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thoughts. “I was just—um, what were we speaking of? Oh! Excalibur.” For a

moment, she thought Gavin looked annoyed. She turned to Mr. Smith. “I’ve

always wanted to write a romance. Maybe I could use these dragons in an

urban-fantasy story?”

“Oh, my dear! That would be wonderful!” Mr. Smith clapped his hands,

looking pleased. Gavin didn’t look pleased at all.

Chloe glanced at her watch and then jumped up. “It’s almost 2:00 am! If I’m

going to get this story in by the time the presses roll at 3:00, I’d better get

going.” She looked down at Mr. Smith’s notes. “I would really like to take a

better look at your research. Could I come back tomorrow?”

“Of course you may! I’d be delighted!”

“Thank you.” Chloe turned to Gavin who was nearly glowering at her. “And I

intend to work with you too.”

“I work better alone,” he said, “but if I find out anything about your friend, I

will let Mr. Smith know. Ye can check with him.”

She smiled sweetly. He wasn’t going to get away that easily. “Have you

forgotten that I told you I’m not letting this go? You may be able to get all

the police help you need, but as a reporter, I have leads that are—ummm,

perhaps a bit shadier, if you know what I mean. I can ferret out

information—”

“I will not allow you to put yourself in danger, Miss Whitney. I will take care

of this situation.”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. Gavin wanted to

protect her? OMG, it was like he really had stepped out of a romance novel!

Her fanciful imagination won out over her practical side. “Are you some kind

of knight-in-shining-armor come to save helpless damsels?”

Gavin looked startled and then a corner of his mouth lifted up. “I suspect

you are hardly helpless, in spite of your swoon earlier.”

Her swoon? Swoon? Who used words like that in real life? She was hardly

helpless either, having taken care of herself while her mother painted, wrote

poetry, and waitressed. She knew what the real world looked like—maybe

that was why she loved romances. Things always turned out the way they

should.

“You are right. I am not helpless, which is why I will be an asset to you in

finding Jake’s killer. And now I must go.” She turned, catching her heel on

the frill of an Oriental scatter rug. She lurched left, managing to right herself

at the last minute before bumping into the sofa—not exactly an alluring,

sensual exit for Gavin to remember.

But it wasn’t until she was in her not-so-reliable old car that she realized he

hadn’t answered her question. Then she shook her head, laughing at herself.

Knights-in-shining-armor only existed in romance novels.

If she kept mixing it up, she’d be the one at John-Peter Smith hospital.

****

Smith’s mansion the next evening and paused at the top of the stairwell. His

sharpened vampire senses told him she was still here. He had taken the

manuscript and cloistered himself in Smith’s basement vaults all day—a

place he naturally preferred to the suite of rooms that Smith had given him

when he insisted that Gavin be his guest for the duration of the search for

Lucas and the other missing persons—hoping to avoid Chloe Whitney.

He wasn’t being a coward—God’s Blood! He fought in more battles than he

cared to remember over the centuries—but it was better to err on the side of

caution while he studied the enemy.

Not that the girl was the enemy, exactly. She was unnerving. He had tried

mesmerizing her for her own good so she wouldn’t remember any ghastly

details, but she’d been unfazed. Only once had he been able to interrupt her

train of thought and that had been temporary. She’d come back at him

every time, instead of submitting to his mind.

Maybe submitting was not the right word to use, considering he’d seen the

invitation in her eyes. He’d have to be a blind mortal to have missed that.

But he was on a job here and he didn’t mix business with pleasure. Ever.

Gavin couldn’t afford to be exposed for what he was. Besides, the minx

wasn’t even his type—all gamin, with those huge, waif-like aqua eyes that

reminded him of the North Sea and that wild, orange-spiked hair! He

preferred older women—refined, regal, elegant—who understood discretion

and were quite content with being sated when he was finished. Women who

succumbed to his ability to make them forget who he was and remember

only vague pleasure. He always left them with that.

