The corners of his mouth turn down. He leans forward. Safe? Dont kid yourself. Deep down Im dangerous, a predator. Dont ever forget it.
I cant tell if hes kidding or not. Theres heat and intensity in his voice, sincerity in his eyes. But it doesnt matter. Hes right. Forget that hes dangerous? Not likely. Although this afternoon proved we could work together without letting personal feelings get in the way, I dont think for a minute were out of the woods yet.
CHAPTER 15
The Hotel Del Coronado looks as spectacular today as it did when it opened over a century ago. Since that time, the red-roofed Victorian hotel has become a favorite of presidents, royalty, and Hollywoods darlings. The beachfront resort is luxury at its finest and most elegant. There is a long line of cars sitting at the entrance. Zack veers to the left to Self Park.
Why didnt you valet? Were never going to find a spot in here, I grumble. To say nothing of dreading the idea of hiking across the asphalt parking lot in four-inch heels.
Zack raises an eyebrow. O ye of little faith. He pulls up to the console and pushes the big green button. The machine spits out a ticket, the gate goes up, and Zack drives into the lot. The taillights on a white Mercedes come to light as we round the corner. Just as we round the corner. The Mercedes pulls out, we pull in. Were within a hundred feet of the hotel entrance.
How did you do that? I ask, properly impressed.
Zack grins. Another of my many talents. He springs from the car. Let me get your door.
But I already have it open. I know how to open a door and get out of a car. Ive done it a bazillion times.
Just not in these damned heels.
The words are no sooner out of my mouth than I stumble.
Zack is there, reaching out a hand to steady me.
Thanks.
He offers his arm. You clean up nicely, Monroe.
I dont take it. This isnt a date. Were working, Zack.
Thats what I say. What Im thinking is, he cleans up nicely, too. The tux is obviously tailored. The white shirt is crisply starched and the shoes, if Im not mistaken, are Italian.
Okay, okay. Strictly business. He touches his hand to his heart. Just try to blend without falling.
I ignore the hint of humor in his tone. A wisp of hair escapes from my French twist. I tuck it behind my ear, then smooth down my dress. The gown is off-the-shoulder, black lace with a nude lining. It fits like a surgical glove. The shoes like a medieval torture device. I lift up the edge of my dress and start to walk. Easier said than done. I dont know how Liz does it. These shoes are already killing me.
Zack places his hand at the small of my back as we cross the drive and go up the steps to the entrance. Want me to carry you?
What I want to do is find Barakov.
Every time I walk into the Del, Im hit by a wave of nostalgia. I feel as if Ive stepped back in timedark wooden paneling, rich fabrics, antique furnishings, and an abundance of fresh flowers all set the stage. Guests are milling about, dressed in formal attirethe men in tuxedos, the women in gowns. Except for the modern cut of the dresses and the scandalous height of our heels, we could be waiting for the Duke and Duchess of Windsor to sweep in the door.
A low whistle comes from Zack, telling me hes impressed and that hes never been here before.
It is beautiful, isnt it?
You dont see woodwork like this anymore. Zack pauses a minute to take it all in before asking, Do you know where were going?
I tilt my head in the direction of the Crown Room. Michael Dexter said there would be tickets waiting for us.
There is a man at the door welcoming guests. Zack mentions my name and he checks the list in his hand. Seconds later, were motioned through with a smile.
Once inside, Zack swipes two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and hands one to me. Were trying to blend, remember?
And blend he does. Zack looks as relaxed and at home in a tux as he does in T-shirt and jeans. He takes a sip from his champagne and starts to check out the room. To the casual observer, he could merely be looking for a face in the crowd, but I know hes taking in every detail, because Im doing the same.
There are a couple of dozen ten-tops, covered in crisp white tablecloths. An extravagant buffet is set up on the far side of the room. Theres a bar in the corner. Waitstaff in black slacks and white short-waist jackets with gold brocade epaulets are circulating with trays. Some, like the one that passed by earlier, hold champagne, others hors doeuvres. In the middle of the room is a sizable dance floor, at the back, a stage. A very retro-looking orchestra is now playing Moonglow.
