“I want to see,” Emma repeated in an uncompromising voice that she barely recognized as being her own. “It’s my right, Duncan. She’s my—” Emotion stole her voice, and she drew a breath, turning away for a moment. “Lacey’s my friend,” she continued, ignoring the hot tears rolling down her cheeks. “Mine.”
Duncan clearly didn’t want to give in, but he just as clearly believed that what Emma was saying was true. It was her right to be the one, her right to lay claim to Lacey, and no one else’s.
“Very well,” he said unhappily. “You may view the body. But, Emma, decomposition has already begun. You may no longer recognize Lacey even if it’s her.”
“I’ll recognize her,” Emma insisted stubbornly.
Duncan frowned and shook his head slightly, as if already regretting his decision. “You will tell me if you think it’s Lacey or not,” he said finally. “And then you will leave. Baldwin will drive you home.”
“But if it’s Lacey—”
“Take it or leave it,” he said, his voice every bit as uncompromising as hers had been.
Emma nodded once. Duncan reached for her hand, but she pulled away, choosing to proceed under her own power.
She moved in a blur, her eyes so filled with tears she could barely see. Her mind kept whispering denials, kept telling her it didn’t have to be Lacey, that there’d been other women at the parties, that this house and Victor had been around for years, and that the land around here was riddled with old burial grounds. But in her heart she knew what she’d known ever since Lacey hadn’t come home Sunday night. She’d known that something awful had happened, because nothing else would have kept Lacey from calling her. And now . . .
“Emma?” Duncan’s voice next to her was gentle, full of compassion. But she didn’t want his compassion, couldn’t afford it. She had to stay strong. She looked around and realized Duncan’s vampires were all looking at her expectantly. They were standing in a circle around something, and now had opened the circle as if to admit her. She looked down and her heart began to pound.
“Emma, you don’t have to do this.”
She brushed away Duncan’s hand and stepped between two of the vampires, nearly tripping on a pile of dirt. One of the vamps caught her arm, and she looked down into a big hole in the ground. No, not so big. Just big enough for . .
A cry of denial was torn from her throat, a wordless, animal sound of grief. Emma stumbled as she backed away, suddenly wishing she hadn’t insisted on being here. She didn’t want to see what was in that hole, didn’t want to see that dead thing wearing a grotesque caricature of Lacey’s face, her blond curls limp and tangled, her limbs twisted in death as they’d never been in life. She wanted to rewind her life and keep Lacey home from Victor’s party. They’d eat popcorn and drink bad wine and watch cheesy horror flicks until neither one of them could sleep. And they’d never have to worry about anything worse than movie monsters under the bed.
“Emma.” She hadn’t even seen Duncan move, but suddenly he was there, wrapping her in his arms. And she knew the monsters were real this time.
She shoved away from him. “Don’t touch me,” she hissed. “If not for you—” She knew she was being unfair, that it wasn’t Duncan who’d put Lacey in that grave. But it was his people. Vampires. Monsters who preyed on humans, who seduced Lacey with their promises of wild parties and high living. She stumbled down the side of the house, bracing herself against the wall, determined to get back to her car. She had her cell phone there. She’d call the police and—
Duncan’s strong arms scooped her up. She fought against him, but he only tightened his hold and ordered, “Stop it, Emma.”
“Put me down,” she demanded, pounding on his shoulders, hearing herself sob with grief and not recognizing it as coming from her own throat. “I don’t need—”
Duncan’s arms were like steel bands as he carried her to the front of the house, anger radiating off of him in waves, though somehow she knew the anger wasn’t directed at her. Emma saw her car, saw Baldwin rushing ahead to open the door. Duncan lowered his head to her ear and whispered something.
And then there was nothing at all.
