by M. J. Scott
“Your PA? Tate’s more than fifty years older than him. Stronger. He’d rip his head off.”
I shuddered. “Thanks for the mental image. But no, my security system is not just Jase.”
I’m not dumb. I deal with vamps and weres and I take precautions. I wear a cross. My accessories are all solid silver. I carry a big ass gun with silver bullets and I know how to hit what I aim it at. The vase of flowers on my desk is full of holy water. If any of my clients decide that I look tasty, then they’ll get a nasty surprise. They might still get me, but I make pretty sure I could hurt them in the process.
“This is not up for debate, Ashley.”
I pushed the file back across the desk, a little harder than strictly necessary. “Then I won’t take the job.”
His face twisted. “You always have to do things the hard way, don’t you?”
“You mean not the way you want me to? Yep. Sue me. It’s my life.”
“And you’d throw it away to spite me?” Dan snapped.
“Oh, get over yourself. I don’t run my life around you—” I broke off as he pulled another folder out of his drawer and tossed it in front of me. “What’s this?”
“I didn’t want to show you these.”
“Show me what?” I stared at the folder as if it were a box of tarantulas. It was white and the seal across it was black. The neat little label read ‘Tate, McCallister. SF10536.’ It gave me the willies.
“These are photos we found in one of Tate’s properties. We tracked it back to him about six years ago.”
Now I really didn’t want to see the contents. The house where a psychopathic vampire serial killer lived? There was nothing inside that I wanted to see. “What’s that got to do with me?”
“Just look.”
I opened the folder reluctantly. The first photo was of a fairly average looking house. Well, a fairly average looking mansion. High walls, trees, big iron gates. Pretty standard. I felt my nerves ease. Then I turned to the next photo and my heart almost leapt out of my chest.
It was a picture of me. Standing by my parents’ grave. For a moment I tasted bile but I fought it back.
I recognized the shot; it had run in all the big papers at the time. I hated it. Me in black, my face swollen from crying, watching them bury my life. I was sixteen in that photo. Sixteen going on three hundred. I’d never really felt young after Tate. The thought of Tate having that picture made me feel ill. But I wasn’t going to let Dan see that.
“So he likes to read the paper.”
“Keep going.”
I turned to the next photo. Me again. But this time not so young. College graduation. Years after the Caldwell massacre and Tate’s disappearance. I tasted bile again and dropped the photo as if it were red hot. “But these are—”
“Keep looking.” Dan’s tone didn’t invite argument.
Swallowing hard, I leafed through the photos. Me at school. Me at college. The final picture was of a room in Tate’s house. Pictures of me covered one whole wall, a sinister montage. Suddenly the room seemed awfully hot. I closed my eyes as everything started spinning, trying to breathe and not throw up.
“Ash?”
Dan was round the desk and by my side before I knew it.
“Shit, Ash. I didn’t mean to scare you that much.” He put a hand on my back. The warmth of his skin radiated through my suit. God. It was so tempting to lean into him. To let him chase the fear away. Except, when it came to Dan, the scariest thing was Dan himself. He was a werewolf. I couldn’t afford to forget that.
“Yes, you did,” I managed, forcing myself to shrug his hand off. The spinning started to slow down. It seemed that anger trumped panic, at least for the moment.
“Here, have some water.”
He closed my hand around something cool. I cracked one eye open and lifted the glass to my mouth. The act of swallowing made the spinning recede even further. “I’m okay.”
He didn’t touch me again but he didn’t move away. The tingle of his shifter energy flowed around me. “Take your time. If it makes you feel any better, he had walls with pictures of the families of all the Caldwell victims.”
No. No, that didn’t make me feel any better. All these years I told myself the Caldwell massacre was a random event. That Tate was a monster and that sometimes bad things just happen. The thought that there might be more to it than that – that the monster had a plan, a plan that might not yet be played out, sucked all the warmth from my body. I wrapped my arms around myself. “He has photos of my college graduation. That means he was still alive then. All the statements made about him say that he was believed dead?” All these years I’d told myself it was true. That Tate wasn’t out there somewhere. I’d had to believe it in order to survive.
