Chloe wasn’t sure she heard correctly. Gavin wanted her to stay under the same roof with him? She glanced over, but his face was impassive. What an opportunity. Maybe if she could more time with him, she could get him interested in—and then her hopes were dashed by his next statement.
“Given the media frenzy out there, I think it might be wise if you contacted that Morgan woman and asked her to handle the PR like she did with Dr. Cameron,” he said.
Chloe nearly groaned aloud. Just great. Super-sultry sex-kitten would be slinking around too.
So not good.
Chapter Eight
Balor blew a smoke ring and sat back in his armchair while he studied his brother. Lucifer slouched lazily in a duplicate chair, one denim-clad leg hanging over the armrest and stared back.
“I thought I told you not to get directly involved,” Balor said.
Lucifer shrugged. “Things don’t seem to be moving quickly, do they? Neither Clark nor Caldwell has reported anything noteworthy. I thought I’d make a direct connection.”
“Caldwell said you nearly killed the female reporter.”
“I didn’t even come close to that. I just burrowed into her mind a little to see if she knew anything she wasn’t saying.”
“And?”
“She knows nothing about the platter other than it’s some relic that Smith wants for his collection.”
Balor blew a series of smoke rings and contemplated. “Any take on how or why she’s involved with this?”
“Nope.” Lucifer grinned. “She’s a hot piece of ass though. Would you like for me to find out?”
For an answer, Balor lifted his eye patch, sending a bolt of white-hot heat at his brother. Lucifer’s hand shot up, an invisible shield deflecting it while his eyes fired red.
Balor grunted as the return hit him.
“Is that a ‘no’ then?” Lucifer asked.
Balor glared at him with his good eye and settled the patch. “That’s a ‘no’. If you’re going around impersonating a police officer, the last thing we need is to have the PD on your tail for screwing around. It’s bad enough Sigurd is leaving a trail.”
“That might not be a bad thing,” Lucifer said and reached for the brandy decanter on the side table.
“Do you care to explain?”
“Tossing a few more bodies on Smith’s lawn will keep both the media and the cops clued to the spot and Smith will be spending his time and money to stay out of jail instead of playing treasure-hunter.”
“The man’s got lawyers for that. If I wanted him arrested, I could have drugs planted there.” Balor stubbed out his cigar in the Waterford dish he was using as an ashtray. “The bastard owns the original manuscript and the clues are linked to that. Better that I keep tabs on him through Caldwell. If Clark doesn’t totally screw up again, we can keep tabs on the media as well. Meanwhile, I need you to find that damn dragon.”
“Let Morgan lure him in. Sigurd seems to have an affinity with her.” Lucifer stood to leave. “Besides, you have something more serious to worry about.”
Balor paused with his hand halfway to the table to reach for another cigar. “And what might that be?”
“You remember the night after you convinced King Philippe to burn Jacques de Moley at the stake?”
“How could I forget? That damn Templar shape shifter killed two of my best minions that night in revenge. Why are you bringing up something that happened in the 14th century?” Balor straightened in his chair. “Has Ramsey been spotted?”
“Not that I know of. I was busy in England at the time trying to keep Edward II stirred up enough to fight The Bruce, but didn’t you say there was another Templar with Ramsey?”
“Yes. A newly-made vampire. Never could find out who his maker was. He disappeared shortly after that. Hell, maybe he’d seen the ‘light’.” Balor chuckled at his pun. “Too bad the Templars weren’t all vamps. It would have saved me a great deal of time convincing Pope Clement to kill them. I could have just put them out in the sun.” He looked at Lucifer again and narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
Lucifer walked to the door and turned around. “The vampire is alive and well. I saw him at Smith’s mansion.” He opened the door, stepped out, and then stopped. “Just thought you might want to know.”
* * * *
Morgan looked around the library that she had been ushered into. Black walnut bookcases lined all four walls, save for the huge marble hearth in the center of one and French doors along another that opened onto a private patio with a huge fountain. Buttery-soft leather chairs graced both the fireplace and the front of the massive desk where Mr. Smith sat. She let her hand slide seductively along the smooth surface of the arm rest.