A plaque on the wall behind me catches Zacks eye and he steps closer to better read it.
Did you know this?
Im too busy scanning the crowd for Barakov to pay attention to the plaque.
Not a single nail was used in this room. Zack lifts his glass toward the ceiling. My eyes dont bother to follow. Ive heard this little fact before. Just pegs and glue. Isnt that amazing?
Fascinating. You take this half. Ill start my sweep from the other side, I tell him before stepping away.
I weave my way through the sea of unfamiliar faces, pausing to sample some of the appetizers and trade the champagne in my glass for ginger ale. Safer. I love champagne, and this is a good one, but tonight I want to keep a clear head.
Theres no sign of Barakov. Yet.
More champagne? Its the third time this particular young waiter has asked me. Before I can refuse again, he leans in and smiles sheepishly. Im under strict orders to be generous with the booze. We were reminded that happy guests are more generous with the donations. Youre making me look bad.
His Italian accent is charming, his smile disarming. I glance at his name tagFabrizio. What harm could come from one more glass? Cant make you look bad. Im placing my empty glass on his tray with the intent of taking a new one when I see Barakov at the exit, a cigar in one hand, a glass half-filled with an amber-colored liquid in the other. Sorry. Ive got to go. Excuse me.
I resist the urge to kick off my shoes and run to catch up with him. Instead I move as quickly as I can, cutting straight across the dance floor. Once outside the doors, I spy Barakov heading into the deserted courtyard. Theres no one with him. Hes alone. Perfect.
I watch from inside for a moment as he lights his cigar and enjoys a few leisurely puffs.
Then I take a deep breath, step outside, and let the dampening spell fall away. I say a silent prayer that Demeter isnt watching. The air stirs around me as I approach Barakov. The power begins to build, unleashing a warm, perfumed mist, unseen but felt by anyone in its sphere of influence. My hair loosens, a strand curling over my right eye. I move closer.
The courtyard is not deserted as I first thought. Theres a young couple standing off to the side. They look at me, startled by my sudden appearance, caught up in the wake of my power. Enjoy your drinks in your room, I say to them as I pass.
A casual remark, delivered softly, a whisper into the air.
The suggestion, however, is anything but casual.
The couple turns, moves toward the door, and disappears inside. Instantly.
Dr. Barakov?
About to take a drag on the cigar, he pauses. Stares. Agent Monroe?
It takes no effort at all. Once our eyes lock, I have him. Follow me.
For a moment, his eyes go blank. Without knowing why, without even questioning, he follows. To him, it merely seems like a good idea.
I lead him to a corner where theres a cluster of trees and shrubs.
Once he adjusts to my presence, his eyes clear. Youre beautiful tonight, my dear. His whisper is reverent as he reaches out and tilts my face up into the light. What have you done? That bump, its
I push his hand away. A little makeup can do wonders. No touching. And Im asking the questions.
Whatever you want.
The adoration in his eyes is nauseating. I could have Barakov on his knees in seconds, begging, with the way he worships beauty. Such games no longer bring me satisfaction. I barely remember when they did.
I get right to the point. Where is Amy Patterson?
Im afraid I dont have the faintest idea. He takes another puff on his cigar.
Its not the answer I expected. I lower the barriers further, allowing my mind to penetrate Barakovs. The temperature around us rises. The wind subtly picks up, rustling the leaves on the trees. A man like you, so connected, so smart. You must have some idea what happened to Amy Patterson and Isabella Mancini. My voice is soft, slow, steady.
Barakov sets his drink down on a nearby table, then removes his coat. Sweat is beginning to bead on his forehead.
Is it from the warmth of my powers or from anxiety?
I hold my breath.
No. He pulls a silk handkerchief from his pocket and mops his brow. I already answered your questions about Amy and Isabella. The cigar falls unnoticed from his hand. His eyes glaze and his focus turns inward, as if hes trying to understand how I can exert such influence.
