by Brenda Joyce
He was also impossibly sexist. He glanced at Sam’s legs, but she was used to it. She expected men to look at her. “Tonight is strictly surveillance,” he told them. “I don’t know if the page is the real deal yet and we don’t know just how tainted Hemmer is. I want photos, ladies, lots and lots of photos, so Big Mama can make up architectural and mechanical plans. And while you’re at it, you can bring me a swab of Hemmer’s DNA.” He smiled at Sam. “Just pique Hemmer’s interest—for now.”
“No problem,” Sam said, standing. Sometimes tainted humans had the barest percentage of demonic blood, but it was enough to make their evil frightening. “Are you coming to play, too?”
“Not a good idea. Hemmer and I have never met, so let’s just say the timing isn’t right.”
The easier for Nick to catch Hemmer by surprise, Sam thought.
“I want a word with you,” Nick said to Sam.
Without having to be told, Kit picked up the newspaper and left.
Nick stared, his blue eyes piercing. “Maclean is on the guest list.”
Sam worked really hard to keep her facial muscles frozen.
“Give it up,” he said. “You want Lover Boy, and we both know it.”
NOT ONLY DIDN’T SHE want Maclean, she couldn’t stand him. Sam followed Nick down the hall and into his office, aware of a new tension riddling her body and the fact that her fists were clenched. Instantly she loosened them. The only thing she wanted in regards to Maclean was payback. Because he was a son of a bitch.
“Take off the dress.”
She seethed, standing with him in a fancy salon in his fancy Scottish mansion. “You are an unbelievable bastard.”
He laughed. “I’ve heard it a thousand times. What’s wrong? Are ye afraid of the bright lights?”
She didn’t have a drop of cellulite on her body. Sam lifted the spaghetti straps of her silk dress and let it pool at her feet. “Take a good, long look—because it’s your last one.”
Oh, had he looked.
Last December, she’d gone to Loch Awe to bargain with Ian Maclean. He was Aidan of Awe’s son, and as such, he had all kinds of extraordinary powers—including the power to leap through time. She had needed a way to find her sister, shortly after a Highlander had appeared in New York and taken Tabby back in time with him. But the moment she’d walked into Maclean’s ancient mansion, his every innuendo had been sexual. She had expected it.
The first time she’d met him, she’d been with Brie, who’d needed his help. She’d pegged him then as an arrogant, oversexed playboy. She hadn’t been wrong. He was wealthy, mouthwateringly sexy, and powerful—and he knew it. That day, they’d met for no more than five minutes, but he’d looked at her like he couldn’t wait to rip off her clothes and do just about everything sexual a man could do to a woman.
But he’d left her standing on the street corner, alone, taking Brie back in time without her. Sam did not like being left out of the real action, and she had been furious.
When Tabby had vanished into time with Guy Macleod, she’d been determined to go after her. So she had gone to Scotland prepared to offer Maclean a deal—but not her body. She wasn’t going to be one of a hundred women he used. She’d be the one to say yes or no. But he’d turned the encounter into another sexual contest. When she’d met his challenge and dropped the dress, he’d looked at every inch of her body with an arrogant certainty—as if he knew he’d win one day. As if he could wait. As if she couldn’t. And then he’d walked out on her.
He had walked out on her.
Not only that, he’d left her standing stark naked in his salon, the doors wide open, and all of his guests had seen her.
It was hard not to spit with rage, even now. Men did not walk out on her. Men drooled over her body, most of which was muscle. Men gaped when they saw her face, with her long-lashed blue eyes, her small straight nose, the high cheekbones and strong jaw. But Maclean had been mocking. Who did he think he was?
Sam believed in payback. She held her grudges for life.
This was war—even if he was one of the good guys—and she was going to win.
But although his power was huge and white, and he was Aidan of Awe’s son, his loyalties were not clear. Sam did know one thing. He was most definitely loyal to himself.
She was very doubtful that he was a part of the Brotherhood. He was too selfish.
“Why is he on Hemmer’s guest list?”
Nick shoved a fat file at her. “Happy reading.”
