“Please, sit.” A flash of yellow flickered through Remo’s eyes so quickly Doc was barely sure he’d seen it. “Just so long as those new experiences don’t include sleeping your way through the female membership of this pride.”
Remo took the chair on the end, beside Omur, who looked like he’d rather not be so close to the Brazilian varcolai. “I see my father has shared more than he should have.”
“It’s his job to inform me about the newest member of my pride.”
“It’s also his job to protect his son. To make it possible for me to have a fresh start. So much for that.” Remo sat back, threw his ankle over his knee, and peered at Doc in a way that sent red flags up. “So…” He drew the word out. “Where is this wife of yours? The one who murdered my sister?”
Doc clenched his teeth to keep from snarling. Heat snapped along his veins, a reminder of the witch fire that still lingered in his system, although he’d been learning to control it with help from Barasa. With a deep breath, he leaned back and answered. “Is that the São Paolo pride’s official stance? Because if your father has changed his mind—”
“No.” The smugness on Remo’s face was gone, momentarily replaced by panic. A second later, he flipped his hand through the air like he was flicking a bug away and smiled. “I am just playing with you.”
Doc didn’t return Remo’s good humor. “I don’t play. Ever.” He stood, pulling up to his full height before coming around to lean on the other side of the desk. Crossing his arms, he stared down at Remo with as much intensity as he could without causing fire to leap off his skin. “You’ve been here three minutes. So far you’ve called me a liar and my wife a murderer.” He let his eyes go gold with anger. “Have you ever played baseball, Remo?”
The man looked genuinely confused. “Yes.”
“Good.” Doc smiled. “Then you understand the three-strike rule.” Remo shifted in his seat. “You have one left. Do you get where I’m coming from?”
Remo nodded. “Y-yes.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I understand. I am just tired from my trip.”
Doc got up and went back behind his desk. “Barasa and Omur will give you a tour of the building and show you to your apartment. I suggest you rest before dinner.” He looked up and made eye contact with Remo one last time. “I wouldn’t want you to be so tired you end up with that last strike.” He glanced at Barasa. “A word before you leave.”
Remo nodded and followed Omur out. Doc waited until the door was shut before speaking to Barasa. “I want eyes on him and a full report of your conversations with him.”
“Absolutely.” Barasa glanced toward the door. “How much of a problem do you think he’s going to be?”
Doc thought of Fi and all she’d been through. “No more than we let him.”
Lola Diaz-White waited while John Havoc, her personal bodyguard, knocked on the heavy church doors. Even here in the car, the place’s proximity made her skin tingle. She’d fed from Hector, her comar, before they’d left. How much worse would the effects of the place be if she didn’t have his sweet, rich blood fresh in her system? Until now, she’d never understood how incredible it was that the vampire, Preacher, could live on such hallowed ground until now. He was indeed one of the most unique of their species.
John started back to the car. “He must be out. We’ll have to come back.”
“Wait.” She scooted toward the window. One of the doors had opened a few inches. “Preacher,” she called out. “Are you there?” She motioned to John. “Talk to him.”
With a nod, John returned and had a few words. Quiet words, because she couldn’t make them out over the hum of the car’s air conditioner. Assuming it was Preacher on the other side of those doors, he wasn’t being very friendly. The doors still hadn’t moved more than a few inches.
Finally, John came back and leaned his head down to speak through the window. “He says he’ll meet you soon, but not now.”
She frowned. She was the mayor and he was going to tell her when they’d meet? “I don’t like that. I need to know when and where. Tell him I’m busy, that I’m—”
“I told him that.” John shrugged. “He’s not exactly biddable.”
Lola leaned closer to the window. “Tell him if he wants to know what’s going on with his daughter, he’ll be at my house in an hour. After that, I’ll refuse to see him.”
“Be right back.”
While John relayed the message, she sat back, crossed her arms, and stared at the ceiling. The letter she’d received from Dominic had said only that the mission had failed and that her grandchild was now in the untouchable hands of the ancients. In other words, he’d told her to forget getting the baby back. Like hell she would. She’d hoped to enlist Preacher’s help before going to see Dominic, but that didn’t look like it was going to happen. Once again, she had only herself to rely on.
John got back in the car. “He says he’ll be there.”
She hit the button and closed the window, staring at the abandoned church that housed the father of her grandchild. The little hairs on the back of her neck had been on alert since they’d parked in front of it. She shook her head. “Get us out of here.”
This was Preacher’s loss. She’d given him a chance and he’d squandered it. When—if he showed up, she’d cut him out of this equation once and for all. Better now than when she finally had Mariela back.