In the Dead of Cold (3 page)

“Please. As you can see”—she spread her hands wide—“I pose no threat to him. I have no weapons. But you’re welcome to check my bag if you wish.” Jane almost bit her tongue, since she’d told him one of the biggest lies of her life. She did have a weapon—an unseen weapon. However, she wasn’t planning on using it on Graham Masterson. She indicated the large bag she’d draped over one shoulder and across her body. She was amazed it was still there.

“All right. I’ll take you up to him.” He pulled out his cell phone and told someone they were coming up. He led her to the nearest elevator, and they entered. They were alone. Once the door closed, he grabbed her arm and turned her toward him. She gasped.

“If this is all some plan to get to him, if you’ve lied to me at all, I won’t be very happy.”

She didn’t tell him what she felt, what she saw when he touched her. The feelings, thoughts, visions were all mixed up and jumbled together, coming at her in blinding flashes and in complete contrast to her having felt only warmth a few moments ago. She felt his anger. Although it was an uncontrollable animal, chewing through his gut, it wasn’t directed at her. His tension stretched tight through him. His worry for her was a cloud of fog that swallowed him. And was it her imagination, or did his teeth change? Did he sprout instant fangs that turned normal again in a flash? Jane couldn’t be certain. He might say he’d never hurt her, but could she believe him? She shivered and tried to pull away. He was hesitant to let her go.

Then her confusion doubled as she saw his goodness. She also saw the conflict in him. His want—his very need—to hold her close and offer the safety of his arms was overwhelming, like an assault that took more of her energy. He was angry at whoever had hurt her. He wanted to lash out, punch the wall.

The idea of pressing the Emergency Stop button flashed through him like lightning. And he wanted her back against the wall while she wrapped her legs around his waist and he fucked her hard and fast before they reached the top floor. His want touched her with the sudden intensity of a burning ember. It left her head swimming. He released her arm as if he knew that if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be able to fight the need to pull her into his embrace and make the thought reality. His touch left her skin tingling, and Jane felt weaker now than she had after her attack in the alleyway less than an hour before.

She fought the urge to step closer to him, as if her body, her skin, craved his closeness and her soul longed to meld with his.
Being close to him is the only safe place.

Hell, what was wrong with her? She’d never before been so conflicted. He was like a fire, warm and inviting. But she knew if she got too close, she’d burn to ashes. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall as the elevator rose to the top floor. She locked her knees to keep them from shaking. Exhaustion gripped her. She hoped she had enough strength left to tell Graham Masterson what he needed to know.

What if he didn’t believe her?

His wife would be in trouble, that’s what.

When she looked up again, she found herself caught in Mr. Drummond’s gaze. His expression had softened, but his eyes were still hard.

“And after you’ve told Mr. M. your dire news, you will tell me who did this to you.”

Another shiver moved up her back at the coldness in his voice. She had never heard icy, killing hatred come from him. When he spoke to her in the dreams they shared, he was nothing but warm and loving or light and laughing. Then, of course, if he whispered in her ear and his words were filled with passion and desire, the sound of his voice could make her hot and wet. His whispers in her ear could make her come. The coldness, the hatred she heard right now…it sent shivers through her.

The door opened into what looked like a foyer. There were two solid oak doors ahead of them with a small table on either side, each holding a plant. Mr. Drummond started to take her arm. She stepped out of the elevator before he could touch her. Her legs tingled as if she walked on pins and needles. Her wet clothes clung to her. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. She held the towel as if it were her lifeline. A tornado of feelings swept through her—a mixture of hot from the man beside her and cold from her wet clothes and the fear that she was now stepping in a pit of vipers.

Mr. Drummond reached in front of her and opened one of the doors, leading her into a grand office. Deep, sea-green carpet, a large, intricately carved desk, comfortable plush chairs, a sofa, and a well-stocked bar took up one end. There was also a fireplace with a beautiful oak mantel. Flames poured from the gas log, filling the room with warmth. Jane fought the urge to move closer, to hold out her hands and let the fire send its heat through her. Above the mantel were two swords set in a crisscross position, their intricate handles pointing at the ceiling, their edges appearing sharp. At the other end of the huge room was a round conference table that reminded Jane of one that King Arthur would have used. All in all, the office was larger than some apartments Jane had lived in.

