Lucas (18 page)

“At least it proves what we already suspected, my lord. That he gave the specific orders.”

“Oh, he gave them all right. Bastard
bragged
about it.” Lucas collapsed onto his desk chair, falling hard enough that it skidded back a few inches. “Sit, Nick. And stop with
the
my
lord
bullshit. I’m not gonna hurt anyone, especially not you.”

“Well, that’s a relief,”
Magda
drawled as she strolled into his office. She crossed to the desk and propped a hip on the edge, her narrow skirt sliding up to reveal an expanse of toned thigh as she turned to look at him. “Agent Hunter called this evening.
Several times.”

Lucas swore softly. He probably should have called her from the plane, but he didn’t want the FBI to know his business and figured it was at least possible she’d have known he was in the air. Grabbing his cell phone, he pulled up her number, checking the time as he did so. Just past eleven. Damn it, he was late. Kathryn’s phone was ringing for the third time. Surely, she wouldn’t have—

“Kathryn Hunter,” she answered in a cool voice. Lucas rolled his eyes. She had to know it was him calling, since his number would have come up on her Caller ID.

“Yeah, Kathryn.
It’s Lucas,” he said, identifying
himself
needlessly, and playing along with her little game. “Look, something fairly serious came up. We’ll have to do the club tomorrow night, instead.”

“Oh, that’s all right. I’m already here.”

Lucas pulled the phone away and stared at it, wondering if he’d heard correctly. He brought it back to his ear. “Excuse me?”

“I’m at the club,” she said loudly, enunciating each word, as if she honestly believed he hadn’t been able to hear her. “In fact, I’m just about to go inside.”

“Bad idea, Kathryn,” he said, striving for calm, although his brain was screaming at her to get the fuck out of there. His warriors were about to descend on that club. They were fresh from the battlefield, high on the defeat of their enemies, looking for the blood and sex release they
hadn’t
had time to get last night . . . and there she’d be—one righteous, blond FBI agent directly in their path.

“Excuse me?” she mimicked archly.

“Bad. Idea,” he repeated, trying not to snarl, knowing intuitively that if he got angry or demanding, it would have the opposite effect he wanted.

But she only laughed. “I’m sure I’ll manage, Lucas. This isn’t exactly my first rodeo.”

Lucas said a quick prayer for patience. “Kathryn,” he began,
then
stopped in disbelief. She’d hung up on him! Lucas shouted wordlessly and threw the phone across the room, raging. No one fucking hung up on him. Ever!

Even worse, now he’d have to drag his ass to that stupid club, or Kathryn was going to end up as someone’s dinner. He had a sudden image of her pressed up against a wall, legs spread, her arms around some hulking vampire’s back while that vampire bent his head to her neck and— Oh, hell, no!

“Nick, we’re leaving in five.”

“Why?”
Magda
demanded impatiently, her vampire hearing having given her both sides of the conversation. “She’s a big girl, and no one forced her to go there alone. Let her deal with it.”

“What a great idea,
Magda
,” he snapped, an Irish lilt flavoring his words as it always did when he got angry enough. “Let’s send the fucking FBI agent into one of our blood houses to be blooded and possibly assaulted by a battle-raged vampire or two.
Fucking fantastic.”
He leaned across the desk until he was only inches away from the female vamp who was his lawyer. “I don’t know what your problem is with Kathryn, but you need to
deal
with it and do your job.”

Magda
flushed red with anger and embarrassment. “I’ll tell you my problem,” she shouted. “I’ve seen you with a lot of women, hundreds of fucking women. And not one of them has ever mattered to you. But this one does, and I don’t like it. She’s dangerous. Not just to you, but to the rest of us, and you don’t seem to give a shit about it!”

Lucas straightened to his full height and stared at her coldly.
Magda
paled, suddenly realizing she’d gone too far. She slid to her knees and glanced up at him once before lowering her gaze to the floor. In that brief flash of her dark eyes, he’d seen his own reflection, his eyes burning gold with power.

“Are you suggesting I don’t protect what is mine?” he asked in a dangerously calm voice.

“No,”
Magda
whispered instantly. “No, my lord, please. I didn’t mean—”

“Silence.”

Magda’s
words were choked off on a sob.

“For the sake of our history together, I’ve indulged your petty jealousies,
Magda
. I now see that was a mistake.”

She raised her gaze to his, unable to speak, her dark eyes beseeching.

“It may be time for you to try your skills elsewhere. Unfortunately, I don’t have time for this now. You’re excused for the evening. I’ll send word tomorrow as to your new assignment.” He waved his hand, lifting the compulsion and permitting her to speak, then turning his back and walking away.

“Sire,” she sobbed behind him, “please.”

Lucas stopped and turned enough to give her a silent look.
Magda
immediately cast her eyes back to the carpet, biting her lips to stifle her sobs. Lucas strode out of his office, taking the side door that led to his private quarters. Once out of sight, he picked up his pace. He had to get to the club before Kathryn, or someone else, did something he couldn’t undo.

Chapter Seven

Kathryn acknowledged that she hadn’t been quite honest with Lucas. When he’d called her, she’d just been turning into the club’s parking lot and could easily have waited for him. But his high-handed attitude that she would rearrange everything to suit his schedule had pissed her off even more than being stood up, so she bent the truth just a bit. Besides, as she’d told him, this wasn’t the first time she’d gone to a potentially hostile location to interview witnesses. It might have gone smoother with Lucas at hand, but it was doable with or without him.