Mr. Smith fiddled with her resume while Gavin watched her from where he stood near the unlit hearth. Morgan felt his intense gaze and she inhaled, drawing her shoulders back slightly, enhancing the fullness of her breasts, and showing off her cleavage. The man exuded raw, animal magnetism. She sensed strong magical power in his aura, but it was not the type that Michael had. Interesting. As soon as she could reasonably do so, she would lure him to bed. Male power always leaked with orgasm and she had learned to absorb it.
“Your resume is impressive,” Mr. Smith said as he laid it down, “but then Sophie already told me you had experience in public relations and, of course, you were dear Sara’s friend. Can you start immediately?”
Chloe leaned forward from the other chair in front of the desk. “Mr. Smith, perhaps you should check with Captain Johnson before hiring someone to handle the media. The fewer statements that are released, the better change the police will have to catch the killer.”
He frowned. “I do not like the circus that is taking place in front of my home, but perhaps you are right—”
“Miss Whitney means well, but she is misguided in her thinking,” Gavin said and moved toward them. “The media are sharks that have tasted blood. Give them something to chew on and the frenzy will die down.” He smiled at Morgan. “I am sure you can handle that without compromising the investigation.”
“Of course,” she said and drew back several stands of her long hair, letting her fingers trail slowly along her shoulder. “I handled that quite well at the clinic.”
Chloe opened her mouth to protest and then snapped it closed, glaring at Gavin. Morgan almost smiled. Clearly, the woman was besotted with Gavin—not that
Morgan could blame her for that—he was all dark and intensely brooding with those angular cheekbones—but Miss Whitney was hardly the type to interest someone like him. The short, orange, spiked hair and neon-pink nails were bad enough, but the woman was opinionated and obviously saw no reason to keep from freely dispensing with advice. Nor was she particularly graceful. Apart from the sprawling fiasco at the clinic, she’d also managed to stub both a toe and nearly knock down a vase in the library when she’d entered. Morgan glanced sideways at Gavin through her lashes—he was all elegance and sophistication. Hmmm. It had been a long time since she’d taken a gentleman to bed. She wondered how long it would take her to make him lose that proper British behavior. Three minutes maybe?
“I’ll have to go to my apartment and get a few things,” she said. “I can return within the hour and feed that crowd outside.”
“Excellent!” Mr. Smith beamed. “Benton can show you out.”
As she neared the foyer, Alan Caldwell stopped her. “May I walk you to your car?”
“Of course.” She turned to Benton. “I shall be returning shortly.”
“Very well, Miss Fontaine.”
Caldwell was quiet as they walked down the drive. He opened the door for her to slide in and then leaned down. “We’ve been working together for awhile and I know that Adam Baylor has made you do some things maybe you’d rather not, but—”
“Is this about the other night when I went down on you?” Morgan asked and was surprised that Alan actually blushed. “Don’t worry about it.”
He shook his head. “I don’t th
ink women should be forced to do things they don’t want to do.”
She studied him. “I didn’t mind. Really.”
He glanced away and then back to her. “I just wanted to tell you thanks. I enjoyed it more than you can imagine.” With that, he turned and walked quickly up the drive, leaving her to stare after him in amazement.
What she didn’t see was the shadow that moved away from the window.
* * * *
Gavin sighed, unable to concentrate on the notes he’d taken regarding the earlier Pendragon’s sightings and the more recent episodes. He was sure Sigurd had dumped the bodies, probably as a warning to Chloe since she had the dragon tattoo, but where was Pendragon? Not that the world needed two dragons roaming about, but Gavin found it hard to believe Pendragon would let his old nemesis go.
But perhaps that was the least of his worries. He had wanted Morgan where he could keep an eye on her, but having her and Chloe under the same roof for almost a week wasn’t turning out quite as he expected. Although they acted pleasantly enough, the air fairly crackled with frenetic sparks whenever they were in the same room.
