Chapter Seventeen
Emma walked down the familiar hallway to Guy Coffer’s congressional office. She passed a few people she knew and there was sympathy in their gazes. But there was a morbid curiosity, too, as if they feared—or maybe hoped—she’d break down weeping right here in the hallowed halls. That wasn’t going to happen.
Oh, Emma still grieved. She would mourn Lacey every day for the rest of her life, but her grief was private, just as her final farewell this morning had been private. Mr. Pettry, the funeral director, had been there, but he’d remained discreetly in the background. There’d been no prayers, no stranger from the cemetery’s list of convenient clergy to mumble a pro forma eulogy over a woman he’d never known.
Just Emma and the two workers who’d lowered Lacey’s casket into the ground and then slowly, shovel by shovel, buried her.
Emma had stood there through the whole thing, her tears hot despite the icy drizzle which had begun to fall, freezing every inch of exposed skin. She’d waited until the last shovel full of dirt had been thrown, the earth packed down again, and the neat squares of sod replaced. The two diggers had straightened then, glancing from her to the funeral director, accustomed, she supposed, to the irrational behavior of grieving families.
Mr. Pettry had finally approached slowly, his footsteps crunching on grass that had already begun to ice over.
“Ms. Duquet?”
Emma hunched her shoulders, knowing it was time. She nodded, and looked up at the two graveyard workers.
“Thank you,” she told them.
They nodded solemnly and hurried off, eager, no doubt, to be out of this awful weather.
“May I walk you to your car?” Mr. Pettry inquired, hinting gently that it was time for her to leave, as well.
Emma had forced a smile and taken his proffered arm, grateful for the support. She’d worn the Jimmy Choo pumps again, and the heels were too high for the uneven grass.
She glanced down at the black pumps now, as she hurried along the marble floored hallway. She’d been right after all, about not wearing them to work. If she made it to the office without twisting an ankle, she’d count herself lucky. She probably should have followed her first instinct and buried the damn shoes with her friend, but Lacey never would have forgiven her. Lacey had taken her designers very seriously. Yet another reason she’d never had the rent money.
Emma sighed and wished she didn’t have to go to the office at all today, but there were too many people eager for a job like hers. If she stayed out too long, Sharon Coffer might very well use it as an excuse to hire someone old and ugly, or at least male. And Emma needed the money. She couldn’t afford to lose her job, especially now. The lease on the house she’d shared with Lacey had two more months on it, and then there’d be the expense of securing a new place and moving. Besides, if she went home, she’d be surrounded by memories of Lacey. It was better to stay busy until tonight, when she could finally get down to the only thing that mattered to her . . . helping the vampires track down her friend’s killer. And the irony of that last thought wasn’t lost on her, since it was vampires who’d been responsible for Lacey’s death. It was like asking the fox to figure out who ate the chickens. But Duncan wasn’t going to let the human police get involved. She had no doubt he’d do whatever was necessary to keep that from happening. So, if the vampires were the only game in town, then Emma intended to make sure they played by the rules. Because if they didn’t, then she’d do whatever she had to do to find justice for Lacey.
She finally reached the hallway outside Guy Coffer’s office and paused to catch her breath before going in. Coffer had been in Congress for enough years that he had one of the more decent office suites. Not as grand as others, but nowhere near as tiny as the ones she’d seen some of the freshman legislators squeezed into. She smoothed her skirt and pulled open the big wooden door, steeling herself against the expected wave of curious attention. She stepped inside and, for a brief moment, everyone seemed to stop what they were doing. Then, as if they’d all become aware of it at the same time, the noise returned in a rush and everything was normal again.
Emma felt her face heat with embarrassment as she crossed the outer reception area. She’d never liked being the center of attention. Open double doors led into the second office. Everyone pretended not to notice her as she hurried into the third office of the shotgun styled suite and over to the corner she shared with Noreen. Her friend was at her desk, her back to Emma as she pecked furiously at a computer keyboard. The typing stopped, and Noreen turned as Emma slid into her chair.
“Hey, Emma. I wasn’t sure you’d be here today. How’re you doing?” Noreen’s big, brown eyes were wide with concern. She’d been the only one from the office who’d come to Lacey’s memorial last night.
“I’m fine,” Emma said, the lie rolling off her tongue. People really didn’t want to know how she was. Death was too terrifying. Everyone knew it happened, but they were almost embarrassed to ask about it.
Noreen studied her for a moment. “You won’t believe it now, hon, but time really does heal.”
Emma nodded. It wasn’t time that would heal in this case; it was revenge. But she was sure Noreen didn’t want to hear about that either.
“Thanks, Noreen,” she said, meeting the other woman’s gaze. “And thank you for coming last night.” She opened a drawer and threw her bag inside. “So,” she said, wanting to change the subject, “what have I missed?”
“Oh, not too much. The subcommittee rescheduled at the last minute, something about a pipe leak in the meeting room, if you can believe it, so everything—” Noreen’s voice trailed off as her gaze fixed over Emma’s shoulder.
“Emma,” Guy Coffer said from behind her.
