by Alyssa Day
Declan took charge and hurried them all out of the store, murmuring things about another engagement, so sorry, must be off, in his charming way, and within minutes they found themselves in the car, once more in the horrible nightmare the Londoners called traffic. Fiona leaned forward to talk to the driver, who’d started glaring at Christophe again the minute they stepped foot in the car.
“Sean, take us to the Tower of London.”
“Now? You want to play tourist with him?” Sean’s eyes narrowed as he stared a threat in the rearview mirror, and Christophe’s very limited supply of patience wore out.
He leaned forward and spoke softly, so no one else in the car would hear. “Look, boy, I don’t know and I don’t care where this attitude is coming from, but Fiona is not in the best of moods, so why don’t you shut up and do what you’re told? You and I can have it out later.”
Sean made a low growling noise in his throat, but after catching sight of Christophe’s eyes, which were almost certainly glowing, he swallowed whatever retort he’d planned to make and pointed the car toward the Tower.
“There’s been very bad news, Sean,” Fiona said. She told him what the woman had said, and Sean immediately flipped on the radio.
The newscaster was in the middle of the story: “—sometime before dawn. The Tower Guard say they have proof the Scarlet Ninja was involved, since he left his trademark calling card at the scene. Officials are refusing to speculate why the Scarlet Ninja would take Vanquish and nothing else. We’ll keep you up-to-date as more details are released and we’ll be live on the scene in thirty minutes when Lord Fairsby gives a press conference on-site. In other news—”
Sean flipped off the radio. Fiona closed her eyes, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. “This is the end. Everything I’ve worked for—finished. It’s over.”
Declan took his sister’s hand. “Fee, don’t say that. It’s just one sword. We can go after something else. Or even give this up altogether. You knew it had to end one day.”
Fiona made an anguished noise from deep in her throat, cutting off her brother’s flow of words.
“No,” Christophe said, his gaze fixed on her too-pale face. “That’s not it, Declan. She doesn’t care about the sword. At least, not much. It’s her reputation—her integrity. The Scarlet Ninja is known for never harming anyone; only helping those in need or want due to the vampires and their unending greed and lust for power. Now they’re saying that the Ninja is a murderer. It’s one of the worst things that could have happened to your sister, and it’s devastating her.”
He suddenly blinked, realizing he’d damn near made a speech. Where in the nine hells had that come from? He shut up and angled his body to face the window, clenching his jaw shut against more stupid yammering. But a touch made him glance down, and the sight of Fiona’s slender fingers on his sleeve caused something hard and painful to catch in his throat.
“How did you know?” she whispered. “How could you know? You’ve only just met me, and yet . . . and yet you knew exactly how I was feeling.”
He had a moment to wonder if a man could drown in her eyes, before the car slammed to a halt.
“We’re here, or at least as close as I’m going to get you,” Sean snapped.
“You don’t have to do this,” Christophe told her, ignoring the driver and Declan for the moment. “I can go listen and find out what they know.”
She squared her slim shoulders and lifted her chin. “Yes. I do. I’m going with you. Someone murdered those guards and I’m going to find out who did it. Then we’ll get the sword back.”
She’d said we. We’ll get the sword back. A flash flood of fierce joy rushed through him, in spite of the circumstances.
“Let’s go to a press conference, then.”
“I’m going to work the crowd. Find out if anybody knows anything, what the rumors are, and so forth,” Declan said, reaching for the door.
“Good, but don’t be obvious,” Christophe told him. “We don’t want you to become a target. Whoever they are, they’ve almost certainly got men in place in the crowd watching and listening.”
Declan nodded and left.
“Why do you think that?” Fiona asked him. “They got what they wanted, why would they be here?”
Before he could answer, help came from an unexpected source.
“He’s right,” Sean said grudgingly. “That’s how I’d have done it, back in the day. Need to keep eyes and ears on the investigation, find out how hot the situation is. You’d best get out now, before I get moved along or ticketed. I’ll be circling. Just give me a ring when you need me to swing back in and pick you up. Same spot.”
Christophe nodded his thanks and opened the car door. When he and Fiona were on the sidewalk, he watched the car pull away.
“You have a good kid there,” he finally admitted. “He’d do anything for you.”
“That’s what I worry about, especially now. If I put him or Declan or Hopkins in danger, I’d never forgive myself.”
“Hopkins? I’d be more worried about anybody trying to face him down. That man is a warrior dressed up in a butler suit.”
A true smile appeared for an instant on her face. “Yes, I’ve often thought that. He will never tell me much about his younger days, but I get the feeling he wasn’t always a butler.”
“I’d put coin on that,” he agreed, taking her hand. “So let’s play tourist and go back to the Tower of London.”
“We should be thankful they don’t behead people there anymore, I guess,” she muttered.
“Nobody will touch so much as a hair on your aristocratic head while I’m alive to prevent it,” Christophe vowed, all humor vanishing.
She stopped and stared up at him, a curiously vulnerable expression in her eyes. “Why would you care so much? Or want to protect me? Surely not simply because we . . . slept together. You just met me.”
