Duncan

by D. B. Reynolds

  “Milford,” the man said. “I’d hoped you were dead.” He sighed, then pushed himself up higher against the wall behind the bed, and asked wearily, “What do you want?”

  Duncan stared at the killer, his gaze taking in the man’s well-muscled shoulders beneath his nightshirt, then down to his legs still covered by the blankets. He raised his eyes to meet those of the killer who was staring back at him defiantly.

  “That’s right, I’m a cripple now, but I’m still ten times the man you’ll ever be.”

  “You’re a killer and a rapist, lower than the cockroach that lives in shit.”

  The killer shrugged. “Are we finished here then? Because I’m tired.” Raphael stepped into the light, and the killer looked up at him. “Brought someone to do your dirty work for you? It figures.”

  Raphael took in the killer’s shriveled legs beneath the blanket and laughed. “I’ve seen this before, Duncan. His cock’s probably as useless as his legs now. There’s a certain justice in that.”

  Duncan fingered the blade in his right hand. He nodded. “Justice, my lord,” he agreed, then took two quick steps forward and stabbed the killer in the chest, the narrow blade of the knife slicing easily through flesh and into the man’s heart. Red blood bloomed on the white linen of his nightshirt, and the man howled, staring in shock from Duncan’s hand, still fisted around the blade’s hilt, to his face.

  “But it’s not justice I’m looking for,” Duncan growled. “It’s vengeance.”

  He waited until life left the killer’s eyes, until his body slumped heavily against his hand, then pulled the knife out and lifted the sheet to clean the blade. Sliding the knife back into its sheath, he realized he’d just killed a man in cold blood, and yet he felt nothing but satisfaction. Surely he should feel some guilt, some conflict at least between his desire for vengeance and this blunt execution? Was this what it meant to be Vampire? Was he truly human no longer?

  “We’re still human after a fashion, Duncan,” Raphael said, as if reading his mind. “But we’re more, as well. For a vampire, there is no gray, only black and white. If a man takes something that is mine, if he harms someone I care about, or steals something I value, he dies. It’s a simpler life, but more brutal as well. Some of us revel in it; others choose to live much as humans do. There is no way of knowing before a person’s rebirth how things will turn out, but I am pleased to see that I was right about you. You have power and talent, and you do not flinch in the face of your enemy.

  “That’s good, Duncan, because I intend to rule this continent someday. I’ll need someone like you at my side.”

  Duncan turned to face his Sire. He heard the sincerity in the vampire lord’s words. More than that, he felt the emotion that went with it and knew Raphael was speaking only the truth. He took a step back and gave a courtly bow from the waist.

  “I am honored to serve you, my lord.”

  Raphael grinned and slapped Duncan on the shoulder. “Then let’s get out of this place. The sight of a dead enemy is satisfying, but the stink is less welcome.”

  They were both laughing as they started down the road, breathing in the fresh, night air. Duncan strode proudly next to his Sire, and for the first time since his family had died, he knew he had something to live for.

  * * * *

  “Did you ever look back and regret it?” Emma asked. They were lying side by side again, and she raised herself up on one elbow to look into Duncan’s face when he answered her.

  He shook his head, meeting Emma’s clear violet gaze head-on. And he told her the same thing Raphael had told him as they left that house all those years ago. “There are some things that cannot be forgiven if a man is to live with himself, some actions that define who we are. That man raped my wife, murdered her and my children. I could not let him live and consider myself a man.”

  Emma nodded, then rested her head on Duncan’s shoulder once again. She placed her hand over his heart. “That goes for a woman, too, you know. I can’t forget that Lacey’s killer is out there. I can’t live with that.”

  “You won’t have to, Emmaline. Neither one of us will.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Emma went to work the next day, although she was no longer sure why she bothered. She was there in body, but that was it. Every time someone asked her a question, she had to play back in her head whatever it was they’d said, then remind herself of where she was before answering. That left her staring blankly at either her computer or the person who’d spoken while she tried to catch up. So it didn’t even surprise her when Sharon Coffer stopped by her desk and asked her to step into the Congressman’s office. Although asked was a polite way of putting it. It was more of a command performance.