He would never be able to fathom it. I push on.
What about your wife Charlotte?
At that question, he becomes instantly tearful. He reaches for the drink and takes a fortifying sip. You think I had something to do with Charlottes disappearance?
Did you?
Of course not.
His answer is not only truthful; its full of reproach. Hes shocked that I could even think such a thing.
I stir restlessly. I havent much more time. Using power like this always comes with risk. I could easily draw unwanted attention . . . from both innocent passersby and Demeter. She has spies everywhere.
Theres only one other angle to explore. Do you know of Amys and Isabellas nature?
His eyes narrow. Nature?
You know what I mean.
Does he?
He looks about surreptitiously. You know about Barakov swallows, then lowers his voice before finishing vampires?
I avoid outright validation by ignoring his question and asking another of my own. Why were you seeing them?
For the first time, a smile. So that I could give them eternal beauty.
How?
His demeanor shifts immediately. Barakov now bursts with pride as he launches into an explanation. Although I dont know what Isabella Mancini had hoped to accomplish, Amy had inherited her fathers rather unfortunate nose. The surgery wasnt going to be extensive. But it was going to be expensive. He finishes off the remains in his glass. And under the table, of course. I accept only cash from special customers who are of a special nature, shall we say? The income never has to be reported that way. Its my little nest egg, tucked safely away in an offshore account.
I dont bother to ask where. Just make a mental note to see if Zack thinks we should alert the IRS when were done with Barakov. So youre telling me that vampires get nose jobs? Why?
An eternity is a very long time, Agent Monroenose jobs, breast and cheek implants, chin implants . . .
Chin implants?
Very popular with the men. Imagine having all that strength and speed, a physique you can hone to perfection. Then the overall effect is completely undermined by a weak chin or pitiful cheekbones. I surround the implant with a little microlayer of silver, providing a casing that cant be assimilated, and voilà.
It occurs to me grudgingly that this is a medical miracle of sorts. In some ways it explains his arrogance. Even to the immortals, he must appear a god.
Was Evan Porter one of your patients, too?
Puzzlement clouds his face. The Greenleaf lawyer? Why would you ask? His expression clears. You mean Evan is a vampire, too?
Shit.
Am I interrupting?
Zack is suddenly standing a few feet behind Barakov. I never heard him approach. His shoulders are drawn up, his hands fisted, every muscle taut. His eyes lock on mine. The undisguised need in them momentarily takes my breath away. He is feeling the effects of my unguarded power, getting another glimpse of my true self. I wonder how long hes been standing there.
Go back to the party, Doctor. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Even as I say the words, I start reining the power in, bringing up the walls, locking down what I look upon as both a gift and a curse.
Barakov prepares to take his leave with a questioning glance to me. Hes aware that we had a conversation and that he revealed more than he intended. As did I. Hopefully the revelation about Evan will get lost in an alcoholic haze. Before the last bit of my ability to exert influence is contained, I take pity on him. Dont worry about what weve talked about. Chalk it up to the scotch. Youll have more than you should tonight. In fact, it looks like you could use a refill.
After a quick glance at his empty glass, he heads for the bar.
You should go back to the party, too, I tell Zack.
I expect him to follow my suggestion. He was exposed, after all.
Instead Zack loosens his bow tie and unfastens the top button of his shirt as he watches Barakov go. I take it Barakov didnt confess?
Zacks question seems straightforward enough and yet . . . I try to remember the last time someone was able to exhibit such control around me. Zack alluded to having had special training earlier. Am I seeing the results of that? He doesnt appear to be struggling with the effects of exposure and yet he got a good dose of my powermore than in his kitchen, where I let loose a fragment of the magic. But then I look close. The way hes looking at me, the tenseness in his posture, belies his offhand return to a business-as-usual manner.