Sam started. “He’s on file.”
“You know Big Mama,” Nick said, referring to the agency’s supercomputer. “Maclean is on the ADR list.”
That was automatic data retrieval. When Big Mama flagged a person deemed corruptible, she automatically began to build a file, retrieving data from all possible sources at a set time every day. Because Ian was Aidan of Awe’s son, and Aidan had turned to evil for decades before being redeemed, he would have been flagged immediately. His status as corruptible could only be changed by an administrator.
“Are you going to admit you’re ready to pull that short, spiky mess out by its roots?” Nick was somewhat amused.
“I don’t pull hair and you know it. I’m thinking of using my Frisbee,” she said. That toy had teeth that could sever a man’s head from his body with a gentle toss, much less anything else she might want to sever.
“You’re not doing a good job of guarding your thoughts,” Nick commented, sitting down on the edge of his desk. “And I hate to tell you, kid, you put your hand between his legs and he isn’t going to quiver with fear.” Nick started laughing.
Sam tensed, hoping he hadn’t had a visual of her standing naked in Maclean’s fancy Highland salon. “If I ever put my hand there, he’s going to be really, really sorry,” Sam snapped.
Nick’s amusement vanished and he folded his arms across his chest. His biceps bulged beneath the sleeves of his dark T-shirt. “I have never seen you so pissed off.”
“Guess I’m mostly human,” she quipped.
He ignored that. “He is not aligned with the good guys. He is not a Master, Sam,” he warned.
“Somehow, I didn’t think so,” she said wryly. But her heart was beating a bit too swiftly, the way it did before battle—or during sex.
“He doesn’t play by the rules. But you know that, don’t you?”
Sam decided that Nick probably knew everything. “I don’t play by the rules, either.”
He smiled. “That’s why I’m so proud of you.” He became serious again. “I have no evidence that he’s turned. I look forward to meeting him and deciding for myself. But you are almost out of control, Sam. Anger will weaken you. He’ll make mincemeat out of you if you don’t get a grip.”
Sam was furious. “I’m not angry—I simply can’t stand the sonuvabitch. He’s an unbelievable jerk. He makes you look like a saint. I did underestimate him, I’ll admit it. I thought he’d be putty in my hands. Well, I won’t underestimate him again and I won’t ever ask him to make a deal.” She added, “And I won’t lose.”
Nick nodded, a gleam in his eyes. “I wonder why he suddenly bought property here.”
She felt herself still. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“He’s living here?”
“Bought an eighteen-million-dollar home, right on Park Avenue.” Nick smiled at her.
Sam was shocked. Why would he come to New York? She walked over to a window and stared down at the pedestrians and traffic on Hudson Street. “When did this happen?”
“Last January. A month or so after your little visit to Loch Awe.”
“His deciding to live here has nothing to do with me,” Sam said without thinking.
“I didn’t say it did.” Nick eyed the folder. “That is interesting reading, by the way.”
Sam folded her arms, her instincts going into overdrive. When she’d arrived at his home on Loch Awe, he’d been expecting her. How was that possible?
“I was wonderin’ how
long it would take ye to find me.” He was amused.
She smiled coldly. “In your dreams.”
He had poured her champagne, ignoring his other guests and his Playboy centerfold girlfriend. “Welcome to my lair.”
“Your father was the wolf.”
“Like father, like son,” he murmured, his gaze dipping to her cleavage.
“In the mood for a proposition?”
“I’ve been in the mood since we first met.”
There’s no way he’d come to New York to pursue her. No woman would ever be worth that kind of effort for him and she was sure of it. He’d come to town for other reasons. The Duisean? She wouldn’t put it past him.
“You’re an amazingly striking and terribly seductive woman,” Nick said thoughtfully. “And you know it. Coupled with that is your power as a Slayer.”
Sam stared at her boss. “Keep up the flattery and I might become frightened.”
He grinned. “Nothing scares you, Sam.”
He was right.
Nick added, “I can’t write off his arrival in New York as a coincidence. He’s dangerous and ruthless.” Nick picked up the folder. “But you’re dangerous and ruthless, too.”
