She wanted to die. She couldn’t imagine living with this pain, this horrible emptiness. Lacey was gone, and Emma was left horribly, impossibly alone. The weight of her grief bent her back until she was bowed in half, until she thought it would crush her. She’d lost before—her grandmother, her mother, even the father she’d never known.
But Lacey wasn’t supposed to die. Not Lacey. Emma studied; Emma worked. But Lacey lived. It never mattered where they found themselves or how little money they had, Lacey had always found something to celebrate, to laugh about, to dance for. She was the sister Emma had never had, the only friend she’d ever needed, her family.
And she was gone.
Emma closed her eyes again, afraid if she moved, if she so much as blinked an eyelid, she’d fall apart, scattering into tiny pieces that no longer knew how to put themselves together. How could there be an Emma with no Lacey to make her whole? She choked back a sob and wondered if this night would ever end.
She knew the moment he arrived. Felt the warm blanket of comfort reach out to her frozen soul, felt the safety of his presence long before he made his way down the aisle to sit next to her. He didn’t reach out, didn’t touch her. It was almost as if he, too, knew she might shatter and disappear.
A single tear slid out from under her closed eyelids, and she reached blindly for his hand. He took her hand and more, gathering her close, his arms coming around her warm and strong as her head sank onto his shoulder, as her tears finally came, soaking the wool of his fine suit.
He whispered meaningless words as she cried, holding her together as she shuddered with grief. He was an island of calm in a world she didn’t understand anymore.
She couldn’t say how long they sat there. She’d long ago stopped crying; her body had no more moisture left for tears. Finally, she lifted her head, brushing aside her tangled hair. She should have been embarrassed, but she wasn’t. He offered her a perfect, white handkerchief. She stared at it, then raised her eyes to his. Who carried a handkerchief anymore?
He looked back at her. “I’m old-fashioned,” he explained, seeming to know what she was thinking, as always. But for some reason, the idea no longer bothered her. It was simply who he was. He was Duncan, and vampire or not, he was a very good man.
He kissed her forehead, his lips warm and firm. “They’ll pay, Emma,” he murmured. “I promise you.”
Others had offered sympathy, had told her what a great person Lacey had been, how much she’d be missed.
Only Duncan had offered her the one thing she needed. Vengeance.
Chapter Fifteen
Emma unlocked her front door and pushed inside. It was dark. She still hadn’t remembered to leave a light on, still expected Lacey to be home first. She sighed and started across the room to the light switch, but Miguel beat her to it.
“Thanks.” She ducked her head, a little embarrassed at his kindness after she’d thought such terrible things about him.
Duncan lifted his chin in the direction of the door, and Miguel left, pulling the door closed behind him, although Emma was sure he wouldn’t go far. He might no longer believe that she had dastardly plans for Duncan, but he didn’t completely trust her either. Or maybe it was like Duncan said; he just didn’t trust anyone. That was something she could understand.
“Emma,” Duncan said with barely controlled impatience. “I want you to come home with us. You shouldn’t stay here alone.”
Emma turned to him with a rueful smile. He’d made the same argument to her all the way home, but her answer hadn’t changed.
“I appreciate that, Duncan. Honest. But . . .” She gazed around the softly lit room. It looked so inviting, comfy almost. She and Lacey had thought themselves incredibly lucky to have found this place and they’d been happy here. But Emma knew she’d be moving as soon as possible. There was no way she could stay in this house with Lacey gone.
She sighed. “I have to get up early tomorrow. There’s so much to do, and the burial—”
“So, reschedule the burial for tomorrow night, and I’ll go with you.” He cupped her cheek in one hand and lifted the other to brush a lock of hair from her eyes. “You don’t need to do this alone.”
That was the rest of the argument he’d made on the drive from the funeral home. Actually argument wasn’t even the right word. He’d simply told her how it was going to be. Or he’d tried to, at least. Emma had a feeling Duncan wasn’t used to being told no. But he was going to hear it this time. Because burying Lacey was something she did need to do alone.
