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  Tex nodded. Pulling open another of those stainless drawers, he lifted out a box of keys.

  “Pick your poison,” he said.

  “Something fast and overlooked,” Creed answered.

  “Here you go.” Tex flipped him a pair of keys on a small ring. “Third from the end, back row. Looks like hell, runs like it’s boosted with rocket fuel.”

  “Good enough.” Creed said. “And thanks.”

  Chiana watched him drop a roll of bills on the table along with the keys to the SUV they’d arrived in. As Creed led her out the door and across the parking lot, she realized that after years of controlling her own fate, she’d irrevocably placed it in the hands of this man.

  That ought to scare her to death. Instead, she felt the safest she had in a long, long time.

  * * * *

  Chiana had expected the key from Tex to fit something rough and rugged, like a tough four by four that would climb hills and ford rivers. Or a Hummer, maybe, created for war but converted to be a suburban status symbol. When Creed slipped the keys into the door lock of this old truck, she thought he’d misheard its location. She could see it hauling pigs or hay, but not as a getaway vehicle.

  That was before she noticed its tinted windows, unexpected in a rust bucket with as much primer as paint on the exterior. And before Creed unlocked her door and she opened it to an interior that looked new and a dash with gizmos she’d never seen before.

  “I take it this thing’s not straight off the farm,” she said.

  Creed didn’t answer. Big surprise. He’d gone silent during her tracer removal and stayed that way except for his brief goodbye to his friend. Not that he’d been any brilliant conversationalist. Still, if she was heading for her death, she’d at least like to know the favorite food and best childhood memory of the guy who was determined to die with her.

  Chapter Nine

  Mick felt like death warmed over. His body ached as if he had the flu, he had one mother of a headache and he was repulsed by food despite the fact that he was starving. Whatever was wrong, it wasn’t an ordinary illness. He didn’t have chills, fevers or a combination of the two. His pulse was steady when he took it, as he suspected his blood pressure also would be.

  He tried to remember when the cruddy feelings began. Before his blackout, he knew that much. He blinked and tried for any memory past driving to the diner in Louisville for breakfast.

  Be nice if he knew where he was. Or why he’d come here. A vague memory buzzed at the back of his brain, something to do with Chiana. He tried to reel it in, make it concrete, but he couldn’t.

  Mick looked, trying to place a familiar landmark.

  Nothing.

  A billboard a few yards down advertised a car dealership, his first clue where he was. He stared at it in confusion. If that dealership was local, then he was in West Virginia. But why?

  Taking a deep breath, he slid behind the wheel of his truck, wincing as the movement activated the hammers inside his head. Despite the pounding and the nausea, he knew he had to get out of here. Had to go home. Had to be there when…

  Damn. He couldn’t remember why he had to be back in Louisville. It wasn’t Monday yet. Was it?

  He turned the key and eased the pick-up into drive, pulling back onto the highway when there was a break in traffic. He found a traveling speed and hit cruise control. He’d let the truck take him back while he tried to figure out whether he was sick, crazy or possessed.

  * * * *

  “We need to talk.”

  “You know that’s one phrase every man dreads, don’t you?” Creed glanced over at Chiana, who looked both serious and unhappy.

  “Too bad. I’m tired of being treated like a victim. I’m a senior agent, a position I got by working my ass off, being willing to take any assignment and not giving up before the job is done. No offense, but I don’t need a strong, manly guy to come save fairy-princess me. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself, but I have to know everything, not just the bits and pieces you toss my way.”

  “Nice speech,” Creed said. “Been working on it long?”

  The silence that followed made him halfway regret his smart-ass reply. Yeah, she probably should know everything. He’d want to, if it was him.

  “What do you want to know?” he finally said.

  “What the worst is that can happen. I mean besides my being hauled off to another world. What’s the worst that can happen in this one?”

  “We die.”

  More silence.

  “How much do you know about my mother?”

