Possessed by a Warrior Read online

  “Some. He loved sharing his collection with a few people he liked. He didn’t talk about it much otherwise.”

  In a roundabout way, Jack had been letting Chloe know who he was, telling her without telling her. If any of the Company—like Sam—had known, they would have panicked. But, as always, Jack had gone his own way. Sadness flooded Sam for his friend, and for all the secrets they had to keep.

  As if sensing his melancholy, Chloe took his hand. “The books are still here, if you want to see them.”

  Her slender fingers were lost in his. All of her seemed fragile compared to the masculine world of his existence. Irrationally, he felt afraid to close his own fingers lest he crush her bones.

  Sam swallowed hard. “No, that’s okay. I just keep trying to figure out Jack’s connection to Lark and the dress.”

  They walked a few paces, Sam tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow. Leaves rustled on a thyme-scented breeze. It was hard to believe this was the same route Sam had followed, chasing the blood trail of Chloe’s attacker. In the gentle afternoon light, the garden was a haven.

  Chloe pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “My guess is Lark trusted him enough to give him the dress for safekeeping. Maybe she knew something was up. And if a friend asked Jack to do something, he’d do it.” She gave Sam a shrewd look. “Maybe Jack was just holding it for her, and then she was killed.”

  “Maybe. It’s a good explanation, especially if his intention was to eventually return the dress to Marcari.”

  Chloe’s blue gaze was steady. “Jack wasn’t a thief.”

  “No, he wasn’t.” Sam felt the truth of her words, sharp and clean as a sword. She could see to the heart of people, and it made far more sense than Carter’s dark view of the vampires.

  Chloe’s fingers squeezed his arm as they walked, the heat of her like life itself. Her lips quirked. “So now you know Jack’s deep, dark secret.”

  “That he collected Count Chocula bobblehead dolls?”

  She laughed softly. “I’m not sure there is such a thing.”

  “We all have something we’d rather not share.”

  “How about you?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Don’t shy away now. Fair is fair. We shouldn’t get to pick on Jack unless we confess our own peculiarities.”

  “I have Fido.”

  “He’s just a pet.”

  You have no idea. “What are yours?”

  “Isn’t spending my life playing with balloons and confetti enough?”

  “That’s just a job.”

  Chloe ducked her head, obviously thinking of something but too embarrassed to say it. Sam grinned. “Okay, I’ll go first.”

  She looked up. “What?”

  “I’m a Civil War fanatic.”

  “What, with little armies covering the dining room table, or are you one of those guys who goes out to fight Gettysburg once a year?”

  “I did Fredericksburg. Never made it to Gettysburg.”

  “Still, that’s pretty hard-core.”

  “Now it’s your turn.”

  She turned that rosy pink again. “I never threw out my collection of stuffed ponies. I still have them all in my bedroom.”

  He smiled. He couldn’t help it. He had a ridiculous mental image of the Four Horsemen done in pastel plush. “Is this part of the same fantasy that requires a gold-hoofed palfrey for Elaine to ride down the aisle?”

  “That’s not my idea, Elaine’s mom came up with that. But, yeah, I understand the fantasy appeal.”

  They’d reached the end of the path. Behind Chloe, delphiniums fountained in blue spires, matching the color of her eyes.

  Without even knowing what he was going to do, Sam kissed her. It happened too quickly for second thoughts. She was suddenly in his arms, his fingers folded in the soft fabric of her sweater.

  There was no straight line of reason in Sam’s mind, just a burning need to do this right. Just once, he needed to approach Chloe as a man. A man who wanted her more than anything.

  He began kissing her slowly, first the top lip, then the bottom, teasing until her body began melting into his, her weight sinking against his chest. Her fair hair tumbled over his dark jacket, reminding him of gold turning to molten liquid in a crucible. Gold, the one element that was incorruptible.

  He was a creature of darkness, but she drew him into the light. The part of him that was still a man, the lost part, the lonely part, craved it the way a man abandoned in the desert for years craved cool, clear water.

