Liam's Gold Read online

  eBooks are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Liam’s Gold

  Copyright © 2008 by Jody Wallace

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-228-2

  Edited by Bethany Morgan

  Cover by Anne Cain

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: November 2008

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Liam’s Gold

  Jody Wallace

  Dedication

  For Carrie, who may never even read this. Which makes it tempting to use this space to cast aspersions on her character or share embarrassing moments from her past, but I guess I really shouldn’t.

  Chapter One

  The doorbell buzzed while Liam was in the shower. It was barely audible over the rush of water, even to his sensitive ears. He slid the bar of Irish Spring, his favorite soap, back onto the wire rack, rinsed quickly and cranked off the faucet.The doorbell buzzed again.

  “Hang on, hang on,” he muttered. It was probably Sal here to fix the computer he’d fried with another virus. She had terrible timing, but if she cooled her heels on the doorstep too long, she’d get pissed and he’d have to pay somebody to repair the demon box.

  His cash flow was diverted to other things right now—more important things.

  He wrapped himself in a concealing robe and padded, dripping, to the front door. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his body. He just didn’t want Sal to notice his skin was as flaky as phyllo dough.

  He checked the peephole. Sure enough, his next-door neighbor, Ms. Salvia Rose Winter, leaned against the porch column with a scowl on her pretty face and her computer repair kit balanced on her hip. As always, he felt himself lighten at the sight of her, at the funny way her mouth bowed when she frowned. Grabbing a pair of sunglasses, he slipped them on and opened the door with a flourish.

  “Hey there, Sal my gal.” Liam flashed his most charming smile, the better to keep Sal’s attention on his face. He needed about a gallon of moisturizer, stat. “Long time, no see.”

  Sal pushed up the brim of her cap. Her sky-blue eyes narrowed. “You’re not speaking to me, remember?”

  “And here I thought you were the one mad at me.” He’d been avoiding her, but the reason she assumed was not the reason why. “Guess I was wrong. Well, here you are now. Bygones?”

  She dug in her repair kit and handed him a Tupperware box. “Gram sent cookies. What’s up with the shades, Cory Hart?”

  “Hangover,” he lied. He didn’t have his contacts in, so his shamrock-shaped irises would disclose to any human he wasn’t altogether normal.

  “Are you alone? You’d better be alone.” She eyed his plaid robe and wet hair with a suspicious glare.

  “Of course I’m alone.” He’d been “alone” more than she realized of late. He was too close to completion to risk sex. Too close to completion to invite a Finder spawn into his house, but that was a risk he was willing to take since it was Sal.

  His gal Sal.

  She gave a decisive nod. Her blonde ponytail, shoved through the back of her cap, bounced. “I can give you three hours. But don’t bitch me out about firewalls and filtering software this time. Everyone uses firewalls.”

  He motioned her in and shut the door. “I couldn’t surf my favorite sites.”

  “Porn sites.” Sal tightened her lips, but to him she still looked kissable.

  “A guy’s gotta have hobbies.” As they walked through the house, Liam was careful to stay behind her. Not that Sal knew flaking skin was one of the signs, but she had the genetics to recognize him. Her heritage was the main reason he’d bought the house beside her and her grandmother. Nobody, but nobody, would expect a leprechaun in the final phase of deuchainn to live next door to Finder humans. Nobody would expect a leprechaun in any phase of deuchainn to live next door to Finder humans.

  “What stupid thing did you download this time? Lesbian three-ways?” Sal whisked into the master bedroom and wheeled out his office chair. She flexed her hands and fingers over the keyboard.

  “Come on. Don’t you think I’ve learned my lesson? It was a greeting card. Probably from your grandmother.” He’d sent it to himself, actually, so he could hose his computer. Viruses concealed the electronic burps and glitches his presence caused in electronic equipment.

  “You should get a Mac.” Her voice was gruff, but a tiny smile fluttered across her lips. She inserted a disk and booted up the system in safe mode.

  He leaned over her shoulder, close to her ear. She smelled like roses—not her grandmother’s roses, but the whisper-sweet scent unique to Sal. “I appreciate your help, Sal. What would I do without you?”

  She hesitated before she answered. Unless he mistook his hearing, which he didn’t, she caught her breath. In a slightly forced voice, she said, “You’re dripping on me.”

  He glanced at her chest. A drop of water plopped onto her collarbone and rolled down her creamy skin, glistening like a diamond. Others had spattered her shirt. Her blue cotton tee was more low-cut than usual. Much more. From this angle he could clearly distinguish her firm tits and lacy bra. He’d always loved Sal’s chest, even if he’d never gotten his hands on it.

  And he never would. It would be his biggest regret when he completed deuchainn and left humanspace forever.

  “Nice shirt. Sexy.” Liam blew across her cleavage. “Is that for me?”

  She jerked in shock, and her head clonked against his. “Ouch! What the hell, pervert? No, it’s not for you.” A flush pinkened her skin.

  Liam laughed and straightened, rubbing his head. He knew it was for him. He’d known for years, and he was a bad, bad man to tease her.

  “You look nice,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to finish my shower.”