Chapter Twelve
Duncan watched Emma’s car until it rolled beyond the line of spruce trees and he couldn’t see it anymore. She was in the backseat, sleeping deeply, and she’d stay that way for several hours, until Lacey’s body had been recovered and the scene processed. He and his team had a few hours left, but they would have to return to D.C. before morning. There was no way he’d ask any of his people to spend a single day sleeping in this nightmare of a house. When they were finished here, when the forensic people had recovered every last bit of evidence they could find, he’d have the whole damned building razed to the ground. After that, the land could sit fallow. Maybe in a century or three, the horror would fade.
He’d already called the experts in to deal with this. If there could be any good fortune in this tragedy, it was that it had happened in Virginia, with the FBI’s Quantico facilities so close by. Several vampires worked in the labs there, although their identities were known to only a select few in the vampire community. Raphael, of course, knew who they were, which meant Duncan did, too. The death he and his vampires had discovered here tonight couldn’t be covered up completely, but it could be managed. How well depended on Emma. If she went to the human authorities and demanded an investigation . . . Well, he wouldn’t let it come to that. He didn’t want to replace her memories, but he would if necessary, knowing that if she ever found out, he would lose her trust, and might very well lose her. But he could not jeopardize the whole of vampire society for the sake of his affection for Emma Duquet.
That didn’t mean he discounted the crime committed. He might cover up the specifics, but he wouldn’t forget the offense. Victor was already dead, along with his four vampire guards, all of whom had no doubt participated in the violence and blood fest. But there were others still out there, humans who had willfully, joyfully, joined in the torture of young women for sexual gratification. He would hunt them down and destroy them every bit as permanently as he’d destroyed Victor.
“Sire.”
Duncan turned. “Yes, Miguel?”
“In the house, my lord. In what we believe is Victor’s safe room. There are videos.”
Duncan met his lieutenant’s carefully shuttered gaze, and knew the night was about to get worse. He sighed wearily and placed a comforting hand on Miguel’s shoulder.
“At least now we’ll know who to kill next, Miguel.”
“We’ll hunt, my lord?”
Duncan nodded. “We’ll run them to the ground and listen to them beg as we shred their beating hearts.”
Miguel bared his teeth, growling his approval, and Duncan braced himself to enter that house of evil one more time. As he crossed the threshold and the horror pierced his soul, he had only one thought—despite the agony of his last breath, Victor had been granted far too gentle a death.
An hour later, he sat on the front porch, taking in some much needed fresh air, when an unfamiliar truck rolled up to the house. He stood, eyeing it warily. As if by magic, several of his vampires appeared, taking up positions between him and the approaching vehicle. It rolled to a stop and Duncan watched as a small, dark-haired vampire dropped first to the running board and then to the ground. Her mane of bushy black hair had been pulled away from her face and forced into a severe bun at the back of her head, and she wore a plain, dark pantsuit and black cotton blouse. Together they made her appear older than she was, or rather, older than she’d been when she’d been turned over a century ago.
“Phoebe,” Duncan called out, sending a mental command to his guards that this was the forensic expert he’d been expecting.
Phoebe Micheletti had never been an FBI agent herself, but she’d trained with one of their finest investigators, a human male who’d later become her husband and mate. After years of sharing the mate bond, and blood, with Phoebe, Ted Micheletti had been
forced to retire early from the FBI when it became too obvious that he wasn’t aging. The two of them now ran a consulting business of their own, offering their investigative services to law enforcement agencies around the country, many of whom couldn’t afford to keep a full-time investigator on staff. Duncan was sure business was booming in these difficult economic times, and he knew that sometimes Phoebe and her mate worked for free. They simply enjoyed their work.
“Duncan.” She started to kneel, but Duncan stopped her. Phoebe lived in Virginia, which meant Duncan was officially her master now. But, though they’d never met in person before, they’d known each other for years, and he was too weary tonight for meaningless ritual.
“It’s good to see you,” he said.
“And you, my lord. Congratulations on your ascension.”
Duncan nodded, and Phoebe looked beyond him to the open back of a cargo van where two vampire forensic techs were loading a black body bag. There’d been no need to leave Lacey’s body in situ, no need to preserve the grave site. They already knew who’d killed her.