  “Nothing about her personally,” Creed said. “And not as much as I should about Valkyries.”

  “I didn’t know I was one until right before my mother died,” Chiana confided. “When she first told me, I thought the pain meds she was on were making her hallucinate. Of course, that’s before I got into this line of work and learned how many creatures we share our world with.”

  “When did you decide she was right?”

  Chiana gave a short laugh. “When something touched me in the parking lot yesterday morning and an unwanted piece of body art showed up on my arm.”

  They were both quiet as the miles slid away under their tires. Creed would have given his left arm to know what she was thinking. Did she have some knowledge she didn’t understand but might get them out of this mess?

  Or was she thinking about letting the spirit warrior take her?

  “Do you want to do me?” she suddenly asked.

  “Do you?”

  “Yeah, you know. Horizontal tango, two bodies tangled in the sheets. Sex.”

  Creed was speechless. Of all the things he thought they’d talk about, this was definitely low on the list.

  “I mean, Odin wants his Valkyries to be virgins, right? So if I’m not one, the ghost dude following us will go away and everything will be fine. Yes or no?”

  “No.” Creed pushed down harder on the accelerator.

  “Why ‘no’? No, you don’t want to have sex with me or no, that’s not going to do the trick?”

  “No, because this thing has gone too far. From what Lillian’s books say about Odin, patience isn’t on his list of virtues. If the dead warrior manages to take you back and you’re not pure as the driven snow, he’ll find ways to punish you, plus send his messenger back to take care of the guy who did the deed.”

  “As in sorry, you’re dead?”

  “As in I’ll die eventually, but he’ll plan many horrible things to do with me first.”

  “Oh.”

  Creed had managed to slam a mental door on the most disturbing of the things he’d read while Chiana slept. Her question opened it wide again. Guardian Security was one of only a handful of organizations around the world that knew better and fought the things that go bump in the night, yet Creed knew the folks on the top floor were blissfully oblivious to the duties of the agents who worked on the lower floors.

  He figured a long and happy life was nowhere in his future, but he preferred not to be introduced to the Grim Reaper via horrible and inventive torture. He also knew Chiana hadn’t done the same research, so she didn’t realize what might lie in store for them both.

  Creed’s bigger fear was opening a portal that allowed Odin’s army to travel in and out of this plane as they wished. Knowing the planes could be traveled one person at a time was worrying enough. Creed didn’t intend to see the world he knew decimated at one man’s whim, even a god like Odin. Especially a god like Odin.

  Chiana’s offer wasn’t something he could ignore. He’d worked hard at not imagining being in bed with this woman, which got more difficult every time her mood changed and she came on to him. He lived a Spartan life by choice; sex wasn’t part of it. What he did, who he was, poisoned his marriage, and he wasn’t going to expose another innocent just to get laid.

  She’d probably hate to know it, but Creed considered Chiana an innocent, too. Yeah, she was tough. Yeah, she fought the same kind of creatures he did and lived to tel
l about it. But beneath the hard shell she’d built around herself, deep below the physical scars that dotted her skin, she still believed good triumphed.

  He knew better. Sometimes evil started in first place and kept the lead.

  Caroline’s image flashed into his mind. She’d had that same kind of innocence before she’d been teamed up with him. Before they’d gone to Haiti. Before she’d…

  “Have you decided what we’re going to do in these caves you’re taking me to?”

  His hands jerked on the wheel as he surfaced from the dark memories dragging him down.

  “Sort of.”

  “Wow, I feel lots better now.”

  Creed ignored the sarcasm. He wasn’t about to tell her what he intended to try. If it worked, she’d be free of her invisible stalker and get to go back to staking vampires and throwing holy water on hell imps. If not, he’d be dead and she’d be toting mugs of mead to Odin’s favorites.