  Sal waved, already entranced by the quagmire of his computer issues. He needed to moisturize and put in his contacts before she noticed anything unusual.

  The bathroom was off the master bedroom. Once inside, he doffed his robe and grabbed a towel, giving his back a good scratch. He line-dried his linens so they’d be rough enough to…ahhh!…hit the right spots. He’d been human-sized so long, his skin itched and peeled, a sure sign his power cache was nearly replete.

  It was also one of the signs in Finder legends—and one a gaidache looked for.

  So Liam doffed his shirt a lot and bought lotion by the gallon on the Internet using an anonymous account. What leprechaun with any claim to good sense would bare this much skin during the peels? The constant flakes were like a sign reading “Ask me how I can make your dreams come true!” stamped across his back.

  Using a special tool to reach his shoulder blades, Liam applied several layers of oils and lotions everywhere. It should give him a couple hours of normalcy before the peels returned. Then he inserted his brown contacts. He ordered them off the Internet too, instead of going to the optometrist, for obvious reasons. First there would be questions about his “deformed” irises, then the research, and then, some of them, the few who could find space in their twenty-first century perceptions to believe in fairies, would make a wish—a wish he would be comp
elled to grant. A wish that would drain his magic reserves and add that much more time to his deuchainn.

  Optometrists invariably asked for perfect vision when they found a leprechaun. Even the bald or fat ones.

  Liam wiped the last blot of lotion on the tops of his feet and tossed the empty bottle in the trash. In his linen closet, behind the towels, he had twenty more. He swung his arms back and forth to ensure he didn’t feel the pinch of dry skin along his spine.

  Outside in the bedroom, his telephone rang. This time he draped a towel around his hips before he exited the bathroom.

  “It’s for you.” Sal held up the portable phone without glancing around.

  God, he hoped it wasn’t Kristiana. He’d been fielding her post break-up calls for months. For a therapist, she had a hard time letting go. He ambled over to Sal, sort of hoping she would look at him and sort of thankful she didn’t. If she reacted to his near-nakedness, he would get an erection that would be hard to hide with just a towel.

  In fact, the thought of it, the thought of Sal, was causing some stirrings in his nether region. Maybe it hadn’t been a smart move to ditch the robe, all things considered.

  He grabbed the phone and hurried into his walk-in closet.

  “This is Connell,” he said.

  “Hello, Mr. Connell, I’m calling on behalf of Sterling Consumer Surveys and wondered if you’d have time to answer a few questions.”

  His newest PI couldn’t say hello without dropping into code. “I’d rather have answers. You have news for me?”

  Pete cleared his throat before responding. “Your target’s on the move.”

  Liam stopped sorting through his shirts. “I thought he was in New York.”

  “He and several flunkies boarded a private jet. They’re headed to Stevens Point, Wisconsin.”

  Liam leaned against the back wall of the closet, ties and belts trailing around him. This was not good news. Not good news at all.

  “When’s he supposed to arrive?” he asked. “Where’s he staying? Tell me everything you’ve found out.”

  Pete rattled off the facts one by one. “Private jet, Central Wisconsin Airport. Due to land in a few hours. Booked at the Royal for three nights. Executive penthouse. He’s got meetings with several real estate agents, two sessions of golf at SentryWorld. Dinner reservations for four tonight at the Matador, seven p.m. Massage at the hotel directly thereafter.”

  It sounded normal enough for an investor like Robair Faolin, known as Robert Ormand to humans, but there were only two reasons the son of a bitch would come to Stevens Point, Wisconsin, and it sure as hell wasn’t the Tater Toot.

  One, the gaidache fey, the bastard who preyed on his fellows to facilitate his sojourn in humanspace, had sensed the Wisconsin sith ring, even though it wasn’t on any of the lists, and was trying to pinpoint the location.

  Or two, he’d located Liam.

  There were worse things than being compelled to grant a wish for a Finder human—being compelled to grant a wish for a leprechaun, a fucking traitor to his kind who deserved to be eaten by gnomes. When Liam had left his homeland three years ago, his tribe, or what was left of it, had been waging a political campaign against a certain faction on the searsanach council, a battle to increase protections for outlying peoples and better police magic theft and treason. But bribe-taking, power-abusing tribes like the Faolins had gained influence in the leprechaun’s governing body after a period of turbulent times in the Realm.

  The Anich were counting on him to earn the rare open seat on the council and restore the balance between the Anich and the Comas. That meant never being recognized by human or gaidache and completing his deuchainn before anyone else competing for the position.

  Not that the Comas part of the council acknowledged the growing incidence of magic theft in humanspace or the Realm.

  “Did you get a visual?” he asked Pete, trying to moderate the rage in his voice. “Any signs of the things I told you to look for?”

  He could practically hear the man on the other end of the phone roll his eyes, but the PI was too well paid to balk. “No peeling skin. He’s bald, so no obvious hair dye. He was the same height as the last time I photographed him in New York…you want I should keep going?”

  “That’s enough.” Liam didn’t exhibit any obvious signs, either. “How many traveling companions? Any of them have the signs?”

  “One tried to fire up a laptop and it wouldn’t come on.”

