"Looking for Harry's murderer," Sam promised.
"That's my girl." She patted her cheek. "Come on; let's get out of here."
Lucan ordered Burke to replace some of the electric lights in his suite with pillar candles. Of all the things he disliked about modern living, electricity topped the list. Certainly it was versatile, and instantly available, but it lacked the warmth and ambience of his natal era. To read by candlelight or sit before a good fire to contemplate the flames had been some of the few pleasures of his human life. One could not do the same with a soft white lightbulb. And where was the romance in a fluorescent tube?
Everything had to be perfect for Samantha.
He would have to change several things about his primary residence to make her comfortable. She would want bookcases for her books. A new wardrobe, too. He planned to cast every article of clothing she presently possessed into the building's Dumpster. After he put them through his office shredder.
Making Samantha his kyrya would have to wait, though. First he had to kidnap Cyprien's lover and hold her hostage.
Rafael watched him light the columns of beeswax in a three-tiered standing iron rack Burke had placed on the foot table. "Cyprien's refuge is well patrolled. When the seigneur is not present, his seneschal never lets Dr. Keller out of his sight. We cannot use a conventional attack."
"I want Alexandra brought here," Lucan repeated. "I don't care how difficult it is to take her. Find a way, get her, and bring her to me."
"There are two possibilities. It is said that Dr. Keller has not made a proper transition, and that she is still as vulnerable to Kyn talent as any human. If that is so…" Rafael reached out and snuffed one of the candles with his fingertips.
"No wonder Cyprien guards her like an attack dog." He thought of the many talents among his jardin. "What is the other possibility?"
"The high lord's tresora sent these by special courier." Rafael opened a case and took out several transparent darts filled with blue fluid and an odd-looking pistol. "According to Éliane's letter, the fluid acts as a sedative on us. I tested it on Alvaro last night, and one dart rendered him helpless for two hours. Evidently Dr. Keller invented it."
"Then why do you complain?" Lucan asked. "With these darts and your talent, you can take her whenever you wish."
"The consequences of this are what concern me, my lord. By doing this, you risk starting a jardin war," his seneschal warned. "The seigneur has but to issue a summons and every Kyn in the country will swarm to his side, most particularly Locksley, Jaus, and Durand. We could never prevail against them and their men."
Lucan thought of Cyprien and the way he had looked at his brazen sygkenis, and blew out the taper in his hand. "He will not risk her."
"Doing this will solve nothing between you. It will only make things worse."
Wineglasses lining the shelf above the wet bar began to crack as he turned to regard his seneschal.
"As Burke has gone to so much trouble to have the windows replaced," Lucan said in his mildest voice, "it would be prudent to stop questioning me and follow my orders."
"Yes, my lord." Rafael picked up the reports Lucan had ignored. "Quinn was buried today. According to our information, Detective Brown has been forced to take a paid leave of absence, but she still intends to investigate Quinn's murder on her own. She is staying at his widow's home tonight." His dark eyes glinted with tiny reflections of the candlelight. "Should I have her kidnapped as well? You might start your own harem."
"Get out."
Rafael bowed and departed.
Lucan heard the music creeping up through the ductwork from the nightclub below. He had been in a constant state of temper since the ill-advised meeting with Cyprien and spending the night comforting Samantha after her partner's murder. Now that he had agreed to be her partner—ironic as it was—he could not stop thinking about the murders, particularly Harry Quinn's. There were no icons found on the old man's body, and no more dead flowers had arrived. From the manner of the killing it would seem a random street crime. An article in the newspaper the day after suggested that because of the unmarked vehicle and Harry's plain clothes that the thief had not realized he had murdered a cop.
Too convenient, that.
No prints had been found on the vehicle but Quinn's and Samantha's. Why would Quinn drive six blocks away to sit in a park while his partner was questioning a suspect? Why had he not been found behind the driver's wheel? If the motive was thievery, why had the killer taken his wallet and phone but not his weapon or jewelry? How could anyone reach into the car to cut the throat of a veteran cop like Quinn without any signs of a struggle?
Lucan had killed enough men to know when something was being staged.
The murder had also derailed his plans for Samantha to abandon her life as a member of the police to be his kyrya. At first he thought it only a temporary setback, but the Kyn's contact within the department sent a detailed report on Detective Brown's reaction to Quinn's death. She had been devastated and exhausted the night she had spent in Lucan's arms, but since then she had been hounding everyone involved in the case.