  “I mean you’re terrific company and all, but I figure I’ve fifty or sixty years of natural life left, and I hadn’t planned on spending it wandering around underground. Besides, all the clothes I have are on my back, and I’m pretty sure they’ll start to fall off me in a decade or so.”

  Creed was finding it harder and harder to ignore her. Yeah, she was a smart ass, but she was a funny one. When she was in total control of herself, he could see why Hardison wanted her back beside him. He had a feeling she’d be as good in a fight as any man he’d ever met.

  Then again, he’d thought the same thing about Caroline, and look how that turned out. Sometimes he wanted to find her, see how she was doing now, but he never tried. He’d done enough to her as it was. He refused to be the agent of destruction in whatever life she’d made for herself.

  He held the steering wheel so tightly that his fingers were cramping. He took his right hand off the wheel to wiggle his fingers and wake them up then did the same with the left one. As his hands relaxed, Creed realized his legs were every bit as tight, and his butt felt like he’d been riding on a concrete block for the last fifty miles.

  He glanced over at Chiana, who was in a different position than the last time he’d looked her way. She could probably use a stop to stretch, too.

  “How far yet?” she asked, as if she could read his mind. “I’m really stiff.”

  “Hour, maybe hour and a half.”

  “Oh.”

  She turned to stare out the window again. Creed forced himself to forget about her and concentrate on what came next. How were they going to enter those caves without getting caught?

  His first impulse had been to pay the admission fee and join a guided tour. When their guide was busy, he figured, he and Chiana could sneak down a passage that wasn’t open to visitors and simply disappear. He discovered flaws in that plan the more he thought about it.

  Not knowing anything about the caves was a huge drawback. But a bigger one was not coming back with the rest of a tour group. Their absence would bring everyone with any rescue experience down on them. Expert cavers would fan out and explore the side passages, intent on bringing them back out safely.

  “Are you tired?” he asked.

  “Kinda,” Chiana admitted. “That couch wasn’t very comfy. I wouldn’t turn down a nap.”

  “Then grab me a cell phone from the glove compartment.”

  Less than a minute later, he was talking to the one man he trusted without hesitation.

  “Tex, I need a place to sack out until dark. Here are my GPS coordinates.”

  As usual, Tex came through. Creed turned onto a two-lane road and drove a few miles before catching a graveled driveway lined on both sides with trees. The foliage thickened as they went; if he hadn’t trusted Tex, Creed might have thought they were on a wild goose chase. But just about the time he was ready to give up, he drove up a small incline and around a curve to a small log house behind a sturdy fence.

  Stopping by the gate, Creed jumped out and punched the code Tex had given him into a sophisticated lock panel. Despite its rustic appearance, the gate slid smoothly open and closed practically on the bumper of the rattletrap truck as they drove through.

  “Timed entry,” Creed explained as Chiana turned in her seat to stare at the gate. “We’ve got four minutes to punch the second set of numbers into the panel at the house. If we don’t, people we prefer not to see will send someone to find out what’s going on. We don’t want that.”

  He didn’t have to mutter the word “agency” for Chiana to catch on. She’d never seen or even suspected this darker side of the agency. She wondered how many people like Tex were out there, playing both sides.

  A shiver slid down her spine. Maybe she didn’t want to know. She hated to think the clerk for her department could split a pizza with her one day and send the figurative hounds after her the next.

  She followed Creed as he jumped out and bolted up the cabin steps, wondering for a moment if it would be so awful if they lost to the agency. Right now, the idea of being locked up in a cell deep underground held an appeal. Being poked and probed by a group of eager scientists had to be better than trying to fight an enemy she couldn’t see, smell or even sense.

  “Come on.” Creed grabbed her hand and pulled her in. “I’ve got to reset the alarm before it sends out an intruder alert.”

  His hand was warm; she wanted to lace her fingers through his and keep the contact. Even before her mother died, Chiana had been fending for herself. Relationships weren’t easy for her. Whether just becoming friends or pursuing something more romantic, she couldn’t seem to manage anything beyond the superficial.

