Nightbred

“Jamys.” Lucan straightened. “His ability only affects mortals. Try again.”

“But I heard him say . . .” Vander averted his gaze. “It must be another unknown to me, my lord.”

Every lightbulb in the office exploded as Lucan grabbed him by the throat and rammed him into a wall. “Tell me, or die.”

“I heard him talking to the girl,” Vander wheezed out. “He wishes territory of his own. And when I tried to take her to my rooms, something happened.”

Lucan released him. “What?”

“I cannot say. One moment I was with the girl, the next I was in my rooms.” Vander rubbed his throat. “I could not say how I got there. I had no memory of it.”

“Captain, take the guards and search the stronghold for Jamys Durand.” He helped Vander to his feet. “Burke, find Christian and bring her to me.”

“A moment, Captain,” the tresora said, and then informed Lucan of the phone call he had received from the girl. “I know from the manner in which she spoke that she was not under Lord Durand’s or any Kyn’s sway,” he added, giving Vander a disgusted look. “Nor would he have left with her if he meant to challenge your rule.”

“Perhaps he feared being found out,” Vander suggested. “Your lady saw him with you at the pier, did she not? And no other Kyn there but him.”

“My knuckles begin to itch, Master,” Aldan said. “Might I scratch them another time?”

“Leave him with me,” Lucan said. “All of you. Get out.”

The men left with reluctance, and as soon as Lucan closed the door, Vander shuffled to his feet. “I regret exposing your friend’s betrayal, my lord, but ’tis better to know there is a knife at your back before it is used.”

“I have known Jamys Durand his entire life.” Weary now, Lucan returned to his desk and dropped in the chair. “And his father, all of his kin. They are obsessed with honor.” He shook his head. “He could not have done this.”

“That may be. I have heard talk of the boy’s mother,” Vander said carefully. “Is it true that she handed her family over to the Brethren?”

Lucan thought of how he had found the Durands in Ireland. “Yes, and the evil bitch died for it.”

“My own mother was a common street whore.” Vander came to the desk and began idly straightening the objects nearest the edge. “She led my father on a merry chase, right to the gallows. She held me in her arms so that I might watch his neck being stretched.” He picked up a framed photo of Samantha standing on the beach and looking out at the sea. “Your lady is as clever as she is lovely. She understands this time, and the strangeness of the world. Any man would count himself fortunate to own her.”

“I don’t own Samantha.” Lucan took the photo from him, and then went still as he saw the web of cracks in the glass covering Samantha’s image. “I love her.”

“Doubtless she knows it,” Vander assured him. “What I most admire is your patience with her, and her determination to live a separate life from yours.”

Lucan turned the frame facedown on the desk. “We share the same life.”

“Yet she is gone from here at the worst possible time, to do this . . . police work, is it?” Vander shook his head. “Were she mine, I would never let her wander from my sight. Not when an enemy is poised to attack. But perhaps there is another reason for her absence now.”

Lucan looked up. “Samantha would never betray me.”

“Of her own accord, no, perhaps she would not. But this boy, Jamys, can seize minds, and control bodies, you said.” Vander looked sympathetic. “I pray she has not fallen under his influence. Given your feelings for her, he would be a fool not to use her against you.”

Lucan picked up the phone and dialed Samantha’s mobile, but the line went immediately to her voice mail. Panic welled up inside him, but when he tried to rise, his legs refused to obey him. “Help me to my feet. I have to find her. I have to get her away from him. If he has used her—if he has so much as touched her—”

“That is not all you must do, my lord,” Vander said, and smiled as he reached out to touch his shoulder. “But please, do let me help you.”

* * *

Jamys didn’t ask any questions as they left the museum and drove back to the boat, which gave Chris time to consider how much to tell him. She tuned the car radio to a Cuban-American station she liked and let the lively beat of salsa fill the silence.

If she had believed in God, by now she’d be convinced he was punishing her. After all she’d done to forget the past and make herself a better person, he probably wouldn’t be able to resist dragging all that old shit back into her life, or dropping it right in front of Jamys. Maybe this proved there was a God, because nothing else could have hurt her more than this. It was the perfect celestial fuck-you.

