Duncan (13 page)

“Do we know who she is?” Phoebe asked.

“Lacey Cray,” Duncan said somberly. “Twenty-seven years old, and a secretary on K Street.”

“How did she end up here?”

“Victor.”

“Fuck,” Phoebe swore viciously. “I hated that bastard.”

“Surely, he didn’t mistreat you or Ted?”

She shook her head swiftly. “He wouldn’t have dared. Victor was a typical bully. He only picked on people who couldn’t fight back. So how do you know the girl?”

“Her roommate came to the house in D.C. the night after I disposed of Victor. Ms. Cray was missing. She’d apparently partied with Victor before, but she told Emma this was a big one. A weekend in the country.”

“Emma?”

“Emma Duquet, the roommate.
She
works for a congressman.”

“Well, that’s a complication. Does it get any worse?”

“Brace yourself,” Duncan warned her. “Victor was quite the voyeur. We’ve found video records of what went on here and in D.C. I don’t know if he was blackmailing anyone, or if he just liked to watch. We’re still working on identifying everyone, but Lacey’s is the only body we’ve found—and the only woman from his files who
isn’t
in any of the videos, which is telling in and of itself. I’m assuming at this point that the other women are still alive. If so, their memories have probably been wiped, which is a blessing, because the things that were done to them—” His mouth twisted and he looked away, unwilling to go on.

“What about Lacey?”

“It was probably an accident. Given the level of depravity we’ve found here, nothing would surprise me, but burying her in the yard like this . . . it has an unplanned feel to it.”

Phoebe nodded. “He had time to take care of the videos, but not enough to do a better job of losing the body.”

Duncan shrugged. “He probably meant to come back and take care of it, but then I showed up.”

“Any files in the D.C. house?”

Duncan nodded. “Hidden and encrypted, but my people are good.”

Phoebe tilted her head, studying him. She gave him a crooked smile. “I’m glad you’re here, my lord. We needed you.” The smile fled as she turned her attention to Lacey’s still form. “I only wish you’d had a better greeting than this.”

“
I
wish I’d arrived a week earlier. Lacey might still be alive. We need to keep this quiet, Phoebe.”

“Does she have family?”

“Just Emma. They’ve been friends since childhood.”

“Is this Emma going to raise a fuss?”

“No.” When Phoebe’s curious gaze met his, he added, “I’ll take care of it.” He let a touch of power chill his voice to remind her who he was.

Phoebe lowered her eyes briefly. “How can I help?”

Duncan nodded. “My security chief, Louis, is upstairs, along with a couple of others. We’ll take the computers and files back to D.C. with us, but in the meantime, he’s made a composite file of every face visible in the videos. Some of them we think we know, but I want you to help track down the others.”

She stiffened, then bowed formally from the waist. “I am yours to command, my lord.” She spun around and headed into the house. Duncan watched her go, then walked over to the forensic tech who was closing the doors of the cargo van.

“You’ve a place to store the body?” Duncan asked.

“Yes, my lord. One of ours owns a funeral home right outside Falls Church. We can leave her there for now.”

“Make sure Miguel has the information on the funeral home before you leave, but you should go soon.” Sunrise was only a couple hours away, and they’d need that time to get Lacey’s body properly stored before going home to sleep through the day.

“Yes, my lord.” The vampire pulled a sheet of paper from the bottom of his clipboard, wrote briefly and handed the sheet to Miguel, who’d followed Duncan like a shadow ever since they’d found the body.

“We should leave, too, my lord,” Miguel said quietly as the vampire tech climbed into the van and drove away.

Duncan looked over from his contemplation of the departing van. “I need to stop at Emma’s on the way home.”

“My lord, the time—”

“Miguel,” Duncan said softly. “I will stop and speak with Emma.”

Miguel nodded sharply. “We’ll leave at once then. Ari can drive. I’ll have the others finish up here and lock the house. They can take the second truck back to D.C.”

Duncan nodded. He didn’t look forward to telling Emma what had to be done, but he couldn’t let her go to the human authorities. Somehow he’d have to persuade her to let him handle it, and if he couldn’t . . . Well, then he wanted one last time with her before she hated him forever.

