The Wizard’s Shield

Chapter 4-1

- 4

-

Ilene pushed open the door and walked in.

Michael’s half smile was cold and grim. “I

suppose I should be flattered by the attention, but I’d like to

know what it’s all about. Now that we’re together, perhaps one of

you might like to explain why you’re spying on me?”

“What makes you think I’m spying on you?”

Ilene asked.

He rolled his eyes slightly upward. “Let’s

see... You were standing outside the door, trying to listen to a

private conversation. Think that might be a clue?”

“I was worried.”

“Right.” He shook his head. “Afraid I might

decide to strangle poor Jim or beat some truth out of him? Your

trust is touching. And certainly convinces me you just decided to

up and pay me a visit out of the blue, after all these years.”

“I had a reason for coming.”

He nodded. “The Diamond Council sent you to

see what I was up to. Everyone seems to be taking an extraordinary

interest in my affairs lately.”

She answered sarcasm with sarcasm. “You think

there might be a reason for that?”

“And I thought you said you weren’t a spy.

Isn’t that what you came to find out?”

“I had a more personal reason for

coming.”

“You still care?”

That ground was too dangerous to go near.

“I’ve brought you something.”

He drew a breath and went tense. “You don’t

have anything I want.”

It shouldn’t have cut after all this time,

but it did, and he meant it to. She drew a quick breath and made

sure it wasn’t a gasp. “Don’t say that until you hear what it

is.”

He shrugged. “And this explains why you were

listening at the door?”

“I told you I was worried.”

“Right. You’ve appointed yourself Jim’s

guardian angel.”

She turned and met the detective’s eyes. The

man gave her a rueful shrug.

“Maybe he needs one,” she said.

Michael turned a dangerous glare on her.

“Maybe you need one.”

“Maybe we should discuss this later.” She

looked at Jim, who watched them with avid curiosity. “You’re both

bleeding all over the place and need cleaning up.”

Michael had already turned to the detective,

ignoring her. “I want the name of the person who hired you, and all

the contact information you have. How were you supposed to report

back?”

“I have a phone number,” Jim said. “But I

don’t know if… You know about confidentiality?”

“For lawyers and doctors. Doesn’t apply to

detectives.”

“Does to me. I promise my clients

confidentiality. And I keep my word.”

“Very honorable.” Michael’s sardonic tone

suggested something other than admiration.

“Ah, well, yeah, it’s good for business.”

Jim’s voice shook.

“What if I told you your client probably

tried to kill me at least once and maybe more than that? What if I

said he’s probably tried to kill Ilene as well?”

Jim threw a glance her way. He reached behind

to steady himself on the edge of the desk and swallowed hard. “I’d

say I’m terribly sorry to hear that, and if you want to hire me,

I’ll do all I can to protect you, but it doesn’t change my

obligation to my other clients.”

Michael drew a sharp breath that sounded like

a hiss. “What if I said you won’t leave this room alive unless you

give me a name and phone number?”

Jim straightened himself up. “Isn’t that

exactly why the young lady is here?”

Michael went very still. Ilene felt the air

start to crackle around him. Blue and indigo swirls of power

gathered. Just when she thought she would have to step between the

two men, Michael rammed a fist down on the nearest shelf, which

promptly collapsed and spilled its contents into the debris on the

floor. Most of the gathering power dispersed. “Shit.”

He wasn’t swearing about the damage.

“Damn it,” he said. “Is there anything you

can tell me without violating confidentiality?” He ran a

long-fingered, graceful hand, the undamaged one, through his hair,

pushing it back from his face. “It could be worth our lives.”

“And you did save mine.” Jim scratched his

forehead for a thoughtful moment. “Not giving anything away,” he

said slowly, “but if you were to go to my room at the SeaGull Lodge

up the street and check in the briefcase there, you might find some

interesting papers. Just might.”

“And would I find a key to the room in your

pocket?” Michael asked.