“I’m sorry,” she said gently, “but no. I’m going to say good-bye to Lacey in my own way. Then I need to go to work. I haven’t been there since—” She broke off, not knowing what words to use to describe the events of Lacey’s death. She shut her eyes as a newly familiar pain squeezed her heart. Would the day ever come when she wouldn’t feel this terrible ache at the thought of her murdered friend? Would she someday be able to remember the joy they’d shared without being forced to remember how it all ended?
“I haven’t been to the office in a few days,” she amended, meeting Duncan’s narrowed gaze. “I need to find out when they expect me back, and make some excuse for leaving early so I can work with you every night until we find Lacey’s killer.” She linked her fingers with his and held on tightly. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you? You’re still going to let me help?”
Duncan tilted his head in assent. “I keep my promises, Emma. All of them.”
Emma blew out a relieved breath. “I’m counting on that.”
“But you won’t change your mind and come home with us—reschedule the burial.”
She gave him a lopsided smile. “No. But I’ll come to the embassy, I mean the house, tomorrow night, and I’ll be ready to work.”
He frowned, clearly unhappy, but then gave a minimal shrug that was more an expression than a movement on his part. “As you wish. I’ll expect you tomorrow evening, then. One hour after sunset.”
“I’ll be there, boss.”
Duncan didn’t smile. He was staring at her intently, his eyes flaring with emotion. Emma leaned closer, drawn to his raw power, to the danger concealed beneath that civilized exterior. His gaze skimmed her face, settling on her mouth, and she surrendered to the sudden, burning need to lick her lips. He took a half step forward, and her heart began to pound. His big hand curved over her hip possessively, tugging her closer still, as he lowered his head. And Emma forgot how to breathe.
His mouth touched hers in a chaste kiss, his lips warm and surprisingly soft. Emma opened her mouth, wanting more, wanting to taste him. Her tongue slid along the seam of his lips, and Duncan’s fingers dug into her hip, pulling her flush against his body as he lifted his other hand and threaded his fingers through her hair.
His body was hard, her breasts crushed against his chest as she tilted her head back, opening her mouth in invitation. Duncan responded with a low growl, deepening the kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, twisting around her tongue, sending shivers of desire racing through her body. She lifted up onto her toes, wanting more, curling her arms around his neck with a hungry moan.
Duncan’s arms tightened around her, and she felt the unmistakable press of an erection against her belly, a long, thick column of hard flesh that made liquid heat swell between her legs. Sudden images of Duncan naked, gleaming with sweat, his arms corded with muscle as he rose above her, his hips pumping—
Duncan broke the kiss with a groan, his breath hot against her neck as he held her close, his hands flexing against her back.
“Emma,” he gasped warningly, breathing hard.
Emma heard him, but she didn’t answer, couldn’t find the breath to answer. He was trying to protect her, she knew. Trying to be sensible, to be sensitive. But Emma didn’t want sensible. She wanted to lose herself in the heat and passion that was buried beneath that cool, Duncan exterior. Wanted to warm herself at the fire that he kept so carefully banked and hidden from view.
“
Emma,” he repeated, more softly this time.
She sighed regretfully, knowing he was right. He eased away from her enough that their bodies were no longer touching.
“I apologize,” he said. “This isn’t the time or place.”
“Will there be one?”
Duncan’s brown eyes heated, glowing with that same bronze fire before he brushed her ear with his lips. “There will be a time, Emmaline,” he whispered. “And when the time comes, the place will no longer matter.”
He straightened and kissed her lips one more time, a gentle touch there and gone.
“Sleep well,” he said. “And if you need anything, call. I have people on staff around the clock.”
“Okay,” she said, already missing him. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
Duncan’s arm snaked around her waist, pulling her close, his head dipping until she felt his lips on her neck. She gasped at the hard scrape of his teeth—his fangs!—against her skin. He breathed deeply, as if inhaling her scent, then lifted his head with a growl.
