Manhattan Dragon (The Treasure of Paragon Book 3) Page 2

  Nick hustled back to the house, up to the master bedroom, and slipped into the closet, cursing his decision to take this gig. His partner, Soren, had begged him to fill in for him tonight. The guy was celebrating his anniversary and said he couldn’t find anyone else. Nick had wanted to say no but, in the end, caved under the social pressure. Now he held his breath and entered the code for the safe Soren had given him. If the jewels were missing…

  A diamond as big as his thumb sparkled from its place on the blue velvet, flanked by a set of matching earrings. All pieces accounted for. He closed the drawer again and rubbed the back of his neck.

  That was it. He was officially losing his mind.

  Checking that everything was exactly as he’d left it, he smoothed the rumple in the bedspread and returned to the guardhouse. Maybe he was overthinking this. Soren had said this job would be easy money. He was overqualified. All the experience in the field was making him paranoid. Aside from his dog, Nick’s entire life was his career, and he loved the work with everything in him. He’d been overextending himself, burning the candle at both ends. It happened, and based on the hours he’d been putting in, he was overdue. That was it.

  With a laugh, he started a fresh pot of coffee and swore he’d give Soren hell the next time he saw the bastard.

  It took Rowan over an hour to undo the mistake she’d made with the detective. Every part of her ached, but then what did she expect given the significant amount of magic she’d had to use to bamboozle his brain? Nick Grandstaff—that was his last name according to the identification she’d found on him—was one distracting man. Once she’d dosed him with Harriet’s elixir, she hadn’t been strong enough to deny her curiosity about him.

  She’d been stupid to let her guard down. Stupid to shed her invisibility in the first place. Beyond stupid to then talk to the man.

  The only explanation was that he’d simply set her off-balance. She’d never reacted to a human the way she’d reacted to Nick. It was as if she’d been confronted with a triple chocolate cake after going a day without eating. She’d been enthralled. Maybe she’d gone too long without the pleasures of a man. Or maybe the stress of faking her death had made her careless. She shook her head. Who was she kidding? It was precisely carelessness that had resulted in her need to scrap that identity in the first place.

  The glass doors to Zelda’s Folly, the art gallery in Chelsea she owned and operated with Harriet, was a welcome sight. She turned her key in the lock and was relieved to find Harriet waiting for her in the office, although the gallery had been closed for hours.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” her friend said. She smoothed her expertly coiffed gray hair and leaned back in her seat. Harriet had been working all night but still looked fresh in a rose-colored suit with chunky pearl jewelry. “You must let me know if you are delayed, Rowan. I was worried we’d have to hold another funeral.”

  “Sorry. I should have called.” Rowan pulled the lockpick from her pocket and tossed it on the desk. The enchanted object was no longer the shiny silver file Harriet had given her but a crooked, rusty antique with a flat section and a kink, as if it had been placed on railroad tracks like an old penny.

  “Ye gods!” Her thin lips drew back. “What happened?” Harriet came out of her chair and rounded the desk to pull her into a hug. Her neck smelled of Chanel No. 5. “Are you okay?”

  “I had to use the nuclear method.”

  “Oh, Rowan. Caught again? My word, you are a terrible thief.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “At least this time I didn’t get arrested. I dropped my invisibility to save energy and a security guard walked in on me. I had to put the full whammy on his brain.”

  “How did he even know you were there?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe he’s an overachiever who walks the house and grounds regularly or something.”

  Harriet frowned. “Did you get the Raindrop?”

  Rowan reached into her zipped pouch and scooped the necklace and earrings out. She laid them on the desk. “I left the replica behind. Had to.”

  “If the replicas are ever assessed by a professional, they’ll never pass as the real thing. It’s a weak enchantment, layered on top of a set of plastic Barbie earrings and a cupcake pendant. Even an amateur witch could unveil the truth with a snap of her fingers.”

  Rowan laughed at the thought of Camilla sporting a cupcake around her overly Botoxed neck. “By the time they learn the truth, it will be too late to do anything about it. I wiped the detective’s mind. He’ll be lucky to remember his name.”

