“Don’t let it go to your head. I just wanted you to know I am coming back,” she bit back.
“I have faith in you, Gillian,” Aleksei’s magical murmurings told her. “Be safe and return to me.”
Cronus on a cracker. He cut the connection first. Lovely. For some reason she felt unreasonably annoyed. Must be the anticipation of what she would find upon her arrival to London. Yup. That was it. Like hell it was.
CHAPTER 5
"SON of a bitch,” Gillian breathed,her entire posture stiffening.
Pavel reacted instantly, flanking her on the left as Jenna moved up to the right. Both waited for Gillian to explain what was making her tense.
“Now what?” Jenna hissed, watching Gill’s reaction.
“Inspector Wanker and his Shifter sidekick,” the petite blonde informed her.
Jenna shifted her gaze to where Gillian was looking with undisguised displeasure. A handsome blond man in a suit, accompanied by a very slender leggy woman with blond-frosted hair, were walking toward them. The female Shifter looked friendly, the man looked pissed.
“Dr. Key.” Inspector Brant McNeill’s voice dripped with proper British tones. “How nice of you to return, just as you promised.”
“Fuck,” Gill swore under her breath but managed what she hoped passed for a polite smile.
Inspector Claire Jardin was less caustic, “Gillian, how good it is to see you. I reminded Brant just this morning that you were an honorable woman and would make good on your promise.”
Jenna choked back a laugh, covering it with a sudden coughing fit as Gill’s teeth audibly ground together. They were screwed. There was no way Inspectors McNeill and Jardin were going to let them out of the Country until they answered a few questions and helped out with whatever the issue was.
“Hey, Claire.” Gillian stuck her hand out for the obligatory shake. “Hi, Brant, how’s it hanging?”
The handsome blond man blushed profusely, his eyes hardening at Gillian’s comment. He chose to ignore it and remain professional. The handshake he delivered was brief and firm, and conveyed his nervousness with the sweat on his palm. “Please come with us, Dr. Key. We have a car waiting.”
It wasn’t lost on him that Gillian had ignored his title. She’d ignored Claire’s too; but Brant wasn’t a fool. He knew she didn’t like him and took it as a slight. In that aspect, his perception was right on the money.
Gillian didn’t like him. She could feel his enjoyment of his temporary power over her and Jenna. At present all he was to her was a police officer who focused on his authority rather than what he represented. Nope, it was official. Brant McNeill was an ass, in her opinion, Fey blooded or not.
Claire was different. Gillian’s empathy was “on” all the time so she picked up subtleties from those around her. She had known the woman was a Shifter from the first encounter but not what variety. Studying her classic profile from the backseat of the limousine, Gillian was still perplexed as to “what” she was.
On cue, Claire turned toward her. “This will not take long,” she said in her French-accented English. “Just a few questions about your friend’s kidnapping and the murdered prostitutes you witnessed, then we would appreciate it if you would help oversee a Field Operation being carried out by your Dr. Gerhardt.”
“Helmut is here?” Gillian was surprised.
“Yes, he arrived yesterday. When he learned that you would be diverted back through London, he asked if we would detain you long enough for you to assist him.”
“Fabulous,” Gill muttered, ignoring Claire’s shy smile and Brant’s not so shy smirk.
“Remind me to put a tarantula in Helmut’s shower.”
“Oh, Gill, that’s mean,” Jenna admonished but she giggled anyway.
“Naw, that’s lethal,” Gillian whispered. “Helmut is a notorious arachnophobe. It’ll be just as hilarious as me standing amid a group of his graduate students doing Goddess knows what and answering questions at a purported haunted site at fucking three A.M.”
“Gillian Diana Key!” Jenna gasped, laughing and holding her sides.
Pavel had the temerity to chuckle. It succeeded in drawing a twisted smile from their fearless leader, who was stalking behind Inspectors McNeill and Jardin like a small, predatory beast: beautiful and deadlier than the two Scotland Yard pros could imagine.
