Chapter Three

Clutching her bag to her chest, Carrie stared at the closed office door and tried to imagine what her doctoral advisor would say when she found out Carrie had proof of the existence of the Scrolls of Destiny. Proof that Wei Lin had used them to, in effect, alter Chinese history.

Leonora Hsu was going to freak. And she’d be ecstatic that one of her students was the one to unravel the mystery of the scrolls.

Not that she’d unraveled all the mysteries yet. Carrie had returned from China only three days ago, and, in between sleeping and her one shift at the Pour House, she’d spent most of her time in the narrow stall of her shower. For some reason, she just craved it—maybe to wash away the long flight and the jetlag. So she’d barely had time to read much more than the first part of Wei Lin’s journal. She hadn’t even looked at the other scrolls.

But what she had read was exciting. And enough in itself to earn her the position and have her name known as an eminent Chinese scholar.

At least she hoped so.

She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Leonora’s soft voice called. When Carrie opened the door, the older woman’s smile shifted, becoming just a touch more friendly. “Carrie, you’re back. How did you find your first trip to China?”

“Awesome. Exhilarating.” She sat down across from her advisor. Normally, she liked to ooh and ah over the array of antique swords Leonora had hung on the walls—they were so cool. But today she gave them only a cursory glance, her attention on Leonora.

And her bag. Carrie held it snug in her lap. She’d been toting the book and scrolls around with her, and protecting them had become a quick habit.

Well, she couldn’t leave them at home. Her apartment was smack in the middle of the worst of the Tenderloin. It’d never worried her before—she was a poor student, and it was cheap compared to the rest of San Francisco. But she wasn’t naive enough to think anything she had was safe there.

Tightening her hold on the bag, she leaned forward in her seat. “That’s why I came to talk to you.”

“About your travels?”

“No, about what I found on my travels.”

Leonora’s thin eyebrows arched.

When she first met Dr. Leonora Hsu she would have read her reaction to mean disinterest. But in the years she’d first earned her masters and then her PhD, Carrie had gotten to know her advisor well enough to know she was extremely interested, just in her understated way.

In fact everything about Leonora was understated. From her conservative, dark-colored suits to the tight bun of her hair. She was the most proper and demure woman Carrie had ever met. So totally different from herself.

Carrie gripped her bag and leaned forward. “You know how you said the board was reluctant to consider me for a position here unless I did something to differentiate myself from the pack? That my dissertation wasn’t sexy enough?”

“Of course.”

She couldn’t keep her silly grin in. “I’ve found what’ll make it sexy.”

“Found what?”

“Well—” Carrie didn’t have all the proof yet, and she didn’t want to make claims she couldn’t substantiate. But she wanted so badly to tell someone what she’d found. Someone who’d understand and recognize the significance. “I have a source that claims the Scrolls of Destiny existed, and that Yongle used them to foster peace through his kingdom.”

Leonora sat still. She didn’t even blink.

Not the reaction Carrie expected. She frowned. “Leonora? Did you hear me?”

“Of course.” Her advisor resettled the glasses on her face and folded her hands on the desk.

Carrie waited, but when no questions were forthcoming, she gaped in disbelief. “I’m not sure you got it. I said I have reason to believe the Scrolls of Destiny were reality instead of myth.”

“What led you to this conclusion?”

Finally—some interest. “When I was in China I found a source that documents their existence and use.”

Leonora’s brow wrinkled. “You just happened to come upon this source during your travels?”

“Well, no.” She grinned sheepishly. “I kind of went there on a tip that turned out to be right.”

“A tip from whom?”

“I can’t say.” Because her source—her best friend Gabe—didn’t know she’d given Carrie the tip. And Carrie wanted to keep it that way.

“You can’t say,” Leonora repeated flatly.

“Uh, no. Confidential information.” She’d arrived early to hang out with Gabe and accidentally overheard Rhys, Gabe’s boyfriend, say he’d read it in Wei Lin’s journal while he was at the monastery.

Carrie hadn’t known what it was, but the second she heard the name Wei Lin, everything in her froze. In her research, she’d found several obscure references to Wei Lin and the Scrolls of Destiny tied to Yongle.

The chances that Rhys’s Wei Lin and Leonora’s Wei Lin were the same person? Fairly slim. Maybe nonexistent. But the more Carrie thought about it, the more curious she got. If she could prove there actually was a historical basis for Wei Lin and the scrolls, a position at Berkeley was guaranteed. Leonora taught a special myths class, and Wei Lin and the Scrolls of Destiny were a particular favorite topic of hers. If her advisor got excited about her thesis, Carrie was a shoo-in for the job.