  “Detective? I thought you were stopped by security… a rent-a-cop?”

  “He told me he was a detective, and judging by the NYPD badge in his pocket, he wasn’t lying. I don’t think this was his regular gig. I’m guessing he was filling in for someone.”

  Harriet’s eyes widened in alarm. “He told you? You had a conversation with him?” Her voice strained in her throat. “My goodness, did you two have tea and cookies before you wiped his brain?”

  “I admit it wasn’t my brightest moment. Honestly, I can’t explain what came over me. Harriet, he walked into the room and all logical thought flew out the window.”

  “What did you say his name was?”

  “Nick Grandstaff.”

  Harriet stilled, then disappeared behind her desk. Rowan watched her bony hands dig in the recycle bin beside her chair.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Checking something. I’ve heard that name before.” If she had, Harriet would remember. As old as she was, her mind was like a steel trap. Sure enough, when she sat back in her chair, there was a folded paper in her hand. “Here it is. Detective Nick Grandstaff, NYPD, recent recipient of the Governor’s Medal of Valor for pulling a teen girl from a burning vehicle.”

  “No shit?”

  “Not even a little. This guy is the real deal. A hero. I hope you didn’t bamboozle him too badly. This city needs him.”

  Harriet passed the paper over to Rowan, and she scanned the article, her eyes lingering on his picture.

  “Nice to look at as well, isn’t he?” Harriet stared at her with piercing blue eyes that narrowed perceptively.

  Rowan shrugged.

  Sighing, Harriet added, “Since you are ambivalent to the detective’s attractiveness, you should be aware that a man with a strong mind like his might fight the serum. I don’t recommend letting him see you again or having additional long-winded discussions. It could jar the memory loose. Which identity did he see?”

  “This one.” It mattered. She had several identities, but this was the one that was public-facing. Unlike the Rowan version she’d recently buried, the detective had seen the face of the owner of Zelda’s Folly and the director of the youth center, Sunrise House. She needed this identity.

  “Oh, Rowan.” The frown of disappointment Harriet sent her cut right to her heart.

  “I made a mistake. It is what it is.” Rowan removed a small empty vial from her belt. “By the way, I’ll need more forget-me juice.”

  “It will take time to brew. My stores are low and some of the ingredients have to be shipped in from Europe. As far as this goes”—Harriet rotated the rusty pick between her fingers—“it is irreparable. I’ll have to start from scratch. I hope you’re not planning any more heists in the near future.”

  She scoffed. “Not anytime soon. Now that I’ve had my revenge on Gerald Stevenson, I’m retiring my cat burglar suit.”

  “Good. It’s not like you don’t have enough jewels.”

  Sweeping the Raindrop into her hand, Rowan rubbed her thumb across the large, tear-shaped diamond. “True, but it’s in my nature to collect things. There would be something poetic about liquidating Stevenson’s prized possession and using the money to buy the land under my building back. What are politicians going for these days? One million? Maybe two?”

  Harriet waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure you’ll find out. Just be careful. News of your other identity’s death is
spreading. Your brothers came by the old apartment this afternoon looking for you.”

  She froze. “Here, in New York? Did you say brothers, as in plural? The only one of my brothers who knows where to find me now is Alexander, and it couldn’t have been him.”

  “No. Although Alexander did send another painting.” She gestured toward the back room where they processed shipped artwork.

  “Who was it then?”

  “Tobias and Gabriel.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Tobias must have remembered the old place from his visit… goddess, that was forty years ago.”

  “I gave them the box. They were with a woman named Raven.”

  Rowan had to sit down as realization dawned. She chose a chair in front of the desk and folded into it. “Tobias and Gabriel were together?” That didn’t make any sense. All of her siblings had gone to great lengths to stay separated for their safety. When they’d come to this realm, their mother had warned them to keep their distance, and aside from a few limited visits, they’d adhered to that edict.

