Lachlan

by D. B. Reynolds

  “They’d only tell my father.” She raised a hand to forestall any comment. “Even if I asked them not to.” She gestured at the spacious rooms. “This is all Dad’s, not mine. And they take their cues from him. They’re very protective.”

  “Maybe your father should know,” Lachlan said, watching for her reaction.

  Her mouth tightened just slightly before she spoke. “That’s a very paternalistic thing for you to say, only I don’t need any more fathers. The guys downstairs are bad enough.”

  He fought back a grin, glad to see she still had some spirit left. She’d seemed far too disheartened on the way over, as if all the air had drained out of her. Maybe she was just tired, as she’d said earlier.

  Julia walked over and pressed a rocker switch, turning on a bank of very bright LED lights overhead. She immediately touched the dimmer, but before she did, he got a good look at her face and noticed something he hadn’t caught earlier.

  He strode over as she turned, her eyes going wide when he reached out and brushed away a thick lock of blond hair which had escaped the tidy chignon she’d worn all evening. He’d noticed the loose strands earlier and had assumed they was nothing more than that, a chunk of hair that had been tugged out of place during the attack. But the bright light had revealed something else.

  “You’re injured,” he said quietly, holding the hair back from her face, resisting the urge to rub the silky strands between his fingers. “You’re going to have a black eye.” He gently touched the swollen ridge of her brow, already inflamed a bright red, but rapidly turning blue. “You should ice this.”

  She reached up, as if to grab his hand, but placed her own hand against his chest instead. “It’s fine,” she murmured, her eyes meeting his as she gave a rueful smile. “It’s not my first black eye.”

  His lips crooked in a half grin. “Are you a hooligan, Ms. Harper?” He was still touching her face, his thumb brushing gently on the growing bruise beneath her eye. It would only get worse as the congested blood drained downward.

  Her smile grew. “It’s not my first black eye, but it is the first one I got in a real fight. The others were all from working out.”

  “You bash each other with the dumbbells at your gym?”

  She rolled her eyes, then winced. “Shit, that hurts. And, no. I take kickboxing, which is a greatly exaggerated term for what I do.”

  His fingers slid down to cup her cheek, and he was abruptly aware of how close they were standing, the velvet softness of her skin, the warm brush of her breath over his hand . . . the clenching need in his gut, and growing heaviness in his groin.

  Shit.

  He took a deliberate step back, trailing his hand down her arm to ease the separation. “You’ll be okay here?” he asked, glancing around. “You should turn on some heat.”

  “It’s not worth heating the whole apartment,” she said, resuming her cool façade, taking her cue from him, damn it. “There’s a fireplace in the bedroom,” she added. “That’s enough for me.”

  Lachlan had a sudden picture of Julia naked in the firelight, pale blond hair tangled over her shoulders, fair skin painted gold by the flames. He shook his head against the raw appeal of the image. What the hell was wrong with him tonight?

  “All right. Good,” he said, to convince himself as much as Julia. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow night.”

  “I don’t know if I’ll hear from Cyn that quickly. She might—”

  “I’ll check in anyway,” he said, walking back to the door. “Lock this behind me.”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “Very funny. Lock the fucking door.”

  Her soft chuckle drifted over him as the door closed, but he didn’t call the elevator until he heard the electronic lock snick shut.

  JULIA WATCHED THE video monitor as Lachlan strolled down the hall and waited for the elevator. He was beautifully put together, his body turning that simple walk into an anatomy lesson of how a man’s muscles were supposed to move. He seemed relaxed enough, and yet there was a coiled readiness that said this man, this vampire, could shift gears at the drop of a hat, going from relaxed to deadly in an instant.