The man pulled a key out of a pants pocket

and dropped it on the floor. “Drat. Must have fallen out while I

was being blown around the room. Number 35.”

Michael glanced at the key but left it where

it was. “A couple more questions. Where outside of D.C. are you

located?”

“Annandale.”

“How long ago were you hired?”

“Three weeks ago.”

Michael nodded and looked around, surveying

the wreckage of what had once been an office. “How about working on

repairing that window? You should still be able to get to a

hardware store before it closes.”

“Hold it. Hold it! Enough with the macho

stuff,” Ilene said. “Good grief! Don’t you guys think you should

get cleaned up first and have those cuts looked at before you go

tearing off? You’ve both got blood all over the place, your clothes

are torn up, and you’re wet from head to foot. I’m betting some of

those cuts need stitches.”

Jim laughed harshly and looked down at his

own shredded, stained clothing. “She’s got a point, you know.”

“Another trip to the hospital?” Ilene

asked.

“There’s a Doc-in-a-Box on the other side of

the bridge,” Michael answered. “It’s not much—no x-ray equipment,

but they can sew up the cuts there. Home Depot right up the street,

too.”

Mrs. Wendall rushed into the room right then

and stopped when she saw Ilene. “There you are. You weren’t in your

room when I came to see if you needed anything.” The woman paled as

she looked from one man to the other. “Michael! You haven’t done

anything about those cuts! You’re dripping blood. You, too,

Jim.”

Ilene moved to her side, afraid she might

faint. “Have you got any towels we can wrap around the cuts until

we can get to the clinic?”

Mrs. Wendall drew a deep breath and said,

“Right in there.” She went into an adjacent room and returned with

a stack of hand towels. Ilene took a couple from her and headed for

the handyman, content to leave Michael to Mrs. Wendall’s care, but

Michael forestalled her by sticking out an arm as she passed.

“Get a towel on this,” he demanded. “Before I

completely ruin the blasted carpet.”

Ilene looked at the splotches of blood, the

wet spot under the window, and the mess of broken objects all over

the floor. “Too late, I think.” Nevertheless she used one of the

towels to wrap around his right forearm, where the blood welled

from a long, shallow s***h that angled from just below the outside

of his elbow to a couple of inches above his wrist.

She struggled to ignore the prickles of

awareness that rushed through her when she touched him. He was just

a man she hadn’t seen for a long time, one who’d disappeared from

her life years ago without a word, leaving behind what they’d had

together. He meant nothing to her now. Nothing.

“This one’s worse,” he said, holding out his

left hand. A wadded-up, red cloth dropped out when he opened his

fingers, showing a nasty-looking cut across the palm. Her stomach

twisted. The cloth hadn’t started the day red. The balled-up

handkerchief had absorbed so much blood there were only a few white

patches left.

“Can you move your fingers?” she asked. Ilene

let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding when he did.

She wrapped the hand tightly in one of the towels.

“Anything else?” She let her gaze drift from

his hands up along his arms to his shoulders, neck, and face. A few

scratches showed but nothing significant other than the one on his

forehead. Despite the line of blood running down his temple, it was

more bruise than cut. No serious damage.

She breathed a sigh of relief and studied him

while avoiding meeting his gaze directly, noting the subtle changes

twelve years had wrought. Small lines showed at the corner of his

eyes and mouth. Not laugh lines. They suggested prolonged stress or

even suffering, echoing the shadows that lingered in his unusual

eyes.

A curl of…something…began to unfold deep

inside her. It couldn’t be tenderness, or longing, or a desire to

hold him and ease whatever pain he felt. No, and no, and no. She

didn’t want to remember how the muscles of his shoulders felt under

her hands, or the time she’d kissed and nibbled on his neck. She’d

been so young then. So stupid.

“Only my forehead, I think,” he answered.

Ilene forced herself to meet his eyes. The

harsh coldness she found there quashed the incipient desire and

nearly made her sick to her stomach. She wondered if anything of

the boy she’d loved still lived on in the man. And what had changed

him so drastically?

