I pressed my forehead against his shoulder. The wool felt slightly damp, but it gave off his reassuring smell. I heard Arrapato’s low growl, followed by a creaking noise. It seemed to be coming from outside the library.
A rush of chilly air hit the back of my head, and I pulled away from Raphael. He looked past me, a startled expression on his face.
I wiped my eyes and turned. Vivi stood in the doorway. Raphael’s girlfriend was right behind her. My, she was lovely. Her brown eyes were luminous, as if topaz light were shining behind them. She clutched a handful of herbs.
Raphael got to his feet. “Vivi, can you and Gillian please wait in the hall?”
Vivi ignored him. “Mom, I’m worried about Mrs. MacLeod. She should be back by now.”
“Back from where?” I asked.
“Shopping,” Vivi said.
“Again?” I felt confused. Mrs. MacLeod had gone to town this morning, and she’d returned an hour later, her car filled with groceries. She’d spent the rest of the day cooking. “When did she leave?”
Vivi shrugged. “Her nose was bleeding.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She wouldn’t look at me, so I knew something else was going on.
Arrapato growled under his breath. Then he began scratching the windows, his nails clicking over the glass. He looked back at Raphael and barked.
Gillian laughed. “He’s a busy little thing. Can dogs have attention deficit disorder?”
Raphael hurried to the window, his coat rippling behind him. “Something is out there,” he said.
I felt it, too. I got out of the chair and walked over to Raphael. He is five inches taller than me, and I had to tilt my head back to look into his eyes. He tapped the glass, directing my attention to the shadowy front yard.
Raphael’s driver, Mr. Fielding, got out of the limo, pulling iPod wires from his ears. Behind him, the fog had cleared, and two lights burned at end of the driveway. I saw the outline of a blue Citroën.
“That’s Mrs. MacLeod’s car,” I said.
Raphael kept staring out the window. “Why isn’t it moving?”
I leaned closer, pressing my fingers against the diamond panes. In the driveway, dark shapes passed in front of Mrs. MacLeod’s headlights, and a horn tooted.
Arrapato barked again, then butted my legs. I felt Raphael’s cool hand grip my elbow, and a second later his voice streaked through my head.
Vampires.
Then, out loud, he said, “You have to leave. Now.”
“No,” Vivi cried. “We just got here.”
Raphael steered me away from the window. As he passed by Vivi, he let go of me and grabbed her arm.
She wrenched away. “You’re not the boss of me. Mom, tell him to back off. Or I’ll—”
He hoisted Vivi over his shoulder, and hurried out of the room, Arrapato trotting at his heels. I ran into the hall. Raphael was straight ahead, his long legs moving in a blur.
“Hey!” Gillian cried. “What’s going on?”
“Trouble,” I called over my shoulder. I found my plaid bag in the vestibule, hooked the strap over my shoulder, and rushed into the nippy air. From the driveway, Mrs. MacLeod kept tooting her horn.
Mr. Fielding opened the limousine’s rear passenger door, and Raphael put Vivi in the backseat. “What’s going on?” she yelled, the cords standing out on her neck.
“Uninvited guests,” Raphael said, then helped me into the backseat.
I looked up at the padded ceiling, where pinpoint lights raced around a tinted sunroof and moved to the rear window. I guided Vivi toward the L-shaped row of chocolate leather seats. “Sit down and put on your seat belt.”
“No.” She broke away, then ran up the narrow aisle, crawled through the open partition, and dove into the front seat.
“Vivi, get back here,” I yelled.
“Fielding will take care of her,” Raphael said.
I moved past a minibar, toward the back of the limo, and sank down in the plush seat. A loud pop came from the direction of Mrs. MacLeod’s car, and then her horn blared without stopping. I glanced at Raphael. He was helping Gillian into a seat, unruffled and unhurried. She perched on the edge, tugging Mrs. MacLeod’s raincoat around her.
“I hope those are deer hunters,” she said.
Raphael climbed into the backseat, slammed the door, and sat down beside me. “Fielding, get us out of here,” he called.
Fielding swiveled around and his broad face appeared in the partition. “There’s a problem, sir. The driveway’s blocked by vehicles. I counted three. Could be more.”