  She sighed as he disappeared into the elevator. They’d had a moment there, when he’d noticed her bruised eye. His hand was so big. He could have crushed her head like an egg. And yet, his touch had been careful, so very tender against her sore face. She sighed again and turned away, passing quickly through the echoing emptiness of her father’s ultra-contemporary entertaining space, and into the other half of the penthouse which was private and designed for people to live in. Not that she or her father did so in any meaningful way. At opposite ends of the long hallway were two master suites, one for each of them, separated by two nice, but much smaller, guest bedrooms. The masters each had a fireplace and a ridiculously big bathroom, which made the suites more like apartments than bedrooms. Neither she nor her father lived here permanently, though he was here on business far more often than she was. What she hadn’t told Lachlan was that her father didn’t approve of the two-month leave she’d taken from the CIA, supposedly to put Masoud’s affairs in order. He couldn’t deny that she was executor of Masoud’s estate, nor that Masoud had assets around the world, including London. But he didn’t see why she couldn’t handle it just as well from the relative safety of Washington, DC. Nobody denied Masoud’s murder, but London authorities had concluded he’d been the victim of a random crime. Julia knew better, but hadn’t told anyone of her suspicions, because she’d known they’d immediately seize everything she’d found in Masoud’s safe and warn her away from it.

  Her father, with his connections around the world, accepted the official finding, but she could tell he had his doubts. If he found out about that evening’s attack against her, he’d be in London tomorrow, packing her up and carrying her right back to the States, believing the only way to keep her safe was to keep her close. It was a little claustrophobia-inducing sometimes, but it wasn’t his fault. Julia had only been eleven when her mother and brother had been killed by that hit and run driver. Her family had money—old money, as they said—and her father would have spared no expense in searching for the man. But the police found him first, dead in a ditch and burned beyond recognition, the victim of his own reckless driving.

  After that, her dad had become paranoid about the safety of his only remaining child, and in turn, Julia had done her best not to cause trouble, because she had her own fears. Her father was all she had left. And if her mother and brother’s deaths had taught her anything, it was that nothing could keep you completely safe. Not even all the money in the world.

  She turned off the lights as she passed into the hallway, leaving the big, dark room behind. Maybe she’d take a bath to soothe muscles gone stiff from the unaccustomed fight. Or maybe she’d take a handful of ibuprofen and a hot shower, then crawl into bed and dream of a hot vampire who stalked down the hallway like a beast in the jungle.

  LACHLAN NODDED pleasantly to the two men stationed in the lobby of Julia’s building. The concierge, Mickey, stuck to a professional nod, while Gerald, the security guard gave him a far more cautious scan.

  “Gentlemen,” Lachlan said. He was tempted to advise them to keep an eye out for strangers lurking about, but mindful of Julia’s comment about her father’s likely reaction, he held his tongue. He had reasons of his own for wanting her to remain in London. He told himself it was simply business, that he needed her to smooth the way with Raphael, but he wasn’t that blind. He was attracted to her on a whole different front, which surprised the hell out of him. If someone had told him when he’d walked into that bar and seen the cool, controlled blond sitting with his cousin, that he’d want her before the night was over, he’d have laughed in their face. But there was more to Julia Harper than icy discipline. He didn’t know what in her life had convinced her that a frosty façade was the way to go, but he
knew that’s all it was. She was no colder than he was, although it was possible he concealed his emotions just as effectively as she did. What a pair they made, he thought. Probably a good thing they weren’t a pair at all, then.

