The fate of the world?
Frey is so solemn, so serious, it takes all my strength not to insult him by replying with a derisive laugh. Instead, I temper it down to a derisive snort.
"Frey, my friend, do you hear yourself? You know me. You've been through some of the worse times of my life with me. What makes you think anyone in his or her right mind would put the fate of the world in my hands?"
He closes his eyes for a moment. Shakes his head slowly. "You constantly denigrate yourself. But I have seen you at some of the worst times of your life and you always choose the right road, the moral path. This time, though, choices may not be so clear. Williams and Underwood are powerful vampires. They will try to influence or coerce you. You need to be on guard now more than ever."
Listen to him, Anna, Lance's own concern burns into my subconscious. You have to protect yourself.
"Protect myself? From what?" I look from Lance to Frey. "What do you expect me to do? How do I protect myself? Hide in a cave? Abandon everyone I care about? What?"
Lance and Frey have no answers. I see it in the worry that shadows their eyes, the grim set of mouths drawn tight with concern. I also see that it's up to me to put an end to this nonsense. The Chosen One will have to wait. There is another more pressing problem to take care of first-Underwood has to pay for what he did to Lance.
I push myself away from the table and stand. "I suggest we go home. David is going to be wondering where the hell I am. Lance, will you come with me? Frey?"
The two men exchange looks, probably thoughts, but thoughts they keep from me. Lance gives in with a shrug. "When do you want to go?"
I pause, pretending to think about it when in reality, my path is already set. "Tomorrow morning, first thing. Lance, why don't you take Frey into town for dinner? I'm beat. I think I'll turn in."
They look at me as if I am crazy to suggest they leave me alone.
Gives me a chance to throw the foolishness back at them. "Hey. You don't think I can take care of myself? I walk through fire. The Chosen One, remember?"
Frey's lips tip up. Even Lance's shoulders relax a bit.
"And I'm not alone. Adele is here. It's early. If you leave now, you'll be back before dark. Nothing bad happens before dark. You've seen enough slasher flicks to know that."
There's still too much hesitation in his eyes. "Look, I bet there's not much to eat in the house. Whatever Adele has been feeding the hosts is probably gone. Frey is a meat eater. How long has it been since he's had a good steak?"
Frey's mouth twitches at the word "steak."
"See?" I smile, big and bright. "Go. It's the least you can do, Lance. If I wasn't still a little shaky, I'd come, too."
"Well," Lance says finally. "I can take Frey to a steak house I know in the neighborhood. It's close. We'll be back in less than an hour."
"Good." I rise up on my toes and brush my lips against his. "See you in an hour."
I'm practically dancing with impatience, waiting while the two men go upstairs, change clothes, come back down, issue a hundred directives about door locks and alarm systems and finally, finally, head out.
Repairs on the garage haven't been made yet so the Jag, a rental car Lance arranged to have delivered to the house and Adele's little Prius are all lined up in the driveway. The men head for the rental car.
Adele joins me at the door as I'm waving them off. All the hosts have been safely sent home and she looks tired and relieved that the crisis has past. "I think I'm going to my room," she says. "Unless you need something?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," I reply. "Julian Underwood's address."
She throws me a puzzled frown. "Why?"
"I lost an earring Friday night. At Julian's. He called while we were on our way back here and said he'd found it. Since we're leaving early tomorrow morning, this is my only chance to get it."
In spite of my incredible ability to lie on demand, she doesn't look convinced. "Why not wait until Lance gets home? Let him take you?"
"Did you see how tired he is? I'll bet he hasn't slept in forty-eight hours. When he gets back, I'm taking him straight to bed."
I throw a little wink in for good measure.
She gives me a "too much information" look. Still, she hesitates. "Are you sure you're up to driving yourself? I could take you."
I smile, pat her arm. "You are too kind. But I wouldn't dream of imposing."
She gives in with a shrug. "I'll write the address down."
She pulls a small notebook out of a credenza near the front door. She prints the address in neat, precise, block letters. "Do you need directions?"
"No. Thanks. I have GPS in the car."
She starts to turn around and in spite of how anxious I am to get going, I find myself stopping her with a hand on her arm. "Thank you, Adele. For what you did for me."
She nods and pats my hand. "You are good for Lance. I can see that. I'm happy I could help."
We exchange the kind of smile that two people who share a common bond often do-warm, sincere, protective, touched with concern. She loves Lance, too.
I watch as she strides away. If something happens to me tonight, I'm glad she's here.
Not that I expect anything to happen to me. In fact, just the opposite. I expect tonight to resolve the threat against Lance and me once and for all.