Her interest was piqued. “So he’s my objective.”
“If he has the wrong intentions, I’m counting on you to neutralize him.”
“Goody.” She fingered the folder. “What’s in there?”
“Some interesting coincidences.”
“I’m a Rose. According to our Wisdom, there’s no such thing.”
Nick smiled. “I know. He’s been flagged by our agency, but he’s also on Scotland Yard’s watch list. Do you recall the theft of that van Gogh in Milan two years ago?”
“No, I don’t.”
“The painting just vanished into thin air in the middle of a working day. According to a clerk there, no one from the public was inside the gallery that morning and no alarms went off. But Maclean had been a visitor earlier in the week.”
Sam paced thoughtfully, tingling with some excitement. “He leapt into the gallery and leapt out with the painting. Gee, I wonder if it survived traveling at the speed of light.”
“Guess who is rumored to now have it?” Sam waited and Nick said, “Hemmer.”
Sam started. “Okay. So that explains the guest list. He stole the painting, sold it to Hemmer, and now they’re best buds.”
“He’s best buddies with various other wealthy art collectors around the world.” Nick was wry. “And he’s linked to five international art dealers, who have suffered the combined loss of eight masterpieces in the past decade. Several of his other friends are reputed to be in possession of those stolen works of art now.”
Sam stared at Nick. Maclean was using his powers to steal. So this was how he’d acquired his wealth—and his Park Avenue address. And then the comprehension was instant and blazing. “You don’t think he’s here to hold Hemmer’s hand.”
“I don’t think he’s here to hold Hemmer’s hand.”
“He’s going to steal the page,” Sam said softly.
Nick stood. “And I bet you’ll do anything to get in his way, won’t you?”
Sam slowly smiled. “Oh, yeah,” she said, with relish.
His stare hardened. “Do not let him out of your sight tonight.”
Sam saluted.
“There’s nothing like a woman scorned,” Nick suddenly grinned. “I’m sort of glad he pissed you off.”
“I’m not pissed off. And I hate to tell you, I wasn’t scorned. But, Nick? I’m better than the cliché. I don’t get mad, I get even—and then some.”
“I’m counting on it.”
CHAPTER TWO
MACLEAN WAS NOWHERE in sight.
Standing in the marble foyer just outside the brass doors of the elevator, which had taken them to the penthouse, Sam and Kit exchanged glances. Hemmer had built the building in his usual style—Las Vegas glitz meets haughty Fifth Avenue. There were marble floors, gilded mirrors and Corinthian columns. Everything was as costly as possible, screaming money. A handful of guests stood ahead of them, filing forward, and black-clad security agents were everywhere.
Sam wore a strapless red jersey dress, which clung to her every curve, and gold spike sandals. She’d added one of her mother’s gold bracelets to her right wrist, although bracelets tended to get in the way during tight, hand-to-hand combat. Rings were actually useful—they could be annoying for the enemy, inflicting painful little cuts. She wore several. Most women carried a clutch, but she wore a wallet-size bag on a shoulder strap. It was almost weightless, holding only a credit card, her cell phone and her red lipstick, and couldn’t possibly get in the way of anything. And she wore the diamond hoops her sister had given her last year. She only took them off to clean them.
She glimpsed Rupert Hemmer just within the doorway of his home, his blond wife with him, greeting the guests as they came in. The room beyond them was already crowded, but she didn’t see Maclean amongst the glittering partygoers. Her heart was thudding oddly, slow and steady—the way it always did before she leapt into battle. He was present. She was certain of it, and not because Nick had said he was on the guest list. She felt him, somewhere in the penthouse.
Sam could sense white power, and Maclean’s was obvious.
His aura reeked of sexuality, and her own answering tension told her he was nearby.
She couldn’t wait to spoil his good time.
Then she poked Kit and nodded up at the thumbnail-size cameras in the corners of the foyer. Kit followed her gaze. Then she gestured at their hostess. “Is she even legal?”