Graham Masterson’s picture had graced the front cover of three separate magazines just this month, so Jane had no difficulty recognizing him. With his dark hair and black eyes, he was a looker. But she was too tired, cold, and uncomfortable to notice or care. Not that she would anyway, since her dream lover stood beside her. She forced down a swallow and stepped into the office. There were four other men in the room, each sitting at various locations. She recognized defense tactics when she saw them.

Graham Masterson stood. “Thank you for bringing her up, Milo.”

Now she had a first name to go with her midnight lover.

Milo. Milo Drummond.

She glanced over at him and found he watched her.

“Ms. Smyth?” Graham Masterson extended his hand to her.

Jane stepped closer to him but didn’t reach out. “You can call me Jane.”

He got the message and put his hand back on his desk. “Of course.” His words were polite. “Please sit down.”

“No, thank you.”

He nodded, another polite gesture. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“Perhaps after we’ve talked.” She grasped the back of the chair in front of her in an effort to stay on her feet. Milo took the towel she still held.

“I understand you’ve refused the assistance of the hotel doctor. May I suggest you change your mind?”

“I don’t need a doctor.”

“I beg to differ.”

“I came to help you.”

At her words, he raised a brow. “And how is that?”

Jane licked her lips before she spoke again, but it didn’t ease her fear. “I was at the bookstore in town earlier. There was a man there. I don’t know if you know him. But he knows you.” She felt trapped in his endless gaze.

Graham tilted his head in question. “Does he have a name?”

“All I know is a first name—Bart.”

When she said his name, the men behind her shifted and stood, on alert. Jane turned and glanced at them. Her gaze swept past Milo. He had dropped the wet towel on a nearby chair. His hand was now tucked under his other arm. Obviously, he had a gun holstered there and had his hand on it, ready. Yes, these men knew Bart. Well, Jane had to confess that after her encounter with him, she’d react the same way. So much for Milo saying he wouldn’t hurt her.

Graham was the only man in the room who appeared calm, at least everywhere but in his dark eyes, which glistened with anger and hate.
Was I wrong to bring this to him?

“What can you tell me about Bart?”

Graham’s question was subtle, but Jane could hear how he forced himself to remain calm. “He plans to kill you.”

“And he was in Silvia’s Bookstore on Maple Street in Royal Peak?”

“Yes.”

“How do you know his plans?”

“It’s not important.” She didn’t need to waste time explaining her ability. “What’s important is stopping him from using your wife as bait to kill you so he can keep her for himself.” She knew it sounded blunt, but there was no other way to convince him. And considering the horrific experience she’d had with Bart, her words were rather sugarcoated. Jane clenched her jaw again, this time to fight off a yawn.

Should she continue, or should she leave? Had she told him enough?

She remembered the way Bart had looked at her, and she decided to take the leap. “And I don’t need a doctor, but I would ask for your assistance.”

“What kind of assistance?”

“Well, Bart’s not too happy with me right now. I’m not lying about his wanting to kill you. I think you top his list, and my name’s right below yours. I’m asking for your protection.”

“Perhaps you should talk to the police.”

Jane couldn’t hold back the next yawn. “Excuse me.” She met Graham’s gaze again. “I know what you are and what you’re capable of.” Just as she knew about Milo Drummond before she’d known his name. “I also know what Bart is. I know you—and others around you—are the only ones who can protect me from him.”
But who would protect me from
them?

His eyes hardened. “What do you know?”

She had so hoped she wouldn’t have to explain things. There was so little time before fatigue overcame her and she was nose level with the carpet. “I know you’re a vampire, with greater strength and speed and endurance than any human.”

He chuckled as if he thought that was a silly idea.

Jane didn’t smile.

He stopped laughing abruptly. “How do you know?”

