by Ravyn Wilde
In all his years he’d never pursued a woman. They came to him, he used them for one or all of his transitory needs and he was done with them. He never fantasized about seeing their eyes heavy with passion or their bodies flushed from his attentions. No. He’d taken what he required without bothering to notice every minute detail of their expressions. Like he did when Nicky simply smiled. How the action lit up her eyes and drew attention to the small, very pale smattering of freckles on her nose. Those freckles killed him.
Looking down at his hand, he realized he still held the ruby. The damn thing seemed to be pulsing, radiating warmth and lust throughout his body. Shaking his head, he called himself an idiot. The ruby didn’t make his cock hard—Nicky did.
Pacing back and forth across the bedroom floor, Nicole felt like pulling her hair out. Normally the vibrant raspberry accent wall and roaring fireplace in the room soothed her. Not tonight. Tonight her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts that couldn’t be calmed by something so simple.
Now what? She’d mulled her options over so many times her head was spinning. With a little distance, she wondered if the two men really thought Zane was something other than human. Was he a vampire or something else? Was this a practical joke? It didn’t seem like one. So that left her with limited choices. Work for the government as some sort of preternatural spy or bury her head in her current manuscript and pretend nothing had happened. She could just tell the two FBI agents she’d changed her mind.
Thinking about the two men brought up a nagging doubt—something about them didn’t ring true. Did she believe they were FBI agents? If they weren’t, who were they? Pressing her hand to her temple, she rubbed the area and frowned. She was getting a headache.
Before they’d parted, the tone of the meeting had turned seriously threatening. Among other things, they’d stressed how easy it was for them to follow a money trail. Zane’s or anyone else’s.
And then they’d looked at her as if daring her to run.
The warning not to tell Zane the government was watching him hadn’t been subtle, either. The two men made it very clear the least she could expect would be an IRS audit if she mentioned one word about this conversation to another soul. They’d gone on to hint something dire could happen to her person…and let her fill in the blanks. Unfortunately, as a writer, her mind came up with all sorts of planned accidents or trumped-up charges for drug trafficking to make sure she was locked away in prison—or dealt with in a more permanent manner. Her active imagination was not helping.
Driving away from the library, she had wondered how they’d even know if she said anything to Zane. Did they have her house bugged? Her car? Her purse? Had she read too many suspense novels?
Going through every scenario she could think of, she convinced herself to take a few precautions. Knowing she’d lost her mind, she had glanced in her rearview mirror, trying to determine if she was being followed.
Until she realized they didn’t have to follow her. They already knew where she lived.
Thinking about the veiled money-trail threat, she’d gone to the bank and withdrawn a large amount of cash. If running became her only option, she’d do it without credit cards. They’d find her eventually, but maybe it would take longer.
The next stop in this mad scheme had been the mall, where she’d gone to the little spy store she’d always thought was ridiculous. Even her very active imagination had never set a scene where she might need anything the store had to offer.
Snorting, she wondered if she should fill a storage unit with wigs, stage makeup and an SUV that couldn’t be traced back to her. She could collect everything from camping gear to clothes and a suitcase full of money. Just in case.
And wasn’t that taking things too far?
Trust a writer to consider all the possible escape options. She felt as if she were mired in some strange book plot of her own making.
Besides, she didn’t know how to camp.
This could not be happening.
Was she being paranoid? Artistically hysterical? An author’s mind could come up with all sorts of bizarre twists. It was called creativity. However, maybe she’d taken inspiration to an insane level.
Nicky glanced at the bed where she’d dumped the electronic unit she’d purchased from the spy shop. She wanted to know if the agents had put listening devices in her home. Living in a walled compound with twenty-four-hour guards should guarantee her privacy, but she wasn’t willing to take the risk. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she read the directions. Once she figured out how to use it, she roamed from room to room with the device, watching the display. She checked everywhere she could think of for little electronic bugs.
It took her a while. Her Victorian reproduction cottage was a little less than two thousand square feet. She started in the living room at the front door, methodically running the device over the sky-blue walls. She loved this room. Now. When she’d first moved in, every wall in the house had been a deep chocolate-brown. Pretty color, but with the heavy wooden shutters on the windows it had felt like a cave.
Twenty gallons of primer later, she had a blank slate. Picking out wall colors for each room had taken her weeks. From the living room—shutters now gone on the front and left-side picture windows—the view overlooking the Cascade Mountains was priceless. She’d put sheers in the windows and painted the walls, then refinished the wood floors with a lighter stain. The far wall had a brown rock fireplace with a slab hearth and rare Oregon Myrtlewood mantel. The fireplace was flanked by floor-to-ceiling bookcases stained to complement the honey-colored hearth.
Finished with the living room, she passed through the arched entry to the kitchen on the left. In here, she’d used a very light yellow on the walls. Painted the cabinets white and called it good.
Leaving the kitchen, she passed the stairs to the second level and quickly skimmed the small bathroom and the bonus room. She didn’t use these rooms very often. In fact, the bonus room was empty, as she hadn’t decided what to use it for—except as an erotic feature in one of her books.
