Chapter Nine

 

Gwenna about laid an egg. That was Kelsey's preferred method of hitting on guys?

Of course, her rather private and very inappropriate question got a reaction from all the men, who actually weren't of the tattooed variety, but looked like they had gone from the fraternity house to the golf course and had somehow landed in the wrong concert hall. All four insisted they had the biggest dick ever known to man, bragging to such an extent that Gwenna would have thought they were carrying an anaconda around in their pants from their descriptions.

"I'm serious," the one said when Kelsey told him he had to be lying. "It's just a fact. I'm huge."

"Show us," Kelsey challenged.

Oh, no. Gwenna wanted out of the us in that statement. She said, "No, really, don't show us. We believe you."

"I don't. I bet you've got nothing." Kelsey waved her hand in the air and started to turn.

Big Dick grabbed her arm and said, "If you want to see it, I'll show you."

Kelsey gave him an incredibly sweet smile. Gwenna was astonished at how manipulative Kelsey was behind that ditzy grin. "Cool. All of you, bring them out on the count of three."

Which was how Gwenna found herself staring at four penises simultaneously, doubling her lifetime exposure to male members in a matter of five seconds.

It was astonishing how they could all look essentially the same, yet so very different. Big Dick had a right to his brag. He definitely looked like super-sized next to his companions. Beyond that, Gwenna was just really starting to get a good look when a club bouncer yelled, "Hey! Put that shit away. This ain't no strip club."

She confessed to be slightly disappointed when they all immediately complied, tucking and zipping and looking around as if they'd just recalled where exactly they were. Not because she had any interest in actually interacting with any of their penises, but out of pure curiosity. It was the anatomical part that drove so much of male action she found herself wondering what was the big deal exactly. But that brief exposure didn't answer her weighty question in the least.

"That was hot," Kelsey told them. "Thanks." She took Gwenna's arm and led her away, whispering, "Never overstay the welcome or they'll start to get pervy ideas."

While Gwenna didn't think it was the lingering that would give them pervy ideas, but you know, perhaps the request to see their penises, she wasn't going to object to leaving.

"What were you doing?" Alexis demanded, standing where they had been when she'd left them, glaring while juggling three drinks.

Kelsey giggled and took a martini glass from Alexis. "Nothing."

"We just saw those guys' penises," Gwenna confessed.

"Oh, Lord." Alexis rolled her eyes and swallowed half her drink, handing the remaining one over to Gwenna. "Oh, look, I think the band is coming on to play."

The noisemakers had left and there was some movement onstage. Gwenna couldn't see very well because she was short and it was a standing-room-only concert in a nightclub. There were some tables on the balcony to the side, but the majority of the room was just a vast crowd of heads blocking her view. She could see the drum set and a guy with dark hair behind it messing around adjusting things. The rest of the stage just looked crowded with instruments, mics, and amplifiers. Absently, she took a large sip of her drink and stood on her tiptoes.

Bloody hell, the martini Alexis had got her was strong. Her eyes were watering, which could be dangerous, given her predilection for blood tears. She swiped at her eyes and gave a little cough.

Someone jostled her elbow. "Hi."

It was a guy. Another version of the jeans, black't-shirt, skull-and-crossbones-necklace-wearing, shaved-head guy.

"Hey. Is your name Slash?" she asked, deciding to hell with subtle.

"No." He raised an eyebrow. "But it could be if you want it to."

"No, I don't. I hate that name. I despise it. If you were named Slash I was going to spit on you."

"Ooookay." He turned and left, practically running.

Gwenna couldn't believe she'd just done that. She burst out laughing. "I'm losing my mind," she told Alexis.

"No, you're just coming into your own, sister. Go with it."

Maybe that was it. She was coming into her own. It was a liberating feeling. She'd had sex on a massage table with a hot-tie cop, and now she was getting sloshed on a martini at a rock concert wearing a napkin for a dress. This beat the hell out of sitting by herself in York sewing fuzzy scarves.

"Hey." She grabbed the arm of a guy in his young twenties walking past her. "Are you Slash?"

"No," he answered directly to her cleavage, which she actually had, thanks to Kelsey's plunging dress.

"Oh, then you can keep walking."

"What if I don't want to keep walking?"

"You have to."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Oh." He left with a disappointed look.

Gwenna was either drunk with power, or the martini that was essentially pure alcohol with a dash of apple flavoring had gone straight to her head. The room was getting quite warm and her fingertips felt slightly numb. By the time the band had taken the stage and performed their first set, Gwenna had plowed through two more martinis, had spoken to at least fifty guys, got propositioned multiple times, and was shown another three penises—confirming for her that all men were not created equal. She also had her ass fondled with no idea who the culprit was, and still had yet to find the infamous and ever elusive Slash.

He was starting to tick her off.

And she was definitely drunk. She was as drunk as her Uncle William when he'd fallen into the ale barrel and had drunk it down so he wouldn't drown without an adequate air supply.

"Who is Slash?" Alexis yelled into her ear, The Impalers blasting out a song that Gwenna thought she might recognize. Or maybe it was just that so many songs had the word baby in them.

"I don't know who Slash is." Which was the damn frustrating part of the whole thing.

"What? Then why the hell are you asking all these guys if they're Slash?"

It seemed obvious to her. "So I know if they're Slash or not."

Alexis frowned. "You've totally lost me. And you're drunk, by the way."

"I know. It's kind of nice." Fuzzy. Warm. Making her horny.

"Your brother is going to shoot me."

"So?" Gwenna drained her fourth martini, damn proud of herself for going to the bar and ordering it without help. "It's not like a bullet would kill you. And Ethan needs to stop treating me like a child. I'm a grown woman and I can make my own decisions."

Her s in decisions did a monstrous slur. Okay, so she couldn't manage to say decisions right at the moment, but she was still capable of making them.

"I totally applaud making your own decisions. If they're good ones."

"Don't be so critical, Alexis, that really makes me sad."

"I'm sorry, but please, can you just lay off the martinis and stop talking to strange men?"

That sounded boring, but she nodded, not wanting to argue.

"Hey, let's try to run up onstage," Kelsey said, her hips jiggling to the music.

"Okay." Gwenna handed her martini to Alexis. If she was up onstage, she could scan the crowd for Slash. Even though she had no clue what he looked like, somehow the logic made sense to her martini-soaked brain.

Her sister-in-law sputtered. "No! Bad decision. Bad, bad, bad. You're going to get thrown out!"

"Nah. I know half the guys in the band," Kelsey said. "And I had sex with the bass player back in the sixties. It's cool."

"See?" That sounded highly encouraging to Gwenna. "Kelsey knows the band."

And she proceeded to follow Kelsey through the crowd, weaving and smiling and dancing with concertgoers as they made their way to the front. Getting past the bouncers was a snap, since they were mortal. She and Kelsey just fast-walked, vampire speed, between two of them on the side, and then leaped onstage.

Wow. It was hot and bright up there. And loud.

Pulling Gwenna behind the guitar player and turning sideways, Kelsey swayed to the music and made a few "oh, yeah, oh, whoo, ooh" sounds at appropriate times in the music.

Backup singers in a rock band. Brilliant.

Gwenna turned and did the same. This was kind of fun. The guitar player glanced back and looked them up and down, amusement on his face.

The bouncers didn't have the same loving feeling toward them. Gwenna felt a meaty arm encircle her stomach and she was contemplating using her strength to break free when she glanced to the side and saw a very familiar face.

"Nate!" She waved as the bouncer lifted her completely off her feet. "What brings you by?" Not that he could hear her, but she was delighted to see him, and his very handsome face.

He looked a bit off put, though.

She wondered why that was.

 

 

Nate had been pretty damn sure he wasn't going to enjoy his little stroll into The Impalers concert, and that he was going to hate Slash on sight just for the simple fact that he was spending time with Gwenna. Nate wanted to spend time with Gwenna. Nate wanted Gwenna. He didn't want her trolling around town with other guys. It was that simple.

He was also worried about her and her lack of concern for her personal safety. She was knee deep in a murder investigation and didn't even seem to realize that. It was obvious she had been telling the truth when she'd said she lived a sheltered life.

That particular fact was a little difficult to remember, though, when he stared up at the stage watching Gwenna gyrate and sing along to the music wearing a scrap-of-nothing blue dress.

For a brief second, he thought she was a legitimate backup singer because that was the only explanation his brain could conjure up. Until the bouncer grabbed on to her and hauled her lily-white ass off the stage. Gwenna Carrick had apparently charged the stage. Jesus, what the hell was she thinking?

She spotted him, giving him a big smile and a perky wave. "Nate!"

He thought she might have also said something else, but it got lost in the black T-shirt the beefy bouncer was wearing as he made fast work of flipping her over his shoulder and hopping off the stage. It was clear he was going to keep walking and toss her rear out of the club, so Nate stepped up.

"Hey, sorry about that, she's with me."

The guy stared him down, obviously trying to decide if he gave a shit or not. "Keep her drunk ass off the fucking stage," he said, dropping Gwenna to the floor without warning and giving a little nudge on her shoulder to send her in Nate's direction.

She stumbled backward and would have totally gone down except that Nate grabbed her arm and steadied her. She still tripped out of her shoe, though, giving a cry of pain, and that pissed him off.

"You got a problem?" he asked the bouncer, any patience he might have hauled out of reserve just used up. "You may be a badass bouncer, but I'm a fucking cop, and you're shoving around my girlfriend."

"Hey, I'm just doing my job, man. She went up onstage and I took her off. No big deal." The bouncer held out his hands. "Tell her to stay the fuck out of restricted areas and I won't have to touch her."

It wasn't exactly an apology but the guy didn't give him the fight he seemed to be looking for, so Nate took a deep breath and nodded. "Fine." Then he took Gwenna's hand, since she seemed to be struggling fruitlessly to bend over and put her shoe back on without toppling onto the floor. "Come on, babe, forget the goddamn shoe. You can put it on in the car."

"What about Kelsey?" Gwenna asked, turning around and pointing to her friend he'd met earlier in the evening, as she was likewise carted offstage by bad-ass bouncer number two.

"Oh, Jesus. What the hell were you two doing up there?" And he wasn't sure why it shocked him, but Gwenna clearly was drunk. Her eyes looked glassy and she was wobbling precariously.

"Kelsey knows the band," she said, like that explained a damn thing.

"Don't move." He shifted closer to the stage and went through the same routine with the second guy, flashing his badge so he wouldn't throw Kelsey out of the building either.

In two minutes he was standing in front of Gwenna and Kelsey, frowning at the party pair. "Don't do that again," he told them, then immediately felt like a jackass. He sounded like their father, and truthfully neither one of them looked the least bit repentant or grateful for his assistance.

"It wasn't a big deal," Gwenna said, her mouth opening very widely when she spoke, her words all rushing together like her tongue was out of commission.

"Are you drunk?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Shit-faced," she confirmed.

Alexis appeared next to him. "Hey, look, it's two thirds of the Supremes. You guys were pretty good up there."

"You encouraged them to do this?" he asked, feeling a little outraged.

She just shrugged. "I didn't encourage, but I couldn't stop them either. They're grown women."

"Where's Slash?" Nate asked Gwenna, yelling to be heard over the pounding music.

"He stood me up again," Gwenna said. "The bloody rat bastard."

She looked pissed off, but Nate was actually relieved. There was no reason to assume Slash was guilty of murder, but there was no reason to believe he was innocent either. And Nate didn't like the guy's little habit of making plans to meet Gwenna.

"I need to talk to you. Let's go somewhere quieter."

"Can we shag once we're there?"

Nate froze in the act of reaching for her hand. She was drunk. Jesus. Alexis snorted behind him. Nate studied Gwenna. Her hair was looking a little wild, blond fluffy curls falling in all directions, and her lipstick was wandering off her bottom lip. That blue dress that showed her entire freakin' navel was hiked up on her thigh, and falling off her right shoulder. Pink cheeked, glassy eyed, dead drunk, looking like a poster child for the morning after already, she wasn't exactly at her best. But Nate thought she was fucking gorgeous, and she was blinking up at him, her blue eyes wide, her lips parted and wet, her breathing a little faster than normal, and the flush of desire over her cheeks and neck.

She wanted him. He could see that.

And oh yeah, he wanted her, too.

No matter that his whole body felt like it could just drop to the ground in exhaustion, there was one part of him that had no problem staying up for her.

"After we have a little chat, I'm absolutely positive you can talk me into a shag," he told her. "Then when we're done being British and shagging, we can fuck like Americans."

Her little pink lips formed a perfect "O" as her eyes went wide in shock.

Nate didn't wait for an answer, nor did he wait to get reamed by Alexis, who looked disgusted and ready to go feminist on him.

He just hauled Gwenna by the hand until they were across the room, out the door of the club, and halfway down the block. He paused in front of a clothing store that was closed for the night, intent on lecturing her on the dangers of meeting anyone from the vampire slayers' loop until they had more concrete answers, when she shoved him backward against the glass window.

"What the…"

Gwenna snuggled up against him, her hand finding his dick on the first grab. "I can't wait another split second to do this," she said, and pulled his head down for a hot, wet kiss.

He had things to say. Important things. Shit that mattered. But hell if he could remember what a single one of those was. She had scattered his thoughts with the first warm taste of her mouth. The way she felt pressed against him, her fingers cupping his erection firmly and possessively while their tongues tangled, had him breathing hard and aching with the need to fill her body.

When she broke the kiss and started nibbling on his bottom lip, he moaned, "Gwenna. We need to go somewhere more private. Your place. My apartment is too…" He broke off when she bit his lip hard, then sucked on it. He felt that pull, felt that tug, all the way to his groin, and he slapped his hand onto her shoulder for support.

"Fuck, what are you doing?"

"I bit you," she said in a sweet, pretty little voice. "You taste good, Nate."

"Come on, babe, the hotel…" It was down the street. They just needed to walk. To get there. But instead of moving, Gwenna was yanking down his zipper and pulling his cock out. Right there on the street.

Nate glanced around. They were in a shadowy alcove, and while there were people milling around like always in Vegas, no one was paying attention to them. Yet. He tried to hang on to his resolve. But damn, it was hard when she was working over his cock like a pro. She had him by the balls, literally, and was stroking up and down his shaft, then around the tip with tight, confident motions, and it felt amazing.

But he still forced her to stop. And moved her a few feet over, and behind a scaffolding and tarp rigged up to paint the building's second floor. It wasn't a hotel room, but it was some form of cover, and should keep them out of jail for public exposure. The April night was cool, but Nate didn't even notice. He was on fire, and Gwenna didn't have a single goose bump, despite her skimpy outfit.

