by P. G. Forte
“Tell me the truth.”
“I have just done so!”
Conrad sighed. “How long have we known each other now? And through how many dire circumstances? I have seen you when you’re tired, Georgia, but I’ve never seen you look so careworn. Won’t you confide in me?”
“Careworn?” Georgia’s laugh sounded brittle and forced. “Oh dear, has it really come to that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but is not ‘careworn’ a word men most oft employ when they wish to suggest that a woman’s looks are not to their liking? Does my appearance leave so much to be desired then? I do beg my sire’s pardon. Perhaps it’s my choice of hairstyle that he finds unflattering?”
“My dear, don’t talk such nonsense. Your beauty is intoxicating—as it has always been. And, even if it weren’t, I’m certain you are far too wise to be concerned overmuch with my opinion of such things.”
“Perhaps not when it comes to fashion.”
“Exactly. No, my dear, what I’m asking about is something quite different. There is something in your expression. I cannot find the words to describe it.” He looked her over once again, searching for words. “You look…sad.”
“Sad…” Georgia repeated the word thoughtfully. “Yes, well, I suppose there might be some small truth to that.” A shudder worked its way up her frame; it was small, but not so subtle that Conrad could have missed it. She shook her head. “I assure you, it’s nothing with which you need concern yourself.”
“And yet, I am concerned.” He was also growing impatient. They both knew he could compel her to speak—though neither of them would enjoy it. Was that really what she wanted?
“Conrad, please.” She gazed at him entreatingly. “One might be sad for any number of silly or unimportant reasons. Is a little privacy really too much to ask for?”
Conrad frowned. Privacy was all well and good, but his heart told him there was more to it than that. This helpless, hopeless tone was something new. Whatever was troubling her, it was clearly not the ‘nothing’ she would have him believe. “Georgia…”
“Or if you cannot be dissuaded, can we not at least postpone this conversation for another time? Please, my love. I ask you for little enough. Can you not grant me this?”
Before Conrad could think of a suitable response, a commotion in the front hallway caught his attention. The front door was flung open. Hurried footsteps crossed the foyer.
Georgia jumped to her feet. Conrad smiled in fond amusement as she took up a defensive stance. He was her sire, so he supposed it was natural for her to defend him. While he appreciated the gesture, he doubted there was any real cause for alarm. It was one of the characteristics of this modern age; danger rarely announced itself so loudly.
The salon door opened and, just as Conrad had suspected, no imminent threat to his safety was revealed. That was not to say he wasn’t surprised.
“Brennan? What are you doing here?” Typically, when someone left Conrad’s employ, he never saw them again, a state of affairs that generally suited everyone quite well. This should have been doubly true in Brennan’s case. The boy had been paid handsomely to keep his distance, and all of Conrad’s people had been warned that they were to stay away from him as well. Clearly, something had gone wrong.
The boy looked distraught. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his face was pale but determined as he crossed the room. “You have to help me.”
“Do I? Why? What has happened? Has someone been bothering you?” It should be unthinkable that anyone would openly defy Conrad’s orders in so flagrant a manner. But, these days, the unthinkable had become almost commonplace.
“Please,” Brennan begged as he fell to his knees in front of Conrad. “I’ll do anything. Whatever you want. Whatever any of you want. Just, please—”
“Wait.” Conrad lifted a hand in a request for silence. A flicker of motion had caught his eye. He glanced toward the door. “Georgia? Where are you going?”
Georgia froze with her hand on the knob. She turned to face him, her lips twisting into the faint semblance of a smile. “I can see how busy you are at present.” She waved vaguely in Brennan’s general direction. “I’m sure you’ll prefer to postpone our talk until after you’ve dealt with…whatever this is.”
Conrad scowled. Georgia was usually right about these things, but at the moment that seemed completely beside the point. He hadn’t told her she could leave, and he’d had more than enough lately of people attempting to defy his wishes. “Whatever this is,” he replied, also waving, “it can’t be that important. I’m sure it can wait.”
“No!” Brennan clutched at his arm with trembling hands. Conrad all but recoiled at the naked fear coursing through the boy’s veins. “No, please. It can’t wait. I have no place else to turn. You have to help me—now!”
Once again, Conrad’s gaze met Georgia’s. She glanced knowingly at him, her hand still wrapped around the doorknob, her whole body poised for flight. Conrad sighed in surrender. “Go ahead then!” he growled. Then he turned his attention back to Brennan. “And as for you, get off your knees! Tell me what’s going on. But be quick about it.”
Georgia sighed with relief as she pulled the door shut behind her. She leaned against it, closing her eyes and pressing her hand to her chest in an effort to calm her still-racing heart. Conrad’s strength so far outstripped her own that just being in his presence was a sort of torture. Every cell of her being screamed at her to drink her fill, to absorb just a little of that superfluous strength, to ease the pain.
The urge to unburden herself was also all but overwhelming. If he had pushed her just a little harder for answers, she would have given in, told him everything. She shivered—both at the narrowness of her escape and the realization that the noose around her neck was drawing ever tighter. She could not expect her luck to last forever. At the moment, her chances of surviving, for even one more night, had never seemed so slim.