Emma spun her chair around and tried not to jump as Congressman Coffer took her hand and cradled it in both of his. “Sharon and I are so sorry for your loss, Emma. All of us are.”
Emma blinked in surprise. Those were the most words Coffer had said to her since she’d been hired. Usually her instructions came through Sharon or one of the senior staff. The Congressman’s handsome face was creased with sincerity, his eyes meeting hers unflinchingly. It was such a perfectly political moment that she was amazed she’d never noticed before how phony he was. Or maybe it was just that he usually never bothered to wear his campaign face in the office.
“If there’s anything we can do . . .” he said, tightening his hold on her hand just the right amount to indicate his concern.
“Thank you, sir,” she finally managed. “You’ve already been very kind.” He seemed taken aback by that, and she added, “Letting me take so much time off, for the funeral and everything.”
“Well, of course,” he said, seeming genuinely surprised that she would mention it. “It’s the decent thing to do.”
Emma smiled. “I appreciate it anyway, Congressman.”
“You’ve worked here for two years, Emma. Call me Guy.”
He knew how long she’d worked for him? She was mildly surprised he even knew her name, much less how long she’d been in his office.
“Guy,” Sharon Coffer’s sharp voice cut into the moment, and Emma would have sworn she saw the Congressman wince briefly. “You have people waiting.”
“Yes, of course,” Coffer said quickly. He patted Emma’s shoulder awkwardly. “If you need anything, Emma, let me know.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He smiled, his face smoothing out into its usual bland good looks. The mask was back so quickly that Emma doubted it had ever been gone. She watched as he trailed dutifully behind his wife to the innermost private office. Sharon stepped in after him and closed the door, but not before giving Emma a long, considering look. Like it was Emma’s fault Guy Coffer had done the decent thing and offered his condolences. If she got fired over this, she was going to be well and truly pissed.
“What was all that about?” Noreen whispered.
“I have no idea,” Emma muttered.
She b
uried herself in work the rest of the day, trying not to count the minutes until sunset, which was at 5:37 precisely. She’d checked online to be sure, before driving to the cemetery and then to the Capitol. She didn’t usually drive to work. Parking was a pain in the butt, and public transportation was quite good. But it would save her time getting to Duncan’s tonight. Her biggest problem would be getting out of the office that early, but she’d already decided she wasn’t going to ask anyone; she was simply going to leave. Let them think whatever they wanted, that she was overcome with grief, that she still had business to take care of regarding Lacey’s death. She didn’t care.
So, when the discreet clock on the office wall clicked over to 6:00 pm, Emma straightened her desk, shut down her computer, stood and pulled her purse out of her desk drawer.
Noreen looked up at her in surprise, but Emma simply said, “There are some things I need to take care of.” Then she slipped the strap of her purse over her shoulder and walked out of the office as casually as if she left this early every day. Once outside the building though, she picked up the pace, moving across the crowded parking lot as quickly as she could in the ridiculously high Jimmy Choos. Duncan had promised her she could help, and she wasn’t going to give him any excuse to go back on that promise.
Traffic was its usual snarled mess, but less than an hour later, Emma drove right up to the gate of Duncan’s house—he’d made it clear that it wasn’t an embassy—no parking down the block and sneaking past a dump truck. Not that it would have been possible. It was obvious there was new management in town. The gate was not only securely closed, but there were two burly and well-armed men—or maybe vampires—standing in front of it. When she pulled closer, she could see even more armed guards prowling around inside the grounds.
She pulled up to the closed gate and stopped, rolling down her window.
“Hi,” she said, handing him her driver’s license. “Ambas—er, that is, Duncan is expecting me.”
The guard—and oh, yes, he was a vampire. He made no attempt to conceal his fangs as he looked from her license to her face and back again. He didn’t say anything, but turned away from her long enough to hand her license to a second guard who had remained in the small gate hut. That one studied her license for himself, entered something into an unseen computer, then pulled out a cell phone and hit a speed dial number. He glanced up and saw her watching, then gave her his back while he spoke to whomever he’d called. Emma could hear his voice, but not make out the words. She was pretty sure it was English, but wouldn’t have sworn to it. And all the while the first vampire guard stood right next to her car, his arms resting on a big, black gun slung over his chest on a sling of some sort, while he watched her unblinking.
Emma wanted desperately to move, to tap her fingers or pound the steering wheel and give a good scream to release some stress. She always got twitchy when she was nervous or excited, and tonight it was a combination of both. But with the unfriendly vamp standing right outside, that probably wasn’t a good idea. So instead she focused on what she could see of the house through the iron bars, trying to spot all the security people who had sprouted up from seemingly nowhere in the few days since she’d last been here. She jumped when the gate suddenly began sliding open.
“They’re expecting you,” the first vampire said in a flat voice. He handed back her license. “Park in the area to the right.” He pointed to a small paved area about twenty yards from the front door. “Someone will meet you at the door.”