"Oh, goody, privacy," she said with a naughty smile.

It was in the back of his mind that this was taking advantage of her drunken state, and he almost pulled the plug, except that she prevented him from stopping, from any movement, speech, or rational thought of any kind, by gathering up the front of her dress and exposing her inner thighs to him. Where she was wearing no panties. Then taking his cock and sliding it over her clitoris, dipping it into her wetness, then back up again to rub her swollen clit.

Holy crap, that was hot. He leaned against the wall for support and concentrated on breathing and not ejaculating prematurely. Both of which seemed like monumental tasks at the moment.

Gwenna's knees bent as she began to move her own body in tandem with the up-and-down motion she created with her wrist on his cock. With her dress around her waist, he had one hell of a view, and when she used her free hand, and spread her blond curls apart, he about swallowed his tongue.

She sank down on the length of him and gave a hearty sigh of appreciation. "Bugger, that feels good."

That was the understatement of his lifetime. Nate gripped Gwenna's waist and savored the moment. "Yes, it does, babe. It feels better than good. It feels amazing. You're amazing."

Then he thrust upward, filling her, and sending her into a nice, low moan. Her head snapped back, and Nate flicked his tongue out and trailed it up and down the exposed part of her chest. It was definitely an intriguing dress, showing off her flesh in a narrow ribbon from neck to navel.

Gwenna met him thrust for thrust, her hands on his shoulders, her cries growing louder with each slap of their bodies together. It was fast and frenzied, and their bodies slipped and slid together, a hot, wet joining that shoved Gwenna into a quick orgasm, her nails digging into him, her tight opening squeezing onto him as she shuddered. He gave one last power thrust, then followed her, gritting his teeth as he came inside her with a tight pulsing orgasm.

Her moans slowed and she sank against his body as the last waves of ecstasy rolled over him. Then they were clinging to each other, sweaty and breathing hard, her face plastered against his chest, his heart pounding from the adrenaline rush. Nate kissed the side of her head, and loosened his grip on her waist. She sighed and snuggled a little closer, but made no attempt to disconnect their bodies. Neither did he.

They were still standing like that a solid minute later when his phone rang in his pants pocket.

"Shit." He didn't want to answer it, but he also couldn't turn off the detective in him. Part of him was wondering if it was the call telling him the autopsy report on Andrew Fletcher was in.

Gwenna dug into his pocket and retrieved his phone. He held his hand out but she just grinned and pushed the talk button. "Nate Thomas's office," she said in a clipped, secretarial voice. "May I help you?"

That made him grin, especially given that she was drunk and still sitting on his cock.

"One moment, please." She handed him the phone. "A Jim Connors wishes to speak to you."

Nate took the phone and disengaged himself from her, pulling her dress back down over her thighs. With the phone against his shirt, he gave her a soft kiss. "It's work. It will just take a second."

"I understand." She tucked him back into his pants and snuggled up against his chest.

Wrapping his free arm around her, Nate lifted the phone to his ear. "Yeah? What's up?"

"Where the fuck are you?"

"I'm on the boulevard, about a block from Caesar's." Behind a scaffolding tarp, but Jim didn't need to know that. Nate watched the black nylon flap in the breeze and tried to focus.

"You're supposed to be at that concert looking for Gwenna Carrick and her little online buddy."

"I'm actually with Gwenna Carrick at the moment."

"But you're not at the club."

"No." What the hell was Jim getting at? "Is there some kind of problem?"

"You bet your horny ass there is." The phone rustled as Jim shifted. "Get back to that club. The manager just found a dead body backstage. Victim is a white male, twenties, folded up like an origami crane in a storage closet. Scene team and the coroner on their way."

"Shit." Nate shoved off the wall. "You're kidding me."

"No, sir. Makes you wonder about your cutsie little blonde, doesn't it? What do you think she was up to tonight before you got in her pants?"

While it pissed Nate off, he knew he'd be thinking the same thing in Jim's shoes.

"I'll be there in five." He hung up and looked down at Gwenna. She had been with her friends all night. She was drunk. She was too sweet. There was no way she could be a coldblooded killer. He'd stake his life on it.

But the facts told him that he couldn't rule Gwenna out as a suspect, no matter what his gut said. She was involved on the loop. She was at the scene both times. She could be faking her intoxication. And in a crowded concert, she could have slipped backstage and killed someone. There was no report yet on how Andrew had died, or how his blood had all been drained.

Nate knew Gwenna couldn't have done that. He could look into her eyes and know that she was a loving, compassionate person.

But he also suspected she had secrets she didn't share with him, and that she knew more than she was telling him about the slayers' loop.

"What's the matter?" she asked him now, her face showing concern, her hand reaching for his.

"We've got another body."

"Oh, no." Her face went white. "Where?"

"Backstage at The Impalers concert."

---

Chapter Ten

 

Alexis felt like a groupie. She couldn't believe she'd let Kelsey talk her into going backstage at The Impalers concert.

"Hey, Davey!" Kelsey was saying, throwing herself into the arms of the dark-haired bass player. "Long time no see."

"What's up, Summer? You're looking good." He gave her a big friendly grin.

Summer? Lord, Alexis had forgotten that Kelsey had changed her name in the sixties from Nancy to Summer. In the eighties she'd made the switch to Kelsey.

"It's Kelsey now, remember?"

"Yeah, I know, but I can't get used to it… and I heard some crazy shit about you getting married, too. What's up with that?"

Kelsey made a face. "That was a mistake."

Alexis stood there feeling slightly impatient while Kelsey and Davey the bass player plopped down on a couch and played catchup. Kelsey was pouting and trembling and he was patting her knee in reassurance. At least Kelsey hadn't exaggerated when she'd said they were friends, which was usually par for the course with Kelsey. She thought everyone was her best chum, right before they stabbed her in the back or ignored her. But Davey seemed to be actually glad to see her.

Glancing around the room, which was nothing to get excited over, just a couch and a few chairs done in fake leather, Alexis tried not to cough as the other guitar player's cigarette smoke drifted by. A couple of the guys were standing around talking, throwing darts at a board on the wall, and the one she thought was the drummer was sitting in a chair with a woman on his lap wearing black tights with tiny silver bats on them. The band had all introduced themselves, but she had promptly forgotten every single one of their names. Nor was she particularly interested in flirting with any of them, as Kelsey had suggested with a giggle when they had made their way backstage. Wow, she had become a boring old married woman. How weird was that?

"So this is going to sound like a line, but haven't I seen you somewhere?" the guy to her left asked. He was the one with the vast majority of his head shaved except for a long ponytail right at the crown, and some aggressive silver studs sticking out of his lip.

He was also tall, which irritated her on principle, given that she was size of an average American ten-year-old, and she had to tip her head half back to meet his eye. But he had great eyes, a light blue, and they were friendly, not the least bit smarmy.

"I think I would remember meeting you," she said with a wry smile. "But I do have to go to a lot of political parties, so maybe I bumped into you somewhere."

He stuck out his hand. "Drake."

"Alexis Baldizzi-Carrick." She shook his hand firmly.

Recognition crossed his face. "Oh, shit, I know who you are now. You're President Carrick's wife. No wonder you looked familiar. We played a fund-raising dinner for the president before you were married, but I'm almost positive you were there."

"If you saw a short blonde looking bored, then yeah, that was probably me."

He laughed. "Not digging being a political wife? Politics isn't for everyone."

"Oh, I like politics. I love politics. I like the strategizing and the planning and the execution of policies. I'm having an absolute blast overhauling the judicial system in the Nation, but being just a political wife at these functions? That I don't like."

"I don't think I would like being a political wife either."

Alexis laughed. "You could probably really rock a cocktail dress, though."

"Only if it's black." He grinned. "Hey, do you want a drink or anything? We travel with our own special bar."

"Sure." She could use a little blood. All this worrying about Gwenna and Kelsey was exhausting. "And hey, sorry my friends got up onstage with you. That's what I get for ditching out on my Secret Service guards." She hated that she had to spend every minute of her life with bodyguards—sometimes a vampire just needed privacy—so she left them behind whenever she could, much to Ethan's frustration. But it had become a rather amusing game to see how many ways she could trick the guards.

"No big deal." He just shrugged. "We have women doing that all the time. The bouncers usually take care of them. And I knew David knows Kelsey, so it was cool. Who was the other chick, though?"

"That's my sister-in-law."

Drake called over to the stage manager. "Hey, Pete, what did we do with that cooler full of drinks?"

"I stuck it in a closet. I'll go find it."

"Thanks, man." He turned back to Alexis. "Your sister-in-law? Like your brother's sister, or the president's sister?"

"The president's sister." Whoops. It hadn't occurred to her when Gwenna had rushed the stage that Ethan would be none too happy with Alexis or Gwenna for her little stunt. That wild party behavior from his sister and wife would reflect badly on him on the eve of his Inauguration. Shit. She was really a lousy political wife.

"Alexis!" Kelsey called from the couch. "I had the coolest idea and Davey agrees with me."

Uh-oh. "What idea is that?"

"You know how I need a job and stuff now that I'm divorcing Ringo because he's a total asshole?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm going to join the band! I can play tambourine and sing back up."

Alexis almost laughed. "Wow, that's an… interesting idea."

Given the appalled looks on the other guys' faces, it wasn't one they were really digging.

"We don't need a backup singer," Drake said, shooting David a pointed look.

But David just shrugged and made "let it go" faces at Drake behind Kelsey's head. "We can at least try it in a rehearsal or something."

Kelsey squealed and gave him a big kiss on the cheek, Davey's arms wrapping around her. Another second and their lips were locked in a kiss that was about two tongues beyond "we're just friends." Davey did a thumbs-up toward the guys as Kelsey's leg entwined with his.

Yeah, someone wanted to get laid.

Drake just snorted. "No shame. He has absolutely no shame."

Alexis was about to suggest that Kelsey fell in the same category, when the stage manager returned, sans a cooler of blood.

"What's the matter?" Drake asked.

The stage manager looked like he was going to pass out, his skin pasty and beads of sweat on his upper lip. "Dude, in the closet."

"What?"

"There's a dead guy, man."

 

 

Donatelli waited impatiently for Williams to say something. "So? What did you see tonight? Where the hell was Gwenna?" He shuffled a deck of cards forcefully on the dining table in his suite. "She went to a concert with Alexis Carrick and Kelsey Columbia."

"Really?" It was odd that Alexis was hanging around Kelsey again. Carrick couldn't be thrilled about that. Donatelli didn't think he was all that enamored with Gwenna in Kelsey's company either. That girl was a loose cannon, and notorious for partying. Not a good influence on a woman like Gwenna, who was a lady in the truest sense of the word. "What concert?"

"The Impalers."

"Who the hell are they?" He expected Williams to say Celine Dion, Elton John, or a symphony, not someone he'd never heard of.

"They're a rock group—all the members are vampires and they pretend to be vampires onstage as a gimmick. Mortals love it."

"A rock group?" That didn't sound like Gwenna. She must not have realized what Kelsey was dragging her into. "Poor Gwenna. What did she do the whole time? She must have been bored."

"Well… she talked to a lot of people actually."

"What people?" Donatelli forgot his cards and glanced up sharply at Williams.

His bodyguard shifted uncomfortably. "Men. She talked to a lot of men. She was, uh, wearing this really pretty dress, and she well, looked good, and guys seemed to want to talk to her."

"Of course she looked good. She always looks good. But that doesn't mean she should have to tolerate men accosting her. I hope she told them all to go to hell."

"Sometimes. But sometimes, I think actually she was the one who started the conversation. Like the four guys who whipped out their…" Williams gestured to his crotch. "I'm pretty sure she and Kelsey went up to them first."

Donatelli felt the blood drain from his face. "Strange men showed my wife their cocks? In a public place? Why didn't you stop them?"

"You told me to watch her and tell you everything she did. So that's what I did. And she was really slinging back the martinis and running all over the place. I had a hard time keeping up with her. Then she jumped up onstage with the band."

Crumpling the card in his hand, Donatelli focused on not losing his temper. Gwenna didn't drink. None of this made sense. And never in a million years would his wife deign to crawl up onstage at a rock concert and express interest in some longhaired musician. "You can't be serious."

Williams swallowed audibly. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry to say I am. She went onstage and pretended to be a backup singer until the bouncers hauled her off. Then a mortal guy she seemed to know left with her."

"Where did they go?"

"Well. He put her in a cab, which took her straight back to the Ava. She went in and up to her room."

"Okay, then." That sounded more like Gwenna.

"But…" Williams looked like he was in pain.

"But what?"

"Before he put her in the cab, they, um, you know…" His hands came together, went apart, came together.

"What the fuck are you trying to say?" Like he was going to sit there and play charades. This wasn't a damn undead dinner party.

"They got, you know, they, well… had sex." Williams's face was bright red and he was sweating profusely.

The entire world went black in front of Donatelli's eyes as rage swelled up and consumed him. "How do you know that? Where exactly did this allegedly occur?"

"I saw them, sir." Williams dropped his head down and rubbed his upper lip. "It was on the street, beyond some construction scaffolding. I was following them, making sure I didn't lose them, wondering why they were going back there and I saw…" His hands came together again. "Against the wall. Then I just went on the other side of the tarp and waited for them to finish because I knew you wouldn't want me to watch."

He didn't want it to happen at all, let alone anyone to watch. Donatelli spoke very, very carefully. "So, you're telling me my wife had sex with a strange man standing up outside, against a wall?"

"Yes, sir."

Donatelli stood up slowly. Then flipped his dining table over onto its side with a burst of fury. "Kill him."

"Sir?"

"Find out who he is and kill him. The man she was with. I want him dead within seventy-two hours."

No one was going to touch Gwenna. And if she didn't want him, insisted on maintaining this ridiculous divorce, Donatelli would be damned if he'd let another man have her.

 

 

Gwenna had sobered up fairly quickly after the phone call that another body had been found. After Nate had flagged her down a cab, she had returned to her suite and headed right to her computer. It seemed really important to focus on finding the real names for the rest of the e-mail addresses on the slayers' loop.

It was the least she could do to help Nate and the investigation. She didn't care about clearing her name, though she knew that she had to actually be on the list of suspects. She had been in both places a body had been found, and she was on the slayers' loop. Plus she had the horrible suspicion that once this latest victim was identified, they were going to determine that he was on the loop, too.

While she had been drinking like a fish at The Impalers concert and having phenomenal sex with Nate on the sidewalk, the slayers' loop had exploded with the news of Buzzdrew's death. Gwenna was following the thread backward, trying to determine who had first posted the news of his death, and deciphering who knew exactly what, when her mobile phone rang.

