Dark Lover (15 page)

There was no guilt as he used his telepathy to find her. That power had begun when he was first captured. He'd thought about his father, and instantly had been able to see Aidan in the midst of his day. He'd tried so hard to communicate to him that way. Once in a while, Aidan had seen him, back. However, he'd assumed Ian was a ghost.

He'd been a boy then, and the power had been erratic. It was highly refined now. He'd even used it from Scotland to spy on Sam several times, shamelessly. He'd watched her with her lovers a few times and he'd enjoyed every moment of that. He was shameless now.

She was seated on the sofa in her loft, still in her tiny shorts, but in a different tank top. His heart picked up a new beat now, one predatory and sexual. He slowly smiled and reached for his cell phone.

He'd made it a point to obtain her numbers earlier. He dialed her at home. The moment she answered, he heard the breathless tension in her voice. His own tension, already impossible, thickened. “Can't ye sleep?”

“Maclean.”

Her tone was thick, like his. “I can't sleep, either, Sam.”

She was surprised. “Are we about to have phone sex?”

His mouth curled. “I wouldn't bother. Why are ye so hot?”

She hesitated. “Hemmer was here. He just left.”

For one moment, he was incredulous. Then he was on his feet, enraged. “An' he makes ye hot now, too?”

“Hemmer is an evil and dangerous sonuvabitch,” she said. “And you were right about him. He is going to be a problem.”

His mind raced. She hadn't slept with him, he was certain. He tried to read her mind and only felt her anger.
Hemmer had pissed her off. “What did Hemmer want? Other than sex?”

There was another pause. “You know what he wants. Me…the page…and maybe, revenge on you. Have you considered that part of it, Maclean?”

He was still, his gaze narrowed, feeling harder and angrier now. “An' ye care because?” He was aware of quoting her.

“I care because you have the page and we want it,” she snapped. “Gee, this is great phone sex!”

“Why did ye change yer clothes?”

There was a moment of surprised silence. “How do you know I changed my clothes?”

“Because,' he snarled, “ye were wearing a white tank top, an' it's red now.”

“My place is wired?”

“I don't need wires or feeds, Sam,” he said softly.

She breathed hard. “Right. Forgot. You have that amazing brain—one that can dismantle security systems and see me across most of Manhattan?”

“I can see ye from Scotland, if I want.”

She was silent.

He smiled, taking that little victory. “I told ye to stay away from him. Ye should have called. Did ye play him, Sam?”

“Here's a news flash—I don't take orders from you. And guess what? I did work him, Maclean. Come on! What else would I do?”

Had she listened to a word he'd said? “I'll take care of Hemmer from now on.” He couldn't help himself. “Did he kiss ye?”

“Oh, yeah, Hemmer and his bag of tricks make a perfect date. Soo romantic and sexy! I couldn't wait to have his tongue down my throat.”

He knew then that Hemmer hadn't touched her. He was relieved—and that was odd.

“You are playing with fire, Maclean. You stole his property. He wants it back. We want it, too. I think you need to consider an exit strategy—like handing over the page.”

He slowly smiled. “In return for two hundred million dollars' worth of sex?”

She exhaled. “You said no.”

“I'm starting to like the idea.”

She choked. “Are you kidding?”

If he gave her the page, spent a few days with her, he could walk away from all of this. He didn't need the money, not like this. There was other art he could steal and sell. And he didn't need evil in his face. Mostly, he didn't need the growing reminders of his past.

For some damn reason, in the past day or so, he felt like he was on a precipice, about to be shoved back into the past.

And that was unacceptable.

There was one problem. He had nowhere to go, other than his Loch Awe mansion.

“Are you okay?”

He jerked. He'd been lost in thought—and that last thought had been almost dismaying. Of course he had other places to go. He'd sell the Park Avenue place. He'd buy homes in Nice, Sydney, Monaco. “Come over and have some wine with me,” he suddenly said.

“I'm going to bed—alone.”

“Ye only delay the inevitable. Besides, what will ye do when ye dream of me?”

“You said no phone sex.”

He smiled then. “What if I come back over? Ye can go to bed alone—I'll watch.”

She was silent. He knew she was considering it. Then she said, “I don't think you could keep your hands to yourself if I did what we both know I want to do.”

