Free Malcolm and Ives 02 - Trouble With Air and Magic by Patricia Rice Page A

protect her. She wanted to stand on her own, had done so most of her life. But he’d caught her in a weak moment. “I can’t walk out on my life,” she argued. “I have responsibilities.”
    “You won’t have a life if someone wants you dead,” he said tersely. “Where are you headed?”
    Wanted her dead? That was taking vandalism to extremes. She wasn’t adding a ridiculous new worry to her long list of very valid concerns. “To my ex-sister-in-law’s. Bo shared custody of their kids. She’s overwhelmed trying to work and keep up the house and take care of the kids all by herself.”
    “Your father is worth millions. She could hire nannies.” He punched the elevator button to the garage.
    “My father believes in the work ethic. He kept enough money for his old age, established the realty corporation in which he’s primary stockowner, and poured everything else into his charitable foundation. Bo and I have to work for a living. That’s why he went into the military instead of straight into Dad’s business. He wanted to be his own man.”
    Dorrie kept her voice neutral. She couldn’t argue with the choices of either man. Bo might have succeeded at business where she could not, had he been interested in working for their father. Which he hadn’t. All the wealth in the world couldn’t fix Fate.
    Feeling no negativity when the doors opened, she marched into the garage to her newly restored Prius. She tucked Toto into his blankets on the backseat and scowled as Conan folded his lanky frame into her passenger seat.
    “This is ridiculous. I don’t need a babysitter,” she huffed, settling into her seat and donning the seatbelt. Wow, Conan not only physically filled the small front seat, he filled the entire space with raw masculinity. She could barely think to find the ignition.
    “Don’t know where we’re going, so I can’t follow you,” Conan said without inflection, sliding on dark shades as she pulled out of the garage.
    “Am I paying you to irritate me?” She steered into a gloriously sunny day. After three days of rain and the destruction of her father’s yard, the sun had finally returned. Her life didn’t look noticeably brighter.
    “I usually charge a daily consulting fee, whether I work two hours or twenty-four, but for this case, you’re off the hook. No worries.” He folded his arms. His eyes hidden behind wrap-around shades, he did his best imitation of a sphinx.
    “Bird Island,” she muttered, maneuvering into the narrow suburban streets far from the glitter of Hollywood and Santa Monica. Back here, shabby palm trees collected McDonald’s trash, and the only paint on bus stop benches was the gang graffiti. Amy’s secretarial job and Bo’s benefits barely covered the high cost of L.A. living and three kids.
    “Guano is a useful fertilizer,” Conan countered, “and without granite, the earth’s surface would collapse into a molten inferno. Everything has a purpose.”
    She snorted at his pragmatic response to her insult. “You are a very strange man. Did you say you have brothers?”
    He hesitated, responding reluctantly. “Before Magnus died, two, both older. And yes, they have threatened to throw me against a wall every time we got together. And no, they couldn’t. I’m not just another pretty face.”
    He said that so solemnly that she couldn’t help laughing. The man was beyond irritating, but he was an original. “I’m betting your parents escaped to another country and left no forwarding address after the three of you moved out.”
    He shrugged. “My mother died when I was six. We spent a lot of time moving around the country with my father’s business while we were growing up, until his plane crashed. Oz raised us after that.”
    Hunting for a parking place amid the clutter of vans and trucks lining the street, Dorrie shot him a glance. “You’re sympathizing with Bo’s kids, aren’t you?”
    “Maybe, a little. We were never poor though. There’s an empty