Christmas at Draycott Abbey (6 page)

Ian waited impatiently, his eyes on the glowing hands of his watch. Teague would be in place soon. But waiting was a torment.

Outside Ian heard a thud. And then the keening cry of a dog.

Churchill.

Damn them, they had the dog. He must have gotten out earlier, maybe past Marston and out through the kitchen.

His face carefully masked, Ian pushed open the heavy oak door.

The supposed Inspector and his assistant stood in the high beams of a Range Rover. Another car was angled in the drive behind them. Ian saw them toss a heavy fishing net down on the ground before them.

The net moved. He heard Churchill whimper.

Damn them to hell.

He was careful to betray no emotions. “Back so soon, Inspector? I’ve nothing to report, I’m afraid.”

“Your act was quite convincing, Woods. Or should I say Sinclair, Commander Sinclair of the Royal Protection Squad?” The taller man nudged Churchill with his boot, and the dog snapped vainly, trapped in the tight network of fibers. “I’ve no more time for games. Where is the woman, damn it?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Beyond the two parked cars, Ian saw a wisp of movement. Izzy would be in place now, and Calan moved somewhere out in the darkness, missing nothing.

He raised the shotgun slowly. “Unwrap the dog. Let him go. Then we’ll talk.”

“Such loyalty for a brute animal.” The ‘inspector’ shrugged. “No, we’ll talk after you bring Clair Haywood outside. Then of course I’ll release your dog.”

Ian knew it was a lie. They would all die out here in the ice storm if he wasn’t careful.

“Very well. I’m putting down my weapon.” Out beyond the moat he saw a rush of muscle and the glint of fur. But Ian kept his eyes on his whimpering dog as he slowly leaned down, placing the shotgun on the ground. Without waiting, he inched closer to Churchill, reaching for the knotted cords.

A bullet slammed into the ground beside his foot.

“Not so fast, Commander. Call the woman outside. Do it
now.
”

Ian saw Churchill wheeze in pain. The thought sent a wave of fury boiling through him.

But he forced his face to stay calm. “I’ll have to go inside. I warned her not to come out, no matter what she heard or saw.”

“A wise injunction. But now you are going to break it.”

But before Ian reached the first step, the door opened slowly.

Clair stood in the light from the hall, his jacket around her shoulders. “Of course you came. You couldn’t stop, could you? Nina wasn’t enough. But you’re too late.” She smiled coldly, her hands clenched. “I’ve already called the inspector in London. He knows your name and all the rest of your plans.”

“Most unwise of you.” He raised a squat Browning and motioned her closer. “Move away from the house. Otherwise I will shoot the Commander and his dog. I doubt you would care for that.”

Clair moved as if in a trance.

She took in the men silhouetted in the bright lights of the Range Rovers. She saw the dog, struggling weakly in his bonds. Most of all she saw Ian. His eyes warned her away, but Clair ignored his silent command.

“I can hardly harm you. It seems that you have all the weapons now. But you always were afraid, weren’t you? Always a gun beneath your pillow. Nina told me that.” She smiled thinly. “She also told me where you keep the keys to that safe. You thought she didn’t see you, but you were wrong.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Clever little fool. Not that it did her any good. Nor will it do
you
any good.”

His Browning rose as Clair moved closer.

She had no time to process the shadow that exploded from the bank of roses beside the moat. She sensed more than saw a powerful body and burning eyes.

The man standing behind the inspector fell and his weapon flew through the air. Scrambling, Clair caught it up as it hit the gravel. With a snarl the man in the black raincoat aimed his gun at the dog, already tearing through the net. Clair didn’t think. Her hand tightened, squeezing the trigger.

Her target rasped a curse and looked down in disbelief as his right leg gave way, his kneecap shattered.

Car doors opened. Two men leaped outside.

Clair felt a heavy weight at her shoulders as she was knocked to the ground. Dark fur pinned her when she would have stood. She saw Ian running now, saw a man at the low door to the gatehouse at the far side of the drive.

A bullet sang past her ear and grazed her head. She tried to stand, but something seemed to hold her fast. The perfume of roses drifted around her as she watched a powerful shape bound away toward the men fighting under the single wreath at the abbey’s great door.

Your work is done here. Leave the rest to them. You will not be betrayed this night.

Clair felt the weight of memories that came in the same instant as the brush of phantom fingers.

Adrian? Is that you?

Of a certainty. Always too stubborn and too brave. Then as well as now. But you must trust him. He will put things all to right.

And maybe, once all this is done, you’ll show me that painting you made of my roses…all those centuries ago.

If it was a dream, it felt clearer than any reality. Clair shivered and could have sworn she saw dim lace flutter against a black velvet sleeve.

Then the lights swam around her. She was so cold.

And then only darkness.

Ian fought with cold, clinical accuracy. Two men fell. From the corner of his eye, he saw Izzy take down two more. Calan was nowhere to be seen, but the muffled groans up the slope told Ian that his friend had hunted well.

