by Lisa Olsen
“I’m sorry, I’m usually much better with faces. What’s your name?”
Damn, I shouldn’t have said anything at all. “Anja Evans.”
“Nope, doesn’t sound familiar,” he replied after pondering it for a few seconds. “Though you’re right, I don’t retain much on closed cases, too many new leads to follow up on. I’m assuming I solved whatever it is you reported?”
“Oh yes, wrapped it up with a big, neat bow,” I forced a smile.
“Great, glad to see a satisfied citizen.” He sipped a bit of sloshed coffee from the rim of his cup. “Oh, before you go, you don’t happen to know an Evan Reid do you?”
“Evan? Why?”
“I’m here to investigate a missing person’s report. We’re looking into his friends and family, the usual. Do you know him?”
“I… not very well, he’s the TA for one of my classes, but I never saw him socially.” Technically not a lie… I hadn’t invited Evan over on the night he’d been killed, he just showed up unannounced. “He was a fantastic violinist though.”
“Was?”
“Is,” I corrected with a weak smile. “I just… I hope nothing bad happened to him, he seemed very nice.”
“That seems to be the general consensus. Well, I won’t hold you up any longer Miss Evans. I’ve got a meeting with the Dean, oh… ten minutes ago.”
“Bye,” I nodded, hoping like anything I didn’t look as guilty as I felt. My mood somewhat subdued, I made the rounds of my teachers, my made up story for leaving the school expanding every time I had to tell it. By the end I’d accepted a fantastic internship with a prestigious performance company and might be traveling too much to attend regular school. Maybe it was silly to manufacture something so glamorous, but I couldn’t take that look on Professor Matthews’ face when I told him I’d be pulling out of the program.
Instead I promised to stay in touch and send him an invitation to attend the next time the company performed locally, and then I turned my back on the source of my hopes and dreams for the past ten years or more, looking to the future for new ones.
Okay, so maybe I’m a coward, but I didn’t make the trip to have the same conversation in person with my parents about dropping out. I knew eventually they’d drive up and demand an explanation, but I wanted to have more of a plan in motion by the time that happened and for the moment, I was still in limbo. If I was lucky, they might not even notice for a while, plus, they had no idea I’d moved in with Bishop either (good luck finding me!).
I’d left all of my furniture behind at Bridget’s apartment, but even with my meager belongings, I felt a little like I’d invaded Bishop’s place. Especially in the bathroom, which looked like an Anja bomb had exploded. Still, he was very nice about making space for me in his closets (plenty of room there) and bookshelves (not so much empty space to be had there).
He wasn’t too angry with me for going after Serena without him. Actually, he went pretty ballistic when he first heard about it, but once I got him to understand I hadn’t gone up against her alone and it was Rob who’d done the killing he mellowed out. I quickly learned to let him vent all he wanted to get it out of his system before trying anything so silly as logic or common sense on him where my safety was involved. So far the system produced very pleasing results involving apologies on both sides, followed by making it up to each other. Sometimes with chocolate, sometimes… well, you can guess for yourself.
It was well past mid-day by the time I dragged myself up the stairs to our apartment, the stims almost completely worn off. I was dead tired, but it was a good tired, if that makes sense. Knowing it was the last time I’d have to force myself into the identity I no longer fit was a comforting thing. I’d become Anja Gudrun almost completely; embraced by the local vampire community, and more importantly, accepted by the Order to be who I claimed.
“Honey, I’m home,” I called out softly into the darkened apartment, knowing full well Bishop would do little more than grunt into his pillow once he realized it was only me. Locking up tight, I stripped off my outer garments and snuggled into bed with him, immediately soothed by the dark room and the feel of his cool limbs wrapped around mine. Within minutes I fell happily asleep, my last conscious thoughts about our future together.
*
I was used to waking up to an empty bed. Usually Bishop got up a lot earlier than I did. Maybe it was because I stayed up mornings, or maybe it was because he needed less sleep as an older vamp, but it didn’t bother me when I woke to find him gone the next evening.
