Donlon didn’t move except to give her a lazy blink of his eyes. “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Kathryn. My people rely on me to protect them, and I take that responsibility very seriously. It was not so long ago that your people were hunting mine down and slaughtering them for no reason. As I said, I’m more than happy to show your brother’s photograph around, but that’s all you’ll get.”
“What I’ll get,” she said sharply, “is a judge’s order requiring your people to submit to questioning.”
“Will you?” Lucas came to his feet so fast, she didn’t see him move, and she shot up defensively.
Donlon’s expression was no longer lazy, his voice no longer teasing. “Go ahead, Special Agent Hunter. Get your warrant. Oh, but wait, you can’t, can you? Because you’re not here in an official capacity. In fact, I suspect your supervisors told you to leave this alone, but here you are anyway.”
Kathryn gave a mental shrug. So he knew she was off the reservation on this one. Powerful men always had ways of finding out things, and she didn’t make the mistake of thinking Donlon was any less powerful just because he was a vampire. If anything, it was likely to make him more powerful. He could bring to bear not just economic and business pressure, but that visceral fear of the unknown as well. She had hoped to milk her FBI connection a bit longer, but . . . she sighed inwardly. It looked as if she’d have to play nice with this incredibly handsome bastard, after all.
She met Donlon’s cool gaze evenly and gave an easy shrug. “It was worth a shot,” she said, sitting down again. “Yes, I’m on my own for this one, and, yes, my superiors would rather I leave it alone. But I suspect their reluctance stems in large part from a desire not to piss you off. I don’t really care about pissing you off. I just want my brother back, and I think you or your people know something about what happened to him.”
“Just because he went to a vampire bar?” Donlon slouched back comfortably into his big chair. Did the man ever sit up straight? “There are many bars in South Dakota,” he continued. “And very few of them are owned by vampires.”
“Yes, but I have a witness who saw him leaving your bar with someone they say is a vampire. And that’s the last time anyone saw my brother.”
“Who’s the witness, and what’s the vampire’s name?”
“I won’t tell you that,” Kathryn said instantly. The last thing she wanted was to have Donlon discover that her only witness was in Afghanistan. “But he’s been to the club before, and he’s certain the man leaving with my brother is a vampire.”
“How can he be sure?”
“Because—” Kathryn looked away from the vampire’s too perceptive gaze, feeling her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “—he claims to have been with the vampire in question. I assumed he meant sex, but now that you’ve explained . . . what you’ve explained . . .”
She chanced a glance at Donlon and found him watching her with blatant amusement.
“It’s usually the same thing, Kathryn,” Donlon said, clearly enjoying the moment. “Taking blood from the vein is a very sensuous experience. Sex usually follows. Or precedes. Or sometimes even both,” he added with a teasing grin.
Kathryn bit her already sore tongue, using the pain to center herself. She was not here for Lucas Asshole Donlon’s amusement.
“You don’t know me, Lord Donlon,” she said tightly. “Oh, I’m sure you know the basics, maybe even more than that. But you don’t know me. I love my brother, and I will move heaven and earth to find him. I will be the thorn in your side, the stone under your foot. I will make fucking with your existence my damn mission in life until I find out what happened to him.”
“And if he’s dead?”
The air left Kathryn’s lungs. She hadn’t dared to ask herself that question. Hadn’t dared to even consider the possibility. She forced herself to meet Donlon’s curious stare.
“If he’s dead,” she said in a thin voice she didn’t recognize. “Then I want to take him home.”
Donlon’s gaze softened with something close to pity. But she didn’t want his pity. She drew a deep breath and stiffened her spine.
“The vampire you’re looking for,” he said. “He’s not one of mine.”
“How do you know?” she demanded.
He leaned forward, golden eyes glittering. “Because I’ve asked my people,” he said in a hard voice, “and I trust them. What’s the vampire’s name?”
Kathryn thought about not telling him, but decided he couldn’t help her if he didn’t know whom to look for. And if he wasn’t willing to help her, it wouldn’t matter anyway.
