Highland Shifter (MacCoinnich Time Travels #4)(20)
Author: Catherine Bybee

“Where?”

“Know your enemy and you will determine what motivates him.”

“Philip isn’t my enemy,” she denied. Then after a few seconds, the strange stoic smile she’d been wearing fell.

“Today he crossed the line. Today he became your enemy.” Simon grabbed her hand. “C’mon.”

Chapter Nine

The trip to Philip’s house was a waste of time. He wasn’t there. She’d racked her brain trying to figure out what he’d been looking for. She didn’t have anything he’d need. The whole thing stunk.

“He thinks you’re in Scotland?”

“Yeah.” Helen and Simon were sitting in her car across the street from Philip’s empty house.

“Are you supposed to check in with him while you’re gone?”

“I told him I would in a few days. Nothing’s scheduled.”

“Then a call is in order. He might say something in your conversation that enlightens us to his reasons for his deception.”

Could she do that? Talk casually to a man who’d violated her privacy only hours before? “I don’t know.”

Simon shrugged. “Or I could talk with him.” Simon clenched his hands into fists.

“Back off, he-man. Clocking my boss probably won’t give us any answers either.”

“But I like clocking my enemies. To tell you the truth, I miss it.”

Helen couldn’t help but let her eyes wander to his well-formed biceps. I’ll bet you do. “I’ll call first. If we run into him breaking in again, I’ll help you pound him. But let’s try this with a little less violence.”

Back in her apartment, Helen used a call blocking number and dialed the office. Lisa, the secretary, answered on the second ring.

“It’s Helen,” she offered as casually as she could. “Is Philip in?”

“Hey, Helen, how’s Scotland?”

Helen glanced around the walls of her apartment. “Beautiful. You should come sometime.”

“It’s on my bucket list. How about the guys? Any of them wearing kilts?”

Licking her lips, Helen glanced at Simon and remembered the way his legs grasped hold of his horse’s back and the way his thighs flexed under his plaid. At the time, she hadn’t thought of much other than getting away from the maniacs attacking them, but now with the threat behind them—as in 500 years behind them—it was easy to picture Simon in a kilt. “Yeah.”

“Ohhh, that sounds like an awfully breathy ‘yeah’, Helen. Who is he?”

“Who is who?”

“He? The kilt wearing he?”

Helen shook her head out of the fog and closed her eyes. “No one. Is Philip there or not?”

“Wow, talk about sensitive.”

“Lisa?”

“No, Philip already left. He should be there tomorrow.”

Already left? Tomorrow? “What are you talking about?”

“Philip. He’s on his way to Scotland. Didn’t he tell you?”

None of this made sense. “Must have slipped his mind.”

Lisa paused. “Is he surprising you? Hey, you two aren’t—”

“No!”

Simon’s gaze jolted toward her with the outburst.

“No. Philip and I aren’t anything.” And because she had nothing to hide with her confusion, Helen added. “I don’t have a clue as to why he’s coming. Did he say anything to you?”

“Nothing more than the usual.”

Deciding there wasn’t any more information to gain, Helen ended the call.

“Philip is en route to Scotland.”

“To join you?”

“We didn’t discuss him going.”

Simon rubbed the side of his face and the small amount of facial hair he had on his chin and lip. Funny, Helen hadn’t thought much of the goatee until Simon stroked his fingers over it. “He may think whatever he searched for here is there with you.”

“With me? My camera? My clothes?”

“There must be something.”

Helen ran her hand on the back of her neck and rubbed the ache. Her hand caught on her necklace and she found herself playing with the pendent.

The same necklace worn by the woman in the book.

“Wait.” Her fingertips buzzed and popped with discovery.

“What is it, lass?”

Helen glanced at her chest. She reached behind her neck and attempted to undo the clasp on the necklace. It wouldn’t give. “Help me with this.”

Simon stepped behind her, his body close enough to hers she could feel the heat off his frame. His breath brushed over the nape of her neck as his fingers played with the chain.

“I don’t see a latch.”

Helen tugged her hair in her hands to give him a better view. “It’s a screw thingy.”

Simon tugged on the chain.

“Don’t break it.”

“I’m not. There isn’t a latch.”

Helen reached around her neck and felt around. All she touched was a chain. She wiggled the pendent until she could see the back.

Nothing. It was as if someone placed the necklace around her neck and welded it together.

It suddenly felt like a noose, something that had to come off.

She grasped two ends and pulled.

“You’ll break it that way.”

“I don’t care. There was a clasp and now it’s gone.” Helen didn’t like the fear lodged in the back of her throat. She pulled harder. All she gained for her effort as a nicked finger. “Dammit.”

Simon covered her hand with his, stopping her frantic tugging. “What has you so worried, love?”

“This darn necklace.” She tugged again. “It started this whole.” Pull. “Damn.” Tug. “Thing!”

Nothing. It wouldn’t budge.

Simon grasped her hands in his and held them tight.

Helen tried to pull back, but he didn’t let go. He stepped closer and captured her gaze. His stare dove deep inside her mind until all she noticed was his amazing blue eyes. Thoughts of the necklace faded.

God he was gorgeous. He had this cocky little smirk with a hint of a dimple showing over his right cheek. He screamed control. Even in the most impossible conditions, Simon held a quiet calm Helen never felt, telling her everything was fine.

Well, it wasn’t fine. Far from fine!

He stood so close she could smell the masculine scent of his skin mixed with a musk that drifted with him all the way from the sixteenth century.