Silver Dragon (Silver Shifters 1)

Well. Climbing into a cave with a handsome man might not be an adventure compared to Godiva’s life—Bird was taking a sketchpad and pencils, not a harpoon or a gun, and the man would no doubt vanish as quickly as he’d appeared once he obtained his drawings—but she could enjoy every second of his company until he vanished, couldn’t she?

When Bird got back home, she hesitated over the phone, but decided not to call her friends. She knew that they wouldn’t laugh at her, or scold her—they were wonderful friends. But she couldn’t bear the idea of them warning her to be sensible or practical—or conversely, building castles in the air about this man’s intentions. And if he disappeared as soon as his job was done, as she fully expected him to do, she knew she would hate it if they sympathized by talking about what a rat he was.

Mikhail wasn’t a rat. If, no, when he moved on, it would be perfectly natural. Bird knew she was not any Helen of Troy! And she was perfectly okay with that. So there.

Realizing that she was arguing with herself, she sighed and hunted out a vase, and set the flowers in with water and an aspirin to help them last longer.

Then she returned Bec’s call. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to answer.”

“Mom!” Bec laughed. “I do not expect you to be answering the phone 24/7. That’s why we have answering machines! Have you got a minute?”

“I certainly do,” Bird said, quashing the impulse to talk about her morning.

“I’m not going to bitch about Father. I’m sure you know what he wants, always the best for us. But his best isn’t my best, that’s what I keep trying to explain. And nothing is certain. I can’t walk out on these cases, but every minute I find myself researching schools . . .”

Bird listened with heartfelt sympathy as Bec weighed the pros and cons of leaving her lucrative job that she hated, for training in something new that would never make her rich. Bird suspected the decision had already been made, and so her role was to be supportive. And she was, with that cherished “Mom” still ringing in her ears, after twenty-seven years of silence.

Another restless night of what-if scenarios, both disastrous and wonderful, brought dawn at last. A hot shower and a strong cup of English Breakfast did the wake-up job, leaving her excited and nervous as she dressed in sturdy clothes.

She looked in the pantry and remembered she was nearly out of food. She’d meant to go to the grocery store that morning. Then a great idea occurred to her: she would give in to reckless impulse, just once, and go to Linette’s to get fresh pastry for breakfast. For both of them.

She packed her sketchpad and pencils as well as chalks into her ratty old backpack. The sun was well up as she biked to the bakery.

The moment she walked in, she sniffed the heavenly scent of fresh bread and pastry being pulled from the oven. Happiness thrilled through her at the day, the food, the prospect of seeing Mikhail again.

When it was her turn, she froze. She had no idea what kind of pastries he liked! So she got one each of her favorites. Whatever he chose, she would enjoy the others.

“Please let me pay,” she said earnestly. “These aren’t just for me, they’re also for someone else.”

Linette grinned.

Bird said suspiciously, “Why are you smiling like that?”

Linette chuckled evilly. “I’m just picturing what you’ll look like with money stuffed down your shirt if you dare take out your w

allet.”

“I feel I’m taking advantage of you,” Bird protested.

“Hah! Besides, sharing my pastry is good publicity,” Linette said, wrapping up the bag. “Go! Have fun!” she added in a very meaningful voice.

What was that about? Bird thought as she walked out. It was a perfect day, the air scrubbed clean after the previous night’s rain. Her spirits soared as she put the pastry bag in her bike basket, then cruised in the cool morning breeze toward the beach.

She stepped onto the sand, thinking that Godiva would love this. A pulse of guilt rang through her for not calling—but she would, if a miracle happened and everything went well.

So here she was.

And nobody except her knew she was here. Odd, how until two days ago it never would have occurred to her to put herself in a position of being alone with a strange man. But he felt so safe. Though as Bartholomew had always said that her judgment was terrible.

“Yes, the proof is, I married you,” she muttered aloud.

Maybe the victims of serial killers felt safe, too, right before the killer pounced—

“Good morning, Bird.” Mikhail was just a few feet away, silver eyes shining with good humor. “Did you bring your phone with you?” He set down a gear bag held up his own cellphone, his handsome cane in his other hand.

“Yes,” she said a little breathlessly, patting her backpack.

“Good. I really don’t expect there to be any trouble, but it’s always good to have a backup, just in case. I also have a first aid kit. And I dropped by the bakery because I have a weakness for hot scones with good tea. Have you eaten?”