Once Upon Stilettos
Page 106

I was in the clear for a little while, then felt it again, stronger than before. But before I could get away, something grabbed onto me, and I started to fight my way loose until I realized someone was saying my name over and over again, like he was soothing a troubled child. I looked up into Owen’s concerned blue eyes.
“Katie, what’s wrong?” he asked. “What are you doing out in this weather without a coat?”
I didn’t have time to get into that at the moment. “I think there’s someone after me,” I sobbed as he wrapped me up in his overcoat, pulling me tighter against his chest. At any other time, I would have really enjoyed that, but I had other things to worry about at the moment.
“I think you may be right. We should get out of here,” he said. Then he looked down at me, his eyes very serious. “Katie, do you trust me?”
I started to give him a flippant, lip-service reply, the same way you automatically say “fine” when someone asks you how you’re doing, whether or not you’re really fine. But I got the feeling he needed a real answer for this. “Yes, I trust you,” I said at last.
He nodded. “Okay. This may be a little frightening. I think I can make it work, but I’m going to be more or less magically useless for the rest of the evening. Hold onto me.”
If this was a scheme to get me into a compromising position, I could kill him later, I thought. For now, I just wanted out of the cold. I wanted to be safe. I wrapped my arms around his waist, and he tightened his hold on me. Then there was a lurching feeling, like I’d left my stomach behind at the top of a roller coaster. And then I was suddenly warm, with no cold rain falling on me. Owen held onto me for a second longer, steadying me, then he released me.
“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” he said, his voice a little rough, as if he’d been truly nervous.
I reluctantly released my death grip on him and stepped away, blinking as I tried to take stock of my surroundings. I was in a dark room, with dim light coming through a window. Owen waved a hand and the lights came on. Another wave of his hand and a fireplace sprang to life. “Okay, I think I’m now officially shot for the evening,” he said, sounding stronger.
I looked around and realized I was in a room that appeared to be a combination living room and study. The study part was near the front window. A large wooden desk faced the window. The walls to either side of the window were covered in bookcases. Directly behind me was an overstuffed sofa in a dark, soft-looking material. Across from it was a marble fireplace, a fire blazing inside and Christmas stockings hanging from the mantel. On the wall at the other end of the room was a television set. A lit, decorated Christmas tree stood in the far corner of the room.
The room had the ornately carved crown moldings and door and window facings of an older building, and the floor was of polished wood with Oriental rugs scattered on it. It was a room where delicate antique furniture would have been entirely at home, but the heavier, more comfortable furnishings made it look cozy and livable, like a home rather than a museum. I didn’t have to ask to know it was Owen’s place. It looked exactly like I would have expected of him.
I finished studying the room and turned back to him, only to find him giving me a funny look and turning pink. “Um, Katie, your, uh,” he said, fiddling with his collar. I looked down and saw that my blouse was still partially unbuttoned.
“Oh, oops,” I said, hurrying to button up.
He looked intensely relieved. “Here, you should have a seat.” He guided me to the sofa, then took an afghan off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around my shoulders. “You’ll be safe here. This place is heavily warded, as well as physically secure. Now, what was going on that had you running through the streets on a night like this without a coat?”
I was still trying to think of a good answer when a white streak shot into the room. Owen caught it before it could jump up onto the sofa, and I then saw that it was a small white cat with big black spots. “A familiar?” I asked.
He shook his head, a wry grin on his lips. “No, just a pet.” He addressed the cat he held, “Be good, Loony, Katie’s a guest,” then gently dropped the cat onto the sofa, where it proceeded to investigate me.
“You named your cat Loony?” I asked as I scratched it behind the ears and listened to the answering purr.
He slipped out of his overcoat and threw it over a nearby chair. “I named my cat Eluned, after a figure from Welsh mythology. Rod started calling her Loony, and it stuck.”
I tried not to stiffen at the mention of Rod. “She’s sweet,” I said.