by Jenna Black
She’d just decided she’d have to call after all when Jules finally made his appearance. No attempt at stealth—he was striding toward the bar with calculated purpose, his face set in a deep scowl that would be unbecoming on anyone else. Damn, she’d forgotten what eye-candy he was. He didn’t see Hannah at first, so she took a moment to ogle before the games began.
It was no wonder it had taken him so long to come down—he’d obviously spent a good deal of time in front of the mirror. His dress was casual—for Jules, at least—but screamed of money and good taste. Hannah imagined each item had a designer label on it, but not being a connoisseur of men’s fashion, she couldn’t have said which ones. His long-sleeved forest-green shirt had the sheen of fine silk. The color was a perfect complement to his artfully tousled auburn hair. She couldn’t help wondering how much mousse it had taken to get those fine locks into such perfect disarray. Charcoal gray trousers hugged his hips, and she knew if he turned around the rear view would be spectacular.
His features and his clothes should have given him a pretty-boy look, and yet Hannah would never dream of describing him that way. Maybe it was just his expression, his sensuous lips pressed into a thin line of anger, his expressive eyes narrowed as he scanned the small crowd at the bar. Or maybe it was just that she knew he was a vampire, and therefore supremely dangerous.
When Jules finally caught sight of her, Hannah smiled brightly and waved. His expression darkened even more, and something inside Hannah quailed. Instinct told her to run like hell as he stalked toward her table, his anger a palpable force. But from long experience, she’d learned to hide her vulnerabilities well, so instead of cowering, she raised her beer bottle in a mock toast.
He came to a stop directly in front of her, glowering down at her ferociously.
“Yeah, glad to see you too,” she said. “Have a seat—I’m getting neck strain looking up at you like this.”
One corner of his lips lifted in something like a snarl. He jerked a chair out from under the table and sat. “What do you think you’re doing?” He leaned forward to crowd her space, and his voice was a low growl he expected to intimidate her.
She sniffed the air and grinned at him. “You know, you’d be much scarier if you skipped the mousse and perfume.” She sniffed again, catching the warm, spicy scent of him. “Not that I’m complaining.” Whatever he was wearing smelled damn good!
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “It’s aftershave, not perfume.” He sounded like he was one step shy of strangling her.
She shrugged. “Whatever. It smells nice, anyway. But it really detracts from your terror-factor.”
“All right, how about this?” He pulled his lips away from his teeth, giving her a glimpse of the long, sharp fangs he’d lowered.
She shuddered deep inside. She’d seen vampire fangs before, of course, but that didn’t make the sight of them any easier to swallow. “Ooh, I’m scared,” she mocked, though she wasn’t sure she was entirely convincing. “You planning to use those on me?” An image came to her mind—her neck stretched out and vulnerable while Jules lowered his head to her throat. The image was strangely, unnervingly erotic.
He leaned back in his chair, shaking his head at her. “I’d forgotten what a pain in the ass you were. What do you want?”
“I’m on assignment in Baltimore and thought I’d look you up.”
“Hostie d’idiot,” he growled.
Jules got a great kick out of insulting people in French, or Quebecian, or whatever it was he spoke. Hannah figured he did it because he always got such a reaction from people—there was something creepy about being insulted but not knowing what exactly the insult was. Well, she wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of reacting!
“I’m here as your guardian angel.” She giggled. “Guardian angel. Gee, I made a joke and didn’t know it.”
“Your clever wit astounds me.” A cocktail waitress made her way to their table and asked Jules if he wanted anything to drink. He waved her off. “Ah, for the days when I could drown my sorrows in alcohol!” he said when she’d wandered away.
Hannah furrowed her brow at him. “What sorrows would those be? Me? Or the ones that brought you to Baltimore in the first place?”
Not surprisingly, he didn’t answer. “I know Eli wouldn’t have sent you after me, so I must presume Carolyn’s the culprit.”
“Yeah. She’s got this funny thing where she feels grateful to you for saving her and Gray’s lives. And she seems to think you’ll have a tough time all alone in a strange city.”