  He did a careful scan as he approached the Range Rover, using every sense he had, including his telepathy, to detect anyone lingering where they shouldn’t be. He also used the remote to unlock the doors and start the engine, while standing in the small space between two buildings. He hadn’t lived this long by letting bravado rule over reason. Erskine Ross had wanted him dead for a very long time. He’d tried and failed more than once since the Ross attack on Castle McRae, ever since he’d realized that Lachlan wasn’t the weakling vampire he’d thought he was leaving behind to twist in the wind while the clan withered around him. Maybe Erskine hadn’t understood that the battle had taken place on Lachlan’s first night as a vampire, or maybe he’d let his overweening ego and cruelty get the better of him. But as Lachlan had matured into his power, the vampire lord had understood his mistake . . . far too late. Lachlan was too cautious and too powerful not to detect Erskine’s various schemes. It was impossible to get an assassin close enough to do damage, and the one time he’d managed to slip a bomb into a small pub where the McRae cousins had liked to meet, Lachlan and every one of his cousins had emerged from the rubble unscathed. He was convinced it had been that display of power that had finally made Erskine back off his assassination attempts and pretend friendship instead, thinking Lachlan would live out his life in the obscurity of the far northern highlands, if simply left alone. Lachlan snorted at the thought as he slid into the driver’s seat. Neither he, nor any living McRae, would ever forget the craven murder of their clan. Vengeance might come slowly, but he was a vampire. He could wait centuries to destroy his enemy.

  He punched up his cousin on his cell as he pulled away from the curb.

  “Yeah,” Fergus answered. No names. It made Lachlan smile. His cousin made paranoid people seem careless.

  “You’ve secured the prisoner?”

  “Yes. You on your way?”

  “Twenty minutes out, less if the streets stay quiet.”

  “Good. He’s already terrified. Show him some fang, and he’ll probably wet himself.”

  “Great. Why don’t you do the honors, then hose him off before I get there?”

  Fergus laughed. “Sorry, but duty comes with power.”

  “Who the fuck said that?”

  “Me. See you soon, cuz.”

  Lachlan growled half-heartedly as he disconnected. Fergus and Munro were both utterly loyal to him. The three of them had been the only McRae vampires who’d survived the attack all those years ago. It had taken decades to re-build the clan, not only the vampires, but the humans. Other clans had married in, and weaker clans had joined with them against the common enemy that was Erskine Ross. With the exception of his two cousins who, like Lachlan, had been reborn the night before Erskine’s attack, every McRae vampire now living was Lachlan’s child. More than one of them had proved to be a strong master vampire, and he’d brought in a few very strong vampires from other countries, or parts of Scotland, who’d sworn loyalty to him long ago. He wasn’t a coward like Erskine, who liked toadies and vampires too weak to pose a threat. Lachlan wanted strong men and women by his side. Vampires who could help him hold the territory once he disposed of the cowardly Erskine.

  He made the drive to the safe house in half the time he’d told Fergus. The streets had been empty, and the one police vehicle he’d seen had been going the other direction on a side street. If they’d wanted to stop him, he’d have been gone by the time they’d have turned around. He didn’t even know if they’d tried. Didn’t care, either. If they had managed to stop him, he’d have fuzzed their minds until they forgot all about him. He didn’t feel guilty about that. There were better uses for public tax money than chasing down a single driver for speeding on empty streets.

  It was Munro who buzzed him into the safe house. Although “safe” was a relative term. The house was furnished to look quite ordinary, if a bit more comfortable than most, but if one knew where to look, the enhancements were obvious. The house was safe for him and his cousins, because they’d installed a high-tech security system and a basement vault that was triple secured against intrusion. It was not so safe for the human kidnapper wanna-be who waited in the next room. That room wasn’t so nicely furnished, but it was specially insulated. Unfortunately for their prisoner, that insulation was designed to keep something in, rather than out. Like the screams of people Lachlan interrogated there. Although admittedly, the screamers were usually vampires. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last human they’d brought here. He was about to ask Munro about it, when Fergus opened the door to the next room.

  “I thought I heard your voice,” he said, then called over his shoulder, “Hey, Dave, look who’s here. It’s the guy who’s going to scrub your brain until he gets what he wants.”

  A whimpering sound slid through the open door, and Lachlan shook his head, a slight smile on his face at Fergus’s sense of humor.

  “Let’s get this over with,” he said. “Did Dave tell you anything at all?”

  “Just that he was paid to grab her. He insists that’s all it was. An ordinary ransom kidnapping. There’s something more, but I’m not sure he knows what it is.”

  Lachlan gave his cousin a sharp look. “He was programmed?”