What did surprise me was the sight of him sitting on the couch, a bottle of scotch on the brand new coffee table with a half filled glass in hand. Bishop didn’t look up when I entered the room, or even when I took a seat beside him.
“Uh oh. That’s a bad sign you know, drinking first thing when you wake up.” Nothing. “Also drinking alone. I think it still qualifies as drinking alone even though technically I’m in the house because I was dead to the world. It turns out you may be an alcoholic.” All I got was the barest hint of a smile from him and my stomach clenched with worry. “Did something happen to one of your friends in the Order? Was it Mason?”
“No,” he said simply, and I waited for something more, but Bishop continued to stare straight ahead.
“Maybe you old fogeys can read minds, but us noobs aren’t quite there yet. Do you mind clueing me in to what’s got you so upset?” I nudged him slightly, trying to get him to look at me. “Bishop? You’re starting to scare me.”
“I can’t catch a break,” he said miserably, tipping back the glass and reaching forward to refill it again. “I’ve been transferred.”
“Transferred to another city?” That didn’t sound so bad. I assumed I’d move with him, though from the look on his face, maybe Bishop was working out how to leave me behind.
“Transferred to another continent. I’m leaving tomorrow night.”
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Read on for a special preview of Lisa Olsen’s novel, Nine Steps to Sara, available now!
Books by Lisa Olsen:
The Touch
Pretty Witches All in a Row
Moonsong
Nine Steps to Sara
The Fallen Series:
Angel of Mercy
Mercy for the Wicked
Mercy for the Damned
Child of Mercy
Forged Bloodlines Series:
Wake Me When the Sun Goes Down
Meet Me When the Sun Goes Down
Find Me When the Sun Goes Down (Spring 2013)
For more information, visit the author’s website at http://www.lisaolsen.net
Nine Steps to Sara
Chapter One
“Repeat after me, I am Sara J. Darling, millionaire. I own a mansion and a yacht.”
The corner of Sara’s mouth tilted up into a faint smile as she conjured images of Elmer Fudd going through psychoanalysis to cure him of his rabbitosis. “I don’t own a yacht.”
“You could own a yacht…” Joanie’s green eyes darted to the dark window for a brief squint before they returned to regard Sara steadily. “You don’t know.”
“That’s true, I suppose,” Sara allowed, leaning back against the supple leather seats of the chauffeured Mercedes. Despite the fact that the car was at least thirty years old by the body style, it’d obviously been kept in mint condition and still impressed the hell out of her. It was the first time she’d ridden in a car that cost more than her college education and for sure was the first time she’d been driven around in the back seat, unless she counted the time she took a cab to the hospital on the night Jack was born (but somehow, she didn’t think that fell into quite the same category).
Joanie had a good point though, she had very little understanding of her inheritance so far, only that it was big enough to earn her a plane ride and an all expense paid trip to England in style, and there was a manor house somewhere in the c
ountryside with a family history she knew nothing about. After the year she’d had, it hadn’t taken more than thirty seconds to decide to go check it out, especially when her best friend offered to come along for the ride. Still, Joanie’s excited speculation had spilled into the ridiculous after so many hours spent traveling.
“Why would I have a yacht? It’s a land locked estate.” Probably. There could be a lake, she supposed. If she hadn’t been so excited to get the heck out of town, she might have asked a few more questions. As it was, she had a vague sense the estate was somewhere in the south, but that was about it.
Joanie waved her hand back and forth, unconcerned with logic. “So? England is basically an island. It’s like a nothing commute to get to the water.”
A snort came from the front seat, and Sara looked up to catch a flash of the driver’s grin. “I’m not too sure about that,” she murmured, looking out the window, but she couldn’t penetrate the gloomy fog apart from the occasional glimpse of an empty paddock or a copse of dark trees. “We’ve been driving an awful long time.”
“You’re telling me, I shouldn’t have had those drinks on the train,” Joanie muttered, shifting in her seat. “Excuse me, driver?” she leaned forward, bright auburn hair glowing as it caught in the dashboard lights. “How much longer is this gonna take?”