“We hoped he was. And we’ve never found anything else since that house that indicates he’s still around.”
“Excuse me if I don’t find that comforting.” My voice shook a little. I clenched my teeth. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I wasn’t part of the Taskforce when they found these pictures. And by the time I joined, you’d made it quite clear that I wasn’t allowed to contact you.”
“You didn’t think I’d make an exception for this?” It wasn’t fair of me, I knew. He was right. I’d told him not to come near me.
“Honestly? No. Not when we had no idea where he might be or how long ago he’d abandoned that house,” he said, sounding defensive. “Besides which, we don’t release information that might jeopardize an ongoing investigation.”
"Even if it jeopardizes lives?”
“If I’d believed you were in danger, I would have done something,” Dan said. “But we had no evidence. None of this is my fault, Ash.”
“You know, you really need to work on your bedside manner,” I snapped. Being mad at him was the one thing I could control. I made myself open both eyes to glare at him.
He grinned. “I don’t get many complaints.”
“The world is full of stupid women.” I was determined not to be one of them.
The grin died. “I’m sorry for scaring you. But I didn’t want you going into this blind.”
“I appreciate that.” I didn’t really. I wanted to go back to my nice deluded safe place where the bad stuff was in the past, and hadn’t happened for a reason, and there was a chance the rest of my life might be normal. I liked it there. But instead I was in a government agency office, surrounded by the supernatural and my ex-lover. And the vampire who killed my family knew who I was. “Now you’ve told me. I’m still not going to be able to work here every day. So you’d better get your boys onto securing my office. Otherwise I can’t help you.” I didn’t want to help him as it was. I wanted to get on a plane and take up residence on an island somewhere with lots of sunshine and no facilities for vampires. Somewhere safe. But I couldn’t run. Not this time. Not if there was a chance I could help catch Tate.
Dan’s eyes were silver glass again. Angry. His eyes had always been beautiful but they were more than that since he’d changed. Shifting silver that revealed too much. Unless he did the stonewall cool thing like now. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. For now. I’ll get a team to your office and your house.”
“My house?”
“It’s the easiest place to get at you,” he said.
“You wish,” I said, but he was right. My house had alarms and good locks but it lacked the additional levels of security my office building offered. Until now I’d never felt vulnerable there. I don’t know why: Tate had taught me safety is an illusion. Now Dan was reminding me.
“Better safe than sorry.”
“You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” I said. “Was there anything else?”
He obviously figured he’d pushed things far enough. “No, that’s it.”
I stood, so did Dan. I stepped toward the door and Dan moved too. His office was very small. “Then I’ll be seeing you.”
“Yes.” He stroked a finger along my cheek
and I flinched away as warmth bloomed over my skin. “Yes. You will.”
There was nothing more to say. My head was pounding and so was my heart. Time for an exit. I turned on my heel and left. And tried to tell myself I only imagined the soft “I’m sorry, Ashley,” that followed me into the hall.
Chapter Three
I’d no sooner stepped through the FBI building’s glass doors into the warm damp city, when my cell phone rang. I fumbled in my purse for it. “Hello?”
“Ashley?”
The sound of traffic made it hard to hear. I stuck my fingers in my free ear and moved back toward the building. “Aunt Bug? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Who the hell else would I be?”
I grinned. Aunt Bug was exactly what I needed to improve my mood. “No one. But lots of people call me.”
“Do they have as much trouble getting hold of you as I do?”
Rolling my eyes, I tried to remember if I’d missed returning any calls from her. “When did you call?”
“I’m calling now. I was just making a point.”
My head started to hurt again. Aunt Bug is my favorite relative. Hell, she’s my only close relative and she’d jumped in feet first as surrogate parent after Tate but her conversational style, at times, drove me round the bend.
“Aunty”—she hated being called Aunty—“I’m kind of busy. Do you need something?”