Chapter Thirteen

Emma’s car was parked a few doors down from her house when they arrived. Duncan sent a thread of power into the house, searching. Baldwin was there, and aware. Baldwin was one of those who’d been with Duncan the other night, which meant he’d already been invited into Emma’s house. That was important since Emma had been deeply asleep and would remain that way until Duncan woke her. He sighed, hoping she was having sweet dreams, because when she woke the nightmare would become real.

He would have preferred to put this off until tomorrow night. The horrors of Victor’s playhouse had left him riding the very edge of violence, and he wanted nothing more at this point than to pound someone to a bloody pulp. Not that he would ever harm Emma. But his temper was definitely frayed, and she was bound to argue with him.

Duncan knew his reputation, what some considered his uncanny ability to remain calm in the face of even the worst provocation. It was why Raphael had decided he’d be perfect for dealing with the human charlatans who masqueraded as leaders in Washington, D.C. And there was truth to Duncan’s reputation, too. But it was a hard-won truth, and tonight his reserve had been severely tested.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t keep Emma asleep until he woke tomorrow night, and he definitely did
not
want her waking up during the day without talking to him first. Knowing Emma, even as little as he did, he knew she wouldn’t hang around waiting for sunset. Even if she didn’t call the police, she’d drive herself back to Leesburg, where she would find nothing at all. The body was gone, as was all evidence that anyone had been buried there. Everything in the house that could lead back to Victor or vampires in general was likewise gone. It was already on its way to the residence in D.C., where Duncan’s people would scour it for information and then destroy it. At this moment, even the title to the Leesburg house was being altered, with documents put in place that made it appear the house had changed ownership some months ago. Not even Emma’s inside sources would be able to find anything to indicate otherwise.

But that wouldn’t stop Emma. Her next step was likely to be the human police, and that was the worst possible outcome for everyone involved, including Emma herself.

So, Duncan had to talk to her tonight.

He drew a deep breath, burying his rage and papering over his more aggressive instincts. It didn’t have to last long, no more than an hour or so. Long enough to settle Emma, then return to the D.C. house to sleep. And when he woke tomorrow night, he’d carve out some time in the gym to work off the worst of his anger.

The house door cracked open silently as he and Miguel started up the walk. There were no lights on inside. Baldwin’s silhouette was a short, square block of darker shadow as he stood there, holding the door open.

“Anything I need to know?” Duncan asked him.

“No, my lord.”

“Join Ari in the truck, then. You, too, Miguel.”

Miguel stiffened immediately, his mouth open to protest, but Duncan just looked at him. His lieutenant scowled, but he gave a sharp nod and followed Baldwin back to the truck.

Duncan sighed in relief. It would be hard enough to maintain his composure with Emma tonight. He didn’t need the additional aggravation of his vampires’ emotions beating at his shields. They didn’t have his sensitivity to the nightmare of that house, but they had picked up enough of it that their instinct was to close the circle around him. Which left
him
at the very center of their storm of outrage.

He needed this small space of time alone, without his vampires hovering, to restore his own calm center before talking to Emma. He crossed into the living room, circling the ancient couch. Emma lay on her side, beneath a crocheted blanket that Baldwin must have thrown over her. She was curled into a protective ball, knees drawn to her chest, arms held tightly in front, hands fisted as if against the blow that was coming.

He sat down next to her, and the couch sagged beneath his weight. She couldn’t be comfortable sleeping here. Maybe he should take her upstairs first. He smiled slightly, recognizing the thought for what it was—a way to delay the inevitable.

Her dark hair had fallen forward, covering half her face. He brushed it away and whispered, “Emma.”

Her eyelashes fluttered, dark against her fair skin, and her breathing became less regular. Duncan ran the backs of his fingers down her silky cheek. “Wake up, Emmaline.”

* * * *

Emma felt Duncan’s presence before she heard his voice. She thought it must be a dream, but it felt real. It felt like Duncan always did, a blanket of calm that was the opposite of how most people seemed to put everyone on edge, at least at first.

Whatever it was, she knew she had to wake up because there was something she needed to remember. Something about why Duncan was here.

“Emma.” His voice penetrated her sleep, urging her to wake. But suddenly she didn’t want to wake up anymore. It was nice in her dream. Safe. And there was something awful waiting for her when she woke up.