  Sam stroked her arm, the feel of the soft, plush sweater against his palm strangely arousing. Her fingers touched his neck, featherlight brushes. As her breath exhaled against his lips, his ears, he could feel her pulling him down to her, yearning to be closer. He drank in the warmth of her skin through his lips. She smelled golden, like the sun shining through a kitchen window. She tasted like everything he missed.

  Sam ached through his whole being. Like an endless wellspring, there was ever more begging for his touch, no matter how much of her loveliness he claimed with mouth and hands.

  His hand traveled up her spine, from the sway of her back and along the arc of her ribs. He found the warm fullness of her breasts, surprising in a woman so slender. She shivered under the pressure of his fingers, but it was in anticipation. He kneaded her gently, feeling her nipples grow hard and ready for pleasure.

  The thought intoxicated him, drew him further into the moment. Chloe broke away, her lips lingering near his before they returned, soft and warm, to kiss him back.

  And this time he kept his fangs to himself. Everything was perfect.

  Chapter 16

  It was no great mystery how Sam eventually talked her into accepting his protection that afternoon. When she thought about it, Chloe felt sheepish. As much as she had tried, she was no match for his masculine wiles.

  Happily, Faran readily agreed to go, as well. Cheerful and client-friendly, he would cover the interior of the small, pretty business center in the Eldon Hotel. Sam would watch the exterior. Two bodyguards seemed absolute overkill to Chloe, but she wasn’t going to argue anymore. Maybe she was being naive. After all, she had limited experience with crazed jewel thieves, and Sam seemed to feel his presence was a necessary precaution. As long as he didn’t talk to the clients, Chloe was okay with that. And he did kiss so very, very well.

  However, she remembered Lexie’s warning about falling for her Swiss Army knife the moment she got to the meeting room and pulled out her phone. There was a voice message from her friend. Chloe waited to play it until Faran had deposited her binders of photos and samples and went to park the car. Sam, of course, assumed his guard dog post outside the door.

  Lexie had booked her flight from Austria for that day. She’d also booked into the Eldon, adamant that she would not stay in the same house as her former boyfriend. A quarter hour later, Elaine arrived along with Iris Fallon, the mother of the bride. Chloe summoned her brightest smile. “Lovely to see you again, Mrs. Fallon.”

  The straight-backed, trim woman had a firm handshake and a brisk, no-nonsense snap to her words. “I came along to make sure things don’t run off the rails.”

  “Of course,” Chloe replied, doing her best not to be offended.

  It probably would have made no difference if she were. Iris didn’t look the sensitive type. One might have broken china against that no-hair-out-of-place helmet of iron-gray waves.

  “Please don’t take this personally, but I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t come from within our circle to strike just the right chord.” She gave Chloe an assessing look, as if deciding whether or not Jack Anderson’s niece counted. “Speaking of which, I insist upon a harpist for the reception.”

  “I’m sure we’ll all appreciate your insights,” Chloe replied.

&
nbsp; “I should say so, since I’m paying your bill.”

  They settled into chairs.

  Chloe offered her sweetest smile, glad she’d decided to start with something easy. “I thought perhaps we could look at some cake designs, just to get a sense of what appeals. Then we can think about doing some tasting. I have an excellent dessert chef who will deliver anywhere we like.”

  “Did somebody say cake?” Faran entered the room carrying a tray laden with coffee and cookies.

  Chloe mentally crossed her fingers, hoping Bodyguard 2.0 would hit the right chord with Elaine. “This is Faran Kenyon, who will be assisting me today.”

  She needn’t have worried. Faran gave a sunny smile and waved a hand at the tray. “The coffee shop had vanilla-hazelnut blend. It smelled so good, I couldn’t resist. How do you take your coffee? Cream? Sugar?”

  Elaine gave him a huge smile. “Cream and sugar, please.”

  Perfect. Chloe could see shoulders relaxing, spines curving into the soft and welcoming furniture. Within seconds, she saw Faran knew how to work a crowd.

