Duncan

by D. B. Reynolds

  She was lucky to be home before midnight. The way the meeting had dragged into the evening, she’d expected Sharon to order in some cots so they could have a sleepover. And Emma knew she shouldn’t complain, even if the meeting had gone into the wee hours. Today was the first time she’d felt like she was actually doing the job she’d been promised when she came to work for Guy Coffer. And yet, it didn’t feel like any kind of victory. There was no adrenaline rush and none of the excitement she would have expected. Somehow, with no Lacey to help her celebrate, it all felt empty.

  She sighed and kicked the door closed, then dropped her keys into the ugly dish on the small table near the door. Walking across to the light switch on the living room wall, she thought again how stupid it was to walk through a dark room every night when she came home. She should get a small lamp for the table. Of course, she’d been telling herself that same thing for two years now. And usually, Lacey got home before dark, at least on weeknights, so most of the time it didn’t matter.

  But what if Lacey never came home again?

  “No,” she said out loud. “She will come home, and she’ll be full of great stories about the hot, vampire lover who swept her away for—” A whole week, Emma?

  Her throat closed up with fear, and she wanted to sit right down on the stairs and bawl her eyes out. But she refused to give into the urge. She was just so damn tired it was hard to think straight. The long hours at work, coupled with sleepless nights, were beginning to take a toll, and today had been the longest day of all.

  Bracing a hand on the newel post, she lifted her feet one at a time and took her heels off, then walked up the stairs in her stockinged feet, shoes in hand. One thing about sitting in meetings all day, her feet didn’t hurt nearly as much as they did when she spent the day running all over the Capitol building like an overpaid messenger. On the other hand, her ass hurt and her lower back was killing her.

  By the time she reached her bedroom on the second floor—hers was the one with the big bay window sticking out over the small front yard like a turret on the old Victorian house—her blouse was unbuttoned and she was already yearning for the hot bath she’d promised herself all the way home.

  She glanced down at the street before twisting the rod on the cheap blinds over the window and shutting out the night. The house she and Lacey had rented wasn’t in the best neighborhood in Washington, but not the worst either. And it had been completely renovated before they moved in, including the bathrooms. Lacey had insisted Emma take the bigger bedroom, with the big window and the attached bath, because she paid the bigger share of the rent. In the months where she wasn’t paying the whole thing, that is.

  Dropping her shoes in the closet as she walked by it, she went directly to the tub and turned on the water, letting it run. It sometimes took a few minutes for the hot water to make its way up to the second floor.

  She had pulled off the rest of her clothes, throwing the whole bunch into the laundry basket, and pulled on a warm robe, when she decided the long day warranted a glass of wine to go with the bath. Nothing was more relaxing than a good hot soak with a glass of . . . hmmm, white or red? She’d see what was open.

  Thinking of the cold hardwood floors, she shoved her feet into a pair of UGGs, turned off the water and hurried down the stairs, not permitting herself even a glance at Lacey’s empty room at the other end of the hall. A part of her still expected to come home and find Lacey wiped out and hung over, full of stories and apologies about her unexpected getaway in the arms of some rich guy she’d met. But too often these last few days, when Emma wasn’t being run ragged by her job, her thoughts had turned to far darker imaginings, and she’d wonder if she’d ever see Lacey again.

  “Stop it, Emma,” she scolded again as she rounded the bottom of the stairs and headed for the kitchen. The wine would help that, too. Help dull the worry and shut down her brain for a few hours.

  She was reaching for the kitchen light switch when a heavy car door slammed out front. Two more doors slammed hard after the first, and a deep, male voice said something she couldn’t make out. She told herself it was one of her neighbors. Few of the houses here had garages, and most of the residents parked on the street, just as Emma had tonight. But something about the noise made her curious. She tiptoed—and why was she sneaking around her own house?—over to the window near the door and lifted the thin, fabric shade away from the edge so she could look onto the street.

  She gasped, then immediately covered her mouth against the sound. Vamps supposedly had super hearing, and that was Duncan out there! Even worse, that Miguel guy was with him.