  Which meant one of Robair’s sycophants could be a leprechaun. Hell, any of them could, or none. It was hard to imagine Robair would be the type to keep anyone around who knew about him, who could ruin his chances at the council seat with three little words. Even though leprechauns who took deuchainn vowed not to sabotage their fellows in any way, not all obeyed the laws. It was a character flaw far too common in the Realm and far too close to tainting the searsanach council permanently.

  Some rules should never be broken.

  “Did he have a woman?” Other leprechauns in humanspace kept to themselves, especially in the bedroom. During orgasm, they exuded a trace of their power cache, increasing their chances of being recognized. Some leprechauns claimed you could reduce the three-year deuchainn by a month if you didn’t get off the whole time.

  Needless to say, Liam had employed a different strategy, and it had been working great until now. Ironic that Robair’s amoral tactics had enhanced Liam’s chances, since the gaidache had interfered with almost all of their fellow competitors, as far as Liam could tell.

  “One woman was with the group,” Pete said. “The one with the laptop. Good-looking, brown hair, big tits. Really short.”

  “Interesting. Unusually short?”

  “Yeah,” Mike said.

  If despair hit a leprechaun in humanspace, he or she shrank, sometimes half an inch, sometimes back to natural leprechaun size. Since it was magic, it was overlooked by humans, who didn’t notice much when it came right down to it. But there was no growing back unless you found another leprechaun and wished for height.

  “Have you seen her in his company before?” Liam asked. If she was a leprechaun, he wouldn’t be surprised if the poor woman’s disappointment involved Robair Faolin.

  “Yeah, in New York. Name’s Gail Smith. She’s worked for him a couple months. A secretary, but they definitely screw around on the side. Want the shots of it?”

  “Not of that, just of her.” Wow, Pete was thorough. “Email me close-ups of her face and feet.” He heard the clicks of Pete’s computer sending the files to Liam’s anonymous email address. Hopefully Sal could get his demon box working in time for the images to be of use.

  Son of an anishag. Why now? Liam was almost replete. He’d give anything if some snot-nosed kid found Robair and wished for a million bucks or an Xbox 1000 or whatever it was kids wished for these days. A nice fantasy, but convincing a human to do that would violate the code of ethics they’d all sworn to uphold during deuchainn. Robair might be close to crux himself, but instead of slipping out of humanspace like a bad dream, the scumbag had to invade Liam’s turf.

  Pete’s computer beeped. “I sent the digitals.”

  “Thanks, Pete.” With one hand, Liam tugged on a pair of boxers. “If you hear anything else, page me. Any time of the day or night. I want to know when he moves. What he does. If he veers from his meetings, the hotel, the country club and maybe a place called Slippy’s Shoestore, I need to know.”

  “If you want me in Wisconsin, I’ll need double the travel expenses,” Pete said.

  Pete was pricey, but he was worth it. Liam knew PIs. He’d employed enough of them the past three years, spying on Robair and other leprechauns—the better to avoid them. “Done. Get there as fast as you can.”

  “I thought you’d say that. I’m already close. I can beat him there.” Pete paused before continuing. “I just gotta ask, man. Why are you so curious about what this guy does in Stevens Point?”

  “I’m curious about what this guy does anywhere
.”

  “You’re a real curious guy, Connell. I’ve had weird clients before, but you take the cake.”

  “When I signed our contract, I agreed not to do anything illegal with the information you provided. If you’re uncomfortable, I can find another PI.” Liam didn’t want the hassle, but if Pete couldn’t keep his nose out of Liam’s business, he’d call one of his other contacts and toss the job their way.

  “Nah, you seem harmless enough. Later, Connell.”

  As Liam pulled on jeans and a shirt, he considered his options. Robair would arrive tonight, and Liam estimated he had two weeks before he could head for the sìth ring and use his power to, at long last, return home. To the Realm, to bring the searsanach council back into balance and right the wrongs the Comas had inflicted since they’d gained a majority in the ruling council.

  It was the one time in humanspace a leprechaun could use his power for himself. The one time that really mattered.

  Should he try to beat Robair at his own game? Break the rules in order to win? No, he wouldn’t thieve someone else’s power, not even Robair’s.

  And he didn’t want to run. Deserting his life here, tonight, without a chance to tie up loose ends didn’t feel right. Robair had all known sìth rings under surveillance. Liam had found out about this tiny one from a fairy—and it had cost him. It was going to be hard enough to access this one if the bastard had found out about it. Making a break for a different one wouldn’t be any safer, and he had no way to contact his fairy informant to bargain for another unmapped location.

  Dammit. Robair would stop at nothing to win, but Liam’s disguise was foolproof. Everything he did was what they taught you not to do. He was a footwear designer—could he be more obvious? He had a vigorous sex life. His hair remained its natural red shade. He surrounded himself with electronics. He lived far from any known sìth ring.

  Best of all, he’d bought the house next to a Finder. Not just any Finder, but one whose ancestors had a ratio of recognition even higher than the Kennedys’. Sal’s grandmother was the most recent of their line to hit gold. Infertile, she’d met a leprechaun sixty years ago and wished she could have children.