Let the Night Begin (13 page)

And they did. They did, damn them. She would hunt them down and rip them to shreds were it not for James. If somehow she and Reign managed to discover some hint as to their identities or whereabouts, she just might do it yet. Whatever sins Reign might have committed against her, what she was being asked to do to him was worse, and if she could turn circumstances to her favor then she would. She owed the kidnappers nothing. Her debt to Reign was quickly amassing into something she could never repay.

She slid her thumbnail under the flap and tore it open. Inside was a folded piece of paper with something inside it.

It was a lock of hair. James's hair. She could smell the soap he used. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes. She clutched the dark silky strands in her fingers and forced herself to abstain from crying long enough to read the accompanying note.

“Three evenings hence,” she read aloud, her voice strained by the tightness in her throat, “come
to the Wolf, Ram and Hart at midnight if you want to take your nephew home.” Relief and disbelief took hold at the same time. She didn't dare trust it. And she was ashamed for looking forward to it all the same, especially since Reign was watching her with such an attentive gaze.

“That gives us two nights to find him,” he announced, determination clearly etched in the lines of his face. “Everyone leaves a trail, we just have to find theirs. We'll rescue James and then we'll teach these little pricks a lesson they won't live to forget.”

Olivia bared her teeth—a predatory imitation of a smile. “I like that idea.” And she did. She liked it so very much. Finding James on their own meant she wouldn't have to betray him. And it meant she would be there to see the look on the kidnappers' faces when they realized their plan had gone straight to hell.

And then she'd personally send them there.

S
he hadn't told him what they demanded for ransom.

That little neglected piece of information occurred to Reign as they returned to his town house after receiving instructions from the kidnappers. Olivia hadn't told him and he, idiot that he was, hadn't asked.

That he allowed himself to be so deliberately obtuse where she was concerned should worry him more than it did. He didn't trust her, but he would never forgive himself if something happened to her when he might have prevented it.

Plus, if she wanted him dead, she would have tried killing him by now. That didn't mean that she didn't have some part for him to play in this charade. If he knew his wife, she was saving whatever she had in store for him till last.

Six hundred years of living had made him rather blasé about life. It wasn't that he looked forward to death, but it didn't drive him like it used to when he was human and lived every day like it might be
his last. He wasn't totally stupid, however. When Olivia started acting really strange, he would know to be on his guard. And in his heart he hoped that she would have second thoughts before that became necessary.

Watson attended them in the foyer. He was a thin man of medium height with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. Reign always thought he was too good-natured to be a proper butler, but the boy had proved damned good at his post.

“There's a young man waiting for you in the parlor, sir.”

“At this hour?” Reign scowled at his pocket watch. “Who the hell is it?”

“Mr. George Haversham, sir.”

Olivia clutched at his arm. “That's one of boys James was with when he was abducted.”

One of Dashbrooke's group, then. They had yet to call on Dashbrooke, and he had not been in touch. Perhaps Haversham was there to ferret out information.

“Thank you, Watson. We'll join him.” He cast a glance at Olivia who was still holding the envelope found in their carriage. “Give that to me. I don't want Haversham to see it.”

She didn't question him and he hadn't expected her to. She simply passed the envelope to him. Ornery and difficult she might be at times, but she had sense. He tucked it inside his waistcoat. “Let's see what young Mr. Haversham wants.”

“Do you think he has information about James?” Olivia asked, taking his arm as they walked down the corridor.

“I doubt it. More he wants to discover what we know—find out if we blame Dashbrooke.”

“You think he's a spy, then?”

“Yes.”

He saw her watching him out of the corner of his eye. “I think you are more suspicious of people than I am.”

“Perhaps I lost my trust when I lost my humanity.” He had not forgotten the remark she made to him about trying so hard to remember what it was like to be human. She was probably right, but he wasn't going to admit to it.

She turned her attention to the wall closest her, obviously pretending to study the painting hanging against the thinly striped sage-and-cream wallpaper. “I apologize if my remark hurt your feelings.”

Reign snorted. “It would take a lot more to hurt me.” Bravado, all of it. She could hurt him with the flick of her little finger.

She stopped, and turned her entire body to face him. Years of habit made him pause as well. “Have the centuries made you impervious to pain as well?”

He couldn't tell if she was teasing or making a dig. He smiled at her all the same, self-awareness lending a crooked tilt to his lips. “Your leaving me just set the bar a little higher, I guess.”