It hadn’t taken much research to find out which monastery Rhys meant—there was a lot of press on him, which shouldn’t have been surprising, given how affluent and entrepreneurial he was. She found a mention in one article, complete with the name of the monastery and the province where it was located.

What was surprising was that Gabe and Rhys were talking about Wei Lin. Why? Carrie wanted to ask, but she couldn’t. Not without revealing that she’d spied on them.

She bit her lip. She’d never been one to lie, and that’s exactly what she was doing. Not to mention the thievery and smuggling, if you wanted to put a fine point on it. This whole thing was turning her into someone she didn’t recognize, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

It’d end soon. It’d all work out, and she’d never do it again.

She just hoped her conscience survived intact.

“Carrie?”

Blinking, she returned her attention to her advisor. “Yeah?”

Leonora stared at her with her myopic dark gaze for a long silent moment before she shook her head. “I’m not sure how you expect to prove this if you can’t reveal your source.”

“My source just led me to the proof. The proof is all that counts. That’s what I’ll publish.” She wrinkled her nose. “This is enough to put me on the map, right?”

“Certainly this is enough to attract the interest of the board. If you can prove that the Scrolls of Destiny existed, even historically, you’ll have every major university in the world clamoring to have you.”

“It’s nice to be wanted.” She grinned. “But my first choice is Cal. I love it here.”

“How close are you to proving your theory?”

Not close enough, but she’d get there. “I have some reading to do.”

“What are you reading?”

Had to be careful here. “I have, uh, a copy of Wei Lin’s journal.”

Leonora sat bolt upright. “You found a copy of his journal? Where?”

“I can’t say.” She headed off her advisor before she could protest. “But don’t worry. I’ll be able to prove authentication, too.” She hoped without getting arrested.

Mark that down as something to work on.

Leonora studied her without saying a word. Carrie thought she’d ask more questions or at least bring up more doubts, but Leonora surprised her simply by saying, “Keep me apprised of your progress.”

From Leonora, that was the same as shouting, Go for it, babe. “Okay.”

“In the meantime, it’s probably best to keep your findings quiet.”

“I figured that.” She stood. “Thanks, Leonora.”

Her advisor smiled faintly and nodded before returning to her paperwork.

Taking the hint, Carrie quietly shut the door on her way out. As she turned around, she walked straight into a body. She had to bite back her groan when she looked up and saw Trevor Wiggins. She smiled apologetically. “Sorry. I should pay attention to where I’m going.”

“Yes,” he agreed in his stern way.

She resisted rolling her eyes. He was such a wet lump. When she’d first met him in grad school, she’d thought he was smart and cute. With his brown hair and Harry Potter glasses, he looked scholarly—an attractive novelty compared to the country boys she’d grown up with in Iowa.

But two minutes in his presence was enough to kill any temptation to set aside her staunch no-dating policy and go out with him. He wore his self-importance like a well-loved pair of jeans. And it wasn’t enough that he thought he was better than everyone else—especially her. He was vocal about it, too. Annoying.

If he knew what she had in her bag, he’d turn green with jealousy.

She glanced at the door and then back at him. How long had he been standing there? What were the chances he eavesdropped?

Pretty big. She frowned. “Have you been waiting long to speak to Leonora?”

“I was on my way to my office.” His chest puffed up. He took every chance he got to work that in—unlike the other doctoral candidates, he had an office.

But right now she could care less how much he postured. “Were you listening at the door?”

“Of course not.” He recoiled indignantly. “I don’t know how you can accuse me of stooping so low.”

Probably because she’d seen him do it before. “I didn’t mean to sound accusatory.”

He harrumphed and stalked off. She didn’t have to be psychic to hear his unspoken thoughts of superiority.

And she didn’t have to be a genius to know that he was lying through his teeth when he said he hadn’t listened at the door. Question was, how much did he hear?

She didn’t put it past him to rip off her thesis, but she had Wei Lin’s journal. Without it, he had nothing.

With it, he could ruin all her hard work.

Carrie shook the thought out of her head. He wasn’t going to get the journal. She’d never leave it, or her bag, lying around. It—and her thesis—would be safe.

Floating.

Water lilies caress her skin as she drifts in the warm pond on her back.

Naked.

Her breasts lift above the surface. The water laps at them, and the bite of the cool air makes her nipples taut—a sharp tingle that shoots straight between her legs.