For the first time, he smiled, an expression that softened his face and took the glint of anger out of his eyes. “She’s a remarkable woman.”
He sounded so wistful, Hannah’s suspicions were aroused. “You don’t have a thing for her, do you?”
She’d expected a quick denial, so when his expression turned pensive she was surprised. “If she were to climb into my bed, I wouldn’t kick her out,” he said finally. “But I wouldn’t say I have a thing for her.”
Hannah was surprised at the zing of jealousy that admission caused. Stupid! Carolyn was so damn sweet and pretty Hannah doubted there was a straight male on the planet who would kick her out of bed. Besides, it wasn’t as if Hannah had any interest in Jules. The guy was good-looking, but that was about all he had going for him.
“So Carolyn sent you here to look after me while I hunt my maker, is that the gist of things?”
“In a nutshell.”
“Of course you realize I don’t need your help.”
“Of course,” she said and almost laughed at how concerned he looked by her easy agreement. She let her words hang for a moment just to savor his discomfiture. “You’re a lone Guardian in an unfamiliar city, hunting a Killer who’s way more powerful than you and who may be trying to set a trap for you. How could you possibly need any help?” She swigged the last of her beer, and sighed in contentment. One thing she had to admit—it was fun to yank Jules’s chain. And easy, too.
The dark, brooding look was back on his face. “I’ll find a way to get to him. And the last thing I need is a helpless mortal tagging along, getting in the way and distracting me.”
“Yeah; that’s what you said last year, too. Remember? When you went running off to take on the Banger and commanded me to stay in the hotel?”
He’d bullied and badgered her until she’d agreed to stay behind, but of course she’d been lying through her teeth. If she hadn’t arrived at the scene when she did, very likely there wouldn’t be a single Guardian left alive today.
“You said yourself it was a lucky shot.”
“Yeah, well, you make your own luck.” But she knew Jules would remain stuck on his ‘helpless mortal’ idea, so she decided to try another tack. “So tell me, do you know where Squires lives?”
She could see at once that she’d hit a nerve. His face was too expressive to hide his chagrin. “Not at the moment, but I’ll find him.”
“How?”
Jules squirmed and didn’t answer.
Hannah pounded her point home. “I already checked to see if he was listed in the phone book and came up with a big fat nothing. So tell me, Sherlock, what’s your first step going to be?”
He heaved an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his hair, ruining its orderly disarray. “Okay, you’re right, I don’t know. I didn’t have much time for planning before I had to get out of town quick. But I’ll figure something out.”
“Hmm. Too bad you don’t have a professional private investigator around to help you out.”
“I’ll hire one!”
“What? Hire a helpless mortal? One who doesn’t even know what he’s up against? Jules, that seems a bit shitty even for you.”
He looked like he wanted to shake her. “How did Carolyn put up with you for so long? I swear, if you’d been my business partner, I’d have killed you before the first month was up.”
“Yeah, I’m sure Carolyn felt that temptation off and on. But I was kinda handy to h
ave around, so she let me live.”
In truth, Carolyn was one of the few female friends Hannah’d had since her college days. Her family was a bastion of testosterone, her father a firefighter and her three brothers all policemen. Sometimes she thought testosterone was a communicable disease and she’d caught it. She couldn’t quite get into all the girly stuff other women were into. Shopping was a painful chore that needed to be done, not an enjoyable social engagement. Cooking was best done by microwave with as little effort as possible. She’d rather watch Die Hard than Sleepless in Seattle, and she was a regular at Eagles and Phillies games. And that wasn’t even mentioning her smart mouth, which had on occasion lost her friends of both sexes.
“What would be your next step if you were on this case?” Jules asked, every word dragged from his mouth with obvious reluctance.
She shrugged. “I’d start by calling the Inquirer. If they did an article on Squires, they may well have his contact information.”
“Surely it won’t be that easy.”
“Probably not. Still, it’s worth a try. You never know.”