Chloe hadn’t succumbed to any of his efforts last night. Why was she

immune to mesmerization? He would have to tread warily. Maybe she would

be gone in a day or two.

But that hope was dashed when he entered the dining room.

“I’d love to help you on this project!” Chloe was saying.

Gavin blinked. Were there streaks of pink in that short, orange hair tonight?

And what in all that was indecent was she wearing? Shorts that barely

covered her delectable little behind, revealing slender legs and a cropped top

that exposed her midriff when she moved her arms, which was frequently

since she punctuated her conversation with animation.

The effect wasn’t lost on the other man in the room. Gavin’s instincts alerted

to the stranger with her and Smith. The man had the build of a football

player without the bull neck and classical good-looks that would make most

women notice him. Self-assured, he was smiling at Chloe. “It’s always nice

to meet a fellow writer.”

‘Yeppers!” she said excitedly. “I can get you some publicity in the paper

about your book and I’ll use your research on the history of these weapons

and turn it into a historical romance!”

Mr. Smith noticed Gavin. “Come in, Inspector Myles. I’d like you to meet

Alan Caldwell, my biographer.”

Caldwell studied him, a bit too closely. “Inspector?”

“Yeppers,” Chloe said again. “He’s with Scotland Yard. Isn’t that just too

much?”

Caldwell’s blue gaze turned cool. “Why would someone from Scotland Yard

be in Texas—if I might ask?”

Gavin wished that Chloe had not blurted out that piece of information, but

before he could reply, Smith interceded.

“My dear boy,” he said to Caldwell, “I am hiring only the best to try and find

dear Sara and Sophie—and the men.”

“I see. Have you had any leads?” Alan asked casually.

There was nothing casual in his appraising look though or the tenseness of

his body. Gavin felt the fine hairs at his nape prickle and his fangs poked at

him. Repressing them, he inhaled subtly. The man was human and he

detected no trace of tainted

blood. Still, there was something about the man that he didn’t trust—and it

had nothing to do with Miss Whitney’s friendliness with him. Her spicy scent

wafted toward him—warm, rich blood coursing through her veins—with an

effort, he kept his fangs retracted.

“I have not had time to pursue any,” Gavin replied and diverted the subject.

“What kind of book are you writing?”

“It’s going to be Mr. Smith’s memoir!” Chloe answered instead. “It actually

started out as a magazine piece on the medieval weapon collection, but

there’s a treasury of collectibles and Alan thought putting it all together

would be a good read!” She smiled at Alan. “I’m excited to help you edit it

too!”

They must have had quite a while to talk if they’d agreed to work together.

Caldwell looked extremely pleased and Gavin wondered if editing was all he

had in mind. Not that it was Gavin’s business. Still, Lucas had said Smith

used an alias.

“Isn’t a memoir going to give your real identity away?” he asked.

“That’s the best part!” Chloe interrupted again. “Alan’s going to keep Mr.

Smith’s name and make everyone wonder who he might really be!!!” She

smiled at the man again and turned back to Gavin. “Intrigue always helps

sell books!”

Gavin wondered what Miss Whitney would do if she had any idea of how

much ‘intrigue’ was really going on. Lucas was a werewolf, McCain was a

warlock. Sara was a witch and the vet must have had some paranormal

abilities to have attracted Pendragon. They all disappeared. Had they found

the spear and the sword? Were those weapons safe or still hidden? Balor

was very much aware that Smith was connected to the search or he would

not have had Sigurd lurking in the vicinity.

The phone rang, cutting off his thoughts. Mr. Smith glanced at the caller-id,

grimacing. “It’s the police,” he said. “I’ve already told them all I know.” With

a sigh, he answered, and then handed the phone to Gavin. “They want to

speak to you.”

Gavin listened a moment. “I will be there immediately,” he said and ended

the call.

“What’s going on?” Chloe asked.