  Guy Coffer was out, so Emma and Sharon had the spacious office to themselves. Emma knew she was in trouble when Sharon closed the door deliberately before walking over to sit behind the desk. That was something even the most senior staffers would never have dared, but it had been clear to Emma from the beginning that Sharon considered this as much her office as her husband’s, that Guy Coffer’s election was as much about Sharon as it was about Guy. He just happened to have the more photogenic face, and more charisma in his little finger than existed in Sharon’s entire body.

  “Emma,” Sharon said, indicating the chair in front of the desk. Emma sat dutifully. “We were all very sorry to hear about Laney—”

  “Lacey,” Emma corrected.

  Sharon’s expression tightened, her eyes narrowing to slits, but her voice was all smoothness and light when she continued, “Of course. Lacey. We were all sorry about her death, and we all know the strain you’ve been under.” Sharon paused as if expecting Emma to say something, but Emma didn’t know what that something should be, so she remained silent.

  “Unfortunately,” Sharon went on, her tone making it clear she didn’t consider it unfortunate at all, “the business of this office must continue. And I’m afraid you’re not keeping up. I’m sure you understand. Once you’ve packed your things, someone will have to escort you out of the building and, of course, confiscate your ID.”

  Emma blinked, not certain she’d heard that right. “Are you firing me?” she asked in disbelief.

  “We’re letting you go, yes. The Congressman will, of course, provide you with a letter of reference, and I’m certain you’ll have no difficulty finding another position once your personal situation clears up. But until then—”

  “You’re firing me?” Emma repeated, still not believing what she’d heard. “My best friend dies, and you’re firing me because I’m distracted?”

  Sharon’s mouth pursed in distaste. “Really, Emma, there’s no need for hysterics.” But she couldn’t conceal the hint of satisfaction in her expression. This was a day Sharon Coffer had probably dreamt of. The day she finally got rid of Emma Duquet, who clearly had designs on Guy Coffer, and whose biggest sin was being better looking than Sharon. By a fucking mile.

  Emma stood, refusing to give the bitch any more pleasure than she was already getting from this. “You have my address,” she said flatly, then turned and walked out of the office. Noreen watched with wide eyes as Emma went directly to her desk and began gathering up the few personal items she kept there.

  “Emma?” Noreen asked.

  “The bitch fired me,” Emma said, through gritted teeth.

  “Are you kidding me? Why?”

  “Apparently having my best friend die is too inconvenient. Business must go on.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”

  Emma looked up and gave the other woman a smile. “Don’t worry, Noreen. I’ve faced worse than this and come out okay. I’ll do it again.>

  Brave words, she thought to herself as she stashed her stuff in her oversized purse. Jobs like hers were hard to find and nearly impossible to get, and Sharon knew that. All that bullshit about a letter of reference . . . Oh, sure, there’d be a letter, and it would say all the right things. But behind Emma’s back, Sharon Coffer would be pois
oning the well.

  She pulled out all the drawers one last time, then slung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed her laptop and her jacket. She gave Noreen a quick hug, took a final look around, and walked out the door for the last time. If Sharon wanted someone to escort her out of the building, they could damn well catch up.

  No one came after her, so Emma kept walking, all the way out of the building and into the parking lot. She threw her purse across the seat, and her laptop followed albeit somewhat more carefully. Emma got behind the wheel and twisted the key. Still no one in sight, and she wasn’t going to wait.

  She pulled out of the parking lot and drove through the snarl of D.C. traffic, trying to decide where to go. Her heart wanted to rush back to Duncan, to rant and rave until the calm that surrounded him penetrated her anger and made her see that the world wasn’t going to end because she’d lost a job. Rationally, she already knew that, but she was so damn angry. Anyway, it was daytime and Duncan was sound asleep. She thought about joining him, but she hadn’t slept through the day with him yet. It seemed even more intimate than what they had done together in his bed. It was probably silly, but she felt as if he needed to invite her to sleep next to him when he was that vulnerable. Not that she couldn’t be trusted. Hell, he was probably safer with her there with him than not, but she had a gut feeling that he needed to be the one to take that first step.

