alone.
“Okay, you can stay. For a while. But I’m going to call you Maria—none of this sister crap.”
Maria’s relief was almost palpable, and a smile flashed across her face, making her almost pretty.
“Thank you.”
Two “thank yous” in one day. That had to be a record. “Do you know how to make coffee?” she asked.
“I think I can remember.”
“Well, make yourself useful. There’s something I have to do—then we’ll have a chat.”
She loaded the disk and waited while the program installed. After setting it to type rather than audio, she watched as the dialogue printed out on the screen.
At first, it came up as man 1, man 2, but after a couple of lines, the program filled in the names. Man 1 was Piers Lamont, Man 2 was Graham, the receptionist. She checked the time—it was half an hour ago, just after she’d left.
Piers Lamont: Get Christian on the phone for me.
Graham: He’ll be sleeping.
Piers: Hey, I was sleeping and I’m awake. Get him.
Piers: I just had a visit from a nun.
Christian: What did she want?
Piers: To give me some information.
Christian: And are you going to share?
Piers: The information or the nun? I’m not sure Tara would be happy about that.
Christian: Hah-hah. The information.
Piers: She gave me a name, but one I’d already guessed. And the police are involved. There’s a girl missing and the police have a picture of the suspect. Our little nun recognized the man who attacked the convent. And it seems it’s not the first missing girl. The police have tied it to another murder case where the victim died by exsanguination.
Christian: This guy’s a vamp?
Piers: Didn’t I mention that bit?
Christian: So what are you going to do about it?
Piers: I’ll arrange a meeting. That’s what he’s after. That’s what this whole thing is about.
Christian: You want me in?
Piers: Yeah—you okay for tonight?
Christian: I’ll meet you over there.
[A minute’s silence.]
Christian: So how was the nun?
Piers: Delectable. Sweet as sin. There’s fae blood in there and a lot of it.
Christian: Is she okay?
Piers: What do you take me for—some sort of monster? She was fine, walked out on her own two feet. And she won’t remember a thing.
Christian: Good.
Nothing further came up on the screen, and Roz sat back in the chair and stared at the words. Fae blood? What did that mean? That she was some sort of fairy? No way! Asmodai had never mentioned the fae. But he was a secretive bastard, and she was on a need to know basis. Obviously, the demon hadn’t considered she needed to know the fact that she had fae blood. Or even that the fae existed.
She’d never known what she was. She had vague recollections of her father; he’d been around on and off up until she was about six years old. Then he had disappeared from their lives without trace. Her mother wasn’t the same after that, a shadow of the happy woman she’d been. She’d always sworn that he would never voluntarily leave them, and Roz had presumed he must be dead. He certainly hadn’t been around when the villagers had come for them.
Witch.
The word echoed through the years. Her mother had been a healer. The people had come to her for help and she had saved more than one wretched life. Only to be repaid with her death. Roz had inherited her mother’s healing skills and more, but what might she have inherited from her unknown father?
She sighed and sat back as Maria put a mug of coffee on the table beside her, and carried her own to the sofa.
“Okay,” Roz said, “we require a few ground rules, if you’re going to stay here.”
“I’m good at rules.”
“No habits—I find them depressing. No praying where I can see or hear—it upsets my digestion. Oh, and don’t contact anyone and tell them where you are. And no boys in your room,” she couldn’t resist adding.
She got a faint smile. Maria was recovering. “What am I to wear?” She hitched up the gray sweats. “Your clothes are too big.”
Bitch. Just because she was skinny, no need to rub it in. “Order some stuff off the internet—it will be here by tomorrow.”
“Really?” She pursed her lips. “I have no money.”
“Well luckily, I have plenty.”
“Who are you?”
Well that one was easy to answer. “I have no fucking clue.”
Maria winced at the swear word. “Well whoever you are—you’re a good person.”
No she wasn’t. But maybe she wasn’t all bad either.
She checked occasionally, but there was nothing from the bug through the afternoon and early evening. Ryan called, said they were investigating a few leads and he would let her know if they led to anything. Otherwise, the day had been pleasantly uneventful. She’d set Maria up on the desktop computer, internet shopping, and watched as she flicked through the sites as if starving. Then she’d settled on the sofa with a glass of scotch and a book, but ended up dozing on and off.
It wasn’t until after eleven that there was any further activity from the bug. Roz checked on her houseguest; Maria was curled up in the corner of the sofa, her head resting in one hand, her eyes closed. She still looked pale, with dark shadows under her eyes, but she had held up better than Roz would have believed. Obviously, the nun was made of stern stuff.
Roz shifted on her seat, so Maria wouldn’t see the screen should she awaken, and quickly read the information. It seemed as though Christian and Piers were in the office alone.
Christian: So you’ve found him?
Piers: It wasn’t difficult—I told you—he wanted me to find him. I’ve arranged to meet him at Mason’s, an abandoned warehouse on the docks, tonight.
Christian: You’d still like me along?
Piers: Hell yeah. You can be the voice of reason.
Christian: The two of you have history?
Piers: You could say that.
Christian: Is there anyone you don’t have history with?
Piers: Not many.
Christian: Okay. So about the nun…
Piers: What about her? I told you—she won’t remember a thing.
Christian: You planning on seeing her again?
Piers: Maybe.
Christian: You know, Tara thinks that deep down—admittedly very deep down—you could actually be a nice guy.
Piers: Don’t you two have anything better to do than talk about little old me? And she’s wrong. I’m not nice.
Christian: That’s what I told her. But she reckons all you need is the love of a good woman.
Piers: There is no such thing. Come on, let’s go get some guns.
Christian: Are we going to need them?