“Just until we arrive, Miss.”
“Okay, thanks,” Joanie slumped back against the seat and Sara looked up again, teeth pressed against the inside of her lips to keep from laughing as she caught his wink in the rearview mirror. Had he introduced himself? Sara couldn’t be sure with all the rigmarole to get their luggage to the car and make sure Jack didn’t go wandering off on his own. What he must think of them… Sara wasn’t sure what to expect from the locals yet. Would they accept her as the new heir or did they have their hopes set on a different disposition for the estate? Would they even care? It wasn’t clear how much her family’s estate was tied up in the local community, but for a town called Darlington, she imagined it was close.
Incapable of maintaining silence for more than a few minutes, Joanie snuck her way back onto Sara’s train of thought. “What is a Baronet anyway? Is it like a baby Baron?”
“Near as I can tell it’s not as high up as a Baron, it just means Jack will have to get used to being called Sir.”
“That makes you a Lady I guess, huh?”
“I suppose so,” Sara smiled faintly at the tinge of jealousy in Joanie’s voice.
“Thank God you got the call after your divorce came through,” she said, out of the blue.
“What?” Sara blinked, not tracking the change in subject right away. “Oh, I don’t know, I could have used the luck a little earlier in the game.” When she thought of the tiny little apartment they’d been crammed into for the past six months… the call couldn’t have come soon enough.
“Are you kidding me? Peter would have pissed it all away inside of a year.”
“Joanie!” she exclaimed, somewhere between a whisper and a hiss.
“What?”
“Shh, I don’t want him to hear you,” Sara scowled, even if it was true.
“Oh please, you know Jack can sleep through a hurricane,” Joanie demonstrated by poking the boy in the ribs with no response. But for the slight rise and fall of his chest, Jackson appeared dead to the world.
“Still…” Sara looked down at her sleeping son, slumped over on the seat between them. Small for a boy of eight, his dark brown hair was the exact shade as hers, blue eyes hidden behind round glasses that slipped low on his nose in his present position. Despite the fact that she knew he wasn’t listening, it didn’t feel right to talk about his father with him right there, even if she did agree with her friend’s opinion of the guy.
“I’m just saying, it gives me a happy to think he won’t get his hands on all your money. Can you imagine Peter with some serious cash behind him?” a roll of the eyes was given.
“I’m having a hard enough time picturing me with money,” Sara answered diplomatically, hoping to change the subject. For the next twenty minutes they chatted about what might be waiting for them at the end of their journey. Joanie seemed to think they’d land in an episode of Downton Abbey, the liveried servants lined up in front of the building, neatly dressed and pressed to greet her. Sara couldn’t imagine owning something so large, she was convinced it’d be more along the lines of a cottage with some pretty gardens. At least she hoped so, gardening was one of the few things she missed about the three bedroom split level home in LA.
A crunch of gravel alerted them as the car pulled onto the private road. “This is it, we’re almost there,” Sara breathed in excitement, wondering if she should wake Jack or let him keep sleeping. As they drew closer to the hulking shadow of the building, she decided to go with the latter, for the moment there was nothing to see. The house was completely dark, no signs of life to be found as they approached.
“Are you sure you have the right place?” Joanie frowned, leaning forward with a squint that couldn’t penetrate the darkness.
“This is Darling Park right enough,” the driver spoke, the lilt of his accent reminding Sara of the brief wink she’d seen in the mirror. “Don’t worry, I’m sure they’re about somewhere. Hold on a tick, I’ll get things sorted out. I’ll leave the engine running to keep the car warm for you.” Before either of them could so much as blink, he was out the driver’s side door, bounding into the fog that closed ranks behind him, enveloping him into the velvet murkiness.
“See, I told you it wouldn’t be like in the movies,” Sara’s voice fell to a whisper as she focused her attention on the driveway.
“Sure it is, it’s just the type of movie where we get murdered in our beds before sunrise,” Joanie replied sourly and Sara gave her a playful shove.