“Don’t be late.”
And then he was gone, leaving the door rattling in its frame.
Emma stood in the dim light of her foyer, heart thumping as she raised shaking fingers to her neck, feeling the heat of her skin where his lips had touched her. She hugged herself, wondering what it would be like to make love to a vampire, to feel the scrape of his fangs against her tongue or . . . she shivered remembering the brush of his mouth against her neck. And she knew it wasn’t fear making her shiver.
She chided her overactive imagination. She was overloaded emotionally, that’s all this was. She was drained and exhausted, and Duncan had been there to hold her when she needed it. He’d been so kind, the perfect gentleman, and she’d all but assaulted him when he’d tried to help her, to comfort her. And, okay, he’d been interested, but only because she’d thrown herself at him, rubbing herself against him . . . She nearly groaned aloud, remembering the feel of his cock against her belly, the heat in his eyes.
She squeezed her suddenly aching breasts, rubbing the flat of her palms over her nipples, gasping with pleasure as she sank to the stairs. She was in so much trouble.
Chapter Sixteen
Duncan stormed into his office, furious with himself, with the entire situation. He hadn’t wanted to leave Emma alone, despite her insistence. But he certainly hadn’t helped matters when he’d all but attacked her. It had taken all his considerable will power to break away from her seductive warmth. What he’d wanted to do was to push her against the wall, shove that tight skirt up to her waist, and take her right where she stood. She’d been ready for him, her breasts swollen, her nipples so hard he’d felt them against his chest despite the layers of clothing between them. And her scent! God, the sweet scent of her had driven him mad with desire.
Thankfully, he’d come to his senses in time. By all that was holy, the woman was in mourning, emotionally vulnerable, her feelings raw and wide open. Only an animal would take advantage of her in that state.
He unbuttoned his suit jacket and yanked his tie loose, disgusted. Despite all of that, he still wished she’d come home with him. He was worried about her. Whoever had killed Lacey would be desperate to make certain no one ever found out about it, and they’d be nervous once word got around that Victor had left town. At least that was the story Duncan and his people had put out about the late vampire lord, that he’d been called away without warning.
And that was a timely reminder for Duncan, too. Instead of seducing vulnerable young women, he should be taking up his duties as representative of vampire interests in the capital. Those duties included figuring out what Victor had been up to, but there was more to it than that. He had to become part of the Washington social and diplomatic circuit. He grimaced with distaste at the thought, but there was no alternative. Before he took that up, however, he had to make arrangements for Emma’s safety.
Miguel strolled through the doorway, having delayed downstairs to double check the daytime guard deployment. The routine here was still new enough that it didn’t hurt to be sure everyone knew their assignments.
“Set a guard on Emma Duquet,” Duncan told his lieutenant without preamble. “Day and night. I don’t want one of Victor’s former clients getting nervous and going after her.”
“Yes, my lord.” Miguel made a quick call on his cell and it was done. They’d let go the security company Victor had employed, and replaced it with the men and women Miguel had trained personally for this job. Duncan trusted these humans with his life—quite literally until they got the basement vault constructed and functional.
“How’s Alaric progressing downstairs?” Duncan asked.
“Excellent, my lord, but, as he keeps telling me, he has to rebuild this ancient and rotting foundation before he can add anything to it.” He grinned. “The old man loves a challenge.”
Duncan pulled off his jacket, throwing it on a chair as he settled behind the desk of his new second floor office—an office which looked very much like the library downstairs, and for a good reason. While it had been necessary for Duncan to move away from the library—for security reasons, if nothing else—he’d liked the ambience of the old room—the books, the furniture, even the wainscoting. So Alaric’s crew had moved everything up here. It was quite remarkable, really. Every book, shelf, table and lamp had been moved. Now if they could just provide him with a decent place to sleep. And a gym.