  So where to go? She was too tired to sleep, even if she used the other bedroom, and besides, the residence would seem far too empty without any of the vampires around. There were human guards on the grounds during the day, but from what she’d seen in the morning as she left for work, they stayed outside the house. For that matter, she wasn’t even absolutely certain the guards would let her back inside before sunset.

  So she turned away from the vampires’ residence and headed for her own house instead. Duncan wouldn’t be happy that she was going there alone, but he’d admitted that the guy the other night had been a common burglar, not some assassin sent to take her out. And there were practicalities to deal with. Her mail, and Lacey’s, too, would be piling up, and there were bills to pay. And now that she didn’t have a job, she needed to update her resume and start looking for something new. It was also time to let her landlord know that she wouldn’t be renewing the lease on the house. Even if she’d been able to get past Lacey’s absence, she simply couldn’t afford the place on her own. Especially not if she had to go a few months without income.

  Emma found a space on the street right in front of her house with no problem, because unlike her, most of her neighbors still had jobs. She had turned off the ignition and was pulling her keys out, when a familiar looking SUV parked right behind her. It was one of Duncan’s. He’d had someone following her the other day, and apparently he still did. So much for going it alone. She sighed and glanced in the rearview mirror, but the SUV’s windows were tinted. She couldn’t see the driver, but didn’t expect to recognize him anyway. She was more familiar with the vamps than the human guards. Grabbing her stuff, she walked back to the driver’s side of the SUV and waited while he slid down the window.

  “Hey,” she greeted him.

  “Ms. Duquet,” he said.

  “I’m going to pack some boxes and things. You want to come inside?”

  He turned off the truck’s engine. “I’ll walk in with you, make sure everything’s okay.”

  “Oh, I’m sure everything’s—”

  “All respect, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t work for you.”

  Emma blinked and thought it was too bad Baldwin wasn’t around. At least he was fun. “Okay,” she said, and walked away, pulling out the key to the new lock that Duncan had ordered installed. Mr. Grumpy could follow at his own pace.

  As expected, there was a pile of mail on the floor inside the front door. She dropped her keys in the dish, set her bag and laptop on the stairs and gathered up the whole mess. Shuffling it into a more or less neat stack, she headed for the kitchen. Duncan’s guard came in behind her and went immediately upstairs to check everything out. Emma rolled her eyes and stopped long enough to grab the remote and turn on the TV, more for company than anything else. She had a feeling her bodyguard wasn’t going to be too chatty.

  She dumped the mail onto the tiled countertop and noticed the message waiting light blinking on her answering machine. The machine itself was a leftover from when she and Lacey had lived together in college, before they’d been able to afford cell service. When they’d moved to D.C., they’d both gotten cell numbers, but their Internet service had been provided over a landline, so they’d automatically hooked up the machine. No one had ever called the number except telemarketers, and even they stopped calling after the first year.

  So now Emma stared at the blinking light for a few seconds before she registered its significance. Someone had called her home phone. It was probably nothing but a junk call triggered by Lacey’s funeral notice, except that the phone was in her name, not Lacey’s, and she’d automatically used her cell number on all the required forms.

  “Only one way to find out,” she muttered and punched the button. The machine’s mechanical voice confirmed that there was a single message and gave the date and time of the call, then the message began to play.

  “Ms. Duquet,” a woman’s husky voice said. “We’ve never met, but you came by my office in Alexandria two days ago.” Emma snatched her hand away from the machine, as if the caller had reached out and zapped her. Alexandria. That had to be Tammy Dietrich. There must have been video monitoring in the reception area. How else could Dietrich have known she’d been there? More importantly, why was she calling Emma, and why on this number?

