He was the boy from the picture.
“Allo, my petit chou. Lance always did keep his spare key under the third rock of his walkway.”
“I am neither cabbage nor pastry,” she replied, bringing her fist up warningly. “Don’t come one step further.”
“John?” Her lover stood in the bedroom’s doorway. As though he moved through molasses, Lance shuffled toward them. She read joy in Lance’s first flash of body heat, then pain in the narrowing of his lips, despair in the cooling of his skin. But desire and hope mixed into a rich patchouli fragrance.
Who was this Frenchman to call up such a complex reaction?
Valerie kept herself between Lance and the stranger. Neither of them noticed. One shocked step at a time, Lance made his way across the room until he stood facing the man named John.
“Is it really you?” Even though Lance’s voice was controlled, surprise and guilt bled through.
“Ex-boyfriend?” she interrupted Lance.
“It’s complicated.” Lance waved a hand in the air to indicate a very long story.
“Always is,” Valerie retorted.
“Lance.” The stranger’s mouth flexed ever so slightly, as though he were suppressing a smile.
John reached a hand toward Lance’s shoulder.
Valerie gripped John’s wrist. “I must search you.” To her surprise, he didn’t flinch at her very thorough pat down. No weapons. She kept her opinions on his endowments to herself as she stepped away.
“Now,” she allowed.
As one, Lance and John exchanged very amused, very male glances.
Lance grasped John’s arm in a seemingly casual gesture. “We must talk.”
John spoke first. “I am fine, my brother.”
John swept Lance with a quelling look. Valerie smelled the challenge and arousal shimmering off both men. Then John dared to turn that brilliant gaze to her.
“I see you’ve done well for yourself.” A hint of Paris made his voice erotic and caressing. “You are very pretty, mon coeur.”
Unconsciously, Valerie swung her hip to one side before she caught herself and straightened. She was with Lance. End of flirtation.
A dangerous, knowing smirk crossed his lips before John focused on Lance again.
Lance looked down to John’s feet. “I failed—”
“Shut up, moron,” John interrupted affectionately. “It’s not always about you.”
Just like that, the men exchanged a lopsided grin and exchanged back-pounding hugs. Valerie shrugged. Might as well get some dinner while they were doing the male bonding dance. She poured a generous dollop of cola into a beer stein. Sheep’s blood gurgled from a take-out container into her mug. She took a deep quaff. Blood and coke, her favorite.
“Come on. You can stay in the guest room.” Lance had thrown an arm around John’s smaller body.
John nudged Lance with an elbow as they faced Valerie. “Who will come hold me if I have bad dreams? The flights here were truly nightmarish. Won’t you help me, petit chou?”
John’s puppy-dog eyes were a triumph of adorable manipulation.
Boys. Valerie deliberately licked her drink from her upper lip. They both focused on her mouth with laser-like clarity. She circled a fang with her tongue and stretched like she’d seen women do for ages. Her breasts pressed against the thin cotton fabric of Lance’s shirt. The men’s eyes blurred with desire. Her nipples peaked. She inwardly smiled. This could be so much fun.
“You seem the competent sort. I’m sure you can handle anything that pops up,” she purred.
With that, she turned on her heel and walked away. For the first time, she let her hips sway back and forth in the timeless rhythm that had been beaten out of her when she was still a child. A glance in the mirror revealed Lance and John’s gazes nailed to her ass. Not too bad on the sexy repartee for someone so unpracticed.
Lucifer’s forked tongue, the tease certainly had gratifying results.
Chapter 28
Special Agent Su Tanaka finished her day of upholding the law by being mistaken for a catering assistant.
Ben Trask, the famous attorney, had opened his spacious multimillion-dollar home to the entire CCC to celebrate Radu Tepes’s presidential candidacy. Hundreds of beings packed the house, eating the excellent food, and drinking the abundant alcohol. A live band, fronted by an athletic Elvis impersonator, shook the hand-polished river rock walls.
