“I will.” She waited for her son to teleport upstairs, then hurried down the hallway.
She glanced inside the office Howard used as his security headquarters. One wall was covered with monitors. A few screens normally showed the outside perimeter of the house in White Plains, while others were linked to surveillance cameras in Roman’s townhouse on the Upper East Side. The monitors were all dark now, since no one was living at either place.
Her gaze wandered across the room. A file cabinet topped with a few trophies and awards Howard had earned during his football career, a plain wooden chair, a pair of hand weights on the floor. Fifty pounds each? Good Lord. Howard would be formidable if ever crossed. It was a good thing he was so sweet-natured. Or was he? How well did she really know him? She eyed the handcuffs on his desk.
Howard loves games. Tino’s words slipped back into her mind with a new and disturbing meaning. No, this was easily explainable. Howard was their security guard. He needed silver handcuffs to prevent bad vampires from teleporting away. But what about the adult-only DVDs under his bed?
The door to his bedroom was locked, but that didn’t present a problem with her new vampire strength. Mental note: repair the splintered doorframe and broken doorknob before the house goes on sale.
She flipped on the light as she entered the bedroom, then stopped with a small jolt of surprise. This was how Howard had furnished his room? She’d visited his hunting cabin on several occasions when Connor had hidden the Draganesti family there in dangerous times. The cabin was exactly what you would expect from an Alaskan were-bear. Lots of wood, leather, Indian blankets in shades of earth and sky, and a few animal heads mounted on the walls.
There was nothing rustic about this bedroom. Sleek, sophisticated, and modern, it didn’t seem to match Howard. Was there a secret side to him that no one knew about?
The king-sized bed was covered with a black-and-white striped comforter and bright red pillows. The bedside tables were chrome and glass. Across from the bed, a shiny black dresser was topped with a wide-screen TV. A black leather recliner rested in the corner next to a glass and chrome bookcase. She spotted the games Tino wanted on the bottom shelf.
But what about the secret DVDs? As she approached the bed, the unusual headboard drew her attention. Tin ceiling tiles?
She ran her fingers over the embossed tin. How interesting. The tiles were mounted on a piece of plywood to make a headboard. Had Howard made this himself? Apparently, there was a lot about Howard that she didn’t know. With an uneasy feeling, she dropped to her knees and peered underneath the bed.
There it was. A black alligator-skin box. She pulled it out, then took a deep breath and opened it.
Homemade DVDs. She rummaged through the stack, reading the labels Howard had written and attached to the plastic cases. Elsa in London. Elsa in Amsterdam. Elsa in Berlin. This Elsa certainly got around. Elsa in Pittsburgh. Elsa in Cincinnati. Was this like Debbie Does Dallas?
Shanna inserted the first disc in the DVD player on Howard’s television, then lowered the volume in case she happened across a scene with loud moaning.
A collage of stately old homes rolled across the screen, then the title of the show appeared. International Home Wreckers. A map of the U.K. and the Union Jack flashed by, followed by the photo of a well-dressed man. Alastair Whitfield aka Big Al. The outline of Germany and its flag, followed by another photo. Oskar Mannheim aka The Hammer. And finally, the map and flag of Sweden, followed by the photo of a beautiful blond woman, dressed in cut-off jeans, a plaid shirt tied beneath her breasts, a pair of work boots, and a utility belt resting on her hips. Elsa Bjornberg aka Amazon Ellie. A commercial began for the network, HGRS. Home and Garden Renovation Station.
“Oh my gosh,” Shanna breathed. “I love this channel.” She glanced back at the tin-tiled headboard. Howard was into home décor?
As the show began, the two male stars were gutting a Victorian townhouse in London that had fallen into disrepair. Alastair, dressed in an expensive designer suit, was selecting new wallpaper for the parlor. Oskar, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, was ripping up a hideous orange shag carpet to expose a wooden floor underneath.