A glance at it showed it was Roberto. She should just turn off her ringer, but then it would vibrate all night as he left nine hundred voice-mail messages. Better to just get it over with.

"Hello?" she said absently, studying her screen. The news about Buzzdrew didn't seem to originate from any of the principal players on the loop. It was from a lurker, whose e-mail address was dumbfuck69@dumbfuck.com. Obviously someone brimming with maturity.

"Gwenna, it's Roberto. How are you?"

Her ex-husband's voice was quite polite. No overt and oozing charm. No references to her being his wife or calling her darling, beautiful, gorgeous, or my love.

How odd. "I'm fine, how are you?" No reason to be rude when he was trying so hard.

"I'm quite well, thank you. Just undergoing some last-minute preparations for tomorrow's swearing-in and the ball. Your brother and I had a meeting this afternoon. Did you have a pleasant evening?"

Gwenna frowned. She and Roberto didn't do casual chitchat. He was starting to unnerve her. "I'm glad to hear you and Ethan are setting aside your personal differences for the sake of the Nation."

"We are both in agreement that it would make quite a positive statement to that effect if you consented to accompany me to the ball tomorrow night."

Shit. So that's where this was headed. "Roberto, that's just not a good idea." And she found it difficult to believe that her brother would applaud her spending a whole night with an arm through Roberto's, even if it was a smart political maneuver.

"Why not? Carrick and I both feel that it will show unity between us, and we'll present a strong and solid government to our constituents."

"I think it would just muddy the water with gossip." And be an unbearable and insufferable evening for her. She didn't want to go and make polite conversation as it was, and she couldn't fathom being paraded around by Roberto while everyone whispered about them. "Besides, I'm not an asset to you. I never was. I am a horrific hostess, which you know damn well, considering it was a flaw you constantly pointed out in me during our marriage."

"I did no such thing."

She couldn't prevent a snort from flying out of her mouth. "Oh, come on. Now you're being utterly absurd. You hated the way I was so shy and lousy at commanding the household staff, and overseeing all your many parties and soirees. I distinctly recall the afternoon when you told me to get my fucking nose out of a book and go slap the housekeeper about, as was befitting a lady of my rank, and your wife."

The words still rankled, all these centuries later. Roberto had married her knowing full well what her temperament and personality were and had chosen to ignore that. He had always assumed she was or could be whatever he wanted, despite the truth irrefutably staring him in the face. While he had wanted a woman capable of ordering and commanding his household with an iron fist, she had been the polar opposite, happiest when reading in the privacy of her salon.

"I don't remember saying anything like that." His politeness was chipping away, and he was starting to sound irritated. "I can't believe that you could possibly remember that verbatim either. But then, you were always intent on keeping a list of every misdeed of mine, from saying 'damn' at the dinner table to forgetting your birthday. Once. One lousy time I forgot and I was subjected to your tears for two days. All I ever wanted was for you to enjoy our life together… to take a little pride in yourself and your position, and to not let the staff and the other ladies run riot over you."

Gwenna felt the insult of his disapproval all over again. "You wanted me to get a backbone."

"Yes."

"But not with you. And now that I have, it drives you insane, doesn't it? Well, sorry, Roberto, but after all these years, I've finally found my backbone and it's not going to break anytime soon."

"I don't consider making a fool out of yourself by jumping onstage at a rock concert to be getting a backbone. That's just being a fool."

She gasped. The… the… she couldn't think of a word ugly enough to describe him. "God, I just hate you sometimes, Roberto. You weren't always such a gigantic bastard, were you? I swear I must have been blind and stupid to imagine we could both live in Vegas and coexist, if not as friends, at least in peace."

"I'm not the one starting an argument. I asked you to go to the ball with me! Doesn't that tell you I'd love to be friends?"

"Actually, no, it doesn't. It tells me either that you're using me to make a statement of power to my brother, that you're interested in having the attention tomorrow focused on you and not Ethan, that you heard I went to a rock concert tonight and it infuriated you enough to want to keep me by your side tomorrow so I don't do something you'd consider equally as idiotic, or you're just plain horny. Perhaps it's all of those." She pushed her chair back and stood up. "But I'm absolutely certain it's not because you want to be chums and hang out at the pub together."

"You wouldn't be this angry if you didn't love me."

That was the most ludicrous logic she'd ever heard. "You're impossible. And I need to go now before I try to strangle you through the telephone."

"Be ready at six. I'll swing by and pick you up."

He had to be ingesting drugs. "I'm not going to the ball with you!"

"Wear blue, please. You always look stunning in blue."

"I'm not going."

"See you then. Good-bye, love."

Gwenna hit the end button and tossed the phone across her desk. The man had the thickest head imaginable. He was as stubborn as ten bulls and she was always waving the red cape without meaning to. Okay, to be completely honest, sometimes she meant to, because he was infuriating.

But while she felt intense anger and frustration with him, the most overwhelming emotion she felt at the moment was resignation. Roberto would never go away. Ever. He would follow her through eternity, harassing and hounding her, until she retreated, back to York, or to somewhere else far away, where he would leave her alone for a century or two.

What had seemed so promising, so possible—a new life, independence, a career, some sort of relationship with Nate—now all seemed hopelessly naive and optimistic. Whatever she tried to do, whoever she would like to date, wherever she might travel, Roberto would be there, in person, or with someone to watch her, and he would remind her of the simple, sweet girl she'd been, who had loved unconditionally, and who had lost it all. She would try to forge ahead into the future, and he would always drag her back into the past, and that was immensely depressing.

Gwenna tucked her hair behind her ears, stood in the middle of the room, and stared blankly at her computer screen. So she was still paying for her mistake in marrying Roberto. Hell, for losing her virginity to him when she was a sheltered eighteen-year-old.

Roberto was going to plague her no matter what she did. She might as well take what she could out of life and enjoy herself along the way, doing her best to ignore him. Maybe eventually he would get tired of her lack of reaction, or find that she was no longer what he even wanted if she was too outspoken, too much of a modern woman. The point was, she couldn't let him dictate her future. She just refused to allow that.

Returning to her computer, Gwenna clicked on Dumb Fuck's e-mail.

 

Hey, did you all hear? Buzzdrew from the loop is dead…got whacked in Vegas and word is he was drained of his blood. Can you believe that? Man, it sucks to be Buzz… DF

 

His sensitivity was touching. It was also absolutely lacking in any facts or any hint of how he might have known about Buzz. Considering the police hadn't even identified Andrew until earlier that day, that was amazingly early for DF to have caught wind of it. Gwenna imagined it would be in the Saturday paper, but that wouldn't be out for another eight hours, and when she did a search on the news channels' web pages, they only listed the story as a murder in the train station, the victim a white male. No name. Certainly no mention of the slayers' loop. And no one else seemed to profess any prior knowledge of Buzz's death before DF's post.

Which made her very suspicious of Dumb Fuck.

FoxyKyle expressed concern in her post, and she was either an excellent liar or she was truly upset. She repeatedly said how awful it was, and how funny and witty Buzzdrew was. She even suggested sending flowers to the funeral, which was either a lovely gesture, or the sign of a very calculating and manipulative woman.

Slash's response was along the lines of DF's. Sort of a wow, that's awful, but life goes on. Nothing to indicate he realized the crime had occurred where he had intended to meet Queenie. And no mention that he and Queenie had been talking privately, or that he was actually in Vegas, where the murder had taken place.

Methodically, Gwenna created a list of who posted in what order, who expressed distress, and who showed callous disinterest, and e-mailed it to Nate. Then she posted her own message about Buzz, expressing her sadness and disgust and her hope the killer would be caught, which was all very much legitimate. She did feel absolutely horrific that Andrew's life had been cut off at such a young age. As Queenie, she also offered to contribute to the flower fund. Then at the very bottom, she added, "Does anyone think it had something to do with this loop??"

That would get people talking.

---

Chapter Eleven

 

Nate stared at his mother and prayed he wouldn't call her a complete insensitive bitch at his sister's wake. He just bit his tongue and listened to her litany of complaints.

"I can't believe you chose this funeral home. It's in such a rough part of town. I swear I saw graffiti on the building across the street. I was afraid to leave my Mercedes in the parking lot."

He had chosen that particular place because it was close to his house and the police station, and no other reason. In his mind, funeral homes were all the same, and it wasn't exactly a crime-ridden neighborhood. It just wasn't plunked down in the middle of two-million-dollar homes, which was what his mother would have preferred.

"This isn't really a lot of flowers either. And I can't say I care for the arrangement of lilies with baby's breath. This isn't prom."

Nate felt a dull pounding behind his eyes and an overwhelming stabbing pain in his chest. He had no explanation for how this woman had given birth to a person as amazing as Kyra had been, or how his mother could show so little grief at losing her daughter. She truly was more concerned with appearances than the fact that Kyra was gone forever. They would never hear her laugh, never see her get married, never have the joy of watching her raise her own children. She was gone. Dead.

And yet his mother still walked the earth, serving no purpose that he could tell other than to irritate the hell out of him. It was an injustice he didn't understand and was having a damn hard time swallowing.

As they greeted guests, accepted countless condolences, and stood for hours and hours, his mother sniped and pecked and clawed at him every chance she got, griping and complaining and criticizing, her sharp words scraping at his raw nerves until he thought he was either going to demand she shut the fuck up, or he was going to do the unthinkable and walk straight out of his sister's wake. He held on, pulling every ounce of patience to keep it together until he thought he absolutely couldn't stand another second.

That's when he looked up and saw Gwenna Carrick enter the room. She was wearing a simple black dress, her hair pulled back into a smooth knot, her gaze moving around the room. When she spotted him, she looked at him with such sympathy, such understanding, that he cleared his throat to get rid of the lump that was suddenly lodged there.

She walked straight over to him and took both of his hands and kissed his cheek. "How are you holding up?" she murmured.

"I've been better," he said truthfully, squeezing her hands. Seeing her helped, though, and he wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because her sympathy was legitimate, her own grief so palpable when she had discussed her daughter. Maybe it was also because she'd taken the time and trouble to find out where the wake was, when he hadn't told her, and she had stopped by even when Nate knew she had a big party at her brother's casino she had promised to attend.

Maybe it was because he liked Gwenna Carrick in ways he didn't exactly understand or totally trust. But the bottom line was that when he was with her, he just felt better.

"Who's your friend, Nathaniel?" his mother said, touching his elbow.

Nate sighed, letting go of one of Gwenna's hands, but keeping the other, and pulling her into his side. "This is Gwenna Carrick. Gwenna, this is my mother, Sylvia Thomas, and my father, Art Thomas."

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas," Gwenna said.

"Thank you. How do you know Nathaniel?"

Not very subtle, but Gwenna didn't seem to notice. "We met through a mutual friend."

Intriguing way to put their first meeting at a murder scene. Gwenna was quite the diplomat. Knowing his mother would probe mercilessly until she got whatever she was looking for, Nate nudged Gwenna a little. "Can you excuse us, Mom? I need to speak to Gwenna privately."

His mother looked ready to protest, his father saying nothing as usual, his face an expressionless mask, but Nate just walked away, carting Gwenna with him.

"Thanks for coming," he said to her as they moved toward the back of the room.

"You're welcome. And you know how very sorry I am that you've lost your sister."

He did know that. Her eyes spoke it loud and clear. "Thanks. Can you stick around for fifteen minutes? I can leave then, thank God, and I'd like to see you, just for a few minutes. I know you have your party thing to go to, but maybe we could grab some coffee." He just wanted—needed—to be with her.

"Sure. Absolutely. I'll just take a seat in the back here and you can get me when you're ready."

Nate kissed her smooth forehead. "Thank you."

Half an hour later Nate was sitting on his back patio with Gwenna, stretching his legs out and yanking off his tie. "I won't keep you, I promise," he told her. "I know you need to go. I just need a minute to decompress."

"It's fine," she said, sitting in the chaise lounge next to him and crossing her feet at the ankles. "This party will go on all night long so no one will notice if I'm not there at eight on the dot."

He had nothing to say, really, but neither did he want to be alone. It was comforting to sit beside Gwenna, to let his body relax one tight muscle at a time, and know that she wouldn't chatter needlessly, wouldn't question him, wouldn't say stupid platitudes, or focus selfishly on herself.

The weather was cool but dry, and his backyard was quiet, peaceful, despite his mother's concerns about crime. It was a nice working-class neighborhood, and he had gotten into his house before real estate had exploded in Vegas.

"You might have noticed that my mother isn't exactly collapsing in grief," he said after a minute, because he needed to explain.

"Everyone expresses grief differently."

"True. But she doesn't really feel it. My mother is a piece of work. My father cares, he's just a workaholic who worships success and the almighty dollar. In his heart, he does care. But my mother… she honestly doesn't give a damn about Kyra or I. She cares about what people think of her, of her social status, but she is actually incapable of love. And she's a pathological liar." Nate suspected he sounded a little whiny, but he just needed to explain. Maybe needed someone to believe him, see what he saw so clearly. "She'll lie about anything to get what she wants. You know how I told you she went to Australia because she thought Kyra was in remission?"

Gwenna nodded.

"Well, I actually think she did it on purpose, knowing Kyra would die. That way she didn't have to deal with her actual passing, and she had the added bonus of extra sympathy from people that she wasn't here."

"That's horrible."

Nate tipped back his beer bottle and took a long swallow. "Yeah, well, she's not a nice lady, my mom. Sure you don't want a beer?"

"No, thanks."

"You don't eat or drink enough," Nate told Gwenna, looking at how thin she was as she stretched out. He didn't think he'd ever seen her put a bite of food in her mouth.

She gave him a rueful look. "I drank plenty last night."

He gave a soft laugh. "Yeah, you were a little shit-faced. I hope you don't think I was taking advantage of that fact on the street there."

"You absolutely were taking advantage and you know it."

Now he grinned. "You're right." But hell, she'd been so eager, and his resistance was seriously down when it came to her.

She reached over and whacked his arm. "Shame on you. But I'm glad you did. I totally wanted you, and it was very sexy."

"I like that you tell the truth, Gwenna. I despise liars… and people who manipulate, tell you one thing and mean another. Just tell the goddamn truth, you know?"

"You're a very black-and-white kind of man, aren't you?"

"I guess I am." Nate drained his beer. "It's easy to start picking each action apart and judging and suggesting that maybe this was wrong or wasn't wrong because of x, y, or z, but it's all just justification. There is right and there is wrong, and most of us just lie to ourselves when we do something that's wrong and try to claim there was a reason it was okay. But wrong is wrong."

"I know what you mean. So what happened last night? Who is the person they found at the concert?" she asked quietly.

