Gavin looked startled and then a corner of his mouth lifted up. “I suspect you are hardly helpless, in spite of your swoon earlier.”
Her swoon? Swoon? Who used words like that in real life? She was hardly helpless either, having taken care of herself while her mother painted, wrote poetry, and waitressed. She knew what the real world looked like—maybe that was why she loved romances. Things always turned out the way they should.
“You are right. I am not helpless, which is why I will be an asset to you in finding Jake’s killer. And now I must go.” She turned, catching her heel on the frill of an Oriental scatter rug. She lurched left, managing to right herself at the last minute before bumping into the sofa—not exactly an alluring, sensual exit for Gavin to remember.
But it wasn’t until she was in her not-so-reliable old car that she realized he hadn’t answered her question. Then she shook her head, laughing at herself. Knights-in-shining-armor only existed in romance novels.
If she kept mixing it up, she’d be the one at John Peter Smith hospital.
* * * *
Gavin walked down the thickly carpeted hallway on the second floor of Smith’s mansion the next evening and paused at the top of the stairwell. His sharpened vampire senses told him she was still here. He had taken the manuscript and cloistered himself in Smith’s basement vaults all day—a place he naturally preferred to the suite of rooms that Smith had given him when he insisted that Gavin be his guest for the duration of the search for Lucas and the other missing persons—hoping to avoid Chloe Whitney.
He wasn’t being a coward—God’s Blood! He fought in more battles than he cared to remember over the centuries—but it was better to err on the side of caution while he studied the enemy.
Not that the girl was the enemy, exactly. She was unnerving. He had tried mesmerizing her for her own good so she wouldn’t remember any ghastly details, but she’d been unfazed. Only once had he been able to interrupt her train of thought and that had been temporary. She’d come back at him every time, instead of submitting to his mind.
Maybe submitting was not the right word to use, considering he’d seen the invitation in her eyes. He’d have to be a blind mortal to have missed that. But he was on a job here and he didn’t mix business with pleasure. Ever. Gavin couldn’t afford to be exposed for what he was. Besides, the minx wasn’t even his type—all gamin, with those huge, waif-like aqua eyes that reminded him of the North Sea and that wild, orange-spiked hair! He preferred older women—refined, regal, elegant—who understood discretion and were quite content with being sated when he was finished. Women who succumbed to his ability to make them forget who he was and remember only vague pleasure. He always left them with that.
Chloe hadn’t succumbed to any of his efforts last night. Why was she immune to mesmerization? He would have to tread warily. Maybe she would be gone in a day or two.
But that hope was dashed when he entered the dining room.
“I’d love to help you on this project!” Chloe was saying.
Gavin blinked. Were there streaks of pink in that short, orange hair tonight? And what in all that was indecent was she wearing? Shorts that barely covered her delectable little behind, revealing slender legs and a cropped top that exposed her midriff when she moved her arms, which was frequently since she punctuated her conversation with animation.
The effect wasn’t lost on the other man in the room. Gavin’s instincts alerted to the stranger with her and Smith. The man had the build of a football player without the bull neck and classical good-looks that would make most women notice him. Self-assured, he was smiling at Chloe. “It’s always nice to meet a fellow writer.”
‘Yeppers!” she said excitedly. “I can get you some publicity in the paper about your book and I’ll use your research on the history of these weapons and turn it into a historical romance!”
Mr. Smith noticed Gavin. “Come in, Inspector Myles. I’d like you to meet Alan Caldwell, my biographer.”
Caldwell studied him, a bit too closely. “Inspector?”
“Yeppers,” Chloe said again. “He’s with Scotland Yard. Isn’t that just too much?”
Caldwell’s blue gaze turned cool. “Why would someone from Scotland Yard be in Texas—if I might ask?”
Gavin wished that Chloe had not blurted out that piece of information, but before he could reply, Smith interceded.
“My dear boy,” he said to Caldwell, “I am hiring only the best to try and find dear Sara and Sophie—and the men.”