The drive back to the Yard was fairly brief. Gillian patiently and succinctly answered every question put to her by Inspector McNeill. Only Jenna and Pavel noticed that she used a tone of voice usually reserved only for people she thought were too stupid to get it if she used words with more than two syllables. With Inspector Jardin, she was much more polite, but then Claire hadn’t pissed her off at every turn. Brant seemed to be determined to have a power struggle with the little blonde over every issue. One day, he would push too hard and Gillian would kick his ass, cop or no cop.
Since it finally was apparent that Gillian really didn’t know shit about Tanis’s captors, the ongoing prostitute murders, exactly where she and Kimber had been taken or who was orchestrating the slaughter, just as she’d said, Brant called a halt after Claire coughed and surreptitiously pointed at her watch. He took the hint and closed the folder. From the description of the house, and the general vicinity, they’d probably be able to find it without her direct help. It irked him that this annoying woman couldn’t give them more information but he was at least satisfied that it wasn’t because she wouldn’t. She really didn’t know.
It was all Gillian could do to keep from smiling triumphantly at the arrogant detective. She didn’t like him and made no bones about it. Intellectually she knew that as a cop, he had to assume that she knew more than she was letting on. Empathically he pissed her off with his stupid authority trump card. If he hadn’t been such an ass in the beginning, she’d have been much more cooperative.
Truth was, she had a fair inkling of where they’d been taken. Pavel would certainly have been able to backtrack at least to the area, but pointing that out right now didn’t seem like the best idea, especially to someone like Brant McNeill. He tolerated Claire Jardin as a partner, but Gill could sense he had some deep-seated unease over her being a Shifter. Hell, he didn’t even like himself. She was betting it was because of his Fey background that he tried so hard to cover up. She’d given them as much as she was able.
The police were stepping up Paramortal patrol Teams in the seedier districts of town, including the area Gillian had described, trying to prevent the murder of any more streetwalkers, and the Yard was going full out to find the estate. Their further assistance wouldn’t be needed in this matter. Since Gill had no proof that Dracula was directly involved with their abduction other than the word of Jack the Ripper, it wasn’t a credible enough lead to pass along.
Mentioning Jack to the detectives didn’t seem like a wise move either since Kimber wasn’t there to corroborate her story. Plus, Gillian could no more remember a viable description of him than she could of her third-grade teacher. She figured Brant wouldn’t believe her explanation anyway. Partial amnesia due to Pixie venom probably wasn’t high on his list of excuses.
Claire followed her to the ladies’ room with Jenna after they concluded the interview. It had been a long evening with too many cups of coffee. As they washed their hands, Gillian took a shot at satisfying her own curiosity about the slender French woman.
“How did you get to be employed by Scotland Yard?” she ventured as Claire reached for a paper towel.
“I had worked as an Inspector in Gascony for several years,” Claire replied, completely unruffled. “I met an English gentleman who worked with Interpol and he brought me back to London. It was simple enough to transfer my credentials and license here and Scotland Yard seemed all too happy to have me.”
“That’s amazing,” Gillian replied. “You must be very skilled to have impressed the Yard.”
The lovely woman smiled. “I simply use my intuition.”
It was Gillian’s turn to smile. �
��I bet you use more than that. You’re a Shifter, correct? You can read people’s body language and scent far better than a Human can and much better than a cross-bred Fey like Brant.”
“Oh, chérie, do not let him know that you suspect his heritage,” Claire warned her. “He does not acknowledge it himself, but I have always suspected him to be part Fey.”
She paused a moment, then met Gillian’s eyes. “You are correct, I am a Shifter. Most people who are familiar with us notice. I am an inherited Shifter. I was not attacked or bitten. My family is Cheetah. Some may regard it as a Curse. To us, it is simply a family experience. A family totem, if you are familiar with shamanism.”
When Claire said “Cheetah,” Gillian’s eyes widened. She’d never known a Shifter variety outside the usually thought of varieties: Wolf, Leopard, Jaguar, Tiger, Bear, Lion, Hyena and, of course, Daed’s Minotaur. The fact that Claire had described her Shifter inheritance as a family totem rather than a Curse was interesting. The only other inherited Shifter that Gillian knew was Daedelus. His Minotaur Line traced back to ancient Crete.