I tuck an errant strand of hair back behind my ear, affect a sense of calm Im not really feeling. He doesnt know anything about the disappearances. We need to look elsewhere. Within Green Leaf maybe.
Are you sure?
I was sure Id read Barakov right. Its whats going on with Zack that Im unsure of. Theres a knot the size of a fist in my stomach. Yes. Im sure Barakov told me the truth. Its you Im concerned about. I square my shoulders. Go back to the party, Zack. With a little time and distance between us, what youre feeling will dissipate.
He shoves his hands inside his pockets, then leans against the wall. The mask of indifference falls away. Just out of curiosity, how long a separation are we talking about? Weeks? Months? Years? The pose hes striking is casual. The turn our conversation is taking isnt.
Minutes, like last time, at your house. By the time you finished showering, things were . . . back to normal.
Zack straightens. He strolls over to where Im standing, closing the gap between us. Im a good actor, Emma. In fact, you may be the only lie detector I havent been able to best.
Im not trying to read you, Zack.
He holds up a hand. I know. If you were, youd realize things have never been normal between us. I can pretend. I can keep my distance and my word. But you should know the attraction isnt going away. Its building and that has nothing to do with your mojo.
My mojo may be under wraps, but the air between us is as charged as it was that night in his kitchen.
His gaze is unwavering. Were venturing into dangerous and confusing territory. The time has come. A decision has to be made. It was good between us in Charleston, better than good. We worked well together as partners both in bed and out. What I doubt is whats happening here and nowwhether we can keep things in what Id come to think of as the safe zone.
Friendship.
Sex.
Not love. Never love.
Seconds pass. I cant bring myself to look away. To speak or move. A myriad of images, all depicting possible tragic endings, flit through my mind. Including the one Demeter so cleverly and callously placed there. The blood. Zacks head in her hand.
Ive waited too long. Zack turns and starts to walk away. Hes a man of his word. And I realize that despite the pull, the temptation, hes managed to find the strength to keep it. Hes not going to push. Hes going to walk away. No ones walked away. Ever. What if Zack is somehow different? What if we could make this work?
Wait!
He turns back to face me. You dont want me to go back to the party?
I shake my head.
Its your move, Emma.
I know this is the moment that will change everything between usa moment I want to happen. I push all my fears and doubts aside and rush into Zacks arms. One arm encircles my waist, the other the back of my neck as his lips cover mine.
He moves us effortlessly, the way he did that night in his kitchen. The wall is suddenly at my back. My mouth opens in surprise and his tongue slips inside. The kiss is demanding, urgent. Full of pent-up promises, of things left unsaid and desires denied. I lift my hand to his chest and grab hold of his shirt. I dont want it to stop. I can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing into me. I push back, eliciting a moan that I vow will be the first of many I coax from Zachary Armstrong tonight.
Zack whispers, That was some move.
My skin is heated. My body burns with desire.
Footsteps. An embarrassed Excuse me.
With a low groan in my ear, Zack pulls reluctantly away from me. Yes?
Its one of the men who had previously been working the door. I . . . Im interrupting.
Zack waves a hand. Can we help you?
I turn away, using the moment to smooth the desire from my expression and the wrinkles from my dress as the embarrassed party worker says, The auctions about to start. Im rounding up guests.
Thanks, well be right in.
He leaves us with another mumbled apology for the interruption and heads quickly toward another couple standing a few feet away. It startles me because I hadnt noticed them before. They must have come out while I was busy with Barakov. But their eyes are on me. They saw it all, felt the pull of my power. They dont even look away while being shepherded toward the door.
Zack watches them watch us. When theyve disappeared inside, he says, Well, that was awkward.
Im still breathless with the implication of what I almost let happen between Zack and me. I was as caught up in the moment as he was. I get a sudden chillI can fool myself into thinking a fling with Zack would mean nothing, but Demeter? She who feels every emotion I try so hard to hide would know better.
The sound of applause spills into the entry. We pass through the double doors of the Crown Room just in time to hear Green Leafs founder, Alan Pierce, make his introductions. I refocus my thoughts, ignore the fact that Zacks arm is around my shoulders, and watch.
