Jane Kindred - The Dragon's Hunt

“Well, I thank you.” Leo gave her a dramatic little bow and slipped a length of ball chain out of his shirt from around his neck. He unhooked the clasp to slide the key onto it to hang next to the pendant he wore, an image of a wide-branching tree with roots that mirrored them. “I shall keep it close to my heart.” He patted his chest after he’d slipped the chain back into his shirt, emphasizing the firm definition of his pecs.

* * *

After Leo headed out, Rhea tidied up and checked to make sure all the valuable equipment was locked in a cabinet. She was almost home when she remembered she’d left the damn tablet.

A strong wind drove the light snow still falling across the highway, making Rhea more cautious than usual—while also keeping an eye out for wayward ghostly riders. Luckily, she saw none of those, but it was almost seven by the time she got back to the shop.

She’d left a light on in back. Had she let Leo Ström’s soulful eyes and potent scent rattle her that much? She grabbed the tablet off the counter without bothering to turn on the light and headed into the back to switch off the lamp—and gave a little yip of surprise. Leo Ström, speak of the devil, was sitting in her chair.

Correction: he was shackled to her chair.

Chapter 4

Rhea dropped her bag in the doorway. “Leo? What the hell happened?”

Leo looked embarrassed as Rhea examined the restraints at his wrists. “I came back to get my hat and surprised these two guys. I guess they were looking to steal your equipment or something. One of them pulled a gun and ordered me into the chair and cuffed me.”

The restraints were professional looking, heavy-duty leather cuffs secured with a pair of electronic padlocks. Rhea turned one of the locks in her hand. “These look serious. I’m going to have to cut the cuffs off.” She probably had a pocketknife or a box cutter in the toolbox in the back of her car. Rhea pulled aside the curtain and headed back out. “I might have something I can use.”

Leo called after her. “Maybe we should leave it. They said the locks were on a timer and they’d open automatically when the time was up. It can’t be that long. They probably just needed enough time to get away, right? We should just wait.”

“Wait?” Rhea glanced over her shoulder, incredulous. She shook her head and opened the door. “I’m not waiting around to see if they were telling the truth. Let me find something.”

There was no pocketknife, but she found a fish-gutting knife she’d forgotten about. It had belonged to her father, whose toolbox she’d been hauling around since leaving for college. Some girls kept letters and stuffed animals to remember the dead. Rhea had a toolbox.

A bell tolled distantly as she crawled out of the hatchback, some church clock chiming the hour. The mark of passing time brought her focus back to Leo’s claim. Who would use a timer on a padlock? Why would a couple of crooks even have wrist restraints with padlocks? Something didn’t add up.

When she returned, Leo had one leg crossed jauntily over the other as though he was just relaxing in the tattoo chair. He no longer looked embarrassed but completely at ease.

“Ah, you’re an angel.” He nodded at the knife in Rhea’s hand. “I knew you’d come through.” His eyes looked different somehow. Darker. Or bluer. Maybe it was just because he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

“You’re lucky I came back.” She unsnapped the sheath and slipped the knife out.

“Guess it’s a good thing I stopped in, though. Otherwise you’d have been robbed.”

Rhea paused with the knife at the edge of the first cuff. “But you’re tied up. How does that keep me from being robbed?”

“I guess finding someone here spooked them and they didn’t want to hang around.”

There hadn’t been much to rob because she’d locked up her machines and needles, and even the ink. The only thing of value had been right on the front counter in plain view of the door. The tablet hadn’t been touched. But they’d hung around long enough to threaten Leo with a gun and strap him to a chair with timed electronic locks?

Rhea regarded him. “So where’s your hat?”

“My what?”

“Your hat. You said you came back for your hat.”

“Oh.” Leo shrugged. “Yeah, guess it wasn’t even here. How dumb am I?”

Rhea straightened. “You don’t even remember telling me about a hat, do you?”

“Of course I do. It just wasn’t the most pressing thing on my mind.” He wriggled his wrists in the restraints. “Come on, doll. These are starting to chafe.”

Rhea slid the knife back into its sheath. “Don’t call me doll.”

Leo’s smile was mischievous. “What would you like me to call you?”

“How about my name? Rhea will do fine.”

“All right, then, Rhea, sweetheart, would you please get these off of me?”

Rhea folded her arms. “Is this some kind of joke?” She glanced around, half expecting to see a hidden camera. “Are you punking me?”

“I wouldn’t even know how to ‘punk’ you—unless that’s a euphemism for something. I wouldn’t mind euphemizing you, now you mention it.”

“Leo, this isn’t funny. I thought you seemed like a nice, normal person, so I gave you a chance—”

Leo’s laughter interrupted her. It infuriated her, and, at the same time, there was something deeply sensual about the way he laughed. It somehow managed not to be mocking. It was as though he genuinely found the idea amusing.

“Nice and normal aren’t words I would use to describe myself.”

“I’m beginning to sense that.”

Leo laughed again, and the timbre of his laughter tickled along her skin. “Come on, Rhea. Just release me. I promise to make it worth your while.”

“You’re kind of creeping me out right now.” Or maybe the fact that she was aroused by his laugh was creeping her out. She shivered as he chuckled softly. Nah, it was him.

“I’m sorry. I promise to be good.” He straightened in the chair and blinked at her from behind a messy lock of hair. “I solemnly swear I am not a creep.”

“You just said you weren’t nice or normal, which kind of leaves creep.”

“Oh, come now. There’s plenty of room between nice and creep. There’s interesting. Fun. Unusual. Exciting. You don’t really like nice, normal people. Admit it.” Rhea blinked back at him, matching fake innocence with fake innocence. “You’re not nice or normal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Leo studied her, taking stock with a frank gaze that made her blush. “You don’t dress like every woman your age.”

“What do you mean, my age? You can’t be much older.”

He ignored the question as if he hadn’t heard it. “So many tend to wear tight, revealing, bright colored clothing, as if they’re afraid of not being seen. The plain white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, loose cotton pants in black, practical boots—they speak of comfort, both physical and with your own individuality. Your dress is confident and unconcerned with being ‘right.’”

“I see.” She shifted her weight, feeling downright uncomfortable under his scrutiny, appreciative though it was.

“And your hair... I’ve never seen anything like it. How many colors have you got in there? I see dark roots beneath an almost platinum fair and little streaks of pale blue, pink, lavender—”

“Okay, so I like color.” Rhea ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get the floppy point out of her eyes.

“And then you put something in it to make it do that, to separate it.”

“Look, why are you going on about my hair?”

“It’s not nice or normal. It’s rather exceptional. I quite like it.”

Rhea could feel the heat in her cheeks. “Well, goodie for you. I didn’t ask for your approval—”