Phantom Shadows ig-3

by Dianne Duvall

  Well, he wasn’t merry now. He was all business.

  Melanie stepped off the elevator, Bastien beside her.

  Before Bastien could muscle his way through the guards or do something else to rile them, she asked, “Did Todd by any chance call you?”

  “He did. These men”—he motioned to the soldiers standing at attention behind him, fingers on the triggers of their automatic weapons—“are going to accompany you wherever you choose to take Mr. Newcombe.”

  Not a good idea. Bastien was bound to say or do something to set them off and she really didn’t want to end up digging more bullets out of him.

  “I’mmmmm pretty sure my Chevy Volt won’t hold this many,” she commented.

  Beside her, Bastien laughed. It was the first time she had heard him do so, the deep rumble warming her insides like hot cocoa.

  John’s lips twitched. “I’m sure it won’t,” he agreed. “Two men will ride with you. The others will follow in separate vehicles.”

  “That really isn’t necessary—”

  “I believe it is. You’re an important member of our family.” Chris worked hard to make the network feel like a family. “We just want to make sure nothing happens to you.” His eyes shot Bastien a warning.

  Bastien stiffened. “I didn’t harm her when I breeched the network. What reason would I have for harming her now?”

  “You threatened her life and forced her to allow you access to Vincent.”

  Guilt rose up inside Melanie, souring her stomach. Bastien had done no such thing, but had told Chris he had when interrogated. To protect her. Melanie had freely and willingly aided Bastien in seeing Vince that last time. But Bastien had feared she would lose her job and all credibility if she admitted as much.

  “That was then. This is now,” Bastien gritted.

  “I have no way of knowing what motivates you from one moment to the next,” John spoke evenly. “If you mean her no harm, you shouldn’t object to the added security.”

  Melanie could have sworn she actually heard Bastien’s teeth grind together.

  “So be it,” he said again and headed for the back doors.

  The tension in her Chevy as they left the network was about a twenty-one on a scale of one to ten. Bastien sat beside Melanie in the passenger seat, large and powerful even when not in motion. Two soldiers sat in the backseat, automatic weapons in hand.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to take your fingers off the triggers, gentlemen,” Bastien said after several long minutes, his gaze on the darkened scenery that zipped past outside his window. “There are a lot of bumps in North Carolina’s roads that could precipitate an accidental discharge.”

  In the rearview mirror, Lanie saw the men exchange smug glances.

  “If it happens, it happens,” one drawled.

  Bastien continued to stare out the window. “If you should accidentally shoot me, I’ll merely break your arms and all of your fingers to prevent such stupidity from happening a second time,” he said blandly. “But if you accidentally shoot Dr. Lipton, I’ll rip your throats out so swiftly you’ll bleed to death before the men in the vehicles behind us even realize something has gone wrong. Just something for you to consider.”

  Again the men exchanged a look, this one neither smug nor confident. Both shifted, removing their fingers from the triggers she assumed.

  “A wise decision,” Bastien commented.

  Thanks to an unusual amount of traffic on the road, they were late arriving at David’s sprawling one-story estate.

  Bastien opened and exited his door before Melanie could remove the key from the ignition. Grabbing her purse, she reached for the door handle only to have it slide from her grasp as Bastien opened the door for her.

  He held out a hand.

  Surprised, she took it and exited the car. “Thank you.” Her pulse picked up, doing jumping jacks as though she were a girl out on her first date.

  Nodding, he released her hand and eyed the soldiers clambering out of the back. “Your services are no longer needed. A number of immortals and their Seconds are inside. I’m sure they can keep my violent impulses in check.”

  “Our orders are to stay close until Dr. Lipton leaves your company,” one said, then met Melanie’s exasperated gaze. “We’ll be out here if you need us.”

  She doubted they would listen if she tried to send them on their way, so she nodded and headed for David’s front door.

  David maintained an open-door policy in all of his residences. Anyone with the access code—human, gifted one, or immortal—was welcome to enter and make him- or herself at home no matter the hour.