A shadow falls over her, and she shivers in anticipation, knowing who’s casting it.

It can be only one person.

His blond hair is every bit as wild as before, looking more wild for the savage gleam in his eyes. His shoulders are broad and muscular, gleaming in the muted sunlight that filters through the weepy trees. The thin trail of hair down his abdomen lights gold, like a path leading to more treasure.

She hears a soft splash. The waves become more frenzied, as if they know what’s coming and anticipate it as much as she does.

Smiling, she looks up. He stands in the water, looking down at her, his gray eyes burning. She feels his gaze travel down her body like a cool blade running along her skin. She gasps, feeling the sharpness of it as it trails over her nipples and down her belly. Between her legs.

Eyes hungry, he leans over her.

She wants him. She wants every promise written on his fierce face. She opens her arms, offering herself to him, but feels herself slip under the water. She surfaces.

He’s gone.

Carrie’s eyes popped open, her breath harsh in the stillness of her apartment. A dream.

How pathetic was she? She buried her burning face in the pillow. She was having wet dreams about a man whose name she didn’t know. A monk, for God’s sake.

She groaned and rolled over to check the time. She’d come home from her meeting with Leonora for a short nap before her shift, but now she’d be late for work.

Fumbling to subdue her hair, she grabbed her things and jogged to the BART station. She got to the platform as a train pulled in and arrived at the Pour House in record time.

Gabe looked up when Carrie walked in, a smile lighting her face. “The world traveler returns.”

“Hey.” Grinning, Carrie ducked behind the counter and grabbed her friend in a hug. Gabe returned it smoothly. Months ago when they’d first started hanging out, Gabe was skittish, especially when it came to affection. She’d relaxed a lot. Carrie knew it was due to not only her friendship but Rhys’s love, too.

Carrie valued that friendship. Gabe was the first real friend she’d had since she moved from Iowa. She was so different than anyone she’d known. Not just physically—though tall Eurasian women with blue streaks in their long black hair weren’t exactly common in her hometown. Gabe was contradictory. Tough, but a sensitive artist. Street-smart and still compassionate.

Gabe eased back, holding her at arm’s length. Lines furrowed her forehead. “Something’s not right.”

Carrie looked around. “Everything looks okay to me.”

“No, just now when you walked in I felt—” Her blue eyes stared so intently Carrie wanted to squirm. Her gaze fell to the messenger bag, and her frown became more pronounced. “Maybe I’m just tired.”

Nerves flaring, Carrie pulled away. Gabe couldn’t possibly know what she had in her bag. Sure, Gabe had a highly attuned intuition, but she didn’t have X-ray vision. Carrie tried to relax as she stowed it under the register. “Were you up late painting again?”

“I was up late.” She grinned wickedly, her earlier unease erased from her face. “So was Rhys.”

Carrie grabbed an apron and tied it around her waist. “I can’t decide if I want all the details or if that’d just make me jealous.”

“You could find yourself a boy toy.” Gabe held up her hands. “I know, I know. I’m talking crazy, but dusty libraries don’t offer orgasmic delights.”

The monk from the monastery came to mind. She remembered her dream, the way he stared at her, all intense, like he wanted to eat her up.

Her cheeks went up in flames. Even if she was interested in dating—which she wasn’t—he was so out of her league. Trevor was more the type that she usually attracted. Unfortunately. “I’m not sure the type of man I attract can offer orgasmic delights.”

“Bullshit,” Gabe said in her succinct way. “You just need to get out more. It’s not like you’re going to meet a sex god among the library stacks.”

“I don’t have time to get out more.” That man’s chiseled face flashed in front of her eyes again, and she knew without a doubt that for someone like him she’d be tempted to make time.

But she could resist temptation—all she had to do was think of her childhood and how her mom struggled. That was enough to deter her, even when temptation came in such an alluring package.

She shook her head to clear it and turned to find Gabe studying her, eyes narrowed in speculation.

“Have you met someone?” her friend asked.

“Yeah, a monk,” she said truthfully but with self-deprecation.

Gabe rolled her eyes. “A match made in heaven, since you live like a nun.”

A couple of construction workers walked in, which stalled any more talk of sex. She and Gabe fell into their usual light banter as they worked, which made the hours fly by quickly.

A few times, she had the distinct impression she was being watched—by the monk. She looked around, knowing she was being silly. No way was he here. It had to be lingering feelings from her dream.