Part of him was wondering the same thing, but damned if he’d admit it. “You’re my partner. It’s just good business,” he finally said.
Fiona pulled her hand away from his and a sheet of ice masked her expression. “Right. Of course. How could I forget? And so long as you have blackmail material on me, I’m stuck with you. Come along, then, partner. We have a crime to solve.”
Regret swept through him as she marched off, not looking back once to see if he followed or not. Crime solving. Right. Christophe and Sherlock Holmes. Conlan was undoubtedly going to have something very unpleasant to say about this. He grinned at the thought, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strode off after his unwilling partner. At least he could piss off the high prince and the high priest all in the course of one mission. The day was looking up.
Chapter 14
Fiona stormed off toward the main gate, berating herself for her foolish moment of softening toward that criminal. What had she been thinking, to sleep with him? He was so aggravating. Annoying. Infuriating.
Delicious.
She ran a hand through her hair, suddenly as disgusted with herself as at him. She decided to break her sexual fast and it had to be with a jewel thief. Who just happened to have blackmail as a trump card.
He caught up with her, and she tried not to notice how his closeness made her skin tingle. Dangerous bad boys had never been her type before, but apparently her hormones were up for new things. The memory of him rising over her, hard and urgent in the moonlight, flashed into her mind and she caught her breath.
“Are you okay?” His gaze moved back and forth, scanning the sidewalk, the street, and everyone on both.
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” She gritted her teeth against the sound of her own voice, which had come out exceedingly prim, proper, and headmistress-ish.
“Okay, Princess,” he drawled, grinning at her.
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “And your humor is inappropriate. Those guards died.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. We have an unconfirmed report by a hysterical woman, based on a tabloid story. The radio
report didn’t mention murdered guards. If you believe everything in the London tabloids, then you also know Elton John is supposedly having an alien baby any minute. Should we stake out the hospitals?”
“If you think—” Fiona stopped mid-sentence and took a deep breath. He was right. She was operating purely reactively, which was not only stupid, but dangerous. “You’re right. We need to get to that press conference.”
“I’m always right. You’ll get used to it,” he said cheerfully “There’s a big group forming over there, just inside the gate.”
She followed Christophe through the throng of people clustered around a makeshift podium until they stood roughly in the middle of the crowd. Close enough to see and hear everything, but far enough away so as not to draw too much attention. When the official spokesperson stepped up to the microphone, Fiona ducked partway behind a large man in front of her, out of the spokesman’s line of sight.
Christophe raised an eyebrow.
“I know him. Lord Fairsby, formerly of Interpol. Now he’s the director of Scotland Yard’s new Paranormal Ops division.”
“Does he know you?”
“We’ve met a time or two, at charity events. I doubt the man remembers me.”
His green eyes flared hot as he stared down at her. “Oh, he remembers you. Any man who met you even once would remember you.”
Her cheeks heated up, and she tried to ignore the warmth sweeping through her from his tone. “Quiet. He’s starting.”
Lord Fairsby looked out over the crowd and then down at his notes. “As you may have heard, we’ve had an incident. The villain who calls himself the Scarlet Ninja has struck at the very heart of our nation, leaving behind his calling card as proof positive. The scoundrel made off with one of England’s most precious treasures—William the Conqueror’s sword, Vanquish.”
The crowd surrounding Fiona erupted with excited chatter, but subsided when Fairsby held up his hands for quiet.
“It’s far worse than even that, unfortunately. He managed to brutally murder three of our guardsmen. We promise you this fiend will be tracked and captured with all haste. We at Scotland Yard will be working with Interpol, as well, to bring all possible resources to bear.”
One of the reporters raised his hand and waved it around. “Lord Fairsby, why are you on the case? Is there reason to believe paranormal forces are involved?”
“We’re pursuing all options at this time,” Fairsby responded smoothly. “We will keep the public informed as to our progress.”
“When swine fly,” Christophe muttered. “There’s something off about that man.”
“Pigs,” Fiona said automatically. She glanced up at Christophe and hissed in a breath. “Your eyes. Tone them down. They’re glowing.”
He scowled but closed his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, they were normal again. He leaned down and spoke into her ear, so as not to be heard, although it probably wasn’t necessary in the din of the crowd’s noise. “He’s not human.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve known his family for years.” But her gaze returned to Fairsby, now striding toward the exit. He had always seemed a little off to her, too. Aloof. Arrogant. Even more so than the usual English upper crust.
Not that she was a biased Scottish lass or anything.
She shook her head, though. “No, I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Does your magic tell you when you’re around other magic?” he asked, putting his arm around her shoulders and steering her toward the exit, following the crowd of media still shouting questions at Fairsby.
“No, but—”
“Mine does. That’s how I knew you were there, outside the door of the jewels room before the guard opened the door. Trust me, that man is not strictly human.”
She pulled free of his arm and headed for the gate. That was the problem, of course. Trusting him. Blackmail and wild sex did not make a terrific foundation for trust.
Ahead of them, Fairsby reached the street and slid into the backseat of his car, which immediately pulled away from the curb. The reporters took several final photographs and then turned around, almost as one, to face the Tower gate.