  Bastien guided Melanie up to the front door with a hand on the small of her back. If anyone asked, he would say he did so to provoke the soldiers currently glaring holes in him. But he really just wanted to touch her again.

  When he had taken her hand and helped her from the vehicle . . . the emotions that had flooded him where they had touched had taken his breath away. Excitement. Attraction. A touch of shyness. All of the things he felt himself when he looked at her. At Melanie.

  He only allowed himself to speak her first name in his thoughts, hoping verbal formality would help him remember to keep his distance.

  Bastien punched the code into the electronic keypad beside the door.

  The high-tech security system wasn’t for David’s benefit. The second eldest immortal in existence was incredibly powerful. He could hear the approach of even the quietest vampires long before they reached his door and dispatch them if necessary. The Seconds and human employees of the network, however, could not. Nor could younger immortals. Not to the extent that David could. And David wished to keep those he considered family safe.

  Melanie entered the house before Bastien, her scent enchanting him. She didn’t wear perfume. No doubt her close work with the vampires had taught her that any strong fragrance—no matter how sweet—could offend rather than please.

  Male voices filled the house with a constant hum. The meeting must not have begun yet, because the bits and pieces of conversation Bastien picked up were fairly frivolous.

  The living room ahead of them was empty. But the dining room to the left bustled with activity.

  A table long enough to seat twenty-four dominated the space. David sat at one end, thin dreadlocks drawn back from his face and falling down to his hips. At his elbow, Darnell spoke softly to him, asking if they shouldn’t try one more time to convince Ami to leave the country.

  Bastien may not like Darnell, may have even wanted to shove the Second’s smoothly shaven head through the wall a time or two, but he had to give the man credit for watching over Ami and putting her safety above everything else.

  Ami and Marcus were just taking their seats on David’s other side. Ami seemed oblivious to Darnell’s comments, but Marcus listened closely as he drew his wife closer and wrapped a possessive arm around her narrow shoulders.

  Roland and Sarah sat beside Darnell. Bastien still felt nothing but animosity whenever he encountered the nearly millennium-old immortal. Old habits were hard to break, and the hatred Bastien had nursed in his heart for Roland had lasted two hundred years.

  Sarah smiled at Ami and engaged her in conversation. If Bastien hadn’t already liked the newly transformed immortal before, he would now just for befriending Ami. Ami had endured so much pain, so much torture since her arrival in their world . . .

  She deserved as much kindness as she could find.

  The other immortals stationed in the area filled most of the remaining seats: Lisette d’Alençon and her twin brothers, Richart and Étienne, all roughly Bastien’s age of two centuries. Their Seconds: Tracy, Sheldon, and Cameron. Yuri and Stanislov. Bastien knew little of those two immortals, nor of their Seconds, who were also present. Ethan, an American immortal barely a century old, and Edward, a Brit like himself, were present, too.

  Chris Reordon circled the table, distributing more of his precious files and handing out friendly comments with each.
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  Melanie strode forward. Bastien followed.

  With the exception of Ami—who viewed all doctors and scientists with a fear that bordered on absolute terror—those present greeted Melanie with smiles that morphed into scowls and tight-lipped rejection when their gazes shifted to Bastien.

  Fuck you, too.

  The frowns on Lisette’s and Étienne’s faces deepened, telling him they were once more prying into his thoughts and didn’t like what they heard.

  What did he care? He didn’t need their friendship or acceptance. He didn’t need anything from them at all.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Chris demanded.

  “I’ll escort him out,” Roland said, a malicious smile lighting his features as he rose.

  Sarah placed a hand on his arm. “No, you won’t. There will be no fighting between you two tonight.”

  Roland hesitated. Usually Sarah could coax the dour immortal into doing almost anything, but restraining his impulse to kill Bastien may be beyond even her capabilities. Roland would never forget that Bastien had once fractured her skull.

  Bastien sent Sarah a smile. “Hello, sweetheart. How’s the head?”

  Melanie gave him a reproving look.

