Page 8 of Knight of the Sword

Michael studied her for a silent moment. She began to squirm in her chair. “I had no idea of where your clinic was,” he finally said and waited for that truth to sink in.

Sophie stilled. “Then how—?” When he didn’t answer, her face paled. “Even if what you say is true, what…what would the dragon want with me?”

“That I truly do not know,” he answered, “but somehow I think you are to assist me in finding the Sword. And there is someone else who is looking for it. We must find it before he does.”

“Of course. Let’s add to the mystery here. Maybe a twenty-first-century version of Romancing the Stone?”

“This isn’t a movie, Sophie. I’ve told you the truth. I know it sounds strange.”

“Strange?” She gave a clipped laugh that sounded more like a bark. “What is this…Sword of Fire…supposed to look like?”

“The blade shines blue-silver, like the very finest steel. The hilt is gold with silver runes, and a large ruby is set in the pommel.”

“Very distinctive. A ceremonial sword?” Sophie asked, a trace of sarcasm still lingering.

Michael shook his head. “Not ceremonial. Excalibur was wielded in many battles.”

“Excalibur? The legendary sword of the mythical King Arthur?”

Michael watched her warily. She didn’t believe him. What more could he say? Very discreetly, he sent a truth spell along a thin tendril of magic toward her.

“I am not lying,” he said. “We seek Excalibur.”

Her eyes rounded for a moment. “Of course we do.” She began to laugh, softly at first, then more sharply. Tears trickled down her face as her volume increased. She began to hiccup, but she couldn’t stop laughing.

There were only two cures for hysteria that Michael knew. One was to slap the person. The other way was a kiss.

Michael reached down and lifted Sophie into his arms, his mouth settling over hers, claiming sweet victory along with salty tears. Her lips trembled beneath his, soft and full and warm. His tongue licked along the crease, encouraging her to open for him, and he was rewarded with a small moan low in her throat as she stilled.

And then it was his turn to groan, as her knee connected with a very swollen part of him.

****

Adam Baylor took a puff of his Cuban cigar and leaned back against the soft cabretta leather of the overstuffed sofa in the penthouse suite of one of Dallas’s most luxurious hotels. He tugged his bathrobe closed and patted the head of the naked woman who’d just serviced him. Then he looked at his newest minion, Carl Landon. He owed over a hundred thousand dollars in gambling debt to Baylor, but he wanted to insure his loyalty. He gestured to the woman. “Go ahead and take her. My treat.”

As the athletic young man grinned and lost no time in unzipping his jeans, Baylor glanced sideways at Alan Caldwell, who was sitting in an armchair across from him. His expression was grim and Baylor almost smiled. Caldwell had a thing for Morgan—the woman—and it nearly killed him having to watch two other men using her.

Not that the bitch minded being used. When Caldwell had recruited her to help him get rid of Sara Kincaid, she had let him know—in no uncertain terms—that she wanted to be a model. Baylor had arranged to make that happen, but he enjoyed the extra bit of malice in making Caldwell watch and not touch, especially since the man hated him. Caldwell was loyal only because Baylor knew where his fragile, elderly mother lived.

Baylor let his gaze slide over to Toby Clark who, as usual, fidgeted. The kid was lanky and looked like a nerd and was mild-mannered to boot. The perfect combination to be any bully’s victim. Knowing that Clark’s virginal sister was wheelchair-bound made him an even more perfect mark.

“Did you make any progress with the vet?” he asked.

Toby swallowed nervously. “I think so. The other reporters were accusing her of setting up a publicity stunt and I acted like the nice guy.”

“And?”

He swallowed again. “I’m going back tomorrow morning and ask for an interview.”

Baylor grunted. “See that you don’t fail me this time.”

Toby’s face turned bright red. “Yes, sir.”

“Caldwell. I’ll need for you to go back to that lunatic Smith and tell him you got an offer to write a book and you want to include a chapter on his weaponry. The vet and that damn warlock paid him a visit before the dragon was sighted. Somehow that nutcase is involved in this, and I want you to stay close.”

“Got it.”

“Landon, you’re going to be the stakeout. Stay hidden, but follow the warlock.”