With that thought, I run upstairs. Change into jeans and a T-shirt, slip on tennis shoes. Then I'm out the front door.
It takes me fifteen minutes to find Underwood's address. I glance at my watch. Doesn't leave too much time to beat Lance and Frey back home. I lose another five minutes because the address turns out to be a sprawling resort called Lake La Quinta. When I locate the lobby and ask for Julian Underwood at the front desk, I'm asked if I want his suite or the suite of one of his guests. Evidently, he has the whole spread.
At my reply, I'm told he's staying in the Lakeside suite and given directions. I hear the clerk telephoning Julian discreetly as I walk away. If not for vampire hearing, I'd never have caught it.
Rolling lawns, lush gardens and views of the Santa Rosa Mountains as backdrop fade into insignificance at the sight of the "lake" that fronts the property. I don't know if it's man-made or natural, but the amount of water surrounding this desert oasis in drought-plagued Southern California is remarkable.
Underwood must be watching for me because he opens the door before I ring. He looks surprised to see me. Surprised and suspicious. But he cloaks those emotions quickly behind a façade of cordiality.
"Anna. What an unexpected pleasure."
All the way over, I've braced myself for the onslaught of emotion I would likely experience when I once again face this monster. For he is a monster. If I hadn't been convinced of it before, what he did to Lance proves it beyond any doubt. First the beating, then risking Lance's life with the fire. His disregard for life churns the fury in my stomach like acid.
But it's different this time. I was unprepared at the bar, ignorant of the pain he was capable of inflicting. Now I know. Now I'm filled with powerful emotions of my own-rage and the need for revenge.
I have to smother those feelings. Underwood can't know what's really behind this visit. There isn't time.
Not now.
Underwood stands aside and motions me into his suite. His hair is loose today, falling to his shoulders in burnished waves of gold. He's dressed in slacks and an open-neck shirt, Gucci loafers on his feet. In the confined space of a room, his cologne assaults my nose. It's cloying with strong undertones of something flowery and bitter. Makes me want to stand as far away from him as possible.
"I heard there was some trouble at Lance's." He says it like one might comment on gossip heard about a stranger.
I nod. "A gas explosion. The water heater blew up."
"Anyone hurt?"
"Not seriously."
"Good." His smile is gratuitous, rehearsed. "I'm very glad to hear that."
I ignore the platitude, look around. We're standing in a living room with two sets of double doors leading out to a deck that fronts the lake. In front of the lake is a pool. More water. Around that pool lounge the five women who accompanied Underwood and his entourage to Melvyn's. Bikinied, waxed, gorgeous. I wonder which one Lance had that night. My gut clenches at the image the thought triggers. The animal writhes with jealousy.
Swallow it down.
No time for this. Focus. I shift my concentration to the surroundings, the room, to clear my head. Simple furniture. A sofa covered in striped silk damask, a matching chair, an oak credenza. All in muted tones of cream and white. From where I stand, I can see two bedrooms flanking the living room.
"Nice digs."
"Thank you. It's my home away from home."
"You have the whole resort to yourself?"
"I know the owner. We have an understanding."
"I'll bet you do." I'll bet Underwood gets anything he wants. One way or the other.
Like Williams.
He motions to the coffee table, set with two glasses and an open bottle of wine. "Would you join me in a glass of wine?"
Two glasses? I suspect the second wasn't meant for me.
Is he in one of the bedrooms? I probe, discreetly, to see if I detect another vampire presence. But Williams is adept at shielding himself. I pull my thoughts back.
Focus.
I shake my head. "I can't stay. I'm here to make you a deal."
He steeples his fingers and tilts his head, a gesture of polite curiosity. But his expression is tinged with humor, too, as if he finds the thought that I'd come to offer him a deal absurd.
But it's why I'm here. To protect Lance and Frey until I find out what they want. Knowledge . . . then revenge.
"Yes. Here it is. From this moment on, you will leave Lance alone. You will never bother him again. Nor will you go after anyone else I care about. Not my family. Not my partner David. Not the attendant at my car wash or the clerk who takes my dry cleaning or the cashier at my corner liquor store. If any one of them so much as breaks a nail, I will make you sorry. I will make you pay. Do we understand each other?"
Underwood's smile is dark and dangerous. "And what do I get in return for agreeing to this deal?"
I get in his face.
"What you wanted from the beginning. You get me."
There's a moment of silence. Underwood and I stare at each other, waiting for the other to blink first. Neither of us does. What breaks the stalemate is the sound of clapping.
We both turn.
And there in a bedroom door, like the wizard stepping out from behind the curtain, is Warren Williams.