He stood up, watching the man whom Clair had shot crawling through the mud, moaning.

Ian made no move to help him, moving down to free his dog instead.

Churchill gave a clumsy wag of the tail and tried to stand. He shook himself hard, nudged Ian’s leg and then bounded into the darkness.

More men waiting, Ian thought.

But where in the hell was Clair?

You must allow me my small vanities, old friend. She is well. Not that she needed the help of either of us. Guard her close.

And think well on the path before you. Do not lose her again as you did before.

Ian shoved away the odd, disjointed words that filled his mind. He saw the shape near the banked roses and knew somehow that it was Clair.

But her eyes did not open. Her hands were limp.

“Clair,” he said hoarsely, pulling her against his chest, willing her to move.

He did not release her until Izzy crouched beside him and forced his hands away.

Ian Sinclair walked through the crowded corridors, past whirring fax machines and banks of desks. No one hailed him or stopped to talk.

Eyes were averted except for the occasional glance at the black band around his arm.

His eyes were hard as he walked to his desk and methodically cleared out its contents. For a job that had spanned nearly a decade, there was precious little to show. He looked at the single Christmas card on his desk and shoved it into the dustbin.

After shoving the pens, notebooks and a single file into his canvas satchel, he stood up and glanced around the room. Silence fell. The man at the closest desk glanced up at him and cleared his throat. “Sorry about the news, Sinclair.”

Ian gave a curt nod. “So was I.”

With the satchel beneath his arm, he walked back into the streaming pre-Christmas traffic. The smell of the sea was heavy here. Strange, he had never noticed before.

When he turned and walked south, he did not look back.

The house was golden, lit by the last rays of the dying sun. Its peace and age blended with the rolling hills that overlooked the English coast.

Ian turned into the ornate gates of the estate owned by Calan MacKay, feeling muscles tighten at his shoulders. As he walked into the front hall, his friend appeared with the silence that so many people found unnerving.

“Is it done?”

Ian nodded. “Hard to believe. Ten years gone in a matter of minutes. I didn’t have anyone whom I would miss.” He shrugged. “If you offer me some of that fine aged whisky, I won’t turn it down. Not tonight.”

Calan nodded. “The fire is lit in the study. You won’t be disturbed. I’ve left the bottle there for you already.” Calan started to say something else, then took a slow breath. “I think I’ll go take Churchill for a run. We might be gone for quite some time,” he murmured.

Ian barely heard.

He opened the doors to the small room with its walls of inlaid mahogany paneling. Firelight danced over the rich red rugs. Ian barely noticed. He glanced through the empty room and then sank down in the deep armchair near the fire. With a sigh he closed his eyes.

He barely heard the movement. The fingers moved slowly, smoothing the knots at his shoulders. Smooth lips brushed his brow.

Ian felt the last of his tension fade as he gripped her hands and tugged her down into his lap. “I was starting to worry.”

“It’s all done, is it?” Clair Haywood touched his cheek, looking anxious.

“Completely done. I resigned as of three o’clock this afternoon. Your
death
at Draycott Abbey was the final straw.” He made a low sound as her fingers massaged his neck. “They asked me what I mean to do now. Private security work, I suppose. There’s lots to be had now.”

“But that’s not what you’ll be doing,” Clair said quietly.

“No, it is not. I’ll be working with Nicholas and Izzy, tracking down the rest of these men. Izzy has already found enough to suggest there is a very important man in place, too deeply hidden to be safe. And so, our work is just beginning.” He kissed her hand and then gently opened the sash of her robe. “But not tonight.”

Clair shrugged free of one sleeve and bit his lips gently. She sighed when his callused hand cupped her shoulder and slid to her breast. “Last night, Ian, you didn’t—“

“No, I didn’t. Your shoulder still needs to mend.”

She pressed closer, her face determined. “I’m fine. And I want you to treat me as if I were. I want—everything you have to give me. It is long past time, my love.”

Ian took a raw breath. Yet again she tore through all his defenses. “Clair, you can’t. Not yet.”

Smiling with a look of infinite joy, she turned carefully and straddled him in the chair. “Is that so?” The robe spilled from her sleek body and she reached down to undo his belt. “Idiot. You probably think you need to protect me, even now.”

All the words flew out of Ian’s head when her fingers slid lower, burrowing down to curve over hard, aroused skin. “But who, I wonder, will protect you from
me
?”

“No one. So I sincerely hope, my love.” Ian whispered her name as he kissed a hungry path along her shoulder. Their two bodies met, restless and hungry, matched in ardor and in trust.

Fabric rustled.

Skin met aching skin, golden in the firelight.

Around them the air seemed to still.

A single snowflake drifted down over the quiet house. Neither of them noticed the sound of soft laughter.

And then the faint, lingering perfume of roses….