Callum (7 page)

“Research assistants. They tend to blush easily and hang on your every word.”

“I don’t have the time to accommodate blushing young men. I’ll be right with you.” He stepped through a door which she assumed was the loo, but a moment later he returned with a security box. Unless he kept a safe next to the toilet, she assumed it was a storage room of some sort.

“Gregory knows nothing about this. As I said last night, neither does the rest of the staff. Remember, you are researching something valuable to my family. I want to make sure that no one knows anything outside of this room—save my cousins.”

She nodded in understanding and fought down the guilt. She was being devious, something she had never done in her career, but she knew there would be some way to protect the family. There had to be some way to keep their name out of the press.

He unlocked the box, pulled up the top, and produced a small, brown leather book. It looked ordinary by most standards, weathered by time, but commonplace all the same. He handed it to her. The moment she held it, a tremor went through her. The reaction was nothing new for her. At the start of a new project or find, she found herself behaving like this. But the feeling was sharper this time, almost painful.

“It was found in an abandoned home near Inverness. The family is rumored to have been witches. As far as I can tell, there are no descendants.”

That bit of information had her excitement surging as she opened the book. The pages were yellowed from time, the words faded, some smudged. He was right about the code as she immediately picked up on Old English, Latin, and possibly Old French on the first page. The date read seventeen ninety-five.

“It’s in surprisingly good condition if the date is correct.”

Callum nodded. “I did have a lab test it. I’ve a feeling the family kept it well hidden and safe for years considering the dates span a couple of hundred years.”

“Is there something in particular I should be looking for?”

“Come again?” he asked, a hint of wariness in his voice.

It was odd. Well, the whole situation was odd in that there were so many restrictions. She understood it to an extent, but she sensed there was something else, something more he was hiding.

What was she thinking? Of course he was. But
what
was the question. Just why did he need all the security? It went beyond the normal procedures. What she needed was more information to root out his secrets.

“Is there something in particular I should be searching for? Something you want to know?”

“Truthfully, we couldn’t make anything out of it. We could only translate parts of it, and what little we did decipher made no sense. Angus thought your background in Egypt—especially pertaining to hieroglyphs—would be beneficial. Combining your expertise with dead languages, the code breaking skills would work well.”

She nodded as she carefully turned the pages and studied the text. Of course a family of witches would be secretive. Their kind had been hunted for centuries, blamed for everything from boils to plagues. This had been the only way to keep a record of their family and not be killed.

There were at least three other dead languages, and none of it made much sense together. She knew she would have her work cut out for her.

“I’ve got some work to do, so I will leave you to it.”

He gestured to her desk, and while she knew she needed to work, she felt a pang of loss. With another nod, she got down to work.

After returning to her room late that afternoon, Phoebe slid off her pumps and moaned with relief. She’d give anything to have a good pair of boots and some thick socks on her feet. Her arch was throbbing, and she sat down to massage it, closing her eyes as some of the pain diminished. She hated when she had to dress in what she termed her “professional office outfit.” Not one of the suits she’d bought in the past few years had fit. They were always too long, too bulky, too blah.

Her mother—now there was a woman who could wear a suit. Every one she wore looked made for her, but her mother had one of those slim bodies that looked good in anything. With another sigh, one filled with self-pity, she stripped off her suit and her hose. After she rummaged through her dresser, she found her favorite thermals and slipped them on.

All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and relax, but she knew she had work to do. Callum hadn’t allowed her a lot of notes, but she did have a few words to look up. She glanced at her mobile. McWalton would expect her to contact him. And she had told him she would if she thought she had something for the grant.

Excitement surged. Even as weary as she was, Phoebe gained another jolt from the thrill. A new project. One that could prove career-making. She knew she would never measure up to her parents or their love of ancient civilizations. But this could prove that her years spent studying Celtic folklore hadn’t been in vain.

She dialed McWalton’s phone, crossing her fingers that his voicemail would pick up. The grant board had eight members, but McWalton was the head, and he wanted to sponsor the winning entry. She hated dealing with him. Every move was calculated. She had the feeling he would sell his mother to the highest bidder if it would get him what he wanted. Whatever the hell that was.

“Dr. Chilton, I hope that you have something good to report.”

His chilly tone didn’t set well with her. She had only been there a day, and she wouldn’t have him pressuring her.

“Not much at the moment.”

He paused. “But you do have something in mind?”

“Yes. The family has allowed me to look over an artifact, but I need to be sure it is genuine before I decide if it works for the grant.”

“What is it?” he asked, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“I’d rather not say until I know for sure. All I can say is there’s a code to decipher.”

There was a beat of silence, and she got the feeling he was calculating, trying to figure out a way to get her to say more.

“Fine. I did talk to Sir Farthington. He’s onto something extremely big, or so he says.”

She mulled that over. Whiney Wendell was a big talker, but he usually didn’t live up to even the lowliest of expectations. If he truly had something, it probably wouldn’t hold up to her work.

“Is there anyone else vying for the grant?”

In McWalton’s hesitation, she sensed irritation or maybe even anger. He’d expected her to say something about Farthington or perhaps reveal more information about her prospect.

“Not that I’m aware of, but there are other board members, and all of us want to bring in the winning proposal. So, I am assuming they have their own protégés.”

Protégé, indeed.
As if he was teaching her something. She rolled her eyes.

“I’ll be able to report more when I’ve had more time with the piece.”