There were things he shouldn't share, reasons he needed to play it straight, but he could give her the basic facts. The media was bound to pick up on it soon, since two murders with the same MO could be spun out in the news as a serial killer. "His name is Johnny Walker. And yes, I got a call about an hour ago that when his computer was recovered from his parents' house in Sacramento, it showed he was a member of the vampire slayers' loop as Death Angel, or something like that. I'm sorry, I don't remember exactly. My brain is fried."

Cracked, fried, and scrambled.

"Oh, this is just awful. I don't understand what the connection is… I mean why loop members? And if Johnny didn't live in Vegas, what was he doing here?"

"That is the million-dollar question. Don't worry, I have every intention of solving that little puzzle along with a few others. We'll catch our killer. He's on the loop. We just have to find him." He turned to her. "And thanks to you, we'll get there quicker. Thanks for forwarding all the names and your thoughts."

She bit her lip. "You're welcome. It's the very least I can do. And you know, Nate, I just find it very odd that Slash was at both locations—or at least mentioned both locations—where a body was discovered. I've got a bad feeling about him."

"Me, too."

They sat in silence for a minute, Nate wondering if it was wrong to see Gwenna again. He wanted to. Felt an intense, edgy desire to make sure she didn't leave without confirmation there would be a next time for them. Not as detective, citizen, but as a man and a woman. He was falling for her like a ton of fucking bricks. Maybe it was the timing, maybe it was the way she looked at him with those big blue eyes and oozed compassion, or maybe it was the fact that the sex was all-consuming, irresistible, but Nate knew he was going, going, gone.

But whether that was a good idea or not was a huge-ass mystery.

"I should let you go."

"Yeah, I guess I should." She sighed and made no motion to get up. "You know, I really like your house and yard. It's just right, isn't it?"

It was two bedrooms, one bath, and a tiny rectangle of a backyard. It was just right for him. Any more and he wouldn't be able to keep up with cleaning and maintenance. "It works for me."

"When I was married to Roberto, we had this big fancy villa in Italy and another house in London. They were pretentious, uncomfortable. I like this much better."

"Thanks." He thought it was bizarre that she came from the same world his mother had scratched and clawed to get into, and yet Gwenna seemed to want out. "The ex leaving you alone these last few days?"

She shrugged. "No. He'll be at this party tonight. He's rather put out that I refused to go with him."

"Maybe you should take legal action. Get a restraining order." Or maybe Nate should have a little man-to-man chat with him.

Gwenna stood up. "Oh, that's not necessary. I told you Roberto would never hurt me, and no sense in getting his back up. It is what it is."

"Can I see you again?" he blurted out, suddenly afraid this was it. She was walking out. "Tomorrow night, like we planned?"

But she smiled at him. "That would be brilliant. And I'll see you at the funeral. I wouldn't let you go through that alone, you know."

That kicked him where it counted. He started to stand up, but she stopped him by bending over and grabbing the end of his tie in her fist. "I'm rather fond of you," she said, before giving him a warm, lingering kiss.

Damn, was the feeling mutual.

 

 

It took all of three minutes for Roberto to spot her when she walked into the Inauguration Ball. Gwenna barely had a chance to buss her brother on the cheek and offer her official congratulations in public for his winning the election, when Roberto descended on her. He was furious and she knew it. He had expected her to be waiting for him at 6 p.m. sharp, wearing a blue dress.

It was nine thirty, she had managed to evade his escort, and she was dressed in black. And damned if she didn't feel a little gleeful about the whole thing.

"A word, if you please," he whispered after he gave her a polite, public greeting for anyone watching. "Let's head to the bar."

"No, thank you." She smiled vaguely at a middle-aged man she recognized from somewhere. Preservation of the Undead Council? She wasn't sure. Sad to say, but she didn't keep up on politics. "I don't need a drink."

Roberto made a sound of impatience. "Don't be impertinent."

"Who, me?" She met his gaze full on and gave him a large smile. "I wouldn't dream of doing such a thing."

"Why didn't you tell me Brittany had her baby?"

So that was what bug had got up his butt. "It wasn't my place to do so."

"She's my daughter. That baby is my grandchild."

"Poor thing."

Whoops. Had she said that out loud?

Roberto turned a nasty shade of red. "You're completely out of control."

"It's not your job to rein me in." But Roberto had redirected his attention toward the door.

"Of all the fucking nerve," he said, the irritation he had displayed toward her gone, replaced by cold, calculated hatred.

His words made her shiver. She was used to his impatience, his bossiness, his annoyance with her. But this expression on his face was different—harder, a true anger, and it was a little scary.

Roberto said, "I'll kill him."

"Who?" She turned toward the door, alarmed at his shift, wary of that disdain in his voice.

"Ringo Columbia. He made sloppy work of the last job I gave him, stole a couple grand in heroin from me, and now has the audacity to show up here? Security needs to escort him outside. And then I'll kill him."

It was a sign of how utterly furious Roberto was that he had just admitted out loud to her that he'd had heroin in his possession. Roberto was always vague about his business dealings and preferred to tell her when they were married that he was involved in trade, nothing more. What shamed her now was that she'd known intellectually he was a bootlegger, but had chosen to pretend it wasn't true. Now he had obviously moved on to drug dealing, which made Gwenna wonder if Ethan knew. Politics and illegal business practices weren't a good combination.

Security was already talking to Ringo, who looked strung out and half-asleep. There was a woman holding his hand, and it was most definitely not his wife, Kelsey. This woman was tall, intriguing, exotic as hell. The kind of woman who walks into the room wearing designer clothes and an aloof expression, while all the men drool, and all the women seethe and instantly despise her. Gwenna confessed she was a little irritated herself by that display of confidence, the way the woman just scanned the room calmly, unperturbed by the bodyguards swarming them.

"Who is that with Ringo?" Something about the couple made Gwenna's skin crawl, and it was a disturbing sign of just how much when she found herself reaching out and gripping Roberto's sleeve for some kind of bizarre protection.

He put his hand on the small of her back, and moved in front of her. "Go find your sister-in-law. I think it might be wise for you and she to retire to the ladies' room for a few minutes."

"Why?"

"That's Sasha Chechikov. Gregor's wife."

"The guy who lost the election to Ethan?"

"The very same one."

"Why is his wife here with Ringo? Isn't she mortal?"

"Yes, she is. And as to why she's here… that's a very interesting question, my dear, and I don't know the answer to it. Now leave, Gwenna." He gave her a hard, commanding look.

If she wasn't so disturbed for reasons she didn't understand, she would have told him where he could stick his commands, but she didn't bother. She found she had no desire whatsoever to hang about. In fact, she had done her duty. She had showed up, kissed her brother, and she desperately wanted to leave.

Turning, she nearly bumped into a couple of women who were watching the doorway and murmuring in low voices. "I can't believe Kelsey married him," the brunette was saying, shaking her head and fingering her diamond pendant.

"Well, you know ever since Kelsey had all her blood drained and was left for dead, she's been nuts. Not that she wasn't nuts before, because she was, but since she was drained, she's like incapacitated. You know they say that Donatelli did it…"

The woman with curly blond hair stopped speaking when she realized Gwenna was staring at her. "Are you okay? You look a little pale."

"Sorry… I've skipped feeding for the last few days. I feel a bit faint."

"There's an open bar. Go get something to drink."

"Thanks." Gwenna turned and walked quickly off. Roberto couldn't have drained Kelsey… she just couldn't believe he could be so cruel. Not to mention that surely Ethan would have told her his suspicions. Then again, Ethan preferred to think she was incapable of handling unpleasant truths and tended to shield her. So she supposed it was entirely possible that Roberto had been the one to leave Kelsey for dead.

But that aside, the conversation had also triggered a possible theory for the loop killings.

Heading straight for the balcony, Gwenna dodged and weaved in and out of vampires young and old, smiling and nodding and giving cursory greetings. When she stepped outside in the cool spring night, she pulled her phone out of her bag. Edging away from an amorous couple sharing a cigarette and heated looks, she dialed Nate, hoping like hell he wasn't in bed already.

"Hello?"

"It's Gwenna. Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"How did those boys die? Do you know?"

"Strangulation. Then they were drained of blood, though we're not sure how. That's not a clean job normally."

"There were puncture wounds on their necks, weren't there?"

Nate was silent for a second. Then, he just said, "It's possible."

"Oh, God." Gwenna put her hand over her eyes and leaned against the wall for support.

There was only one explanation for what was going on.

She was not the only vampire on the slayers' loop pretending to be mortal.

And that other vampire was a killer.

---

Chapter Twelve

 

"What are you thinking, Gwenna?" Nate asked her, his voice sharp, curious.

She couldn't tell him the truth in its entirety but neither could she bring herself to lie to him. And they were on the same side—they wanted to catch a killer. "I think the killer is on the vampire slayers' loop." She was whispering, aware of the couple ten feet away from her.

"Yeah, we figure that's pretty much a given, since that's the only connection between the two victims, and they were killed by the same method."

"I think that whoever is doing it is trying to make it look like a vampire killed them."

"Okay." Nate was rustling around and she heard a soft drink can being opened. "So we have a delusional serial killer."

He wasn't getting the bigger picture. "No, what we have is a killer who understands that killing members of a slayers' group in a way that makes it look like a vampire did it, will have those slayers ready to take action and retaliate. Which means to kill a vampire before—in their minds—another slayer is taken out."

She should have seen it before. It was a brilliant strategy. Some of the slayers had been pushing for action, for a large-scale attack on vampires. This kind of violence would only give credence to their claims that vampires were dangerous and the time to eliminate them was now.

Nate was silent for a second. Then he said, "You've got to be kidding me. These people on this loop… they don't really take this shit seriously, do they?"

Gwenna stared out at the Strip, at the faux landscape that was Vegas, everything meant to look like something else, everyone intent on forgetting reality. "Some don't. But some do. They take it very seriously."

"Why are you on that loop anyway? You just a Buffy fan or what?" he asked her.

"I like observing people," she told him.

She heard Nate swallow as he took a drink. "You don't really believe in vampires, do you?"

If he only knew she was standing at the Inaugural Ball for the president of the Vampire Nation, with approximately a thousand undead voters behind her in the room celebrating. That would test the boundaries of his black-and-white world.

"It doesn't matter what I believe. What matters is that someone either believes it himself or knows others do."

"Why do you think Slash has been contacting you and wanting to meet you where bodies are turning up? If there's something you can tell me, any thoughts at all, I really need to know it."

"I have no idea why Slash is suggesting these meeting places. And I actually contacted him privately first." She looked back, saw the party going on full swing, the dancing, the flutes of blood being passed around on silver trays, the laughter. Those who were vampire understood who she was, and why they needed to stay together, organized for their protection and prosperity. "No, there's nothing I need to tell you. I've told you everything."

Everything she could. And that made her suddenly sad. She had been sharing such intimacy with Nate, their bodies, his grief, her frustration with Roberto. Yet it was cursory, elusive… Nate was mortal, and she would live forever. He would never believe what she was, and she didn't want to try to convince him. She didn't want to see the look in his eyes, the admiration and attraction for her, disappear.

He would either think she was a complete lunatic or he would actually believe her, and that would be even worse. Mortals had all manner of bizarre reaction to vampires, including a fiery moral obligation to kill them, intense fear, or the desire to share their immortal gift. Gwenna didn't want to see any of those from Nate. She wanted her relationship with him to stay as it was, a quiet growing friendship and a steamy physical attraction.

"We need to get a court order to trace Slash's e-mail back to his true identity through his e-mail provider if we can't find it any other way. It could take weeks until we know who he really is."

"Maybe I can make plans to meet him again."

"No, it's dangerous as hell."

"I could meet him with you backing me up." Though she wasn't afraid, not of being killed. It would take a cunning and incredibly strong mortal to overpower her enough to take off her head.

"Except that every time you try to meet him he stands you up. I think he's playing you, Gwenna. And I don't like it."

Well, she wasn't too fond of it either. "It's worth a go."

"No."

"Yes." Damn it, on television the police were always sending in civilians to act as sitting ducks. Why didn't he see the brilliance of this ? And she suddenly realized that she was digging in, feeling stubborn and contrary, because Nate was assuming control, giving her orders, like Roberto. Like Ethan.

But he just sighed. "Can we not argue about this, please? I really need to get some sleep… why don't we talk about it tomorrow? "

Ouch. So maybe she was leaping to conclusions. He wasn't her brother or her ex, and he'd been having a couple of really brutal days. She didn't need to contribute to his stress.

"Sure. Of course. You get a good night's sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

He sighed. "Yeah. Thanks, Gwenna. Goodnight."

"Good night, Nate." Gwenna hung up and stared at the phone in her hand, her heart swelling with something that she was fairly certain she shouldn't allow.

Bloody hell, she was falling in love with him.

And Lord knew, she was absolutely old enough to know better, but it didn't seem to matter. She wanted to go to him, comfort him, hold him, make him a sandwich—which was laughable since she hadn't touched a cold cut in a solid nine hundred years—and love him.

Stuffing the phone back into her clutch, she turned to the door of the penthouse.

She needed a drink.

 

 

Nate had a whole new respect—and gratitude—for Gwenna Carrick. They'd known each other all of what, three days, and yet she had totally come through for him. She'd spent the entire day by his side on Sunday. The funeral mass, the cemetery internment, the reception afterward—she had been right there, with him. A silent, steady support.

He wasn't sure he could ever explain to her how much that meant to him, how much he appreciated the sacrifice of her time to attend something so uncomfortable and sad, for someone she had never met, or how grateful he was for the buffer she created between himself and his mother. Having Gwenna with him allowed him to stand straight and concentrate on giving his baby sister a final and fitting tribute to the loving and beautiful person she had been.

Now he was exhausted and mentally drained, but he'd made it through and he would be alright. The worst was done and he could regroup, grieve, heal. But first he wanted to figure out how to say thanks to Gwenna.

They were sitting in his truck at the funeral home after the reception since she'd left her car at his place. It always struck him as odd to see Gwenna driving the massive Lexus SUV, but she had told him it was her brother's car. At the moment she was obviously waiting for him to drive or say something, but his tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth.

Gripping the steering wheel, he tried to figure out how to explain to her what he was feeling. That he was grateful, appreciated her presence, her comfort. And that he dug her. That he was completely, totally falling for her. But he was afraid it was onesided or that she'd tell him it was just some kind of stress-induced attraction. That under normal circumstances neither one of them would have ever glanced at the other.

Maybe that was true, but hell, did it matter?

He turned to her. She smiled at him and touched his knee.

Instead of saying what he really wanted to, he said, "You didn't eat anything at the reception, did you?"

She frowned a little. "I had a sandwich."