It was pretty creepy out there, the fog encasing them in a cocoon of silver mist, completely obscuring the house from view. She got the sense it was big, bigger than she’d thought, but that was about it. “At least we’re warm enough.” No sooner had she made the pronouncement, than the fates intervened, the car engine dying with a sputter. “I’m sure he’ll be back in a minute,” Sara added, unsure which one of them she was trying to convince more.
“This is stupid. Why don’t we get out and go up to the front door?” Joanie muttered, unbuckling her seat belt.
“Fine,” Sara nodded, preparing to do the same. All at once, the mist swirled higher, cloaking the car in darkness. Sara shivered as the temperature plummeted, her breath visible in the sudden chill. “On second thought…”
Joanie pulled up the fur collar of her coat, bringing her hands up to blow on them. “Did I say murdered in our beds?”
“It’s just fog,” the words full of false bravado, Sara leaned against the window, desperate to find anything in the swirling fog to give her a point of reference. They could be completely cast adrift at sea for all she could tell, even the hulking shadow of the house was entirely hidden. Another shiver went through Sara as her fingertips pressed against the frigid glass; the sudden crunch of gravel the only warning before the door flew open and she nearly tumbled out, if not for the strong arms of the driver.
“Careful, my Lady,” he smiled, restoring her balance. Behind him, she could make out the entry of the house and then the fog seemed to dissipate, the porch lights dispelling the gloom with warm, yellow light.
“Thanks… I mean, sorry… for falling all over you like that. We thought you’d left us,” Sara offered a sheepish grin, releasing her death grip on his arms and busying herself with picking up Jack who still slept the sleep of the innocent.
“Would you like me to take him for you?”
“Oh, no, I’ve got him, thanks,” she flashed him a quick smile as she scooted out of the back seat, Joanie hot on her heels.
A matronly woman with iron gray hair pulled back into a bun in a severe black dress hovered by the door, peering at them with interest. “You’re early, we weren’t expecting you for another hour.
”
“I’m sorry…” Sara’s teeth caught at her bottom lip, “we didn’t mean to be a bother…”
“Heavens, don’t apologize, my Lady,” she chuckled. “I wasn’t blaming you in the slightest,” her eyes lit upon the driver who deposited the first of the bags in the hallway.
“The train’s come early. I tried to call…” he started to explain, but she waved him off.
“The phones are a bit spotty every now and again. Come in, come in, you must be cold to the bone,” she waved them deeper into the entryway that stretched at least thirty feet high before a grand wooden staircase stained a rich mahogany.
The wallpaper was a little faded and the furnishings old fashioned, but there was no mistaking the grandeur of the home. An alternating pattern of honey yellow and dark brown marble tiles decorated the entry floor in a mosaic pattern picked up in the crystal chandelier that hung above. If a few tiles were weathered and cracked, it was still more impressive than anything Sara had seen outside of the silver screen, and it was polished to a high sheen.
The air felt wrong to Sara, a bit musty with disuse perhaps, but it was warmer than the chill outside. Next to the woman, a man stood at the door in a pair of gray trousers and a worn cardigan with leather patches on the elbows, his weathered face split into a welcoming smile.
“Thomas close the door, you’re letting all the heat out,” the old woman chided him gently, and he rushed to do her bidding, closing the door on the driver who still struggled with the last of the bags by the car.
“I’m Mrs. Poole, the housekeeper. My husband and I are the only regular staff for Darling Park at present. Thomas, hurry get a fire going in the parlor while I get them some tea.”
“Right-o, we’ll have you warmed up inside and out in no time,” he grinned, revealing a flash of store bought teeth, but Sara called him back, not wanting them to go to too much trouble on her behalf.
“That’s not necessary,” she shifted her hold on Jack, his head lolling against her shoulder. More than anything she was a little tired, and the worst of the chill had already worn off. “It’s sweet of you, really, but I think all we want to do is get some rest. Oh, this is my friend, Joanie and I’m Sara Bailey, or Darling.” Not used to using her maiden name again, it sounded strange to her ears.
