by Cat Adams
“What can I do?”
“Um, don’t you have a computer system to rebuild?”
She rol ed her eyes. “I’m not on the clock until nine. I usual y come in early to get out of the house and
have a quiet cup of coffee without listening to my sister’s screaming kids. So, what do you need?”
“In that case—” I rol ed my chair backward and checked the lights on the safe. It hadn’t quite been the
ful twenty-four hours, but the lights were flashing green. Green was good, but I wasn’t sure what
flashing was. I hoped that meant I could get past the wards on the safe and not that the whole thing was
fucked up beyond al relief … otherwise known as FUBAR.
“I really need some fresh clothes: jeans, medium T-shirts, underwear, and a sports bra. You know my
sizes. Also, a men’s large denim jacket and some running shoes in a seven wide.” I thought for a
moment, then continued. “And you’d probably better buy me a case of those diet shakes to keep here
at the office. Chocolate, please. Oh, and replace the ones I drank earlier.”
“I’m not worried about that. But shouldn’t you have something a little more … I dunno, substantial?”
“There’s a bunch of stuff the doctor ordered on the counter at home. This is just to get me through in
a pinch.”
She made a hmph sound and pursed her lips. “Like last night?”
“Exactly.”
“And just what happened to bring you here in your jammies? You haven’t said.”
I used the process of opening the safe to buy me time to figure out how to answer her. Taking a deep
breath, I ran through the steps to disarm the wards and punched in the combination with a little more
vigor than was strictly necessary. Closing my eyes and saying a quick prayer, I pul ed the door lever.
Dawna was careful y crouched behind my desk in case the whole thing blew. When the door opened,
we both let out a little whoop of joy.
I drew out the old-fashioned cash box I keep on hand for emergencies. I only kept a couple hundred
dol ars in there, but if Dawna didn’t go nuts, that should be enough to cover the basics.
“Last night we caught somebody messing with the gas line to the cottage. Before you ask, he got
away. And I didn’t think it was a good idea for me to meet with the cops after dark in my current …
condition. So I bugged out before they got there.”
She blinked rapidly several times, her expression one of complete shock. “Oh. But why—”
“Would somebody want to blow me up? No clue. And if I could’ve thought of somewhere else to go
that would be safe and unoccupied, I would’ve done it. I don’t want to put anybody here in danger.”
She sat up straighter, her face flushing, her breath speeding up. I noted the pulse on her neck without
meaning to but was able to tear my gaze away before she noticed. “Do you think we’re in danger?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. It would help if I had a clue what was going on, but I just don’t.” I gave her a
slow smile. “But I intend to find out.”
She shivered. “You scare me sometimes, you know that?”
“It’s the fangs.”
“No,” she said firmly, “it’s not.”
I didn’t know how to answer that, so I changed the subject. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” I
asked as I opened the box and forked over the cash, which was actual y three hundred. Yay. “I know
it’s a bother.”
She glared up at me from the pen and Post-it note she was using to make a list. “Don’t be an ass,”
she scolded. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to help. I’l lock the door behind me on the way out
and you should have the whole place to yourself until I get back. Ron and the others aren’t exactly
known for getting here early, and Bubba just left.” She took the cash from my hand, tucking it into the
pocket of her suit jacket along with the note and pen.
I put the cash box and duffel into the safe, then closed it and put up the wards. I was going to be down
the hal for a bit, and I do not leave weapons unattended. Ever.
“Thanks, Dawna. Real y.”
“No problema.”
I grinned. It was her standard answer to everything—unless she was annoyed. Irritate her and she
got al formal, with a “yes, ma’am” or “no, sir. ” In five years, I’ve only earned two “ma’ams.” Ron, on the
other hand, gets about half a dozen “sirs” a day and doesn’t even catch the sarcasm.
Some people are just so dense.
I limped out of the office and down the hal to the bathroom. Hitting the light, I took a look around.
It’s a fairly good-sized room. Not big by modern standards, it would’ve been considered positively
luxurious back when the house was built. In those days, the standard was to have one bath for an
entire house. But this building had started life as a mansion. Along with real parquet floors and an
honest-to-God stained-glass window on the landing between the first and second floors, it had been
built with a bathroom on every floor. The original tub had probably been a big old claw-footed
monstrosity, but somewhere around the sixties an ambitious owner had decided to do an update of the
bathrooms. There was a shower, with ceramic tile squares and a matching oversized tub in flamingo
pink. They exactly matched the pedestal sink and toilet. The wal paper was candy-cane striped in pink,
silver, black, and white. It was loud but undeniably eye-catching. A plain white shower curtain hung on
the metal rod, the only plain thing in the room.
I rummaged around in the built-in linen closet and the medicine chest, lining up toiletries on the edge
of the tub. Nobody in the building used the showers much, but the plumbing worked just fine, and I
always kept supplies on hand, just in case.