  Hell. He couldn’t seem to help himself.

  Roland’s eyes flashed bright amber. His jaw clenched with fury.

  Sarah’s grip tightened on his arm as she visibly restrained him now. Offering Bastien a sweet smile, she said, “My head’s just fine, thank you. How’s your ass?”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, then Lisette and her brothers all burst into laughter. The other immortals joined in, as did the Seconds.

  Roland glanced at his wife, caught the playful wink she sent him, and relaxed, retaking his chair.

  Judging by the confusion on Melanie’s face when she looked up at him, she hadn’t heard the whole story.

  Shrugging sheepishly, he explained, “Sarah stabbed me in the ass.”

  She blinked. “She did?”

  He nodded and, catching Sarah’s eye, tipped an imaginary hat to her.

  Sarah grinned and shrugged as if to say, I had to do something.

  When the laughter died down, Chris said, “I still want to know what he’s doing here.”

  “Sebastien is here at my invitation,” David told him, which was news to Bastien. “We need him here if we’re going to fully understand what happened last night.”

  As usual, Chris balked. “How are we supposed to trust him to tell us the truth?”

  David sighed heavily. “I can read his thoughts, Chris. As can Lisette and Étienne. And Seth when he arrives. We’ve been over this before.”

  When Chris opened his mouth to continue bitching and moaning, David raised a hand. “Think wisely before you question my decisions in the future. I’m growing tired of having to explain myself. To you or to anyone else.”

  Chris clamped his mouth shut and immediately wiped all expression from his face.

  David may be kindhearted, but it was still exceedingly unwise to piss him off.

  Richart rose and drew out the empty chair beside him, motioning to Dr. Lipton.

  Melanie smiled and seated herself, offering him a muted thank you.

  Bastien took the chair on the other side of her, cursing the jealousy he felt slither through him. Richart wasn’t interested in Melanie. He had his mysterious human lover.

  Yet the other immortal’s attention still rankled.

  And it shouldn’t, Bastien reminded himself. Melanie wasn’t his and would never be his.

  Her shoulder brushed his arm as she swiveled to loop her purse’s strap over the back of her chair. “Sorry,” she murmured.

  Bastien nodded, but said nothing. She was nervous. His gift syphoned her emotions with each tiny brush against him and told him sitting at a table with so many ultra-powerful beings . . . Well, it didn’t frighten her exactly. But she wasn’t comfortable.

  Bastien leaned down and whispered in her ear, “We’re all just like Cliff, Joe, and Vincent, only without the madness.”

  She pursed her lips and looked pointedly at Roland.

  Bastien couldn’t help but grin. “Okay, I’ll give you that one.”

  She smiled back, eyes twinkling as some of the stiffness left her shoulders.

  He supposed it could be a tad intimidating, being surrounded by men and women who could read your thoughts, teleport, move things with their minds, heal with their hands, and more. He was just so accustomed to it that it hadn’t occurred to him that it might take some getting used to.

  The faint tones of “Mack the Knife” sounded. At the other end of the table, Sarah drew out her cell phone. “Hello?”

  “It’s Seth,” came the immortal leader’s response. “Just calling ahead.”

  She smiled, as did every immortal present. “Thank you.”

  While she returned her phone to her pocket, the Immortal Guardians’ leader materialized beside the empty chair at the end of the table opposite the one David occupied.

  Sarah had only been with the immortals for a couple of years or thereabouts and still jumped whenever Seth or Richart suddenly appeared in the room, so Seth had taken to calling ahead to warn her.

  Returning her smile, Seth seated himself in the empty chair.

  Chris handed him a file folder, reluctantly handed a couple more to Bastien and Melanie, then seated himself.

  Seth opened the file and perused its contents.

  The front door opened.

  Bastien glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see Tanner enter.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Tanner said, crossing swiftly to the table and taking one of the last two seats.

  “No problem,” Seth responded. “Glad you could make it, Tanner.”

  Tanner took the file folder Chris handed him and opened it to glance at the papers within. Though his blond hair was windblown, he still looked like an accountant as he reached up to adjust his glasses.

