“Who’s Russell?” He moved closer, daring to put a hand on her shoulder.
She flinched. “An old boyfriend.”
“Wasn’t he a good one?”
“What?”
“You said you couldn’t find a good one.” The problem wasn’t lack of male interest. They’d all but leered at her in town. If she belonged to him, he would have put his fist upside a couple of heads. He’d wanted to anyway.
“No, he wasn’t good. He was slime. Most men are.” She turned, leveling him with a condemning glare.
Faelan pulled his hand away. He didn’t deserve to touch her after acting as he had. “I apologize if I was too rough out there. I might have overreacted.”
“Might have?” she said, her damp eyes shooting sparks. “You’re acting like Russell, trying to scare me, dragging me out of the crypt.
“Why?” She was too smart to still believe it was a treasure chest. Did she have more devious reasons?
“Someday I’ll want to show my children.”
“You can’t.”
“Why not? If you can’t remember anything, why are you protecting the time vault?”
He couldn’t answer without giving away more secrets. He’d already made a dire mistake by calling it a time vault. “It’s just a feeling.” She should understand that. Women always acted on their feelings. “Who’s buried in that grave?” he asked, hoping to distract her. “There was no name.”
“I tried to find out, but kept running into dead ends. I don’t think it was ever marked. The stone’s too uniform. No indentions or discolorations. I can’t imagine why someone would dig it up.”
“Maybe the archeologist got bored.”
“He wouldn’t do that. He’s out of town, anyway.”
“Could be the killer was going to bury his victim there. Who’d think to look for a body in a grave?” Even demons had to hide their carnage. Secrecy was as important to them as the warriors they fought. “Or someone else is looking for McGowan’s treasure. Who knew about the map?”
“Anyone in the family could have found it. Cousin Reggie was always nosey.”
The trait must run in the family. “Did he ever mention it?”
“No. He didn’t visit Grandma much after he grew up.” Her forehead did that pretty puckered thing it did when she was thinking. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was playing a prank.”
“Nasty prank. Who’d want to frighten you?”
She let out a string of curses that scorched Faelan’s ears. “That jackass. I bet he’s trying to scare me away so I’ll run back to him. He’s probably been watching the house, waiting for me to find the grave. That’s why he called.”
“Russell?” Something had been watching, but Faelan doubted it was human. “How far would he go to scare you?”
“I don’t know if he’d kill someone, but if he heard about the dead man, I could see him trying to freak me out. I should tell Peter—”
“No.” Faelan’s voice was sharp. “Not yet. Please.”
Bree studied him so intently he feared she was rethinking her decision to let him stay. He wouldn’t blame her. He’d frightened her, nearly beheaded her, was eating all her food, and he’d almost ravished her. She knew he was hiding the truth. If he didn’t do something to make up for his actions, he’d end up sleeping under a tree. “You said you lost an earring. I’d like to help you find it.”
“Thanks.” She sniffed, arms stiff across her body. “It was my great-great-grandmother’s.” She rubbed her ear, and he noticed the tiny hole.
At least it was in her ear. He’d held the door for a lass in town with enough metal in her face to make a small sword, and she was covered head to toe in black, right down to her fingernails and lips. Better than some he’d seen wearing what Bree called shorts that barely covered their arses.
She still looked uncertain, so he tried a different approach, one that would appeal to her curiosity. “I’ve remembered something,” he said. He despised having to depend on someone and didn’t like having to lie, but until he found his clan, he needed Bree’s help.
Her eyes flashed, and she pulled in a quick breath. “You have?”
“A name. Connor. I think it might be a surname.” He hoped it was enough to lure her inside to her research machine and off this porch. He wanted to believe the shadow he’d seen in the woods out back a few minutes ago was one of her lost campers. Or even a vicious murderer who’d tried to dispose of a body in an old grave. But he wouldn’t wager they were so lucky. He desperately needed to find his clan. He’d see if her modern machine could do that.
***
Connor. The clan named in the
He didn’t look angry now, he looked worried and ashamed. He probably expected her to toss him out. She should, but she supposed she’d be upset too, if she found someone poking around at the thing that had stolen a lifetime from her. Still, it was no excuse for acting like a caveman. “The computer’s in the bedroom.” Connor could be a Scottish or Irish surname, but he had a bit of Scottish brogue, and he’d been wearing a kilt. They had a starting point.
