The Scarlet Deep

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “No?”

  “Anne dear, anytime you have two strong individuals—and we must be strong to conquer our demons and survive this unnatural life, no? Anytime you have two such people, there will be passion. And with passion comes arguments and fighting. For our kind, we only hope there is no blood.”

  Anne smiled. “No blood. At least not the violent kind.”

  “Who left who?”

  “I did. He stayed in Dublin and I…”

  “Ran away.”

  Anne’s mouth dropped open. “Of course not. I’m originally from here, so when we parted, I decided to return to my home.”

  “Far enough to keep your distance and yet torment him.”

  “What was I supposed to do?” Anne asked, somewhat perturbed by Elke’s presumption. “Leave the country?”

  “I think most of our kind would leave. You could certainly work from anywhere you wished. Even going to England or Scotland would have been farther. But you stayed here. Rather close. That tells me that you didn’t want to cut ties as much as you think.”

  “No. That’s ridiculous.” Anne sat up straighter. “We have completely separate lives. He’s had numerous relationships. I’ve had relationships. We both…”

  Elke leaned forward, her head propped on her hand. “If you weren’t you, if you were a patient, what would you say to a woman who breaks off a very serious relationship—the most intimate an immortal can have—and yet stays within a day’s journey of the one to whom she is bound?”

  Anne sat back in her seat. “Well… dammit.”

  THE trip to Donegal had been scheduled months ago. Twice a year, Anne and her sister would meet at the ruins of the old stone house where both had spent their first years as an immortal. Their sire had cared for Mary there, and Mary had cared for her sister. It was the way of things in their small clan. Should Anne’s father ever sire another, that child would be Anne’s responsibility to guide through the first few tumultuous years.

  So far, she was the youngest. Her father was not a prolific vampire.

  Despite both their busy schedules, Anne knew it was important for her and Mary to have these times together. Mary had few people she trusted in Belfast. Unlike Patrick Murphy, who’d come into power with a cadre of trusted advisors at his side, Mary had clawed her way through the bloody wake of a vampire uprising in Belfast two hundred years before. She’d held on to power through intelligence, determination, and a ruthless attitude toward governance that brooked no argument.

  But, as Anne often pointed out, that way led toward tyranny.

  So Anne met with Mary twice a year and reminded her sister that she had a conscience.

  She pulled into the small drive and waved at the caretaker who was already walking back to the smaller house on the edge of the property. Mary’s car was in the drive, a luxurious old roadster that she was able to navigate herself. Anne pulled next to it and parked her Mini.

  The weather was typically damp. The house in Donegal always smelled of the sea and musk roses in summer. Anne could hear the waves in the distance, washing up the bay, but the night was too dark to see the water through the grove.

  The Georgian house that had replaced the stone cottage sat on eighteen carefully landscaped acres. It was big enough to suit their independent natures, but not so big that it wasn’t easily taken care of by the groundkeeper and his wife, who lived at the lodge. Over the years, it had come to be what Anne considered her family home.

  Following the faint scent of cigarette smoke, Anne rounded the corner to see her sister staring at a bank of blue hydrangeas and sucking on one of those blasted tobacco sticks as she sat on a garden bench that bordered the walk.

  Mary had the delicate English beauty that made modern humans think of period films and fine manners. She’d styled her dark brown hair the same since the 1920s because it suited her heart-shaped face. A human would think her a damsel until they looked into her eyes. Then they’d probably run screaming.

  “Such a nasty habit,” Anne said, sitting next to her and leaning her head on Mary’s shoulder.

  “Hello,” Mary said, reaching over to pat her sister’s cheek. “How’s my kinder half?”

  “Confused.”

  “Tell your sis, eh?”

  “I don’t know that I want to.”

  Mary hated Murphy. Mostly out of rivalry, distrust, and his treatment of Anne. She probably also envied his ease being a male in leadership while she constantly battled human sexism.

  “Well, sister, count two of us who don’t want to say the things that need to be said.” Mary sighed. “Because I’ve a favor I need to ask that you’re going to hate me for.”

  Anne groaned. “What? Is it a political meeting? Tell me it’s not a political—”

  “It’s business. And politics. More politics, really. You’ll really just have to nod and smile and take notes for me.”

  Anne groaned. “Mary, you know I hate—”

  “I can’t trust anyone else. I can’t leave the city right now, Anne. You know my position is—”

  “Far more secure than you think.” She gently prodded Mary with her elbow. “You’ve put a competent team in place, sister. If you continue this level of paranoia, you’re going to sabotage yourself.”

  “Not time for analysis just yet.” Mary paused, took another drag on her cigarette. “Do this for me, Annie?”

  Anne took a deep breath and drank in the sea air. “You know I will. What is it?”

  “I need you to go to London.”

  “Oh.” Anne sat up. “That’s not as bad as I thought it would be. Quite welcome, in fact, as long as I have some time to—”

  “I need you to go to London with Patrick Murphy.”

  Anne burst to her feet. “That bloody, conniving bastard!”