“I see. Have you had any leads?” Alan asked casually.
There was nothing casual in his appraising look, though, or the tenseness of his body. Gavin felt the fine hairs at his nape prickle and his fangs poked at him. Repressing them, he inhaled subtly. The man was human and he detected no trace of tainted
blood. Still, there was something about the man that he didn’t trust—and it had nothing to do with Miss Whitney’s friendliness with him. Her spicy scent wafted toward him—warm, rich blood coursing through her veins—with an effort, he kept his fangs retracted.
“I have not had time to pursue any,” Gavin replied and diverted the subject. “What kind of book are you writing?”
“It’s going to be Mr. Smith’s memoir!” Chloe answered instead. “It actually started out as a magazine piece on the medieval weapon collection, but there’s a treasury of collectibles and Alan thought putting it all together would be a good read!” She smiled at Alan. “I’m excited to help you edit it too!”
They must have had quite a while to talk if they’d agreed to work together. Caldwell looked extremely pleased and Gavin wondered if editing was all he had in mind. Not that it was Gavin’s business. Still, Lucas had said Smith used an alias.
“Isn’t a memoir going to give your real identity away?” he asked.
“That’s the best part!” Chloe interrupted again. “Alan’s going to keep Mr. Smith’s name and make everyone wonder who he might really be!!!” She smiled at the man again and turned back to Gavin. “Intrigue always helps sell books!”
Gavin wondered what Miss Whitney would do if she had any idea of how much ‘intrigue’ was really going on. Lucas was a shape shifter and he was a vampire. Sara was a white witch and the vet must have had some paranormal abilities to have attracted Pendragon. They all disappeared. Had they found the spear and the sword? Were those weapons safe or still hidden? Balor was very much aware that Smith was connected to the search or he would not have had Sigurd lurking in the vicinity.
The phone rang, cutting off his thoughts. Mr. Smith glanced at the caller-ID, grimacing. “It’s the police,” he said. “I’ve already told them all I know.” With a sigh, he answered, and then handed the phone to Gavin. “They want to speak to you.”
Gavin listened a moment. “I will be there immediately,” he said and ended the call.
“What’s going on?” Chloe asked.
“They just want to tie up a few loose ends about the murder.” He walked toward the door. “I’ll probably be late,” he said to Mr. Smith, “so I’ll let myself in.”
Chloe got to the door before he did. “I’m going with you.”
“You are not.”
“I am. Just try and stop me.”
If she only knew how easily he could do just that. He could even mesmerize the whole bunch of them until he got back, but then there would be time-perception problem. “It is only procedures we’ll be going over.”
Her lower lip puffed out and Gavin was suddenly aware of how entirely kissable her pouty little mouth was. He looked away. “It is official business.”
“It has to do with my friend, Jake. I am going.”
“I’ll be glad to drive you to the station,” Caldwell said, coming up alongside them. “I’m parked right out front.”
Gavin narrowed his eyes. There was something off about Caldwell that he did not trust. It wasn’t wise, either, to let Miss Whitney be alone with the man in a dark car—especially not dressed like she was. She was too t
iny to ward him off if he got physical.
“All right,” he nearly growled. “The police will not appreciate a circus arriving. Do not blame me if they make you wait outside.”
She smiled sweetly. “I won’t,” she said and took his arm, sending an alarming sense of blood-lust searing through him. That hadn’t happened in centuries—he’d thought he’d conquered that emotion with the rigorous Templar training he’d gone through.
Squelching the urge to taste her, he opened the door and they walked out into the night.
* * * *
Chloe cast a sideways glance at Gavin as they pulled into the police parking lot. The floodlights cast long shadows in the car, catching his face partially in light and partially dark like some stark painting. With his inky hair and nearly black eyes, he looked almost other-worldly which was highly erotic. Her breasts grew heavy, her nipples tightened, and he hadn’t even touched her. Anywhere.