“No phone sex,” he chided softly.

“What if I tell you that we're invited to a party tomorrow—the two of us. It's a special party…at Hemmer's.”

He was sharp. “There's no reason to go back there, Sam.”

“Yes, there is. There's evil in the vault. If you turn me down, I'll bring someone from the agency.”

“Is that a threat?” He wasn't amused. He'd never let her go without him.

“No, it's a fact. He wants us to provide him with some X-rated entertainment.”

He didn't have to read her mind now. His interest was immediate and a different tension began. Anxiety hummed. “Did ye agree?”

“Do you care?”

“I've never minded an audience,” he lied. He hated audiences. There'd been too many of them.

“I thought you'd be all gung ho—you get to get me in bed! He's expecting us at seven.”

“I'll pick ye up at half past six.”

She said seriously, without sarcasm, “What's wrong with you, Maclean? Really? You sound strange.”

“Nothing's wrong. I've been enjoying my evening. Goodnight, Sam.” Then he stared at his BlackBerry grimly.

Sam Rose was too astute where he was concerned. He knew he should unload the page and get out now, while he could—before every secret he had was out there in the public domain.

And he should unload her, too.

But he knew he wouldn't, not yet. Not until they'd finished what they'd started that day in Oban, Scotland.

S
AM WAS ON HER WAY
into her office the following afternoon when Nick's assistant barred her way. Sam was an hour later than usual—it was almost 4:00 p.m. But she'd been up most of the night, thinking about Maclean, Hemmer, the missing page and the DVD. Then she'd spent half of the afternoon arguing with her insurance agency over her claim. She was in a fairly rotten mood. Seeing Jan, it instantly got worse.

She couldn't stand the woman and the feeling was mutual.

Everyone assumed that they hated each other because they were both beautiful women, although as different as night and day. Jan was a modern-day version of Marilyn Monroe, all soft smiles and lush curves, with shoulder-length blond hair, big brown eyes, a bow-shaped mouth and a come-hither look that was as natural to her as breathing. However, that sex-kitten appearance hid a razor-sharp intellect and an unusual bio. She'd once been a field agent, one of Nick's best
ever
. Sam had heard him mention that many times—and it riled her even more than Jan batting her lashes whenever a guy walked by.

There was more. Jan and Nick went way back—no one knew just how far. Nick was a legend in the agency. It was said he'd come close to dying for his agents a dozen times, and had taken down some of history's worst demons as far back as Roman times. Jan was somewhat of a legend, too.
Way back when, she'd been at his side through thick and thin, taking down the world's worst evil with him. It was rumored she'd lost her fiancé to a gladiator in the Roman Colosseum.

It was a long enough history that Jan could talk back to Nick without any consequences, or offer him unsolicited advice and unasked-for opinions—no matter who was present. More importantly, she seemed to know everything that Nick knew. Clearly, although a PA and employee, she was also a friend and confidante. Speculation ran wild on the exact nature of their friendship.

The bottom line was that Jan had a special relationship with the boss, and got special treatment because of it.

Sam had hated her on sight. Jan had hated her as instantly.

And last year, Nick had taken Jan back in time to find a demon witch who was hunting Tabby. He'd known how badly Sam had wanted to go. That had been the deal breaker. Jan could lie down on Hudson Street in front of a steamroller and die for her, but Sam would never get past last year.

Now she stood in front of Sam's office door, wearing a slinky, sleeveless aqua-blue dress and high heels, not bothering to smile. Sam faced her, wearing her usual short denim miniskirt, a tank top and midcalf boots. “You're in my way,” she warned.

“Late night?” Jan asked, too innocently.

“They're all late nights.” Sam smirked at her. Then she added, “I'm a Slayer, not a secretary, remember?”

Jan ignored that. “Was yesterday a sick day?” she mocked. “You didn't call it in but we know you went into Five.” She smiled. “Too much fun and games all over midtown Manhattan with Mr. Clean? Whoops, I mean Mr. Down and Dirty.” She smiled, and Sam knew she'd seen the video from the other night.

“Jealous?”

Jan actually laughed. “I am not into bad boys, Sam.”

“I forgot. You live like a nun.”

“Some of us can control our libido. Some of us put self-respect above sleeping around with whatever's available.”