“They just want to tie up a few loose ends about the murder,” he said as he

walked toward the door. “I’ll probably be late,” he said to Mr. Smith, “so I’ll

let myself in.”

Chloe got to the door before he did. “I’m going with you.”

“You are not.”

“I am. Just try and stop me.”

If she only knew how easily he could do just that. He could even mesmerize

the whole bunch of them until he got back, but then there would be time-

perception problem. “It is only procedures we’ll be going over.”

Her lower lip puffed out and Gavin was suddenly aware of how entirely

kissable her pouty little mouth was. He looked away. “It is official business.”

“It has to do with my friend, Jake. I am going.”

“I’ll be glad to drive you to the station,” Caldwell said, coming up alongside

them. “I’m parked right out front.”

Gavin narrowed his eyes. There was something off about Caldwell that he

did not trust. It wasn’t wise, either, to let Miss Whitney be alone with the

man in a dark car—especially not dressed like she was. She was too tiny to

ward him off if he got physical.

“All right,” he nearly growled. “The police will not appreciate a circus

arriving. Do nit blame me if they make you wait outside.”

She smiled sweetly. “I will nae,” she said and took his arm, sending an

alarming sense of blood-lust searing through him. That hadn’t happened in

centuries—he’d thought he’d conquered that emotion with the rigorous

Templar training he’d gone through.

Squelching the urge to taste her, he opened the door and they walked out

into the night.

****

lot. The floodlights cast long shadows in the car, catching his face partially in

light and partially dark like some stark painting. With his inky hair and

nearly black eyes, he looked almost other-worldly which was highly erotic.

Her breasts grew heavy, her nipples tightened, and he hadn’t even touched

her. Anywhere.

In fact, Gavin had been silent the entire drive over. He hadn’t looked her in

the face when she spoke to him either, although she supposed his excuse for

keeping his eyes on the road since he wasn’t used to driving on the right

side was plausible. Still, when she laid her hand on his arm, she felt his

muscles tense.

“Hey, I won’t bite,” she teased.

He started, jerking his arm away and nearly jumped out of the car. She

frowned and reached for her door handle, only to find him there, opening it.

How had he gotten around the car so quickly?

Captain Johnson was waiting and waved them through security. Gavin

gestured to a bench across from the captain’s office. “You can wait there.”

Chloe didn’t move. “No.”

“Yes.”

She shook her head stubbornly.

“Be a good girl,” he coaxed. “Do not make trouble for me.”

“Be a good girl?” she asked incredulously. “Should I just wag my tail and

wait for you to toss me a bone?” Geez. For a guy who looked so hot, how

could he be so dense? “This is America. Women here do not take orders

from men.”

The captain looked from one to the other and raised a brow.

Gavin sighed. “It was a request,” he said in the patient tone a parent would

take with a petulant child. “Police matters are confidential.”

“Like hell. We’ve got a Freedom of Information Act.” She fumbled in her

purse, searching for her news credentials. “Here, hold this,” she said as she

shoved a cosmetic case, hairbrush and mirror into his hands before he could

protest. She rummaged some more. “I know they’re in here.” She began to

remove a book and a scarf when the captain cleared his throat.

“Are you a reporter, Miss—?”

“Yes, I am. Aha! Here it is.” She pulled the identity out and held it up.

“Chloe Whitney. The Morning Sun. Jake Baxter was my friend—“

The captain gestured her inside before she finished. With a triumphant

smile, she proceeded Gavin into the office and sat down . He loomed over

her, bending down close enough that she could feel his warm breath tickle

her neck. Chloe had the wild thought that maybe he was going to kiss her.

Her stomach fluttered and she instinctively licked her lips. For a moment, his

dark penetrating gaze lingered on her mouth and then he laid her cosmetics

on her lap. “I will not be needing these.”

She flushed. Of course he wouldn’t. Chloe quickly stuffed them back in her