  Chapter Five

  MURPHY WAS GOING THROUGH London security concerns with Brigid when he got the message that Anne had arrived in the building. She’d be staying with Brigid and Carwyn while she was in town for a few weeks, but as she was officially entering his territory, she was following protocol by paying him a visit.

  He and Terry had agreed that while Anne would speak for Mary Hamilton, it was best that Ireland as an island speak with a single voice at the summit. Fractured, they were less likely to be taken seriously. Together, they controlled a sizable percentage of the North Atlantic shipping trade.

  As such, Anne would need to be briefed on what the current intelligence was on their end, and Murphy hoped that Anne had received a similar briefing from Mary, along with permission to share the information she’d been given. The trust would have to go both ways.

  Now, if he only knew how badly he’d blundered in Galway.

  He’d intended to drive west and have a rational, friendly conversation with the woman. Bring up the subject of the summit. Show her they could start communicating again. Show her…

  Murphy didn’t know what he wanted to show her.

  Yes, you do.

  That he no longer cared for her? He wasn’t that self-delusional.

  He’d always cared for Anne. But neither was he going to abandon politics and head west like a love-struck newborn. He had too many responsibilities. Further, it irked that she’d left him. It had taken him years to enjoy another lover after finally coming to the conclusion that she was not returning. Then he’d taken dozens in the hopes that she’d fly back to Dublin and bash in his head for betraying her.

  Yes, he’d been an idiot. At least he was more discriminating in his affairs now.

  Asking her to use her influence on a political rival had been unwise. It had taken a long time for her to trust him with the truth of her gift, and he’d swept away that trust with one reckless request.

  He’d learned. He’d grown. He wasn’t the brash boy she’d fallen in love with. He’d come to believe in self-control to a fault.

  Except when faced with her voice in a dark pub, hearing the haunting notes of the song she sang when she missed her mother. Then he turned into a
rabidly jealous, possessive, needy—

  “You’re going to break your desk if you keep your fingers dug in like that,” Brigid muttered. “Poor thing is only marble, after all.”

  “Shut it, Brigid.”

  “Can I assume your mate is in the building?”

  “Don’t call her that. She hates it.”

  Brigid was silent for a moment. “You know, I would have never put you two together. None of the women you see are anything like Anne.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well…” Brigid put down the file she’d been holding. “You date pretty young things—usually blond—that are in college or just graduated, which just seems like cradle robbing.”

  “Says the woman married to a thousand-year-old man with a fondness for Hawaiian shirts.”

  “Carwyn and I both know who the mature one is in our relationship,” Brigid said with a sniff worthy of a great-aunt. “Don’t change the subject. Your girls are bright, but not too bright. And they’re always more dazzled by you than you are by them. After a few months of diversion, they’re sent off with a kind word and an expensive piece of jewelry, and you never see them again except at cocktail parties or business meetings where everyone is very polite.”

  “I suppose you’re correct.” He leaned back in his chair. “How very uninteresting.”

  “Anne doesn’t wear jewelry.”

  “Her skin is sensitive. Most jewelry irritates her.”

  “Is it deliberate?”

  “Is what deliberate?”

  “Avoiding anyone who even reminds you of her.”

  Murphy glared at Brigid and rocked forward in his chair. “What do you think?”

  “I think—now that I’ve thought of the two of you together—that she’s exactly what you need.” Brigid smiled and it lit up the room. “And you’re exactly what she needs.”

  His eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

  “She’s—”

  “Murphy?” Angie’s voice flowed from the microphone on the voice-activated phone he used.

  “Yes?”

  “Dr. O’Dea is here to see you.”

  He took a deep breath and stood, straightening his tie. He’d been a ruffian again when he saw her. He needed to be collected. In control. Polite.

  Murphy did everything to remain aloof when Anne walked into his office. But if Woolen Sweater and Leggings Anne had tempted him in the pub, Formally Dressed Anne threatened to bring him to his knees. Her suit was a plum color that made her vivid blue eyes glow. The waist nipped in, highlighting her lush curves in a way that reminded him of the formal dresses she’d once worn.

  His cursed mind flashed back to the memory of Anne in a corset. More specifically, Anne coming out of a corset. The red lines pressed into her soft flesh where it had bound her body during the night. The groan of release when he unfastened her stays. He’d always sent the maid away for that. He’d release her slowly, kissing the newly revealed skin in the lamplight. Running his tongue under the buttons before the whole contraption fell to the floor.

  “Patrick,” she said, her voice just breathy enough to make him hope she was as affected as him. “Thank you for welcoming me to your city.”

  “Anne. Thank you again for coming.”

  A flash of anger quickly extinguished. Oh, she’d been angrier than that when her sister told her, if he had to guess.

  “Of course,” she said, her mouth spreading into a true smile when she saw Brigid. “Hi, Brig. You working late tonight?”

  “Yeah, I—”

  Murphy broke in. “As Brigid is your hostess while you’re in the city, she’ll be working fewer hours here at the office.”

  Brigid raised an eyebrow. “I will?”

  “Anne is here in Mary Hamilton’s stead,” Murphy said. “As such, she’s to be given the same level of security her sister would be. You’ll need to start delegating nightly activities anyway since you’ll be going with us to London. Talk to Declan about your schedule.”

