Duncan

by D. B. Reynolds

  “I understand that, my lord. But the job will proceed much faster if you’re alive to do it,” he growled.

  Duncan sighed. Miguel had a point, but he knew men like Grafton. Unless Duncan pushed and pushed hard, they could dance around each other for months. Emma deserved better than that. She’d never be able to get on with her life until this was resolved.

  Next to him, Miguel clicked the receiver on the Bluetooth device in his ear, answering a silent call. Duncan frowned. As far as anyone knew, they were still at the fundraiser, which meant no one would call unless it was urgent.

  “What is it?” Miguel snapped into the phone. “Who is— Where are you now? No. No! Don’t call anyone. We’re on our way. Five minutes.” He leaned toward Ari before he’d even clicked off. “Emma Duquet’s place, Ari. Fast.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  After Duncan left, Emma hurried back to the security center and plugged in her laptop. No sense in draining the battery if she didn’t have to. Louis glanced over when she returned, but he kept working on his own computer, fingers flying at a remarkable speed. The vampires were all happy to let her do the grunt work of wading through photos, trying to figure out who was who. That was okay with her, as long as they let her do something. Pulling up her database, she scanned the information and sorted out the fields she thought would help.

  Part of Emma’s job at Guy Coffer’s office had been filtering the daily requests from lobbyists who wanted to see the Congressman about one thing or another. Sometimes, they wanted a face-to-face, sometimes they only wanted to invite him to a cocktail party or other glad-handing social event. The thing was, there were something like eleven thousand lobbyists in Washington, D.C., and every one of them thought their particular issue was the most important thing on the planet. She didn’t fault them for that; it was their job to feel that way. But Congressman Coffer sat on a couple of very influential committees whose influence went beyond any one issue. And that meant a whole lot of lobbyists were after his vote. Emma’s job was to weed through the requests and provide a daily report as to who wanted what and whether they were worth the Congressman’s time. The deciding factor was usually money in the form of campaign donations, but since she was a government employee, her time couldn’t be used for any fundraising purpose. So her reports had to be couched in other terms, like importance to a particular constituency or public awareness of an important issue. It was all bullshit. But money won elections, and publicity provided sound bites so the people back home felt like their congressman was doing something once they elected him.

  Emma, being the hyperactive Energizer Bunny she was, had built up a database of information on the various lobbyists—names, affiliations, contact info—along with information on the assistants and secretaries she dealt with at least as often as their bosses. She pulled up the list of initials they had from Victor’s files and started working, trying to match them with her various contacts. It took far longer than she expected and was ultimately disappointing. There were too many women with the same initials, and no way of sorting them by likelihood. If she’d had marital status in her database, for example, she could have eliminated the married women, at least on the first cut. Some of them, she knew, were too old to match any of the photographed women, but for most she had no idea if they were the ones she was looking for or not.

  “Emma,” Louis said from behind her.

  She straightened and turned around, rubbing her back, which had gone stiff from sitting hunched over the computer.

  A woman stood next to Louis. She was petite, with a wild mane of curly dark hair, and she had to be a vampire. Either that or Duncan was employing teenagers now, because this woman looked about nineteen in her tight, faded jeans and bright red sweater.

  “Emma, this is Phoebe Micheletti. She’s the one I told you about, with the FBI.”

  Okay, definitely a vampire. But it was kind of unsettling to know the FBI had vampires working for them. The conspiracy theorists would go nuts if they knew!

  “Former FBI, and only a consultant,” Micheletti corrected, and smiled as she held out her hand.

  Emma stood, automatically taking Micheletti’s hand, feeling the strength in those delicate fingers. “Emma Duquet,” she said. “Louis mentioned you’d be coming by.”

  “And here I am.” She made a shooing motion at Louis and said, “Run along, Louis, I’ll take it from here.”

  Emma blinked, waiting for Louis to react to the female vamp’s dismissal, but he laughed. “You can’t have her, Pheebs. If Emma wants a job, Duncan has first dibs.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Phoebe said innocently.

  Louis gave her a skeptical look, but strode back to his computers.

  Phoebe continued to watch as Louis sat down and bent to work once again. “He’s one of the best hackers alive, you know. I tried to recruit him for my firm, but he’s Duncan’s down to the bone.” She looked at Emma. “If Louis wants you, you must be good.”

  Emma shrugged uncomfortably. “I haven’t done anything yet. I think he’s just happy someone else is doing the grunt work.”

  Phoebe had been reading over Emma’s shoulder, her eyes switching between Emma’s computer with its database and the list of initials. “What’s this?”

  “It’s my own database of lobbyists and their affiliates. I work for Congressman Coffer.”

  “Ah,” Phoebe said. “That explains it. Louis is a compulsive collector of information. He has database envy.”

  Emma laughed. “It hasn’t done me much good yet. I never thought I’d say this, but there’s too much information.”

  “No luck, then?” Phoebe murmured, sitting on the chair next to Emma’s and paging through her notes. The action irritated Emma for some reason. Those were her notes. The female vamp could have at least asked before she started snooping through them.