"I didn't see you." It was nearly four in the afternoon and he would swear he hadn't seen her eat one bite. Her poor eating habits might explain why she always looked so pale, so thin. Not that he thought she looked unhealthy, because she didn't. Her skin was smooth and shiny, cheeks pink, body curved in all the right places. But he never saw her eat and it was starting to bother the detective in him. "Let's go back in and get you something. Or we could stop and pick something up on the way back to my place if there wasn't anything you wanted at the lunch."

"Nate, I ate. I did. Trust me, I'm fine."

Her eyes didn't meet his. A bad, bad sign. He wondered if she could have an eating disorder or something. He was no shrink, but it seemed like Gwenna would be the kind to stuff her feelings down deep and deal with them in a way that would make no sense to him. The daughter, the ex-husband, the lack of a career to distract her—she had plenty of reasons to be stressed and out of whack.

"What happened to your daughter?" he asked, with about zip for tact. But he was tired and he was suddenly really friggin' worried about her.

Her eyes went wide. "Isabel? She died." Then she looked out the passenger window and bit her lip.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up… I was just wondering how. I know today must have brought up bad memories for you, with a funeral and all."

"It's been a long time since my daughter died," she said, her voice low, sad, her shoulders tense.

Considering she looked about a minute out of high school, Nate couldn't believe it was that long ago, but it was clear she didn't really want to talk about it. "I don't guess you ever recover from a loss like that."

"No." Her head swung around and she looked at him. "You don't."

"Was she sick?" Nate figured he should shut the hell up, but his mouth seemed determined to do its own thing.

"No. She was very healthy actually. It was just an accident. A horrible, unexpected accident. It was at our castle in England… she fell on a sword."

"A sword? Jesus." Nate covered her hand on his knee with his and gripped her tightly. "Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up." And he felt guilty as hell that he had. A sword. God, he wanted to throw up at that image.

But she gave him a brief smile. "It's alright, Nate. I'm actually okay, for the most part. I did have what amounted to a breakdown after, and that pain, that grief has changed me permanently, but the thing is, I'm still here, sane. Functional. I've been through the worst that could ever happen, and finally, I feel like I've regained myself as a woman. I can actually look to the future with something like pleasure for the first time in what feels like literally forever."

"Good." He squeezed her hand harder. "I'm glad to hear it." Which wasn't exactly profound or poetic, but hell. It was what he felt.

"So are we going to call it a day and meet back up tonight? Or would you like to go with me to pop by my friend Brittany's house? She and the baby are home from the hospital and I wanted to pay her a visit and see if she needs anything."

Go back to his place alone or hang out with Gwenna? No contest. "Sure. I'd love to go with you. Just tell me where to drive."

 

 

Gwenna really needed some kind of pill to cure her of poor decision-making skills. Or maybe it was more that she suffered from appallingly bad luck.

Either way, it was horribly ironic that she would show up at Brittany and Corbin's to see baby Ava at the same time Roberto was comfortably ensconced in their sitting room and having a chat.

Brittany had warned her at the door, with a whispered "Donatelli's here," and a curious glance in Nate's direction.

But when Gwenna had suggested they come back later, Brittany had waved her hand in dismissal of the idea, and Nate had said, "Your ex-husband's here? I would love to meet him." He stuck his hand out and shook Brittany's with a firm "I'm Nate Thomas. It's a pleasure to meet you. Congratulations on your baby. Gwenna says she's beautiful."

"Oh, thanks so much. I'm Brittany Atelier. Come on in." She smiled at Nate and gestured for them to come in. "Where have you two been? You're all dressed up."

"A funeral," Nate said quickly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Brittany glanced between them. "Well, we're glad you could stop by. Sorry it's not the greatest timing. I didn't know…" She jerked her head toward the interior of the house. "You know how he is. Like a freight train rolling through."

"Trust me, I know," Gwenna said wryly, hoping like hell that Brittany would catch on that Nate was mortal. But given that Brittany was the child of Roberto and a mortal mother, she had particularly good instincts when it came to telling mortals from vamps.

Gwenna just didn't want her to say anything she shouldn't in front of Nate. It occurred to her as she anxiously followed Brittany into the house that she really should have called ahead. This was a lousy spontaneous plan. But she had been avoiding letting Nate go home by himself, and the other reasonable option—grabbing a bite to eat—was out of the question given that she wouldn't eat and he already appeared to suspect her of anorexia.

But now she was walking into God only knew what sort of confrontation.

"Maybe we really should stop by another time."

"We're already here," Nate said, looking down at her, his eyes flashing. He was ready for a fight with Roberto, she could see it.

In theory, the idea of two men squabbling over her was sexy. In reality, it was a bit embarrassing.

Especially when Roberto wasted no time in being rude. As the round of introductions were made, he casually looked Nate over and said, "So you're Gwenna's latest boy toy. What are you… cop, fireman, construction worker? She's been in a workingman phase recently."

He couldn't have shocked her more if he'd stood up, dropped his drawers, and did a naked tap dance. "Roberto!" What was almost as amazing as his words was that she could still be surprised by anything he did. If he wanted to embarrass her, or destroy any relationship she might have with Nate, he was determined to do it. And Roberto was an intelligent strategist. Instead of playing the irrational jealous ex-husband—which he was—he had simply painted her a tart. The complete and total bastard.

But Nate didn't look particularly shocked or disgusted. He wasn't recoiling from her or demanding she find her own ride back to his house. He just met Roberto's look dead on and said, "I'm a cop, and yes, I'm her latest boy toy. You must be the asshole ex-husband she complains about. The one who has nothing better to do than be pathetic and call his ex-wife seventeen times a day."

Yikes. Roberto's face turned the color of an eggplant. And he had a tick in his left eye that spelled serious trouble. Gwenna reached out for Nate's arm. They needed to leave.

"Well, now that we're all clear on who's who…" Brittany smiled cheerfully at each of them, obviously determined to brazen through the awkwardness. "Who wants to hold the baby?"

Corbin, Brittany's husband, looked irritated with all of them, and unwilling to part with his daughter. But he didn't protest when Nate said, "I would love to hold the baby."

Passing Ava over with multiple warnings about her floppy head, soft spot, and umbilical cord stump, Corbin watched Nate suspiciously as he adjusted Ava into a cradle position. But Nate looked like he knew what he was doing, and he was comfortable holding her. He ran his finger over her lip and smiled down at her.

Gwenna was unprepared for the kick in the heart that gave her. Not to mention the unexpected rush of heat in her inner thighs, which was just wrong. She should not be feeling any sort of desire for Nate Thomas with her ex-husband and an innocent baby present. Nate made a funny face at Ava and said, "You're so pretty, yes you are. You're just gorgeous," in a singsong voice.

And there it was again. Lust. The man solved murders, cared about women and children, wanted to beat up her ex, and was good in the sack. Damn it, she was in trouble.

Brittany was watching Nate in pleased amusement, Corbin was relaxing, and Roberto looked like he'd swallowed a hard-boiled egg. Nate seemed intentionally oblivious to Roberto, and quite enamored of little Ava. Gwenna found herself quite enamored of Nate, and wishing a meteor would hit Roberto. The latter wasn't a new feeling. The other thing, about Nate, was so fresh, so unexpected, so outside of her normal dull existence, she wasn't at all sure how to deal with it.

Because the absolute only thing wrong with Nate, that she could see, was that he was mortal. Which was more than a bit of a problem, it was a catastrophe, and one she needed to remind herself of repeatedly, particularly after sex when she was inclined to think that it wouldn't be a bad idea to spend a decade or two naked with Nate.

Roberto stood up. "A word in private, Gwenna."

That ought to be a good time. "Sure," Normally, she would put him off, but she didn't want any confrontations with her ex and Nate, nor did she want Roberto doing something like wiping Nate's memories out, which he was perfectly capable of doing. And think what a bloody shame it would be if Nate didn't remember their massage table encounter. Besides, if she tried, she could usually hear Roberto's thoughts, and at the moment he was actually more hurt than angry that she was with another man. It had nicked his heart, given the morose thoughts he was having, which almost made her feel indulgent toward him.

She didn't suppose she would have appreciated seeing Roberto with another woman either. Oh, wait. She had. A dozen times or more while they were still married.

Sympathy disappeared. As did her patience and her politeness. "You know what, actually, I've changed my mind, Roberto. I'm not in the mood to talk to you. And Nate and I have plans and we really need to get going. So unless you have something earth-shattering and vital to either of our existences, you can wait. In fact, why don't you send me an e-mail? That would be best all round for everyone."

She turned and gave Brittany a kiss on the cheek. "I'll stop by at a better time."

"Okay. Good to see you." Brittany reached to take Ava from Nate.

Corbin touched Gwenna's sleeve. "Your brother stopped by last night after the… event. Perhaps you should speak to him about ze future."

Gwenna stared at Corbin. What the hell did that mean? "Alright, then. If you think there's something to be discussed."

"Yes, I do." He was giving her all kinds of meaningful looks, so she tuned in to his internal thoughts, knowing he was giving her permission.

Chechikov is mortal now, and in hiding, you know zis, yes? Well, beware of his wife. There is something I do not like about her, and Ethan said she was at the ball last night with Ringo. That makes me suspicious of her.

"Okay." It occurred to Gwenna that maybe Corbin would be a good person to discuss the slayers' loop murders with. He knew all the parties involved, and he would focus in on the important facts, not harass her with safety tips. "Let's talk later." She was forced to say it out loud since Corbin was no longer vampire and couldn't hear her thoughts in return. He had used a vaccine he had created on himself, returning to a mortal state, and he had done the same to Chechikov as punishment for kidnapping Brittany.

Corbin nodded. "I'm looking forward to it."

"I heard that, by the way," Roberto said. "If you let in one, you let in all of us. But in this case, I agree with Atelier. I'm suspicious, too. Though I don't think it's any concern of Gwenna's."

Wonderful. Leave it to Roberto to get the last word in.

"Heard what?" Nate asked. "What are you talking about?"

Roberto raised an eyebrow. "Mind your own fucking business."

"Hey!" Brittany shot him a dirty look, and turned her daughter away from Donatelli. "Watch your mouth in front of the baby."

"She's an infant," Roberto protested.

"Precisely," Brittany snapped at him. "We had a deal. I said you could visit Ava if you were on your best behavior and didn't do anything to corrupt her."

Roberto looked so confused Gwenna felt the urge to laugh. In his world of wheeling, dealing, drugs, and stealing, using off-color language was hardly the worst offense he could make.

"Using a swear word in front of a three-day-old baby is going to corrupt her? I find it hard to believe your mother didn't swear in front of you and you turned out just fine."

"Leave my mother out of this." Brittany's cheeks turned pink.

"Donatelli, watch what you say to my wife." Corbin was off the couch and over to Brittany.

"What? I just said—"

Gwenna interrupted him, enjoying that particular novelty. "Roberto, why don't you head out with Nate and I? I think we're all finished being a dysfunctional family for the moment, and I suspect Brittany could use a rest."

"You go ahead," Roberto said. "I want to speak to my daughter."

Brittany rolled her eyes.

Gwenna sighed. He just couldn't keep quiet. Now she was going to have to lie to Nate yet again. Better to do it in private, though. So she just waved to Brittany and Corbin and took Nate's hand—sure to inspire murderous thoughts in Roberto's mind—and went out the front door.

"Daughter? Who the hell is his daughter?" Nate glanced back at the house as he pulled his keys out of his pocket.

Gwenna jumped in the passenger side as soon as he clicked the door unlocked. She decided to go with the truth, as close there to it as she could. "Brittany's his daughter. Ava is his granddaughter."

"What? How is that possible? He can't be any more than forty. Which makes him too young to be Brittany's father, and too old to be your ex-husband."

There was possibly truth to that. Roberto was fourteen years older than her, and he hadn't aged well. He looked a decade older than his mortal age at death. He had been the adult when she had met him, in his thirties, and he had taken advantage of her naivety. No question about it.

"He's a bit older than forty." A lot older. "And he had a misguided youth. Brittany's mother was an exotic dancer he had no business having an affair with at his age." Let Nate interpret that however he chose. "But he did, and there you have it. Brittany is the result. It's only been a few months since DNA testing proved his paternity. Neither of them knew he was her father."

"Wow. That's a little awkward, huh?"

"Very awkward. But Brittany is a generous person and she's willing to give him a chance to be in her life. Hopefully for both their sakes, he won't screw it up." She clicked her seat belt. "I'm sorry about that. I had no idea he would be there."

"Not your fault. And hell, he doesn't bother me. Just another prick who thinks he's right—I deal with them every day." Nate put his hands on the steering wheel, the car already running. "So where are we going now?"

Gwenna ran her hand through her hair, flipping it back over her shoulder. She was anxious, restless, irritated, and not sure why. Maybe it was the obvious—that she needed to let go of Nate. It was very selfish on her part to drag him into vampire politics and the personal squabblings of their inner circle. She felt guilty that she was lying to him repeatedly, giving him only bits and pieces of information. Granted, it wasn't like it was possible to be totally honest with him, but it was still troublesome.

A small part of her also realized that Nate was still a man. And she was supposed to be entering a new, totally independent phase of her life, and how much could she really do that if she was involved with a man like Nate, who was confident and protective, saw the world entirely in black and white, and was maybe even just a bit controlling?

Those things were all true, and Gwenna knew that she couldn't continue to see Nate. It wasn't practical. Smart. Or good for her mental health.

Yet they still had now. Today. She wanted that. Wanted him.

"Let's go to the casino," she said. "I feel like gambling."

Nate gave her a funny look. "You don't have plans to meet Slash, do you? You know how I feel about that."

That had never occurred to her. She had just been envisioning metaphorically tossing her inhibitions down the craps table along with the dice. "No. If I did, I would tell you." Probably. "Though I still think it's a good idea. Otherwise, we might have to wait weeks while you try to figure out who he is. I've been searching for any sort of link to his real identity, and it just isn't there. He's totally covered his tracks."

"I appreciate you wanting to help, but let me and the department handle this, Gwenna."

That attitude struck her as patronizing, even as she realized that Nate had no way of knowing she was a vampire, and not in the danger a regular mortal woman would be. But she just didn't understand his unwillingness to accept help. "But what if someone else is killed in the meantime?"

He didn't have an answer for that obviously. Nate made a sound of exasperation. "What do you want me to do? Send you out there to get killed? I don't think so." He reached out and touched her cheek, softly sliding his finger across her skin. "Is it crazy to say that I care about you? That I want to keep seeing you."

Gwenna closed her eyes for a brief second to gather her emotions. She wasn't prepared for Nate's lips to brush over hers while she did.

"I really like you," he said in a low voice that did all manner of shivery things to her insides.