“That’s fascinating,” Gill responded. “I know only one other inherited Shifter, but I’ve never known or heard of a Cheetah.”
“We are indigenous to Africa. My family had immigrated there long ago. There is still a Cheetah preserve that my relatives manage. My great-grandmother left there about eighty years ago and returned to France. We have always been this way. It is something to be spoken of with acceptance, not annoyance.”
There was no trace of bitterness in her voice, Gill noticed. She appeared well adjusted, the way Cezar’s pack and Daed appeared to be. Still, Claire did the slight glance away that most Shifters seemed to do when they first met someone and were unsure of any inherent prejudices. Gill’s empathy picked up the ripple of her emotions simultaneously: confident, proud . . . but insecure—would this person accept me?
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Gillian said kindly. “I don’t normally ask such a personal question, but I like you and wanted to get to know you better.”
Her feelings and intentions were genuine. She did like Claire and she had been curious about her origins. Unbidden, her own pheromones shifted, her empathy flared just a little and Claire could feel and scent her sincerity.
“My God, you really are a natural empath!” Claire exclaimed.
“Powerful too,” Jenna put in, making both of them jump. She’d been so uncharacteristically quiet that Gillian had forgotten she was there.
“Apparently.” The Frenchwoman laughed.
“Let’s get out of here, I’m not big on powder room discussions.” Gillian grinned back.
“No, you just don’t like anything so girlie as a bathroom chat,” Jenna snorked at her friend.
“What about you?” Gill groused on her way out of the door. “The Missouri tomboy who traded her Barbie dolls for Tonka trucks and Tommy guns.”
“Hey, at least I met more guys that way,” Jenna protested. “You try getting any males interested in you while you’re changing the curtains in your Barbie Dream House.”
They argued all the way out to the limousine, Pavel trailing behind them, Brant and Claire bringing up the rear. Claire was giggling her ass off at their obvious friendship and camaraderie. Brant was scowling, stiff and completely formal—a blond disapproving presence as they piled into the limousine that would take them to their next destination. Gillian sat facing forward, Jenna across from her and Pavel on her right. Claire settled in next to Jenna, leaving the seat next to Pavel for Brant, who looked decidedly uncomfortable squeezing in next to the big Werewolf and the door.
He would escort Dr. Key to where she needed to go. He would protect her if necessary because that was his job. He would even take a bullet for her if the situation demanded it. Brant McNeill was honorable; he was professional; he was reliable. He was a good cop but he didn’t have to enjoy each and every assignment. He definitely didn’t enjoy Dr. Key.
The two former Marines kept up their light banter as they drove through the darkened, misty streets of London. Claire kicked Brant in the shin in an effort to get him to lighten up and enjoy the company. He wasn’t having it and remained pressed against the side of the car’s door as far away from Pavel as he could get without being overly obvious. A slight frown rested on his handsome features.
Gillian popped a cigarette into her mouth and lit it. Jenna rolled down the window a bit and joined her in her nicotine bliss by lighting one of her own.
“You cannot smoke in here,” Brant admonished them.
“Arrest me then, because I’m having a cigarette.” Gillian spoke matter-of-factly and blew a stream of blue-gray smoke out the window.
Brant shifted in his seat and looked away, his face darkening a little. It was noticeable even in the gloom of the car. Claire reached over and patted his knee. He rewarded her with a blistering glare and she subsided, turning her attention back to the women.
“This is Piccadilly Circus.” She indicated the brightly lit neon lights of the area they turned into.
Gillian glanced up at the street signs, enjoying the cheerful atmosphere of London’s well-known area. The Ritz-Carlton Hotel loomed into view and another street sign became visible.
“Berkeley . . .” Gill whispered to herself, thinking.
“What?” Jenna blew a smoke ring and looked at her friend.
Gillian blanched suddenly and whirled in her seat to look at Brant and Claire. “Where are we going? Exactly?”
“Number Fifty, Berkeley Square,” Brant responded, his brow furrowing even more. “Why?”
“Shit! And you didn’t think to warn me before?” Gillian snapped at the detective.
