Priceless A Sexy Urban Fantasy Mystery - By Shannon Mayer Page 0,41

elbows on his knees.

Hmm. That was interesting and not in a good way. If he could find me that easy, we were going to have to move, sooner rather than later.

Hands clenched into his dark slacks. “This can’t be happening.”

I barked out a laugh and kicked off my boots. “Really? This is my life, man. And it looks like you’re about to get a serious dose of the true reality of this world. Want to tell me what really happened when I was locked up in the cellar with the ones who you were shooting at?” I was betting there was more to the story than he’d told me already.

“Besides my partner being shot with my gun even though I wasn’t pointing it at him?” His dry tone told me he was coming out of the funk.

“Yes.” Best to keep things short and sweet at this point.

“They hit me with—” O’Shea flipped his hands in the air and then jumped as the blow dryer came on in the bathroom. “How can he manage that with those claws?”

“It’s one of the things that takes him a while, but he can manage,” I said, going right back to my original question. “What did they nail you with?”

Pushing off the door, he started to pace the small space between the far window and the door. “It was, I don’t know, a spell?” He lifted his eyes to mine for confirmation, and it hit me how fast our relationship had changed. All of a sudden he was looking to me for help.

“Most likely. Can you tell me what it looked like? Colours, density, sound?” I leaned back on the bed, letting out a sigh. This hotel had good mattresses. I flipped an arm over my eyes. “All those things can help me figure out what they might have spelled you with.”

The bed squeaked and I looked out from under my arm to see O’Shea crawling toward me, his eyes dilated, a smile on the edge of his mouth as he took in a deep breath. Oh crap. “Never mind,” I said, rolling away from him. “I know what they hit you with.”

“You do? How?” Those dark eyes roved my body as if I were naked. Yup, though that was not the worst spell he could have been hit with, and at least I knew how to counter it.

I was already slipping on my jacket. “I’m going to go and get something to break it. You stay here.” Already my boots were back on.

O’Shea stood and his eyes clouded over. “You aren’t going to tell me what it is?” Now that was a defiant thread of anger I heard.

“It’ll only freak you out.” I took a breath. “Alex, stay in the bathroom until I get back.”

He barked out. “Yuppy doody.”

A dark eyebrow lifted in my direction. I shrugged. “He’s got a weird lingo. You’ll get used to it.”

The former FBI agent snorted. “This is not a permanent arrangement.”

It was my turn to snort. “Really? And who else is going to believe that your bullet went fucking about on its own trajectory to kill your partner? Who else is going to believe that you have a spell on you that has messed with your emotions, ability to think clearly, not to mention your ability to control yourself?”

He blanched and sat down on the edge of his bed.

I shook my head. “I won’t be long. Don’t move and don’t kill Alex, because that would seriously piss me off, and right now I am your only friend in this whole messed up world.”

Slamming the door behind me, I trotted to the stairs. Damn, this was getting complicated.

17

With Adamson gone, O’Shea finally let himself relax, or at least take a breath. His mind was full of things he should not be thinking about. The feel of her skin, the flush in her cheeks, the curve of her ass under his hand. What was wrong with him? Ever since the . . . incident at the farmhouse, he couldn’t get her out of his head, couldn’t stop the thoughts of her naked and writhing below him—maybe didn’t want to. He’d been crawling across the bed toward her. Was this what that blue and green stuff they’d shot at him was doing? That spell? He scoffed at the idea and then his thoughts swung back to Adamson.

In an attempt to take his mind, and better yet the mind between his legs, off her and to gain back some control, he flicked