His hand stroked her cheek. “Wake up, Emmaline.”

The last vestiges of sleep fled before the unexpected use of her real name, and she moaned softly. She tried to roll over, to turn away from him, but Duncan wouldn’t let her. His strong hand on her shoulder held her in place, gentle but unyielding.

“I know you’re awake, Emma.”

Emma’s eyes flashed open. She stared at Duncan, barely able to see him in the dim light.

“Would you like me to turn on a light?” he asked. He always seemed to know what she was thinking. He said it was skill at reading faces, but she wondered if it was something more.

“No,” she said, her voice rough with sleep. She knew why he was here. It was about Lacey. And she wanted the darkness. She sat up. She was still wearing Duncan’s jacket, and she pulled it around herself as she pushed her grandmama’s afghan down to the foot of the couch. She didn’t remember coming home, didn’t remember falling asleep.

“Would you like some water?” Duncan asked. He was sitting on the side of the couch, and she swiveled around him to sit up, dropping her feet to the floor.

She leaned forward, hugging herself, and shook her head. “No, thank you.”

She heard him sigh as he moved from the couch to sit on the sturdy old coffee table she and Lacey had rescued from the curb when they first moved to this house. Someone two blocks over had put it out for the trash, but Lacey had seen it on her way home and dragged Emma back with her to pick it up. The damn thing was so heavy that they’d struggled to force it even halfway into Emma’s trunk, and then they’d barely gotten it up the stairs into the house. The two of them had been grunting like rooting pigs, stopping every five minutes to rest. She smiled at the memory, and was horrified to feel tears burning the backs of her eyes.

Emma bit her lip as she fought for control. She wasn’t going to cry. Tears wouldn’t bring Lacey back. Nothing would. Emma’s job now was to see Lacey properly buried. Then she’d find whoever had done this . . . and kill him. She had a gun and she knew how to use it. You didn’t grow up where she had and not learn how to shoot. She even had a membership at a shooting range in Virginia. No sense having a gun if you couldn’t hit anything with it. She didn’t get out to the range as often as she would have liked, but her aim was good enough. And up close and personal, it wouldn’t matter.

Either way, Emma wasn’t going to wait for the police. Police were too easily bought off in this town. Besides, if they’d taken her more seriously when she reported Lacey missing, maybe her best friend wouldn’t be dead right now. Who knew how long she’d been buried in that—

But, she wasn’t going to think about that. She was going to hold it together long enough to convince Duncan she was okay, and then the killer had better start looking over his shoulder, because she was going to make someone pay.

“Emma?” Duncan said softly.

Emma raised her eyes to his. He looked worried, but there was no need. She was fine. Finer than fine. She was cold purpose.

“Duncan,” she said, proud of how even her voice was, how calm. Duncan appreciated calm. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

Duncan’s watchful gaze seemed to freeze, and for a moment Emma thought she saw a deep bronze glow replace the warm brown of his eyes. In that moment, she was convinced he knew what she was doing, what she
planned
to do tomorrow and the next day. But then he blinked, and she persuaded herself it was impossible. A figment of her always vivid imagination.

“I’m sorry, Emma.”

“You’re very kind,” she said, drawing on Grandmama’s teachings. A platitude for every occasion. Anything to cover up what you’re really feeling, so no one ever has to suffer the embarrassment of a genuine emotion.

Duncan’s eyes narrowed into a scowl. “Stop that.”

She glared at him. “Stop what?”

“Stop shutting me out with your proper Southern manners.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m a vampire lord, Emma. You can’t fool me.”

“Good for you,” she shot back. “I’m a human, and I’m doing the best I can.” Who the hell did he think he was anyway? If she wanted to pretend her heart wasn’t breaking, if she
needed
to believe it, who was he to tell her she couldn’t?

“Fine.” He stood, shoving the heavy table out of his way as if it weighed nothing at all. He turned his back, ignoring her for a moment. She could tell he was angry and trying to control it. Some men would have slammed a fist into a wall, or maybe thrown something. Duncan was too controlled for that, but there were still signs. He wasn’t the only one who could read body language. She and Lacey had survived seven years in foster care. She was a damn expert at reading body language.