In fact, Gavin had been silent the entire drive over. He hadn’t looked her in the face when she spoke to him either, although she supposed his excuse for keeping his eyes on the road since he wasn’t used to driving on the right side was plausible. Still, when she laid her hand on his arm, she felt his muscles tense.
“Hey, I won’t bite,” she teased.
He started, jerking his arm away and nearly jumped out of the car. She frowned and reached for her door handle, only to find him there, opening it. How had he gotten around the car so quickly?
Captain Johnson was waiting and waved them through security. Gavin gestured to a bench across from the captain’s office. “You can wait there.”
Chloe didn’t move. “No.”
“Yes.”
She shook her head stubbornly.
“Be a good girl,” he coaxed. “Do not make trouble for me.”
“Be a good girl?” she asked incredulously. “Should I just wag my tail and wait for you to toss me a bone?” Geez. For a guy who looked so hot, how could he be so dense? “This is America. Women here do not take orders from men.”
The captain looked from one to the other and raised a brow.
Gavin sighed. “It was a request,” he said in the patient tone a parent would take with a petulant child. “Police matters are confidential.”
“Like hell. We’ve got a Freedom of Information Act.” She fumbled in her purse, searching for her news credentials. “Here, hold this,” she said as she shoved a cosmetic case, hairbrush and mirror into his hands before he could protest. She rummaged some more. “I know they’re in here.” She began to remove a book and a scarf when the captain cleared his throat.
“Are you a reporter, Miss—?”
“Yes, I am. Aha! Here it is.” She pulled the identity card out and held it up. “Chloe Whitney. The Morning Sun. Jake Baxter was my friend—“
The captain gestured her inside before she finished. With a triumphant smile, she proceeded Gavin into the office and sat down. He loomed over her, bending down closely enough that she could feel his warm breath tickle her neck. Chloe had the wild thought that maybe he was going to kiss her. Her stomach fluttered and she instinctively licked her lips. For a moment, his dark penetrating gaze lingered on her mouth and then he laid her cosmetics on her lap. “I will not be needing these.”
She flushed. What had she been thinking? That he’d kiss her in a cop’s office? Of course he wouldn’t her stuff either. Chloe quickly shoved everything back in her purse, trying to ignore the amused look on the captain’s face. “Do you have any leads?” she asked, suddenly aware that her mode of dress probably didn’t look exactly professional. She placed her purse on her lap, trying to cover some of her thighs. Gavin looked heavenward and sighed again. Well, geez. How was she supposed to know they’d end up at PD tonight?
“Not exactly,” Captain Johnson said as if mulling over how much information he wanted to share. “Why don’t you tell me what you know about Jake Baxter? Why would he be in a ritzy neighborhood like that in the middle of the night?”
Chloe glanced at Gavin, but he was looking stoically ahead. It was almost like he was avoiding looking at her legs…was she piquing his interest just a little? A tingle shot through her belly. She refocused on the captain.
“I think Jake was following up on the disappearance of Mr. Smith’s veterinarian who had those dragon visits,” she said. “He said he’d had found something when he called to ask me to meet him.”
The captain shuffled some papers, picking one up and sliding it across the desk. “That case is wide open. According to the New Orleans PD, Sophie Cameron disappeared on August 1st. So did a man named Michael McCain. Interestingly, there have been no dragon sightings—or whatever they were—since then. Did your friend think that a coincidence?”
“I don’t know. I was in California when all this was going on. Miss Cameron worked for Mr. Smith. So did that other woman—Sara something—who disappeared last spring. Do you think it was a coincidence?”
The captain looked surprised that she’d turned the question on him. “Anything’s possible in police work.” He turned to Gavin. “I understand Mr. Smith has hired you privately to investigate the disappearances both because of your experience and also that you were a partner of Lucas Ramsey.” He paused and gave Chloe a hard stare. “I also understand that you were a friend of Jake Baxter’s, but if I allow you to remain in this room for the rest of the conversation, you will have to swear to me that the information will not be leaked in any form or matter.”
