Blood Stone

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  She let out a breath she wasn’t aware she had been holding. “It’s hard to imagine anyone daring to try it. Harder still, you letting them getting away with it,” she tossed back at him as lightly as she could.

  “Then you’ve read that much of me right.” Adrian hadn’t moved from that perfectly still position. It occurred to Kate that he was perhaps full of tension that he was not letting her see.

  “The little bit you’ve shown, yeah,” she agreed carefully, trying to make it sound light, and absolutely free of any resentment, because there really wasn’t any. They’d both mutually chosen this hands-off, distant circling of each other. They both understood the industry and the games people played because of it, and this wary, slow approach had been just fine.

  Had been?

  Kate hastily pushed the little voice aside for later consideration.

  Adrian drew in a breath. Let it out. Then he lifted his chin to draw her attention to their waiter, hurrying toward them with her salad.

  “Lunch,” he announced. “Great.” He sounded relieved.

  Kate wanted to shove the door back open on the subject he was clearly trying to shut down, but instinct told her to hold back on the need to dig deeper.

  Kate knew Adrian was bad news. She could tell from his appearance. More, she could tell from her response to him. She knew too little about him, and no one she knew seemed to know anything about him, either. Everyone knew someone who knew him, but no one knew him directly. He was a cypher. He hugged the dark in a land where everyone wanted the spotlight. It wasn’t natural.

  It made him irresistible to her. Adrian Xerus lay in her future. How badly was he going to screw up her life? How strong a damage shield could she maintain?

  Physically, probably none. His voice, his eyes, his big hands and strong arms, those thickly muscled shoulders — the combination preyed upon her weaknesses in the most devastatingly effective way.

  Mentally, well, she had been playing power games with the big boys for nearly a decade now. Longer, actually.

  Adrian would have to be really good to get around her mentally, so if he had an agenda, she knew she could spot it and neutralize it before he got to play it on her.

  So Kate let the thrill of pleasurable anticipation fizz through her body, and picked up her fork. “Okay, lunch,” she agreed. “Chit chat and gossip. I’ll tell you about the SAG gala and which actress got the most drunk, and you can tell me about the silliest hat you saw on Fifth Avenue. Do you need a ride somewhere after?”

  “Hollywood Markets, if you’re going that way. My fridge is empty,” Adrian replied.

  She considered her next appointment, in Van Iuys. “Works for me,” she lied, and took her first bite, her hunger now a ravening.

  * * * * *

  Adrian returned to his distant, charming and undemanding self for the rest of the meal, letting Kate relax and enjoy his company, and her body to tingle and zap as she entertained the future possibilities between them.

  Their eyes would meet and Kate would see the knowledge in his, too, and that further spiced the lunch date.

  By the time she slid from the buffet and fished her car keys from her satchel, as Adrian strode ahead to pay the bill, Kate felt almost drunk with a subterranean arousal more potent than anything sweet Greg Evershot had managed last night. Kate stared at Adrian’s powerful denim-clad thighs as he stood at the maître’d’s counter signing the chit, and the flex of his thick bicep as he wrote, and could so easily imagine him naked.

  She could feel her cheeks heating as she moved toward the counter. Adrian turned and dropped his coat over his forearm and dug heavy sunglasses out of the pocket, watching her approach with a small smile tugging the corner of his mouth.

  “You’re a stunning lady,” he said, when she reached him.

  Her cheeks bloomed even harder. “Thank you.” She barely managed to say it without tripping over the two little words.

  “You’re a better director, though,” he added.

  This time her smile was not forced at all. “You just made my day,” she said truthfully. “This way, I parked in the underground garage here.”

  They used the escalator in the lobby to slide down into the cool, dim and echoing roots of the building.

  “Main level?” Adrian asked.

  “One more down,” Kate said. “Stairs are over there.” She pointed to the concrete stair block across from the elevators. They waited for a black Mercedes to pass, then crossed over and climbed down to the next level. She looked for her Audi, and spotted it as another car started to rumble its way up from the next lower level.