“Fine. I’ll call them tonight.”
“No you won’t.” She chuckled at the way Jules bristled. “First off, the likelihood that you’d be able to get in touch with anyone who knows anything at this hour is next to nil. Secondly, if you just ask them straight out for his address or phone number, no one will give you diddly.”
His eyes narrowed. “I presume you have a counter-suggestion?”
“You betcha. We wait until tomorrow. In the morning, while you’re getting your beauty sleep, I’ll call the paper and charm them into giving me the info.”
“You? Charm them? Are you mad?” Amusement soothed away the angry line between his brows. His eyes were such a beautiful warm shade of brown when they weren’t narrowed in anger.
“I can be charming when I want to be,” Hannah said, smiling despite herself. She had to admit, she kind of enjoyed sparring with Jules. When she stuck her verbal pins in Gray, he’d just get curt and irritable, but Jules actually fought back.
“I’d have to see it to believe it.”
“Too bad you’ll be fast asleep at the time.”
He sobered quickly, giving her a penetrating look. “This is very dangerous, Hannah. If Ian really has lured me down here, then if you start poking around you’ll probably set off some kind of alarm. Believe me, you don’t want to find yourself face-to-face with this son of a bitch.”
It chilled Hannah more than she liked to admit that she saw what looked like a flicker of fear in his eyes. Jules wasn’t the kind of guy to reveal his vulnerabilities. Hannah knew all about hiding beneath a façade of confidence, could recognize the symptoms when she saw it in others. For that façade to slip for even a moment was not a good sign at all.
For half a minute, she refrained from poking into the crack in the façade, but she’d never been one to let tact get in the way of what she wanted. “So, this guy Ian. He’s the one who made you a vampire, right?”
Jules stiffened. “That’s right.”
“May I ask what happened?”
“No, you may not.”
“Why?”
His fierce glare was back again, in full force. “Don’t press me on this,” he said, leaning forward. This time, she really did feel intimidated by his anger. His eyes seemed almost to glow with it, and the air fairly shimmered around him. “If I have to use glamour to make you shut up, I will. And I can guarantee you won’t like the results.”
No light-hearted quip would come to her, and she hated that she probably looked as shaken as she felt. She’d felt the effects of glamour before, and she most definitely didn’t want to feel them again. There wasn’t much in the world creepier than having someone turn you into a temporary vegetable. And from what she’d gathered, vamps could even make you do things under the influence of their glamour. She doubted Jules would actually hurt her, but she could imagine him doing any number of things she’d really, really rather avoid. Like getting her to strip naked in a public place—this hotel lobby, for instance.
“I believe we have an understanding,” Jules said, leaning back in his chair, his expression still closed and chilly.
“Yeah, I guess we do,” Hannah answered, keeping her voice low so it wouldn’t shake. She flagged the waitress down and ordered a third Corona. Probably not the smartest thing to do on an empty stomach, but she needed the alcohol after that little conversation.
What had Ian Squires done to Jules to inspire that kind of hatred and fear? That it was more than just the natural hatred many unwilling vampires felt for the ones who made them was obvious. Something more had happened between them to make Jules take the stupid risks he was taking right now.
And though for the moment Hannah had to cede the field, she was far from finished trying to pry Jules’s secrets loose.
Maybe she was glad she’d come on this trip after all. She had to admit, it was more interesting and exciting than tracking down cheating husbands. Unfortunately, it didn’t pay too well and it was also far more likely to get her killed … .
4
IAN PAUSED ON THE doorstep, reminding himself that Camille’s reign was soon to end. He could stand to kiss her ass for just a little longer. Hating the dread that churned in his stomach, he rang the doorbell. Whatever the bitch wanted from him tonight, he was sure not to like it.
Her mortal butler answered the door, dressed in somber black livery and looking down his nose at Ian. What a servant had to feel superior about was anyone’s guess. Ian ground his teeth and promised himself that when he took over Baltimore, Jeeves—he’d never bothered to learn the guy’s real name—would die a slow and painful death. The prospect made Ian’s gums tingle. But Camille would permit no hostility toward her mortal pets, and years of brutal punishment had taught him to keep his fangs sheathed no matter how strong the urge to lower them.