“It hurt me as well.”

“I know.” He had handled things badly and they both paid for it.

He didn't wait for her reaction. The baring of his soul was not something he wanted reflected back at him.

She was two steps behind him when he entered the parlor and found Haversham sitting on the cherrywood and ivory brocade sofa. The young man rose when he saw them. He was thin and had yet to outgrow the lankiness that some young men developed in their formative years. “Mr. and Mrs. Gavin.”

Christ, that sounded good. Reign wanted to like him based on that alone. “Mr. Haversham.”

“I apologize for such a late visit, especially as no formal introduction has been made between us, but I thought perhaps my friendship with James might grant me a little familiarity.”

Well spoken, and said with just enough genuine nervousness that it didn't sound rehearsed. The boy fidgeted a little, regarding both of them—especially Reign—with something that looked strangely like awe.

“Of course,” Olivia assured him. “Please, sit.”

Knowing his manners, Haversham waited until she had sat down on a nearby chair before seating himself once more. Reign followed suit, frowning slightly under the eager glances the boy kept shooting in his direction.

He knows
. This certainty had no grounds, but Reign didn't need them. Every instinct he had was screaming that Haversham was well aware of both his and Olivia's true natures. He knew they were vampires.

And he was more awed by that than frightened.
Christ, James had told.
The little bastard had betrayed his own aunt for popularity with a group that no doubt believed that immortality was all gothic romance, dark sighs, and forbidden hungers.

Reign hoped James's kidnappers had a penchant for buggery.

“Have you information regarding James's disappearance?” Olivia asked, her gaze flicking back and forth between them. Could she not tell what her nephew had done? Surely she didn't think Haversham looked at everyone he met with this much wonder.

“No, ma'am.” He switched his attention to Olivia. Reign saw the boy's eyes widen just a fraction. He might laugh were this the least bit amusing. Christ only knew what James had told the boy about her. “Reggie mentioned you were looking for James. I rather hoped you might have news for me.”

Spy. Too bad he couldn't enjoy being right. “Unfortunately we've yet to learn anything,” Reign answered before Olivia could give information away.

The young man looked crestfallen. “Oh.”

“Tell me, Mr. Haversham,” Reign leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over his thigh, “why did none of you go to the authorities when you noticed James was gone?”

Olivia looked very much interested in the answer to that as well. Haversham regarded them both with wide-eyed innocence.

“Until you two showed up, no one thought he was missing. We all thought he up and went back to London. He took all his things.”

In his peripheral vision, Reign caught Olivia looking at him in confusion. She was a smart woman. She knew no one packed for an abduction. So had the kidnappers taken his things to make it look as though James had simply left? Or had James staged his own kidnapping?

Or was Mr. Haversham spouting bullshit.

“How interesting,” Reign allowed. “That's a nasty scar on your forehead, sir. Mind if I ask how you got it?” He cast a quick glance at Olivia. From the glint in her eyes he knew that she was thinking about the barkeep at the Wolf, Ram and Hart, and the scar he'd told them the kidnapper's messenger had on his forehead. It might be a coincidence. Haversham was jittery, but he didn't seem the coldhearted abductor type.

The young man touched the scar, his expression one of fondness, oddly enough. “Cricket ball a few years back. We won the match, regardless.”

Reign smiled politely. “Congratulations.” He paused. “You don't by chance know anything about the Friends of the Glorious Unseen?”

Haversham laughed, not at all thrown by the question. Had he been expecting it? “You mean that group who believes in ghosts and goblins? I've heard of them. James talked about them all the time.” His humor died quickly. Too quickly. “Do you suspect that they had something to do with his disappearance?”

Reign smiled tightly. “I'm told that I am suspicious by nature.”

Young Mr. Haversham didn't quite seem to see the relevance in that statement.

“So you don't belong to the group, then?” It was Olivia who asked.

The boy shook his head. “I don't believe in such stuff—no offense to James, of course.”

Of course. The little bugger was lying through his teeth. He believed all right. Not only believed, but he
embraced
. If Reign rose to his feet right now, offered the boy his hand, the foolish git would no doubt drop to his knees and press his forehead to Reign's knuckles.

He could think of a better use for his knuckles.

“Is there anything you can think of that might help us find James?” Reign tried to keep his voice low, gentle even, with just a hint of weariness. He wasn't about to sit around all night with this tosser.