“I might have known.” Damian’s voice snapped Georgia from her thoughts.
Her eyes flew open. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said I might have known who was to blame for this uproar.” Damian glanced critically at her. “Doors slamming. People running about. What have you done to upset him this time?”
Georgia straightened away from the door. “Always so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she growled. “Always involving yourself in things that do not concern you, and always so misguided.”
Color flared in Damian’s cheeks. “Oh, not always misguided, my lady, surely. I think you must allow that I’m correct at least part of the time?”
“If you say so.” Georgia shook her head. “I had not observed it. But why you feel yourself entitled to question me is a mystery I do not comprehend. If you must know, I have done nothing to upset anyone this evening. Conrad and I were enjoying a peaceful conversation when we were interrupted by Brennan. If you wish to know more, I’m afraid you’ll have to ask someone else.”
“Brennan!” Damian’s eyes widened in alarm. “Why is he here?”
A wave of fatigue crashed over Georgia and she had to struggle just to stay erect. “I have no idea. He appears to be in some sort of turmoil, but if I might offer you a piece of advice, you might try to refrain from jumping to conclusions. It’s sure to land you in trouble one of these days.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Yes, I’m sure you have.” Did Damian’s tone seem unusually suspicious, Georgia wondered, or were her fears simply getting the best of her, making her see threats everywhere? “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She gestured toward the stairs, which he was blocking, hoping he’d take the hint and move out of her way.
“As advice goes, however,” Damian continued, seemingly unaware of her distress, “that particular suggestion is only useful when the conclusions one has reached are in error. If the conclusion
s are correct, I can see no harm in arriving at them more quickly.”
“Suit yourself,” Georgia replied wearily as she gave up on caution and brushed boldly past him. “You always do.”
Georgia was shaking with reaction by the time she reached the door to her own rooms. Had Damian noticed her condition? Given how wretched she was feeling, it seemed almost impossible that anyone should not—especially not someone who had mistrusted her from the start, who had made it a life-long habit, where she was concerned, to search for any weakness that he could exploit. Even now, he was probably whispering in Conrad’s ear, poisoning his mind against her…
“Where have you been?” Christian demanded the moment she stepped through the door, startling her so badly she nearly let out a shriek. She hadn’t even sensed his presence. Clearly, the illness was progressing even faster than before.
It took her a moment to recover her equilibrium, to pull herself together enough to respond. “Do not take that tone with me!” She eyed him warily as she forced herself to cross the room, forced her features to betray nothing but annoyance. “You forget to whom you’re speaking.”
He looked so worried, so concerned, but also healthy and strong. All she wanted to do was curl up in his arms, wipe away the worry that marred his handsome features, and apologize, both for the harshness of her tone and the mess that, all too soon, she would be leaving for him to clean up. She wanted to listen while he argued with her one more time—telling her again that they would find a way, a new treatment, a miracle, a cure. He spoke so fervently about these fairytales he’d convinced himself were true, all about luck and breakthroughs and promising leads, that for just a moment she would find herself believing in them too.
“You can’t keep doing this,” he insisted in pleading tones.
Georgia nodded. “I know, darling. You’re entirely right. But I’ve had rather a long and tiring day and I don’t wish to discuss it. Why don’t you run along and find yourself something to eat? Whatever you do, however, stay well away from Brennan.”
“Brennan?” Christian’s eyes widened in alarm. “What are you talking about? Why do you mention him?”
“You were asking about him the other night, were you not? In connection with Julie? I don’t know if Conrad is planning on rehiring him, but until I tell you otherwise, you are not to feed from him. Is that understood?”
“Are you saying he’s here? Now? What about Julie? Has she come back yet?”
“I have no idea. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I would like nothing better than a warm bath and a long nap.” She closed her bedroom door behind her and turned the lock. He was right on one count. She could not keep doing this—not forever, not even for very much longer.
Julie had said goodbye to her brother and was headed for the house when it hit her. Brennan was here. And he was in trouble.
She didn’t stop to question how she could know something like that or what it could mean; she broke into a run, not slowing until she reached the house. The door to the salon was closed, which usually indicated a private conversation was in progress. Normally, that was the kind of thing she would respect—tonight she barged right in still carrying the bags she’d been bringing up from the car.
“What’s going on?” she demanded as she set her bags down inside the door.
Three sets of startled eyes stared back at her. They quickly filled with relief at the sight of her and Julie felt a small thrill of satisfaction. Score one point for the instinct that had told her she was needed here.
She scanned the room quickly, noting everything that was out of place. Conrad, his expression grim, was seated behind the small desk where Damian usually worked. That was something different. A large checkbook lay open on the desk’s surface and a pen was clutched tightly in Conrad’s hand. Meanwhile Damian, hovering beside him, appeared flustered and upset. On the opposite side of the desk, a distraught-looking Brennan had paused in the act of pacing the floor. She zeroed in on him: the most obvious anomaly.
“Brennan? What’s wrong? Why are you here?”
