Hunted By the Others. Jess Haines
to your right. You can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” I said, and meant it. Praise all for good service.
The eighth floor wasn’t terribly exciting. When I stepped out of the elevator, there was a pair of double doors to my left, and a similar pair to my right. A little plaque on the ones on the right read A. D. ROYCE INDUSTRIES. Guess I found the place.
There was a sticky note stuck to one of the doors. I peeled it off, figuring it was probably for me.
Ms. Waynest:
Please come in. My office is in the back.
—Alec
Well, that was nice, going from “Mr. Royce” to “Alec” in the space of one meeting and an e-mail exchange. I guess he wanted a more casual business relationship than his last e-mail implied.
The front office looked deserted but I could hear voices coming from the back. Following the voices, I recognized Royce’s in short order. I soon found myself standing in the doorway to his office, peering in.
“…will work just fine, and I’ll bring the paperwork with me. Thanks, Jim, I’ll see you Wednesday.”
“You got it, Alec. Take care.”
He had his feet propped up on his desk, and he gestured for me to come in as he tossed the pen he’d been toying with on top of the papers scattered there and reached to turn off the speakerphone. This office looked a little more like somebody worked in it, phone and computer included this time. The furnishings and view were still nice, but not as impressive as the one over The Underground. I noted the low bookshelf in the corner had a curious mix of cookbooks and classic literature. Guess he was a fan of cheesecake and Shakespeare. Who knew?
There was no conference table here, no couches or wet bar. The walls were hung with corkboards covered in papers and Post-it notes instead of paintings. From the look of it, he didn’t get visitors here very often. This was obviously where the real work got done.
I noted with a touch of amusement that he was just as casual today as he’d been in the club. This time he wore blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt instead of leather pants and a netted shirt, but he still looked good to me. Damnably so. Undead, blood-sucking fiend, Shiarra. Remember that.
He rose and moved around to pull out a chair for me, a warm smile curving his lips. I felt pretty overdone in my makeup, pantsuit, and heels, but a second later my fashion worries were overtaken by a surge of unreasoning fear at his approach.
“Ms. Waynest, thank you for coming.”
I took a seat, relaxing slightly when he slid back around to sit at his desk. I kept my purse clutched in my lap, however.
He leaned back comfortably in the chair and regarded me with heavily lidded eyes. I wasn’t fooled. He looked more like a waiting python than a relaxed businessman to my eyes.
“Have you eaten? Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Royce.”
What was with the formality and looking after my happiness and well-being? Was he trying to put me off balance with his solicitousness on purpose?
“Did you get any news about the missing boy or the girl he was with?” I asked.
“Yes, actually. The girl’s name isn’t Tara, it’s Anastasia Alderov.”
I nodded, impressed despite myself. His people must move fast to get that kind of information on such short notice.
“She’s the progeny of one of my competitors in Chicago. I imagine she was here to scout the area when she met the Borowsky boy.”
Yeesh, he was doing me out of a job. “That still means that she’s…” The words died in my mouth. I just couldn’t say it.
He seemed to sense my discomfort and his tone turned serious. “Yes. It’s still grounds for disposal. She has no guest permit to hunt in this state.”
Good God. He made it seem like he was talking about deer season. I swallowed hard, trying to calm the sudden racing of my heart.
“Unfortunately, we have not pinpointed her resting place yet. She’ll turn up, and so will the boy.”
I nodded, not quite trusting my voice just yet. He sighed, spreading his hands in a helpless, frustrated gesture. He looked so human and convincing, for a moment I forgot my fear.
“What is it about me that frightens you so? I am not about to leap over the desk and go for your jugular, Shiarra.”
Now that was embarrassing. I must have been exuding nervousness more than I thought for him to be remarking on it. Turning my eyes away, I forced myself to relax a little, leaning forward to put my purse down between my feet to show that I wasn’t about to make a run for it.
“It’s not you exactly, Mr. Royce.” How could I explain my fear without sounding like an unenlightened racist idiot?
“There is no need for the formality; call me Alec. Has someone at The Circle been filling your head with stories about me?”
I started. He smirked. Damn it, he knew, he already knew what I’d gotten myself into and was just toying with me now. I started to rise, but he held out a staying hand.
“Please, sit. I know you’re doing something for them, and I know it has something to do with me. I’m prepared for that. What I don’t understand is why it is you. You’re obviously terrified to be here, yet here you are. What hold do they have on you? Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”
An arrangement. Would he be able to keep The Circle and the White Hats off my back? Doubts immediately assailed me. I didn’t have much to offer a vampire like Royce. He had more money than God, owned a good chunk of prime real estate in several states, and had more flunkies and fawning donors than one would think he’d know what to do with. I didn’t have anything to give him that he didn’t already have, except maybe a line into The Circle.
Not to mention he’d probably be pissed once he knew what I was really after. Plus, I was contracted. There were all kinds of confidentiality clauses tied into that contract, and I could lose my license if The Circle didn’t just splatter me out of existence for turning on them. Oh, and let us not forget that this was a vampire I was dealing with. Judging by our previous encounter, he’d probably try to charm me into revealing what I was really after. The devil was a sweet talker, too.
Thoughts racing almost as fast as my pounding heart, I chose my words very, very carefully. “With all due respect, Mr. Royce, I can’t divulge my other clients’ information without their blessing. I wouldn’t last long in this line of work if I did that.”
He leaned forward on the desk, folding his hands and propping his chin on his knuckles. Those black eyes narrowed as he took in my words, weighing what I did and didn’t say.
“I would hate to see you come to some harm on my account.”
Oh great. That was comforting.
“My resources are considerable, Ms. Waynest. I’m not withdrawing the offer of protection, even if you choose to continue this farce and work against me. I take care of my own.”
What the hell was that supposed to mean? I wasn’t one of his donors, or even an employee.
“I appreciate that. I’m sorry I can’t give you what you’re looking for in return.”
About as sorry as a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. I still wanted my cookie, er, money, damn it. I had bills to pay.
He inhaled through his nose deeply, eyes closing. I wondered why. Vamps didn’t need to breathe like a living person did.
“The Circle wants something badly if they’re giving you Amber Kiss perfume. I thought the alchemists stopped making it centuries ago. It does an admirable job of hiding your scent, but your heartbeat gives away your fear.”
Hairs