Haversham thought for a moment. Then his face brightened. “He did tell me about a chum of his from that Unseen group. Fellow by the name of Allbright. Maybe he knows something.”

An expression of such hopefulness bloomed in Olivia's countenance that Reign nearly threw Haversham through the wall for putting it there.

“Thank you for stopping by, Mr. Haversham.” Reign rose to his feet. “You are a good friend to James.” He lied so easily he almost made himself believe it.

They shook hands and Reign saw him out. When he returned to the parlor, Olivia was standing by the window, with her face lifted, just as she had been that night when she first came to him in London. Praying.

“Has He answered yet?” he asked roughly, rubbing his hand over his jaw. He needed to shave. He needed to get the hell out of this situation.

Her head lowered, but she didn't turn. Ignoring his barb she spoke softly, “You think Haversham was lying, don't you? About all of it.”

He wasn't going to lie to her. “Not all. Most.”

She touched her fingers to the glass. “I wish James had run off with friends. I could be angry then, instead of so worried.”

“Liv, we don't know that he didn't run off.”

Now she turned, whiskey eyes flashing. “But you saw what they did to Father Abberley!”

The priest had been a bit extreme, but the old
man hadn't been worth something to them. Now he lied to her. “That might have been an accident.”

She made a huffing noise. She didn't believe it anymore than he did. “People don't accidentally bash someone's skull in, Reign.”

He could. So could she, if she didn't think about how much force she was exerting.

“And I resent you insinuating that James might be involved.” Color rose high in her cheeks as her voice gained strength. “He would never put me through this!”

When he thought of all the worry and heartache he had put his own mother through, Reign knew he could argue her logic, but he didn't. Arguing wouldn't make her see anything but what she wanted. Right now she needed to believe that her precious little boy—and there was no doubt that she thought of James as her own son—was exactly what she wanted him to be.

“George Haversham knows I'm a vampire—it was all over his face. If he knows about me, he probably knows about you as well.” No “probably” about it. “Either James told him, or someone James told decided to blab as well.”

She shook her head, jaw set. “James wouldn't do that.”

God, he could shake her for having such faith in the boy. A boy that age would do and say damn near anything to impress his friends. Why couldn't she have such faith in him?

Time to try another tactic. “What did they ask for as ransom?”

“They didn't.”

He arched a brow—something he seemed to be doing a lot lately during this unbelievable excursion. “Doesn't that strike you as strange?”

Her gaze averted, Olivia shrugged. “I haven't had much experience with abductions.”

Vague comments. Hidden gaze. Christ, did the woman actually think he believed any of this? Did she think him that much of a fool? Or was she hoping he'd realize she was playing him? Why the hell couldn't she just be honest?

“They want you to meet them. They're willing to kill to bring you to them. What does that tell you?”

Her gaze snapped to his. Her expression was cool now, even remote. She'd taken great pains to make it that way. “It tells me that my nephew is in serious danger.”

“What else?”

She pushed away from the window, shoving the sofa out of her way as she approached him. “That it was a mistake to ask you to come with me. You want to make James a criminal, when he is the victim!”

She probably wouldn't believe that her precious boy gambled, drank, or whored either. Beautiful little idiot.

“It tells me that they want something, Liv. You.”

She gaped at him. “Me?”

Why was that so hard for her to comprehend? “Surely you must have begun to wonder once we learned about the Friends of the Glorious Unseen?”

“You're talking madness.”

Again, she avoided his gaze as she shook her head. “They have made demands, haven't they?” Again, it was instinct that drove him to that conclusion. “Do they want you to turn them all into vampires? Do they want your blood? Is that why you brought me? Am I supposed to save you, or give my blood as well? What do they want from you?”

She stilled, only her eyes lifted. Something awful flickered in her gaze—disgust perhaps. Or maybe fear. Or guilt. He had struck a nerve there, but with what? “I told you, they've made no demands.”

“Jesus, Liv.” His hands tore through his hair before he thrust them in the air in frustration. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.” She moved past him, shoving a chair aside and sending it skittering across the floor on its side. “Will you leave it alone?”

He grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him. “Liv, tell me. You can trust me.”

She jerked free with a force that shocked him. “No, I can't!”

There it was. Out in the open like a whore's drawers on a Friday night. What was this emotion?
Shame? Surprise? Whatever it was, it was followed by a strange numbness that started in the middle of his chest and radiated outward.