I decided to brush my teeth first.
I glanced into the mirror as I squeezed toothpaste onto the brush. Good news, I had a reflection; bad
news, I looked like crap. My skin was normal y pale, but not like this. There was an inch-long gash
healing on my right cheek and nasty green and purple bruising along my jaw, none of which I
remembered getting. They had to have come from this morning’s scuffle, but they looked days old. My
hair was a wreck, standing out in al directions, decorated with leaves and twigs. Jeez. No wonder
Dawna had stared.
My T-shirt had started out white but was now liberal y decorated with blood-and grass stains, and it
was real y too thin to wear in public. Only my plaid flannel boxers seemed to have survived the attack
unscathed.
But it was the weariness and strain around the eyes that was the most tel ing. It had been a hard
couple of days, and that was taking its tol . My body might be healing better than the average human
—not as wel as a vampire, but then, who did? But the healing, while welcome, couldn’t erase the signs
of exhaustion and pain that had nothing to do with physical damage. I had dark bags under my eyes
that looked like I’d been punched … repeatedly.
I looked down at the toothbrush, trying to escape my reflection, and was trying to master the
specialized technique of brushing fangs when I heard a commotion downstairs.
“Dawna? Dawna!!” Ron’s bass bel ow carried easily up the stairs. “Don’t worry. Our receptionist is
here somewhere.”
Of course. Of al the days for Ron to meet clients early. I stepped out of the bathroom, intending to
yel down that she’d be right back, but he was talking to someone, using a tone that was ever so
accommodating. I knew it must be a big client to earn that level of brownnosing. Mere mortals were
never treated so wel .
“You can have a seat in the lobby if you like. I can get you some coffee.”
“No, thank you.”
I recognized that voice. Hel , anyone who’d been to the movies in the past decade would recognize
that voice. It was Cassandra Meadows, star of stage and screen, “America’s Darling,” and … Vicki’s
mother.
I stepped back into the bathroom, looked up, and addressed my reflection. Well, fuck a duck. Spitting
out the toothpaste, I slid the brush into the little chrome holder mounted on the wal and grabbed rather
desperately for a comb.
It wasn’t that I expected to make myself look good. Only God does miracles. Hel , in Cassandra’s
company I’d look like a toad no matter what I did. But there’s a certain tension between most attractive
women. If I went out looking like this, I’d lose points and she’d use it to her advantage. I couldn’t do a
damned thing about the clothes. But my hair would be combed, my face clean, and my breath, by God,
would be minty fresh.
“Where are Ms. Graves’s offices?”
“She takes up most of the third floor. You can’t miss it.” I could hear the puzzlement in his voice, could
almost imagine him looking at the very beefy professional bodyguards she always had with her and
wondering why on earth she’d want to hire me.
She wouldn’t. Cassandra and Jason were an industry unto themselves. They earned salaries in the
multiple mil ions for every picture even before the points and incentives; their income rivaled the
economies of some smal countries. They hired a team of security experts—one of the best teams,
actual y. Mil er & Creede were top-notch. Most of their staff were former military or government
operatives. Al of them had magical or psychic ability of one sort or another, and Mil er & Creede
required ongoing certification and continuing education. To hire on with them you had to be the best. I’d
never applied. First, I wouldn’t have met the magical/psychic requirements. More important, I didn’t
have the right attitude. The staff at M&C work as a team. They are used to fol owing orders without
question, complaint, or comment. I wouldn’t last a week. Hel , I probably wouldn’t last a day.
I heard footsteps on the stairs. Two men in dress shoes fol owed by a woman in heels, then, much
more softly, a third man. I could smel gun oil and expensive perfume, feel the frisson of magical power
moving ahead of them, scanning for threats. Damn, they were good.
I’d combed out my hair and scrubbed my face by the time they reached the top of the stairs, so I was
as presentable as I could be when I stepped out to greet them in the hal .
“Hel o, Mrs. Cooper.” I watched eyes the violet of morning glories narrow slightly at my use of her
actual name rather than her stage moniker. “I’m surprised to see you here. You must have come
straight from the airport.”
That last was a guess, but a good one. Her royal purple silk suit had deep creases across the lap, as
if she’d been sitting in it for a long time, and even the perfectly applied makeup couldn’t completely hide
the evidence of tears. I was glad of that last. Vicki deserved more than a few tears.
Cassandra gasped at my appearance, flinching backward. One of a pair of large bodyguards
stepped between us, his hand automatical y going beneath his jacket.
Well, hel . I hadn’t said more than hello and already things were going badly. Of course, it could be
the pale skin, bruised eyes, and fangs. Nah.