“It’s extremely important to preserve a site’s proper heritage,” Alastair explained in a crisp British accent. “But at the same time, we must be sensitive to the needs of the family who will be calling this home. They have their hearts set on a more modern, open concept, so we have agreed to take down part of the wall separating this parlor from the room behind it. Fortunately, we have the perfect person for busting down a wall. Elsa!”
Shanna sucked in a breath as Elsa Bjornberg strode into the room. Good Lord, she had to be over six feet tall. Either that or her costars were a little short. She wore a pair of white overalls splotched with paint and a short-sleeved T-shirt, also white, that contrasted nicely with her golden, tanned skin. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and the upper part of her face was covered with an enormous pair of safety goggles. In her gloved hands she carried a large sledgehammer.
She wasted no time, just hauled off and slammed her hammer right through the wall.
Shanna watched, amazed. No wonder they called her Amazon Ellie. She was a big woman. Big bones, big muscles, and a big smile she flashed at the camera as the last of the wall crumbled to dust.
Returning to the black box, Shanna inspected the contents more thoroughly. A TV guide listed the show as coming on in the afternoon. That explained why she’d never seen it. But why was Howard being so secretive about his interest in house renovation?
Underneath the DVDs she discovered a magazine article with an interview of Oskar, Elsa, and Alastair. And underneath that she spotted a stack of photos that looked like they’d been printed off the Internet. Every one of them showed Elsa. Elsa in her cut-off jeans, which highlighted her long, tanned legs. Elsa in an evening gown showing off her generous curves. A close-up of Elsa’s face and her pretty green eyes.
“Oh my gosh,” Shanna whispered. This was why Howard was watching the show. He had a crush on Amazon Ellie.
She glanced up at the television just in time to see Elsa rip a bathroom sink off a wall. “Wow.”
Her heart pounding, Shanna rose to her feet. Howard had found the perfect woman for a were-bear!
She turned off the television, and with trembling hands, she returned the DVD to the black alligator-skin box. The perfect woman for Howard! She had to make sure he met her. But he was watching the show in secret. At this rate, he’d never meet his dream girl. He needed some help.
Her heart lurched. The old gate house! Just the other night, she and Roman had discussed the possibility of making the old house their new home. Only a few miles from the school, it was part of the estate, so they already owned it. Unfortunately, it was in sad shape. A money pit, her mother called it.
But that made it the perfect project for the International Home Wreckers! It was exactly the sort of historic gem that they specialized in renovating.
She shoved the box back under the bed and jumped to her feet. Did she dare do this? Play matchmaker to a were-bear? Her heart raced, and for the first time in three months, she realized she was grinning.
She grabbed the games off Howard’s bookcase and rushed back to the family room. In a few seconds, she had Angus’s number ringing on her cell phone.
“Hi, Angus. Can you bring Howard back right away?”
“Is there something wrong, lass?” he asked.
“I’m worried about my children’s safety during the day, especially Tino. I’m afraid he’ll try something dangerous, and Howard is the only one who can keep him safe for me. I need him back.”
There was a moment of silence before Angus replied. “His vacation time ran out over a week ago. There was a mission I wanted to send him on, but he refused to go.”
“What?” Her nerves tensed. “He’s not quitting, is he?”
>
“He dinna say he was, but the bugger stopped answering my calls. I sent Dougal and Phil to hunt him down.”
Shanna winced. “He’s not in any danger, is he?”
“We doona know,” Angus said. “That’s why we’re looking for him. I would have sent more lads, but we have three missions going on right now. We’re short on manpower.”
“I see.” She took a deep breath. Finding a babysitter for her children probably seemed trivial compared to the other issues Angus had to deal with. But that didn’t make her worry any less. “If you find Howard, can you tell him that we need him? Tino is asking for him.”
“Aye, we’ll tell him.”
“Thank you.” Shanna dropped her cell phone back into her handbag.
It wasn’t like Howard to take more vacation days than he was allotted. Or to ignore phone calls from his boss. Angus had sounded annoyed that he’d been forced to track him down.