“New client?”
“Kind of.” I wasn’t going to mention Daniel. Aunt Bug and I had never agreed on Daniel. At least, not once he’d changed.
“And how is Daniel?” she asked.
God. I should’ve known. Aunt Bug had some sort of sixth sense coupled with a grapevine that would’ve made J. Edgar Hoover proud. If she’d gone into law enforcement, they’d know exactly what had happened to Hoffa, who shot JFK and where the Lindbergh baby was buried. She generally knew what I was up to. Sometimes before I did. “It’s just a job.”
She snorted. “Sure, and I’m a ballerina.”
The thought of Aunt Bug—who looked good for a sixty eight year old but was built on lines that tended to tall and solid rather than dainty—in a tutu made me smile again. “I’m buying you pointe shoes as we speak. Did you call for something other than Daniel? Because there’s nothing to discuss on that topic.”
“I just wanted to see if we’re still on for dinner.”
“Of course. I’m looking forward to it.” Every couple of months, Aunt Bug came into town for the weekend. We went for dinner at a swanky restaurant and she drank more martinis than her doctor and maid would think sensible and stayed at her favorite hotel. It was always hilarious. And I’d been so busy lately that I hadn’t made it back to Caldwell since her last trip here.
“Good,” she said. “Then I’ll see you Saturday. And you can tell me all about Daniel then.” She hung up before I could say anything else leaving me glaring at nothing.
I must have looked really cranky because a woman walking past made a wide detour around me after we made eye contact.
Shoving the phone back in my purse, I wondered exactly what I’d done to deserve the day I was having. If I got lectured by Jase when I got back to the office then I’d be three for three. Of course, I’d rather be lectured by Jase than Aunt Bug. And that should tell you something about my aunt when she gets going.
I’d have to keep the martinis flowing on Saturday to avoid the sort of interrogation that would make a Green Beret spill their guts. Aunt Bug was a teacher before she’d retired. And she had that particular teacher skill of being able to convince you she knew all and make you feel guilty about it into the bargain. Being Bugged was never pleasant.
She was actually my great aunt. My Dad’s mother’s younger—much, much, younger as in late life surprise—sister. Gran had been the oldest. Aunt Bug was actually only seven years older than my Dad—or rather, than he would’ve been if he were still alive. Her real name was Matilda but her Dad had called her his little June Bug and the rest of the family had shortened it to Bug.
Only Reverend Flannery back in Caldwell ever called her Matilda. I always had to stop for a moment and work out who he was talking to when he did. Aunt Bug was a central fact of my life and a force of nature. And now she was going to be on my case about Daniel. If I wasn’t careful, she was likely to wangle the news about Tate out of me and then I’d never hear the end of it. For the first time ever it was tempting to cancel dinner.
Only, if I did that, she’d probably turn up on my front door step and demand to know what was going on.
Between avoiding Dan and not giving anything away to Bug, I was in for a real fun packed week.
I looked at my watch and decided I couldn’t face going straight back to work. Instead I did what any sensible girl would do after the day I’d had so far. I went shopping.
***
My shopping spree made me temporarily happy and I imagined the resulting bill would put a smile on the face of the good people at Visa as well. But it didn’t change the fact that I had to go back to work eventually and face Jase. At least I could do it wearing a totally awesome pair of new boots.
Despite the boots, I hadn’t spent as long melting my credit cards as I thought I would. It was hard not to examine the faces around me and wonder if any of them were there to watch me. Worrying about potential stalkers can throw even a dedicated shopper off her stride.
When the unease became definite prickles down my spine, I threw in the towel, loaded up on Godiva and headed back to work.
Jase took one look at my boots and the other bags weighing me down and wisely decided not to ask me about my experience with the Taskforce. Instead, he demanded a fashion parade. Did I mention Jase was gay? When he made me coffee to go with my candy and requested to see what I had bought, I knew he was trying to be particularly nice. Jase has good taste but he’s far more interested in male fashion than female.