“Do we know who she is?” Phoebe asked.
“Lacey Cray,” Duncan said somberly. “Twenty-seven years old, and a secretary on K Street.”
“How did she end up here?”
“Victor.”
“Fuck,” Phoebe swore viciously. “I hated that bastard.”
“Surely, he didn’t mistreat you or Ted?”
She shook her head swiftly. “He wouldn’t have dared. Victor was a typical bully. He only picked on people who couldn’t fight back. So how do you know the girl?”
“Her roommate came to the house in D.C. the night after I disposed of Victor. Ms. Cray was missing. She’d apparently partied with Victor before, but she told Emma this was a big one. A weekend in the country.”
“Emma?”
“Emma Duquet, the roommate. She works for a congressman.”
“Well, that’s a complication. Does it get any worse?”
“Brace yourself,” Duncan warned her. “Victor was quite the voyeur. We’ve found video records of what went on here and in D.C. I don’t know if he was blackmailing anyone, or if he just liked to watch. We’re still working on identifying everyone, but Lacey’s is the only body we’ve found—and the only woman from his files who isn’t in any of the videos, which is telling in and of itself. I’m assuming at this point that the other women are still alive. If so, their memories have probably been wiped, which is a blessing, because the things that were done to them—” His mouth twisted and he looked away, unwilling to go on.
“What about Lacey?”
“It was probably an accident. Given the level of depravity we’ve found here, nothing would surprise me, but burying her in the yard like this . . . it has an unplanned feel to it.”
Phoebe nodded. “He had time to take care of the videos, but not enough to do a better job of losing the body.”
Duncan shrugged. “He probably meant to come back and take care of it, but then I showed up.”
“Any files in the D.C. house?”
Duncan nodded. “Hidden and encrypted, but my people are good.”
Phoebe tilted her head, studying him. She gave him a crooked smile. “I’m glad you’re here, my lord. We needed you.” The smile fled as she turned her attention to Lacey’s still form. “I only wish you’d had a better greeting than this.”
“I wish I’d arrived a week earlier. Lacey might still be alive. We need to keep this quiet, Phoebe.”
“Does she have family?”
“Just Emma. They’ve been friends since childhood.”
“Is this Emma going to raise a fuss?”
“No.” When Phoebe’s curious gaze met his, he added, “I’ll take care of it.” He let a touch of power chill his voice to remind her who he was.
Phoebe lowered her eyes briefly. “How can I help?”
Duncan nodded. “My security chief, Louis, is upstairs, along with a couple of others. We’ll take the computers and files back to D.C. with us, but in the meantime, he’s made a composite file of every face visible in the videos. Some of them we think we know, but I want you to help track down the others.”
She stiffened, then bowed formally from the waist. “I am yours to command, my lord.” She spun around and headed into the house. Duncan watched her go, then walked over to the forensic tech who was closing the doors of the cargo van.
“You’ve a place to store the body?” Duncan asked.
“Yes, my lord. One of ours owns a funeral home right outside Falls Church. We can leave her there for now.”
“Make sure Miguel has the information on the funeral home before you leave, but you should go soon.” Sunrise was only a couple hours away, and they’d need that time to get Lacey’s body properly stored before going home to sleep through the day.
“Yes, my lord.” The vampire pulled a sheet of paper from the bottom of his clipboard, wrote briefly and handed the sheet to Miguel, who’d followed Duncan like a shadow ever since they’d found the body.
“We should leave, too, my lord,” Miguel said quietly as the vampire tech climbed into the van and drove away.
Duncan looked over from his contemplation of the departing van. “I need to stop at Emma’s on the way home.”
“My lord, the time—”
“Miguel,” Duncan said softly. “I will stop and speak with Emma.”
Miguel nodded sharply. “We’ll leave at once then. Ari can drive. I’ll have the others finish up here and lock the house. They can take the second truck back to D.C.”