She opened her eyes in time to see his expression, dark and sensual and entrancing, as he bent over her, kissing both corners of her mouth.

"I want to be with you."

Now was the time to tell him they had no future, that it was fun while it lasted, but the reality was such that they could never be together. It was the absolute perfect opportunity to settle the issue, to put the brakes on any sort of relationship. Easy enough. She just had to say it.

"I want to be with you, too." That wasn't saying it. Damn it. Why the hell had the truth come out of her mouth? Here she was lying right, left, and sideways, and when she actually needed to lie, she blurted out the bloody truth?

And now Nate's tongue was in her mouth, so there was no way to correct or retract her statement. She was too busy snogging.

He broke away, breathing hard, hand buried in her hair. "The casino to gamble or straight up to your place so I can fuck you?"

Oh, my. Gwenna wished a gearshift wasn't between them and that they weren't still sitting in Brittany and Corbin's suburban driveway. Why wait, really? But there was something to be said for anticipation. "How about we get drunk, lose a pile of money, then go up to my place so you can fuck me?"

Gwenna was so proud of herself. She'd said the f word again, and this time in a sexual context. It felt sassy and raunchy, and she was rather fond of it.

Nate clearly was, too. His eyes went dark and he groaned, glancing down at her chest, his finger wandering between her thighs. "Jesus, you're killing me."

Gwenna was spreading her legs a little so he could slip under her skirt, when a knock on the window sent her jumping three feet in the air.

"Christ." Nate pulled back and made a sour face at whoever was behind her shoulder. "What the hell does he want?"

Oh, no. Gwenna turned and saw Roberto a mere twelve inches away from her on the other side of the window. Not good.

He looked like he could eat glass and like it.

And somehow she couldn't force herself to speak.

But Roberto wasn't at a loss for words. "Can you move your slutty little make-out session elsewhere? My car is in front of you in the driveway and you're blocking me."

"Oh. Sorry." Her cheeks were burning. She had no reason to be embarrassed or ashamed, but she felt very exposed.

Nate didn't bother to say anything. He just put the truck into reverse and pulled back, leaving Roberto standing in the driveway glaring at them.

"What does your ex-husband do for a living?"

"Real estate development is what he officially calls it. You would call it the Mafia, I imagine."

Nate stomped on the brake harder than was necessary at a stop sign. "Your ex is mob?"

"Of course he is." Gwenna was irritated that yet again, in the middle of a moment she was quite enjoying, Roberto had inserted himself. And now they were still talking about him. "Didn't I tell you that?"

"No, I don't think you mentioned that little fact."

"Does it matter?"

"Maybe. I don't know. And you married him? How old were you?"

"I was eighteen when I met him. He was very charming." Lots of sweet words and grandiose promises. And to be fair, he'd kept most of those promises. He just could never separate right from wrong with any sort of finality. Roberto had very wide moral boundaries.

"He looks like a snake oil salesman."

"Yes, well, I was an idiot. What can I say?"

"I didn't say you were an idiot. You were young, he was charming. We all make mistakes."

"Can we not talk about him anymore, please? I am so utterly sick of everything I do being affected by Roberto. He has no business being here in this truck between us right now." She wasn't sure why she was so thoroughly hot under the collar, but she was. Why couldn't she even have an affair unencumbered? Everyone else did. Every mortal and vampire on the entire goddamn planet was entitled to a little fun, a frivolous sexual fling just because it felt good. Not her. She had to have her ex-husband sitting on her lap while she tried to get naughty.

Nate glanced over at her. "You're right. Sorry." He gave a laugh. "Do you know when I first met you I thought you were a ditzy blonde?"

Gwenna felt her eyebrow shoot straight up to her hairline. What exactly about that statement was causing him amusement? "Is that to say you no longer think I'm a ditzy blonde? Thank you, I think." She didn't feel warm and fuzzy at the backhanded compliment.

"But now I think you're one of the most amazing, intelligent, compassionate, beautiful women I've ever met."

Much better.

"And I feel like you walked into my life at the right time, for a reason."

He was facing the road, so she couldn't see his eyes, but his voice was firm, confident. "And I'm not such a pussy that your obnoxious ex-husband with mob connections is going to scare me away."

"No?"

"No. So we're going to see where this thing between us goes."

Well, since he had decided… It would be rude to tell him no. But there was that niggling little part of her that kept insisting there had to be a way to tell Nate the truth. That maybe he was open-minded enough to accept her vampirism. Because she really and truly wanted to see where a relationship between them could go as well.

"That sounds like a plan, Nate."

She had one, too. When they got to the Ava, she was going to take him upstairs and show him that she was a girl with bite. Literally.

---

Chapter Thirteen

 

Ringo stared at Sasha in disbelief. "What do you mean, no?" She couldn't just rub all over him and get him hard and then bail on him. It did not work like that.

"Nyet." She shook her head, zipping the pants he'd just undone back up. Yet at the same time she leaned forward and kissed him again vigorously, her breasts pressing against his chest.

No, no, no. That wasn't going to work. "Hey, back off, Bond Girl. You can't be doing that. We either have sex, or you've got to stay the hell off of me."

She looked at him blankly, just shrugging her shoulders, fingers playing with the back of his neck as she grinded her body against his. What was the Russian word for dick tease? Jesus. Sasha was gorgeous, tall and thin and exotic, with piercing eyes and legs meant to wrap around a man. Except there was no wrapping going on and he was losing patience. The chick wanted to make out and leave it at that, and he wasn't in fucking high school. That pet-and-cuddle shit didn't cut it for him. He wanted something real. Something to take the edge off his frustrations and anger, and to help him forget that he missed his dipshit of a wife.

Kelsey would never tease. She took it as hard as she gave it, and he respected that.

"Look, I know you don't speak English, but I'm telling you that this isn't going to work. The clothes have got to come off." Ringo went for the zipper on her jeans again.

She slapped his hand. Hard.

"Oww, Christ!"

Lifting her hand, she pointed to the big-ass rock of a diamond on her ring finger. "Nyet. Gregor."

So she suddenly had a conscience about the fact that she was married? Ringo stared at her in disbelief. They were kissing and pawing each other in Gregor's freaking hotel suite at the Bellagio, and that was okay, but she drew the line at penetration? That was the good part. Man, he didn't understand women.

Of course, he was only with her because she was slipping him a little cash to get her into vampire-restricted events, like that Inaugural Ball the night before. He wasn't sure why she had wanted to go—she had just looked around and left without a protest when security had ousted them since he wasn't exactly welcome and neither was she since she was married to Chechikov, Carrick and Donatelli's political enemy. But he'd been willing to do it for the money, because he owed Donatelli for stealing his heroin, and prospects for employment weren't looking too good. Nobody was in the market for an assassin at the moment.

Ringo figured it hadn't hurt to be seen with Sasha either, since she was a very attractive woman, and he wanted to make his wife jealous. He missed Kelsey, and was pissed at her for abandoning him. She had always stood by him before, and the fact that she'd just walked out, for such a lame reason, had hurt. Down deep, where it sliced and burned.

"Who gives a shit?" Ringo slid the ring off her finger and plunked it down on the coffee table. "There. You're not married."

He expected her to get ticked, and that was fine with him, because he was about sick of this broad, but she just lifted her eyebrow and gave him a smirk. She said something in Russian and reached into her pocket. That better friggin' be a condom she was pulling out, or he was walking.

Even better. It was a bag of heroin in powder form. Ringo was a solid twenty-four hours out from his last hit, and he was feeling it. It made him anxious and impatient and irritable. The sight of the bag in her hand made his leg twitch, his body burn, his mouth dry and thick.

He reached for it. She turned and dumped the powder into a glass sitting on the coffee table. A used glass, blood dried on the rim and pooling in a sticky circle on the bottom. Ringo moved forward to take it from her, not worried about cleanliness or clumping. He would just add a fresh shot of blood before he drank it. Hell, maybe he'd add hers. She was mortal, after all.

Giving him a smile, she darted away from him, went to the wet bar behind the sofa, and reached into the little fridge. She added a splash of blood to the glass and swirled it around. That was more like it. Nice, chilled drug blood and a hot chick waiting on him. That's how he wanted it. Then as he was reaching for the glass, she suddenly and inexplicably dumped the whole thing down the sink with a flick of her wrist.

Ringo watched her in disbelief, before knocking her aside and swiping his hand across the disappearing fluid, mopping up what was still clinging there. He licked his blood-smeared skin, intense painful disappointment coursing through him, pitting his stomach, and tensing all his muscles. There was hardly any left, but he sucked every last speck off his hand, going back with his finger in the sink basin over and over again until there was nothing left.

Then he lifted his head and glared at her. "Why the fuck did you do that?"

It took him a second to realize that she had just shoved a knife into his heart.

The pain exploded, mingling with the beginning high of the heroin, and he stared at her in shock, unable to react.

"Because I want you awake when I kill you," she whispered, hand still firmly on the knife handle.

No way. The conniving little bitch spoke English.

Ringo fell onto his knees.

 

 

"Let's just go straight upstairs," Gwenna said as they parked in the garage at the Ava. She felt anxious to get Nate alone, like it was really important that she tell him the truth now.

He glanced over and grinned at her. "I thought you wanted to get me drunk before you take advantage of me."

"I've suddenly got nervous that you might pass out on me before we can get to the good part."

Laughing, he hopped out of the truck, and came around and opened her door. "Whatever you want. I'm game."

Damn it, he was so adorable. Gwenna leaned forward and kissed him. "Thank you for being so accommodating."

"You have no idea how accommodating I can be."

That sounded promising.

Gwenna slid a leg over to climb out of the truck and smiled, taking the hand Nate offered. He was smiling, too, still wearing his suit from the funeral, and looking a bit rumpled in it. He wasn't really a suit kind of guy. He was jeans and boots, sweatshirts and T-shirts. She was about to respond, to toss off some witty reference to his sexual prowess, when she smelled the scent of vampire in the air.

Her face must have revealed her curiosity, because he said, "What?"

Then they both heard the popping sound. Nate reacted before she did, shoving at her, pushing her back in the car, his hand on her shoulder gripping her jacket as he tried to haul himself back into the car.

"Get down," he rasped, hands trying to push her head against his stomach and out of range from the shooter, as he stopped trying to get into the car and stood straight up.

He was trying to shield her, but she couldn't help him that way, and she knew without a doubt a bullet wasn't going to hurt her, so she fought him to stay upright.

But it was too late. There was another popping sound and Gwenna watched in horror as Nate's expression froze, as he started to tip forward, blood spreading across the pristine white front of his dress shirt. "Nate!"

His eyes were rolling back into his head, and he swayed on his feet. Gwenna grabbed the lapels of his jacket and dragged him into the truck, going for speed instead of caution. He was on his side, legs crushed awkwardly, but she just leaned over him and yanked the door shut with trembling fingers.

It was then she saw who had shot Nate. It was Smith, Roberto's bodyguard. He was standing in the middle of the row they had parked in, a gun in his hand and a smug smile of satisfaction on his fat lips.

Oh, God. Gwenna thought she was going to throw up as she realized that Roberto had ordered him to do this. To kill Nate, because of his involvement with her. For a second, the world actually tilted as she went dizzy with shock. Swallowing hard, she fought to keep the bile down, and shimmied into the driver's seat. The hospital was just up the road. They would save Nate. Mortals survived gunshot wounds all the time. Modern medicine was astonishing. She would not let him die because of her.

But when she slowed down to let the gate open so she could exit the parking garage, she glanced at Nate. And realized that no one was going to save him. It was too late. He was already dead, eyes wide open and vacant.

"No!" Tears blurred her eyes, and she slammed on the gas, hurtling out into the street, not even sure where she was going, the jerk of the vehicle jarring and intense. Mind numb, she side-swiped a parked car, before having the wherewithal to pull over and park on the side of the road, shaking and crying. "Oh, shit, oh, shit, this isn't fair." She reached for Nate. He slumped against her, slack and completely unresponsive. "Damn it." With trembling fingers, she checked for a pulse in his neck, knowing she wasn't going to find it.

The look of death was unmistakable, and Nate had it. A quick pull back of his jacket showed one of the bullets had gone right through the heart. Gwenna held him in her arms, and fought the total overwhelming and paralyzing feeling of panic. She didn't know what to do. She had absolutely no idea what to do. But there was nothing to do. He was dead. Nate was dead because of her.

He was dead, and she would live forever, and Roberto still had his iron fist of control wrapped firmly around her…

Gwenna sat up straight. Unless she used her blood. Gave it to Nate. Turned him to vampire.

She had never done that, never used the power of her blood, never needed to, and had never wanted the responsibility. The one person she would have turned was her daughter, and Isabel had rejected the gift, had ensured her mother or uncle could never turn her by Committing Suicide. Isabel had pinned herself with a sword to the boards so she wouldn't inadvertently jerk about, then had decapitated herself.

That her daughter had wanted to die that badly had nearly destroyed Gwenna.

Knowing she was responsible for Nate's death very well could destroy her.

Gwenna shifted back over behind the wheel, letting Nate's head fall into her lap. Smoothing his hair back, she shifted gears, hit the gas, and pulled out onto the street. There was no way she was going to just let Nate go. His house was only a few minutes away and she would have privacy to drain him and then feed him her blood.

If Roberto thought she was going to crumple into a puddle and let Nate die, he had another thing to learn about Gwenna Carrick. She may be quiet and unassuming, but she was also stubborn and logical.

And logic was telling her the vast majority of people would choose life as a vampire over death.

So that's what she was going to give Nate.

 

 

"He's dead. Are you sure?" Donatelli stared hard at Smith. His men weren't exactly Mensa material and it was vital to verify important little details with them.

"I guess so. I mean, I shot him through the heart." Smith's look of satisfaction and pride turned to puzzlement. Worry. "He should be dead."

"Didn't you check his pulse?" That's all he needed was the damn cop only wounded. Gwenna would get off on nursing him back to health, which would totally defeat the purpose of shooting the bastard in the first place. He wanted Nate Thomas out of Gwenna's life. Permanently.

"No, I couldn't check his pulse. She pulled him into the car and drove away. But he really did look dead."

Roberto stopped pacing and closed his eyes as the whole room went red with his rage. "Excuse me? Who drove him away?"

"Ms. Carrick." Smith bit his lip, like he couldn't quite figure out why that might be a bad thing.

"You are a complete moron." Donatelli struggled to breathe. "You were supposed to shot Thomas when he was by himself, not with Gwenna."

"Why?"