The Tower gate she was walking through.
Damn.
The first one recognized her and it was all over.
“Lady Fiona! Lady Fiona Campbell! Over here, Lady F,” the lead photographer shouted, aiming his enormous camera at her.
At them, she realized, panic sweeping through her. She was about to be captured on film with Christophe. For all she knew, he could be a wanted fugitive.
“What are you doing here? Were you here for the press conference? What do you think? Are you going to write a book about the Scarlet Ninja?”
As they barraged her with questions, she tried to edge away from Christophe, but he was having none of it. He put his arm around her shoulders and grinned at the journalists. She gritted her teeth around a smile.
“I was just here showing my friend the sights, when we happened to see the crowd gathering,” she said, as politely as she could manage. “Was that a press conference?”
The whirring of cameras sounded like a horde of locusts attacking, and she fought to remain calm. Publicity was the very last thing in the world she wanted at this moment.
“Who’s the guy? Is this a new man in your life?”
“No,” she said.
“Yes, definitely,” Christophe said, flashing that sexy smile of his.
Two female journalists and one male in the front row nearly swooned.
“I’m going to kill you,” Fiona murmured, smiling for the press.
“I get that a lot.”
Of course, their different answers sent the reporters into a feeding frenzy.
“Who are you, anyway?”
“Are you Scottish, too?”
“Are you an author?”
“How long have you been together?”
“You can call me Christophe,” her partner drawled. “Not Scottish, not an author. Just Fiona’s bodyguard. Those kids at book signings can get kind of frisky, can’t they, darlin’?”
He winked, as if sharing a great joke with the crowd, and they ate it up. Stupid charming man. Fiona shuddered to think of what the morning papers would be like.
More questions flew at them, this time mostly directed to Christophe. Fiona tried moving him along, but the fool was enjoying it.
“We haven’t known each other long, but it was love at first sight, wasn’t it, sweetheart?”
Her face went hot, and from the intensifying sound of the cameras clicking, the photographers caught it all.
“Christophe is just having a bit of a laugh. We’re only just friends. Thank you all, but we’ve got to be moving along.”
When the crowd showed no sign of dispersing, she came up with an inspired idea. “Of course, I’d be glad to talk about my new book, The Forest Fairies. I first thought of the idea for the book when—”
As if she’d sprinkled a little fairy dust herself, the reporters magically found other things they’d rather be doing. Amazing how interviewing an author about her book wasn’t nearly as interesting as murder and mayhem.
“We’re leaving. Now.” She marched toward the street, texting Sean to meet them.
“Whatever you say, Princess.”
“If you call me that again, I’ll let Hopkins shoot you.”
He laughed all the way to the car.
Campbell Manor
Fiona had never been so glad to return to her home. After the painfully long drive in the Saturday afternoon traffic, during which she’d done her best to ignore Declan’s chattering and Christophe’s responses, she practically flew out of the car.
As usual, Hopkins was standing in the doorway. “Anything you wish to tell me? Shall I offer my congratulations, perhaps?” His usual dry tone dripped frost.
“Funny. Did you see the press conference?”
He moved to let her pass by him into the house, then shut the door behind them,
right in Christophe’s face. “Yes. I also saw the bit where your new partner claimed the two of you were in love. Shall I serve lunch or retrieve the Glock first?”
She sighed. “I don’t know what we can do, so long as he has blackmail material on me. We—”
The door opened, and Christophe sauntered in. “I guess you didn’t see me,” he said to Hopkins. “I’ll give you a free pass this time, but don’t let it happen again.”
Hopkins looked at her. “Definitely the Glock.”
“How about lunch? I’m starving,” Declan said, following Christophe inside. “Hey, why are we standing in the hallway? Let’s get some food. I’m off to get cleaned up, back in a jif.” He bounded up the stairs, and Fiona spared a moment to wish she had some of his energy. She felt as if she’d been up for days.
“Indeed.” Hopkins led the way to the dining room and then vanished, presumably to find something for a late lunch. At the thought, Fiona’s stomach rumbled a little. She hadn’t been hungry for the pastries and fruit they’d had that morning, due to pre-book signing nerves, and was surprised to be hungry now.
Someone claiming to be her had murdered those guards. “Brutally murdered,” Lord Fairsby had said. The room suddenly spun around her and she stumbled, only to find a firm arm around her back.
“Are you okay? You need to eat and have something to drink,” Christophe said quietly. “You may be dehydrated.”
“No. No, I’m not okay. I’m not dehydrated. I’m thinking about those men. How can you joke about love and lunch and whatever, when somebody killed them? Brutally murdered, he said. Somebody claiming to be me.” Her chest was so tight. Too tight. Why was it so hard to breathe?
“Not somebody claiming to be Lady Fiona. Someone claiming to be the Scarlet Ninja,” he said. “Nobody else knows that’s you.”
“Except you, and you’ve already proven you’re capable of using it against me,” she said, yanking her arm away from his hand. “Do you think that makes me feel safe?”