What on earth was Howard up to?
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A world of perpetual twilight,
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A BLOOD SEDUCTION
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A KISS OF BLOOD
Available Summer 2013
An Excerpt from
A BLOOD SEDUCTION
by Pamela Palmer
Chapter One
PERCHED ON HER stool in the chilly lab of the Clinical Center of the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland, Quinn Lennox studied the lab results on the desk in front of her. Dammit. Just like all the others, this one revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing. She’d run every blood test known to science, and they all claimed that the patient was disgustingly healthy. Utterly normal.
They lied.
The patient wasn’t normal and never had been, and she wanted to know why. She wanted to be able to point to some crazy number on one of the myriad blood tests, and say, “There. That’s it. That’s the reason my life is so screwed up.”
Because those lab tests were hers.
“Quinn.”
At the sound of her boss’s voice in the lab doorway, Quinn jumped guiltily. If anyone found out that she’d been using the lab’s equipment to run blood tests on herself, she’d be fired on the spot. She set the lab report on her desk, resisting the urge to turn the paper over or slip it in her desk, and forced herself to meet Jennifer’s gaze with a questioning one of her own.
“Did you have time to run the McCluny tests?” Jennifer was a round woman, over forty, with a big heart and a driving need to save the world.
“Of course,” Quinn replied with a smile. “They’re on your desk.” She might be running tests she shouldn’t be, but never, ever at the expense of someone else’s.
“Excellent.” Jennifer grinned. “I wish I could clone you, Quinn.”
Quinn stifled a groan at the thought. “One of me is more than enough.” Certainly more than she could handle.
“Hey, you two.” Clarice, in a T-shirt and shorts, a fleece hoodie tied around her waist, stopped in the doorway beside Jennifer. It was after 6:00 P.M., and most of the techs had already left for the day. Clarice was clearly on her way out since she’d taken off her white lab coat. But she should be, considering she was getting married in two days. A curvy redhead, Clarice had been one of Quinn’s best friends in her first couple of years at the NIH. Before everything had started to go wonky, and Quinn had been forced to retreat from virtually all social events.
Clarice clapped her hands together, the excitement radiating from her so palpable that Quinn could feel it halfway across the lab. The woman practically had the words bride-to-be dancing in fizzy champagne bubbles over her head. “Are you two going to meet us at my apartment tomorrow night or down in Georgetown? Larry and two of his groomsmen are available to drive anyone who needs a ride home afterward.”
The bachelorette party. Bar-hopping in Georgetown. Quinn nearly swallowed her tongue, forcing down the quick denial. No, she would not be going. Absolutely not. “It’s easier for me to meet you there,” Quinn replied. No excuse was good enough short of sudden illness. And it was too soon for that.
“I’ll meet you at your apartment.” Jennifer patted the younger woman on the shoulder. “You look radiant and happy, Clarice. Exactly how a bride-to-be should look. Not a bit the stressed-out crazy person so many brides turn into these days.”
“Oh, I’m a crazy person, don’t worry. I’m just happy-crazy.”
“Stay that way. See you ladies tomorrow,” Jennifer said with a wave, and disappeared down the hall.
Clarice came into the lab, now empty but for Quinn, and perched on the lab stool beside Quinn’s. “I have a million things to do. Two million.”
Quinn gave her a half-sympathetic, half-disbelieving look. “Then what are you doing here?”
“Procrastinating. The moment I walk out the door, I’ll be moving a hundred miles an hour until I go to bed. If I ever get there tonight.”
Quinn grabbed Clarice’s hand. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks.” Clarice squeezed hers back. “I’m so glad you’re going out with us tomorrow night, Quinn.”
“Me, too,” Quinn replied weakly, hating that she wouldn’t be going. It had been so long since she’d enjoyed a night out, and this one promised to be a lot of fun. And she hated to disappoint Clarice. But she didn’t dare go. Not to Georgetown. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Clarice slipped her hand from Quinn’s and hopped off the lab stool. “Enough procrastinating. I’ve got to get going.”