  “Shit,” she mouthed silently and backed away from the door. Were they coming here? Well, of course they were. Where else would they be going? She’d backed nearly to the kitchen when the doorbell rang, and she froze. Should she answer it? Maybe if she was very quiet, they’d think she wasn’t home and leave.

  But what if he has news about Lacey?she thought frantically, her tired brain finally clicking back into some semblance of reason. That had to be it. Why else would they be here?

  She started toward the door, then glanced down at herself and froze once again. She was wearing a bathrobe! A purple, fuzzy bathrobe. And no underwear. Ah, hell, no bra, and Emma did not have the kind of bustline that could go braless without being obvious about it.

  She blew out an exasperated breath.

  “Emma?” Duncan’s cool-water voice called her name, tinged with a little bit of worry.

  He was worried? About her? That was nice, wasn’t it?

  Yeah, but, Emma, you aren’t wearing any panties!

  Right, right.Underwear first, then handsome vampires.

  “Emma, I know you’re there. Open the door.”

  He knew she was here? How’d he know that?

  “Um, just a minute,” she called out. She raced past the door, slowing long enough to flip the locks and yank the door open as she went by. “Y’all come on in. I’ll be right back.”

  Before she’d gone halfway up the stairs, her house was full of vampires and one of them was standing in front of her, blocking her way. Her eyes widened in shock and her heart kicked in her chest. He’d moved so fast, and she hadn’t sensed a thing, nothing more than a faint breeze passing her on the stairs. Her startled gaze took in his features in the dim light, and she frowned. It was Miguel. The growler. She backed down a step away from him.

  “Where are you going, Ms. Duquet?” he asked.

  “It’s all right, Miguel,” Duncan said from somewhere behind her.

  Miguel didn’t move, and Emma’s frown deepened. She refused to hold her robe closed like some sort of maiden aunt, so she stuffed her hands in her pockets and turned to face Duncan. The door was partly open, and she shivered in the cold air.

  “I was going to put some clothes on,” she explained slowly, as if they were too dense to understand such a simple concept.

  Duncan’s gaze made a leisurely journey from her UGG-covered feet to the fuzzy bathrobe, hesitated a breath too long over her braless chest, and continued to what she knew was her pissed-off expression. But instead of showing even a hint of remorse, the bastard smiled. As if he found the entire situation amusing. Again. Emma was getting very tired of being the source of his entertainment.

  Her eyes narrowed, but Duncan’s smile only grew wider.

  “It’s all right, Miguel,” he said again. “Let her by.”

  “Well, thank you very much,” she said, letting the saccharine sweetness of her Southern upbringing flavor the words.

  Duncan’s eyes widened in appreciation, and Emma felt like snarling. That wasn’t the reaction she’d been going for.

  Determined to retain the little dignity she had left, she started up the stairs again. The growler got out of her way, but he only moved closer to the wall, so she had to squeeze past his bulk. Why were these vampires all so big, anyway? Drinking nothing but blood, you’d think they’d be skin and bones, pale and starved looking. Not these guys. Every one
of them—and there were more than just Duncan and Miguel in her house, though she hadn’t bothered to count—was awfully healthy looking. Maybe they dined on bloody steak every night? She frowned, thinking about where that steak might come from. What sort of animal.

  Don’t be ridiculous, Emma. She reined in her vivid imagination, stormed into her bedroom, closed the door with exquisite care, and began pulling on clothes.

  * * * *

  Duncan watched Emma Duquet’s shapely bottom sway beneath the ridiculous purple bathrobe as she hurried up the stairs, edging past Miguel as if she feared he’d leap upon her at any moment. She disappeared into a room on the second floor without so much as a glance backwards, shutting the door with a firm click. Her footsteps clunked overhead in the ungainly boots before a pair of solid thumps told him the boots had been kicked off. He imagined the robe falling away next. She’d been naked under that robe. That much had been obvious, to him at least. Miguel had seemed to fear she was rushing upstairs to arm herself, but Duncan knew she’d simply wanted to get dressed. Too bad. He’d rather liked her the way she was.

