by C. P. Foster
“It is done,” the chairperson cut in. “Morgan, we need to discuss the ramifications among ourselves. I would ask that Miss Devereaux leave now; this matter is not for an outsider’s ears. Miss Devereaux, you have taken a great risk on our behalf. You have our gratitude.”
“I hope I’ve helped avert a crisis that would have cost lives. Good night, Chairperson Ah-set.”
She rose to go. From his desk, James motioned for her to wait and wrote something on a piece of paper, which he held up for her to read: You’ve earned the right to stay, whether they think so or not.
Vanessa went to the door, opened it, then closed it loudly enough for the Council to hear over the phone. She nodded to Angie, and they both returned to the couch.
“This changes things,” one of the representatives said. “We suspected she was planning something; now we know she’s making a move.”
Ruler Sutherland spoke up. “James is right about what they’ve got to offer each other. Rimbeau has money, but not numbers, and the Lower Plains Territory’s been threatenin’ to annex part of his realm. We still don’t know how many vampires Soul Killer has, but I reckon it’s a lot. Too bad we haven’t been able to get our spies into the reservations where she’s hiding her havens.”
James’s lips thinned. It galled him that he had failed.
“Why hasn’t Rimbeau joined the Covenant?” another asked. “It’s to his advantage. With us behind him, he wouldn’t need to worry about Whitehall.” She named the Monarch of the Lower Plains Territory.
“He hates being told what to do,” Morgan answered. “Rimbeau is a control freak. His numbers are small because he wants absolute power over them. If he joins the Covenant, he’ll have to obey the rules we’ve made, and he won’t do that. Even if he agrees with those rules.”
“Which he prob’ly does,” Sutherland put in. “He runs his territory a lot like the Covenant nations do. Bein’ a control freak means he enforces his edicts ruthlessly. I bet our own people could learn a few things from him.”
“We have,” Vanessa answered. “I’ve modeled some of our tactics after his.”
James said, “Miss Devereaux has created a rift between Soul Killer and Rimbeau. They may eventually heal that rift, but she’s bought us some time. The question now is what do we do with it?”
“Let us think on this and reconvene after Hawaiian sunset tomorrow night,” Ah-set suggested. “Dawn approaches here on the East Coast.”
“Agreed,” Scott said. He stayed on the line, however, after the others signed off. “Damn you, Morgan. I don’t care how good her cover is, she needs protection twenty-four seven. If you don’t provide it, I will.”
“The lady may have something to say about that,” Vanessa told him.
There was a pause.
“She’s there, isn’t she.” Steffen made it a statement, not a question.
“Yes,” James answered. “She stayed through the meeting.”
“You trust her that much.”
“I do.”
Silence stretched out, during which Angie closed her eyes and sipped the single-malt scotch. For a creature who did not drink anything but blood, James showed a surprising talent for finding the best wines and spirits.
“Angeline.”
“Yes, Steffen.”
“Soul Killer must have resources outside her territory; all our sovereigns do. She’ll find you eventually.”
“If it becomes necessary,” she told him, “I can disappear without a trace. I have planned for the possibility that a disgruntled client or someone I turned down might hold a grudge and put a contract on my head. If she gets too close, I’ll simply vanish.”
This was not entirely true. She did have detailed contingency plans, but for a different reason. Twelve years ago, Sarah Miller had become infamous among the vampires of North America. One of them was still willing to pay a great deal of money to see her dead, and even now if anyone discovered who she was, scores would be vying for the chance to earn that bounty. James had helped her shed the name she’d been born with and given her a new identity: Angie Clark. She’d paid close attention to how he went about it, so she would know how to disappear again.
“You could leave everything behind?” Steffen asked, his voice quiet.
“If I had to.” Even as she said it, she realized how painful it would be to cut herself off from this life. She would not be able to continue her research. She would never see James or Vanessa again. She would never see Steffen again. “I’d rather not,” she admitted. “But I can start over if it’s the only way to stay alive.”
“Bodyguards are another way to stay alive. Use them instead of disappearing. I can provide you with around-the-clock protection.”
She knew this quite well. He’d done it before, though he didn’t realize it. Sarah Miller had lived that way for months, constantly surrounded by security people. She never wanted to do it again.
“My privacy is essential to me, Steffen, and I honestly don’t believe it’s necessary. Angeline Devereaux is a fiction with no address, no history, no connections. I only use her ID and credit card for business purposes. Nothing she does can be traced back to my true identity. The only thing Soul Killer might know is that James Morgan is her protector. When I leave here during daylight, I will take a bodyguard of my own hiring with me for a few days, long enough to make sure no one has followed me home. I'll be safe enough once I’m certain none of her daytime allies have managed to track me.”
“It isn’t that easy,” he protested. “She’ll keep tabs on Morgan from now on, maybe even tap his phones. All she has to do is trace one call back to you.”
Vanessa spoke up. “I’ll get him a disposable phone. The number won’t be connected to him, so they won’t know to tap it.”
“And,” James added, “when I go to meet Angel anywhere, I will fly. They will not be able to follow me.”
“Angeline, wouldn’t it be better if you just let me send someone to follow you from a discreet distance? You’ve seen my security. You know they can blend into the woodwork.”