“Parker’s missing,” Brennan replied in a voice that was raw and filled with pain. “We think he’s been kidnapped.”
“Oh, sweetie, no!” Julie hurried to his side and wrapped her arms around him. Tremors of misery coursed through his body. She’d have been heartsick at the thought of any child being lost or hurt or missing, but this was Brennan’s little boy… “How did it happen? When? What do they want?” The checkbook suddenly made sickening sense. “Is this about money?”
“No! I don’t know. Maybe?” Brennan gazed at her helplessly. “No one’s asked for anything yet. It’s been almost a whole day now and you know what they say about the first twenty-four hours!”
“I know.” She tightened her grip around his waist, wishing neither of them were aware of the facts. The odds of finding a missing person alive lessened dramatically after the first twenty-four hours.
“He disappeared sometime last night,” Brennan continued. “But it was morning before his mother realized he was gone. She didn’t have to work today so she slept in, and then… She says it was a perfectly ordinary evening. She swears she wasn’t drinking, and that there was no one else in the house with her, but there’s no sign of forced entry, and…and she doesn’t remember stuff. Like she doesn’t know what time she went to bed, for example. I can tell the police think she’s hiding something, and… I don’t know what to think. I can’t believe she’d hurt him, but he can’t just have vanished!”
“Of course she wouldn’t hurt him,” Julie said. “I’m sure she would never hurt her baby.” She was eerily aware of the fact that she sounded just like Linda now. And maybe it was true and maybe it wasn’t, but bad things did happen, and people did vanish.
But not this time. Not if she had anything to say about it. She was sick of losses, sick of sitting by while people walked away, disappeared from her life or made decisions for her.
Raising her head, she focused her attention on the other men in the room. “What can we do to help? There’s gotta be something, right?”
Conrad heaved a frustrated sigh as he and Damian shared a look. Julie could read the helplessness and concern in their expressions—as well as the jaded resignation that came from having seen too much of the world’s wickedness. Beneath it all, she also read a willingness to do violence, veiled, but unmistakably there. No wonder Brennan was shaking so hard. How long had he been in here with the two of them? However long it had been, it was long enough.
“Why don’t you wait for me in the hall?” she suggested, eager to put as much distance as she could between Brennan and the most immediate sources of danger.
“I have promised to provide you with whatever you need in terms of ransom,” Conrad said in a voice that strove to be calm. “That offer still stands. I have offered to pay for a private investigator, although I am confident your police are doing everything they can. I don’t know what else you expect from me.”
“The police?” Brennan repeated, his voice cracking with emotion. “They think Valerie did it! Or her pimp, or her dealer, or who the fuck knows? It’s bullshit—all of it. They’re not doing shit to find him!”
“Brennan!” Julie shook his arm to get his attention. “Stop. It’ll be all right. We’ll figure something out. I promise.”
Brennan nodded, but he cast one more pleading look in Conrad’s direction. “If you could just talk to your people. Just talk to them, please! Someone must know something! And I don’t care what they want from me. Whatever it is, they can have it. I’ll do anything.”
Julie blinked in surprise. “Wait. What? You think it was us? You think vampires took him?”
“No,” Conrad said, biting each word off with precision, speaking now in a voice that even Julie found daunting. “That is not possible.”
Julie spun Brennan around and began to push him toward the door. “I’ll be right out,
” she promised as she shoved him into the foyer. “Just give me a minute.” She shut the door firmly behind him and then, just for good measure, she turned the lock. Then she turned back to face her family.
“Damian,” Conrad said, still clearly furious. “Can you explain to me how someone who has been in my employ for almost a year should have somehow reached the conclusion that I’m some sort of mafia overlord, or that I’m somehow kept apprised of all criminal activity in this city? What are we doing to the staff that is causing them to form such low opinions of us?”
“Capo,” Damian replied distractedly. “Not overlord. Capo or boss. Possibly don, though I’ve always suspected that’s only in fiction. In any case, no, I have no idea why he should think that.”
“Would you two stop it?” Julie snapped, feeling annoyed with both of them. “He’s upset. That’s why. He’s grasping at straws. Everything is not always about you.”
The two men stared at her. Finally, Conrad inclined his head in agreement. “Of course. You’re entirely correct.” Then he got up from the desk and went and stood in front of the window, his back to the room.
“We’re very glad you’re home, chica,” Damian said, a hint of reproach in his tone. “And you know we value your input. But that’s no excuse for your lack of manners. Your grandfather has every reason to be concerned with this situation.”
“I know. I just—”
“Of course Brennan’s upset,” Damian continued. “As who would not be? We’re all upset and we all share in his concern. However, I hope you realize we’re being as forbearing as possible.”
Julie sighed and nodded. “I know.”
“Bueno. Now, you need to take your young man away someplace, inmediatamente, and get him sorted out. Above all, he must be dissuaded from going to the police and divulging all he knows about us.”
“What? Brennan would never do that.”
“I hope not,” Damian replied, interrupting her once again. “But you should know he’s threatened to do just that. To tell the police everything he knows. To expose us all. And that is something we cannot afford to take lightly.”