“Some of us just wanna have fun.” Sam shoved past her. Her perfume was soft and sweet, like her appearance. Sam wanted to gag.

“Was last night fun, too?”

Sam decided Jan knew that Maclean had shown up at her loft. But of course she did—Maclean had been tailed. Her mind veered instantly from that encounter to the DVD and his phone call afterward.

“What's wrong? All bent out of shape because Maclean got away from Super Sam?”

“Gee, did you get demoted to Personnel?” Sam walked over to her desk. She would never understand why men went nuts over Jan. Probably because she looked like a centerfold but was holier-than-thou and never put out. Jan was some kind of morally correct male fantasy.

Rumor had it that she was mourning her dead lover. It was some kind of deathbed vow that only soul mates could make.

Jan followed her, hips swaying. “Nick is so
pissed
.” She seemed pleased.

Sam tossed her messenger bag and briefcase on the small sofa that was on one wall, beneath several rows of bookcases. “Nick is always pissed.”

“He's pissed at
you
.” Jan smiled. “On several counts. You didn't report in. You left a wake of devastation around the city yesterday—which CDA will have to pay for. Maclean got away—whoops! And he stole the page. Nick wants to see you ASAP.” She sauntered out, her ass swaying.

Sam would have slammed her office door closed behind her, but Kit stood there uncomfortably. Sam faced her. “One of us needs to go.”

“She's actually a nice person.”

“Don't you dare become friends with her! I will take that as a personal betrayal.”

“Hey, okay. It was an observation. Are you okay? Did you survive Maclean?” Kit asked, stepping inside.

“Worse. I survived Rupert Hemmer, who came by, came on and offered me an unholy anti-Maclean partnership.”

Kit started. “And you're playing?”

“Yeah, I'm playing.” Sam went to her bag and handed Kit the DVD. “I know I can trust you. Find out if this is genuine or shopped. Don't let anyone here see it, either. I'll never live it down, especially not after the videos from Maclean's Park Avenue house.”

“What is it?”

“A sex tape. Of me and Maclean.” She spoke casually but there was nothing casual about her body now. Even thinking about him and the tape did crazy things to her.

Kit's eyes widened and she blushed.

“I haven't slept with him, Kit. But Hemmer plans to blackmail me with it, so it would help to know if this is a fake or if it came from the future.”

“Okay. I'll find a consultant to analyze it.” Kit was worried now.

Sam clasped her shoulder. “Don't worry. What's the worst he can do? Put it on YouTube? I can handle it.” She meant it. She'd let him do as he wanted with the sex tape before giving in to his blackmail. Of course, she'd prefer the damn tape disappear. Sam turned to go but Kit caught her arm.

“By the way, a Mercedes salesman called. You can pick up your new car anytime today at their Lower East Side showroom.”

“What?” Sam asked.

Kit shrugged. “I'm only the messenger. He said he left you an e-mail—as per Lord Maclean's instructions.”

Sam walked swiftly to her desk, tapping the keyboard and pulling up her e-mail. She was disbelieving. “He bought me a car,” she choked. “That bastard bought me an SL 500 convertible—fully loaded!”

“Wow,” Kit said.

He'd owed her, but she hadn't thought he'd come through. And he'd owed her a Lexus—not a hundred-thousand-dollar Mercedes. Her insurance would have paid for most of the new vehicle and so would the agency. But Ian had bought the convertible right off the lot. And it was waiting for her. “Maclean is nuts.”

“You shouldn't accept it. It's a conflict of interest. But what a gift! Maybe he's sorry about what happened yesterday. Sam, maybe he really likes you.”

She was taken aback. “Are you kidding?” she said. “This is just another come-on. Maclean doesn't have guilt—or emotions. I have to deal with the boss.” She hurried out, shaken. He didn't like her—he wanted her. Those were two different things. Men liked Jan. Men liked Tabby. She was too strong to be liked, too capable, too powerful and much too independent.

Nick was on the phone when Sam stepped to the threshold of his large corner office. He gave her a stare and said, “I'll call you later.” Hanging up, he stood. “Gee, did you get enough beauty sleep?” he asked, alluding to the late hour, and pointed at the chair in front of his desk.

Sam sat. Nick remained standing. “I'm sorry he got away with the page,” she said. “I take full responsibility.”

