Lucas (30 page)

Halfway through the route, she found herself near the same huge mall where she’d bought the black dress she’d worn to Lucas’s club on Friday, just two days ago. Remembering when she’d worn the dress made her remember when Lucas had helped her take the dress
off
, which then reminded her of the plain white bra she’d been wearing
underneath
the dress. She frowned. Her ordinary work bras were the only ones she’d packed, other than her sports bra, which was even worse. But, getting naked with Lucas had made her choice of bra seem stodgy. They made sense when she was working. She couldn’t have some lacey thing outlined beneath her cotton blouses, couldn’t have her breasts bouncing around every time she walked. But that didn’t mean she had to be sensible all the time. Besides, a girl could never have too much underwear.

That was her story, and she was sticking to it.

Decision made, Kathryn detoured and jogged into the mall itself. She knew there was a
Victoria
’s Secret inside, because she’d passed it by the day she’d bought the dress. If she’d known she was going to be disrobing in front of Lucas
Donlon
, she might have stopped. But this morning, she found it easily and started inside, suffering a moment’s hesitation when she caught a reflection of herself in the plate glass window. In her leggings and hoodie, with no makeup and a ponytail tucked under a sweaty baseball cap, she obviously wasn’t dressed for lingerie shopping. She almost didn’t go in, but then two women walked out and gave her the kind of look usually reserved for someone trying to bum money for booze on the street corner. That decided it. Kathryn’s father had always claimed that the one way to make sure Kathryn did something was to suggest that she couldn’t. She thought she’d outgrown that impulse, especially once she’d gotten old enough to figure out her dad was using it against her. But apparently, it still worked.

Casting the two women a dismissive glance, she yanked off her baseball cap, pulled the
scrunchy
out of her ponytail and fluffed her hair, then strode into the shop.

An hour later, she’d spent nearly two hundred dollars on lingerie that most likely no one would ever see but her. God knew, she wouldn’t be wearing that lovely sea foam green lace and silk set to work, and since that was the only place she ever
went .
 . . Ah well. She did date occasionally, and she could always dance around her condo in it.

Leaving the store, she stopped and put the bag on the floor near her feet, tugged her hair back into its ponytail and covered it with her cap. Then she hooked the bag over her arm and geared herself up for the run back to the hotel.

By the time she hurried into the lobby, she was both sweaty and cold. The sky, which had been sunny earlier, had clouded over. It wasn’t cold enough to snow, but a light rain had started on her last mile, and her running clothes weren’t meant for rain. Not to mention she’d been worried about her new, expensive lingerie being ruined.

She raced up to her fourth floor room, taking the stairs to avoid forcing anyone to share an elevator with her stinky, sweaty self. She stripped off her clothes, took a long, hot shower and settled onto the bed with some reading material she’d brought for the plane. She made it through two pages before drifting off to sleep.

She dreamed of making love to Lucas
Donlon
and woke feeling guilty about not having told him she was leaving, not saying good-bye, or even leaving a message. She usually wasn’t so cowardly. Maybe she’d call tonight. Talk to him from the safety of several hundred miles distance. She could always claim she’d decided at the last minute, and tell him truthfully that she’d been so tired when she arrived last night that she’d fallen straight into bed.

Logging onto her laptop, she checked the website for Alex Carmichael’s gallery. A new show had opened yesterday, but tonight was the big gala opening event. She glanced at the clock and knew she wouldn’t make it on time. She had serious
bedhead
and would need to wash and dry her hair before socializing amongst the trendy types. She shrugged. Better to be fashionably late and look good, than the alternative.

Chapter Twelve

Lucas woke that night with a feeling he hadn’t had in a very long time—the visceral satisfaction that came from having tasted the blood of his enemy, and knowing he’d struck a powerful blow. He stretched, joints popping with the effort, his muscles feeling loose and relaxed. The only thing he needed now was a beautiful woman in his bed, with both her blood and body hot and pumping for him.

Only one woman came to mind, however. Kathryn Hunter. She thought she could hide from him. She clearly didn’t understand who and what he was. He rolled over and snagged his cell phone, punching up Nick.

“Sire,” Nick answered at once, sounding as if he’d just woken.
Which he had.

“Can we track Kathryn’s cell phone?”

“Probably, but I’m not sure we want to. The phone she uses is government-issue, and she
is
FBI, my lord.”

“Right.
What about the rental car then? Don’t they all have transponders these days?”

“They do, and we can. I already made note of the rental company she used, so it won’t take long. I’ll get our people on it.”

Lucas disconnected and threw the phone down. He lay back on the pillows and began stroking his cock lazily, pumping his fist up and down as he remembered the taste and feel of Kathryn. She thought to escape him by running, but he was Vampire, the ultimate predator. And for a true predator, there was nothing more exciting than the hunt.
Especially one with the promise of blood and sex at the end.
He groaned as he climaxed, his seed spilling between his fingers and over his clenched fist. And he knew that before the night was over, the only fist around his cock would be the silken heat of Kathryn Hunter.