Alan Pierce is younger than I expected. His tuxedo is well tailored, traditional. He thanks the guests and talks briefly about the companys mission. He speaks with the passion of a man who believes in what he is doing, and his delivery is smooth and polished. Alan ends by publicly recognizing the members of the board of directors who are present.
First, he points out Dr. Alexander Barakov and Dr. Barbara Pierce. His parents.
Zack leans down and whispers, Theres an interesting connection.
Yes, it is.
He moves on, introducing Taylor Cummings. The former soap opera actress is lapping up the applause. In fact, I get the distinct impression thats why she came. Cummings gave up a not so promising career a couple of years ago to marry Southern California construction magnate Jack Reynolds. I remember some talk a few years ago about her having a drinking problem. Tonight, not only is Cummings quite tipsy, shes quite conspicuously alone.
The final introduction is of Gordon Jacobs. I recognize the name and the connection. I tug on Zacks sleeve to get his attention. Jacobs is a partner at the same firm as Evan. What if Polk and Wagner is involved with whatever is going on at Green Leaf and Evan stumbled upon it?
Theres one sure way you can find out, Zack says. Can you do it?
Each use of my powers ensures Demeters disapproval and places me further from the possibility of forgiveness. But were at a dead end. Lives are at stake, one of them Evans.
Yes, I can do it.
Although an auctioneer is managing the bidding process, Alan Pierce is reading the item descriptions. The one currently up for bid is being modeled by an attractive young woman. Its a colorful tote bag made from brightly colored recycled candy wrappers.
Should I take Taylor Cummings or Barbara Pierce? Zack asks.
I look around. Drs. Pierce and Barakov are nowhere to be seen. I think Pierce and Barakov left. Was he uneasy over the conversation we had? Perhaps he was afraid of running into me again.
Zack checks his watch. Taylor Cummings it is, he says. Lets meet back at the car in thirty minutes?
I nod.
Zack grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, then heads off. I see Jacobs making a beeline for the bar and follow. The man is in his mid to late fifties, overweight, red-faced. He orders a scotch, neat. I do the same. The smell coming off him confirms this scotch is not his first.
Its a little warm in here. I fan myself, then offer him my hand. Emma Monroe.
Gordon Jacobs. How are you connected to Green Leaf?
Im not, really. Michael Dexters piece is about to be introduced and Alan has called him to the stage. I gesture toward Dexter. Im a guest of the artist.
Jacobs eyes drift to the front of the room. The bidding has started. Boyfriend?
God, no. Michaels gay. I was just going to step out for a breath of fresh air. Care to join me? I offer him a smile filled with promise. He predictably takes the bait.
We go out the front door, circle around the side of the hotel, past some of the quaint shops that are closed, and then onto the ocean veranda. The entire time, Jacobs talks about himself, his illustrious career, and his passion for golf and deep-sea fishing. I feign fascination. Despite the leisurely pace, by the time we get there, Jacobs is out of breath. Thankfully, the veranda is empty. This time, I make doubly sure. The large open space ensures that I wont make the same mistake and miss another couple half-hidden by shrubbery.
The air has grown chilly. The moon is still bright enough that I can see the waves as they crash onto the shore in front of us. Since Id rather not spend any more time with this bore than necessary, I tap into my powers and get down to business.
Jacobs succumbs to my influence even more quickly than Barakov. The alcohol in his system and my power break down any resistance he might feel to answering my questions. I spend ten, maybe fifteen minutes grilling him and get nothing of value. He thinks Evan is exceptionally talented, with the courtroom presence and breadth of knowledge rarely found in a man his age. When I ask if hes aware that Evans missing, he thinks I mean from the party and says hes probably just running a bit latetheres a very high-profile case hes in the midst of trying. Mention of Isabella and Amy elicits empty stares.
