Duncan, on the other hand, was like a big cat—a tiger, maybe—so beautiful and sleek on the outside. But even as you admire his beauty, your heart’s racing with fear, because some part of you knows that this is danger, this is death. There was a coiled power to Duncan, as if it was barely contained within his skin. It demanded all her attention, and yet, outwardly, he was just sitting there, still and quiet, waiting. Just like that tiger.
Emma wasn’t a tiger. She was always fiddling with something. Her teachers used to scold her constantly for her twitching, as they called it. But the truth was she had too much energy to be still. It would burn her up from the inside if she didn’t use it somehow.
“Was this the first time your friend joined Victor at one of his events?” Duncan asked.
Emma stifled her jerk of surprise at his sudden question. “No,” she admitted. “Lacey likes to party. Working and living in D.C. was my idea, but she agreed to come with me for the social scene. There’s a party of some sort almost every night in this town. More than one most nights, and on weekends—” Emma shrugged, then hesitated. She didn’t want to tell Duncan the rest of it, didn’t want him to think badly of Lacey, but . . .
“Lacey’s sort of obsessed with you all,” she added reluctantly.
“You ‘all’ what?”Duncan prompted.
“Vampires,” Emma said, wincing. “She must read ten books a week, absolutely gobbles them up. Paranormal romance mostly, and most of that vampires. She met Victor at a VIP function hosted by the company she works for. They’re a K Street lobbying firm—big, big money. Anyway, she came home that night happier than I’ve ever seen her, because she’d finally met a real live vampire. Two days later, there was an invite in her work e-mail, a party here at the embassy.”
“Here.”
“The first party, yeah. That was maybe two months ago. I’d have to look it up to be sure. I don’t keep track of Lacey’s social calendar, but I’m sure she’s partied with your vampire guys at least once a week since then.”
“Were they feeding from her?”
Emma blanched at the straightforward question. She’d asked herself the same thing a thousand times, but she’d never asked Lacey. She didn’t really want to know.
“I don’t know,” she admitted to Duncan. “I never saw—” She drew a shaky breath. “I never saw any marks on her neck or anything.”
“You wouldn’t necessarily. It is likely, however, that your friend was permitting—”
“Lacey,” Emma interrupted. “Her name is Lacey.”
Duncan acknowledged the correction with a dip of his head. “As charming as I’m sure Lacey is, I doubt Victor would have continued to invite her unless she was providing blood. It’s not uncommon, you understand.”
Emma looked at him blankly. “What’s not uncommon?”
Duncan gave her a pitying look. “There are many humans, Ms. Duquet, who are eager to serve as a blood source for vampires. It can be quite enjoyable for them.”
She frowned. “You mean for the humans? How can that be enjoyable?”
“Sexually,” he drawled, and the word seemed to whisper seductively from his kissable mouth directly to her ear. It was so real she could feel the warmth of his breath teasing her cheek as his voice curled around her senses.
Emma’s heart beat faster. Sweat popped delicately between her breasts, and moisture of an entirely different sort pooled deep between her thighs. She felt her nipples tightening and was glad for the heavy fabric of her jacket which would keep anyone from noticing. Except the heated look on Duncan’s face said that he knew she was aroused, knew that her nipples were scraping exquisitely against the lace of her bra. She wanted to clench her legs together against the ache, but refused to give him the satisfaction. She clenched her fingers around the chair arms instead.
This was ridiculous.
She gritted her teeth, forcing her brain back on track. “Look,deli she said. “I don’t know anything about human and vampire interactions. I don’t even like the movies. All I know is that Lacey partied with you guys, and now she’s missing. She hasn’t come home or even called me in three days. Something’s happened, and I want to know what you’re going to do about it.”
“Is it not possible, Ms. Duquet,” Duncan said patiently, “that Lacey has met someone she enjoys and is spending an extra few days alone with him?”
“She’d have called me. She knows I’d worry.”
“Did you call her office?”
“Yes, of course.”
He gave her an inquiring look. “And?”
Emma pinched her mouth angrily. Damn him. “And she supposedly took the week off.”
“Ah.”
“No. No ah. She didn’t tell me she was taking the week off, and she would have. Something is wrong here, and if I wait too long, I’ll never—” Her voice broke as she fought back tears. Why couldn’t she make anyone understand? Lacey was so much more than a roommate. They were best friends, sisters in every way that counted. They were all each other had in the world, and Lacey would never have done this to her!