“How are we doing on the videos from Leesburg?” Duncan asked. He refused to refer to the house itself anymore. He wouldn’t rest until it burned to the ground.
“There’s still no video of Lacey Cray, my lord. Not there, and not on any of the ones we discovered here, even though she’s in Victor’s files and, according to Ms. Duquet, was a regular at Victor’s parties.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t delete her from his files altogether.”
“He probably would have eventually. He expected to be around a lot longer than he was.”
Duncan nodded in satisfaction. That much at least had gone right. Victor was gone, and Duncan had been the one to destroy him.
“There’s still plenty of incriminating video, my lord,” Miguel said. “Enough to destroy more than one political career, even if the men involved could prove it was consensual. Victor hedged his bets, and I’m sure he made sure they knew about it.”
“Except there are no faces on the video. All we have are Victor’s files, and even those don’t name names.”
“Phoebe’s working on that. We can probably get some IDs by combining what we do have—the video and Victor’s paper files—with what Brendan and Erik and their friends know. They talked to some of the men involved, after all. We can at least identify those.”
“What about the women?”
“It’s more complicated with them. The men are public figures for the most part. The women . . . who knows?”
“Emma can help with that tomorrow night. Even if she doesn’t know the names, she may be able to tell us possible workplaces, or even other people to check with.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And it’s time I introduced myself to those powerful circles of Victor’s, too. Something casual where I can talk to people.” Duncan thought for a moment. “Check Victor’s calendar. See if there’s anything already scheduled. If so, have someone contact the organizers. Give them the line we agreed on, Victor’s been called away and I’m the new ambassador.”
Duncan didn’t like to use the pretentious title, but apparently he’d have to get used to it. “In the meantime,” he continued, “contact every senator and congressman from Virginia, Maryland and Delaware. Let them know I’m taking over and I’d like to meet with them. See if they have any events coming up and get us invited. Fundraisers, especially. Make sure they know we’re good for a donation. Maybe Emma can help with that, too. She works in a congressman’s office, after all. She knows how all of this works.”
He thought for a moment while Miguel took f
everish notes.
“Put California’s senators on the list, too,” he added. “I voted there last election, and Raphael’s a big contributor. Which reminds me, we need to establish a legal residence for me outside the District, so I can vote in my own territory.”
“Victor owned a house in Annapolis,” Miguel offered. “I can send some people to check it out. If nothing else, you can use the address.”
“Good.” He frowned as he watched Miguel tap the information into his PDA. “We’re going to need more people, Miguel. You’re my lieutenant, not my admin, and this enormous house will need a housekeeper and staff, too. How did Victor handle that?”
“Humans, my lord,” Miguel replied, looking up with a disapproving scowl. “He had a crew in once a week.”
“Well, we won’t be doing that. Put the word out, you know the routine. Give preference to vampires within my territory, but anyone from outside who’s willing to swear fealty in blood will be considered. Appoint someone to do the initial screening, but you or Louis handle the final selection personally. And I’ll want to choose the housekeeper myself.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Do you have the photos?”
“My lord?”
“The composites from the videos. I’d like to take a look.”
“They’re on your computer, my lord, along with Phoebe’s preliminary report.”
Duncan swung his chair around to the computer, which sat on an L-shaped extension to the desk. Pulling up the relevant file, he scanned Phoebe’s report quickly, then brought up the grainy images. Only the women were shown in full-face; the best Louis had managed of the men was the occasional partial profile. But profiles gave away more than people knew. That one, for example, had a very distinctive beak of a nose, and the next one a crude, almost primitive brow combined with the collapsed nasal bridge of someone whose nose has been broken too many times. It wasn’t much, but he’d remember these men. They might not know him when they met at a party or a fundraiser, but he’d know them. Their emotions, even more than their words, would give them away. The only challenge would be waiting until the evening was over to rip out their throats.
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