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  It shouldn’t have been as dangerous as it had turned out. She didn’t have enough money in the bank, ordinarily, to have thrown up red flags when she withdrew it. It was the fact that she’d had a tail that had created the problem. Fortunately, she had expected it.

  She’d still felt like a bank robber and she resented the fact that they’d forced her into a lot of cloak and dagger bullshit that she shouldn’t have had to worry about. It was her money!

  And she wouldn’t have considered that she would need it so badly if not for the fact that she’d had to leave just about every damned thing she owned to keep from alerting them to her intentions to start with!

  Forcing it from her mind after her second day on the road when there was still no sign that they’d picked up her trail, she went to phase two. She left the car she’d borrowed from her friend and bought a car from the newspaper. It was a lot more iffy in terms of reliability, she supposed, but she didn’t want to go to a car lot—even a used one—and the car looked good enough even though it was a long way from new to avoid being stopped because of economic profiling.

  Besides, the color and style were common on the road. She thought there was a good chance there would be ‘sightings’ reported that would convince them for a while that she was still headed south. She did in fact, continue south for at least a hundred miles before she got off the interstate and took a small highway for several hundred miles before she got back on a westerly interstate.

  By her fifth day on the road, Marlee managed to put her anxieties of being followed and possibly detained far enough to the back of her mind to focus on the task ahead of her—discovering just what the hell had happened to her in those woods. She was pretty sure they wouldn’t expect her to head back to the scene of the attack—She hoped to hell they wouldn’t anyway.

  ———

  Twilight began to settle over the landscape like the dimming lights in a theater as the bright disk of the sun sank slowly behind the tallest peak of the nearby mountain range. As it did, the Natives, dressed in native dress or maybe theatrical recreations from those bygone times, began a rhythmic thumping on the drums. Marlee’s heart executed a strange little stammer, as if pausing to catch the step, as the first notes vibrated through her and then it began to beat in concert to the drums.

  She hadn’t come to watch the show even though she’d been posing as a tourist since her arrival a few hours earlier. She’d only intended to grab a few souvenirs to support her claim, but somehow she couldn’t seem to move once the drums began.

  Torch bearers appeared. Half naked, their sinewy bodies glistened in the flickering light as they moved toward the wood stacked in the center of the circle and knelt to light it. Almost the moment the fire caught, the sound of the drums intensified, swelled to fill the air and the ground beneath the spectators. The dancers began to move rhythmically to the beat, began to sing a strangely haunting chant. The incomprehensible words of the ritual, uttered in an ancient tongue, washed over Marlee and through her as if they truly did carry magic.

  As enthralled as she was by the scene playing out before her, one dancer in particular caught her eye. She had no idea why. Like the others, he wore the ritual costume. His face was painted, obscuring the features beneath, distorting them in concert with the deepening shadows cast by the fire he shuffled around. He was tall and well formed, all sinewy muscle, but so, too, were the others—perhaps a little taller, his muscles a little more defined. His black hair was like the night—cool, deep, as mysterious as his strange golden eyes.

  And yet, for whatever reason, from the moment he caught her attention, she found she couldn’t look away, found herself struggling to pierce the shadows and the paint he wore to study the face beneath. She felt herself sinking deeper into the magic. Her heart abandoned the rhythm of the drums, fluttering a little faster. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. An odd sense of familiarity washed over her.

  She immediately questioned it. She couldn’t think of any time she’d actually met up with a Native American man and it seemed absurd to think he would seem familiar otherwise.

  The feeling persisted, regardless of her efforts to dismiss it and she found herself searching for an answer despite her fascination with the man, struggling even harder to pierce the disguise of the paint. His features were different from the others, she decided, not just in the sense of individuality, but different in a way that suggested he might not be of the same tribe as the others—or maybe not even pure blooded—if there even was such a thing anymore.

  She wasn’t even sure of how she’d arrived at that conclusion. The sense of recognition didn’t solidify. She was no closer to understanding why she’d had the vague sense of having seen him before when she’d mentally peeled away the paint.

  Trust her perception?

  How could she when she was well aware that the shadows, the drums, and the chants had woven a spell upon her?

  Maybe that was it, she thought whimsically? Magic. Maybe she’d been an Indian woman in another life?

  Unfortunately, she didn’t believe in reincarnation.

  What she did believe in, knew for a fact, was that she was just as susceptible to her hormones as the next person, possibly more susceptible considering how long it had been since she’d been in any sort of relationship.

  He was attractive. That was all. Maybe more attractive because he was exotic and also because of the setting? It was easy to imagine him as some wild, untamed warrior from the past and she was no more immune to the romanticism of that than the next woman.

  The impulse struck her when the exhibition ended to seek him out—to see if the attraction was stronger or if the spell had been completely broken—but she discovered when the applause of the spectators had petered out and they began to disperse that he’d vanished like the smoke wafting toward the sky from the fire. Disappointment wafted through her, more disappointment than she should’ve felt.

  Maybe she should just be glad, she thought wryly. This way she was left with the fantasy.