“There’s another way out,” Vivi said, pointing toward the stone wall. “The golf course is right over there.”
“Let’s move,” Raphael said.
The limo did a U-turn on the lawn, headlights wheeling over the trees, then sped toward the rock wall. Raphael pulled off his coat and tucked it around me. “You’re shaking, mia cara.”
“I’m okay.” I tried to smile.
He patted my leg, then pushed away from the seat and knelt in front of the minibar.
“If you’re mixing drinks, I’d love a vodka collins,” Gillian said, her bottom lip shaking. I could tell that she was the sort of woman who used humor when she was frightened, but Raphael wasn’t paying attention. He slid open drawers, dumping ammo into his pockets. Then he lifted a Colt .45.
Hugging the coat to my chest, I looked out the rear window. The glass had been tinted to repel UV light, but I saw figures moving in front of Mrs. MacLeod’s headlights. Who was out there? The same vampires who’d killed Mr. Keats? Had they tracked us to Scotland?
Behind Mrs. MacLeod’s car, four new lights blinked on. I turned to Raphael. “They’re coming,” I said.
“I’ll be ready, mia cara.”
The limo careened around the hedge maze. Headlight beams splashed over the rock wall, then picked out the wooden gate. Fielding stomped the gas pedal. The limo blasted forward. Wooden chunks from the gate flew over the windshield and drummed against the roof, and then pieces rattled down the trunk and clattered to the ground.
“Drive faster,” Vivi yelled.
“You’re busting me ears,” Fielding said. “Put a bung in it.”
I looked out the rear window again. Four lights trailed behind the limo. I wanted to warn Raphael, but when I turned around, my throat ached, as if I’d swallowed metal screws and washers.
His hands were steady as he loaded bullets into the .45. Behind him, the limo’s high beams spilled bright cones through the grainy air. We sped past an Edwardian clubhouse, where men stood on the terrace, clutching whiskey glasses. Fielding turned toward a driving range, knocking over the distance markers, and cut back to the fairway. The sprinklers were on, and water pattered against the clipped grass.
I pulled Arrapato away from the window and held him against my chest. It had been decades since I’d been chased by vampires, but those events had toughened me in a way that I couldn’t explain. I felt oddly calm. Then I glanced backward. The headlights veered apart, and muzzle flashes brightened the air around them. I heard bullets slicing around the limo, pinging against the rear fender.
Raphael opened the sunroof, and cold air blew into the car, snapping his shirt. He stood up through the sunroof and fired.
“Somebody tell me what’s going on,” Vivi yelled.
Raphael climbed back down into the car, the wind sweeping back his hair, and he launched himself on top of me and Arrapato, flattening us against the seat. His arm shot out, and he pulled Gillian toward us.
“Incoming!” Fielding cried. “Get down, Vivi.”
A moment later, the limo shuddered, the way a jumbo jet will shake when it hits turbulence. Above us, the rear window exploded. Safety glass pattered on top of Raphael’s shoulders. Icy air rushed into the limo, bits of glass clinking against the seats.
Raphael moved back. “Mia cara?”
“I’m fine.” Arrapato’s head popped up. Gillian sat up, too, picking str
ay bits of glass out of her hair.
I glanced frantically toward the front seat. “Vivi!”
“Mom?” She peered through the glass partition. Her tears had melted her kohl eyeliner, and black lines ran down her cheeks.
“Sir, we need more firepower,” Fielding yelled. “It’s under the floorboard.”
Raphael put the safety on the .45 and handed it to me. He squatted in the center of the limo and peeled back the brown carpet. He lifted a box, flipped back the lid, and took out grenades. He pulled the pins with his teeth, released the levers, and vaulted toward the sunroof.
“Holy shit,” Gillian cried, her eyes bulging.
Raphael dropped to the floor again. A boom knocked him against the minibar. Crystal goblets went flying. My ears were ringing so hard, I didn’t hear the glass shatter. The air smelled like burned plastic. I raised myself up. Behind us, on the dark fairway, a car was on fire. There was another explosion, and flames surged up. The other car dropped back into the smoke.
In the front seat, Vivi’s head popped up, and Fielding gently pushed it down.
“Should we go back for the other car, sir?” he called.