“Alex,” she said. “The witness didn’t know a last name.”
Donlon frowned. “There is no Alex among my vampires, not locally.” He glanced briefly at Nicholas, and Kathryn would have sworn there was some communication going on there. She also noticed that he’d said not locally. Did that mean there was an Alex somewhere else, and they suspected he’d moved into the area? Or that this Alex visited on occasion? She drew a breath to ask him, but he turned his attention back to her, and she waited to see what his next move would be.
His scowl was still in place, but then, suddenly, as if a curtain had been drawn, everything about him changed. The sardonic gleam was back in his eyes and his mouth quirked into a cynical half-grin as he winked at her. “Tell you what, Kathryn. Come back Friday evening, and we’ll take a tour of the club. You can ask around yourself.”
Kathryn studied him distrustfully. “But today’s only Wednesday, Why do we have to wait so long?”
“Because the club isn’t open,” he explained slowly, as if she should have known that. “Friday through Sunday only.”
Shit! Kathryn thought to herself. Possibly her best lead, and she had to sit on her hands for two more days?
“What if they won’t talk to me? I mean the vampires and whoever else is at the club.”
“Trust me, they’ll talk to you,” he said silkily. “But I’ll do even better, since I’m certain you’d rather not postpone your investigation while you wait. I’ll make some inquiries here and elsewhere. Come back tomorrow night, and perhaps I’ll have something for you.”
Kathryn wondered about Lucas’s almost Jekyll and Hyde transformation, but even more, about his sudden willingness to cooperate. Did he know more than he was admitting?
“You could just call me if you find something,” she said ungraciously.
He only smiled and murmured, “But where would be the fun in that?”
Kathryn stood. “I’m not really here for fun, Mister Donlon.”
“Och, and don’t I know it?” he responded, with a very genuine-sounding Irish lilt flavoring his words for the first time. Was he Irish? For that matter, how old was he? Vampires lived a long time, if what she’d heard could be believed. She tended to think at least some of it was vampire disinformation. But if even part of it were true, Donlon could easily have been born in some long ago Ireland. The there-and-gone lilt was just one more piece of the mystery that was Lucas Donlon. And she’d always loved a good mystery.
She stood, as if to leave, then shifted her gaze deliberately to the photographs on the wall next to the fireplace. The ones she knew for a fact that her brother had taken, although that didn’t necessarily mean anything, since Dan’s work was sold in galleries worldwide.
“These are beautiful,” she said, crossing to the wall and moving from one photo to the next. “Ireland, isn’t it?”
“Éire we call her,” Lucas murmured directly into her ear.
Kathryn’s heart slammed against her ribs. He’d somehow come out from behind his desk and walked over to stand right behind her without her being aware of it. He stood looking over her shoulder, so close she could smell the spicy scent of his skin, could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. She had to fight the urge to reach for her gun as she turned her head and found herself looking directly into his strange golden eyes.
He smiled, a bare upward tilt of his lips. He knew he’d startled
her, and he took pleasure in it. Kathryn wanted to step away, wanted to ball up her fist and slug his beautiful, smug face. But she couldn’t do it. She could only stare and try to breathe.
“Have you been to my country?” he asked in a voice so soft she wouldn’t have heard him if they hadn’t been standing so close.
It took her a moment to find the words to answer. “Your country?” she repeated.
“Mo Éireann álainn. Mo Chroí mo go deo.”
The Irish words flowed like beautiful music. “What does that mean?” she whispered, unwilling to dispel the echo of the lovely sounds.
He leaned even closer, and for one wild moment, Kathryn thought he meant to kiss her. And the worst part was, she was pretty sure she’d let him. Fortunately, he spared her from making that terrible mistake by saying softly, “Someday maybe I’ll tell you.”
He straightened a little, putting just enough distance between them that she could think rationally again, and indicated the photo nearest to her left. Daniel had caught three horses in full movement, running over a grassy paddock, with trees closing in all around. The youngest was still a foal, his back legs kicked up in play.