  Noticing that most of the tourists were heading back to their cars, she hesitated, but she’d meant to explore the tourist shop and perhaps pick up a souvenir or two to support her story about being a tourist. Again, she hesitated, glancing around one last time for any sight of the ‘warrior’ who’d caught her interest. Sighing when she still didn’t see him, she decided to head to the souvenir shop to see if they were still open for business.

  She discovered she was in luck. The bell above the door tinkled as she stepped inside.

  Glancing toward the proprietor—a Native American in full historical dress—she looked a question. “Do I have time to look around a little before you close?”

  “Sure. Help yourself. I won’t be closing for a couple of hours.”

  Surprise flickered through her, but when she’d scanned the store she realized that it was more than a memento shop. The entire front of the store was filled with all sorts of Native American crafts, but the rear half was a grocery. Shrugging inwardly, she decided she might as well pick up a few things for her stay at the camp ground while she was at it.

  Neat stuff first? Or should she be practical and look for actual supplies first and trinkets later? A real tourist, she decided, would focus on the trinkets first.

  She looked around until she spied a few small shopping carts and began wandering up and down the display of Native crafts. It was nicely displayed, she thought wryly. The impulse to throw one of everything into her basket was strong. She curbed it. As much as she loved the crafts, she was on the run and she didn’t know where she was going to land. All she had intended when she came in was to find one or two ‘special’ things to support her pose as an ordinary tourist.

  The chimes over the door tinkled again when she stopped to study the ‘war shields’. She glanced in that direction, feeling her heart leap at the possibility that it might be ‘him’. She saw instead that it looked like another tourist. He certainly wasn’t a Native with that blond hair! Not
hard on the eyes, though, if the profile was anything to go by. She toyed with the idea of staring until she got a really good look at him but turned away when she saw that he was about to glance in her direction, struggling to regulate her pulse.

  She must be seriously horny, she thought a little irritably! What in the hell was with her, anyway? Maybe it was just that her blood was still warm from watching the interesting warrior, but even that had been more than a little disconcerting considering her situation.

  The thought resurrected his image in her mind, increasing the jitteriness in her stomach that she realized hadn’t completely settled and, she decided, answered that question fairly neatly.

  If she hadn’t been randy before she’d watched the exhibition, she certainly was now!

  Selecting one of the dream catchers hanging beside the war shields instead, she was about to move away when a display of illustrated books caught her eye. Intrigued, she paused to study them. As she’d suspected, they were historical ‘comic books’, not the run of the mill super hero variety. The cover of one caught her attention fairly quickly, mostly because it seemed out of place among the tales of tribal battles and victories. It was the legend of the golden dragon.

  Wondering what that could possibly have to do with the Native American culture, she picked it up and flipped through it, skimming the pictorial story. She frowned, more intrigued as she caught the gist of the story.

  Apparently, long, long ago a golden dragon had entered one of the villages of the people, disguised as a beautiful woman with long, golden hair and it was from her that the totem of the golden dragon had come.

  She was so engrossed, she barely registered the man that approached her until he spoke.

  “Are you going to buy? Or just read it here?”

  Laughter threaded his voice but guilt still crept into Marlee cheeks in a red tide. She jumped at the deep, male voice, sending him a startled glance. The discovery that it was the other patron she’d noticed quelled some of her discomfort, but he was handsome enough that it sent a shockwave of a different kind through her, scrambling her brain. For several moments, she merely gaped at him. Slowly, it dawned on her that she was gaping in awe and the discomfort from before surged through her. “I beg your pardon?” she stammered, struggling to remember what he’d said and coming up empty.

  He flicked a look at the book in her hands.

  “Oh! Oh—I just got caught up in it.” She hesitated and dropped it into her cart.

  He chuckled. “You don’t have to buy it. I just used it as an excuse to meet you.”

  “You did?” As flattered as the female side of her was, wariness instantly tightened inside her.

  He held out a hand. “Gabriel. Tourist?”

  Marlee blinked at him, trying to kick-start her brain. “Uh ….”

  He grinned at her. Her brain fried and her belly began to dance an Irish jig. “It wasn’t a trick question.”

  She reddened until her face felt like it was on fire. What was wrong with her! She was twenty-eight years old! Way too old to act like some awkward teenager just because a drop-dead gorgeous man had spoken to her! “I’m sorry. You caught me off guard. My mind was somewhere else.”

  On her coochie, clearly!

  “Marlee.”

  His dark blond brows rose.

  It took Marlee a moment to realize she’d been so bowled over by his looks she’d given him her real name instead of the name she was traveling under. Mentally, she kicked herself a couple of times before it dawned on her that he was waiting for her to give him the rest of her name. “Marlee Mercedes. My friends call me Mercy.” Fuck! The man had thoroughly rattled her to screw up twice in as many minutes! Now she’d given him her alias and her real name!

  His face darkened faintly, drawing her attention to the fact that, contrary to what his hair would’ve suggested, his skin was a beautiful golden tan. “Ah! So … you aren’t a local.”