  “Something like that, but subtle. Whoever did it knew what he was doing. I can’t get it out of him.”

  “I will.” He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. “What’s his full name?”

  “Dave Hill. We ran him. He’s got a record, but it’s small time stuff. Burglaries, some minor racketeering.”

  Lachlan took that in then said, “All right. Let’s go.”

  Fergus accompanied him into the next room, but remained back by the door where the prisoner couldn’t see him, since the chair he’d been tied to faced outward toward a large window. That window had a view of a church across the street, as if to taunt the prisoner with his salvation. The view was fake, just like the window, but it was a very good imitation.

  Lachlan walked slowly around the prisoner and leaned against the wall next to the supposed window. The man looked up at him with wild eyes above the gag tied over his mouth.

  “What’s with the gag?” Lachlan asked Fergus.

  “I got tired of his begging.”

  The prisoner shook his head almost angrily, as if he objected to Fergus’s statement.

  “Untie it,” Lachlan said.

  The man sucked in a gasping breath. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I couldn’t breathe.”

  “Your continued breathing isn’t exactly high on my list, Dave. Tell me about tonight.”

  “I told the other guy—”

  “So tell me.”

  Dave licked dry lips, his hungry gaze going to the bottle of water Fergus had placed in plain sight.

  “Here,” Lachlan said, handing him the bottle. “Wet your throat. This will go a lot faster.”

  Dave gave Lachlan a desperate look.

  “Oh, right. Your hands are tied. Okay. One sip. I’m not going to stand here all night holding a fucking bottle, like feeding a baby.” He put the bottle to Dave’s mouth, and the man drank greedily, sucking in as much as he could before Lachlan pulled the bottle away and placed it back on the table.

  “All right. Now talk.”

  “Like I said, I told the other guy. I was paid—we all were, the three of us—to grab the lady and hold her. That’s it. We were given an address—”

  Lachlan glanced at Fergus, who shook his head.

  “—where we were supposed to take her.”

  “What’s the address?”

  Dave rattled it off and Fergus left the room. One of their v
ampires would check the place before dawn, but Lachlan didn’t expect to find anything. Whoever had set Dave and his pals on Julia would know by now that their plan had failed. If the hideout had contained anything incriminating, it would have been sanitized already. But they had to check, anyway.

  “How long did they want you to wait to be contacted?”

  “He said no more than three days. We weren’t going to hurt her, I swear. Her rich daddy was supposed to pay the ransom, and we’d set her free.”

  Lachlan straightened from his slouch against the wall and gave the prisoner a piercing look. “Who’s ‘he,’ Dave? Who’s the guy who hired you?”

  Dave’s face scrunched down with effort, and he shook his head. “I’ve tried, I swear. But I can’t remember. It’s like . . . it’s right there, or it used to be, but now . . . .” He stared up at Lachlan. “I don’t know anymore.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Lachlan didn’t move, but power suddenly filled the room, like a charge of electricity abruptly sparking on every molecule of air. The walls groaned as if it was too much—too much pressure, too much weight—to bear. A thread of Lachlan’s power stretched out and touched the prisoner’s mind. Dave groaned and his head fell forward as Lachlan slipped into his thoughts. A quick surface scan showed nothing more than what the man had told him, but Lachlan had no interest in that. He probed deeper and found a memory of sitting in a dark pub earlier that night. He and his friends were having a pint, waiting. Waiting for what?

  Dave glanced up as someone entered the pub. The room was dark and crowded, and the new arrival had something obscuring his face. A hat, maybe. Or one of those hoodie things the local thugs all wore. The man, if it was a man, walked by and tossed a piece of paper on the table. Dave’s friends grabbed for it, but Dave turned in time to see the man disappear into the shadows of the pub. He blinked and stared harder—the guy hadn’t just gotten lost in the crowd, he’d honest to Christ disappeared. But that was impossible. Maybe he’d had a pint too many. His friends were standing. They had their assignment. It was time to go.