  Only Iris seemed reluctant to thaw. With a chilly smile, she flipped the pages of the photo album with an audible snap.

  “So what kind of cakes are these?” Iris sniffed. “They’re not that cardboard flummery you put out for show? I want the real thing under the icing.”

  “I assure you, those are real cakes.” Chloe watched them speed by under the woman’s rough fingers. There were the traditional tiered cakes, but also castles and ships, a huge sheet cake decorated like a football field. She’d been proud of every one.

  “If I may.” Faran pulled up an armchair and sat down. “What kind of cake batter you use is sometimes dependent on the style of the cake. It has to be firm enough to support the design.”

  Iris gave him a sharp look. “How would a young man like yourself know about that?”

  Chloe wondered, too. Last thing she’d heard, he was a spy with an unsettling interest in other people’s jewelry. And she didn’t need another Man in Black ruining her appointments.

  But Faran just gave a pleasant smile. “I have my chef’s papers, ma’am. Desserts aren’t my specialty, but I know one or two things about cake design.”

  Elaine spoke up. “Chloe, you know some very interesting people.”

  “Elaine,” Iris snapped, using her daughter’s name like a reproach. “You can’t believe every bit of nonsense a pretty boy tells you, and you’d be better off if you’d paid attention to that fact long before this circus came to town.”

  Chloe narrowed her eyes. She’d had enough. Weddings belonged to the bride and groom, and Elaine wasn’t being heard. “Excuse me, Mrs. Fallon. I completely understand how you want everything to be perfect. That’s why I’m here to help you.” Gently, Chloe pulled the book of photographs from Iris’s hands and set it on the table. “As you know, we settled on the medieval theme as a compromise between elegance and a sense of fairy tale wonder.”

  “Yes.” Elaine said. “It was the one theme we all could live with.”

  “All right.” Step one, get everyone back to a place of consensus. Step two, work out from there. “So our cake has to be in keeping with the medieval theme. What would be perfect for our fairy tale kingdom?”

  “A castle,” Elaine said, suddenly enthused. “We could have a cake that looked like a castle.”

  “A white castle with shining turrets,” Iris added. “With pennants fluttering from the towers.”

  Chloe smiled warmly. “What an excellent idea.”

  Never mind she’d already thought of it. The castle itself could be fruitcake, the surrounding forest, moat and drawbridge could be spun sugar on a softer cake base. That way both bride and mom could have something they wanted. She didn’t know the exact engineering required—her culinary experience barely stretched to scrambled eggs—but her dessert chef was a genius at these things.

  Unfortunately, Elaine was looking a little glum again. Shining turrets were good, but not perfect. Needs to be more playful. “What does everyone think of adding a dragon?” Chloe asked.

  “Oh, yes!” Elaine brightened at once. “A castle has to have a dragon.”

  Iris looked less convinced. “Maybe a small one.”

  “I’ll see what the chef can do.” She gave Elaine a wink. The woman smiled, ducking her head. “I’ll have some samples sent for our next appointment. Maybe Leo would like to come to the tasting?”

  Faran had moved to stand by the credenza where he’d left the coffee tray, out of everyone’s line of sight but Chloe’s. He made a thumbs-up gesture. Chloe tried not to watch him, keeping her face serious.

  “He must send samples within twenty-four hours,” Iris demanded. “Since the wedding will be next week.”

  “Next week?” Chloe squeaked. “You said it was in two months!”

  Elaine looked abashed. “I’m so sorry, but that was before Grandma Fallon’s last appointment. She’s not going to last until late summer.”

  “You neglected to mention the new timeline?” Iris asked her daughter in freezing tones. But Chloe had noticed the flinch when Grandma Fallon was mentioned. Iris was covering up a lot of sadness.

  Elaine closed her eyes. “I forgot. I think I remembered to forget. This is too fast. We can’t ask Chloe to do it.”

  “Next week.” Chloe’s voice sounded weak in her own ears. Her head felt inflated, as it might float off her shoulders at any moment. “I can try, but I have no idea what to do about a reception hall on such short notice. They’re booked months in advance, sometimes years.”

