“He can’t.”
“Physically, no. But he used the song of your weight on the earth to find you, meaning he’s more than capable of keeping track of your movements if he wishes.”
Which was both an unsettling yet somehow deliciously erotic thought.
My hormones reallydidneed to be bitch-slapped. Or maybe it was fear and sense that did.
“You two all right in there?” came Lugh’s question. “The food is getting cold out here.”
“Coming right out,” Darby shouted back, then opened the door and waved me through ahead of her.
Lugh scanned my face and smiled. “Now that looks much better.”
“But not as good as Mathi does in powder blue,” Darby said behind me. “It really does match his lovely eyes.”
He rolled said eyes once again. “Ladies, can we focus here? The table has been set and the food is going to waste.”
I laughed. “With Lugh around, there is no such thing as food wastage.”
“That is certainly true.” Darby’s grin was wide as she walked to the far side of the table and sat down beside my brother. “The man has the appetite of a bear, be it?—”
“There will be no discussion about any other kind of appetite,” he cut in dryly. “Not at the table while we’re eating.”
She chuckled but didn’t finish her sentence. Mathi pulled out my chair, then sat beside me, and conversation rolled easily over dinner. Once we’d finished and the dishes had been stacked in the dishwasher, I made tea and coffee while Darby servedup dessert—a simple chocolate cake I knew from past eating experience was absolutely divine.
As we sat back down, Lugh said, “I managed to get hold of Frank today.”
“And who might Frank be?” Mathi asked.
“One of the archeologists pictured in that article Treasa gave me about the dig in Portugal,” I replied, and returned my gaze to my brother. “What did he say?”
“That it was a bitch of a dig, and he wished he’d never gone.”
I grinned. “Meaning he thinks it was cursed, as the article suggested?”
“Not cursed so much as just badly run.” Lugh shrugged. “The authorities were also less than helpful when thieves hit the dig.”
“Did they take much?”
“Yes, but he didn’t go into detail. He did, however, remember the names of those involved.”
There was something in the way he said that that had the small hairs on the back of my neck rising. “And?”
He retrieved a folded piece of paper from his pocket and spread it out on the table. It was the article I’d sent him, newly printed.
“This man here,” he said, tapping the grainy image of a tall, middle-aged man with darkish hair and a rakish smile, “is none other than Eljin Lavigne.”
Chapter
Six
“But not our Eljin,” I said automatically. “They look nothing alike.”
“It could be his father or even grandfather, although you’d think there’d besomegenetic resemblance,” Lugh said. “You could ask the man.”
“I’d rather not at the moment.”
Lugh raised an eyebrow. “Why not? Problems in paradise?”