“That’s Kildare,” Lucas murmured to her. “Heart of the Irish thoroughbred country. My grandfather had a place there. Nothing this grand, of course. Just a patch of dirt and an old plow horse. I only visited there once, but it was a memorable event in my too short childhood.”
Kathryn was surprised he’d told her that much. She glanced over her shoulder. “My grandparents had horses, too,” she offered, and was rewarded with the most glorious smile.
“Well, then . . . it seems we’ve something in common, a cuisle. You’ll have to come riding with me sometime.”
Kathryn’s cheeks heated with embarrassment. She didn’t know what he’d just called her, but she knew it crossed that invisible line between agent and witness. What was she doing? She wasn’t here to be romanced by Lucas Donlon, no matter how handsome and charming he was.
Lucas must have sensed that their moment of connection was over. He gave her an “oh well” kind of shrug, then stepped back a pace and studied the entire series of photographs. “I don’t know who took these. Magda found them for me. But the photographer has captured my homeland like no other I’ve ever seen.” He gestured at the images. “I’ll probably never live there again, so I’m grateful.”
Kathryn looked from her brother’s photographs to Lucas, trying to decide if he was genuine, or if he was playing her. But there was that comment about his grandfather between them, and his expression held such yearning as his gaze traveled from one photograph to the next, that she believed him.
“Then you should probably help me find him,” she said.
Lucas gave her a puzzled look. “Find whom?”
Kathryn tilted her head toward the photographs. “The photographer. Daniel Hunter.”
He regarded her blankly for a moment, then his eyes widened in surprise. “Your brother took these?” He grabbed one of the framed images from the wall and turned it over. Kathryn knew what he’d find. There was a label on the back with her brother’s name and contact information, as well as a statement of copyright.
Lucas read the label quickly, then turned the photograph over again and searched for a signature on the image.
“Lower left corner,” Kathryn said. “Very small, but it’s there. Just his initials, D H.”
She watched his eyes as they traveled over the print and saw the moment he found what he was looking for. “Son of a bitch,” he swore softly. “Nicholas,” he said without turning. “Get Magda in here now.”
Kathryn heard Nicholas on the phone, but her attention was all for Lucas, who was staring at the photos with new interest.
“What is it?” she asked. “What do you see?”
“It’s not the prints,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s where she bought them.”
“What do you mean? Daniel’s work is carried in a number of very fine galleries—”
“Yes, but what about this gallery?” he asked, rubbing a square tipped finger over the gallery’s name on the back label of the frame he still held.
“Which one—” Her question was interrupted by the opening of the door. Lucas held up his hand, asking Kathryn to wait as he turned to address Magda.
“Maggie,” he began, and she saw the woman’s expression tighten with irritation at the nickname. She would have found that intriguing if she hadn’t been far more interested in Lucas’s reaction to her brother’s photographs. “These photographs,” he continued, gesturing with one hand. “The gallery owner is Carmichael, right?”
“Yes, my lord,” Magda said, clearly puzzled by the question. “He has a small gallery in Minneapolis, but I believe he brought these from his main gallery in Chicago, because he thought you’d enjoy them.”
She saw a knowing look pass between Lucas and Magda and knew there was something they weren’t telling her. Something about Carmichael?
“Why is Carmichael important?” Kathryn demanded. “What does it matter where you bought them?”
Donlon shrugged and hung the photograph back on the wall. “It occurs to me that he might be an admirer of your brother’s work. Admiration can sometimes turn to obsession.”
“You think Carmichael kidnapped Daniel?” she asked, doubtfully. “My brother’s a big guy, taller than I am, and very athletic. He wouldn’t be easy to grab.”
“Don’t be naïve, Kathryn. Even the strongest man can be taken down by the addition of any number of available drugs to his drink. And your witness did say Daniel left the bar with someone. Perhaps it only had the appearance of willingness.”
