hotel room the night Baylor broke in flashed through her mind. Strangely, it was not the comforting embrace that turned passionate that held her attention now. The cross that he had been wearing on his broad chest did. A Templarcross with itsfleur-de-leiends. Why hadn’t she recognized it before?
And the Templar Shield that was sold at the auction had been in her vision as well. Her third-eye chakra began to spin, causing the familiar dull pain as it opened to the astral plane, but all she could detect was pale swirling mists. The time had not come to reveal what she needed to know, but somehow, she had the feeling that Lucas Ramsey was not exactly what he said he was.
****
Baylor bit off the end of his illegal Cuban cigar and spit it out on the floor. Across the room, Caldwell poured two single-malts from the minibar. The man had been careful not to gloat in front of him. Baylor had to give him that.
Damn, but he hated losing. Flying all that distance to Canada in one of those cramped express jets without food or alcohol available, let alone the First Class service that he was used to, had already put him into a rage.
He knew the jaunt out to Oak Island would prove worthless. But he had fully expected to pick the bitch’s room lock and walk out with that black briefcase of hers with no problem.
He had, after all, lured Ramsey out. Let his scent linger just close enough to the dining room that the damn Templar would do the Change and come looking for him. That part had worked, and losing his scent in the ocean hadn’t been hard, but the water had been cold as a nun’s tits, even to his immortal body. And the Change back should have had the Templar in a deep sleep for hours. He had counted on that.
The damn purse hadn’t been there. He’d moved toward the bed to see if she had it under the pillow, but she must have detected him in her sleep.
Which meant she had more power than he cared to think about.
“What did you find out from Morgan?” he asked as he accepted the drink Caldwell handled him and motioned for the man to be seated.
Caldwell smiled. “She knows her business in bed.”
No doubt. She’d made it abundantly clear to him in their brief meeting that she was willing to do anything—and here she had let her hand linger on the button of her blouse and given him a coy look—if he’d help her get what she wanted. If that type of woman expected to be successful in attaining that goal, they had to be good on the follow-through.
He’d pried into her mind. Along with the usual riches and fame, there was also a man she wanted. Foolish mortals. Any time lust or love was at the top of their lists, Baylor could hold that over them. So he’d agreed to the money and fame part. She would be getting a call for a modeling contract tomorrow.
“Maybe I’ll try her, then,” he answered and was pleased to see a look of displeasure flit over Caldwell’s face. He made a mental note of it. “But I meant, have you found out anything about who this Sara Kincaid is?”
Caldwell looked uncomfortable. “It’s a little weird.”
“Try me.”
“Morgan confided…” He paused to let the effect of the word sink in and Baylor gave him a small smile. “She confided that she was part of a circle of witches that went out on the full moon to worship some ancient goddess.”
“And is Sara Kincaid a part of that group?”
“Apparently she leads it,” Caldwell answered. “Probably a bunch of women who want to dance around naked under a full moon and get themselves all hot.” He grinned. “Maybe I’ll ask if I can attend. Having two or three of them do me at the same time might be a whole lot of fun.”
Baylor hardly heard him. If this Kincaid bitch were a priestess—a real one from the Auld Days—it might explain why she had been so lucky in eluding him thus far.
“Did Morgan mention which goddess, by any chance?”