A double grand staircase embraced each side of the great room. Heirloom, pale blue silk upholstered sofas and lounges offset the wood and stone architecture. Her entire life’s earnings couldn’t cover the price of the Modigliani that hung over the enormous fireplace. Sparkling clean twelve-foot-tall windows led to a triple-story deck that overlooked the water. Smiling, dark-jacketed staff carried gold-and-platinum trays of exquisite canapés and frothy cocktails. The ginger-and-honey-glazed salmon had been nearly orgasmic.
Perhaps she shouldn’t have gone into law enforcement. No one she knew had parties like this.
“Hey, cutie.” A drunken guest propped one arm on the wall next to Su’s head. He tried an appreciative smile, but it came out as a lopsided leer down her modest white blouse. He was too inebriated to notice the straps of her shoulder harness peeking out under her jacket.
“Nice to meet you, but I have work to do.” Su gave him a polite smile and ducked to escape. Someone being smashed and rude was no reason to draw her weapon. She preferred to do her job quietly.
The man blocked her escape with his round torso. “Oh, babe, I’m sure the kitchen can do without you for a little bit.”
His breath carried the too strong licorice odor of absinthe. Su hated licorice.
“Come on, show me what they say about Jap girls is true,” he wheedled. His free hand shoved past her jacket and grabbed her left breast.
Su’s mouth pinched into a hard line. First, her breasts were already swollen and sensitive from PMS. Second, the idiot mistook her for the only other Asian in the house—who was Thai, not Japanese. Third, said catering assistant was the only person to make sure that Su had eaten. Truly angry, Su felt absolutely no compunction about tromping on his foot. Hard.
“Hey!” he slurred. “No need to be a bitch!”
That was enough. She ground her sensible heel back and forth.
“Ow! I’ll get you fired for this,” the man hissed in her face.
She opened her jacket enough to show her weapon. “I look forward to it.”
He paled and wandered off, muttering dire threats.
Su shook her head. It might get her in trouble, but it was worth it to see him hobbling away in his now scuffed Spanish leather loafers. Su didn’t think she had broken any bones.
One small justice had been served tonight. She hadn’t foreseen the ambushes on Soleil’s and Tempesta’s reputations today. Su rubbed her itching, tired eyes. She needed sleep and by yesterday. But self-flagellation called her to a double shift. She wanted to know who had planned those attacks. A nasty suspicion niggled in the back of her brain. Every instinct she had said that the person responsible was here, in this house, tonight.
She smoothed her hair and climbed the polished teak stairs to overlook the enormous living room.
Elvis managed a particularly difficult gyration. The women screamed at his pelvic prowess, drowning out the music and conversation. Su nodded in appreciation. How he’d managed that move without dislocating something was damn impressive. Everything looked safe enough for her to jot notes on what she had observed this evening.
PNC Affairs reported to the Hate Crimes unit. As part of that team, her job tonight was to assist in building Radu Tepes’s security. No paranormal had ever run for president before. His number of death threats had already tripled from the usual number. Attempts on his life were not a matter of if, but when.
Tonight, she was to observe what sort of unique needs this candidate had and then coordinate with the Secret Service.
She clicked her pen and scrawled.
/> 1. Track sales of silver over the next few months. NB: silver is Tepes’s major weakness.
Su twirled her pen as she watched Radu Tepes’s gaze follow a woman’s backside as she walked past. Too bad the vampire had been talking to a highly influential female philanthropist. By the expression on her face, that was one wealthy backer that Tepes wasn’t going to get.
2. Use male agents. Tepes is easily distracted by women.
Tepes. Could it be? Who would have the most to gain by ruining the other leaders of the civil rights movement? She leaned over for a closer look at his face.
The younger Mr. Trask passed her corner on his way to the garage. Su saw his gaze flick to her epicanthic folds as he reached for the doorknob. Instead of the familiar look of disgust, he lowered his head and blushed as he brushed past her. Huh. Interesting, but not pertinent.
Pink Floyd’s “Mother” came out of her pocket. She let it go to voice mail, promising herself she’d call her mom later.
Tomorrow.
