Chapter 5
On the fifth floor of Roman's townhouse, Angus dropped the sack of stakes on the desk with a noisy clatter. He'd teleported to Roman's Upper East Side home so many times over the years, he no longer needed a sensory beacon. The journey was embedded in his psychic memory. He had merely closed his eyes, concentrated, and he was there. Even so, he lifted his kilt to make sure he'd arrived intact.
Bugger. He was still swollen. What the hell was wrong with him? It was one thing to lust after a mortal, but to desire one who wanted to kill him? Roman would have a field day analyzing that. Over the centuries, Angus had come to rely on the former monk for advice and counseling. Roman would probably announce that good ole Angus was suffering from some sort of middle-aged crisis, trying to prove his youth and vigor by seducing a beautiful mortal young enough to be his great, great, great, great granddaughter. Come to think of it, that was probably not enough greats.
He was being a fool. All he had to do was talk to her. Convince her to quit slaying. Getting her to like him wasn't on the agenda. She would never like him. Why torture himself by longing for the impossible?
"Och, 'tis you." Ian spoke behind him.
Angus quickly dropped his kilt and turned to greet Ian. "I've just returned."
Ian nodded, his gaze dropping to Angus's lopsided sporran. "I thought I heard some noise up here." His gaze shifted to the sack of stakes on the desk.
Angus removed his pewter flask from his sporran, using the opportunity to straighten the leather bag. "I was just about to refill my flask. Would ye like a wee dram?"
"Aye. Thank ye for offering. Most Vamps would not."
Angus headed toward the mini-bar. "Why wouldn't I?"
Ian snorted. "Roman's ex-harem opened a racy vampire club, and the damned bouncer there says I'm too young to go in."
"Ridiculous." Angus located his bottle of Blissky and unscrewed the top. "Ye're almost as old as I am."
"No one believes it."
Angus glanced at his old friend with the smooth, youthful face. He'd found Ian fatally wounded on the battlefield of Solway Moss in 1542, and he'd transformed him there in the dark, amidst the groans of dying soldiers. What else could he have done? Leave a fifteen-year-old to die? At the time, it had seemed a terrible, tragic waste of youth, and Angus had thought he was doing the young soldier a great favor. But he had trapped Ian for all eternity with the face of a boy.
Angus sighed as he poured himself and Ian a glass. It just went to show him. Interfering with mortals was always messy and tainted with regret. He should never allow himself any sort of feelings for Emma Wallace.
"So, I take it ye found the slayer?" Ian peeked into the sack on the desk. "Are these her stakes?"
"Aye." Angus refilled his flask with Blissky. Bugger. His bottle was almost empty. "She tried to use a few of them on me."
"Really?" Ian's eyes widened. "Are ye all right?"
"Aye, I'm fine." Angus carried the two glasses back to the desk and offered one to Ian. "But I'm having trouble convincing her I'm a nice guy."
Ian laughed. "Why am I no' surprised? Ye do have a fierce look about ye. Maybe I should talk to her." His grin faded. "No one ever thinks I'm scary."
Angus patted him on the back. "They fear ye on the battlefield." He downed his glass and winced. Bloody strong stuff. But it would take the edge off his hunger for blood. And his lust for Emma Wallace.
He upended the bag and dumped some of Emma's stakes on the desk. He picked one up and read the word Mum.
Ian grimaced. "Nasty things. They look verra sharp."
"Aye, they can kill us." Angus picked up another stake. Dad. Bugger. No wonder she hated vampires so much.
Ian motioned to the computer. "There are some e-mails waiting for ye in the inbox. From Mikhail in Moscow."
"Och, good." Angus circled the desk and sat in front of the computer. He'd downloaded Emma's personnel file the night before. He'd learned a lot of interesting information, most importantly that her parents had been murdered in Moscow six years earlier. He had e-mailed his Russian operative for more information.
Given the time difference, Mikhail would now be in his death-sleep, but he'd e-mailed earlier to report on his findings. He had teleported into the police station in the middle of the night and copied the report on file. He'd attached the report. The first attachment was the report in Russian; the second one, Mikhail's translation of it into English.
Mikhail had done a thorough job. He'd sent a second e-mail an hour later that included a translation of the coroner's report and a copy of the crime scene photo. According to the coroner, both victims had suffered slashed throats and all their blood was missing.
Angus studied the photo. No pools of blood under the victims, so they hadn't bled out where they were found. The police must have assumed the bodies had been moved.
It was a typical vampire cover-up. Cut a throat so the fang marks no longer showed. The police had concluded the mafia was responsible, and that's what they would have told Emma.
Somehow, she knew the truth. The fierce love she'd felt for her parents had transformed into a fierce hatred of vampires. Like himself. Angus sighed.
"This is strange." Ian sipped from his drink as he rummaged through the pile of stakes. "They're all labeled Mum or Dad."
"Her parents were murdered by vampires."
"Och, that explains her slaying."
"Aye, but I doona know how she figured it out. The Russians told her the mafia was responsible. Why would she suspect vampires? How would she even know we existed?"
Ian shrugged. "Maybe she witnessed the attack."
Angus shook his head. "They would have never let her survive." He double clicked on her personnel file to open it, then skimmed through it. "She was in Edinburgh when the attack took place."
Ian leaned against the desk. "But she's psychic, no?"
Angus glanced up from the report. "Ye may be on to something." Had she somehow witnessed her parents' murder in her mind? It would certainly explain her rage and need for revenge.
"Did ye convince her to stop?" Ian asked.
"No' yet. She's verra stubborn."
"Well, she is Scottish."
Angus smiled. "Aye. She's a fierce fighter, too."
"Gregori says she's hot."
His smile faded. "Gregori will be lucky if he lives another week."
Ian's mouth twitched. "He complained to Roman about you."
Angus shrugged and started typing an e-mail to Mikhail.
Your next assignment: Locate the vampires who murdered Emma Wallace's parents.
It might be an impossible request, but Mikhail would give it his best shot. Angus clicked on Send, then noticed Ian was still hovering by the desk. "Anything else?"
"Aye. Roman wants to see you. Shanna, too. She says it's been six months since yer last checkup."
Angus shook his head, smiling. Was there anything Roman wouldn't do for his wife? The man was so besotted, he'd actually opened a dental clinic at Romatech so Shanna could continue her profession in a safe place. Most Vamps had been a bit wary of having a mortal poking around their mouths, so Angus had been the first in line to show his support. Then he'd quietly suggested all his employees get a checkup. Anything to help Roman. The monk had saved Angus's life and given him a reason to live. Angus wanted his old friend to be happy, but he couldn't understand how marriage to a mortal could ever work.
Mortals were so short-lived. So emotional. Their wounds were all recent and raw, whereas a Vamp had the luxury of centuries to cushion the blows.
Emma Wallace was the perfect example. Her whole life was focused on a passionate quest for revenge. But her life was so short. She should be enjoying it, not squandering it away on some creatures that would still be here a hundred years from now. He really needed to get through to her. And take away the rest of her stakes. He located her profile sheet from the Stake-Out folder and found her address and phone number.
"Hello?" Ian waved a hand to get Angus's attention. "Roman is waiting for you. He's at Romatech with Shanna."
"No' tonight." The fastest way to Emma's apartment would be to call her and use her voice to teleport. But would she be there after his silly remark about wearing something sexy?
"All right," Ian conceded. "I'll tell him ye're joining us tomorrow night for Mass."