Sam was amused, and she glanced at their host, who was handsome and tanned in a black tuxedo, his face obviously lifted, his hair that funny shade of medium brown that every older man seemed to sport in order to cover up the gray. While he had to be close to sixty, even if he’d been under the knife and was lean and fit, his wife looked twenty—if that. She wore a bubble-gum pink evening gown that was more of a second skin than a dress. Sam pegged it as Versace. From this distance, Rupert reeked of arrogance and wealth, but not evil. Sam could sense evil as easily as she sensed white power, and she suspected him to be human with a few drops of demonic blood.
It was finally their turn to meet and greet. Rupert looked at her, his eyes widening with obvious male interest. He looked carefully at her lush chest, which was not the obvious boob job his wife was showing off, and then at her long, hard legs. He glanced at Kit, who wore a classic black sheath and had actually put on lip gloss. He smiled slowly at them. “You must be Sam Rose and Kit Mars, from World Media.”
Sam had noted that Becca Hemmer didn’t care about her husband ogling other women—and why should she? Sam had read up on the Hemmers while getting dressed. She was young, gorgeous and smart enough to have signed a pre-nuptial agreement that made her one of the city’s wealthiest women, no matter what happened to her marriage. And apparently, Becca liked to play as much as he did.
Sam dismissed her as irrelevant and smiled back at Hemmer, giving him a come-hither-if-you-dare look. “None other.” She extended her hand. “I’m Sam Rose. I was wondering how long it would take for us to meet, Mr. Hemmer.”
He grasped it warmly. “All my guests are instructed to call me Rupert.”
“Rupert,” Sam murmured. “It’s been a while since I had instruction.”
He smiled slightly as he absorbed the innuendo. “How interesting.” He added, “Had I realized World Media had publicists like you two, I think I would have been persuaded to give you my business much more easily.” His gaze was suddenly hooded.
Sam wondered if they’d been made. “Is the rest of the team here?”
“I believe so,” he murmured. “John Ensign and Charles Dupre were two of the first to arrive.”
She felt Kit’s tension. “Jack Ensign,” she corrected casually. “We all call him Jack.”
“Ah, yes, of course, my mistake. So, do come inside and help yourself to the bubbly. Perhaps we
can chat a bit later about the project. I look forward to hearing your ideas.”
“I look forward to sharing them.” Sam smiled pleasantly at Becca as she and Kit moved into a huge living room with gilded crystal chandeliers and modern furniture upholstered in various shades of white. Nick had told her almost two hundred guests would be present, and Sam decided that he’d been right. The men were in tuxedoes, the women sporting lavish jewels, some in long evening gowns, like Becca. White-coated waiters were passing champagne in expensive flutes and hors d’oeuvres on sterling silver trays. It took Sam a second to decide that Maclean was not in the reception area. Was he already in the vault? She shivered. She was more than ready to find out. Her pulse beat a bit more swiftly now.
“Did we pass?” Kit murmured.
“I think he’s suspicious.” But she didn’t give a damn about their host now.
“Did you have time to read up on the project?”
“No, and I intend to avoid Hemmer. With this crowd, I don’t think he can get away for a tête-à-tête anyway. Are you okay? I’m going to explore.”
“I’m fine. Be careful. Hemmer stinks.”
Sam smiled and drifted off into the crowd. As she did, a flash of bright pink caught her eye. She turned and saw Becca making her way alone through the crowd—no easy task, as she was constantly greeted and congratulated. Sam turned to locate Hemmer. She finally saw him, still close to the front door, chatting with the mayor and a famous woman news anchor with sinking ratings. Sam turned back to Becca, just in time to see her slip from the reception room, past two big security guards.
Now what did that mean? Becca did not seem like a party pooper. She managed to find Kit. “I need a diversion so I can canvas the rest of the place.”
“You can create a better diversion in that getup than I ever could.”
“Stop selling yourself short,” Sam said, meaning it.
A moment later, Sam was posed not far from the door Becca had exited, where the two big security guards stood. A woman not far from the doorway cried out, “Someone just stole my purse! Someone just ripped my bag from my hands!”