"Because…" He clenched his fists over and over, mind trying to devise a punishment heinous enough for Smith and his stupidity. "Because Gwenna likes the man, you fool. And she's a sucker for a sad story. If she thinks he is dying, she'll turn him into a vampire. Then I'll have the guy drooling over her for who the hell knows how long instead of just a year or two! God!" He picked up what was closest to his hand—a table lamp—and hurled it across the room.

It exploded against the wall with a horrific crash and dropped to the floor in a hundred pieces of ceramic and glass.

"Sorry," Smith said. "I didn't even think of that."

Well, obviously.

 

 

Though Gwenna didn't really give a damn what the neighbors might think, she didn't want to deal with any suspicious inquiries, so she kicked open the fence gate, breaking the lock, and dragged Nate into the backyard. Punching her hand through the glass of the slider, she undid the lock and opened the door. Nate was heavy, even for her, and she barely made it to the sofa in his den before she lost her grip on his arms.

Her balance compromised by gravity as he dropped down onto the sofa, she stumbled and fell on top of him, breathing hard, her stomach churning, eyes burning. It had been at least five minutes since his heart had stopped beating and she couldn't wait another minute. Peeling down his T-shirt to give her clearance to his neck, Gwenna closed her eyes and punctured his flesh with her fangs.

This was the first time she had drunk his blood, other than that one quick taste during sex, and she felt the hot swell of regret. It shouldn't have been like this. She should have told him the truth and let him decide whether to stay or walk away. She shouldn't have waited.

It took several minutes to drain him completely and Gwenna was nauseous and panicking by the time she was finished. She almost never bit mortals anymore, not since blood bags, but when she had, there was always a flow of thoughts and emotions, human life, along with their blood when she fed.

With Nate there was nothing. It was absolute silence and that terrified her.

"We're going to fix this, Nate, I promise." Gwenna had no real idea what she was doing, but she didn't see any other way to go about it, so she sliced open her wrist with her teeth and dripped the blood from the wound into Nate's open mouth. The hot liquid sort of pooled on the top of his teeth and tongue and dribbled out the corners of his mouth and down his neck.

"Shit." Gwenna pushed up on his chin and forced what would be a swallowing action if he were still alive. Maybe it was too late. Maybe a mortal had to be alive still, if only by a thread, to make the change. Without functioning organs, maybe this wouldn't work.

Yet when she opened his jaw again, she saw the blood seemed to have dissipated, so she squeezed her wrist hard and pumped more into his mouth, filling it to his teeth. Then she shoved his mouth together, held it there for a moment, opened, and started the process all over again.

After the fourth time of filling his mouth with blood and forcing it down his throat, he bit her. Weakly, but he caught the tip of her finger with his teeth when she was prying his lips open.

Gwenna jumped in shock, than gave a sigh of relief. "Oh, Nate, God, please be okay." She forced her wrist over his mouth again, and this time he clamped on and sucked of his own volition. Sliding alongside of him to get a more comfortable position, Gwenna held her wrist up to him, but let her head drop into the crook of his arm. She needed a minute to regroup, to think, to figure out how to explain this to him, and to let go of the fear and panic that had engulfed her. She took a few shuddering breaths and relaxed her body, taking comfort in the hard pull of Nate's mouth on her wrist. He was getting stronger, she could feel it, taking more of her blood with each subsequent suck and swallow.

It was working. His body was starting to twitch and move next to her, little jerks and spasms. She was starting to feel weak from the loss of her blood, so she detached herself, figuring she could feed him from a bag if he still needed more. Yet she couldn't bring herself to move away from him. Hand on his chest, she felt the reassuring rise and fall of his breathing, and let the tears run down her cheeks.

Four days wasn't a long time to know a man. Not when superimposed over the length of her life. But at the same token, those nine centuries of living had taught her to measure a person's integrity quickly, and she knew that Nate was a solid human being. His caring and concern for his sister were evidence of the quality man he was.

Her entire life, she had been refusing to be honest with herself about Roberto. Despite his positive attributes, he was, in essence, rotten to the core. She had never wanted to admit that, had told herself that everyone was complex and multilayered and no one was perfect. She had still cared about Roberto because she had loved him once fully and completely and they had shared a life, a marriage, no matter how rocky those years had been. And she glossed over Roberto's flaws because of her own guilt. They had created a daughter, the most obvious and enduring connection between a man and woman, and she had never told him. It didn't seem right to cast stones at him for his behavior when she wasn't exactly beyond reproach.

Yet the time had come to tell Roberto the truth about Isabel. And to admit to herself that a man who would order Nate shot, order Kelsey drained of blood, and earn his money via illicit drug dealings was not worth even her sentimental holding on to the past.

Because she had done just that for so long, though, Nate Thomas had taken a bullet and died. It made her feel sick, and she wouldn't blame him if he despised her after he woke up and found himself a vampire. She would be profoundly disappointed, and yes, heartbroken, because she truly cared about Nate, but she would understand his feelings.

"Gwenna?"

She sat straight up and looked at Nate. His eyes weren't open yet she had definitely heard him, shaky and steady, but sounding very much alive. "Yes, it's okay, you're fine."

"I feel like shit," he said, dragging in a ragged breath. His eyes opened briefly before fluttering shut again. "I dreamed I got shot."

"Just go back to sleep, Nate. You'll feel better after you've had a few more hours of sleep, I promise."

From the looks of it, he already was. Gwenna touched his clammy and sweaty forehead. He was burning up. Undoing his shirt, she ran her finger over the puckered exit hole from the bullet. Right through the heart. It occurred to her if the bullet had gone in his back, and exited out his chest, it must have lodged somewhere in his truck. It hadn't hit her, she was sure of it.

Standing up, she bent over and stripped him of his jacket and dress shirt. He slept straight through it. Balling the clothes up, she tossed them in his laundry room on top of the washing machine, and pulled a thin sheet out of his linen closet. She had no idea how long he would sleep, but she was guessing for a few hours. As she laid the sheet over him on the sofa, she glanced at the clock on his microwave in the kitchen. It was only five o'clock. She guessed he'd sleep until midnight or later. Then he would need to feed again. She would have to dash back to her place for some blood bags for the both of them, but she was concerned about leaving him just yet.

Wandering around his living room, she took in the vintage rock posters framed and hanging, the midcentury modern furniture and streamlined decor. It suited him and the low-ceiling ranch house. Everything was straightforward and uncomplicated, not the least bit fussy. A glance in his kitchen proved that he wasn't much of a cook, though he did appear to be addicted to coffee. He had three different coffeepots, a French press, a grinder, and six pounds of beans in various roasts and varieties.

He was tidy. Clean. She had been in his house before and had got the same quick impression, but moving around, really looking at everything, it was obvious to her that Nate liked order in his life. She popped her head into his bedroom and saw that he had made the bed, the rust-colored duvet pulled crisply, white and beige pillows stacked in front of the dark wood headboard. The closet was open and two ties were discarded on a chair next to the dresser. She could picture him getting ready that morning, methodical, determined, even as he was torn apart with grief for his sister.

The second bedroom shocked her. She hadn't understood that Kyra had lived with him. Yet there was the evidence in front of her in the form of a hospital bed, personal effects like books and magazines, a bulletin board with a collage of photos. Women's clothes hanging in the half-open closet.

Gwenna felt her heart swell as she moved into the room, running her hand over the glossy issue of Cosmopolitan, pristine and unread on the nightstand. Studied the pictures of a pretty young woman with the same caramel-colored hair as Nate and chocolate brown eyes, posing for pictures with her girlfriends, tanned and healthy, and vital. Pictures of her with Nate, laughing and making faces in front of the Hoover Dam. Later pictures, obviously, in front of a Christmas tree, where her hair was falling out and her eyes had dark circles under them, her cheeks sinking in. But her smile still firmly in place, her eyes knowing and at peace with her fate.

Nate stood next to her, his arm protectively around Kyra as she leaned against him. He was holding her up, his strength enough for both of them, and Gwenna knew right then, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she had fallen in love with Nate Thomas. He wasn't a man who would ever doubt himself. He wasn't a man who would crumple and not be able to walk forward. He knew who he was, held firm to his convictions, his truths, his love. There was a strength in him, one that she appreciated and envied, and she was in love with him.

Now she could only hope that when he woke up and she told him the truth, in its unfathomable entirety, he wouldn't turn that decisiveness against her and walk out of her life.

---

Chapter Fourteen

 

"Where's my husband?" Sasha asked.

Ringo took a step back, hand holding on to the knife she'd driven into his chest. It wouldn't kill him, but it hurt like a mother and he wanted it out. And then he was going to stab the crazy bitch in front of him with it.

"I don't know where your husband is and it's not my problem if you've lost him." The knife handle was slick with his blood and he couldn't get a good grip on it to tug it out.

This was so typical of women. Constantly playing head games. And if the dumb broad thought he was going to die from a knife to the heart, she was about to get a little reality check. He didn't appreciate the blood loss, but he could take her down in about half a second, given she was mortal and he was a vampire.

"He has been missing since yesterday and you know where he is. You are on the loop, yes?" she asked.

Man, it was crazy how excellent her English was given that for months she'd been claiming not to understand a word of it. Ringo shook his head, getting a little annoyed that he couldn't get the knife out. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I promise, we can work an arrangement, you and I. But you have to tell me where he is. And help me get to Carrick's sister."

"Carrick's sister?" What the fuck was she talking about? "What does Gwenna have to do with anything? I'm sorry, you've totally lost me and I've decided I don't give a shit about any of this." He was quitting. A little cash and a piece of ass were not worth this aggravation. He wasn't feeling all that great anyway. He wanted to get back to his apartment and drink some blood, take the last of the heroin he had. That would even him out, because he was really starting to feel like crap. His chest was agonizing, his stomach was revolting, and the room was spinning a little.

Ringo shoved past her, heading for the front door.

She ran and threw herself in front of it, blocking his exit, her chest heaving, expression crazed. "No! You cannot leave."

"Who's going to stop me?" She was married to a vampire. She had to know he could snap her like a pencil. Though now the room was really dancing in front of his eyes, spotted and dark. Ringo shook his head hard to clear it.

"You're dying, you know," she said.

"I don't think so." But he felt something like panic, and he renewed his efforts to pry the hot, wet knife handle out.

"Yes, you are." Her face wavered in front of him, but he could see her conviction, her revulsion. "That knife has a wooden tip to its blade. You cannot retract it yourself. It requires someone else to pull wood out of a vampire, and I am not going to do it."

Well, that threw a fucking monkey wrench in his day.

There was a knock on the door right behind Sasha's back, and Ringo was instantly aware that it was his wife standing there. He could smell her vanilla lotion scent and feel her anxiety. Sasha didn't open the door, but charged at him full force, knocking him to the ground, her hand shoving and pushing at the knife, driving it deeper.

Ringo's chest exploded in pain and he let out a yell, trying to toss Sasha off, but discovering that his arms didn't seem to work anymore. He was pinned, everything dark and hazy, his body wracked with pain, his brain scattering around, trying to find a solution, but not coming up with any sort of plan.

Then the door crashed open and he heard Kelsey's voice. "Get your slutty Russian hands off my man."

Sasha went backward, completely disappearing, and Kelsey's head bent over him.

"Hey, babe," he said, trying to smile, relief coursing through him. "I am really friggin' glad to see you."

With one swift motion she yanked the knife out of his chest and pressed the open wound with the material of his T-shirt. She bit her lip, tears in her eyes. "Damn it, Ringo, why did you do this?"

Like he stabbed himself? Having the knife gone gave him instant relief from the excruciating pain, though he still felt numb and disoriented. He swallowed hard, reaching out to flick his finger on her bottom lip. "Shit, Kels, I didn't do this on purpose. I had no idea the bitch was crazy."

She sighed and caressed his cheek. He liked her soft touch on his skin. "I miss you," he told her. "Come home."

"We have serious issues we need to work out," she said sternly, right before she kissed him.

"What issues? The only issue is that you left me." He was still ticked about that.

But Kelsey pulled back. And when she did, Ringo saw his brother Kyle standing behind her.

Jesus Christ. Ringo lifted his hand, wanting to touch Kyle, whose mouth was moving as if he were speaking, but there was no sound. Kyle's hands were on Kelsey's shoulders.

When Ringo sat up and tentatively swiped at the spot where Kyle's hand was, he felt nothing but air. His brother was gone.

Kelsey didn't seem to notice. She just took his raised hand and squeezed it. "You have to get clean and stay clean."

The heroin felt like the last of Ringo's worries at the moment. He craned his neck to see around her. "Where's Sasha?"

"On the floor. I accidentally knocked her unconscious."

He suspected there was nothing accidental about it. But he was damn glad for his wife's timing. "How did you know I was here?"

"Kyle told me."

 

 

Gwenna booted up the computer in the corner of Nate's living room. He was still sleeping soundly, and she could get online and check her e-mail while keeping an eye on him. She wasn't surprised to immediately see an e-mail from Slash.

 

I didn't see you at the concert. Were you there?

 

Feeling impatient as hell with Slash, Gwenna replied:

 

Yes, but I left early. Though how were you going to find me anyway? You don't know what I look like. Are you sure you're really even in Vegas?

 

Testy, but oh, well. She was over Slash and his vague e-mails. She could really care less if he was a lunatic killer. Let him show his true colors if he was, damn it. Clicking on to the next e-mail, she saw FoxyKyle had posted to the loop.

That name was just so irritating. Foxy didn't have anything of import to say, just a mention that she would be off-line for a few days. Though when Gwenna thought about it, that could potentially be considered odd. Foxy was always online, for the most part. Usually a day didn't go by without at least one post from her.

Gwenna was suddenly determined to figure out who FoxyKyle was. She started by googling Foxy's user name and working backward through the pages. Then just the e-mail address. A half an hour and dozens of pages later, Gwenna found a student roster for UNLV from 2005 with Foxy's e-mail address listed next to the student Kyle Martin. So she researched Kyle Martin and found that he had been shot and killed by a burglar in California while visiting his brother. The brother's name was Ringo Columbia.

Bloody hell. Gwenna pushed her chair back and stood up, still reading the screen. The brother was mentioned as being a former Marine. But that was it. Nothing to indicate it was anything other than a terrible accident, despite the fact that the burglar was never apprehended. And why was she just now remembering that Kelsey occasionally called Ringo Kyle? It was some kind of pet name she had for him, which was in fact his dead brother's name. That struck Gwenna as rather appalling now that she understood the significance.

Leaning on the desk, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If Kyle was dead, it only stood to reason that the person with access to his e-mail account would be his brother. Andrew and Johnny had been drained of their blood and stuffed in out-of-the-way corners. Ringo Columbia was a vampire and an assassin. He knew how to kill and did it easily, without remorse.

But would he do it alone?