  Duncan strolled farther into the house, grateful when Louis finally closed the door, shutting out the cold air. He’d have to invest in a few heavy winter coats if this went on much longer. When did spring come to these parts anyway? It had been too long since he’d lived anywhere with a real winter. He couldn’t remember exactly how long they lasted this far south along the Eastern seaboard. Not that Washington, D.C. was considered part of the South anymore. It was south of the Mason-Dixon line, but there were too many Yankees living here today.

  He smiled, remembering the long, hot summers of the true South. His youth had been spent toiling the fields beneath the burning Tennessee sun. There’d been no long, lazy school vacations for him. No school, for that matter.

  A door opened upstairs, and Duncan backed up several feet until he could see Emma emerge onto the landing above him.

  “Good evening, Emma,” he said, trying to pretend he hadn’t seen her wearing that fluffy purple monstrosity of a robe.

  She narrowed those violet eyes at him, as if judging his sincerity, and apparently decided he passed muster. “Good evening, Duncan,” she said finally. “What’s up?”

  “Are we going to have this entire conversation with you standing up there?”

  She blew out a flustered breath. “No, of course not.”

  She descended the stairs quickly, wearing the same clunky boots, but with a pair of jeans, a hooded sweatshirt, and, regrettably, a bra, as well. Although, he contemplated, perhaps it was a pretty bra, something lacy and feminine. He liked pretty bras. He liked taking them off pretty women . . . like Emma.

  “Can I get you something to drink?” Emma asked politely. She switched on a pair of floor lamps, one at either end of an old overstuffed couch. A battered coffee table sat in front of the couch, both pieces looking as if their better days were long behind them.

  “No, thank you. We can’t stay.”

  Emma stopped halfway to the kitchen. She turned to study him nervously, her hands twisting the ties of her sweatshirt. “Did you . . . find something?”

  “Nothing specific about Lacey yet, although we are making headway in retracing Victor’s activities. He hosted a lot of parties, many of them in homes he owned out of town. It seems likely Lacey attended one of those parties, given what she told you. Unfortunately, it’s unlikely the other attendees will volunteer any useful information.”

  “You’re talking about people from the Hill,” she said somewhat bitterly.

  Duncan nodded. “And probably some others. The usual Washington assortment. You said Lacey worked for a lobbying firm?”

  “She still does.”

  “Of course,” he said, accepting her correction. There was always a possibility, however slim, that Emma’s friend Lacey was still alive. He understood her need to hold on to whatever hope there was.

  “There must have been other women at the parties,” Emma said. “They might be willing to talk to you. Or to me.”

  Duncan nodded. “Victor had several favorites among his women. He kept track of who was invited when, but there were no names. We have photos, which is how I know Lacey was among them, but these women were not in the public eye. Even with photographs, locating them is difficult. If you wish to help, you could go through the files for us and see if you recognize anyone.”

  “Absolutely,” Emma said eagerly. “Did you bring them with you?”

  “Ah. I’m afraid we’re heading out of town this evening. I wasn’t certain you’d be home. We’re still checking out Victor’s—”

  “You’re going to one of those party houses, you mean?”

  “Perhaps, but—”

  “Take me with you.”

  Duncan regarded Emma silently. He wasn’t used to being interrupted at every turn. Not many would have dared, not even in his years as Raphael’s lieutenant, and he was somewhat surprised to discover just how much it irritated him. Emma, however, seemed blissfully unaware of both her transgression and his irritation.

  “Well?” she demanded impatiently.

  Duncan wasn’t looking at Miguel, but he could feel his lieutenant’s anger at Emma’s rudeness, and it was like a fire burning hotter by the moment. As Duncan’s child and his lieutenant, Miguel was instinctively protective not only of Duncan’s person, but of his dignity.

  “If I might finish,” Duncan said gently.