“Why in hell would I warn you before, Dr. Key?” Brant snapped back.
“Because she’s an inherent empath, Brant,” Claire told him, clicking onto Gillian’s reference. Her partner’s eyes widened slightly.
“I . . . I am sorry, Dr. Key. I didn’t think . . .” Brant stammered.
“Have you even read my file, Inspector McNeill? I am assuming you have a file . . . Or do you only know what you hear on the news?” Her tone was scathing and he flushed deeper red.
“Dr. Key, I have read your file. I simply did not focus in on that particular detail,” he tried explaining.
She waved him off and turned her attention back to the direction they were going. Jenna poked her knee.
“What’s Fifty Berkeley Square?”
“The most haunted house in London,” Claire said softly.
“Oh shit,” Jenna breathed.
“Exactly,” Gillian said.
When they pulled up, she could pick Helmut out of the crowd of students easily. Dr. Helmut Gerhardt was six feet three inches of sandy-haired, blue-eyed, Austrian masculinity. He was dressed in his usual way, tweed sweater, jeans and expensive leather shoes. His sandy hair was unruly and rumpled. He had been her professor, her advisor, her mentor and her friend. Now he was also her boss at the IPPA, but she could live with it.
As far as Gillian knew, Helmut wasn’t married, didn’t have a girlfriend, wasn’t gay. He’d never been anything but appropriate with her—almost bordering on fatherly in his demeanor and concern for her while she was under his tutelage.
She respected his intellect, admired his insight, abilities and talent; truly loved him as a friend now that they were professional colleagues. He was both brilliant and gifted in psychic abilities—limited telepathy, some rudimentary telekinesis and empathy that was as strong as hers but more limited in scope since he could only “read” living Humans and Human crossbreeds. In her mind, though, she was ever the student and he was ever her teacher. That was something Helmut might have changed if he could, but he’d rather be her lifelong friend than her short-term lover.
He turned and his familiar blue eyes crinkled in welcome as they piled out of the car. Gillian walked in as dignified a way as possible toward him, Jenna, Pavel and the two Inspectors following her.
Helmut met
her halfway and enfolded her in a warm hug. “How nice of you to come, Schatzi,” he whispered teasingly to her in his Austrian-accented English, using his pet name for her.
“How nice of you to invite me, Scheisskopf,” Gillian kidded back, affectionately calling him a “shithead” while standing on her toes to kiss his cheek and grin.
“One day, someone will not be flummoxed by your charms, my dear, and you will find yourself on the receiving end of a long overdue reprimand.” Helmut chuckled, shaking his finger under her nose as he scolded her kindly.
His sharp eyes scanned her face and form quickly, no trace of sexual interest, only fond concern in his look, which settled back on her own very green orbs. She looked tired. Tired and . . . something else. He frowned slightly and she ducked her head, blushing a little in her embarrassment of being scrutinized by her teacher. No time now to find out what was bothering her, but he knew she’d just come off a rather arduous assignment; he was the one who had sent her on it. There would be time later to fathom the shadows in her eyes. She had also dropped her defenses in his presence, the reflexive gesture of trust— one empath to another. That was something she could not afford to do. Not now.
“Keep your shields up, Gillian,” he ordered her softly, before taking her hand as he turned to greet her accompaniment.
Gillian introduced her group to Helmut. He, in turn, introduced her to his graduate students and the little coven of Spiritualist practitioners who were all huddled in coats and robes in front of the infamous house on Berkeley Square.
The name plate beside the door read, MAGGS ANTIQUARIAN BOOKSELLERS, an innocuous name for such an inherently dangerous place. Fifty Berkeley Square was only one of several haunted houses on that segment of street. House numbers Fifty-three and Forty-four were also haunted but to a lesser degree.
Gillian had allowed Helmut to take her hand as he led her to the front of the group and he made his introductions of his former student. “Dr. Key’s empathic talent differs from mine in that she is not limited in her sensitivity to Humans or even the living. Her range encompasses both the living and the long dead, which is why I asked her here tonight.”
Key to Conspiracy Page 6