Emma took her license, proud that her fingers remained steady. Rather than sit under his scrutiny while she put it away, she dropped it into the center console and pulled slowly forward, feeling a sharp double bump underneath as her car rolled over the gate’s thick metal tracks. She took the right hand arm of the curved driveway and parked near the big house, sitting there a moment and looking around. Hers was the only sedan in the parking area, but there were quite a few trucks of various sizes. Most of the trucks were either piled high with construction material, or looked like they’d recently been emptied of the same. Their tail gates hung open, and ropes and bungee cords were lying in the truck beds like forlorn snakes. Obviously, there was some remodeling going on inside the house. She didn’t see any of Duncan’s SUVs, though, so she figured there was a garage around back, or maybe a separate parking area.
Emma breathed out a nervous laugh and decided she’d wasted enough time worrying about where other people were parked. She opened her car door and swung her legs out, which was made more awkward than usual by the stiletto heels. She had some more practical clothes with her and had actually intended to change before she left the office, but when the time came, she’d been too worried that Sharon or someone else would drag her back to her desk for one last question or phone call. So she still wore the somber dark gray suit she’d worn to the cemetery this morning, with its snug skirt and tailored jacket, and still wore the ridiculously high heels. But at least she looked good. Er, professional. It wasn’t as if she cared whether Duncan found her attractive or not. She merely wanted him to think of her as a professional, someone he could rely on to get the job done.
Oh, who was she kidding? She hoped she knocked his socks off. That kiss last night had only made her want another taste of the delectable Duncan. She appreciated his sensitivity in not wanting to take advantage of her vulnerability, but she’d spent the night wide awake, trying not to think about Lacey and thinking about Duncan instead. She knew it was part of the grieving process, the desire to lose herself in the physical as a way of forgetting the emotional. But whatever it was, she wanted more of him, and if his body had been telling her anything last night, it was that he wouldn’t object.
She hefted the purse with her laptop over her shoulder and grabbed the gym bag with her change of clothes from the backseat. Beeping her car locked, she headed for the fan-shaped brick stairs, but before she’d put her foot on the lowest step, someone opened the door.
Emma looked up, her heart spiking in anticipation. But it was only . . . Louis, that was his name. He stood in the open doorway, smiling pleasantly and without even a glimpse of fang.
“Good evening, Ms. Duquet,” he said politely, standing back so she could enter. “Lord Duncan is expecting you.”
Lord Duncan?
“Um, thank you,” she said, trying not to fidget. “Is there somewhere . . .” She held up her gym bag, silently asking if there was somewhere she could change. Apparently she should have been more explicit, because Louis took the bag from her and walked over to the room where she’d met Duncan the other night, the room with the books. Emma followed him, but stopped in the doorway to stare. The books were gone and so was the room. Well, not precisely, the room was still there, but it looked completely different. The walls were bare and painted a bland, soothing warm beige, and the furniture looked like something you’d find in a nicely appointed dentist’s office.
“What happened to the books?” she asked. “And the Tiffany lamps?”
Louis gave her an infectious grin. “My lord liked the room, so we moved it for him.”
Emma blinked. “The entire room?”
He nodded. “Close enough.” He dropped her gym bag on the floor of the newly refurbished waiting room and indicated the purse over her shoulder. “You can leave that here for now, too.”
“It’s got my laptop in it.”
He winked. “It’ll be perfectly safe here. Honest.”
Emma scowled as she felt embarrassment heat her cheeks. She let the purse slide down her arm and rested it carefully on top of the gym bag.
Louis nodded and gestured down the hall behind the stairs. “They’re in the gym. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Emma opened her mouth to protest—she was hardly dressed for the gym—but Louis took off so quickly that she found herself hurrying to keep up. She followed him down a dark hallway that passed right under the stairs. It intersected a brightly lit corridor that seemed to run the length of the house in either direction. Louis t
urned right and kept going, glancing once over his shoulder to make sure she was still with him.
Emma was struck by the change from her first night here, when it had been so quiet and empty. She’d only seen Duncan and Miguel that night, and it had been like whispering in a church. But now the house was filled with noise. For one thing, it sounded like someone was tearing down the walls upstairs, and she could hear shouts and thumping sounds emanating from below her feet, presumably in the basement. Clearly, the former library wasn’t the only room being renovated. She caught the startled glance of a big black guy who was working over a drafting table in one of the rooms she passed. And another man—or a vampire?—this one shorter than she was, and wiry, nearly bowled her over as he raced out of a doorway right in front of her and headed back the way they’d come. Emma was still catching her breath from that encounter, when a huge crashing noise echoed from the general direction of the front door.
She jumped at the sound and looked anxiously over her shoulder, but Louis merely grinned as he spun to face her and walked backwards a few steps. “Don’t worry, Ms. Duquet. It’s just a bit of remodeling. Come on, we’re almost there.”
“There” turned out to be a large, wide-open, high-ceilinged room, which she was certain had originally been a banquet room, not the gym it currently was. The vampires had stripped it bare and laid down some padding on the floor, but they hadn’t had time to paint. She could still see the discolorations on the walls where huge artwork of some sort had once hung. And then there was the giant medallion embellishment in the center of the high ceiling, which certainly had never been intended to witness sweaty vampires working out. Incongruously, there were still heavy, gold brocade drapes pulled over every window, with velvet swags and twisted gold rope tiebacks.
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