“No, that’s what they hope we’ll do.” Raphael eased down on the seat beside me, one hand on the dog, the other on my knee. I sat still, conscious of the weight of his palm and the smoothness of his flesh. The air smelled like cologne, gunpowder, testosterone, and sex.
Raphael lifted his hand and let out a whoop.
They say that extreme danger can set off an endorphin rush. But I was feeling something stronger. A bolt of sexual awareness rushed through me, stronger than the wind that was flowing through the broken window. My heart started thumping. My breath came out in a rush. Every part of my body felt hot and cold and damp.
If the smoldering look on Gillian’s face was any barometer, she was feeling the same way. She scooted in next to Raphael, pushing her breasts into his arm, and ran her tongue over her lips. She brushed one palm over the brown leather seat. “Gosh almighty, it’s so soft and luscious,” she said, squeezing the upholstery. “Like sitting on a chocolate pie.”
“Where are you taking us, Raphael?” I asked.
He grinned, showing a flash of white teeth. “To see polar bears.”
CHAPTER 11
Raphael
EDINBURGH INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND
As the Learjet taxied down the runway, Raphael felt his pulse bumping against his temples. Not because of the car chase. Not because of the explosions. Not because of the mad dash to the Edinburgh airport. His heart was pounding because he was sitting between Gillian and Caro, and one of them was emanating a pheromone that pushed him beyond arousal.
Mio dio, he thought. The source of the hormonal storm was almost unbearable. He pretended to scroll through messages on his iPhone, but his senses were engaged. Using his peripheral vision, he studied Gillian’s lovely face and body. Her Southern accent and manners were alluring, the ditzy attitude was annoying, but he suspected great depth behind this façade.
Was she giving off the pheromones? He dipped into her thoughts.
This decoy thing won’t work. I know we negotiated a price and everything, but I’m not taking Raphael’s money. I make two hundred K a year. I can buy my own Chanel bags, and I do. But you know what? I bet Raphael has never found a woman who isn’t a gold digger. I’m not that way. And he’s so damn good looking. I can just imagine his porcelain body on thousand-count Italian sheets. Once you sleep with one of them, that’s it, you can’t go back to human dick. That’s why I’m here. Not to be a decoy. But because I can’t get this vampire-lust shit out of my system. I want him. We could go into the lavatory now and join the mile-high club. But he’s loop-de-loop about Caro. Wonder why? She’s not beautiful. Maybe she almost has a Ph.D., but I haven’t seen one drop of brilliance. Me, I’ve got a B.A. in English from LSU and a law degree from Tulane. If Raphael gives me trouble, I’ll tie him up in litigation for years. Though I’d rather tie him up with scarves.
Raphael pulled out of her mind, trying not to smile. He lifted his iPhone and made a note to introduce Gillian to a charming vampire from Milan. Signore Lucio Savoldelli would appreciate her mind, as well as her beauty. Perhaps it would be mutual.
A shudder ran through the cabin as the jet picked up speed. He turned to Caro. She held Arrapato in her lap, telling him not to worry. Her cheeks were flushed, and she smelled as if she’d just stepped out of a pine forest. A curl fell across her cheek, and she smoothed it back.
A warm prickle ran down Raphael’s spine. He tried to read her thoughts, but he couldn’t. She sighed and buttoned up her cardigan. The wool outlined her breasts.
She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. He became aware of a fullness in his groin, as if his trousers were too tight, and his zipper pressed painfully against him. He needed to conceal his hyperaroused state. Caro was sitting on his coat, so he looked around for a magazine or a blanket.
Nothing.
He reached for Arrapato, and the dog snapped at him.
“Lord have mercy,” Gillian said breathlessly, glancing between his legs. “Somebody’s packing a mighty big picnic basket.”
He shifted away from her.
At the exact moment the jet angled off the runway, Caro looked up at Raphael and smiled. He smiled back. Why did it always feel so good to be around her? Maybe his brain had confused lust with chemical aftershocks. Danger possessed a confusing sexual element. After all, adrenaline had brought down dynasties and destroyed civilizations.
“A really big picnic,” Gillian said, fanning herself.