She is staying at his widow's home tonight. Should I have her kidnapped as well?
He need not rely on Rafael to do everything for him. Lucan picked up the house phone and dialed his tresora. "Burke, I want Quinn's home address."
"Quinn, master?"
"Detective Brown's partner. The one who was murdered. She is staying with his widow. I am going there tonight."
"But master—"
Two wineglasses shattered. "Give me the address."
Burke recited the address, and then asked, "May I say one thing?"
"No."
As he went to replace the receiver, Lucan heard his tresora 'say, "But Detective Brown is here, master."
He didn't bother with the phone or the elevator; the stairs sufficed. His goth patrons had by now begun treating him like a prince, and willingly drew back as he moved through the club. That allowed Lucan to see Samantha sitting at a corner table by herself. She was watching the dancers and drinking what appeared to be water.
"You should try the Douglas Clegg Daiquiri," Lucan said as he came up behind her. "It makes hot buttered rum taste insipid."
She put down the glass and traced her finger around one side of the cross-shaped red cocktail napkin under it. "I didn't come here to drink."
"I would hope that you came to see me." He couldn't read her expression, but he could feel her anger. She almost vibrated with it.
"I've been thinking a lot about these murders, and I keep getting the feeling that you know something about them that I don't." Now she looked at him. "Three people who came to this club are dead. You are the only connection between them."
Someone called to him. Lucan ignored it. "Come upstairs with me, where you can hear me."
"I don't want to cuddle and cry this time," she told him. "I need answers. Straight answers."
The self-contempt saturating the first part of what she said made Lucan wrap his hand around her right wrist, so she couldn't reach for her weapon. He trailed his fingertips down the knotted cable of her hair. It was silky-fine, the color of bitter chocolate, and smelled of the rich, dark-roasted coffee she liked to drink. He wanted to take it apart to see it on her shoulders again. He wanted to bury his face in it.
"I know what you need, and I will give it to you. I promise." He gave her braid a tug. "Come with me. Be with me, Samantha."
He could see her pulse speeding up, the way her breasts lifted and fell as she tried to control her breath. Her muscles were so tense they were almost coiled.
"Harry's dead." She got to her feet, but instead of jerking out of his grip, she came to stand between his thighs. Lucan looked down as she rested her hands on either side of his waist. She dug her fingernails in, not to hurt, but to hold. "I want his killer."
"I want you."
Their faces were at opposing angles, the light from the bar masking hers in shadow. He wanted to put her on the bar and have her right there. Her scent flooded his senses, blanking out everything but the heat radiating from her, and the other, darker hunger gnawing inside of him.
She leaned forward. "So how are we going to do this?" Her cheek grazed his, and her voice became a murmur. "You being my partner and all?"
Someone called his name again. Louder this time.
"What would you have me do?" He stared at her mouth.
"I want you to tell me what the deal is here." Her lips grazed his cheekbone. "You'll tell me everything, won't you?"
She was trying to seduce him into helping her. Lucan didn't know whether to be offended or laugh—or throw her over his shoulder and carry her upstairs.
The front entry door to the bar swung open, and two of Lucan's guards rushed in. "¡Ayuda!"
Annoyed as he was by the interruption, even Lucan knew that Kyn guards didn't scream for help unless there was something they couldn't handle. There was very little on earth that qualified.
"I have to attend to this." Lucan picked her up off her feet and sat her back on her stool. "Stay here."
He met three more of his guards at the door and followed them out to where humans were staggering about rubbing at their eyes. Traffic had come to a complete halt, and panicked drivers were stumbling out of their vehicles.
In the center of the street, Rafael stood, surrounded by a nimbus of golden light. Several yards away from him stood what appeared to be a six-foot-tall snake with arms and legs. The latter was sinking eight-inch fangs into the neck of an unconscious Kyn.
"Faryl." Lucan stripped off his jacket and gloves. "How kind of you to call."
The changeling lifted his head and hissed, grabbing up his prey in his jaws and dragging him down the street and around the corner. Lucan nodded to Rafael, who took two guards and went the opposite way, while Lucan and the remaining men followed Faryl.