  Suggesting he was? Surprise flickered through her. Then she gave herself another mental kick. Granted, there were a lot of Native Americans in the area since it was close to a reservation, but he could certainly still be a local and not be Native American! “I’m staying at the campground,” she blurted before she thought better of it, so desperate to recover her blunders that she was getting deeper and deeper. Jesus Christ! She might as well have spared herself all the efforts she’d made to cover her tracks!

  “So you are a tourist?”

  Was it her imagination or did he sound disappointed? Or was that hopefulness on her part? If it was, she needed to add stupid to horny! Struggling a moment with her discomfort, she finally realized that she hadn’t necessarily screwed up as badly as she’d thought. If she was a tourist, she’d flirt, right? He was a gorgeous hunk. She was supposed to be somebody focused on enjoying a vacation …. “Guilty. I’m just passing through.”

  “It’s going to be a little dark for setting up a camp.”

  “Oh—well, I took a cabin. Don’t get me wrong. I love the outdoors. I just don’t love it that much!”

  He chuckled at her little joke. “I guess I should let you get on with your shopping.”

  She’d lost interest in shopping. She felt a desperate urge to flee the scene and the need to try to smooth over the mess she’d made and an equal, insane, urge to detain him so that she could drool over him a little longer. “I guess I should grab a few things and get going,” she agreed, wishing she could think of something to keep him. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

  Surprise flickered through Gabriel. When Eli had told him the woman was back he was certain their worst fears had been realized and they’d come under the radar of the government. If she was here to investigate, however, even undercover, it seemed unlikely she would allow herself to be distracted by a flirtation. And yet he could see he’d managed to pique her interest.

  Of course it might be the pheromones.

  From his experience, dragon pheromones were a good bit more potent than those the human male exuded and he’d been a long way from unaffected by her the first time he’d encountered her. The memory alone had been enough to have the blood pounding through him even before he’d spotted her himself and that had ramped up considerably when he had. She might merely be responding to the pheromones he was kicking out, he thought wryly, because there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he was eager to offer her dragon love. Was it way too dangerous to see if he could take advantage of her interest and find out what she was up to?

  Or was it even a possibility? He tilted his head thoughtfully. “We could make sure of it if you’ll let me buy your dinner.”

  Marlee blinked at him, trying to decide if that was a good idea or not—safe or not. She was too old to throw caution to the wind! Oh, but she wanted to! ‘Live a little’ was probably famous last words. “Thank you ….”

  “But you’ve just met me. We aren’t going to get to know each other if you won’t take a chance,” he said, amusement threading his voice. “I tell you what, I’ll be at the diner in Odessa around … say, eight? That should give you time to settle into your cabin. If you feel like being daring, I’ll meet you there.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, which was just as well. Marlee was in a state of complete disorder. She watched him as he strode to the door and went out. Turning away when she saw him reach a pickup truck and climb in, she stared blindly at the contents of her cart for a moment and finally headed to the back of the store.

  It wasn’t until she was checking out that she realized she’d noticed a shadowy figure already seated in the truck. Frowning, she tried to decide if it had been a man or a woman waiting for him. She finally decided it had been another man. The figure had been in shadow but it had seemed too large and broad shouldered to be a woman, in spite of the impression she’d gotten of long, dark hair.

  The ‘warrior’ flickered through her mind, but what were the odds of that? Astronomical, she was sure.

  Chapter Three

  Marlee was so giddy at t
he prospect of a date—a date with the most divine man she’d ever set eyes on!—it still took a strenuous effort to behave like a normal functioning ‘mature’ adult when she arrived at the cabin she’d rented. She hadn’t consciously acknowledged the fact that she fully intended to take Gabriel up on his offer, but she unloaded her belongings and her supplies into the cabin in record time, simply dumping them in any available spot, and immediately rushed to the bathroom to check her appearance.

  Relieved to see she wasn’t a total wreck, reminding herself that she’d undoubtedly made a good impression or he wouldn’t have asked her out, she headed back to her luggage to find something to wear and then dashed to the bathroom again to primp. She wasn’t completely satisfied with the casual clothes she’d chosen, but he’d mentioned a diner. She hardly thought the slinky black ‘man bait’ dress she’d wanted to wear would be appropriate.

  She toyed with the idea anyway, trying to convince herself she wouldn’t look completely overdressed. Sure she’d bought it, and worn it, in club settings, but it wasn’t as if those were high class settings. Maybe it was a little dressy, but surely not enough to make her feel totally out of place?

  Was it the message she wanted to get across, though? It had ‘fuck me’ written all over it.

  Was there any way he was going to get any other message when she was as wired as a cat perched on a livewire? Did she honestly want him to get any other message?

  It didn’t take a hell of a lot of soul searching to produce the answer. It wasn’t typical behavior for her by any stretch of the imagination. In point of fact, it wasn’t something she’d ever done, but she knew she was going to. She knew she was probably looking at a one-night stand any way she cut it—extremely short term even if she was lucky. She still didn’t know if he lived in the area, although she’d gotten the impression he did.