Chloe squirmed, feeling like a specimen under a microscope. As a reporter, her duty was to ferret out the truth and make it available to the public. However, her vivid imagination as a wannabe romance writer knew no such bounds. Besides, she had to know what had happened to Jake. Slowly, she nodded.
“Say it,” Captain Johnson demanded as Gavin gave her a dark, hooded look that told her not to push this.
“I swear I will keep all of this confidential—but when the case is solved, can I break it?”
The captain smiled mirthlessly. “Don’t hold your breath.” He turned back to Gavin. “Since you are not here officially, I can’t order you to share what you know, but it would behoove all of us to work together.”
“Certainly,” Gavin replied. “And, since I am not here officially, I will request that what I am about to say not be repeated unnecessarily.”
The captain’s eyebrows both rose. “That’s an unusual request.”
“Perhaps not, once you hear the information.”
When the captain nodded, Gavin gave Chloe another look, deliberately scanning her orange and pink hair, his gaze traveling over her scant attire—which made the tingle start again in really nice places—and then returned to her hair.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she said. “I may not look like a news anchor, but I can keep my mouth shut.” Gavin sighed again as if he were dealing with a querulous child. She was really going to have work on his attitude. It was a good thing for him that sex pheromones practically glittered in the air around him.
“All right,” Gavin said and took a deep breath. “My partner, Lucas, unearthed a manuscript written in medieval Gaelic that was auctioned at Sotheby’s. The highest bidder was Sara Kincaid, working for John Smith.”
“Yes, we know that. Mr. Smith has become rather infamous for his medieval collections.”
“The second-highest bidder was a man named Adam Baylor. Have you heard of him?”
Captain Johnson frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“He runs a brokerage house in London. Although it has never been proven, Interpol and M-15 are quite sure he launders money to support the various terrorist organizations around the world, as well as the drug trade in Asia and Mexico.”
“Why? Is he some religious fanatic?”
“Hardly. His goals are much more mercenary. He wants complete global control.”
Captain Johnson’s eyes widened. “Another dictator?”
“Probably worse. Baylor wants to control the world, not just a country. At any
rate, the manuscript held the clue for one of four ancient Celtic relics believed to have the capability to enhance personal power.”
“Like magic?” Chloe interrupted.
The captain shook his head. “I’m a cop. We don’t—“
Gavin held up a hand. “I know. Our rational minds do not accept the paranormal, but the psychological profile done on Baylor says he does. Enough so that he would kill for the relics.”
“Go on.”
“When the Yard found out what the manuscript contained, they sent Lucas to the States to locate the object—a spear—before Adam Baylor did.”
“Wow! You’re telling me Scotland Yard believes in magic?” Chloe asked, almost bouncing in her chair. “I just knew there was something special—”
Gavin gave her a curious look. “No, Miss Whitney. At least not officially, but no one wanted to take any chances.” He turned back to Johnson. “Baylor’s profile classifies him as a total sociopath. It is my hope that Lucas found the spear and is safeguarding it.”
“What about the vet and that other guy?” Chloe interrupted again. “They’re missing too.”
“According to Lucas, the manuscript listed the four relics and the order in which they would be found. My guess is that Miss Cameron and her friend were seeking the sword. And, since they have also disappeared, but Adam Baylor has not, my second assumption is that they found it as well.”
“So what’s next?” Johnson asked.
“A dish. Actually, a golden platter. Baylor will be desperate to get his hands on it and he won’t hesitate to kill.”
“So you think he killed Jake?” Chloe asked.
Gavin shook his head. “Baylor never involves himself directly with any kind of hit—or anything illegal. That’s why Interpol has never been able to charge him. He’s clever, resourceful and extremely dangerous. Since Smith procured the manuscript and both clues were linked to employees of his, it is logical to assume Baylor is having his house watched for any action related to a clue for the platter.”
Johnson poked around in his papers and picked one up. “Preliminary autopsy reports says Baxter was mauled by something.”
The Immortals III: Gavin Page 3