“Please do come in, Mr. Squires,” Jeeves said. How he managed to imbue those words with such condescension Ian couldn’t imagine.
Ian stepped over the threshold and had to fight another wave of resentment. Once, this had been his house. He’d designed the stately gray marble foyer, with its sunburst of warmer orange marble at its center. He’d hired the carpenter who’d carved each mahogany baluster by hand. He’d supervised the painting of the walls, and selected each piece of furniture with meticulous care. But when three months ago Camille had suddenly taken a fancy to the place, he’d had no choice but to let her move in, evicting him. Now he was a guest in his own goddamn home!
“This way, sir,” the butler said, leading Ian toward the living room as though Ian hadn’t lived in this house for more than half a century himself.
He braced himself for the assault on his senses that was Camille’s redecoration of his home. Even so, he winced when he caught sight of his former living room. Camille was unfamiliar with the term “simple elegance.” Or “tasteful.” But he supposed her taste for the garish was a blessing in disguise—he’d gotten to keep most of his furniture when she’d taken over the house.
His distaste for this summons increased exponentially when he saw that Camille was not alone. It took all of his considerable willpower not to groan when he saw Gabriel, her son and right-hand man, lounging in the one item of his furniture she’d kept—his favorite Stickley chair.
Gabriel’s permanent sulk became a smile when he caught sight of Ian. Not a good sign at all.
For the most part, Gabriel looked surprisingly harmless. His young physical age was part of it—he looked like he was barely in his twenties—and the sulk wasn’t particularly conducive to menace. He dressed like a tough guy in silver-studded black leather jacket and boots, and he wore his short blond hair in messy spikes, but none of that was what made him look like the badass he was.
Maybe it was his eyes. Those light gray-green eyes of his could chill a brave man to the marrow. Or maybe it was the long white scar marring his pretty cheek that inspired fear despite his otherwi
se less-than-frightening features.
Whatever it was about him that gave him his aura, it was hard for Ian to hold his ground when the son of a bitch unfolded from his chair and approached at a predatory stalk. The gray-green eyes pierced him, causing a nearly physical pain in Ian’s head.
Gabriel came to a stop well inside the boundaries of Ian’s personal space. Ian hated that he had to look up to meet his adversary’s gaze, but he wasn’t about to back down from a challenge, even when Gabriel bared his fangs.
“What are you up to, you little shit?” Gabriel growled, leaning even farther into Ian’s space.
Sweat broke out on Ian’s brow and he cursed his body’s too-human responses. Gabriel’s nostrils flared, scenting fear in the air. How much did he know?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ian said, his voice sounding scared even to his own ears.
“Wrong answer.” Gabriel grabbed a double handful of Ian’s shirt. Ian made a fruitless effort to pry his fingers loose, but soon found himself slammed against a wall, his feet dangling, Gabriel’s nose a fraction of an inch from his.
“May I hurt him, Mother? He’s been a naughty boy.”
“A wrist-slap only, for now,” Camille said.
Ian swallowed hard, trying to control his dread as Gabriel’s cruel smile widened. He lost all sense of fear when Gabriel’s knee connected brutally with his groin. There was no room for fear then, only pain. Pain that left him retching helplessly, gasping for breath, his vision swimming with stars.
When he regained his senses, Ian found himself in a heap on the floor, his body curled into itself in an effort to protect his most vulnerable parts. If he’d been mortal, that knee would have made a eunuch of him.
As he was still trying to recover his breath, he saw Gabriel’s studded motorcycle boots approaching. He almost begged for mercy, but Camille and son would enjoy that too much.
Instead of kicking him as Ian had expected, Gabriel dropped a newspaper in front of his nose. Ian groaned when he saw his own picture staring back at him. His calculated risk had come back to bite him in the ass.
