Vampire Assassin League Bundle Five - Loneliness (3 page)

All he had to do was find her.

He hitched up his now thoroughly-dampened chausses and straightened his
pauldron
. And then he was stalking across the lists, intent on attending the Crecy Castle Winter Renaissance Faire. He didn’t think to change into more modest apparel. He didn’t ponder consequences. He had a mate. She was in that mass of people somewhere. And he had to find her.

Thank goodness that old lady had talked him into this.

CHAPTER THREE

“Twelve forty a.m. Ten minutes late. You don’t think he got spooked, do you?”

Rachel Berne returned to scanning the crowd. Her target had looked to be in the forty to forty-five age range. Executive-looking. Dark
-haired with a receding hairline. Silver-tipped temples. Dark-eyed.

And he had a taste for pedophilia.

It wasn’t much to go on, and was probably false. Just like her on-line identity as Jamie, a nine-year-old boy who’d just escaped from another horrible foster home. Her pedophile had sent a fuzzy picture last week – before she found out he was in England. Well. Wherever he was hiding, she was finding him. She didn’t care how far she had to go. She’d spent too much time on this guy to let him wriggle away.

Besides, Britain was only a plane flight away. And
, according to the psychologist report, she needed a vacation from chasing this particular sexual predator, anyway. Nobody seemed to notice that her ex-partner and friend, Eleanor Munson, took on the assignment in Rachel’s place. Hell. Nobody had even asked.

Hmm
...

According to the pedophile’s picture, he was in good shape. Fairly nice looking. He claimed to be six foot in height. Three inches taller than her. He should be easy to spot.
If
he hadn’t been yanking her chain with a dummy description. But even if he’d given her a hook, line, and sinker with his online personae, one thing was certain. He would be searching the crowd, too. Unlike her, however, he’d probably be more comfortably dressed.

Rachel didn’t know anything about Renaissance Faire attire, but there seemed to be a lot of breast flesh on display. Much more than necessary – but that also included her. That’s what happened when she crammed her Double D’s into a tight square bodice, and then slapped on a ribcage-smashing corset as outerwear. It also meant she had to keep her weapons in her skirt pockets or on a thigh. Her cuffs were in a pocket. The pocketknife was in another. The taser was in a thigh holster. She’d have to reach through the hole she’d cut in one skirt pocket to get to it. That would cost precious seconds. Good thing she
had a third-degree black belt in Karate. A stunner would be the least of the perp’s problems.

She’d rather have a bra-holster like usual. She’d also like to have her Walther PPK. But, no. Not this trip. This was the UK. No guns. And she wasn’t even supposed to here. Besides, this bodice was barely large enough for her bosom. She yanked a bit on the ruffle edge framing her cleavage, and then moved to rearrange her sleeve back over her wristwatch. She did it without looking.

“Damn it, Berne. We were told. Authentic attire.”

“Oh. Please.” Rachel tilted her head toward her companion then had to push a mass of gauze off her shoulder so it could return to trailing down her back. That amount of material was just nonsense, as was the cone atop her head where the veil was hooked. The headdress was called a
hennin.
It made her top-heavy and ungainly if she moved too quickly. She didn’t have to guess. She knew. The one time she’d tried to turn around normally, she’d almost toppled over, much to the amusement of everyone in the vicinity at the time. “I’m wearing a corset, five hundred yards of material, really tight ankle boots that button, something skimpy called a chemise...and you’re complaining about a wristwatch?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad. I need it.”

“You want the time, I’ll check in with the guys.”

“Not on your life. They’re still whistling and making jokes over my outfit. Jerks. It must be a male thing: How to be a jerk. Instructions granted upon birth. Even back in the middle ages.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Would a woman have designed this attire? Honest opinion, Munson. If a woman was involved, would she truly design tons and tons of skirt and no underwear? Come on. We both know she’d have crafted a panties and a bra.”

“Oh. They had bras. I read about it. One was just discovered in a castle
...I think in Austria. It had been wadded into a wall for insulation or something. Sixteenth century. Seventeenth, maybe. I didn’t pay that much attention.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say so?”