The bedroom over the kitchen had been converted into her office. The room was small, but perfect for more floor-to-ceiling bookcases and her father’s oversized desk. Nicky had converted the small walk-in closet into office storage. Whoever had built the house had put electrical plugs in the closets, which allowed her to add a mini-fridge and coffeemaker, though she rarely wrote in this room. She preferred to use her laptop at the kitchen table, only using the desk when she was editing, paying bills or doing online promotions.
Walking across the hall to her bedroom suite, she finished her search without tripping the device’s sensor. Dumping out her purse, she went through everything with maniacal diligence. Then she unscrewed the telephone and looked inside. To her uneducated eye, there didn’t appear to be extra pieces. Unwilling to trust the accuracy of the unfamiliar anti-spy equipment, she peered behind pictures and at the underside of lampshades.
Going outside, she moved her car into the garage so she could check it without being seen. After finding more nothing, she used the door from the garage that led through a little laundry area and into the kitchen, mindlessly making a pot of coffee while she thought about what to do next. It would help if she had a better idea of what to look for. She hoped she hadn’t missed anything—and that any potential bugs would have been obvious enough for a beginner to identify. She’d found nothing, not in her house or her car…or on her body.
So, what did the absence of bugs mean? Her mind kept trying to remind her that the agents hadn’t known she lived in this house. They had thought she lived with Zane so she shouldn’t have to worry. Yet. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be something in the future. Meaning she’d have to sweep the place with her new gadget after every outing.
Her mind kept questioning if the FBI agents were real or not. Was her subconscious trying to tell her something? Glancing at the phone, she did the time conversion in her head and realized her former roommate’s husband, Robert, shoul
d still be at work. Reaching for her address book, she called FBI headquarters in Washington, D.C.
“Is Robert Stephanos available?” she asked the pleasant voice on the other end. Within seconds she was connected to her friend and after exchanging brief updates, Robert got to the point.
“So, you didn’t call Angie to chat, so that means you need a research question answered. What can I help you with, Nicole?” Robert asked with unconcealed interest.
She sighed. “Not a research question, exactly.” Nicky relayed the basics of her meeting with the agents in the library, leaving out any mention of vampires. “I got their names and badge numbers…do you think you could look them up for me?”
Robert was silent for a minute. Nicole could imagine his intent expression as he considered her words. “Not a problem. Verifying an agent’s status is standard procedure when a civilian calls us with badge numbers. There have been instances in the past where someone posed as a federal agent for some nefarious purpose so you’re smart to check. Give me the information and while I’m searching, tell me more about what they wanted you to do.”
Crossing her fingers, Nicole decided a little white lie would be better than the truth. Robert would send men with little white coats if she told him everything. “That’s what’s so weird. I’m not sure. They asked me some questions about my neighbors…and I told them I hadn’t done more than wave at a few of them. I just moved in a couple months ago. You know me. I’m far from a social animal and with the deadlines I have right now I barely leave my house. But they didn’t like my answers and threatened me with a tax audit or something worse.”
Robert’s silence was deafening in its intensity. “I can’t think of any reason they’d ask a civilian to spy on a neighbor, nor threaten you with anything to force your compliance. I’m not aware of any cases being actively worked in your area—and I’d know.” Pausing for a moment, his voice when he spoke again sounded angry. “Neither the names nor badge numbers you gave me belong to viable agents.”
She wasn’t surprised.
Replacing the phone in its cradle several minutes later, Nicky closed her eyes and moaned at the half-truths and promises she’d made her friend. It seems the FBI took someone using false credentials very seriously. He told her to call if they contacted her again. He wanted her to talk to a local agent or the police, but Nicole pleaded with him to drop it. Begging a favor, she promised she’d go to the local cops if she saw them again. Robert hadn’t liked it, but he accepted her request. At least for now.
Nicky sighed. Now what? Did she chalk today’s experience up to just a weird hour out of her life and move on? She suspected the two men wouldn’t leave her alone. They were waiting for her to provide them with information. Telling them she knew they weren’t federal agents didn’t sound like a good idea.
She could follow Robert’s advice and turn them in to the police. She wondered how long they’d be kept in jail for impersonating a federal officer. Or if they had others working for them. Pissing Mike and JJ off without having some idea of who they were seemed stupid. She didn’t believe she could just walk away without some sort of repercussion. She didn’t like or trust either of them. So…where did that leave her?
Did she believe in vampires or werewolves? No. Even with a very vivid imagination, that alternate reality was a bit of a stretch.
She thought about the pointed questions the men had asked her. She had seen Zane during the day. But if such creatures existed, who knew what they could do? Heck, for a series of books she’d written last year, she’d created a world where vampires could walk during the light of day if they were several centuries old. And if he wasn’t a vampire, was he something else? Like a werewolf?
Big question here—did she care?