Duncan nodded. He didn’t look forward to telling Emma what had to be done, but he couldn’t let her go to the human authorities. Somehow he’d have to persuade her to let him handle it, and if he couldn’t . . . Well, then he wanted one last time with her before she hated him forever.
Chapter Thirteen
Emma’s car was parked a few doors down from her house when they arrived. Duncan sent a thread of power into the house, searching. Baldwin was there, and aware. Baldwin was one of those who’d been with Duncan the other night, which meant he’d already been invited into Emma’s house. That was important since Emma had been deeply asleep and would remain that way until Duncan woke her. He sighed, hoping she was having sweet dreams, because when she woke the nightmare would become real.
He would have preferred to put this off until tomorrow night. The horrors of Victor’s playhouse had left him riding the very edge of violence, and he wanted nothing more at this point than to pound someone to a bloody pulp. Not that he would ever harm Emma. But his temper was definitely frayed, and she was bound to argue with him.
Duncan knew his reputation, what some considered his uncanny ability to remain calm in the face of even the worst provocation. It was why Raphael had decided he’d be perfect for dealing with the human charlatans who masqueraded as leaders in Washington, D.C. And there was truth to Duncan’s reputation, too. But it was a hard-won truth, and tonight his reserve had been severely tested.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep Emma asleep until he woke tomorrow night, and he definitely did not want her waking up during the day without talking to him first. Knowing Emma, even as little as he did, he knew she wouldn’t hang around waiting for sunset. Even if she didn’t call the police, she’d drive herself back to Leesburg, where she would find nothing at all. The body was gone, as was all evidence that anyone had been buried there. Everything in the house that could lead back to Victor or vampires in general was likewise gone. It was already on its way to the residence in D.C., where Duncan’s people would scour it for information and then destroy it. At this moment, even the title to the Leesburg house was being altered, with documents put in place that made it appear the house had changed ownership some months ago. Not even Emma’s inside sources would be able to find anything to indicate otherwise.
But that wouldn’t stop Emma. Her next step was likely to be the human police, and that was the worst possible outcome for everyone involved, including Emma her
self.
So, Duncan had to talk to her tonight.
He drew a deep breath, burying his rage and papering over his more aggressive instincts. It didn’t have to last long, no more than an hour or so. Long enough to settle Emma, then return to the D.C. house to sleep. And when he woke tomorrow night, he’d carve out some time in the gym to work off the worst of his anger.
The house door cracked open silently as he and Miguel started up the walk. There were no lights on inside. Baldwin’s silhouette was a short, square block of darker shadow as he stood there, holding the door open.
“Anything I need to know?” Duncan asked him.
“No, my lord.”
“Join Ari in the truck, then. You, too, Miguel.”
Miguel stiffened immediately, his mouth open to protest, but Duncan just looked at him. His lieutenant scowled, but he gave a sharp nod and followed Baldwin back to the truck.
Duncan sighed in relief. It would be hard enough to maintain his composure with Emma tonight. He didn’t need the additional aggravation of his vampires’ emotions beating at his shields. They didn’t have his sensitivity to the nightmare of that house, but they had picked up enough of it that their instinct was to close the circle around him. Which left him at the very center of their storm of outrage.
He needed this small space of time alone, without his vampires hovering, to restore his own calm center before talking to Emma. He crossed into the living room, circling the ancient couch. Emma lay on her side, beneath a crocheted blanket that Baldwin must have thrown over her. She was curled into a protective ball, knees drawn to her chest, arms held tightly in front, hands fisted as if against the blow that was coming.
He sat down next to her, and the couch sagged beneath his weight. She couldn’t be comfortable sleeping here. Maybe he should take her upstairs first. He smiled slightly, recognizing the thought for what it was—a way to delay the inevitable.
Her dark hair had fallen forward, covering half her face. He brushed it away and whispered, “Emma.”
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