  “That one,” she said, tripping the lock so the lights would flash for Adrian’s benefit.

  He nodded and headed toward the car, with Kate about two paces behind him. The car moving up from the next lower level turned the big U-bend then, and its day time running lights caught them in the middle of the traffic lane. It came to a sudden halt, and the back door opened.

  “Kate!”

  She whirled, throwing up her hand against the lights, and pushing her satchel behind her back with her right hand. She walked a few more paces to the right to clear the lights, which put her right next to Adrian.

  “It’s Calum Garrett,” the voice said.

  “Goddam it,” Kate breathed softly. She felt, rather than saw, Adrian’s glance down at her.

  The back door of the luxury limo closed and Garrett came forward. “It can’t be a coincidence running into you again like this.”

  “Run into, or run over?” Adrian asked.

  Garrett looked at him. “I was talking to Kate.”

  “And she clearly doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  The other door of the limo opened, and a seven foot, very thin man in his fifties with blond hair got out, carrying a briefcase. He seemed to be all arms and legs, the pinstripe suit merely exaggerating the length of everything.

  “Your enforcer?” Adrian asked, with a grin.

  “My lawyer,” Garrett replied. He looked at Kate. “Is there any way—”

  “No,” she said flatly.

  Garrett glanced at Adrian, then studied her for a moment longer. “I see,” he said at last. “Well, I had to try.”

  He turned and walked back to his limo, and both he and his lawyer climbed back in. The limo took off with a smooth purr, and passed Kate and Adrian, all black enamel and smoked glass. Kate didn’t know if Garrett would be watching her, but she bet he was.

  She shuddered. “Creep. He didn’t even say good-bye.”

  “His sort doesn’t because they figure they’ll be back,” Adrian said. “What did he want, anyway?”

  Kate starting heading toward her Audi again as she told him quickly about her run in with Garrett, skipping to the distasteful highlights. Adrian listened without interruption – he was good at that – but she got the impression his mind was half-occupied with something else.

  As she settled herself behind the wheel, he ducked down to look at her, with one hand on the roof of the car, the other on the door. “I’m going to pass up the privilege of being driven anywhere by you, Kate.” His voice was low, and the double meaning of his statement sent a little shiver down her back. His eyes and his attention were fully on her. “I’m sorry, but I forgot about something I have to take care of downtown.”

  She hid her disappointment, and made herself nod. “No problems.” She made herself not ask the next question.

  But Adrian answered it anyway. “I’ll call.” He went to close the door, hesitated, and dipped his head down to look at her once more. “Maybe you should stock up on hundred dollar bills, Kate. Just for fun.”

  He shut the door softly and was gone, all while Kate fought to draw in her breath fully, and get over the huge lump of excitement and pure erotic pleasure that blocked all her vitals for twenty precious seconds.

  When she finally turned the key, her hand shook.

  Oh, Adrian Xerus was so going to impact on her life!

  * * * * *


  Gaining entry to the roof of The Standard wasn’t that difficult, despite the security they had in place. Garrett stripped off his jacket and loosened his tie while he searched out the coolest and shadiest corner, and settled in to wait.

  He dug out the sunglasses everyone had warned him to bring to L.A., glad now he’d taken the effort. The sun truly was a killer, here. He hadn’t for a moment thought he’d spend much time outside in L.A., because he’d had wall-to-wall meetings booked.

  He didn’t have to wait long. Barely ten minutes after he’d hunkered down in the shade cast by the water tower of an air conditioner, the roof access door creaked open, then thumped almost closed, up against the length of two-by-four he’d used to prop it open.

  “Over here,” Garrett called.

  “I can smell you,” Roman agreed. He rounded the tower, his leather jacket held over his back with one crooked finger, the wrap-around sunglasses nicely anonymous, like the endless limousines here. He stood over Garrett. “Jesus, Calum,” he swore and shoved his hand into his pocket. It made his biceps ripple, and his shoulder with the tattoos flex. Just the sight of the tattoos on his shoulders, so familiar to him, bought an odd ache to Garrett’s chest.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Roman demanded.