  “I tried calling you at Guy Coffer’s office,” Dietrich continued, “but you were out, and they couldn’t . . . or perhaps wouldn’t . . . say when you’d be back. I didn’t leave a message with them for reasons . . . well, for reasons I’d rather not discuss on an answering machine.”

  Dietrich inhaled deeply, and Emma realized she was smoking a cigarette. That explained the rough quality of her voice, but not perhaps the tension that underlay every syllable she spoke.

  “Call me, Ms. Duquet,” Dietrich said bluntly. “But use a phone you can trust absolutely. Don’t use your personal cell, don’t use this line either. I’d recommend a pay phone, if you can find one, or a prepaid cell phone. I’m leaving you a number, but don’t bother trying to track it. I’ve taken my own advice and will dispose of the phone if I don’t hear from you within forty-eight hours. Call me. You’ll be glad you did.”

  The machine beeped loudly, announcing the end. Emma stared, then scrambled frantically to replay Dietrich’s message. She hadn’t paid any attention to the date and time stamp, didn’t know for sure if the clock was even set on the machine. Damnit! Why hadn’t the woman called her cell? Okay, fine, she didn’t want it traced, but couldn’t she at least have given Emma a head’s up? Her fingers were shaking as she found the right button and hit replay.

  “What’s that?”

  Emma shrieked and spun around, having forgotten all about Duncan’s guard.

  He frowned at her. “Is something wrong?”

  “Do you have a cell phone?” she demanded.

  “Well, yeah, don’t—”

  “Give it to me,” she said, punching the replay button on the answering machine, which dutifully informed her that Dietrich’s lone message had come in last night. While Emma and Duncan had been with Violet. Did Dietrich know about Violet? Was that why she’d called? To warn them away from the young woman? Was Violet in danger because of what they’d done? No, that didn’t make sense. If she’d already talked to them, there was nothing to gain by getting rid of her. The smart move now would be to get rid of Emma and Duncan. Maybe that’s what Dietrich was doing. Setting Emma up to be eliminated.

  The message wound down to the phone number Dietrich had left and Emma wrote it down, then turned to the guard who eyed her as if she’d lost her mind.

  “Phone?” sh
e asked impatiently.

  He studied her for a minute, then handed it over. There was no way her enemies could know to monitor this particular guard’s cell phone, so it should be safe. She punched in the numbers quickly, then waited while it rang and rang. She’d almost given up when Dietrich’s raspy voice answered. “About time, Duquet.”

  Emma’s stomach sank. “How’d you know it was me?”

  “You’re the only one I gave this number to,” Dietrich said dryly. “That was the whole point.”

  Right. “I got your message,” Emma said tightly. “What do you want?”

  “You came to see me,” Dietrich reminded her. “As it happens, however, I have some free advice for you. Get out of town. You and your boyfriend both. Go as far and as fast you can.”

  “Look, Dietrich. This is Tammy Dietrich, right?”

  “Got it in one, sweetheart.”

  “Well, sweetheart, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not leaving until—”

  Dietrich laughed bitterly. “This is no game. Max doesn’t play games. He never did. He simply clears the board until he gets his way, and you, Duquet, are in his way.”

  “Max Grafton? Your brother?”

  “Half brother, but who’s counting. I don’t have time for this. I called to give you a warning and I’ve given it. I wanted to talk to you at Lacey’s service, but there were too many people around. So I’m telling you now. Your life is in danger, and dying won’t bring Lacey back. That’s it, Duquet. That’s all she wrote.”

  “Wait! How do I get in touch with you?”

  “You don’t. I told you, I’m taking my own advice. I’m going to dig a hole somewhere far away and crawl into it, and hope to hell Max never finds me. Good-bye, Ms. Duquet.”

  “Wait!” Emma cried again, but Dietrich was gone. Emma gave a wordless shout of frustration and spun on the guard. “What’s your name?”

  “Marlon.”

  “How long ‘til sunset, Marlon?”

  He glanced at his watch. “Two hours, give or take, probably less.”