He lived in an old Tudor outside of London. Close enough to get into the city, but enough of a distance to have more privacy. The Tudor stood formidably against the night sky. I always thought it held a majestic, Gothic appeal, but now it only appeared dangerous and foreboding. Shivers quaked up my spine. I forced the terror away, putting on a brave face. If I was to meet my eternal end tonight, I’d do so with dignity.
Neither Stefano nor Devon would have the satisfaction of seeing me beg.
“Ready, sweetheart?” Devon asked.
I answered his question with a glare.
“I’ll take that as an ‘I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, Devon!’” he added in a high voice.
“What you’re doing is horrible enough. You don’t have to be an asshole about it.”
“You’re right,” he said, and he sounded truthful. “But at least I got you to talk to me. It’s been quite the long drive with your hateful gaze boring into the back of my skull.”
“And how would you know that with your eyes faced front?”
“I’ve had to keep an eye on you the whole time, my feisty little minx. The rearview mirror isn’t enough. I have a camera on you that I can watch up here.”
I looked over the front of the seat, but couldn’t climb high enough to see his device. “Wouldn’t you make a splendid James Bond?” I added with contempt.
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind the next time they’re casting for a new one.” He looked into the rearview mirror as if sizing up his appearance. “You’re right. I would be perfect for the role.”
“I never thought I’d say this,” I said. “But I’m looking forward to going to Stefano. Because that means I no longer have to spend any time with you.”
“Aww, sunshine. Why do you say such cutting words? That’s okay, your body spoke volumes earlier as to how you truly felt.”
Scowling, I said, “Let’s get on with this.”
Devon
We met Stefano’s bodyguards, Lee and Garrett, at the front entrance. They sized me up when I walked into the foyer, an opulent entrance area filled with dark furnishings. Old money. No, vampire money. I returned the stare, assessing them. I was larger than they were, but there were two of them.
Garrett nodded at me and then said, “Layla. Is that you? I almost didn’t recognize you with the new hair.”
“It’s me, Garrett.”
“Good to see you. Although I wish it was under better circumstances.”
“Thanks,” Layla said. “Me, too.”
“I hope it goes well for you,” Lee said.
“Any clue as to what he’s going to do with me?”
Lee shook his head. “He only mentioned that the bounty hunter had found you and that he’d be returning you tonight.”
“Good luck, Layla,” Garrett said.
“Thanks.”
Lee picked up his phone and called Stefano. “They’re here.” A few seconds later, he hung up the phone and said, “Go on in. He’s expecting you.”
“I bet he is,” Layla muttered under her breath.
“Straight down the hall. Second room on the right.”
We walked down the dark hallway, filled with old landscape paintings and dusty antiques. She held her chin up as if she was steeling herself for what lay ahead. I took a few quick steps to catch up with her. Despite the tough front, the worry on her face was clear. Seeing how small she looked in this Tudor, how vulnerable she appeared no matter what her strength, jolted me with guilt for bringing her here.
I knocked on the heavy oak door.
“Enter,” Stefano said.
Did he have to sound like a vampire from a different time? Couldn’t he just say come in?
“I’ve got her,” I said, pulling her into the room.
Lee and Garrett exchanged bitter looks.
“Layla,” Stefano said when we entered. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I looked around, surveying the room. What the heck was it? A great room? A sitting room? Certainly not one you’d find in either my London flat or my country home. There was no furniture, nowhere to sit. It had a tapestry on one wall, old weapons displayed on another, and sculptures and other pieces of art on the rest. Whatever you’d call a nonfunctional room like this, it reeked of ostentatious money.
Stefano appeared as unappealing as always to me with his pale face, cold eyes and pointy nose. His scent was as pungent as ever, what I thought all vampires smelled like—the dead. His taste in clothing was peculiar. He favored English tweed, which I thought far too subdued for a vampire I believed to be hundreds of years old.
The tension was thick enough to have a physical presence.
“What the hell did you do to your hair?” he asked.
It sounded like a parent speaking to a child.
“Stefano,” Layla began. “I know you think I did something to betray you, but I didn’t. I never would. Why would I do that to you when you’ve been so good to me?”
I stayed out of it and tried to remain objective as I watched their interaction.
“That’s what made it cut so deep. I took you in, cared for you, and treated you like family.” Stefano covered his un-beating heart. “And how do you thank me? You stole something valuable from me.”
“Stefano, listen to me, please,” she pleaded. “I didn’t steal anything. I would never do that—especially since I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
“Money can make villains out of us all. Especially those who don’t have it.”
My eyes followed from one to the other. Both appeared to believe what they were saying. Layla pleading her innocence; Stefano believing her guilty. Both his pain and his thirst for vengeance smoldered under the veil of his thinly controlled emotions.
“How can I prove it to you that it wasn’t me?”
“You can’t.” Stefano let out a curt laugh. “Your actions spoke for you. The painting disappeared and so did you. All you can do at this point is give back my painting and hope I take it into consideration when contemplating a suitable punishment.”