Essentially, Jacobs connection to Green Leaf is financially motivated. Scoring Green Leaf as a client helped Polk and Wagner lure in Evan and gave the firm an entrée into whats become a very lucrative niche. As a senior member of the firm, hes more than happy to attend a few board meetings a year in order to keep that highly visible cash cow happy. Privately, Jacobs thinks global warming is a bunch of hooey. He couldnt care less about the mission.
Theres only one thing on Jacobs mind tonight and it has nothing to do with charity. Finally tiring of his feeble attempts at seduction, and with a silent apology to the other women at the party, I send him back inside.
I hope Zack is doing better than I am.
When I reach the parking lot, Zack is already in the car, waiting for me. My first thought is that he, too, struck out. Not only did he beat me back to the car, but his jacket and tie are now gone, his sleeves rolled up.
Any luck? I ask, steeling myself for disappointment. Id so hoped to have news of a break for Liz.
Zack pulls a cocktail napkin from his pants pocket. I got Taylors phone number. He dangles it in front of me. She put it in my pocket herself. You?
Nothing. I climb into the passenger seat and kick off my shoes.
Zack crushes the napkin into a ball and tosses it into the backseat. Now what? Were no closer than before. All weve got is a thin connection between Green Leaf and the disappearances.
Hes staring straight ahead, into the darkness, his brow furrowed. His profile is sharp and clean, his lips turned down at the corners.
I have to steel myself to keep from giving in to an impulse. I want to turn his face toward mine, brush my lips across his.
I look away quickly. Then the connection to Green Leaf is where well start, I say. Tomorrow. Tomorrow well look at the case with fresh eyes.
But not tonight. Tonight, I know what I want. I want to break this spell Zack has on me. I need to break it. I need to stop wondering, to get him out of my system.
Theres one sure way to do that. One even Demeter cant fault.
Take me home.
Zack reaches for the seat belt. As he slides the latch home, I cover his hand with mine.
I take his chin and turn his face until his eyes meet mine. Take me to your home.
A slow smile forms.
Dont. Dont read anything into this, Zack. Its just for tonight. Its just sex.
He throws the car into reverse. Right. Just tonight. Just sex.
CHAPTER 16
I hope red is all right. Im out of white. Zack leans casually in the doorway, a glass of wine in each hand.
So this is it? I give one of the steel bars a shake before accepting the wine. The cage is built solid.
I hope you realize I dont invite just any girl up to see my cage. He smiles, but without warmth or humor. Its a smile that doesnt quite reach his eyes.
How long ago were you turned?
His eyes become distant. I wasnt turned. My father was Were. He nods toward the cage. This was originally his. Its mine now. But thats a story for another day.
So you always knew you were Were?
I knew my father was. He was adept at hiding it from the world, but he didnt hide it from me. He wanted to prepare me for the possibility that I carried the gene. The testing thats available now wasnt then. I didnt know for sure until my freshman year in high school. Thats when everything changed.
I cant imagine what you must have gone through.
He smiles wryly. At first it was incredible. Everything became better, more intense. I was faster, stronger. I evolved in ways you couldnt imagine and I never anticipated. Id always been a good athlete. After my ascension I was unbeatable, and not just during the changeling times. I should have held back. I didnt. I was ambitious. I wanted to go to college. Recruiters flocked to my games. Unfortunately, not just college recruiters. I came to the attention of the wrong people.
One glance and somehow I know. The people you worked for?
He studies his glass, swirling the wine gently before taking a sip. Yes.
Theres no way I can let him leave it at that. Now that hes opened up, I want to hear the whole story. Tell me the rest.
He shakes his head. The rest of this sounds like the plot from a bad sci-fi movie. Not the average womans idea of foreplay.
I have to smile at that. Remember who youre talking to. What do you think the story of my life sounds like? Plus, Siren. We dont really need foreplay. I guess I could have saved you a lot of time if Id told you that before.
He laughs. Thats okay. I like to be thorough. Take pride in my work. He closes the gate to the cage. Locks it. Starts to move away.