  Brigid nodded. “I have a few people in mind already.”

  “Excellent.” Murphy raised his eyes to Anne and tried to talk through the sudden nerves when he realized she was standing right in front of the painting she’d done that night in Galway. “Anne, I’ve also considered our… unique situation. I am comfortable stating the nature of our relationship publicly to ensure further security if you would like.”

  He’d claim her as his mate in public if she wanted. He’d be thrilled, in fact. The strength of that desire surprised him.

  “One might speculate,” Anne said, “that it would make me a higher-profile target should any threat exist. So no, thank you.”

  “Please inform me if your wishes change.”

  “I will.”

  She was so achingly polite, Murphy thought his fangs might burst through his skin. He wanted to grab her, take her against the glass wall behind him and—

  “I won’t waste any more of your time tonight,” she said. “I understand there is a briefing about the summit in two nights’ time with Tom and Declan?”

  “There is.”

  She nodded at him. “I’ll see you then. Brigid, I’ll see you a bit later, yeah? I’m going to Josie’s after this. Call there when you’re done?”

  “Will do.”

  And without another word, Anne spun and left him.

  Again.

  You know what you want, Murphy.

  Yes, he did.

  He let go of the granite paperweight he’d been holding in one hand, tossing the handful of gravel in the wastebasket beneath his desk. Brigid pretended not to notice as he shuffled files on his desk.

  “Brigid?”

  “Yes, boss?”

  “You know that little network of spies and gossips you have running around Dublin?”

  The corner of her mouth lifted. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course not. I have a message I’d like them to spread, if you please.”

  “Which is…”

  “Patrick Murphy is unavailable. Permanently.”

  TOM tapped a pencil over the open notebook on the desk of the conference room. “Three issues tonight. Declan, have you and Brigid started on the security protocols for when Murphy will be in London?”

  “She’s suggested three employees to take her place. One vampire. Two human.”

  Murphy asked, “Which vampire?”

  “Eamon Whitney.”

  Murphy frowned. “One of Deirdre’s clan?”

  “Yes.”

  Earth vampire, then. “I thought he was one of your tech boys.”

  Declan had been put in charge of the technology division ten years before. Seeing the problems caused by the inability to interact with the modern world, Murphy had chosen to focus on developing technology that vampires could use effectively. He refused to have modern advancements completely unavailable to him. It reminded him too much of his life as a human when luxuries had been off-limits.

  “He is. But Eamon’s also been shadowing Brigid for the past year or so. I’ve seen some potential there. His observation skills are above average.”

  “He’s new.”

  “He is,” Tom said, flipping through files, “but it looks like the humans she’s paired him with for this are experienced men. Castleman and Snyder.”

  The fact that Snyder was female didn’t stop Tom from calling her one of his “men.” Murphy approved of the choices, having known both guards for years.

  “I’ll approve it, but Declan, I want you to be on top of things while we’re gone. No disappearing into the labs for a bit, eh?”

  Declan nodded. “It might slow down testing on Nocht.”

  Damn.

  “Do what you can,” Murphy said. “Security is the priority.”

  His software companies had spent years developing voice-recognition programs for use in everything from phones to cars to home-security systems. Nocht was their newest program. His hardware divisions focused on building devices and cas
es for technology out of nonreactive materials that vampires would be able to use.

  It was a slow process. Prototypes were destroyed more often than not, and many vampires were resistant to change. But if Murphy had his way, there would be a vampire-friendly mobile device in the next ten years.

  And he would make billions.

  Declan had always had the sharpest mind, and Murphy had chosen him to lead the division, along with supervising surveillance and intelligence for his overall organization. When Brigid had come on board, it had freed Declan from some of his security duties, but Murphy would always turn to Tom and Declan first.

  And Jack…

  The pain had not lessened in the years since the revelation of his youngest child’s betrayal. It never would. And Murphy doubted if he’d ever sire another.

  “Item two,” Tom continued. “Security briefing for London. Just how much are we sharing with Mary Hamilton?”

  Murphy leaned back and tapped his fingers on his desk. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Because you’re not sure how much she’s sharing with us?” Tom asked. “Or because we’re talking about Anne?”

  He pursed his lips. “I don’t know that, either.”

  “Let’s keep in mind,” Declan said, “that there’s very little information we could share with Mary at this point that would put our shipping operations at risk. Our contracts are secure and diverse.”

  “She doesn’t know all our shells,” Tom said.

  “Does she need to?” Declan asked. “As far as she’s concerned, these could be smaller companies—like Garvey’s—that we have protection agreements with. There’s no need to reveal we actually own them. They just give us information.”

  Murphy’s ears pricked at the name of the young man he’d just made an agreement with. “Andrew Garvey?”

  “Yeah, that one. He’s your biggest fan now, boss. Making all sorts of inquiries.” Declan grinned. “Become a regular docklands Sherlock Holmes, wouldn’t you know?”

  Murphy wasn’t sure he liked that. Garvey was brash, as evidenced by the ambitious swipe he’d made at the contract with those Americans. But brash could also get you killed.