“It wouldn’t help you, Berne. Sorry. It didn’t have underwire. Besides, I think it’s a small cup. Not your size. And before you bitch some more, let me say, I’m envious. I’d guess half the women here are having the same issue.”

Rachel ignored most of that. There was a six foot tall man to her right. Thirties. He was dressed as a musketeer with a wig and mustache combo that screamed fakery. He wasn’t searching for much. He appeared to be very happy chatting up two female, steam-punk aficionados, neither of whom looked much under her age. Rachel checked her watch again.

Beside her, Officer Eleanor Munson cleared her throat. Rachel looked back down at her.

“Give it a rest, okay? It’s a wristwatch. I’ve seen more than a dozen cell phones. Not all of this lighting is fire-based, and that last vendor even had an electric heater going in his tent.”

“How do you know?”

“It was warm.”

“He was hawking leather goods. They might keep it warm.”

“He also had an extension cord tucked along the tent edge. Or perhaps you didn’t notice. And
...will you look there? If my senses do not deceive, that is a coffee stand.”

“Where?”

“Just beyond the black striped tent. Hard to miss. Can’t you hear that espresso machine?” Rachel snickered. “Real authentic, medieval stuff, there. You want a latte? I’ll buy.”

“Maybe we should go back to the mead hall.”

“We arranged to meet near the south entrance.” Rachel checked her watch again. Twelve forty-five. He was fifteen minutes late. But maybe the perp didn’t know his compass directions. There were two other entrances. All being watched. She turned around in a large circular fashion. Beside her, Munson followed suit.

“Where are we going?”

“Nowhere. We’re strolling. Chatting with folks. Trying to look authentic. You know, doing medieval woman stuff. Oh, hey. Look at this get-up. I didn’t think they had spandex tights and thigh-high, hooker boots back then. I’m going to take a pass on whether or not they wore peplum jackets in green satin with black bows. They probably had those.”

“What? Where?”

“Two o’clock and heading this way. Oh. Wait. That’s a guy.”

“Oh. No. That is... It’s—.”

“Oh. Allow me to finish. It’s wrong on so many levels there are no words. We’re going to need eye bleach. And crap. He’s coming right for us.”

“Ah. Ladies. Good evening to you both.”

Hooker Boots stopped in front of them and did what was probably a bow. It looked silly. Especially with the lean legs he’d put on display in skin-tight black tights. He also sported a large codpiece thing atop his genitals that was in the same green satin as his jacket. He wasn’t paying the least attention to Eleanor. Or Rachel. He was pretty much focused right on the Double Ds that he’d addressed as ‘ladies’. Why...if they weren’t chasing a pedophile, Rachel would have slapped her cuffs on him just for that look.

“Good eve to you, kind sir.”

Officer Munson curtsied and tapped his arm with her fan, trying to gain attention. It wasn’t working. Eleanor was a Special Investigator assigned to the PP & SS division, as was Rachel. Tracking down Predatory Pedophiles and prosecuting Sexual Slavers was the mission. Eleanor was good at her job. Unfortunately, she wasn’t endowed with much bosom, and she was barely shoulder height on Rachel. She had been blessed with spectacular legs, however. She’d gone undercover as a dancer/stripper before and pulled it off. Not tonight. Apparently, great legs were not a feature they cared about in the Middle Ages.

And right then, Rachel saw him.

Forty five, my ass.

A man emerged from between the shadow cast by two tents: one, a smoked turkey-leg vendor doing a brisk business, the other, a seller of beaded paraphernalia who looked bored. Rachel narrowed her eyes. The potential target looked about mid-twenties. Five-six maybe. Pudgy, if the amount of chin was any indicator. He was dressed in black and orange, diamond-patterned pants and a matching jacket. She’d have ignored him if he hadn’t been engrossed in scanning the area. He wasn’t looking for anyone tall, either. His gaze was checking for little people.

Young, little people.

Good thing. He’d have caught her studying him.

He had a vague resemblance to the photo on file, although she couldn’t tell hair color and baldness through his joker hat with three pointy things that actually appeared to have bells at the ends. From general appearance, it looked like he hadn’t sent a stranger’s photo to her. He’d sent one of his father.