“You would have to know my true identity to do that. Only James and Vanessa know who I am. It’s safer if I don’t share it with anyone else, but I appreciate your concern.”
“My concern,” he repeated. “Fine. If you come to your senses, call me.”
Lord Scott bid them good night, and at last the phone call ended.
“Do you really plan to hire bodyguards to escort you home?” James asked.
“Can you recommend someone?”
“I know a security service that specializes in protection against supernatural threats,” Vanessa told her. “I have another suggestion, too, if you’re willing to hear it.”
Angie smiled. Her friends knew better than to sound like they were telling her what to do. She’d had enough of that for a lifetime. “I’m willing.”
“You have to stop using the Devereaux identity altogether. Soul Killer and Rimbeau can afford to hire experts to track you down. It’s true they don’t know your identity as Angie Clark, but as soon as you use Angeline Devereaux’s credit card or ID, they will be able to find you.”
“That makes sense. I still have to keep Angie Clark separate from my work, though, so I can’t use that ID, either.”
“I can help you get a false one.”
Angie took a moment to think the offer over. Choosing to return to North America and work among vampires had been a calculated risk. One of the first things she’d done was to hide getaway stashes in a handful of cities around the country, in case someone discovered her original identity. Each stash contained a passport, credit cards, bank accounts, clothing, and a disguise that went with the picture on the passport. It contained everything she would need to leave the country and disappear. No matter where she was, all she had to do was get to the closest stash. One of these was in Seattle. She could use that ID now.
There were two problems with this plan. First, the physical description of the new identity did not match
her current look. Christine O’Malley had curly red hair and a port-wine stain birthmark splashed across one side of her face. Angie would either have to use the O’Malley disguise when she traveled under that name or hire a forger to change the photographs. Either way, she’d also have to replace her stash with a new ID. It would mean a lot of work. Letting Vanessa help made more sense.
“All right,” she decided. “How fast can you get it to me?”
“Give me two days.”
“That soon?”
“I have excellent connections in the criminal underground. It’s one of the perks of my job.” Vanessa grinned.
James cleared his throat. “May I offer another idea? You asked me about the Journals of Iphra-El. I’ve managed to locate their current owner, and he’s agreed to meet you. This would be an ideal time to take a trip out of town.”
Angie’s eyes lit up, and she leaned toward him. “Really? You’ve found them?”
“Found them, yes, but this collector is eccentric and reclusive, from what I hear. He’s agreed to a meeting only. You’ll have to convince him to grant you access.”
“I may have an ace up my sleeve.” Angie thought of Aaron’s offer to help “persuade” the owner of the journals. The colder, more aloof persona of Angeline Devereaux slipped away as Angie Clark, the grad student, took over. “Tell me what you know about him.”
Chapter Sixteen
In the early days of archeology, treasure-hunters took whatever they wanted. This is how private individuals ended up with mummies from Ancient Egypt, potsherds from South America, marble sculptures from Ancient Greece and Rome, and endless other artifacts, often proudly displayed in the drawing rooms of their homes. Today, as many nations strive to reclaim their cultural heritage, there are laws against such exploitation. Perhaps as supernatural species form diplomatic ties with humanity, they too will take legal measures to protect what is theirs. Until then, it’s a free-for-all.
—Dr. Jahi Nejem, archaeologist
At a small table outside of Seattle’s Best Coffee in the SeaTac Airport’s nonsecurity area, Angie and Lynette talked over steaming cups of latte. Angie’s flight to Denver would leave in two hours, and she wanted to meet with her manager before going. Her bodyguard sat at table not far away, his eyes constantly scanning the crowds.
“I knew the Great Basin Monarch was trouble,” Lynette said, “but I had no idea how much.”
“She put me in an impossible position.” Angie chose her words carefully. Theirs was a purely business relationship. Her manager did not know her real name or anything about her outside of the Angeline Devereaux identity. Telling her more would put the woman in danger. “I couldn’t take him as a client, and I was forced to say so in public. Neither of them reacted well. So I have to keep a low profile for a while.”
Lynette frowned and glanced at the man sitting nearby. Joseph Horn was only average height and build. He didn’t look like a bodyguard, which was the point. He blended in, watching over her without drawing attention. The company he worked for, Night and Day Security Services, specialized in problems of a supernatural nature. He and his partner had helped design the training program for the original Special Threats Team created by the US government for dealing with hostile nonhuman species. Angie had been lucky to get them, not only because of their expertise, but also because Horn was Native American and had experience with the Paiute tribes of the Great Basin. His people, the Spokane tribe, were located nearby, and the two sometimes intermarried. His insight into Soul Killer’s people could prove invaluable.
According to Joseph, the element of surprise was crucial when up against creatures physically superior to humans. He and others who worked for Night and Day had honed the ability to hide in plain sight to a fine art. Even if a particularly perceptive subject suspected him of being a bodyguard, he or she wouldn’t have any idea what Joseph was capable of. He also wasn’t alone. Somewhere in the crowd, a second bodyguard kept watch from a discreet distance. She’d met the man—Ron Kowalski, a blond with a ponytail that made him look like an aging hippie—but no matter how hard she studied the people around her, she couldn’t find him.