Maybe.
She stuck her pen in her mouth and gnawed in a futile attempt to quell her nicotine craving.
The party was going strong. People freely entered, exited, and wandered the grounds with very little oversight. She frowned. In this crowd and with this noise level, anything could go wrong. Hell, Tepes could slip on the stairs and break his fool neck and no one would know until they found the pile of ash in the morning.
Special Agent Williams interrupted her brooding. “Soleil and Tempesta are both safe, and I’m here. You can go home now.”
“Thanks.” Su skedaddled.
As soon as she could, Su beat it outside for some cooler air. Cigarette smoke hung over the usual huddle of die-hards. Damn. Her jaws twitched.
Her bass guitar was going to get a heck of a workout tonight. Serious funk was the only antidote for withdrawal.
The crunch of studded tires on asphalt caught her attention. A glossy vintage limousine slowly pulled away from the curb, heading for the road. The custom CCC plates told her just who was in that expensive drive. How she wanted to push her fist right through Radu Tepes’s smug face.
Being an adult sucked. She refused the urge to flip off the car.
Su was in for a surprise. The mysterious Umar Mernissi looked out the open window of the car. Their eyes met and her stomach dropped to her knees at the shock.
In photos, the CCC’s legal advisor didn’t stand out. Radu Tepes was simply too charismatic to see past. But in person?
Mr. Mernissi was gorgeous, the most stunning man she’d ever seen. Arabic black hair framed a high forehead. Dark eyebrows set off sensual, sleepy, bedroom eyes. The cream banded collar of his garment set off his chai-colored skin. His mouth begged for her kiss.
Sexual fire gathered at the tips of her breasts. Unconsciously, her hips slowly rolled against the unyielding surface of the building.
At that moment, she knew the only reason Radu Tepes was the head of the CCC was because it suited Attorney Mernissi. The man simply radiated power.
His gaze traveled up and down her body, taking in her conservative skirt and leather trench coat. As the car rolled slowly past her, the tiniest smile appeared on his moist lips. Even as the window rolled up, he watched her until the tinted glass hid him from her stare.
Her thighs trembled around the heat in her clitoris.
“What the hell was that?” she asked herself, gripping the butt of her pistol so hard she left marks on her palms.
She could not be attracted to someone like him.
Chapter 29
The vampire really did have a world-class backside, John thought. She would look lovely moon-bathing on the French Riviera, especially if they could talk her into a thong. A nice satin in royal blue would flatter her ivory skin.
The south of France would be where the three of them would honeymoon, he decided. Valerie would go for the idea, but he had to convince Lance. The guy could be so conservative.
“When will you two be moving to Geneva?” he asked. “I’ll need time to find us a new apartment.”
Lance gaped like a koi fish searching for food. Secretly amused, John waited for Lance to catch up to him. The poor lad never could understand how John knew what Lance wanted before he figured it out himself.
Lance coughed. “Well, I—”
The sound of breaking glass signaled something about to go wrong.
“What the fuck!” John shouted.
Life slowed like frames in an Oliver Stone film. A huge tiger hung in midair, talons bared. The cat body-checked Lance across the room.
Even before he landed, Lance’s 9 millimeter was in his hand and aimed down the snarling throat. The dinner-plate-sized paw checked Lance’s weapon arm, skittering the weapon wide.
Even as he was thrown to the floor, Lance’s right fingers flicked toward the tiger’s eyes. The cat automatically flinched.
John scrambled for the gun, avoiding thrashing back claws.
Lance’s right forearm smashed into its snout. Blood spurted, bright and metallic in the night. Faster than the were-tiger could move, Lance’s right hand continued on its path, hooking the tiger’s forelimb. Adrenaline speeding his reflexes, John picked up the pistol.
A black wind blew through the room. Slender white hands grabbed the tiger’s legs. It howled as his front leg snapped. Involuntarily, the assassin shifted to human form.
Valerie’s inhumanly strong arms held the were-tiger in an inescapable choke hold. A few more centimeters and she’d break his neck.
