“Really?” Derry took an excited step forward, his massive arms widespread.
Fighting the innate urge to run from what was coming, Red cemented her feet to the floor. “Let’s see how tonight goes.” She barely got the last word out before he wrapped her up in a bear hug tight enough to squeeze her conscience, if she’d had one.
“Consider it done.” He set her down on her feet and hurried off out the back door to wherever it was that he holed up and gathered intel.
She hustled out of the treasure storage hall and into the backroom, right in time to see Charming stroll in, looking every bit like a movie star just out of the hair and makeup trailer. He didn’t bother to look at the clock on the wall. They both knew it didn’t matter.
“One of the forty thieves get your watch?” she asked.
He glanced down at his bare wrist. “Nah, I’ve never owned a watch.”
“Shocker.” She tapped a keg with the toe of her black patent leather Mary Janes. “Take this on up to the front with you.”
He admired his buffed-to-a-high-sheen nails. “By myself?”
Frustration bubbled up, hot and steamy, without any relief in sight. The best she could do was fire off a smartass remark. “Why, are those biceps only for show?”
“Wouldn’t you like to find out.” He winked.
Not even if the choice was between him and a bridge troll. Still, the kid was a shithead with a powerful dad so she pocketed the nearly overwhelming urge to fire him or kick him in the balls. “Just do it.”
She waited, tapping her foot, until he disappeared into the hallway leading to the pub with the keg riding on his shoulder. After making sure she was the only one in the room, Red tilted a portrait of Granny in a wolfskin cap. The wall clicked, let out a soft sigh and a secret door swung inward. Hustling before someone came in, she dashed inside and the door whooshed closed behind her.
“Bibbidi, bobbidi, boo,” she called out to the darkness.
The lights snapped on, revealing a treasure room that would have given Ali Baba the jealous shakes. It wasn’t just the gold, even though there was plenty of that—the leprechauns were getting lazy about hiding it lately—but the valuable collector items that went for a pretty penny. A shiny red apple with a single bite out of it sat under a glass dome. The keys to Bluebeard’s din of horror were locked up tight in a small wooden chest. A spinning wheel bought off Maleficent at a decent price sat in the corner. Cinderella’s ball gown—the shoes had gone last week to a collector in Tokyo—hung on a specially designed rack next to the door.
And then there was the Caladbolg sword, hidden in plain sight in a nondescript iron box. She’d gotten the sword off a collector who was in the middle of an ugly divorce and needed quick, untraceable cash—just what she specialized in.
There was something about the sword that tugged her closer, as if it knew she was here and wanted to say hello. It was crazy, but she just couldn’t shake the sixth sense doing the conga along the back of her neck.
“And that’s what you get for working double shifts on top of everything else,” she mumbled to herself.
Something moved behind her near Cinderella’s ball gown. It was subtle, but it was there. She went statue still. The treasure room was warded six ways to Sunday, but Red knew better than to discount any blips on her situational awareness radar.
Red stretched her arms as high as they could go and gave a fake yawn to cover her closer inspection of the gossamer gown. Yep, the gown was breathing—or at least whoever was huddled behind it was. On the street she would have attacked first and asked questions later. But on her turf? She wanted the Cinderella wannabe to spill how he or she got in here before turning the trespasser back into a pumpkin.
Watching the dress out of the corner of her eye, Red opened the iron box and withdrew the velvet-and-jeweled sword case waiting inside.
“Don’t touch it.” The dress shimmered as an invisibility spell dissipated.
She knew that voice—rough around the edges with just enough smoothness in the middle to make a bad girl sit up and listen. “Liam MacTíre.”
He appeared like a wall of testosterone-fueled muscle and pocketed a gold ring before she could get a good look at the crest. “You don’t understand what that sword is.”
She swept her hand across the sword case’s sinfully soft surface and flicked open the hook holding it shut. “Why, because a girl can’t understand excellent weapons craftsmanship?”
He stepped closer, whipping up the tension in the room that had nothing to do with the sword they were discussing. “That’s not—”
“What you meant.” Knowing he wouldn’t rush her as long as she controlled the sword, she lifted the lid and her breath caught. “Good, because the Caladbolg sword is a thing of beauty and I know all about this badass weapon. It’s fifty-two inches long with a forty-two inch steel blade and a triple-fuller design, giving it even more strength despite a decrease in weight. She’s gorgeous.”
It really was. Red hated to see it go, but she never held on to things that could be converted into cash. Still, after this incident, it wasn’t going home with Liam no matter how much he offered. “Who sent you to steal it?” Her hand hovered over the polished-steel grip. The air vibrated beneath her palm.
“Trust me.” He stepped closer. “You don’t want to touch it.”
An earnest thief. How sweet.
“Honey, the only person I trust is myself. You better start talking or I’m going to take a slice out of you with this blade.” It would take two hands, but she was tall and strong; she could heft it.