“And your companion? The oh-so-luscious lady?”

“Luscious?”

Eleanor answered. Good thing. Hooker Boots demonstrated meaning by performing the universal sign for large tits with his hands before his chest. If Rachel had been involved in the conversation, she’d have seriously considered shock treatment. Electrifying Hooker Boots with a taser actually sounded like a viable option. Except she’d lose track of her man.

And hell. With her luck, the crew stationed at the back of the admittance tent was filming this.

“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. We’re going to be busy.” Eleanor told him.

“How about tomorrow evening?”

“Busy.”

“The day after?”

“Yes. Busy then, too.”

“Both of you?”

“Well. Yes. We’ll always be busy. That’s what happens with lesbians, honey.”

Rachel snorted and turned her head back slightly...just enough that she could still watch the joker between the tents, and pretend to pay attention to Eleanor as she lopped an arm about Rachel’s waist.

“Oh, really?”

Shit. If anything, Hooker Boots sounded even more intrigued. His next words proved it.

“You wouldn’t consider a
ménage-a-trois
, would you?”

Eleanor laughed.
She didn’t sound amused. Rachel caught her tongue between her teeth and stuck her chin forward. Oh. Cuffs and electric shock were too good. What Hooker Boots really needed was a Karate back-knuckle blow. That might teach him some manners.

Wait.
Their potential pedophile had moved back, encasing his body again in shadow. He was still there, however. Torchlight was glinting off one of his hat bells.

“Beat it, buddy. Okay?” Eleanor had completely lost any humor. Hooker Boots didn’t seem to catch it.

“Is that a no?”

“It’s a no, and then it’s punctuated with a
hell
no. You need to move on before I get annoyed. Got it?”

He must’ve understood. Rachel didn’t move her head to check. She took a step toward the bead-seller’s tent, surreptitiously keeping an eye on the tell-tale glint of joker’s bells.

“Can you believe the nerve of—oh! Baby. Abs.”

“What?” Rachel asked.

“Abs. Abs. Holy shit. I am looking at abs to die for. Are you blind?”

“Could you stop man-watching for half a second?”

Rachel took another slow, measured step toward the court jester’s hiding spot. This was workable. She could pretend to look toward the beaded ware, while keeping their man in line of sight. Eleanor didn’t make the same move. Her arm tightened around Rachel’s waist.

“Rachel? Seriously. Rachel?”

“You want me to—?”

Rachel’s words stopped. Her jaw dropped. Literally. Her view got completely cut off by six-foot-five of absolute god. And somebody looked like he’d gotten the attire right. The man who’d blocked her was dressed in low slung dark trousers that didn’t do much to hide anything, leather shoulder things that just made him look broader, armored shin guards on his lower legs, and a sword that looked not only authentic, but pretty deadly, as well. Munson hadn’t been fibbing about his physique, either. His abs were truly amazing. That was before she factored in his pecs. Arms. And an upward look got her a view of a face that stole what breath she’d gained.

Rachel’s eyes went wide. It felt like someone had sucker punched her. Her breasts got a massive dose of tingling. For the first time she appreciated exactly why nobody wore a bra back then, even if they could have. The sensation of real linen as it rubbed against her nipples transferred all the way through her. It even weakened her knees so that she wobbled momentarily before catching it.

Tall, dark, and handsome was a cliché. And it wasn’t remotely accurate. There was handsome, and then there was holy shit gorgeous. And then he added to the effect by stabbing the tip of his sword into the ground at the edge of her skirt, and going to a knee. That position, one knee raised, and both hands about the sword hilt, gave her a fantastic view of massive shoulders and arms, muscular pecs, and jaw-dropping abs. Rachel put a hand to her bosom to hold back the sigh. That even felt right.

She probably looked exactly like a model for a renaissance painting.

His head was just above waist-level. Receding hair was not an issue. He had a full head of gorgeous hair. And then he looked up and caught her in a rapt gaze. Buzzing filled her ears, as if someone had tased her or something. Eyes the same shade as his hair locked with hers for heart-stopping moments.