And she didn’t want to run from that.
He grinned, an unrepentant expression on an irrepressible face. “Georgia O’Keeffe. Tomorrow, if you’d like. Now. How about we go figure out where you’re staying?”
Ana smiled back at him. And when he turned away to toss the bandage wrappings and rinse the washcloth, she pressed the tiny silent spy amulet into place, activated it with the faintest twist of will, and told herself she was only doing what she had to do.
* * *
Ian paced the yard perimeter, rubbing a restless thumb across the sample amulet in his hand—a simple thing of rough making, and a thing with which he was already deeply familiar, even if he hadn’t cracked the secrets of its silence.
That breakthrough wasn’t likely to happen now, with his thoughts so scattered. Ana might have left the retreat the day before, but she’d definitely lingered in his thoughts.
Soft skin beneath his fingers, the gleam of honey beneath the brown of her eyes when she’d been caught staring, the faintest of blushes over cheek and neck when she’d realized it. The way she’d owned up to it, seeming surprised at herself while she was at it.
There was something about her matter-of-fact acceptance of her injuries that bothered him; he hadn’t quite put his finger on it. They weren’t serious, but they must have stung like the dickens. A little ow! wouldn’t have been out of place.
Ian glanced down the road and decided he wasn’t quite as bad as a kid with a schoolyard crush, no matter what Fernie had said. He’d dressed in the best of the casual clothes he’d brought, been glad for the lightweight hiking boots, and wandered out to the yard thirty minutes early for his meeting with Ana.
He’d figured it would take that long to settle his mind over the working he thought he’d detected that morning. Now he knew himself to have been optimistic, and he paced the yard perimeter with impatience.
Just as well that he wasn’t one of those Sentinels who could reach out to mind-tap Annorah, their brevis-wide communication hub. Or to anyone, for that matter, though he could hear well enough if someone else initiated a tap on his shoulder. No doubt he’d be driving her just as crazy as he was driving himself, checking in to see how things were going with his AmTech assistants—if they had what they needed, if they’d stumbled over any faint clue he might build on...
No doubt she’d be ignoring him by now.
The working on this crude amulet was innocuous enough—easily identified as such by the lanyard. Simple identifying knots, rough leather...nothing worth the silence that had been stamped on it. But this particular amulet had been recovered at Fabron Gausto’s evil little hideout in Tucson, where Nick Carter had almost died in the attempt to stop Core D’oíche.
The thing’s value lay not in its function but in its silent nature. Only the rare Sentinel tracker had any chance of perceiving this one.
Ian couldn’t. In spite of his expertise, his ability to find and identify amulets at a distance, it was nothing but a disk of crudely inscribed bronze. No matter how tightly he focused his attention, nor how finely he sliced the bands of his perception.
He prowled back over into the shade. This morning in the house he’d thought he’d felt something from this amulet, but he wasn’t the only one in occupancy, and that meant interruptions and noise. He shared the retreat and its half-dozen cozy little rooms with a light-blood couple from Kachina Valley, Arizona, a strong-blood courier from Senoita who quite obviously took the cheetah, a tech of some sort from Tucson Brevis and a mid-teen youth who couldn’t more obviously be in retreat from the mundane world while he grew accustomed to his burgeoning Sentinel gifts.
The accumulated effect left him far, far from the buffered and isolated conditions of his lab. Trying to pin down the subtleties of what he’d felt had only served to trigger a headache, driving him outside to wait while he ignored Fernie’s reminder that the whole point of his presence here was to take a break from such things.
The faintest sound of a footfall on sandy grit lifted his head from those inner thoughts. When Ana appeared over the wall some moments later, he was waiting, his mood lifted by an anticipation he hadn’t expected. She caught sight of him and turned to rest her elbows on the wall. “Surely I’m not that late?”
“Not late at all,” he told her, resolutely stuffing the amulet away. “But I’m not much good at sitting still.”
“I got that impression.” Her smile softened those dry words, lighting features that had seemed just a little too somber before she’d seen him. A delicately angular jaw, a sweet curve of a mouth, dark eyes that dominated her face...they lent her an air of mystery, the impression of strength and vulnerability that wasn’t the least offset by the way the breeze teased her hair—short enough to reveal the peek of earlobe and the graceful sweep of her neck, long enough to tousle and beguile.
But he’d looked too long, for the smile faltered. Not so much uncertain as just a little too serious. “You know, I never asked. I thought at first this place was your home, and Fernie your housekeeper. But as I was leaving yesterday—”
“Jack came out.” Lured by Fernie’s muffins, no doubt, given how much the kid could eat.
“And I heard laughter from the lower level, so I gather you’re not alone. Family?”
“In a manner of speaking.” Ian told her the truth easily enough, if not the entirety of it. “This place is a retreat. Sometimes it’s a think tank, and sometimes it’s just a place our people come when they want the same thing you’re here for—a quiet vacation.”
She looked at the house a moment longer, a faint furrow between her brows. “Your people?”
“The group I work for.” It was close enough. He laced his fingers between hers over the top of the wall and his thoughts stumbled, his equilibrium lost. For an instant he knew the stunning peace of having one focus and one focus only. Ana.
“Are you all right?” She let him keep her hand, but not without concern. “You look...distracted. Something’s wrong?”
“The opposite,” he told her, and captured that hand, too—did it without second thought, as though he had every right. Even the headache had lifted. “You ready to take in some Georgia O’Keeffe? It’s a twenty-minute walk from here.”
She didn’t hide her bemusement. “Something tells me you’ll enjoy that twenty minutes of motion more than the museum itself.”
“I’ll enjoy the company,” he said, surprising himself by just how much he meant it. And she surprised him back, squeezing his hands in an unspoken response.
She might just have surprised herself, to judge by the look on her face—a little bit uncertain, a little bit amused. She glanced down the greenway path. “Would you like to just...walk?”
“I’ve got a better idea.” He looked east toward the mountains—not thinking of the trail where he’d encountered the mountain lion, but a little south of it, where the scenic byway wound upward to Vista Grande through splashes of aspen gold. “If you don’t mind a motorcycle, that is.”
Her eyes widened faintly, pleasure behind them. Ian grinned at her, for the moment, not thinking of the silent amulets at all.
“I’ve never been on one,” she warned him.
“It’s a touring bike,” he assured her, and then laughed when she only looked blankly in response. “It’s comfortable. You’ll feel secure. Though the retreat has a car—we can take that, if you’d prefer.”
She lifted a brow. “What kind of car?”
He nodded at the side of the house, where the bright blue Smart car just barely peeked out. She eyed it and then leaned over the wall to also ostentatiously eye the length of his leg. “Maybe not.”
Ian laughed. “Maybe not,”