“I learned it from one of your men.” She gripped the chair harder. Her knuckles turned white. She stared at Graham to keep from glancing at Milo and giving away the identity of her informant.

Graham sat up straighter, and his eyes narrowed. It was his first sign of emotion. Anger.

“One of my men betrayed me?”

Jane shook her head. “No, this man would never betray you. He would give his life without hesitation to protect you. He has nothing but respect and loyalty and admiration for you.” She had to pause and take a deep breath to avoid another yawn.

“Then how is it you came to know about me, and when?”

She didn’t want to tell. And for a moment, she considered lying—
we were drunk, having wild sex, and he spilled his guts and told everything about you.
In the end, she spoke the truth. Besides, she felt Graham would recognize any lie she told. “Sometimes when I touch someone, I feel things or I know things. Two years ago, I bumped against this man in an elevator, and I knew about him. I knew about his job for you.” She didn’t add that since that simple, innocent touch, she’d been sharing her bed with Milo every night in the wildest dreams possible. She kept her gaze glued on Graham, but her nipples hardened when she thought of Milo.

“You’re telepathic.” Graham relaxed.

“Yes.” Right then, she was also exhausted, and gosh, but that was such an easy word for such a complex ability. “And at first, I couldn’t believe it. It all seemed so…impossible.” As did the dreams she shared with Milo. “Until tonight. It was through the same kind of touch that I learned of Bart’s evilness. In the bookstore, he asked me to have a cup of coffee with him, and he touched my hand.” She looked down at the chair in front of her, no longer able to look at Graham.

“There’s more to it than that.”

Given her torn clothes, he didn’t have to be very perceptive to know there was more.

She couldn’t tell. The thought of what Bart planned to do to her—to rape her and feed on her before he killed her—caused her stomach to roil. He’d leaned closer and
smelled
her. He’d known her blood had a negative factor. She looked up to find Graham’s steepled fingers resting against his chin as he watched her. “He’s like you, a vampire, only evil, unimaginably evil.”

Mr. Graham held her gaze, and Jane couldn’t look away.

“That is true.”

“So who attacked you?” Milo’s question drew her attention and somehow made pulling her gaze from Graham’s easier than she’d thought.

“He did. I left as soon as I could get away. I was parked in the alley behind the bookstore. He caught me there.”

In less time than it took for her to blink, Milo grabbed her and shoved her back against the opposite wall of the room just as Bart had against the building. The impact knocked the wind out of her and sent pain down her back all the way to her toes. She would have screamed, but she didn’t have the energy or the air to do so.

“You bitch. Everything you said is a lie so you could get close to Mr. M. Bart sent you, didn’t he?”

“No!” she choked out. She felt his anger and his pain. Both were like thousands of tiny knives stabbing her. He thought she’d betrayed him. He wanted to kill her, right here, right now, snap her neck. And this time, there was no mistake. His teeth did change. His fangs were so close.

This
was her vision, she realized. This was the image she’d seen flash through her mind like a short movie when she’d bumped into him in the elevator two years ago. Mesmerized by fear, she stared at him. Even though her vision only went as far as Milo lunging toward her, she knew in the next second he would sink his strong, unforgiving teeth into her throat. His breath was hot yet froze her heart in an instant.

At the same time, she felt his hesitation too. He held back. She felt his heart racing.

“Milo.”

She heard Graham’s voice.

His hold loosened, but Milo didn’t release her. “So how in the hell did you get away? If he wanted you, he’d have had you. No mortal woman can escape him.”

His words broke the spell he cast on her. In a huff, she let out her breath. The man who held her pinned to the wall with his elbow pressed against her throat was not the Milo who made her come with his tongue every night. Then the hesitation she felt in him grew, and she no longer thought he’d bite her. Yet, her terror was worse than what she’d felt with Bart.

Through their dreams of the past two years, she’d learned to trust this man.

Now, at this moment, she couldn’t trust him.

Her heart twisted at the idea. She
wanted
to trust him. Did he hesitate to sink his teeth into her throat because of what he felt for her in the dreams they shared? Or because Graham had stopped him?