  Garrett got to his feet. “And it’s nice to see you, too, Roman. What are you passing as at the moment, anyway?”

  Roman dropped his coat and tore his glasses off, but the effect was lost when, despite the shade, he had to wince and wait for his eyes to adjust. He glared at Garrett, his hand clenched around the glasses. “What the fuck do you care?” he said, his voice low. “And besides, doctrine says if you haven’t been introduced to me by humans, I don’t get to tell you. Find out the hard way. I’m not a fucking famous financial jerk this century.”

  Garrett took off his own glasses and everything righted itself. Colours and vision properly enhanced. He hated sunglasses, but sometimes they were a necessary evil. He pulled his tie off. Outside, without air-conditioning, it was an unnecessary layer, even though neither of them was particularly bothered by the heat.

  “Why all the anger?” he asked softly. “I did what we agreed. I stayed away. You’re as big a surprise to me as I am to you, today.”

  Roman’s eyes narrowed. Thoughtful, or suspicious. Garrett knew that look of old, and it gave him another strange little jerk, low down in his abdomen.

  “I’m not here for you,” Garrett stressed.

  Roman’s jaw rippled. “Then what the fuck are you doing with Kate? You’re jerking her around.”

  Garrett sighed. “I can’t say.”

  Roman half laughed, half snorted in disbelief. “Since when could you not tell me anything?

  Garrett grimaced. “I can’t tell you this.”

  The humour in Roman’s eyes faded. “What are you into?” he breathed.

  Anger touched him. Garrett clenched his jaw. “You know, you can’t just rock back into town after a hundred and seventy-nine years and expect to pick up where you left off. Things change, Roman. Times change.”

  “You haven’t,” Roman said flatly. “You might be wearing Armani, but you’re still fiery Calum Micheil Garrett of the mighty Bruce clan, and even now your hand is resting next to the hilt of your broadsword, because you’re on the defensive.”

  Garrett dropped his right hand down so it was hanging fully extended, annoyed that Roman had noticed the old instinct. Of course Roman would. He’d lived through those times, too.

  Roman gave a small, almost silent laugh in reaction.

  “I don’t suppose ye’re about to tell me why you’re hanging about the lovely Ms. Lindenstream, then?” Garrett challenged Roman. He winced. His brogue had emerged thicker than he normally allowed. Roman was pushing his buttons, unravelling his discipline.

  Roman’s eyes narrowed. “Hey, I didn’t just rock up here at all. I was already here. This is my town, Calum. You’re the invader.”

  “I take that as a ‘no,’ then.”

  “I’d do that,” Roman replied evenly. He put the heavy sunglasses back on and picked up his jacket. “You’re not going to back away from Kate, are you?” His tone made it not a question.

  “I can’t,” Garrett replied truthfully.

  “I can’t give you free rein. It wouldn’t look right, even if I wanted to.”

  Garrett sighed, as potential meanings and implications occurred to him. “Is she...important to you, Roman?”

  The protective sunglasses were hiding Roman’s eyes from Garrett, and his eyes were one way Garrett most often could spot the real truth behind Roman’s layers of protective shielding. So Garrett knew he was about to be handed either a flat-out lie or a prevarication.

  Roman glanced away, toward the roof access door.

  Escape, Garrett realized.

  “I guess you’ll just have to figure that out along with my name for this century,” Roman said, hoisting the jacket over his forearm. He turned to go, his whole body tight with the need to move. Garrett could see the tension in the ripple of tendons and muscles in his arms, the tight turn of his hips.

  “I’ll protect her,” Garrett said. “She won’t be harmed.”

  Roman swivelled slowly back to face Garrett again. He took off the glasses once more. “Those sorts of games?” he asked quietly. He stepped closer. “Jesus Christ and all his saints preserve us, what have you embroiled her in, Mikey lad?”

  It took Garrett a moment to understand Roman’s second question, because his voice had grown hoarse and guttural. Then Garrett realized: Roman had switched to Medieval Greek, the Greek of his childhood.

  He’d let down his guard for one shocked moment.