“Celia?” Just my name, spoken in a tone that was more cautious than friendly. It occurred to me that
I’d surprised her by not reacting with outright hostility. She knew I didn’t like her, mainly because I
thought she’d treated her daughter shabbily. But Cassandra was Vicki’s mother, and her daughter had
loved her deeply. So I swal owed my resentment and forced myself to play nice and provide a basic
explanation. “I was attacked by a vampire the other night. I’m not a bat—but there have been some
changes. Go on into my office. Make yourself comfortable.” I gestured in the direction of the open
door.
As I expected, the two heavier guards went first, but only after they made sure Cassandra was out of
reach and protected by the third man. They were big—impressively so. They probably stood six four
and six six, with the kind of muscles that come from serious weight work, but without any of the musclebound stiffness you see in folks who neglect flexibility training. They wore expensive, wel -tailored suits
in navy, with crisply starched white shirts. The only bit of color on either of them was their ties. The first
wore one of knotted silk in pale yel ow; the second, a more traditional red. I watched them step
cautiously into the room, their eyes immediately seeking the source of the magic they’d felt downstairs,
and finding it in the safe.
“What’s in the safe, Ms. Graves?” The man standing between Cassandra and me smiled when he
spoke. It was a good professional smile, charming, showing straight white teeth in a face that was
handsome but not excessively so. Like me, he hadn’t won the genetic lotto, but he hadn’t lost his shirt,
either. He had a strong jaw and good cheekbones, but his nose was a little bit large and hooked,
almost, but not quite, a beak. Eyes the color of honey met my gaze easily, and I felt him sizing me up in
ways that had nothing to do with sex but weren’t ignoring the possibility. His hair was his best feature,
or would have been if he hadn’t cut it so short. It was a warm light brown with golden highlights that
would’ve fal en in soft, unruly curls if he’d given it the chance. Instead, it was cropped short enough to
be kept under complete control.
I recognized him from their television ads. John Creede. Second bil ing on the letterhead, he was
rumored to be the real power behind one of the biggest personal protection agencies in the business.
When you care enough to hire the very best.
“It’s a weapons safe,” I pointed out drily. “What do you think is in it?”
“Impressive.” This time when he smiled he meant it, and it changed his whole appearance. Just that
smal change, but I felt my heart speed up just a little, my body suddenly becoming aware of him. The
smal hairs on my neck tingled, as did my fingers. I’d say it was his magic testing what I was, and that
might have been part of it. But there was more to it. A deep shudder coursed through me as he
pressed power against me more strongly. He noticed the reaction, of course, and his eyes started
sparkling with mischief. Damned if he wasn’t intentionally teasing me. I’d never felt anything like what
he was doing. It was primal, wild, yet absolutely control ed. His eyes started to glow lightly, liquid honey
that forced me to stare while his magic made my skin ache. The worst part was I was pretty sure he
wasn’t even trying.
Stil , he kept his voice even and professional when he spoke. “I don’t know what you have in there, but
I could feel the power almost a block away, through the building’s shielding. It takes something very …
special to capture my attention. Makes me want to check it out personal y, Ms. Graves.”
I
wasn’t sure how to answer that, but I was saved the trouble by the timely return of one of the guards,
finished assessing my office for threats.
“You can come in, Ms. Meadows,” red tie announced. “It’s clear.”
Cassandra strode into the office, taking the visitor’s chair opposite the desk. She crossed her legs
with lazy grace, showing a long expanse of silk-stockinged limb. I suppose they were good legs—I’m no
judge of such things. But Lloyd’s of London had insured them for some outrageous amount during her
last picture. Whatever.
Creede gestured for me to precede him. It was a polite gesture, so I did it, but my shoulders were
tight and twitchy until I was in my chair with a wal at my back. I could tel he knew it and was quietly
amused.
“To what do I owe this visit?” I kept my voice pleasantly neutral. So far, things had gone pretty wel . If I
was lucky, we would politely detest each other for a few minutes, get whatever business done, and I
could get on with my day.
She looked at me across the desk as if miles separated us rather than a few inches of polished
wood. I stayed impassive as those amazing eyes took in the bloodstains and the injuries. I caught her
staring at my legs and tried to convince myself she was looking at my tattoo. Unfortunately, it was far
more likely she was staring at the very old, very nasty scars that I tried not to think about but knew were
just visible beneath the hem of my boxer shorts.
I watched her search for the right words and not find them.
“Were you and my daughter lovers?” I could tel it wasn’t the question she’d intended to ask, but it was
the one that made it past her lips.
I burst out laughing, which startled her. “No. We were just friends. She was seeing someone the past
few months. It was starting to get serious.”
“Friends.” She shook her head. It was a gesture of unconscious grace that made her shining dark
hair move like a living thing around her shoulders. Her eyes met mine and I saw them shining with
unshed tears. “Do you know that in my entire adult life I have never had a female friend?”
I wasn’t surprised. Friendships are usual y based on give-and-take between equals. Not many women