Carrie couldn’t believe it when she looked at the clock and saw it was nine. “Shouldn’t you be going home soon?” she asked Gabe as she pulled out a couple bottles of Budweiser.

“Just waiting for Rhys. He said he’d pick me up.”

As if on cue, Rhys walked in. Tall, dark, and handsome, he was eye candy to the extreme, even with the scar bisecting the corner of his lips.

Carrie paused for a moment to admire his sheer masculinity.

Actually, today he reminded her of the monk. She wrinkled her nose. Strange. By outer appearances they weren’t anything alike. Rhys’s hair was cut to precision, and the monk had a wild mane tangling around his face. Rhys also looked like he’d stepped out of GQ—a far cry from a coarsely woven brown robe.

Must be the intensity. Rhys had the same focused look about him. Maybe he’d learned it while he’d been at the monastery.

He walked up to the bar, took Gabe’s hand over the counter, and kissed the inside of her wrist. “Hello, love.”

Carrie sighed. That was so romantic. She wanted someone to kiss her wrist.

“Stop drooling.” Gabe took off her apron, wadded it, and tossed it under the counter. “He’s taken.”

Carrie grinned. “He’s not my type, anyway.”

“You have a type?” Rhys asked as he sat at the bar.

Yeah—brooding and blond, apparently. She looked around. She swore she could feel someone watching her. Maybe she was still jet-lagged. She shrugged. “One who’s not in love with another woman is a good start.”

Rhys frowned, suddenly alert. He looked around and then settled his piercing gaze on Gabe.

They may have been together for only a few months, but they were so attuned to each other it was scary. Gabe frowned in return and asked, “What is it?”

“I sense—” His eyes narrowed. “Did you raid the safe again?”

“What? Of course not. I promised I wouldn’t touch the scr—uh, stuff again without your supervision.” She scowled. “Which bites, by the way. It’s not like I’m wholly untrustworthy.”

“It’s not a matter of trust.” He took her hand and rubbed her palm with his thumb. “I won’t risk you being hurt.”

Carrie sighed again. “Be still my heart.”

Gabe shot her a look of death.

She grinned. “I love the macho thing. You’re so lucky. The last time a man was protective of me was—well, never.”

“It’s damn irritating,” her friend grumbled. But Carrie could see her melt under Rhys’s soothing touch.

“Ready, love?”

“Yeah.” Gabe ducked under the counter. “Just let me get my things.”

Rhys watched her walk away, and Carrie almost had to avert her eyes to stop from witnessing his hot, I-want-her-bad gaze.

“You must come to dinner one of these evenings.” He turned back to her once Gabe disappeared into the back room. “Give your eyes a rest from your dense tomes.”

She groaned as she wiped the counter. “The last time I came to dinner, I swear I gained five pounds.”

“We’ll only serve two desserts instead of five,” Gabe promised, slipping into her sweater as she rejoined them.

“Or maybe I could work out with you guys.” She waved her arms, trying to look like Jet Li. “You can show me some kung fu moves.”

“Dream on, babe.” Gabe reached across the counter to give her a one-armed hug. “You’re a cute bunny, not a killer, and I like you just the way you are. Get used to it.”

“Maybe I can show you a move or two when she’s not looking,” Rhys said with a hint of a smile. He stood up and stretched to kiss Carrie on the cheek. But as he withdrew, his brow furrowed and his hand clamped on her arm.

“Rhys?” she heard Gabe ask distantly.

His eyes honed sharply on Carrie, and she felt something vague roll through her, disquieting and uncomfortable. His grip tightened on her, and confusion twisted his expression.

He wasn’t the only one confused here. Something was going on, but she had no idea what it was. She bit her lip. She only knew instinctively that he needed to let her go—now. But when she spoke, her voice came out thin and wispy. “Don’t.”

“Rhys, what the hell?” Gabe grabbed his hand and pulled one of his fingers back, peeling him off.

“Bloody shite, Gabrielle.” He flexed his fingers as he scowled at her.

“Well, you were being a freak.” She glanced apologetically at Carrie over her shoulder as she escorted him toward the door. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she replied automatically, totally confused as she watched them leave.

What just happened?

She shook her head. Maybe Gabe would be able to clue her in tomorrow.

Rolling her shoulders, she looked around at the semi-full bar. No one seemed to be aware of the drama that had just taken place. She tried to shake it off, but still she felt like someone had her under a microscope.

One more strange thing to add to the assortment of strangeness that had happened today. She shook her head and went to refill pints for a couple regulars at the other end of the bar.