Or on someone's orders?

Gwenna turned the computer off without properly shutting it down. She just flicked the switch, checked on Nate to make sure he was resting comfortably, and headed out the back door, stepping carefully over the broken glass.

There were a few people she needed to talk to and it couldn't wait.

 

 

Nate woke up when his cell phone rang. He rolled on his side, determined to ignore it. He felt sluggish and hot, mouth dry and muscles stiff, and he wasn't exactly sure why he was on the couch instead of in bed. His house phone starting ringing as he dozed off. Then his cell phone again.

He sat up with a huge effort and decided if that was his mother, he was going to divorce his parents. Though you probably couldn't do that at thirty-three years old.

Looking around for his cell phone, he spotted it on the coffee table, and leaned over with a groan to grab it. Every inch of him hurt like hell. "Yeah?"

"Hey, it's Jim. You need to get down here. We've got ourselves another body."

Nate rubbed his head, hard, in an attempt to jump-start his brain. He still felt foggy and vague. Must be the result of the funeral and lack of sleep. "Shit. You're kidding me. Where?"

Speaking of where, where was Gwenna? Nate looked around his living room. He didn't see any sign of her. Nor did he remember taking her home. The last thing he could actually remember with any certainty was heading to the casino. Then he'd been asleep, dreaming he'd been shot.

Jesus. He must have really lit into the booze at the casino. Not cool.

Now he had a hangover and another dead body.

"Our boy's getting bold. This one was right out in the open, tossed into a lounge chair by the pool at the Ava hotel."

Nate snapped wide awake, fear gripping his gut. "Was the victim male or female?"

"Male. But this dude's older. Forties. And a big guy. It couldn't have been an easy thing catching him off guard, whacking him, and plopping him by the pool."

It wasn't Gwenna. That's all Nate really heard. Taking a deep breath, he stood, his stomach burning. He really felt like shit.

"Give me twenty minutes to get there." He needed to drink about a gallon of coffee first. "And what time is it anyway?"

"Aahh… eleven twelve p.m."

"Are you serious?" How could he have had time to get shit-faced at the casino and pass out and still be home by eleven? That was freaking pathetic. "And just so you know, Gwenna Carrick and I were at the Ava around five o'clock today. She lives there. Her brother owns it."

"Now why does that not surprise me?" Jim said wryly. "Your chickie pops up everywhere there's a body, Thomas. Might be a really good idea for you to stay away from her while we're piecing this thing together."

That would be the logical thing to do. Nate scratched his chest. He had a nagging itch right around his pectoral, left side, and for whatever reason he wasn't wearing a shirt. It was really irritating to him that he couldn't remember anything. Especially now that the cop in him was silently considering that maybe he'd been drugged.

But love wasn't logical. And he was pretty damn sure he was in love with Gwenna Carrick. "Yeah, I hear ya." That was nice and noncommittal. Because while he knew he shouldn't see Gwenna, he wasn't at all sure he could go cold turkey and cut her off.

"Another thing. Latest victim still had his wallet in his pocket. If we can believe the ID he was carrying, his name's Gregor Chechikov. Just from doing a little preliminary research in the last thirty minutes, we've already turned up a conviction in Chechikov's history. Seems he had some Russian Mafia connections and got caught in a sweep in New York ten years ago, though he never did any time. He plea-bargained and went home to the Motherland."

"This guy's mob? Fuck." Nate stood up, shook out his sore legs, and walked slowly to the kitchen to start his coffee. "Do me a favor and start a search on a guy named Roberto Donatelli. See what you turn up."

"Sure. Who is he?"

"He's Gwenna Carrick's ex-husband."

 

 

"Mr. Carrick, we have a bit of a problem."

Ethan turned away from his computer screen in his office and gave Sam, his head of hotel security, his full attention. "What now?" He already had his casino crawling with cops after a sanitation worker had gone to strain the pool at its 9 p.m. closing and found a dead body sitting in a goddamn lounge chair.

A body that Ethan knew immediately on sight was Gregor Chechikov, though he had played dumb. There was nothing to connect him to Chechikov in the mortal world, and if he admitted to knowing the victim, it would only complicate their investigation. Though it was unlikely they would ever solve the crime.

This was an internal vampire affair. And a huge problem. Someone had known Chechikov was no longer vampire, but returned mortal by Atelier's vampire vaccine. They had known that and killed him. Or maybe they hadn't known why, they had just ascertained he was mortal and took advantage of the fact. Either way, someone had wanted to kill a man who was something of a cult classic in vampire culture.

His death was going to infuriate a large number of vamps. Not a great way to start a new term as president. Not to mention he was mad as hell that, despite recent security increases, someone had managed to plant a body on his property. "When do the police expect to be done by the pool?"

"They'll probably be here all night. And we'll have to keep the pool closed tomorrow."

"Wonderful." He'd already called his secretary in to have her schedule an emergency meeting with his cabinet members to discuss the situation. "So I'm sorry, what's the new problem?"

Sam handed him a DVD. "Why don't you pop that into your computer and take a look. It's the security tape from this afternoon of the parking garage."

Ethan did as suggested and a minute later he was staring at the empty parking garage, a red Toyota cruising down the row of cars. "What am I looking for?"

"May I?" Sam leaned over and moved the cursor to speed the video up. He stopped it. "Watch the Ford Explorer."

Studying the black-and-white images, Ethan watched a man get out of the Explorer, come around to the passenger side, and open the door. Presumably it was either to let a woman out, or to get something from his truck, but they could see clearly into the vehicle and there was nothing there. There was also something familiar about the guy.

"Do I know this guy? I think I've seen him before."

"He's, uh, a friend of Ms. Carrick's."

That's who he was. Gwenna's mortal boyfriend. "So are you assuming he's driving Gwenna home here?" That wasn't all that newsworthy, in Ethan's opinion.

"Yes. But watch."

And Ethan saw Gwenna's friend take a bullet in his back, pitch forward, and get hauled into the truck from invisible hands. "Bloody hell. That's Gwenna driving him away, isn't it? And who shot him?"

"Vampire. He's not on the tape. Though the guy in the booth down there remembers Gwenna leaving, driving erratically. Then right after her was a big guy he described in good detail, because he and the guy had a conversation about female drivers as they watched Gwenna jump the curb."

"Does the guy sound like anyone we know?"

"It sounds a hell of a lot like one of Donatelli's employees to me. Though that's just speculation on my part. I didn't see him."

Ethan stopped the tape. "Damn it. That would be right up Donatelli's alley, wouldn't it? To kill Gwenna's boyfriend." Which wouldn't make Gwenna happy, which pissed Ethan off. Donatelli needed to leave her alone, once and for all.

Sam nodded. "Donatelli's never been right in the head when it came to Ms. Carrick."

"Where do you think Gwenna went?"

"No idea."

Ethan picked up the phone and dialed his wife. "Hey, it's me. Have you talked to Gwenna tonight?"

"No, but I know she was going to a funeral today with Nate Thomas, her hottie mortal boyfriend."

"Is that his name?"

"Yep. Why? Do you need to talk to Gwenna? I'll tell her to call you if I see her."

"Thanks, babe, I'll see you later. I love you."

Ethan hang up, not even waiting for Alexis's return endearment, which would get him in trouble, he was certain, but he was suddenly worried about Gwenna, Terrified she might have done something stupid. He stood up.

"Find Donatelli. I need to talk to him."

"Sure."

"And didn't you tell me the detectives on the scene downstairs were named Connors and Thomas?"

Sam pulled out his Palm and clicked on a few things. "Yeah. Detectives James Connors and Nathaniel Thomas. I met Connors. Big guy. Said his partner was on the way."

Shit. Fuck. Damn. Ethan rubbed his temples. "Well, guess what Gwenna's little mortal friend's name is? You know, the one we just watched on tape bite it by a bullet?"

Sam's eyes went wide. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, I am. Alexis just said his name is Nate Thomas. Which means Gwenna turned him vampire. And we have a fledgling vampire downstairs picking over Chechikov's body."

 

 

Gwenna held her breath until Alexis hung up the phone.

"That was Ethan, as I'm sure you guessed. He's looking for you."

"Thanks for not telling him I'm here."

"Yeah, well, you owe me big time. He's going to want to beat me when he figures out I lied to him."

Pacing back and forth in Alexis's apartment, Gwenna realized her feet hurt. She'd been wearing her heels from the funeral since early that morning. Her toes were pinched and she'd been up for twenty-four hours so she could attend Kyra's funeral with Nate. She was anxious, exhausted, strung out, mind racing in seventeen different directions. "I know. And I appreciate you putting yourself on the line for me. But the thing is, I have to keep Ethan out of this. First of all, it would be political suicide. But more important, this is between Roberto and myself. We have unfinished business that I need to take care of."

"I think you're making a mistake." Alexis sat at her dining room table and watched Gwenna, hand propping up her chin. "If this involves the slayers' loop in any way, Ethan needs to know. It will make him look like an ineffectual president. And you know what Donatelli is like. Confronting him alone is not a good idea."

Gwenna had told Alexis everything because she had needed a sounding board, someone to help her sort out the situation. But Alexis clearly wasn't seeing eye to eye with her. "Roberto would never hurt me."

"What if it's Donatelli who gave Ringo the orders to kill those guys?"

"I just don't see to what purpose that would serve Roberto. It's too risky and he's not stupid. He's in the perfect power position as vice president. Why would he jeopardize that?" It wasn't the way Roberto operated. He went for power, always power.

"Yeah, well, I can't even begin to guess what's going through Donatelli's head. But there was a little development in this whole thing tonight. Another body was found, and I can guarantee you this will send these murders straight to the front page of the Review-Journal."

A chill went down Gwenna's spine. "Why?"

"Because the body was found right here at the pool at the Ava. And the victim is none other than Gregor Chechikov."

"What?" Gwenna stopped pacing and stared at Alexis. "Gregor? Oh, shit." That did point the finger rather blatantly at Roberto. Why she wanted it not to be him, she couldn't explain. But she had another more pressing thought anyway. "Are the police here?"

"Oh, yeah. All around the back. It's a mob scene, and I expect the media to show up at any given minute. A murder at a casino is news."

"I've got to go." Gwenna kicked off her heels. "Do you have sandals I can borrow?"

"Sure. In the front closet. Take your pick." Alexis narrowed her eyes. "But where are you going? You shouldn't see Donatelli alone. Take someone with you."

"I'm not going to see Roberto." Not yet, anyway. "I have to check on a friend."

"Didn't you just come from Nate's house?"

"Actually, that was earlier." And she had the horrible sinking feeling that he was no longer tucked up under a sheet on the sofa, but was downstairs rummaging through poolside evidence. "I went and saw Brittany and Corbin."

"Why? Did something happen to Ava?"

"No, of course not. I just had to ask Corbin something." Or more accurately, beg him. But it had worked. Corbin had given her one dose of his vampire vaccine.

She had the power to return Nate to his mortality.

But first she had to find him and make sure he wasn't wandering around as a fledgling vampire, utterly clueless as to what she'd made him.

 

 

Nate peeled off the latex gloves he'd been wearing and rubbed his forehead. God, his stomach hurt. It burned intensely, like he was hungry. Yet when he'd had some coffee and a bagel on the way over, he'd spent the next twenty minutes puking it all back up in the casino parking lot.

"You okay?" Connors asked him, moving past with a uniformed officer. "I saw you tossing your guts out back there."

"I think I have the stomach flu or something." He hoped. Because he didn't like the alternative—that Gwenna had drugged him. Which probably proved he'd been in police work too long if he could even consider that a possibility. But either way, he was finding it difficult to concentrate.

"Yeah, well, don't breathe on me. I don't want your fucking flu cooties."

"Thanks for the sympathy." Nate gripped the back of a pool chair when a hot wave of dizziness rolled over him. "Shit the bed, this sucks." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in and out, his stomach churning painfully.

"Give us another thirty minutes and you can head on home. We'll have ourselves a big old sit-down tomorrow with all the medical evidence from our rapidly growing body count. We'll plan a strategy, which will include begging the department for some manpower to assist us. We can't follow up on all three of these by ourselves."

At the moment, just standing felt like a challenge to Nate. And Jim smelled funny to him, sort of sour and sweaty, nauseating. Nate leaned over and threw up again, aiming for the potted plant on the concrete sidewalk.

"Thomas! You're contaminating a crime scene. God, go home." Jim grabbed his arm and pulled him along the pavement. Then jerked him to a halt again.

Nate was stumbling to keep up, concentrating on keeping one foot in front of the other, his eyes on the ground.

"Uh-oh. Here's trouble," Jim muttered. Then louder, "You're not allowed in here. You have to stay behind the tape, miss."

Nate forced his head up. He knew it was Gwenna. He could smell her skin, the strawberry lotion she used on her hands, and he could hear her heart pounding anxiously.

Her heartbeat? Nate shook his head to clear all the sounds, the crazy thoughts. What the fuck was the matter with him? His teeth hurt, right in front. "Gwenna, go back upstairs. I'll call you later."

She reached across the crime-scene tape and ran a cool hand over his forehead. "I'm heading out to run an errand, but I need to talk to you."

Nate pulled away. "Don't touch me, babe, I have the flu. I don't want you to catch it."

"Have a sip of this." Gwenna put a takeout cup with a straw in his hand. "It will make you feel better. Then when you're done here with Gregor, call me so we can chat."

"I don't think I should drink anything. My stomach will just toss it back up." But it did feel cool in his hand, and it smelled sweet. "What is it?"

"It's a British cure-all. Just drink it."

She looked so worried about him that Nate sipped from the cup, sucking hard on the straw. The drink moved over his tongue, immediately soothing his dry mouth. It hit his gut like water on a smoldering fire. "Hey, that's pretty good." He took another sip and realized that he had drained the whole cup in about two seconds.

The burning in his gut abated and his teeth stopped throbbing. "Thanks. That helped."

Taking the empty cup back, Gwenna looked him straight in the eye, leaning over the crime-scene tape, and whispered, "Would it be insane and completely inappropriate to say that I'm falling in love with you?"

Those words were as soothing as her cure-all drink. "No." He squeezed her hand. "It wouldn't be crazy. Because I'm falling in love with you, too."

She kissed him before he could protest she'd catch his germs. "Be safe. I'll see you later."

In his foggy state, Nate realized something as he watched her beautiful figure turn and walk away. She had said she was running an errand. Where the hell was Gwenna going at midnight?

And had she mentioned the victim by name?

Clenching his fists, Nate wiped his sweaty forehead and went to find Jim. They had a big problem.

The woman he was most likely in love with was knee deep in what were potentially mob murders.

That ought to do wonders for his career.

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