Prince of Twilight. Maggie Shayne
as a hotel guest. But given what they charged for rooms these days, they ought to throw in a little extra service, the way she saw it. Not that they were throwing it in, exactly. She would be billed, she had no doubt. But the agency was thriving, so what the hell?
She wheeled the cart into her room, filled the cup with coffee and snagged a cheese and cherry Danish. It wasn’t Dunkin’ Donuts, but it was the closest she could get at the moment. Then she sat down to enjoy her breakfast and unfolded the newspaper.
The banner headline hit her between the eyes like a fist.
BOLD BREAK-IN AT NATIONAL MUSEUM—PRICELESS ARTIFACT STOLEN.
“No,” she whispered. But she already knew, even before she read the piece, what had been taken. The hole in the pit of her stomach told her in no uncertain terms.
And her stomach was right.
According to the article, the burglary had been a graceless smash-and-grab. Someone had kicked in the window of the room where the ring was on display, so they clearly knew right where it was. They had set off every alarm in the place but were back out the window and gone before the security guards even made it into the room.
It didn’t seem a likely M.O. for Melina Roscova. Stormy would have expected more grace, more finesse, from a woman like that. But who else would want the ring?
The answer came before she had time to blink. Vlad. That was who.
She’d dreamed of him last night. Had it been coincidence? Or had it been his real nearness making his image appear in her mind?
Did he have the ring? Just what kind of power did that thing have?
She shivered and knew that whatever it was, it frightened her. But she shook away the fear and squared her shoulders.
“One way to find out,” she muttered. She finished the Danish, slugged down the coffee, and headed for the shower for a record-breaking lather and rinse, head to toe. But halfway through, she stopped. Because…damn, hadn’t she fallen asleep in the bath last night? Why the hell didn’t she remember getting out of the tub and into bed?
She frowned as she toweled down and yanked on a pair of jeans and a black baby T-shirt with a badass fairy on the front above the words Trust Me.
“I must have been more tired than I thought,” she muttered. “It’ll come back to me.”
Telling herself she believed that, she slapped a handful of mousse into her hair and gave it three passes with the blow dryer. “And that,” she told her reflection, “is why I love short hair.”
She stuffed her feet into purple ankle socks, and her green and teal Nike Shocks, then grabbed a denim jacket and her bag—a mini-backpack—on the way to the door. There she paused before going back to grab her travel mug off the night stand. She filled it from the coffee pot, snatched two more pastries and the business card Melina had left her the night before, then headed out the door.
She moved through the hotel’s revolving doors and turned to tell one of the uniformed men who stood there to go get her car, but Belladonna was already there, waiting. She was parked neatly just beyond the curved strip of pavement in front of the hotel’s doors, along the roadside. Had she called down last night and arranged for the car to be there, then forgotten doing it? That didn’t seem likely, but between the drinks she’d had last night and the stress of being in the same city with that ring, much less Vlad, she supposed it was possible.
And that was as far as she allowed that train of thought to travel. She would deal with the burglary now. Just focus on that. The intricate and tangled web of her mind and her memory would only distract her. She had to see Melina Roscova. Because she had to find out what had happened to that ring.
My ring, a little voice whispered deep inside her mind.
It wasn’t Stormy’s voice.
It was a four-hour drive to Athena House, or would have been if she hadn’t gotten lost on the way, and stopped for lunch to boot. Stormy inched Belladonna’s shiny black nose into the first part of the driveway and stopped at the arched, wrought-iron gate that had the word ATHENA spelled out in its scroll work. The gate was closed, but there was a speaker mounted on one of the columns that flanked her on either side.
She got out of the car and headed for the speaker. The big iron gate hung between two towering columns of rust-colored stone blocks. The entire place was surrounded by a ten-foot wall of those same hand hewn stones, and beyond the gate, Stormy could see that the house was built of them, as well.
Giant stone owls carved of glittering, snow-white granite perched on top of each column, standing like black eyed sentries to guard the place. Those glinting onyx eyes gave Stormy a shiver. Too much like Elisabeta’s eyes, she supposed. And the notion of them sparkling from her own face, the way witnesses had said they did, sent a brief wave of nausea washing through her.
A speaker with a button marked Talk was mounted to the front of the left stone column. Stormy poked the button. “Stormy Jones, from SIS, here to see Melina Roscova.”
“Welcome,” a feminine voice said. “Please, come in.”
The gate and swung slowly open. Stormy went back to the car, sat down on her black seat covers with the red Japanese dragons on them, which matched the floor mats and the steering wheel cover, and waited until the gate had opened fully. Then she drove slowly through and followed the driveway, which looped around a big fountain and back on itself again. She stopped near the mansion’s front entrance and shut the car off. Then, stiffening her spine and hoping to God that Melina would admit to having stolen the ring herself, she got out and went up the broad stone steps to a pair of massive, darkly stained doors that looked as if they belonged on a castle, right down to the black iron hinge plates and knobs, and the knocker, which was held in the talons of yet another white owl.
The doors opened before she could knock, and Melina stood there smiling at her. “I know we didn’t discuss a fee before, but I’ll pay whatever you ask. I’m just so glad you changed your mind.”
She continued babbling as Stormy’s stomach churned, and she led the way through the house’s magnificent foyer into a broad and echoing hallway, and along it into a library. As they walked through the place, they passed other women, all busy but curious. All between twenty and fifty, Stormy thought, taking them in with a quick sweep of her well trained eyes. All attractive and fit. Really fit.
“You certainly work fast once you make up your mind,” Melina said, as she closed the library doors, and waved Stormy toward a leather chair. “Did you bring it?”
Stormy walked to the chair but didn’t sit. Instead, she turned to face Melina, her back to the chair, and asked as calmly as she could manage, “Did I bring what?”
Melina’s smile showed the first sign of faltering. “The ring, of course.”
Disappointment dealt her a crushing blow. So much so that Stormy sat down heavily in the chair behind her and lowered her head. Dammit, she’d been hoping, but she didn’t think Melina was acting. She drew a breath. “I don’t have the ring, Melina.”
“Well, what did you do with it?”
“Nothing.” She forced herself to lift her head, to face the woman, who was, even then, sinking into a chair of her own, looking as deflated as Stormy felt. “So it’s safe to say you didn’t break into the museum and steal it last night,” Stormy said.
“I didn’t.” Melina closed her eyes briefly. “I assumed you had. Figured you’d had a change of heart or…something.”
“I didn’t,” Stormy said, echoing Melina’s own denial.
“Then that means—”
“It means someone else has the ring,” Stormy said.
Melina rose slowly, walked to a cabinet and opened it, then poured herself three fingers worth of vodka. Stolichanya. Good shit. She downed it, then turned and held the bottle up.
“No,