  “English, Roman,” Garrett murmured.

  Roman drew in a sharp, surprised breath and pushed the sunglasses back on in a defensive, recovering gesture. He tilted his head in enquiry at Garrett.

  “There are forces in play you don’t know about,” Garrett told him. “That’s as much as I can say.”

  “Forces,” Roman said flatly. He considered Garrett a moment longer. Then he smiled. “Well, those forces haven’t met me, yet. And you just made sure I’m never leaving Kate’s side.”

  “I said she would be safe. I meant it. Have I ever lied to you?”

  “Before today?” Roman shot back.

  Garrett bent to pick up his own jacket and tie, to hide the petty hurt he knew would show in his eyes.

  “Besides,” Roman added. “There’s more to Kate than meets the eye. Don’t underestimate her.”

  Garrett straightened up.

  Roman had gone.

  Garrett headed for the roof access door himself, not trying to catch up with Roman. The meeting was over and to be seen together in public would be dangerous. They had to return to their allotted roles now.

  And Garrett had to report in to Nathanial. This was a turn of events that would create some ripples of concern.

  As he walked down the echoing iron stairs, Garrett heard a whispering echo of his mother’s voice. It was a memory from when he was a child, and because it was a human memory, it was faded and fragmented. But he caught the sense-impression of a cottage, bright with summer light and the smell of bread baking. His mother stitching one of his shirts as he sat impatiently waiting for it so he could go out and play with friends who were outside, rolling in the grass. “Be slow choosing a friend, Calum Micheil,” she had intoned in her thick burr, “but slower in changing him.”

  It had been nearly four hundred years since Roman had become a friend.

  Was it time to rid himself of a bad habit once and for all?

  Chapter Three

  “Surely, it cannot be...Morana? Little Morana Knezevic. It cannot be!”

  Winter forced herself to keep walking, even though the woman’s voice just to her right and the words in clear Serbian were damning enough. She had been recognized.

  “Morana!” the woman called again.

  Winter quickened her pace, keeping her ga
ze straight ahead as she headed east along Hollywood Boulevard. She could still bluff this out.

  “Morana, wait!” English, this time.

  Then a hand gripped her arm just above the elbow and yanked.

  Winter made herself react like an innocent stranger. “What the hell!” she exploded, pulling her arm out of the woman’s grip. People were stepping around them, making annoyed sounds.

  The woman was in her fifties, with dark eyes and dark marks beneath them — from long term tiredness, perhaps. She wore a Muslim head cloth, but pushed back on her head so that her hair showed beneath. The hair was shot with grey. And she wore light trousers and a simple short-sleeved shirt. It was nearly ninety-five degrees and not quite noon...the shirt was a compromise. She also wore flat sandals.

  She nodded. “You’re Morana,” she said in Serbian.

  “Excuse me?” Winter replied.

  “You’ve forgotten your own language?” the woman asked in English. “It cannot have been that long. Come, Morana, you may not remember me, but the speech of your birth?” She shook her head. “I used to bounce you on my knees when you had the colic,” she said in Serbian. “It made you stop crying, when nothing your mother could do would work. I used to babysit you and your brothers, Boro and Dejan. I lived next door to you, Morana. I would know your face anywhere. You have forgotten me? Finka?”

  Winter stepped back a pace. “I think you’ve got me mixed up with someone else, lady,” she said as coolly as she could. Her heart was thundering, making her feel sick with tension. She reached inside herself to flood her body with calming endorphins to counteract the shock. She drew in a steadying breath, using the oxygen it gave her to help restore calm.

  Finka blinked. “Morana!” she protested.

  “I am not Morana,” Winter said levelly. She turned and walked away as swiftly as she could, and as soon as a she spotted a place to duck out of sight, she did.

  She pushed open the door and found herself facing a reception podium and a hostess. She looked around, taking off her sunglasses. Chilled air wafted over her, a reminder of how warm it was on the street. A dim interior, lots of small tables and a buffet to one side. Only three of the tables had diners. It was an up-market lunch bar.