“Stefano, I will do all I can to help you get it back, but I didn’t take it,” Layla said. “I had to run.” When Stefano snorted, she added, “I heard you suspected me. I tried calling to explain to you, but your rage was palpable over the phone. You wouldn’t listen to my explanation. You swore you’d kill me for betraying you. I had no other option than to run.”
“Oh, Layla, your mistrust in me is unwarranted. Since when have I ever shown anything toward you but fatherly affection?” Stefano motioned with his hand.
If Layla’s description of the phone conversation was accurate, that might have been one moment. I, however, kept my opinion to myself.
“I don’t know why you’re so sure it was me. Someone is obviously trying to set me up.”
“I expected you’d say that. Pass the blame onto someone else.” He waved his hand. “Go ahead. You have two minutes to give me your defense.”
I’d seen conversations like this play out in a similar fashion more times than I could count. Usually, I tried to get my payment and get out of there before it happened, but in most cases, reunion emotions were high. And the blame game had to be played out before I exited a slightly richer man.
“I heard you’d thought I’d stolen something from you, although I wasn’t even sure what it was until I called you.”
“Who told you this? No, never mind. It’s probably a lie to begin with.”
“Stefano, no,” she pleaded. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
It was difficult for me to remain impassive. She looked so hurt and vulnerable, not at all like the feisty vampire I had seen. Hell, I’d experienced the fury—and the passion—in her delicate limbs myself. It took all my willpower not to go over to her, pull her into my arms, and tell her it was going to be all right.
Because it wasn’t going to be. I’d made sure of that. I swallowed an uncomfortable lump.
“Why did you do it?” Stefano continued. “The money was
so important to you?” He motioned around the room. “Living in my house wasn’t enough?”
She sighed and glanced at the tile floor. “I didn’t, Stefano. I swear on it.”
“Would you swear on your own grave?”
Glancing into his eyes, she swore, “I would.”
“Ha! That’s nothing but an empty expression coming from a vampire. How many of us have graves? And if we do, they’re empty. Or not our bodies.”
“Then I swear on whatever you want me to swear on! It was somebody else.”
“And who do you think it might be?”
I watched Stefano for a change in his reaction. Was he about to listen to her? Would he even entertain the notion that it could be someone else? Or was he humoring her since he’d already condemned her in his mind?
“I don’t want to throw out accusations, but it could be anyone.”
“Go on.” He held his hand out as if encouraging her to spill her line of thought. “Like who?”
She tapped her chin. “Any of us who live here could have done it. Or it could have been an outside job.”
“All the evidence points to you, my dear.”
“Why? I don’t get it. It could be anyone you know, Stefano. Even someone else in this house.”
“Did I leave out the most incriminating parts?” He sniggered. “How silly of me. Eyewitness accounts.”
“From who?”
“From so many resources that it’s impossible for you to refute. You were seen looking at the painting while discussing it over the phone. You were heard discussing some sort of financial transaction. You were seen leaving the house with a package that matches the size of the painting.”
Layla appeared taken aback. “Not one of these things ever happened, Stefano!” She took a few deep breaths before continuing. “I’m not accusing anyone, but for the sake of argument, let me show you how it’s possible. Lee and Garrett. What’s to say that either one of them—or both—didn’t hatch a plan? Then there’s Jon. Or even Gayle. Any one of them could have been involved. Then me as the newcomer could have easily been framed to take the blame.”
“They’ve been loyal to me for years. Garrett has been with me the shortest time, but still, eleven years is long enough for me to know him well. Gayle has been with me for a century. And during that time, they’ve never given me a reason to suspect them. They’ve been handsomely paid for their services, more so than they would elsewhere, so I’ve given them no reason to want to steal from me. And Gayle, she’s my life partner. She has everything she wants or needs. You, on the other hand, just lived here. You didn’t have a job or a way of making money.”
“I was in between jobs. They cut me as a bartender, and I was exploring new options. Considering I can only work nights, it cut down on the avenues I could pursue.”
Stefano raised his hand to stop her. “I wasn’t finished. You’ve only been with me for a couple of years. You’re young, you’re broke, and you still haven’t embraced all that being a vampire entails. You have never proved any loyalty to me. And worst of all, you ran away.”
“I had to. Lee and Garrett warned me you were going to kill me.”
“So that’s who warned you,” Stefano said. “I’ll deal with them later. You know, you’re lucky. If I saw you the day I saw the painting was gone, you’d be nothing but ashes right now. You know how much I loved it, not to mention its value.”
Layla’s body sagged. “I know you do. And that’s why I would never take it from you.”
“Enough. I’ve spent enough time and money trying to find you and get my painting back.” He nodded my way. “His reputation is well-known. Although he’s expensive, I knew he would find you. And finding you was the key to finding my painting.”
Although a client gave me a nod for my qualifications, it felt dirty. Knowing I was the one who brought Layla to face this circumstance left a heavy imprint of my wrongdoing deep in my gut. Over all these years, I’d justified my services as finding the bad guy—or girl—and bringing them to justice. Now, I questioned if I was the bad guy in this situation.