* * * *

Kathryn stared at the questionable example of cubism on the wall of
Carmichael
’s gallery and wondered how the same gallery that showcased her brother’s photography could also feature this. Even as she thought it, she knew it was stupid. Alex Carmichael would probably sneer at her and tell her that a person of taste recognized it in whatever form it took. She didn’t know about taste, but she did know that many of the world’s premier museums hung all sorts of work, from Monet to Andy Warhol and everything in between. Still, she stared at the oil painting in front of her with its bold colors and puzzling composition, and couldn’t make it work. She snuck a sideways look at the price tag and decided it was just as well, since it was far beyond her decorating budget.

She smiled, thinking that Dan would have chided her, saying that art was not for
decoration.
Her smile disappeared as she glanced around the crowded gallery. She’d come here hoping to find Alex Carmichael. More than ever, she was convinced he was the key to her brother’s disappearance. But so far, he was a no-show, and the champagne was beginning to dwindle.

She tapped her foot impatiently, wondering if she should give up and go back to her hotel.

“What do you think?”

Kathryn nearly jumped out of her shoes at the question. Jarred out of her thoughts, she turned to stare at the man who had somehow sidled up to stand right next to her without her even noticing.

Great instincts, Hunter.
Good thing he’s only interested in art.

She glanced in his direction, and they shared a smile. He was nicely dressed, with short, dark hair, and not at all bad-looking. Two days ago, she probably would have called him handsome. But that was before Lucas
Donlon
had destroyed her perceptions of male beauty forever. She turned her attention back to the painting so her fellow art lover wouldn’t notice the scowl brought on by that last thought.

“
It’s .
 . . rather bold, isn’t it?” she commented, trying to be sociable. The observation was ambiguous enough that it could be admiration or criticism, whichever he preferred.

“It is,” he agreed enthusiastically.

Admiration it is,
she thought to herself.

“I love the color in this work,” the man continued. “Too many cubists lack the courage of their art. This says boldly, ‘This is who I am, take it or leave it.’”

Kathryn stared at the oil painting and nodded, though she personally thought it said something more along the lines of, “I never moved beyond the small box of crayons.”

A ripple of movement across the room caught her eye as Francoise, Alex’s perky assistant, touched the tiny Bluetooth device in her ear and abruptly took
perky
to a whole new level. The woman had been working the crowds all evening, apparently playing hostess in her boss’s absence. Kathryn had noticed her eyeing the door more than once and had optimistically guessed that Alex himself would soon make an appearance.

And now Francoise was
finally
hurrying eagerly toward the entrance. Kathryn felt her own excitement pitching higher in anticipation as she followed Francoise’s eager progress and saw three big, black SUVs pull up out front. Ignoring the valet attendant, they parked at the curb, one in front of the other. Doors popped open and bodyguards spilled onto the sidewalk like a SWAT team, but wearing nicely tailored suits instead. One of them came around from the street side, and Kathryn got her first good look at him.

Her stomach plummeted. It was Nicholas, which could only mean one thing.

Kathryn shifted slightly to the right, so she was no longer in direct sight of the front door. It was easy enough, since most of the gallery goers were shuffling the other direction, going
toward
the doors to get a better look at the new arrival who they clearly understood was someone important, maybe even famous. From the whispered conversations all around her, they didn’t know exactly who it was, but speculation ran the gamut from a movie star to the mayor or the president. No one seemed to think it was Alex, but then Kathryn already knew that. It was a vampire all right, but not the one she had come here to find.

Outside, Nicholas took a last look up and down the street,
then
opened the back door of the middle SUV. And there he was. Lucas
Donlon
in all his glory, looking devastatingly handsome in a black wool suit, with the thinnest gray pinstripe, and a bronze silk tie with some tiny gold pattern gleaming against his white shirt. His too-long black hair was neatly combed away from his face so that he was the very image of a successful Wall Street titan. He was perfect. Damn him.

Over at the front door, Francoise was beside herself with joy. She waited right in front of the glass door like a child who’d just spotted Santa. Her face was glowing, her hands clasped and tucked under her chin, as if she couldn’t contain her excitement.

Two of the bodyguards entered first—Kathryn recognized Mason as one of them—and then Nicholas and Lucas behind him. Obviously well versed in vampire protocol, Francoise waited until Lucas approached her, and then she gushed like a schoolgirl.

“Lord
Donlon
, this is such an honor!”

Get a grip, woman,
Kathryn thought sourly, shifting again to put more people between her and Lucas, concealing her while still letting her see everything.

“Who do you think that is?” her art lover companion asked.

Kathryn glanced at him, irritated at the distraction. She’d forgotten he was there. Fortunately, he’d spoken without looking at her because, like everyone else in the gallery, he couldn’t take his eyes off Lucas. “I have no idea,” she all but snarled in his direction.

“Francoise,” Lucas crooned, drawing Kathryn’s attention back to the spectacle. “Don’t you look lovely this
evening.
”

Sickening.
He probably says that to every woman he meets.

Francoise tittered, her cheeks lighting up like stop signs.

“Is Alex around?” Lucas asked, scanning the gallery.

Sneak.
Liar.
Sneaky liar.
He’s probably been communicating with Alex this whole time.

“No, my lord,” the assistant was saying. “I expected him, but—”

“Francoise, love, call me Lucas. And I think I’ll just look around myself, if that’s all right.”

“Of course, Lucas.
Just .
 . .” She stretched up closer to his ear and whispered something too softly for Kathryn to make out.
Whatever it was made Lucas chuckle.
He stroked his hand down the woman’s skinny arm, which had her positively beaming with pleasure.