The Dark Highlander

“Nah,” she said, snorting. “There’s no way they’re that old.” They were in such mint condition that they looked as if they’d been fashioned only a few years ago.

But then, she mused, all of his property did. Looked new, that was. Impossibly new. New enough that she’d entertained the possibility that they might be brilliant forgeries. Very few artifacts survived the centuries in such impeccable condition. Without the proper means to authenticate them, she had to trust her judgment. And her judgment said—impossible though it was to believe—his artifacts were genuine.

A sudden image rose in her mind: Dageus, dressed in full Scots tartan and regalia, his hair wild, war braids plaited at his temples, swinging the claymore that hung above the fireplace. The man exuded Celtic warrior, as if he’d been transplanted in time.

“You are such a dreamer, Zanders,” she chided herself. Shaking her head to scatter her fanciful thoughts, she replaced the coins in their pile, and turned her attention back to the task at hand. She turned on the computer, and tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for it to boot up. While it whirred and hummed, she sidled out into the living room and eyed the answering machine, twirling a strand of curly wet hair around a finger. The phone had rung many times since he’d turned the volume down.

She peered at it. There were nine messages.

Her hand hovered over the play button for several indecisive moments. She wasn’t proud of her proclivity to snoop, but figured as far as sins went, it wasn’t chiseled in stone on the Top Ten. After all, a girl had a right to arm herself with all the knowledge she could, didn’t she?

It would be naïve and foolish not to.

Her finger inched down toward the play button. Hesitated, and inched again. Just as she was about to press it, the phone rang loudly, startling a little screech out of her. Heart hammering, she skittered back into the study feeling weirdly caught and guilty.

Then, with an exasperated snort, she dashed right back out there and turned the volume up.

Katherine again. Sultry-voiced and purring. Ugh.

Scowling, Chloe turned it back down, deciding she’d really rather not hear them all. She didn’t need anymore reminders that she was one of many.

A few moments later, she logged onto the Internet, signed into her Yahoo! account and typed swiftly:

Tom, my Aunt Irene (God forgive her, she didn’t have one) was taken suddenly ill and I had to leave immediately for Kansas. I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to get in touch with you before, but she’s in critical condition and I’ve been staying at the hospital. I’m not sure when I’ll be back. It may be a few weeks or longer. I’ll try to call you soon. Chloe.

How neatly she lied, she thought wonderingly. She was smoking cigars, accepting bribes and lying. What was happening to her?

Dageus MacKeltar, that was what.

She reread it several times before hitting the send button. She was still staring at the “your message has been sent” message, feeling a little shaky about what she’d just done because it made it all seem so final, when she heard the door open and close.

He was back already!

She hit the shut down button, praying it would also disconnect the Internet. Though she had nothing to feel guilty about, she preferred to dodge a potential dispute. Especially after almost listening to his messages. God, he would have walked in and caught her doing it! How humiliating that would have been!

Taking a deep breath, she pasted an innocent expression on her face. “What are you doing back already?” she called as she strolled out of the study.

Then gasped, startled, and drew up short near the doorway to the kitchen.

A man, clad in a dark suit, was standing in the living room, glancing through the books on the coffee table. Of average height, wiry build, with short brown hair, he was well dressed and had a cultured air about him.

Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who strolled at will into Dageus’s unlocked penthouse. He really should start locking it, she thought. What if she’d still been in the shower, or had wandered downstairs in a towel to find a stranger there? It would have scared the bejeezus out of her.

The man turned at her gasp. “I’m sorry I startled you, ma’am,” he apologized gently. “Might Dageus MacKeltar be about?”

British accent, she noted. And a funny tattoo on his neck. Didn’t seem quite in character with the rest of him. He didn’t seem the tattoo sort.

“I didn’t hear you knock,” Chloe said. She didn’t think he had. Maybe Dageus’s friends didn’t. “Are you a friend of his?”