“There is no us, not anymore.”

“Just meet me, please. I have something to tell you.” His voice grew raspy, like it did when he was desperate. “Something important.”

“It’s all been said before.”

There was a pause on the other end that chilled her blood. “This hasn’t.”

“Leave me alone, Russell.” Bree hung up and threw the phone on the table, swiping at tears threatening to spill over her cheeks, angry she’d let him get to her again. Someone moved behind her. Faelan. She’d forgotten he was here. He stood a few feet away, watching her, his eyes stormy.

Men. Sometimes she wished she were a nun.

Letting Russell make her cry was bad enough, without witnesses. She couldn’t deal with Faelan’s lies right now.

***

He didn’t know who Russell was, but Faelan wanted to crush the man’s skull for making Bree afraid. Yet he’d acted no better in the crypt. “Are you okay?” he asked, following her out the front door, onto the porch.

She jumped and turned away, but not before he saw her damp cheeks. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t think so,” he said softly, moving close behind her. He put his hand out, wanting to touch her, to take away the tears, but he doubted she trusted him any more than the bastard who’d put them there.

Her knuckles tightened on the railing and her shoulders began to shake. This was a new side of her, a dangerous one. It made him want to dismiss the suspicion and fear still coiled around his mind like a poisonous snake.

“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. My crypt. I was just trying to take a picture.”

“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 Book of Battles. Proof he was connected to the legend. So why all the pretense? He couldn’t be that desperate for a meal.

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.

Bree fired up the computer while Faelan inspected the artifacts and treasures she’d collected over the years. “What are these?” he asked, running a hand over one of the wooden boxes.

“Puzzle boxes,” she said, as the image of a face blinked across the screen, fading to black. She rubbed her eyes. She had to get more sleep. “They were my Aunt Layla’s. My dad’s youngest sister. She was only twenty-five when she died.” No one in the family talked about Layla. The topic was as taboo as Bree’s twin. “I always loved the boxes, so Grandma gave them to me.”

Faelan moved behind Bree, so close she smelled the warmth of his skin. She pushed her chair back and jumped to her feet. “I think this computer’s possessed.” She felt like tossing it in the yard.

Faelan glanced out the window and frowned. “It’s getting late. We should leave.”

“We haven’t even had dinner. Are you that afraid?”

His muscles bulged. “I’m not afraid, but there’s a killer out there, Russell or someone else. It’s not safe for you to stay.”

“I’ll take you to a hotel, but I’m not running away.” She was tired of running. Russell always found her. Besides, what would he do against a big, bad warrior? Or a big bad demon, for that matter.

“I’m trying to protect you, and you’re making it bloody hard.” He scowled at her and left the room. A second later, she heard his door slam.

Male chauvinist. She’d never asked him to protect her in the first place. After his behavior in the crypt, she wondered if he was the threat.

***

Bree studied the names until her eyes blurred. She’d seen hundreds, but no Faelan. The oven timer dinged. His apple pie. She should let it burn. She put the Book of Battles back in the box. Tonight, after he was asleep, she’d find his name. The aroma of apples and cinnamon filled the house. She opened the oven. “Ouch.” She blew on her burned finger and pulled out the apple pie. Perfect. The crust was golden brown, the smell delicious. She started to dump it in the trash, when it occurred to her there was food cooking and Faelan was nowhere in sight. Maybe he’d left without her. She set the pie on the counter, fighting off a wave of panic.

A thump sounded outside, followed by a crash. Alarmed, she hurried to the back door. Faelan stood near the orchard, beside a pile of wood almost as tall as he was, holding an ax. Her eyes smarted with relief. He’d changed into his kilt again. His hair was loose, his shirt hanging over the shed door. Muscles bunched and released as he raised the ax, sinking the blade into a piece of wood. He tossed it on the pile and reached for another, splitting it clean in half. He looked up, and his eyes met hers. Something quivered inside her, terrifying in its force.

He grinned. If she hadn’t dodged it, Cupid’s arrow would’ve nailed her right there on her back porch. After all the inconsiderate jerks she’d dated, one mention of needing the wood split, and he’d done it for her. Even though he was upset.

She swallowed the ball of emotion and called out, “Dinner’s ready. I made a pie.”

“Give me a minute to stack this, and I’ll be in,” he yelled back, picking up an armload.