  She realized Phoebe was waiting for her to say something. “No luck,” she said, remembering the question. “Not yet. But I’m still working.”

  “How about the men?”

  “Louis said you were working on that.”

  “I am,” Phoebe said, flashing a smile. “But like you, I haven’t had any luck yet. You have what, hundreds of entries in your database?”

  “Thousands,” Emma corrected, feeling insulted and fighting the urge to snatch her database away from the former FBI consultant. Hundreds of entries, indeed. And was there any such thing as a former FBI consultant? She wasn’t sure she wanted anyone in government seeing the information on her computer, much less the FBI. Forget that she herself worked for the government. It wasn’t the same thing at all.

  “Thousands,” Phoebe allowed. “But there are millions in our facial recognition database, and as brilliant as Louis is, those composites were . . .” She shrugged without finishing her thought, but it was obvious she didn’t think they were very useful.

  Emma sat back down at her computer, feeling an irrational need to defend her methods. “I was thinking about this before you came in. If I could identify even one of these women, it would lead to the rest of them.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Because they all know each other. They all go to the same parties, and I’m not only talking about Victor’s. The people who work inside the Beltway are like a small town. Everyone knows everyone, or knows someone who does.”

  “So, maybe we go to a few of those parties ourselves,” Phoebe mused. “You can get us in?”

  “Sure. I get invitations every day in the Congressman’s office. It’s just a matter of picking the—” She froze as a thought occurred to her. “The women all knew each other which means they probably all knew Lacey, too. Lacey’s funeral,” she finished on a whisper.

  “Pardon?”

  “Lacey’s funeral,” she repeated more certainly. “There were so many people there, but I only knew a few of them because they were all Lacey’s friends.”

  “But you have the pictures from Victor’s files. Wouldn’t you
remember if any of these women had been there?”

  “No,” Emma said. “I was pretty much in shock that whole night. If not for Duncan, I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t remember anyone, damnit.” She thought furiously. “Wait, there was a—”

  “Glen Pettry handled the funeral?” Phoebe interrupted.

  “Yes, he was the one who told me—” She stopped speaking because Phoebe had pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and was already punching in a number.

  “Glen,” she said pleasantly. “Phoebe Micheletti. How are you? He’s good, grumpy as ever. Listen, do you have security cameras at your place? No. I understand. It’s something we’re working on, but we’ll figure it out. Thanks anyway.”

  She clicked her phone off and dropped it into her pocket. “No joy. He has video, but only at the back entrance where the bodies come in because they arrive at all hours. The front entrance is more sensitive. No one wants to think they’re being recorded at Aunt Tessie’s funeral, and the funeral home’s in a good neighborhood. Besides, Glen does a lot of business with vampires, and none of us want a record of our comings and goings.”

  Emma remained silent. There was another way of identifying who’d been at the funeral, but she wasn’t inclined to share it. She’d already decided she didn’t want to work with the pushy vampire anymore than she had to.

  “It was a good thought, though,” Phoebe said. She stood and looked around. “Listen, if you do find these women, you need to let me deal with them.”

  “I think I should call—”

  “I’m not trying to steal your thunder, Emma,” she interrupted. “We’re all after the same thing. Besides, Duncan wants you safe, and he’s pretty bossy. He’ll want one of us to follow up if you get a lead, and I can get a lot more information out of those women than you can.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure—”

  “It’s likely Victor messed with their memories,” Phoebe interrupted again. “No matter how persuasive or sympathetic you are, they can’t tell you what they don’t remember. I’ll be able to undo whatever Victor did and help them recall things they don’t even realize they know.”

  Emma frowned. “If you say so,” she agreed flatly.

  Phoebe laughed again. “You haven’t been around us long enough yet, but you’ll be a believer soon enough. All right, I’m out of here. It’s a long way home for me. Louis has my number if you come up with anything, and I’ll let you know if we get any hits on the facial recognition.” She smiled and patted Emma’s shoulder. “Don’t look so discouraged, Emma. It always starts this way.”

  She pushed her chair back into the table and looked over to where Louis was typing furiously. “Louis,” she called, waiting until he looked up, his expression a little vague, as if not quite in the now with the rest of them. “I’m out of here. I’ll call if anything pops.” He nodded and went immediately back to whatever he was doing, slapping away the hand of another vampire sitting next to him.

  Phoebe smiled. “Chin up, Em,” she said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Emma watched her go with a sour look. “Chin up, Em,” she mimicked. She hated being called Em.

  She waited until the annoying vampire was gone, even sticking her head into the hallway to be absolutely sure. And then she picked up her own phone and scrolled through the numbers. Pettry’s was right on top since she’d called him more than anyone else in the last few days. He answered after the second ring.

  “Mister Pettry,” she said, “it’s Emma Duquet.”

  “Ms. Duquet,” he said warmly. “How can I help you?”

  She noticed he didn’t ask her how she was. That particular social convention probably didn’t work well in his business, since pretty much everyone he dealt with was miserable or they wouldn’t be calling him.

  “There was a mourner’s book for Lacey’s funeral, wasn’t there?”