“You don’t have any sessions scheduled for a few days,” Lynette said. “Do you need me to cancel with Julius Craft?”
Craft, a vampire power broker in Washington, DC, had employed her once before. He worked as a lobbyist for the Covenant, representing its interests while negotiating the ever-shifting currents of human politics.
“No,” Angie mused, “I think I’ll keep that appointment. I’ll fly straight from Denver to DC.”
“What about the bodyguard?” Lynette only knew about Joseph; she didn’t need all of the details.
“He’ll have to keep his distance while I’m working. I doubt Craft will agree to a chaperone. I should be safe. I will, after all, be with a powerful vampire who understands there will be consequences if anything happens to me.”
“You know you’re insane, right?”
Angie smiled. “So I’m told.”
In Denver, Angie had booked three suites at a hotel, using her new identity, Andy Sullivan. Joseph’s adjoined hers, and his partner was several doors down. Aaron had booked his own across the hall. He stood inside it now and gave her a lazy smile as she hesitated in the entrance. Just looking at him brought back the feel of his mouth and skin, the warmth of his breath in her hair, and a thousand other sensations that threatened to drown her in desire. Her bodyguard cleared his throat. She twitched in surprise, having forgotten he was there. Angie stepped into the room with him at her heels, and he moved around her to hold out a hand. Aaron raised his brows.
“I’ve had a little trouble recently,” she explained. “Joseph, this is Aaron White. Aaron, Joseph and his partner, Ron, are going to be my bodyguards for a few days. One of them will be nearby at all times.”
“Will they.” The Fallen shook Joseph’s hand. “There’s always room for more.”
Joseph pulled back a little too quickly. “I’m here for protection, not recreation.”
“He’s right. It’s important that you not distract him, Aaron.”
“I understand. You know it’s difficult for me to contain my effect, though, especially if I have gone without for very long. I suggest he leave the room, at least until I’m sated.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joseph’s hand clench into a fist and knew the Fallen was getting to him just as much as he was to her.
“What’s the plan for tonight?” Joseph asked.
“Yes,” Aaron chuckled, his eyes holding hers. “What is the plan?”
Her heart rate picked up, and she felt the warm looseness of arousal spread through her body. He didn’t seem to deliberately intensify his magnetism, but he was, as he’d said, hungry. If he didn’t feed on her, it would have to be someone else. Either way, they weren’t going to get anything done tonight.
“The plan.” She cleared her throat. “The plan will begin tomorrow morning. Tonight, Aaron and I will discuss our approach.”
“Right,” Joseph murmured. “I’ll be nearby. If you leave this room, contact me first so I can escort you.”
The door was barely closed before Aaron had her pressed tightly to his slim body.
Hours later, she took a shower while the Fallen ordered room service for her. He’d satisfied his hunger for the moment and reined in the sexual energies that radiated from him so they could both think clearly. She emerged from the bathroom dressed in one of his shirts and found a large dinner waiting for her. She didn’t usually eat so much, but Aaron left her craving calories.
“Tell me about this person who has Iphra-El’s journals,” he said when she’d slowed down enough to talk. He lay across the bed, naked except for a scrap of sheet draped over his hips.
“Benjamin Lockhart. He invented a couple of cheesy gadgets that made him a fortune on late-night infomercials, then invested in the stock market. He turned out to be some kind of Wall Street genius. Since then, he’s become a recluse.
James says he has an agent who always shows up at auctions listing items connected to the supernatural. I’m going to his place tomorrow morning to discuss the dissertation. He didn’t make any promises but is willing to hear me out.”
“And if he says no?”
“I’ll offer him a chance to meet a Fallen. I’m betting he’ll jump at it, since he’s so interested in supernatural objects. The real thing has to be better than any trinket he’s collected.”
“I should think I’d be irresistible.” Aaron’s eyes sparkled. “What time is this meeting?”
“Nine a.m.”
He looked at the clock. “You’d better get some sleep. I’ll want you in the morning before you go. Unless you’d prefer I find someone else?”
It might be best if he did. She needed to be able to think straight, and spending a few hours in his bed before going to Lockhart’s would hardly prepare her for dealing with an eccentric billionaire. On the other hand…
“I’m not done with you yet,” she murmured.
“And I thought I was the insatiable one.” Aaron's sheet fell away as she slipped into bed with him. “Are you sure? I don’t want to take advantage of you. Well, I do. But I don’t want to keep you from important matters.”
Angie straddled his waist and twined her fingers with his. “I’m sure. Kick me out of here by one o’clock if I haven’t left yet. That will give me plenty of time to sleep, assuming I’m not still crazy with wanting you. Which reminds me—last time we were together, I was completely overwhelmed for a whole night and half a day. What’s different this time?”
Aaron looked embarrassed. “I’m afraid I indulged myself.”
“You did it on purpose?”
“I meant no harm. I just wanted to savor every ounce of you while I had the chance. I didn’t know when I’d see you again.”
“Why are you holding back now?”
“Partly because I know I will have more hours with you, but also because I want you to succeed in your work.”