“Get some sleep tonight.”
Clarice rolled her eyes. “I’ll sleep on the honeymoon.”
“Larry might have other ideas.”
With a laugh, Clarice disappeared around the corner.
Quinn turned back to her desk, folded the lab report, and stuck it in her purse, then pulled off her lab coat and glanced down at her clothes, her stomach knotting with tension. On the surface, she was dressed normally for the lab—jeans (purple), T-shirt (red), and tennis shoes (bright blue). The problem was, when she’d dressed this morning, the jeans had been blue, the tee yellow, the shoes white. The Shimmer had struck on her way to work this morning, as it did almost every day now. Why? Why did these things keep happening to her and no one else?
Heading out of the building, she began the long trek across the NIH campus to her car, not looking forward to the long slog through D.C. traffic to get home. Traveling to and from work on the Metro had been so much easier. But public transportation of any kind was out of the question now. What if they passed through a Shimmer? How in the hell would she explain such a color transformation to her fellow passengers?
By the time she reached her car, a ten-year-old Ford Taurus, she was sweating in the late August heat. Opening the car door, she stared at the pink interior, which was supposed to be slate gray, the knot in her stomach growing. With a resigned huff, she slid into the hot car and headed back into Washington, D.C., and home.
Her life had always been a little odd. Now it was starting to come unhinged.
Strange things had happened as far back as she could remember, though rarely. Only twice had they been scary-strange rather than silly-strange, like the color changes. And nothing had happened at all after that second bad incident, in high school. Not until a couple of years ago, when the Shimmers had begun playing with her.
A couple of weeks ago, the visions started.
Yes, her life was becoming seriously unhinged.
As she neared the Naval Observatory on Massachusetts Ave., she saw one of the Shimmers up ahead, like a faint sheen in the sunlight, almost like the rainbow that sometimes appeared in water mist. They were always in the same spots, never moving,
never wavering—nearly invisible walls in various parts of D.C. that she’d always been able to see, always been able to drive or walk through without incident. Until recently. Now she avoided them like the plague, when she could. But there wasn’t a single route to work that didn’t pass through one.
Unfortunately, one cut right through the heart of Georgetown, which was why she couldn’t possibly meet Clarice, Jennifer, and the others tomorrow. How drunk would they have to be to not notice her clothes changing color right before their eyes? Too drunk. It was far too great a risk.
As she drove through the Shimmer, the hair rose on her arms, as it always did, her car interior returning to gray, and her clothes and shoes returning to normal.
In some ways, she’d gotten used to the strangeness, but in a bigger way, she was scared. Because the changes were escalating in frequency, and she had a bad feeling that it was just the beginning.
She couldn’t help but wonder . . .
What comes next?
QUINN UNLOCKED THE door of her apartment on the edge of the George Washington University campus and pushed it open. The warm smell of pepperoni pizza and the comforting sound of a computer gun battle greeted her.
“Oh, nice kill.” Zack’s voice carried from the living room, low and even. When had his voice gotten so deep? He was only twenty-two, for heaven’s sake. A man, now. A computer geek who’d long ago found his passion in game design and, more than likely, the love of his life in his best friend, if he ever woke up to the fact that he and Lily were meant to be more than programmer buddies.
Quinn locked the front door behind her, set her purse and keys on the hall table, then strode into the living room, a room she’d furnished slowly and carefully, choosing just the right shades of tans and moss greens and splashes of eggplant to please her senses. But it was the room’s occupants who pleased her far more. Zack and Lily sat side by side at the long table against the far wall, each in front of a computer. Behind them, the television news flashed on the flatscreen, the volume a low hum in the room. But neither of the kids paid the television any attention. Each fiendishly tapped away at a computer mouse, staring fixedly at his monitor. Beside Lily sat a plate with a single thick slice of greasy pizza. Beside Zack, two large pizza boxes. The kid never quit eating.
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