She grabbed her FBI ID and headed for the front of the club, only to be confronted by a long line of people waiting to get in. Both men and women were there, although significantly more women than men. And despite various styles of dress, they all had one thing in common—there wasn’t a covered neck among them, with most baring a hell of a lot more than just their necks. She eyed some of the women, with their swooping necklines and tiny skirts, and recalled what Lucas had said about clubs like this. The vamps took blood from human partners and gave them a mind-blowing sexual experience in return. She looked again at one or two of those butt-cheek-baring skirts and decided she didn’t want to know what else those women were or were
not
wearing.

Not wanting anyone to mistake her own purpose in being there, she made one small change in her own attire. Walking back to her SUV, she pulled open her cargo hatch and debated her options. The only clothes she had with her were the ones in her gym bag, which were left over from her futile search for a place to work out yesterday. She unzipped the bag and pulled out a pair of plain, black leggings, slipping them on under the black knit cocktail dress she’d bought in
Minneapolis
. The dress was wool, with simple, straight lines, long sleeves and a modest boat neck. It was a little more
form
fitting than she’d normally wear, but at least the hemline fell closer to her knees than her ass. And the belted waist gave her a place to anchor the clip-on holster for her Glock. She hadn’t been sure when she bought the dress whether she’d be carrying a sidearm into the club, but now she was glad for her foresight. Not wanting to advertise the gun’s presence, however, she pulled her black jacket back on over everything, concealing both the weapon
and
the clingy fit of the dress. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about her shoes, since her only alternative was the gym shoes from her bag. And since she had to get in the club’s front door, she didn’t think that would work. Most places like this—by which she meant trendy clubs, not specifically vampire clubs since she’d never been to one—had informal dress codes with the bouncer at the door having complete discretion about who got in. She could only imagine that the door guy at a vamp club would be even more selective, and somehow she didn’t think clunky athletic shoes and a black dress would cut it.

Even the leggings were pushing it, but if worse came to worst, she could badge her way in. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, though. Contrary to what Lucas seemed to think, Kathryn didn’t plan on thumping tables and demanding answers. She could be subtle when she needed to be.

Her worries about passing the bouncer’s inspection proved unfounded once she got to the door. The bouncer at Lucas’s club was big. Not just tall, but thickly muscled with arms that bulged around a black T-shirt which seemed too insubstantial for the cold weather. And apparently he was
perceptive,
too, because he spotted her as a cop the minute she bypassed the long line of customers and stepped up to him.

“Welcome to the club, officer.” He laughed and dropped the velvet rope, which should have made Kathryn happy. But his laugh sounded more like a warning, something cynical, and knowing that had made her instantly suspicious.

She considered turning around and walking away right then and there, but she was too stubborn to give up that easily, thereby effectively admitting that Lucas had been right. So, instead, she flashed her FBI badge and said, “I’m not a cop.”

He grinned. “Close enough, sweetheart. Don’t suppose you’d consider turning over your weapon?”

It was Kathryn’s turn to laugh.

“That’s what I figured.” He sighed. “What can I do for you?”

Kathryn pulled out her brother’s picture and showed it to him.

“You
ever seen
him before?”

He looked down at the photo almost dismissively and then frowned in surprise. “Yeah,” he said. “Don’t know his name, but he’s been here a couple of times.”

“Twice,” Kathryn clarified. “All of these people coming and going, but you remember this one?”

The bouncer shrugged, massive shoulders moving up and down.
“Because he had a camera with him.
We don’t usually allow customers to bring cameras into the club, not even cell phones.” He gestured to a table where new arrivals were turning over purses and turning out pockets. They were also signing some sort of form, but she couldn’t read what it was from where she stood.

“This guy,” the bouncer indicated Daniel’s picture, “had a camera around his neck, and not the touristy kind with point and shoot, either. I told him he’d have to check it, and he balked. Said it was too expensive. Anyway, it was early, and we weren’t crowded yet. The boss happened to see what was going on and told me it was okay, that your guy was some sort of famous photographer.” He shrugged again. “So I let him in.
Same thing the next night.”

“When was this?”

“Two weeks ago?
Maybe a little more?”

“Did you ever see him leave with anyone?”

“Lady, I keep people from sneaking in, not going home.”

Kathryn sighed. She’d known it wouldn’t be that easy. “Okay. So, who’s your boss, and where can I find him?”

“Name’s Kurt, and he’s in the same place he is every night we’re open.
Behind the bar.”

“Thanks.”

Kathryn bypassed the check-in tables and strolled into the dimly lit bar, trying to conceal the fact that she wanted to gawk like a tourist. Lucas had described what they did at these clubs, but that hadn’t prepared her for the reality of it. The place was crowded enough that she wondered about the fire code, and everywhere she looked people
were
going at it with each other.
On the dance floor, in the booths hugging the walls, and in dark corners sporadically lit by twisting lights in the ceiling.
Some were engaged in sexual acts that would have gotten them arrested anywhere else, while others . . . She stared despite herself as a vampire lifted his mouth from a woman’s neck, eyes rolling up to meet Kathryn’s shocked gaze as he licked the twin puncture wounds and then his own lips, as if savoring the flavor of a rich wine.

Kathryn averted her gaze quickly, but not before she saw the vampire’s fangs flash in a mocking grin. Determined to do what she’d come for and leave, she made her way through the crowded club, surrounded by sweaty, horny humans and way too many hungry vampires. The music was incredibly loud, the pulsing bass so persistent that she had to fight the urge to put her hands over her ears and wince like some cranky old lady. In order to get to the bar, she had to ford the edge of the dance floor, which meant being jostled from all sides until she was ready to pull her gun and scream at the top of her lungs for everyone to
get the hell out of the way!
Including—no,
especially
—a particularly clueless testosterone jockey who absolutely refused to take a fucking hint and move along.