  Emma’s pupils flared, her emotions signaling outrage and embarrassment in equal measure to his empathic senses. She blew out a calming breath, visibly trying to relax, and gestured for him to continue. Duncan almost grinned, his earlier irritation banished by the obvious effort it took her to remain silent.

  “I told you we would look into Lacey’s disappearance,” he began, “and—”

  He stopped. Emma had opened her mouth to interrupt him once again. Her mouth snapped closed.

  “And I promised,” Duncan continued, his gaze daring her to say a word, “that I would get back to you in few days. This is me getting back to you. We are making progress, but we have found nothing concrete. If you give us a call tomorrow evening, we’ll arrange a time for you to come by and look at the photographs.”

  Emma stared back at him silently, as if waiting to be sure he had nothing more to say, then said in a rush, “Can I go with you tonight?”

  “No,” he said firmly.

  “But—”

  Duncan used his vampire speed to step very close to Emma, very fast. To her, it would seem as if he hadn’t moved, that he was suddenly just there. He was close enough that her breasts brushed against his chest when she inhaled, close enough that he could feel the heat off her skin and hear the pounding of her heart. And he saw the flash of arousal in her eyes.

  “Emma,” he said softly. He brushed the back of his fingers against the velvet softness of her cheek, wishing he didn’t have to leave her here. But there would be other nights. He would make certain of it. “It will not be safe for you where we’re going,” he said. “You’ll have to trust me on this.”

  He leaned closer, barely touching her mouth with his lips before stepping back with a pang of regret. “Miguel,” he said and turned, heading for the door.

  Louis twisted the doorknob and stepped into the opening, pausing long enough to check out the street and get the go ahead signal from their security people by the SUVs before starting down the steps.

  Duncan walked through the doorway. Behind him, Emma called out, “Hey!”

  He didn’t respond, knowing first that nothing he said would satisfy her, and second that there was no way he was going to let her go with them. Even if he didn’t have plans to stop at the blood house, he agreed with Miguel’s assessment from last night. He had a bad feeling about this Leesburg house of Victor’s, and he didn’t want Emma anywhere near the place. He frowned, wondering at this sudden protective impulse he had for her.

  Emma’s footsteps hurried across the wood floor behind him as he d
escended the stairs outside. Louis was already holding the SUV’s door open while his driver, a vampire named Ari, stood in the open driver’s door and confirmed that they were now heading for Leesburg. Miguel was close at Duncan’s back, blocking Emma from trying to follow.

  “Go back inside, Ms. Duquet,” Miguel said impatiently. And then suddenly Miguel was swearing softly, and Emma was crying out in pain.

  Duncan spun back, his anger flaring abruptly. Miguel stood next to Emma, his hands in the air, indicating to Duncan that he hadn’t touched her. But Emma was rubbing her arm and there were tears brightening her eyes.

  “What happened?” Duncan demanded.

  “My lord—” Miguel began, but true to form, Emma overrode him.

  “Your guard dog here is built like a brick wall. I tried to follow you and ran into him.”

  Duncan’s anger cooled instantly. “Miguel is my lieutenant, Emma, not a guard dog. He is also very serious about my security and trusts almost no one. You cannot go with us this evening. As a friend of mine would say, deal with it.”

  He nearly laughed at her expression—she was gaping at him in outrage, speechless for a change. He and Miguel were down the stairs and inside the SUVs before she’d recovered her wits, and the last thing he saw as they pulled away from the curb was Emma standing on her porch staring angrily in his direction.

  * * * *

  Emma glared at the departing SUVs—two big, black monstrosities that looked like tanks driving down the narrow street of her old neighborhood. All they needed was a big woofer in the back and they’d look like every other pimp in this town.

  Assholes.

  She pursed her lips thoughtfully, and suddenly remembered the feel of Duncan’s mouth on hers, the press of his hard chest against . . . She shrieked angrily. He’d done that on purpose! He was trying to distract her, to lull her into being a good little human. An obedient human.