Morgan’s aura was a series of dark swirls accented by wild flashes of scarlet whenever she came close to Gavin. He didn’t need the ability to sense auras to know that was sexual. He could smell it. He knew at some point he would have to taste Morgan to find the source of her darkness. The easiest way to that was in the throes of passion, yet some innate instinct warned him that such a coupling—if only brief—would be dangerous. Gavin had learned to trust his instinct hundreds of years ago.
Chloe was another matter. Much to his frustration, he could not read her aura any
more than he could successfully mesmerize her. He would find her watching him at odd moments. Unlike Morgan’s boldly seductive look, Chloe’s clear, aquamarine gaze was sharply analyzing, as if she were scrutinizing him. Did she suspect he was not human?
Gavin had thought it a godsend when Captain Johnson had been transferred to the night shift and he could use that as an excuse to be gone each night, but Chloe would hound him incessantly as soon as he returned. What she was doing up at dawn he didn’t know, but she always smelled freshly-showered, her blood pumping richly and warmly just below the surface of her soft, silky skin. Vampires were at their most vulnerable in pre-dawn and also the most hungry if they hadn’t fed. He’d had to call on his Templar disciplinary training more than once and he wondered how in hell he was going to spend time traveling with her once Nimue decided to stop dawdling and actually make an appearance with hopefully a clue where to search for the platter. He couldn’t leave Chloe here with Sigurd loose and he wasn’t sure another world war wouldn’t erupt if she and Morgan were left to their own devices.
Gavin sighed again. Folding his notes, he put them into the small safe behind a wall picture and proceeded to the door. It was time for tea, which Mr. Smith insisted be served promptly at 4:00 pm each afternoon. Gavin could hardly refuse to attend since Mr. Smith was sure all Englishmen loved tea. Little did the man know tea was not what he cared for in his cup.
* * * *
Chloe tried to ignore the way Morgan managed to brush Gavin’s arm when she handed him his tea. How in the hell did someone manage to do that without spilling the damn stuff anyway? Morgan had the slinky litheness of a cat which was probably why she was serving. Chloe attempted it the first day Mr. Smith decided on implementing tea-time and she’d nearly broken the handle off one of his expensive china cups by setting the heavy silver teapot down too close to it.
“You don’t care for tea, Miss Whitney?” Gavin asked as Morgan settled herself gracefully beside him on the sofa.
“Not today.”
Morgan smiled brightly at her. “Would you like me to pour for you?”
Chloe smiled back, hoping that it didn’t look as though she were barring her teeth. The men probably didn’t catch the innuendo that she was clumsy, but she did, although she wouldn’t give Morgan the satisfaction of letting her know. “No, thank you.”
“At least have a crumpet,” Mr. Smith said as he passed the silver plate to her. “Oh, I do love having this little ritual, don’t you? It is rather cozy. I’m just sorry that Alan was called away unexpectedly.”
“Did he say why?” Gavin asked.
“Just something about his publisher wanting some information.”
Morgan’s cup rattled as she put it down suddenly and Chloe eyed her sharply. Did she look a bit pale? What was the big deal with his publisher calling? Her boss did it all the time and at odd hours.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
Morgan looked at her and for a second Chloe thought she saw actual concern in eyes and then it was gone. “No, of course not. The tea is a bit hot, that’s all.”
From the way Gavin arched a questioning brow, Chloe figured the tea was tepid at best. So what was Morgan covering up? Alan had told Chloe they were acquaintances, but what would that have to do with a publisher?
“Oh, dear. I hope you didn’t burn your mouth,” Mr. Smith said.
“I…I am fine.” Morgan raised the cup to take another sip.
“Ah, good!” Mr. Smith helped himself to a dainty cucumber sandwich. “Afternoon tea is just so civilized, unlike those horrible episodes that have taken place.”
“Speaking of that—hasn’t Captain Johnson come up with anything?” Chloe asked Gavin.
“I have not spoken with him since you asked that question this morning, Miss Whitney.”
Morgan looked quickly from one of them to the other. “This morning?”