“But the witness also said the man was a vampire.”
“Perhaps he was wrong about that, or perhaps your brother didn’t actually leave with the person he saw.”
Kathryn studied his too handsome face, trying to determine whether he was telling her the whole truth. But she might as well have tried to read a statue. Lucas stared back at her with nothing more than a vaguely puzzled expression, as if he couldn’t figure out what her problem was.
“All right,” she said at last. “What time Friday night can we visit this vampire bar?”
“If you want to get a feel for the place, it will have to be late. What do you think, Nicholas?” he asked, turning to his lieutenant. “Eleven o’clock?”
Nicholas nodded. “On a Friday, yes, my lord.”
Lucas swung back to her with a pleased grin. “It’s a date then. Eleven o’clock on Friday. Shall I pick you up?”
“No,” she said immediately. This was not a date, no matter what he said. “I’ll meet you there.”
“Very well.” He sighed, as if disappointed. “But do wear something appropriate.”
She frowned and glanced down at her white blouse and dark blue pants.
“If you want to get information, a cuisle, you can’t walk in there looking like you’re about to raid the place.”
“Of course,” she said dismissively, as if she’d already considered that. And she was sure she would have. Eventually. Damn it. Damn him. She’d have to go clothes shopping, because the raciest thing she’d brought with her was a cotton tank top.
Lucas winked conspiratorially, as if he knew what she was thinking.
Kathryn scowled. She’d clearly gotten off on the wrong foot with Lucas Donlon. “But we’re meeting again tomorrow night, right? Same time as tonight? And you’ll speak to your people?”
“I shall count the hours, Agent Hunter.”
The urge to punch him was growing stronger. Anything to wipe that satisfied smirk from his face. But she had a feeling he was hoping for just that, so she turned and strode out of the office instead.
“Kathryn,” Donlon called just before she reached the door.
She gritted her teeth, but managed to turn around and inquire politely, “Mister Donlon?”
“Do you ride?”
Kathryn frowned in confusion. “Ride? You mean
horses?”
Donlon gave her a knowing wink, but had enough grace to say only, “Well, yes.”
“It’s been a while,” she said, her face hot with embarrassment as she belatedly realized the obvious innuendo in her words. “The grandparents I told you about died when I was very young, and their place was sold.” And why the hell was she telling him that?
“Excellent. Wear some jeans tomorrow night, then. You do own a pair of jeans, don’t you?”
Kathryn narrowed her eyes in irritation. “Of course. But why—”
“You’ll see.”
She stared at him, tempted to tell him where he could shove his cryptic comments, but then she remembered her brother and swallowed whatever she’d been about to say. She couldn’t come up with anything nice to replace it, however, so she simply turned on her heel and strode out into the hallway where Magda was waiting to escort her.
* * * *
Lucas leaned back in his chair and watched the lovely FBI agent storm gently from his office. She was good at concealing her emotions, good at keeping them from showing on her face, anyway. But he was Vampire. He didn’t need her face to tell him what she was feeling. And she was pissed as hell. Not at having her bluff called about the missing man being her brother. She’d clearly expected that, if perhaps not so soon. Mostly, she was pissed because she couldn’t figure out what to make of Lucas himself. She was attracted to him, though. She didn’t want to be, but she was. No denying that. Her arousal had been subtle, and she’d fought against it, but it was there. Especially to a vampire’s senses. He frowned briefly.
“You ever bed a cop, Nick?” he asked idly, listening to Kathryn’s and Magda’s footfalls fade down the tiled hallway.
With the FBI agent safely away and no longer even a potential threat to his Sire, Nicholas flopped down on the same visitor chair Kathryn had occupied moments before.
“Just one.”
Lucas focused on his lieutenant, one eyebrow raised in question.
“You remember Sandi Hager, down in Kansas City?”
“Sandi? I thought you were seeing her sister?”
“I was.” Nick shrugged. “Turns out the ladies didn’t mind sharing, if you know what I mean.”
Lucas Page 7