“Can you bring it to me?”

She paused. The request sounded nonchalant, but she wasn’t buying it. There was an edge to his voice, something that unsettled her. “No. It is kept under lock and key. I am only allowed to view it with someone watching me.”

“Well, then, I’ll let you get back to work.”

Let her, indeed. “I will report to you as soon as I can.”

She rang off, her chest constricting and her head throbbing. She didn’t like the duplicity, and she definitely didn’t like McWalton’s eagerness.

When she found the time, she would research the grant committee. Maybe she could sneak off to an Internet café later that week. She needed to know who else was on it just in case she needed another sponsor. Clearing her mind of McWalton, she decided to look through some of her research on her laptop. She had enough information in her own documents that she could at least do a little digging on the languages. With a sigh, she plopped down on her lush bed to get down to work.

The sooner she figured out that diary, the sooner she could win that grant and be free of her parents.

Kenneth McWalton eased back in his chair and scowled. Phoebe Chilton wasn’t being completely truthful with him. Nothing that he couldn’t fix, but he’d been so sure she would be easy. After all the research he’d done on her, he’d been positive she’d do exactly as he had planned.

Aggravation had him pushing up and out of the chair to walk to the window of his hotel room. As he studied the sidewalk below, he thought back to his conversation with the good doctor. He knew where she was, even if she hadn’t told him. He wouldn’t even bother with her if she hadn’t been hired by the Lennons.

The name of his enemy curdled the gourmet meal he’d just eaten. In his mind, he pictured Callum
Lennon
, so revered, so tortured. He knew what a vile coward Callum was, how the Lennon’s had ruined his family. Not to mention what Callum had done to Fiona.

Pain—fast and violent—pulsed in the right side of his head. Kenneth closed his eyes, trying to will the headache away. They were getting to be more common, more intense. Drawing in a deep breath, he opened his eyes and then went to his bag for the medication. After pouring out a double dose of pills, he dry-swallowed them, thinking only of freeing himself of the pain.

He needed to stay sharp if he was going to ruin the Lennons and force them to flee. He could not accept them on the same continent. The secret he knew would ruin Callum and the others, if anyone would believe it. Alas, no one would—unless Dr. Chilton could help him on that score. Everyone in Edinburgh knew of Fiona and Callum and knew McWalton had a bone to pick. If a respected archeologist revealed the mystery, well, that would hold more weight. What a field day for the rags that would be.

Another shaft of pain vibrated through his brain. He sunk down on the chaise and waited for his drugs to work. Even more, he waited for—anticipated—the day he could obliterate every hope the Lennon clan had left.

Phoebe shifted her weight in her seat, trying to get comfortable. The chair wasn’t the culprit since it was made from the softest of leather, designed for long hours of sitting. Even her professional clothes weren’t bothering her. The source of her distraction was the brooding presence who sat squarely behind the desk.

Three days. Three days he’d sat there working, barely glancing her way. She’d had a bloody hard time ignoring him, though. He did nothing to lure her away from her work. He just sat there quietly, running Lennon Enterprises. She should be able to ignore him. But more often than she liked to admit, the timber of his voice pulled her out of her studies. The calm, resonate tone, and the way his broad Scottish accent slid over the words…it was compelling.

His laugh broke her concentration. “Alastair, I gave you my offer for the land. I’m not going to haggle with you on it.”

The amusement in his voice wasn’t a common occurrence. He was straight and to the point, especially with her. Hearing the lighter tone, she just couldn’t help but glance over at him. She found him staring at her. Her breath tangled in her throat. Intense, direct, his gaze trapped her. She couldn’t look away. Heat simmered and then flared in the depths of his eyes. Need crawled through her veins, warming her blood, making her head spin. Her stomach muscles clenched as liquid heat slipped between her legs. She didn’t know if she was afraid or excited. Either way, every muscle in her body tensed. After a long moment, he broke contact, swiftly turning his chair to face the window.

Staring blindly at the text in front of her, she tried to unscramble her head.
Bligh me.
Just what the hell was that about? If she didn’t know better, she would think she’d seen lust in his eyes. But that couldn’t be. Men like him just didn’t take a sexual interest in plain archeologists.

She shifted again, embarrassed when she felt the dampness in her knickers. She crossed her legs, hoping to ease the tension. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. Moving about was just aggravating the situation. How the bloody hell could she keep herself from vaulting over the desk and jumping him? The man could get her hot with just a look. What would it be like if he actually touched her?

Mentally cursing, she shoved the thought away. He finished his call, but she didn’t look up, couldn’t. She didn’t want him to see her blushing, guess the thoughts running like an adult film through her head.

Silence descended on the room then. Unbearable, aggravating. Even as she looked over the notes she’d taken that day, her mind wandered. An itch formed between her shoulder blades, and as she always did in uncomfortable situations, she moved to fill the silence.

She risked a glance at him, almost grateful that he was reading something on his desk.

“You’re after some land?”

He didn’t look up. “Aye.”

“Here in Edinburgh?”

“No.”

She sighed. “Please, Mr. Lennon, don’t overwhelm me with conversation.”

His lips twitched. “I’m a man of few words.”

She laughed, and he looked up at her, his eyes warming and his lips curving as they shared a moment of amusement. Phoebe ignored the flip in her tummy.

With a sigh, he leaned back. “I’m looking to buy some land in the Highlands.”