  What was he doing here? Was he already one of the immortals’ Seconds?

  Bastien’s gaze slid to the surly immortal whispering in Sarah’s ear. Hell. Seth wasn’t going to assign him to Roland, was he? Roland was notorious for scaring the crap out of any Second sent to serve him, which was why Seth had allowed him to go without one all of these centuries.

  Or perhaps Tanner had been assigned to Marcus? Was Ami no longer going to serve as Marcus’s Second now that they had married?

  That would actually be a relief. She had come too close to death too many times since being assigned to that volatile immortal.

  Seth closed the file and folded his hands atop it. “So, tell us what happened last night, Sebastien.”

  Surprised that he had been asked directly, Bastien complied.

  Every brow present furrowed as his words floated around the table.

  “You couldn’t have spared even one?” Chris asked. Leave it to him to ignore everything except the deaths of the humans. Hell, if Bastien had let every human soldier live, Chris no doubt would have still found fault with his actions.

  “Not without risking capture myself.”

  Richart nodded. “It’s true. He was barely conscious when I found him, with two darts on the ground beside him. By the time I got him to the network, he was out cold.”

  “How are you feeling, Sebastien?” Seth queried softly.

  Bastien fought the urge to squirm, uncomfortable with the concern in the elder’s voice. He had yet to figure out why Seth gave a damn about him. “I’m fine.”

  Seth’s gaze shifted to Melanie. “Dr. Lipton?”

  Melanie sent Bastien an apologetic look. “He’s still a little groggy and hasn’t yet fully regained his strength. I understand he’s roughly the same age as the d’Alençons, so—based on the time it took them to recover when they were hit—I’d say he should recover fully during the next few hours. Certainly by dawn.”

  Seth nodded. “I assume you’d like to observe him while he does so?”

  “Yes,
if that’s all right.”

  “Of course. We rely on your medical expertise in matters such as this and know you need to gather as much information as you can.” The words, as well as the warning look that accompanied them, seemed to be directed at Bastien.

  Bastien scowled. The bastard had better not be reading his thoughts again.

  Of course I’m reading your thoughts, Seth said. As is David. And most likely Étienne and Lisette. How else can we reassure the others that you are sincere in your claims?

  “These men . . . these soldiers . . . weren’t out to kill,” Richart continued. “They were out to capture and would have done so had Bastien left any standing. Perhaps if I had returned sooner, we could have taken one or more alive. But alone, Bastien had no choice but to protect himself.”

  “This is so bad,” Darnell muttered.

  Several heads nodded.

  “Chris,” David spoke, “have you succeeded in tracking down your missing contacts?”

  Chris shook his head. “No. There’s no trace of them at all, or of their families. Nothing to tell me where they may have gone or where they were taken or if they’re dead or alive. Or that they ever were. It’s as if they never existed.”

  Bastien may frequently think about dismembering Chris, but he couldn’t help but sympathize with him over this. Reordon had spent years cultivating contacts in the various government agencies that were swathed in secrecy. Years tapping those contacts for information and enlisting their aid whenever the Immortal Guardians needed it. When those contacts had mysteriously disappeared a few weeks ago . . .

  It didn’t take much of an imagination to guess what had happened to them. The Immortal Guardians’ new enemy had gotten his hands on them. And the blame for it—all of what they were currently dealing with—could be laid squarely at Bastien’s feet. He had inadvertently set all of this into motion when he had begun his quest for revenge a lifetime ago.

  “Any luck finding new contacts?” Seth queried.

  Chris shook his head. “Some. But it’s slow going. I don’t know who exactly we’re dealing with, who we’re fighting, who has the power and influence needed to wipe the slate clean the way they did, so I have to be even more careful when approaching potential aids. There are a handful who escaped scrutiny and survived the sweep only because I hadn’t yet called upon them to act. I couldn’t then and can’t now because they’re still working their way up the ranks and aren’t yet in a position to find out what I need them to.”