IK3 (10 page)

chuckled at his pun. “Too bad the Templars weren’t all vamps. It would have

saved me a great deal of time convincing that puppet 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.”

****

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 red 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 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 think 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.

****

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 about 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.

****

she handed him a cup of 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 sucked. 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, future romance author staying with us! Are you going

to write a vampire story?”

“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.

****

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 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