She parked the car and stared at the boat for a while.

“Come and rest with me,” Jamys said. “We need not begin following the map tonight. You are tired.”

That she was. “I don’t think we should wait. I can’t come with you on the boat, either.” She ran her hand over the top curve of the steering wheel. “I’m going to see the guy who sold the journal to Gifford, and find out where he got it.”

“I will go with you,” Jamys said.

She shook her head. “We can cover more bases if you follow the map and I check out the journal.”

“Is that the only reason?” he asked gently.

“No.” She unfastened her seat belt and faced him. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I was a really messed-up kid, and after my mom died, I didn’t really care what happened to me. I just . . . shut down, you know?”

“I did the same when I learned how my mother had betrayed us to the Brethren.” He took her hand in his and stared out at the bay. “Alexandra Keller said I was catatonic, but she was wrong. I was aware of everything. My shame kept me locked inside myself.”

Chris had known street kids who had done that, withdrawing into themselves so far they became like ghosts. “When I was in school, I used to wish I could take an eraser to myself, rub out all the mistakes, and do things over the right way. Life would be so much easier if you could do that.”

“Only if you live in the past.”

“Which we don’t.” She forced a smile. “Come on, I’ll program the navigational computer with the map’s course.”

“Christian.” He waited until she looked at him before he said, “There is nothing you could do that would make me think less of you.”

Jamys said such beautiful things, as if he knew exactly at the right moment what she needed to hear. He probably even believed some of them. “Thanks.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek before she climbed out.

It appeared as if all the dockside fisherman had called it a night, and most of the boats moored near theirs looked likewise unoccupied. Chris almost started to relax when she spotted a figure sitting in the shadows at the edge of the dock. He had a line in the water, but no tackle box or bait bucket, and had pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head. As they drew closer, she spotted the black gloves on his hands and stumbled.

Jamys caught her arm, his gaze also on the hooded man. I see him. Get on the boat and go below.

Chris took out the gun in her purse and concealed it and her hand in the side pocket of her jumper. No, I’m not going to do that.

The man’s back straightened, and he reeled in his line before standing and turning toward them. “Evening.”

The voice wasn’t Lucan’s, but Chris didn’t relax. “Howdy.”

The fisherman walked toward them, still holding his pole, and then stopped beside the sailboat. He inspected them and the boat with casual interest. “This yours?”

Jamys shifted in front of Chris. “Yes.”

“Beautiful craft.” He pulled back his hood to scratch at his close-trimmed beard, which looked like snow against his dark complexion. “You run charters?”

What Chris assumed was a glove was just the natural color of the islander’s dark skin. “No, sorry.”

“Truly a shame. I imagine she flies over the waves.” He nodded to Jamys and walked on.

Chris thumbed on the safety before returning her gun to her purse. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like an ass.” She glanced at Jamys, who was still watching the fisherman depart. “It’s all right. He’s not a threat to anything but the fish around here.”

“As you say.” He still waited until the man disappeared from sight before he followed her onto the boat.

Chris charted a course on the nav system and chose a small marina where they could meet when Jamys reached the Keys. “I’ll probably get there first, so I’ll take care of renting a slip for the day.” She saved the data and checked the maritime weather forecast feed. “You’ve got clear skies and calm seas, but if you run into any problems, just give me a call on the mobile.”

He switched off the equipment. “You have not told me about the man you are going to meet.”

Chris didn’t like to think about Stryker, much less talk about him, but she could give him the edited version. “His name is Leonin something long and Russian, but he goes by Stryker. He operated some specialty nightclubs and private party houses in Fort Lauderdale, until the city got tired of his activities and invited him to relocate anywhere else. He moved his entire operation down to Key West, where the locals aren’t nearly as judgmental.”

“Why would they judge him?”

“Stryker collects old books only as a hobby. His real business is the personal fantasy trade. He dabbles in fetish and same-sex clubs, but the big money comes from his private parties. He rents houses and sets them up as theme scenes for swingers.”

Jamys looked perplexed. “Swingers?” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">