  She hadn’t wanted more until now. Until Creed.

  Was this how love felt? Was this how her mother had felt? She’d given up everything, moved to an entirely different world, because of passion.

  Chiana could only vaguely remember her father. He’d been tall, good-looking with a laugh that made her feel secure. Of course, she was only four when he was killed in a head-on collision. That’s all she knew of him; that’s all her mother was willing to tell her.

  She’d accepted the silence. She was at the right age to push for answers when her mother got sick, but she was too worried about her only parent dying to care about the one who was already gone.

  “You okay?”

  “Compared to what?” she answered. Pulling her hand from his, she started exploring the house to escape his presence.

  Still, he followed as she wandered from room to room, inspecting the two bedrooms and single bathroom, ending up in the kitchen. She heard his heavier footsteps but ignored him. She wanted, needed some time alone. She was drawn to him thanks to that spell he’d chanted. Her senses went into hyperdrive around him, and she was ready to spend a little time in neutral.

  “Do you know how to make coffee?” she turned and asked.

  Creed nodded.

  “Good. You can do that while I take a bath. I’m sick of feeling grubby and dirty. I don’t suppose this place comes with a fantastic wardrobe hanging in the closet.”

  “Check the bedrooms and see. There might be something.”

  Chiana’s exploration of the smaller bedroom revealed a paperback novel in the drawer of the nightstand and an extra-large man’s t-shirt in a dresser drawer. In the closet of the second bedroom, she found a pair of sweat pants that looked only a bit too large and a chambray work shirt in a men’s small. She held it up against her body and sighed, remembering the old adage that beggars can’t be choosers.

  Draping them over her arm, she checked the drawers of the highboy dresser. A pile of underwear filled one drawer; she picked through until she found cotton granny panties that looked like they might fit her. They weren’t like the ones she bought at Victoria’s Secret, but they were clean.

  Chiana heard Creed moving around in the kitchen as she crossed the hall to the bathroom. She turned on both taps, gratified to see a thick stream of water. She stuck her hand under the spout, relieved to know there was hot as well as cold.

&n
bsp; Her dirty clothes were soon in a pile on the floor. She stepped into the tub, missing her usual scented bubble bath, and sighed as she slid beneath the water. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and let loose of the tension that had become a constant companion.

  * * * *

  The aroma of coffee filled the air as the old percolator Creed found began its work. The steady blurp as the water bumped against the glass insert in the pot was a homey sound that reminded Creed of his married days. Early on they’d fallen into the habit of Creed making breakfast while his wife took a shower. The sound of the bathtub filling as he measured the grounds and poured in water brought him too close to memories he wanted desperately to forget.

  The past was the past; the future was too far away. His focus was on the present, and keeping the woman down the hall out of reach of the paranormal force that sought her. The explanation he’d given her, to prevent a possible opening from their world to Odin’s, was only part of the reason he was here. The other was that Chiana was a fellow agent, and they lived by an unspoken code: Die before you let another agent be taken.

  He’d already failed once in Haiti, with Caroline. He’d be damned if he’d let that happen again.

  Concentrating on finding something for Chiana to eat, he opened the refrigerator door then the freezer. As he expected, he found nothing but ice cubes. The cabinets yielded a better treasure, enough to make a meal. He glanced at the clock above the stove, trying to decide what to cook in mid-afternoon.

  By the time Chiana walked into the room, smelling of soap and wearing clothes that almost fit, corn beef hash was cooking in a small skillet and canned potatoes he’d found and sliced were frying in another. Creed poured coffee into a mug emblazoned with #1 Teacher and handed it to her.

  “If you need to doctor it up,” he said, waving his hand toward a small can of evaporated milk and a box of sugar cubes he’d found.

  Chiana grimaced.

  “Is that stuff any good?” She picked up the can of milk and sniffed the triangular opening Creed had punched into the can.