  “He did not introduce Gabriel as his brother, but I recognized both of them from your drawings. Of course, neither knew who I was. I passed myself off as Mrs. Fernhall, the landlord. However, I was worried the witch might be on to me—”

  “Witch?”

  “The woman who was with them, the one they called Raven, was definitely a witch. I could smell her from across the room. I don’t think she suspected me. Probably never ran into a Traveller before.”

  Rowan frowned. This couldn’t be good. If her brothers shirked her mother’s command, there had to be an extreme reason. “They wouldn’t have come together to find me if it wasn’t important.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure. Last I knew, Tobias was working as a doctor in Chicago. I think I still have his number. I’ll call him.”

  Harriet nodded. “There’s no shortage of drama in that family of yours, is there?” Her eyes roved toward the back room and Alexander’s painting again.

  “We’re dragons.” She shrugged. “We run hot and are fond of a little fire.”

  Harriet laughed.

  Rowan stood. “I’ve got to get some rest. I’m tapped.”

  Harriet rounded the desk to give her another hug. “Don’t worry about tonight. There’s nothing we can’t fix. Besides, the universe has a way of smoothing these things out.”

  “Thanks, Hattie.”

  The old woman pecked her cheek. “Do you want to take a peek at Alexander’s painting before I go?”

  “More of the same?”

  Harriet nodded. “Worse.”

  “He’s in a dark place.”

  “Artists go through peaks and valleys.”

  “Yes but Alexander has spent centuries in the valley of the shadow of death…” Rowan tilted her head. “I don’t have the energy. I’ll look at it in the morning.”

  “Tomorrow then. Rest well, dragon.”

  Rowan waited until her friend had exited through the front door, locked it behind her, and pulled down the security gate. Once Harriet was safely inside Rowan’s hired car and in the hands of her driver Djorji, she headed for the back of the gallery. Down the stairwell, she descended into the basement. The vault door there was military-grade, and she carefully tapped in the code to unlock it. There was a hiss and then the grind of metal sliding against metal.

  Overhead lights automatically blinked on as the door swung open, and Rowan released a held breath. The sight of treasure inside filled her with warmth and set her soul at ease. This was her treasure room, her sanctuary, the very best place for her to rest and heal. Every manner of gemstone winked at her under the fluorescents, along with gold coins, silver plates, and jeweled goblets that would be considered antiques today, as well as the occasional pearl necklace. She closed and sealed the vault door behind her, then fished her prize out of her pouch and tossed it on the heap. The Raindrop of Heaven and the earrings blended into the hodgepodge of valuables.

  Rowan undressed. She paused to knead the muscles in her back and shoulders, sore from the long flight. Once she was entirely naked, she took a deep breath and spread her wings. Red scales arced and stretched in her peripheral vision, each wing possessing a claw at its crest. A long, deep sleep in her dragon form was just what the doctor ordered. She’d be as good as new in the morning.

  She killed the overhead lights, then folded in half, resting her hands on the floor and welcoming her dragon form like the friend it was. Her body expanded, bones bending, flesh reordering itself as she grew and stretched to fill the subterranean space. She yawned, and her dragon teeth clacked together at the conclusion. In the fluid way that only dragons can, she dove into her pile of treasure, burrowed to the bottom, and allowed sleep to wash away the night’s worries.

  Chapter Three

  Chicago, Illinois

  Tobias woke to darkness with the feel of his mate’s firm breasts pressed into his back. Sabrina was practically wrapped around him, drawn to his above-average temperature in her sleep. Their subterranean apartment stayed a comfortable seventy-two degrees all year round, but her vampire nature meant she ran cold at night, and they’d discovered she unconsciously sought him out under the covers. He didn’t mind one bit.

  A repeated buzz came from Sabrina’s side of the bed. He cast an annoyed glance in the direction of the sound and watched her phone light up. That was weird. Tobias looked at the clock. Not even sunset. Who was texting her at this hour? The comfort of her nearness evaporated as she sat up, read her messages, and frowned. Without saying a thing, she set the phone back down, rolled over, and snuggled against his chest. His hand trailed down to cup her ass and tug her against him. Obligingly, she hooked her leg over his hip.

