night in a hurry.
Time to go home.
There was nothing left for him to do. As he paused against a large pickup, tiredness washed over him. He’d better fly rather than try to transmogrify. Would take longer but used less energy.
Ripping off his ruined trousers, he tossed them into the flames. His boxers, shoes and socks he draped over the sheriff’s radio aerial just for the hell of it. Toby ran to the open field adjoining Adela’s now-burning house. The flames were licking at the windows now; it was only a matter of time before the entire house was engulfed. As he watched, there was an explosion accompanied by yells and screams as her vandalized car blew up.
Definitely the moment to vacate the vicinity.
Summoning his remaining strength, Toby tensed and ran and leaped into the air, propelling himself through the night toward Devil’s Elbow.
He hoped Adela had remembered to leave the window open.
Maybe fortune did favor the sneaky and the underhanded. The unexpected guest was asleep (Laura peered round the door to be sure), and Mr. Connor was dozing peacefully. With Mr. Wise not returning until morning, she had several good hours to poke and pry and hopefully find something to satisfy her father. Once she did, she was quitting. She could not look these people in the face knowing she’d spied on them. She wouldn’t have even considered it, but Dad had been close to tears when he begged her. It beat her how he let his new partner pressure him so.
The paper was Dad’s bailiwick; she was the one prying on nice people and a fair employer.
She booted up the computer and after a good hour found nothing. E-mail was password protected—nothing unusual in that. Hers was too. Quicken showed nothing more than personal bank accounts. She certainly envied his bank balances, but having a very nice savings account was hardly illegal. There were a couple of locked files, but if they held the dubious secrets Dad was after, she couldn’t access them. The files she could open held ordinary-seeming business correspondence and a bunch of IRS tax publications.
Drawing a blank there, she looked at the bookmarks in his Web browser. He seemed to be interested in South Carolina history, but that was hardly the basis for an exposé. She shut the computer down, checking that the keyboard and mouse were left exactly as she’d found them, and went for the desk drawers.
They were virtually empty, probably cleaned out after Mr. Connor’s stroke, and there hadn’t been time to accumulate the usual clutter. Mr. Wise appeared to have a liking for purple felt-tip pens and often ripped out articles from Business Week, but that was that.
Maybe the filing cabinet would have what she needed.
The bottom two drawers were locked. Interesting, but the keys weren’t in the desk drawers, and picking locks wasn’t part of her training. She had the top one open and was flicking through the files when a sound like a wild gust of wind made her turn around.
Her employer stood in the middle of the carpet, frowning. At her. “What the hell are you doing?” he asked. Her mouth dropped open as he came toward her. “I repeat, Nurse Fox, what exactly do you think you are doing?”
“I…” Inventing a plausible lie was beyond her capabilities right now. Hard to think when caught in the wrong by an irate employer. A naked, irate employer. He was tall, very black and even better looking than a couple of her stray fantasies had suggested.
He was also bleeding. “You’re hurt.”
“Utterly irrelevant, Nurse Fox. Please answer my question.” He crossed the carpet and put his hand on her shoulder. Nakedness didn’t seem to faze him. She’d be equally cool. After all, she was a nurse. She’d seen plenty of naked men in her job, but not standing upright, inches from her and meeting her eyes in a way that demanded the truth. “What are you looking for?”
Toby watched as the instinct to lie crumbled before his compulsion to tell the truth. “Proof of illegal activity.”
Toby hissed. Damn FBI! Planting agents in Piet’s house! They didn’t miss a trick. “Who sent you?” If it was either of the agents this morning…
“Dad, he sent me.”
Rather unsubtle! Mortals! He needed to know if “Dad” was an FBI code name but damn, he was worn out and the effort to bend her will this much had him close to dropping. “Indeed. Go back to your patient, Nurse Fox. You’ll tell me everything in the morning.” He watched as she blinked, her green eyes still confused, and then walked across the room to the door without looking back.
It wasn’t until ten minutes later, as he stood under the shower, Toby realized he’d not removed her memory. Later. He’d do it in the morning. Wasn’t much of a worry after all. If she called her field supervisor and reported her quarry had appeared as if by magic in the middle of the room without a stitch of clothing, they’d think she’d been taking funny pills.
Not that Toby was in the habit of wandering around naked in front of employees. Or anyone, come to that. But he was shocked. He liked Nurse Fox. Really liked her. Too darn much for his own good and…damn! He’d tasted from an FBI agent. Darn good thing on those occasions he’d held her under glamour. What would the feds do with the knowledge they were investigating a vampire? He’d end up in some nasty experimental bunker somewhere.
He had to be much more careful.
And he was still bleeding. Whatever that chupacabra had in its saliva and claws slowed healing. Thank Abel for the emergency supply of blood in the hidden refrigerator in the bedroom. It took four bags, but finally the scratches healed. Toby hid the empty bags to dispose of later, and went to bed. A couple of hours’ rest and he’d be right as rain, and ready to get the full story from the devious and delectable Laura Fox.
Chapter 4
“Sheesh, Toby, let you loose in your native land and mayhem happens.”
Call an old friend for advice and support and look what you get. “You’re a fine one to talk, Kit Marlowe. Who had half the colony in his sitting room last year for an ethics enquiry?”
“Wasn’t over me. That was Justin. Besides, it was a weak point of law anyway. Everyone knew Justin wasn’t culpable. Now this business of yours…”
“Yes?”
“You’re telling me it’s a bit complicated and involves mortals.”
Too damn many of them. “I’m trying to decide whom to handle first—this FBI lass in my household or the pair breathing down my neck—and what to do about Adela, not forgetting a burnt-out shell of a house and an exploded car.” He’d ignore the scars on his thigh and arms for now. Not that they didn’t worry him. The last time he’d scarred was after a beating when he was mortal and another man’s property. But at least these new ones were fading, if slowly.
“See to the girl. She’s right in your pocket, so to speak. If Adela’s pal is anywhere near as practical as she is, she has insurance. Once you get that sorted out, Adela can come and stay with Heather and leave you to hoodwink the FBI.” He paused while Toby hoped his phone wasn’t tapped. “Want me to come out there, old chap?”
It was a generous offer. “I’ll let you know if I need you. I won’t ask you to get a safe conduct from Vlad unless we have to. In fact, heck,