  “Yes, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you, but you left rather suddenly, and there were still a few visitors for Ms. Cray—”

  “That’s fine, Mister Pettry. I understand. Thank you for keeping it for me. I am sort of anxious to get a hold of it now, though. Do you suppose I could pick it up?”

  “Certainly. At your convenience,” Pettry said.

  “I know it’s late.” She glanced at her watch. “Very late,” she amended. “And it’s asking a lot, but I really need that book. Do you think I could pick it up tonight?” She felt guilty even asking, but if Pettry did a lot of business with vampires, he must be used to having customers drop by in the middle of the night. And sure enough, her request didn’t even faze him.

  “Certainly, I’m here quite late every night. Just come around back and ring the bell.”

  “Thank you, Mister Pettry, and thank you again for all your kindness during Lacey’s service.”

  “I was pleased to be of assistance during this difficult time.”

  Emma disconnected. “Louis, I need to run an errand,” she said, already gathering her things.

  Louis jumped up and came over. “Where are you going?”

  “The funeral home. I need to pick up the mourner’s book. I think it’ll help with this.” She indicated her scattered notes.

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll send one of our guys to pick it up for you.”

  “No, thank you,” Emma said pleasantly, unplugging her laptop and tucking it under her arm. “I’d rather do it myself, and I’ll go straight home after that. I need to get up early tomorrow.”

  “Duncan won’t want you doing that.”

  “Good thing Duncan’s not my boss, then,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Emma picked up her notes and left before Louis could argue with her any further, stopping only long enough to gather her things from the frilly bedroom before heading downstairs. She glanced at her watch again, nearly groaning at the late hour. By the time she got out to Pettry’s and back home again, it would be another night without much sleep. But a few cups of coffee would take care of that in the morning, and she figured she could sneak in some research in the office.

  With the gym bag in one hand and her laptop back in the purse slung over her shoulder, she headed out to her car, only to find Baldwin waiting for her. He was a good-looking guy, or vampire. Shorter than she was by an inch or so, but he had scruffy dark hair, a five o’clock shadow and probably outweighed her by fifty pounds, all of it muscle. He straightened as she came down the front stairs and immediately reached for her bags.

  “I’ll take you home, Emma.”

  “I’ve got my car. Thanks.”

  “Then I’ll follow you.”

  Emma stopped and regarded him curiously. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Boss’s orders.”

  “Am I in danger?”

  He grinned. “Not with me around.”

  Emma grinned back and informed him cheerfully, “I’m not going straight home. I need to stop at Pettry’s Funeral Home outside Falls Church.”

  “That’s not a stop, that’s a detour. We’ll drop off your car first.”

  Emma shrugged. She didn’t feel like fighting, and besides, it was a long drive. “Whatever you say.”

  He carried her bags to her car, waiting while she got settled behind the wheel, raising his eyebrows pointedly when she didn’t immediately fasten her seatbelt.

  “Geez, Baldwin, you’re like a mother hen.”

  “I like my job, Emma. I don’t want anything happening to you on my watch.” He closed her door and sped back to his SUV, then tailed her through the front gate and onto the street.

  It was a short and uneventful journey back to her house. She didn’t live that far away in simple distance. It was traffic and street closures for the constant VIP convoys that made the trip longer during the day and evening. But this late at night, the streets were nearly empty. There were parties going on, but not in her part of town, so once they left Duncan’s neighborhood, there wasn’t even that to consider.

  But when they got to her house, there was no
where to park. With the end of winter, the street sweepers were back and everyone had moved their cars to one side of the street for the next morning’s cleaning. She had to park a block over and two blocks down, and even then the space was barely large enough for her car. Good thing she was a good parallel parker.

  Baldwin pulled up next to her and reached across to open the passenger door on his SUV. “Get in,” he called.

  Emma grabbed her bags, tossed them into the SUV’s backseat, and climbed in, gazing around happily. She liked riding in big trucks. She would have bought one for herself, but it wasn’t practical in D.C. Maybe someday she’d have a house in Virginia or Maryland, and she’d have two vehicles—a practical sedan for the ride into work, and a big ass SUV like this one for zooming around the countryside on weekends. She smiled, liking the idea.

  “What’re you smiling at?” Baldwin asked.

  “I like your truck.”

  “Not my truck. I’m only the driver.”

  “Well, I like it anyway.”

  “I’d let you drive, but Duncan wouldn’t like it.”

  “Why not? I’m a good driver.”

  “Yeah, but what about the other guy? My reflexes are faster than yours.”

  As it turned out, Baldwin’s reflexes were good for more than avoiding accidents. He drove like a bat out of hell, switching lanes and zooming into tight spaces that had Emma reaching down to check her seatbelt more than once. But they made terrific time, getting there much faster than she would have on her own.

  Pettry was busy when she arrived—she didn’t want to inquire doing what this late at night—but he’d left a maroon, linen-covered box for her that held a similarly covered bound book with the words In Loving Memory gold-stamped on the front. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she closed the box quickly. This was going to be harder than she thought.

  “Is that everything, Emma?” Baldwin asked quietly.