CHAPTER 12
Vivi
As soon as the Learjet was in the sky, Vivi flung off her seat belt and marched up the aisle, where Raphael sat between her mom and Gillian.
“All right, somebody better tell me what’s going on,” Vivi said.
“We’re flying to Norway,” Raphael said, his eyes noncommittal.
“That’s not what I meant.” Vivi crossed her arms. “You threw grenades! You blew up a car.”
He nodded, but didn’t defend his crazy actions. Worse, her mom just sat there, petting the dog. The plane leveled, and Vivi almost lost her balance. She sat down hard in the seat across from her mom.
In the opposite row, Gillian leaned forward, pressing her boobs against Raphael’s arm. “Well, I thought it was exciting,” she said. “Raphael, you were fantastic. You threw those grenades like the captain of a SWAT team.”
Her gooey, sticky words dripped in the pressurized air. Vivi felt an urge to run to the lavatory and splash water on her face, but she forced herself to stay put. She glared at Raphael.
“Why did those men chase us?”
Her mom set the dog on Raphael’s lap and unbuckled her seat belt. She got up and crouched in the aisle, looking at Vivi.
“We’ll talk about this later, okay?”
“It’s because of me.” Vivi swallowed. “Because of that prophecy crap.”
Her mom gave Raphael a helpless look, which made Vivi more upset. Like they knew something but were afraid to tell her. Maybe this wasn’t about her. After all, they’d been perfectly safe for years and years. But the minute Raphael had shown up at Manderford, weird things began to happen.
“What is really going on?” Vivi asked Caro. “Is Mrs. MacLeod okay? Is someone chasing Raphael? Did he piss somebody off? Does he owe money to a casino?”
Caro shook her head. “Raphael hasn’t done anything but try to help us.”
“Liar,” Vivi said. “Why did he show up in Scotland before sunset? Why were guns and bombs in his limo? Why did a jet just happen to be waiting at the Edinburgh airport? He knew something bad was going down, and he dragged us along.”
Raphael glanced toward the front of the jet, where Fielding sat on a beige leather sofa, hunched over a computer screen. “Our guests need refreshments,” he called.
“Vivi, you need to calm down,” Caro said. “And lower your voice.�
�
“No. Ask Raphael why he hired Gillian to be your decoy.” Vivi gave him a triumphant smile.
“No more talking, Vivi. I mean it.” Caro spoke softly, but her face looked tired.
“I’ll calm down if you do,” Vivi said.
Caro got to her feet and sat down. A few minutes later, Fielding brought their drinks. A Sprite for Vivi and two frosty glasses with brown liquid for her mom and Gillian.
The blonde leaned across Raphael and held out her glass. “Give Vivi a sip of my old-fashioned. It’ll calm her down.”
Caro’s eyebrows went up. “She’s only thirteen.”
“She’s also having a panic attack,” Gillian said. “I don’t mean to traipse in your beeswax, but she needs bourbon. My mama used to give it to me when I was in diapers, and I turned out okay.”
Yeah, right, Vivi thought, and put down her Sprite. She didn’t want a drink; she wanted the truth. But she wouldn’t get answers while they were on this stupid jet because her mom was secretive and freaky. She wouldn’t say anything about the prophecy around Gillian, nor would she say anything mean about Raphael. He’d probably done something horrid, like bankrupted a small country. Or maybe he’d run off with someone’s wife.
Gillian was still holding out her glass, red lipstick plastered on the rim; her arm was pressed firmly against Raphael’s chest. “Raph, honey. Hand this to Vivi.”
Raphael took the glass, ice tinkling, and gave Caro a questioning stare. She lifted one shoulder, not a full shrug, but the little half-gesture that people do when they’ve given up. Raphael leaned across the aisle and put the drink in Vivi’s hands.
“Just one sip,” he said.
Vivi turned the glass until she found a clear spot, then took a long swallow. It tasted sugary and tart, but on the way down, it burned like jalapeño jelly. Other than that, she didn’t feel tipsy or happy or anything. She took another sip.
“Enough,” Caro said.
Raphael looked amused, but he plucked the glass from Vivi’s hand and gave it back to Gillian. Caro put down her drink and got up, then walked to the lavatory.
Hunting Daylight (9781101619032) Page 12