Duncan didn’t move except to frown thoughtfully. “I believe you,” he said unexpectedly.
“Thank you,” Emma whispered, nearly choking on the sob that was trying to force its way up her throat.
“Mind you,” he cautioned, “I’m not convinced anything dire has occurred, but I do believe you know Lacey quite well, certainly better than I do. And if you say something is off about this situation, then it’s worth looking into.”
She nodded, biting her lip to keep from blubbering like an idiot.
Duncan’s gaze sharpened on her mouth, and he stiffened from his relaxed sideways pose, turning smoothly until he once again faced her across the desk. “As I said earlier, Ms. Duquet, we’ve only just arrived in this city. Last night, as a matter of fact. Victor departed rather unexpectedly, which leaves us to dig through his records on our own.”
“Can’t you call him or something?”
“I’m afraid he’s not reachable, but I’ll do what I can.”
Emma sighed. He was humoring her. He had no intention of trying to find Lacey. He wasn’t even willing to call Victor, much less anything else.
“I’m not only saying this to appease you,” he insisted, and she frowned. That was the second time he’d seemed to read her thoughts. Was it possible?
“And I’m not reading your thoughts either,” he added, smiling. “What I have is many years experience reading human expressions, and your face is very expressive.”
Emma blushed. “Um, thank you. I guess. So, how long—”
“I know you’re anxious, but give me a couple of days. I will get back to you, I promise.”
Emma wanted to protest. Two more days! But it was better than she’d honestly expected before she got here, and it was probably the best she was going to get. She drew a deep, calming breath, in and out.
“All right. Thank you,” she said, and reached into her pocket to pull out her cell phone. “I left my purse in the car, so I don’t have any business cards with me, but I can text my numbers to you, or—” She raised her head to meet his very human brown eyes. “Do vampires use cell phones?”
Duncan grinned. “We do indeed. All the modern conveniences.” He slipped a hand into his jacket pocket, retrieved his own phone, and rapidly tapped a few keys. Then he slid it across the desk to her.
“You can enter your number there.”
Emma took the phone and glanced down at the screen. Her name had been typed in and was just waiting for a number. Feeling as if she were crossing some invisible line, she entered in her cell and work numbers, then put the phone back on the desk.
“I have a land line at home, but I never use it. Just the cell,” she said. “And my office number. I gave you that, too.”
“Very good, I’ll—”
“Shouldn’t I take your number?”
Duncan had already pushed away from the desk and stood, as if the interview was over. He stopped and gave her a bemused look. “Of course. Miguel.”
Emma frowned. He couldn’t tell her his number? He needed Miguel to do it for him? But Miguel was leaning across the desk, holding out a thick, white business card. Emma looked down as she took it. There were two lines on the card. Duncan’s name, which apparently included a last name of Milford, even though he hadn’t introduced himself that way, and a phone number. No title, no identifying affiliation of any kind.
“Okay,” she said. “Thanks.”
“Miguel, walk Ms. Duquet out to her car, would you? It’s dark and slippery out there.”
“Oh, no, really, I’m okay,” she protested. The last thing she wanted was a stroll in the dark with the growler, Miguel.
“Of course, you are,” Duncan said implacably. “Miguel.”
Duncan stood at an upstairs window and watched as Miguel escorted Emma Duquet out through the gate and down the street to her car, which was an older model Honda, he noted. A reliable car, but not an expensive one.
She said something to Miguel as she opened the car door. Probably thanking him, but nothing more than that. She wasn’t comfortable with Miguel, or maybe she sensed his distrust of her. Whichever it was, Duncan didn’t mind. If anyone was going to get closer to Ms. Duquet it would be him. He was attracted to her in a way he hadn’t been to any woman in a very long time. He supposed it had something to do with the gentle hint of a drawl in her voice, one she’d clearly worked hard to lose. But it was still there to anyone who’d grown up in the South and knew what to listen for. It was said that a man’s taste in women, and vice versa, was set when he was still a child, long before that taste was ever acted upon. If so, it was entirely possible that, even now, Duncan’s taste in women was a throwback to his youth in Tennessee nearly two hundred years ago. But he suspected it was more than that, too.