  “Hmmm. I love twilight,” Tobias rumbled. “Best part of the day.”

  She sighed and planted her forehead against his chest. “We need to get up. My father is on his way here.”

  “Huh? How? It’s still light out.” Tobias jerked fully awake. Sabrina’s father was a badass vampire mob boss who scared the crap out of him. Although his mate was the master of the Chicago vampire coven, Tobias hadn’t gotten over her father’s intimidating presence. Calvin Bishop was ancient and deadly. So deadly even his inner dragon got the willies in his company.

  “His human security detail is transporting him in his coffin,” Sabrina said. “It must be serious. My father does not travel during the day without cause.”

  It had only been a little over a week since Sabrina’s father had left to establish the Racine coven, leaving Sabrina behind as master of the Chicago vampires and Tobias as her consort. As far as Tobias was concerned, the transition had gone off without a hitch. Had they done something wrong in such a short amount of time? Tobias hadn’t heard any complaints from Sabrina’s fellow vampires or the humans they dealt with managing the city on a day-to-day basis.

  He flipped on the Christopher Spitzmiller lamp beside the bed, and a warm glow permeated the room. The Chicago vampire coven lived forty feet below the surface in a series of tunnels that branched all over the city. It was the perfect place for a vampire to sleep, safe from UV light as well as interference from humans during the hours they were most vulnerable. Even though Sabrina, as the only human/vampire hybrid, could tolerate sunlight, as master of the coven, she chose to keep the same hours as her people. And Tobias, as a bonded dragon, kept the same hours as his mate.

  “I’m getting dressed and hitting the coffee. You cannot expect me to face Calvin or whatever major drama is coming our way without being fully caffeinated.” Tobias bounded out of bed and started pulling on his pants.

  “I’ll text Chef and say we need a full human breakfast, pronto.” Sabrina tapped furiously on her phone. Chef Allison was new to their world. Sabrina’s father, being a full-blooded vamp had only fed on humans when he was master. But although Sabrina could feed on blood and often fed on the energy of her mate, she enjoyed regular meals as well. Thank goodness their longtime security
detail, Paul, had a wife who had studied the culinary arts. She was more than happy to come into the fold.

  In a matter of minutes, they were both showered, dressed and presentable and had just sat down in front of a meal fit for a vampire master when Paul opened the door to their luxury underground flat and announced, “Calvin Bishop to see you.”

  Two men carried in her father’s coffin and set it down beside the table. They cleared out of the room fast enough to make Tobias’s spine tingle. This was not good. Not good at all. Paul locked the door behind him.

  Tobias took a slow drink of his coffee, studying the long black box that contained his mate’s sleeping father. His gaze darted to Sabrina’s. He drank more coffee, ate another bite of toast, pushed his eggs on his plate, drank more coffee.

  “Okay, I give. Are we supposed to open this thing or wait until he wakes up?” he asked.

  “The sun is setting now. It shouldn’t be long.” Sabrina had no need of either window or watch to know that. Her vampire instincts distinguished the exact moment of sunrise and sunset without any external help. She’d told him she could feel the night in her blood. When the sun set, she described it as a shot of tequila coursing through her veins.

  “He should be…” Sabrina raised an eyebrow in his direction and carefully lifted the lid.

  Calvin sat up with a creepy factor worthy of Bela Lugosi, stiff backed and in a manner that seemed to require no effort at all, as if gravity did not restrain him as much as it did everyone else. Tobias dropped his toast.

  “Sabrina, my darling.” Her father swung his legs over the side and, in one swift move, leaped to his feet and pulled her into a hug. He turned to shake Tobias’s offered hand and greet him as well. “I see Barnard and Max were able to reach you with my message in time. Thank you both for meeting me here at this hour.”

  “We live here, Dad, and it’s nightfall. Where else would we be?” Sabrina asked.

  He shook his head. “Obviously I feared that when you got the message from the Forebears, you and Tobias might do something foolish, like run.”