“Stop!” John ordered. “Do not kill him.”
“What?” his vampire hissed.
“What?” Lance bit out.
The blond hanging in her arms snickered. “Chickenshit.”
“In a way.” Unperturbed, John switched the safety back on and set the gun down. He couldn’t believe that Lance and Valerie didn’t think to question the would-be killer.
“Radu sent him,” Valerie growled, shaking the man in her arms.
“You can’t prove that,” the tiger growled through his constricted throat.
“We don’t need to.” She laughed. “I twist, and no body. No body, no crime.”
“How many humans have used that disgusting defense to excuse their violence against your kind?” Lance shot back.
“I’m a vampire,” Valerie spoke slowly, as though speaking to a very dim person. “We do expedient.”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. These two would never get anything done without him. John crossed his arms. “The time for thoughtless killing is past,” he interrupted. “If we let him live, he will have to explain to his master that he failed.”
“Again,” Lance supplied helpfully.
Valerie met John’s eyes, reluctant respect in her gaze. “Radu will not take this lightly.”
The tiger hung in Valerie’s arms, his eyes shrinking back into his head. Seems he had prior experience with Radu’s displeasure.
John shrugged. “If you truly fear him, she can kill you now, clean and easy. If you would rather have your own life, say something.”
Silence fell and stretched as the night shadows grew longer.
“I want out.” The tiger sighed.
John nodded to Valerie.
A wrench too fast to observe, and the vampire stood over a corpse. She had snapped the tiger’s neck.
Together, they watched the body decompose until a pile of dust drifted to the hardwood floor of Lance’s front room.
“Where did you learn to negotiate with night creatures?” She sounded surprised at the turn of events.
“The playing fields of Eton,” John quoted, suddenly tired of the waste of lives.
“What?”
He’d confused the poor woman. “The Sorbonne, of course. Don’t be dense.” He sat on the floor, touching Roger’s remains.
“At least he died with his heart at peace,” Lance said.
“He tried to murder you.” Valerie looked out the broken window at the defiant hags in the trees outside.
How dare they endanger Lance’s life?
Fury had her jumping out the window. Before Lance could say anything, she was up the tree and in Betty’s face. Her knuckles tightened on the lapels of Betty’s dirty old corduroy jacket.
Veronica attacked from behind, her claws ripping Lance’s shirt off of Valerie’s back.
“Get off,” she sneered, shoving the second hag off the tree without even looking. Veronica screamed as she fell. She landed with a heavy splat.
Valerie bared her fangs and dug them into Betty’s batlike ear, one of their few vulnerable spots. Disgusting stale blood welled and dripped down Valerie’s arms and back.
“Are you a fool?” Valerie barked into the sensitive organ. “He could have died!”
“Better dead than in bed with a vampire,” Betty yelled.
Red rage blurred Valerie’s vision. The dirty hag claimed to care for Lance. This contempt would not be allowed to stand.
“Your jealousy would have killed him,” Valerie hissed. “You leave him, disappear. In return, I will not destroy every hag in these forests.”
“You would start a war for him?” Fear and curiosity gave Betty’s voice a slight quaver.
Valerie ripped the leathery ear off and spit it into Veronica’s face. “I would raze the earth for him,” she promised, her voice low and deadly.
Betty turned a pleading face to Lance who stood in the broken window. “Do you know what she’ll do to you? You will not thank her for saving you in the end.”
His face was a study in frozen betrayal. John stood to the side, his own expression disapproving and disappointed.
“I know who I will trust,” Lance replied flatly. “Leave me.”
“Please,” Betty and Veronica begged in unison.
“Go.”
Crying and torn, the hags flew off into the night.
When Lance and Valerie’s gazes met, Valerie’s stomach shivered.
Damn. Love really did make a fool of a woman.
John and Lance watched the night hags hobble off. Rain began to drizzle as they veered away from his house.
His ever startling friend sighed and said, “I shall return to Europe in a week. Start shipping your goods within two. I’ll have us moved into our larger apartment by the time you sell your house.”
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