His enthusiasm distracted me for a while but my buzz ended when I was packing the last pair of shoes back into their box and turned around to find a grim looking guy in a bland gray suit carrying a clipboard standing at the door of the office. He flashed a Taskforce badge then he and two other agents proceeded to subject the place to the sort of security inspection I would’ve expected if the President and her retinue were dropping by.
“What’s going on?” Jase asked as we watched the men put our office under the microscope, poking and prodding in all sorts of weird places and working IT geek voodoo on our computers. Jase hovered around them at first doing his grumpy vamp look but eventually he drifted back to me, parked his Hugo Boss-clad butt next to mine and glared from a distance.
“Let’s just say Special Agent Gibson and I have a difference in of opinion over the adequacy of our security. He’s checking us out.”
“I could bite him if you want me to,” Jase whispered, glancing in the direction of the security team.
I laughed, which eased the congealed knot of tension in my stomach. “Thanks. But Dan’s a werewolf. He’ll bite back.” Vampires can feed from weres but they can’t turn them. And a lone wolf against a lone vamp is a pretty even match most of the time. Depending on how strong the vamp is. Or the wolf.
As a result wolves and vamps generally have a kind of mutual respect, don’t-bite-me-and-I-won’t-bite-you thing going on.
“I still think you should turn this job down.” Jase picked up a stack of mail from his desk and started flicking through it, irritation clear in his jerky motions.
I put my hand on his arm. “Too late. But I’m considering raising my rates.” Not that any amount of money was going to be enough to make up for the fact Dan was back in my life. Or for the knowledge about Tate that was spinning around my head.
Jase looked a little mollified at the mention of more money. The security team finished with my computer and told me they’d be back the next day with some ‘additions’ and the Tate files. I shooed Jase back into the reception room and tried to settle down and do some work.
The f
ourth time I lost track of where I was in my spreadsheet I gave up. I leaned back in my chair, staring at nothing, trying unsuccessfully not to think of Dan or Tate.
How my life had gotten so complicated so quickly? Werewolf ex-lovers and vampires of the scary variety. I tried to avoid both. I live in the world. I accept that vampires and weres and possibly other things that go bump in the night are part of life but like I said, outside of business, I prefer, on the whole, to limit my interactions with them.
The only good thing about the day so far was that it was going to be over soon. And tomorrow was Friday.
Though on Saturday Aunt Bug was coming to town.
We’d go shopping, we’d do dinner and we’d probably argue about Daniel and whether Aunt Bug’s shots were up to date. Which are pretty much the two things we always argue about. Daniel because Aunt Bug doesn’t understand why I couldn’t still date him after he changed and the shots because she believes fate is fate and why shouldn’t she take her chances? She says the chances of something bad happening are higher from the vaccines than from a vamp or were attack. And she’s gotten even more stubborn since that bad batch of vamp vaccine hit New York last year.
Maybe she’s right but I can’t stand the thought of losing someone else to them so I nag her just like my Dad used to. I take the shots. With my clientele it would be silly not to. So far I’ve been lucky. And most of the bad reactions happen with the first set. The scientists don’t know why and neither do I. Like I said, my knowledge of science is more of the tequila and red wine are a lethal combination variety. I didn’t inherit my Dad’s love of all things scientific. But I’ve kind of studied the vaccines.
The lycanthropy one is fairly straightforward. No matter what the animal involved, the were thing is a virus—a highly contagious one. Lycanthropy is just the most common form so there are more werewolves than other types of shifters. The virus is passed on from parents to children—from mothers to children in the womb in ninety-nine percent of cases, so weres breed weres. If they bite you in wolf form, chances are you’re gonna be furry if you survive the attack and the first change. If the werewolf is in human form, it’s very rare for someone to catch the virus unless you get a lot of their blood or saliva in an open wound. The vaccine works most of the time though some people are turned by it and some vaccinated people still change after being bitten. That percentage gets lower each year as they improve the vaccine.