“You haven’t been squeamish about the blood

so far,” he said.

Ilene sighed and used a towel to wipe it from

his cheek and temple, until she could see the wound. A nasty,

swollen area surrounded it, already beginning to turn purple. “This

wasn’t glass.”

“Something hit me while I was hanging onto

Jim.”

“And not shielding yourself.”

He drew a harsh breath and stopped her wiping

his face by putting his undamaged hand on her arm. “I have limits.”

He looked at the other two people. Mrs. Wendall had finished

mopping up Jim, who now held his arm tight to his side, holding a

towel against a cut there and another one wound around the arm.

“Let’s go and get this taken care of.”

They paraded downstairs to the garage, which

sat below the house. Ilene stopped in astonishment when she saw

what it held. “You’ve got a Porsche?”

Michael shrugged. “I earned it. But we’re

taking the truck.” He nodded toward a Chevy pickup that occupied

the rest of the two-car garage.

“Okay.”

Michael opened the passenger door and nodded

for her to get in.

“Uh-uh. Keys.” She held out hand her for

them.

“No way.”

“You can’t drive with that hand,” she

insisted.

“I’ll manage.”

“You’ll manage to get us killed.”

“Your confidence in me is just inspiring,” he

said. “I love the way you’re building up my ego.”

“You’ll get blood all over the steering wheel

and upholstery. You know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of

things?”

“That’s… Oh, hell, you’re probably right.” He

handed the keys to her and got into the passenger seat.

Fortunately, it was the kind of truck that had a back seat. Jim

slid into the rear.

Ilene wasn’t used to handling a vehicle as

large as the truck, but managed it pretty credibly, she thought.

There were more than the usual challenges on the road, too, in the

form of debris blown around by the storm. Wet sand made the

pavement unexpectedly slick, but she avoided any skids, even when

she had to veer around a wooden shutter blown into the center of

the road.

At the emergency care center, they had to

wait in line to get their paperwork attended to, and then even

longer to be seen. Because they joined a group of other storm

victims with minor injuries, as well as a few with illnesses, it

took nearly three hours before they got out again, sewn up, taped,

and bandaged.

They proceeded to a fast-food outlet and

grabbed a couple of burgers each. It helped fill some of the void

left by the drain of power.

As they sat at a grubby plastic table and

ate, Michael consulted his watch and said, “We can still make it to

the Home Depot before it closes, if we hurry.” He took his own

advice and made short, rapid work of the last burger.

A few other bedraggled customers gathered

repair supplies at the store as well. By the time they returned to

the island, the sun had nearly reached the horizon behind them.

As they got out of the truck again, Michael

nodded to the roll of plastic they’d bought, and asked Jim, “You

think you’re in shape to get this put over the window tonight?”

“No, he’s not,” Ilene said. “He just—”

Both men ignored her.

“Sure, why not?” Jim answered.

Ilene shook her head in disbelief. “Because

you’ve got stitches in your side? Hello?”

“I can get the plastic up easily enough,” Jim

said. “I can work on the rest tomorrow.”

“Don’t mind me. I just stand around and have

good ideas,” Ilene said.

They didn’t pay any attention.

They met the housekeeper on the way in.

Michael explained what Jim was going to do and added that he had to

go out again for a few minutes.

“Me, too.” Ilene added.

Michael turned to her. “No. Stay here and

help Jim.”

“We had this discussion earlier.” She pointed

to his heavily bandaged hand.

“No blood now. I’m just going a few blocks.

I’ll manage.”

“You’ll need two hands.”

“Not for…” He swore again, under his breath,

probably in deference to Mrs. Wendall. “The heck with it. Let’s

go.”

“Why are you here, Ilene?” he asked once they

were back in the truck, on the way to the hotel. He didn’t demand

or try to intimidate this time. If anything, he sounded tired and

perplexed. “What does the DC want from me?”