  Iris’s thinly plucked brows drew together. “Well, this isn’t the kind of service I expected. What kind of a wedding planner can’t provide a reception hall?”

  One with insane clients! Chloe longed to scream it as she lunged across the coffee table to throttle the woman, but no one hired a planner with a record of strangling her customers.

  “I have an idea,” Faran broke in.

  Everyone turned to look at him.

  “What about Jack’s place? It’s big enough for two weddings this size.”

  Chloe sat back, feeling dizzy with relief and dread. Faran was right. It had everything that she needed: parking, gardens, reception rooms, guest accommodations, kitchens and staff.

  And thieves. If Sam was right, assassins.

  “That’s Oakwood Manor, isn’t it?” Iris purred. “What a splendid idea.”

  Be careful, Chloe thought. You might get the wedding you deserve.

  Chapter 17

  The humans and Kenyon were eating their dinner downstairs. Sam was upstairs, pacing the hallway. He wasn’t in the mood to pretend. He’d heard the whole wedding-at-Oakwood discussion through the meeting room door. Part of him wanted to say it was a terrible idea—a security nightmare—that should be squashed immediately. On the other hand, that amount of chaos would surely tempt his adversaries to make their move. In a perverse way, the Fallon–Venuto wedding would give Sam the opportunity to choose his battleground and he knew Oakwood inside out.

  Sam wandered into one of the empty bedrooms on the third floor. It had the feel of an abandoned place, a little too cold, a tiny bit dusty. Still, it was a perfectly good place to make a private phone call. He pushed the door shut.

  Sam was ready to deal with villains popping out of the woodwork, but there were three other things to consider before he invited them to come get the diamonds. First was the shooting in the nightclub. The second was what he had learned about Jessica Lark. Last, there was Carter.

  The shooter in the nightclub had always bothered him. Although an assassination would have furthered the agenda of fanatical elements invested in conflict between Marcari and Vidon—such as the Knights of Vidon—the shooter had no known political affiliations. In fact, the boy had seemed in a trance, almost as if he
had no idea what he was doing. Mind control. Some vampires had the ability. Sam wasn’t one of them, but both Carter and Winspear were. Both had been there that night. Both were here now. So were the Knights. Coincidence or connection? It was hard to tell.

  And then there was Jessica Lark. From what he could tell from her records, Lark was not a vampire, but she wasn’t human, either. Sam’s guess was that the designer had fey blood. As a rule, the fey had their own agenda and weren’t to be trusted, but the Company dealt with a few in a limited capacity. Only those agents with the very highest clearance went near the seductive, unpredictable creatures. The fact that Jack had been her contact made sense. He was an old and trusted agent of the Company. But why was Mark Winspear, a newcomer, the one in the photo with Jessica Lark?

  And why was Carter really here? The Company’s director didn’t make pickup runs, no matter how important the cargo. Was he here only because he suspected Winspear and Kenyon to be traitors? He’d said as much, but Sam didn’t buy it—no matter how sound Carter’s reasoning. There had to be more to it.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled out his cell phone. Do I really want to do this? Once he dialed, once he set things in motion, he would have to accept the results, whatever those turned out to be. Even if his friends were in fact revealed as thieves and murderers.

  But was that really a possibility? Kenyon had been devoted to Jack, who had pulled him out of the gutter and turned his life around. Kenyon wasn’t an innocent, but he had his own code. A heist for old time’s sake? Maybe. Anything more than that? Sam’s gut said not—to the point where he hadn’t hesitated to ask him along as Chloe’s bodyguard. Sam didn’t think Winspear would kill Jack, either, and he’d sooner pull out his own fangs than work with the Knights of Vidon. So what was his involvement?

  This was all wrong. Sam had always trusted his maker completely, but the Horsemen were closer than brothers. That changed everything.

  He dialed Carter’s number on his cell. Much would depend on how his maker responded to Sam’s plan.

  “Sam, my boy,” said the familiar gruff voice.