Chloe bit back a smile. Did Morgan maybe think Gavin had spent the night in her bed? She wished. Her fantasies of Gavin—gloriously naked beside her, sucking her nipples, probing the swollen wetness between her thighs, then filling her completely—had become startling real. She became aware that Gavin was watching her intensely and felt herself blush. She hoped her desire wasn’t written all over her face.
“Miss Whitney happened to meet me when I arrived back this morning,” he said as he continued to stare at her.
Chloe’s face heated more. Did he suspect that she set her alarm just so she could be at the door when he got back? Crawling out of bed at five o’clock in the morning was the pits. She would much rather roll over, snuggle into him and then slowly wake up to sensual sex. But there was the little matter of getting him into her bed in the first place. At least it was a small comfort to know he had not gone to Morgan’s either. As shameful as it was to admit, it was another reason she was up early—to see him returning from PD and not Morgan’s bedroom. How pathetic was that?
Morgan slanted her cat-like green eyes at Gavin. “Why do you work at night?” Her voice turned silky. “I would think you could come up with better things to do.”
“I can answer that,” Chloe said in an attempt to ignore the blatant invitation Morgan had just issued. “He’s a vampire.”
“Of course he is,” Morgan said without looking at her.
At least,” Chloe added as Gavin arched an eyebrow at her and his eyes began to smolder, “he said he was. Didn’t you?” she finished lamely, wishing for once her brain would stay ahead of her mouth. How much more stupid could she sound?
Mr. Smith chortled breaking the awkward silence. “That is precious. I just love having a fanciful young lady staying with us!”
“I believe I said my eyes were sensitive to light,” Gavin finally answered, “but Miss Whitney does seem to have a very unique and vivid imagination.”
Chloe managed a smile. If only he knew.
* * * *
Morgan parked in front of the boarded up warehouse in one of south Dallas’ seedier neighborhoods. She’d already stopped at Adam’s posh hotel, but he wasn’t there. Not that she’d expected him to be. ‘Publisher’ was the cover he used with Alan. The warehouse served as his torture chamber. Its thick, brick walls held in sound and even if some person happened by, no one in this crime-ridden neighborhood would be stupid enough to rush in to aid
a victim.
She let herself in with the key Adam had given her. Inside it was eerily silent, but she was sure Alan was there. Taking a deep breath, she steadied her nerves and rounded a wall of stacked, empty oil drums.
Caldwell was naked, a spiked collar around his neck attached to a leather strap slung over a high girder that had him stretched so that he was barely standing on his toes. Two of Baylor’s bodyguards—she thought they were Simon and John—were getting ready to inflict some real pain. Alan’s jaw was clenched, but he made no sound as one of them brought the cat-o’nine-tails down across his back. His eyes met hers for a single second and then he looked staunchly ahead.
Baylor turned his head as she approached. “What a pleasant surprise, my pet. You’re just in time to enjoy a little scenario.”
Morgan smiled at Baylor and sauntered past Alan as if he were not there. “I was going to surprise you with some news—but what is this about?”
“Just a little discipline. Alan forgot to give me some needed information about the inspector residing at Smith’s.” He nodded toward the other guard. “Proceed.”
The man raised the small whip to strike against Alan’s penis. He paled, but remained still.
“Wait!” Morgan said.
Baylor looked at her with narrowed eyes. “Wait?”
She forced herself to give him a sultry look and swung her hips as she walked toward the trunk filled with various sex toys. Removing a phallic ring, she moved toward Alan and expertly fitted it over him, tightening it to the point where he would be numb shortly and not feel much pain. Then she took the small crop from the guard. “I know how to do this,” she said.
Alan finally turned to look directly at her, a trusting look in his eyes. For a moment, she almost fumbled, but Baylor was watching. Deftly she flicked the tip of it across his now-engorged erection. And then again and a third time. She was careful to make it look like she was striking a lot harder than she was.
“You’re not hurting him, my pet,” Baylor said.
The Immortals III: Gavin Page 7