I was bothered by my complicity. Maybe Layla was innocent. If she was telling the truth, then I brought her into a messy situation. One she probably wouldn’t have been in without me getting involved. She’d pulled off her cover as Angelica for months. Who’s to say she would ever have been found?
Stefano continued, “Now that you’re here, I’m sure we can get to the bottom of it in no time. In my experience, torture can get anyone to talk. Some take longer than others. But they all break eventually.”
“Hey,” I said, stepping in. Although I was breaking my rule on not getting involved in my clients’ affairs—especially vampire affairs—I couldn’t just stand by and listen to him threaten her with torture.
Stefano looked at me as if noticing me for the first time. “Good work finding her, Mr. St. Clair. I will pay your fee promptly, so you can go.”
“Torturing her isn’t going to help find anything,” I said.
“Mr. St. Clair,” Stefano spoke to me as if I were a child. “Of course it will.”
“Why don’t we start with the easy solutions before the messy ones?”
“What are you proposing?” Stefano asked, as if amused.
“If she sold a painting, there should be a money trail somewhere. Let’s look at her bank account.”
Stefano squinted as he considered my proposal. “Let’s all go into my study.”
Chapter 7
Layla
What the hell was Devon doing?
I walked into the study with Stefano right behind me, waiting for something to happen. Would he strike at me now? Or did he want something from me first?
His study was filled with a massive mahogany desk with a laptop on it he never really figured out how to use. He was too old-fashioned to understand technology and often had me log in to websites to check things for him.
Stefano pointed to a chair in front of his desk.
“Log in to your bank account.”
I sat down. “You’ll see the usual piddly amount that’s always in there.”
“Don’t talk back to me, Layla. My patience is already worn quite thin with you.”
I pulled up the chair to the computer desk and opened a browser on the laptop. Then I entered the URL for my bank and entered my username and password.
“What the heck?” I said after reading the message.
“What is it?” Stefano asked.
“I can’t get in.”
“How convenient,” Stefano drawled out. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten your password. Or maybe you’re not entering the correct one for a reason.”
“No, it’s not that. I know what they are, and I entered them exactly. Why wouldn’t I? I have nothing to hide. But look. My account is locked.”
Stefano leaned forward to read the notification on the screen. “Your account has been locked for security reasons. Contact a customer service representative for more assistance.” He looked at me, eyes blazing red with fury. “What is going on, Layla? What game are you playing?”
“Stefano, I assure you this isn’t a game. I haven’t logged in to my account since I left.”
“Apparently you think I’m stupid. Where else do you keep your money? You must have another account.”
I shook my head. “Stefano, I don’t know why it’s locked. The only thing I can think of is somebody else has tried to gain access, and that’s why they locked it down.”
Stefano put his fingers on his chin. “Call them. Talk to customer service at once.”
“I doubt there will be anyone available for me to talk to at this hour, but I’ll try.”
I used the phone on his desk to place the call and listened to the automated message. “Nobody is available to take my call. I have to wait until the morning.”
Stefano moved over to me quicker than any human would register and put his hands around my neck. “Where is the painting, Layla? Did you sell it? Tell me now.”
> Although I didn’t need oxygen to breathe, the constriction of the blood vessels to my brain elicited a human response from me. Panic of not getting any air. Fear of dying. I tried to pry his hands from my neck, but it was useless.
“Hey, hey,” Devon interrupted. “This isn’t going to help.”
Stefano released his grip and pointed at Devon. “Stay out of this. You’ve done your job.”
“Just give me a chance,” I pleaded through a thin voice. “Let me figure out what’s going on.”
“I’m pretty sure we can find out where the money is quickly if I apply a little pressure,” Stefano threatened.
“You can apply all kinds of pressure on me, Stefano, but that won’t help you find the painting.” I raised my chin to project a false sense of confidence. “I have no idea where it is. But if you let me look for it, there’s a chance I can find it.”
“Now why should I do that?” Stefano raised his index finger. “You’ve been gone almost two months now. You’ve had all this time to clear your name if you’re as innocent as you plead.”
“You were going to kill me! I didn’t have a choice—or the opportunity—to investigate when I was just trying to stay alive.”
Stefano glared at me. “A painting worth five million pounds is gone, and I’ve been patient trying to resolve this matter. And my patience is wearing thin. What makes you think anything will be different if I let you ‘investigate’ as you call it?”
My options for survival slimmed with each passing moment, but I couldn’t give up yet. “Something is going on with my bank account, as you can see. If I had a boatload of money I was trying to access, I sure as hell wouldn’t have locked myself out of my own account.”
Stefano took a step back and eyed me with contempt. I resisted the urge to swallow.
“Layla, one thing I realized since you disappeared is that I must have underestimated you.” He paced before me in a semi-circle. “I think you’re a lot more calculating than I believed and not as sweet as your demeanor would suggest. You might have other accounts. What guarantee do I have that you won’t run? You can easily slip away the way you did last time, like a devious little thief in the night.”
Burn: A shifter and vampire rock star romance (Underground Encounters Book 4) Page 9