“I know you're sorry. I'm sorry, too. So what? Should we hold hands and cry while he laughs at us and sells it to Hemmer, or worse?” Before she could speak, he said, “Your judgment went out the window the night of Becca's
birthday party. I thought I could count on you to take Maclean on, take him down. But I can't. Your wits are addled. What are you, sweet sixteen? You're acting like a virgin around him.”

“Not fair,” Sam bristled, standing. “And not true. You must be referring to the surveillance tape from his house. Well, he's an ass. Most women would have caved but I'm not putting out, Nick.”

Nick snorted. “You sleep with the objective and you're out.”

Sam inhaled. “I screwed up. He's sharp and he's crazy. He doesn't care if he dies. Otherwise I would have had him yesterday. But I will get that page for us. I need some time.”

“He's playing you left and right and I don't like my kids played.” Nick's blue gaze was hard. “I don't like my kids hurt. I don't like them
dead
.”

“He's not evil. He won't go that far. If I die, it will be incidental.”

“He frigging went berserk with the demon. He snapped.”

Sam was grim. Nick was right on that point, anyway. “Nick, it was personal. It was a bait and trap.” She told him about what she'd found from his e-mail. “What do you know about his captivity?”

“There aren't any details in his file, but I can guess. We know that Moray terrorized Scotland for almost a thousand years. He was so powerful that he consorted with kings, queens, generals and popes. Want to know why?” When Sam waited, he continued. “His pact was made directly with Satan. He admitted it to one of our agents in the sixth century. He'd been a Master long ago, one of the first. And his power—the ten centuries of murder and mayhem—was what he got in return for his allegiance with evil.”

“Wow,” Sam said. “Good thing he's dead and buried.”

“If there's one thing I've learned over the course of my work here at HCU, it's that the most dangerous demons have sold their souls directly to Satan. That's when evil has no bounds.

“Moray was using Ian to control his father, Aidan of Awe. As long as he kept the kid alive, he wouldn't care what he put him through. I imagine it was a living hell.” Nick's gaze sharpened. “I'm getting a feeling I don't like. You can't possibly feel sorry for him. You never feel sorry for anyone.”

“Of course not,” Sam said as sharply. “What do I look like, a Red Cross worker? Oprah? Nick, he knows we have a file on him. He wants it. He wants to meet with you. It seems he cannot bear the idea that anyone might know about his past. We have leverage.”

“There is no
we
.”

Sam started. “What?”

“You're off this case.”

Anger flared. “Are you kidding?”

“Do I look like the office clown? You heard. He's working you to his advantage, and I've seen no sign that you can work him back.” Nick turned his back on her, walking to his desk and hitting the intercom.

In disbelief, she followed. “No one at HCU—no one at
CDA
—could have stopped him from getting away with the page yesterday.”

“Probably not. But you could have died in that car chase. You're lucky you didn't kill anyone. Your judgment sucked. It sucked when you put him in handcuffs. It sucks now. I'm pulling you off Maclean before something really bad happens—to you or a civvie.”

She fought her temper and her intense dismay. “I can help you make a deal, Nick, the file for the page. I know him now better than anyone. You need me.”

Nick didn't respond.

“So who will you put on him? MacGregor? They'll get along just great! You need a woman agent on him, Nick. Kit? She'd be out of her league. At least I can play him while he plays me. At least I have something he wants.”

“I'm putting Jan on him,” Nick said calmly. “You're right—a female agent makes it less adversarial. I'm sure she can play him as well as any woman can—if not better.”

She went still. “Like hell.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Sam breathed. She could barely think straight or see clearly. She only knew she didn't want Maclean within a mile of Jan. The idea made her furious. She knew him better than anyone!

“Are you becoming attached to the perp, Sam?” Nick asked softly.

“He's
mine
. He's my mission, my target,
mine
. And you know I can't stand her,” Sam said tersely, refusing to consider why she was so angry now. “You know I do not quit. I always win! I will admit he's a bit of a challenge. I'll even admit I am fighting the temptation not to feel sorry for him! So what? It makes winning more of a challenge, that's all. And I will win. But I will not stand idly by and have her wiggle her ass around him, and feel sorry for him, and try to comfort him! I mean it. Do this and I quit.”