Yes, she cared. Just not the way the fake agents wanted her to. Unlike her feelings for Mikey and JJ, she liked Zane. If he wasn’t human, she wanted the chance to ask her own questions—starting with his sexual habits.
Considering what could happen if Zane remained oblivious to these men and their insane…plans made her head throb. She didn’t doubt the men would get to Zane with or without her help. Obviously JJ and his partner weren’t concerned about breaking the law. They were using counterfeit credentials and posing as FBI agents.
JJ had voiced his feelings on the subject. Shuddering, she considered the possibilities. Besides writing paranormal stories, she read them. A recurring theme in many vampire or werewolf tales was human groups who stalked and killed the creatures or took them to labs to be dissected and studied. Sometimes the stories included taking humans who had been falsely identified and subjecting them to the same horrors. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine JJ and Mike as the type to do either of those things. Both men had an obsessed intensity about them. Could she live with herself if she didn’t say anything to Zane and these two men got their hands on him?
She didn’t agree with JJ’s assessment that Zane was nothing more than a “creature”.
Mental vignettes of what the phony agents might do to Zane played in her mind and they were vivid enough to make Nicole sick. She didn’t think anyone—or for that matter, any thing—deserved the scenarios her mind came up with.
Zane hadn’t set off any mental alarms or threatened her in any way. Unfailingly polite every time he’d spoken to her, Zane had offered to help her move her stuff in and told her to call on him if she needed anything. He had also refused to let her pay for her own dinner.
The central figure in several hundred pages of erotic fantasy for her last two books, Zane made her feel hot and needy with a simple and very innocent look. Who cared if he was some sort of creature of the night, as long as he didn’t eat her?
The visual filling her mind with that last thought had nothing to do with food.
Jeez, Nicole, she told herself. Get a grip. Wrenching her mind out of the gutter, she considered other things that were in Zane’s favor.
For one thing, he had bodyguards, a fenced compound with tight security and lots of money to buy information. She would bet he’d know how to check for something like a listening device or a tracking bug. In fact, with such tight security, he shouldn’t have to worry about such things. Maybe if she told him about these men, he’d offer to keep them away from her.
So…what was she going to do now? Perhaps nothing more than tell him about the phony FBI agents and then turn around and go on an extended vacation?
Damn it!
After hours of excruciating mental stress, she decided she was going to take a deep breath, put on some warm clothes and walk over to Zane’s house. Going out the side door, Nicky didn’t take the driveway, which gently curved away from her property and would have eventually brought her to Zane’s front porch. Rationalizing that anyone with a good pair of binoculars and a tall tree could see into the compound, she hiked through the pine trees, rhododendrons and ferns growing between the houses.
Expecting a servant or someone paid to keep nosey neighbors at a distance, Nicole was surprised when Zane answered her tentative knock on his back door. Before he said a word, she put her finger to her lips and handed him a note she’d written.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Patrick. You told me that if I had any problems with the house I should come to you. There’s a leak under my kitchen sink. If you have time, I thought you might look at it tonight for me. See if it’s something simple before I call a plumber tomorrow.” Using “Mr. Patrick” instead of “Zane”, she hoped anyone listening would believe she didn’t know him very well. Which was what she’d told them. And maybe Zane would understand she wasn’t playing some stupid game.
Raising his eyebrows at her, he silently read the note she’d handed him. Studying his face, her gaze snagged on the scar through his right eyebrow as she thought about what she’d written.
Please, hold still for a moment and let me make sure someone hasn’t put a listening device on your clothes. I’m not crazy. I need to talk to you, but there’s a chance you’ve been bugged.
Wasn’t this fun?
It was hard to say who was more surprised when the light changed from green to red when the little black box reached the top of his dress shirt.
Evidently Zane knew what the red light meant. Before her fascinated gaze, he stripped off his shirt and looked under the collar. Her first reaction was disappointment because the man wore an undershirt.
Forcing herself to swallow, she forgot why she was there. The sight of him standing on the porch in a tight black t-shirt tucked into dark jeans made her brain melt. She noticed biceps displayed in all their muscular glory and the cotton material of his undershirt pulled tight across an awesome chest and washboard stomach. His waist was trim and she had to bite her lip to keep from asking him to turn around so she could see his ass.
She wasn’t disappointed anymore.
Jesus! The man was ripped.
And very pissed off.
“Fuck, who the hell—! Sorry. I just spilled coffee on my shirt. Damn!” Ripping the little silver disk from the shirt and dropping it to the ground, he used the heel of his black boot to grind it into fragments.
The red light on the device switched to green.
Cool! It works. And Zane is quick on his feet…realizing someone might be listening.
Nicole had an instant to wonder if a human male would be able to crush the little metal disk with his foot. But before she could bend down to pick up the pieces of the offending little bug, Zane took her arm and pulled her off his porch. They were headed back to her house.
She appreciated that even in anger he made sure the hold on her arm wasn’t tight enough to hurt.
“I’m assuming you’ve already cleared your place of listening devices,” he bit out.
