“Troy?”
He replaced the flask, regarding her with a guarded gaze. “When you asked me to find you a bodyguard I went through my usual contacts to locate one.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not usually.”
She tucked her hands beneath the desk, unwilling to let the imp see her clenching them.
“What’s different this time?”
The imp paused, as if considering the wisdom of confessing whatever it was that had brought him to the club. Sophia forced herself to keep her mouth shut.
What not? If he tried to leave she was quite prepared to beat the truth out of him.
At last he squared his shoulders and took the plunge. “After it was obvious that you were enjoying more than just Luc’s professional services, I decided to double-check the background information I was given.”
“And?”
“And it’s bogus.”
A cold ball of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach. “What’s bogus?”
“Everything.”
“Be a little more specific, Troy.”
He reached into his briefcase, pulling out the top file and tossed it onto her desk.
“The references he listed on his résumé,” he said. “His address. His social security number. None of it’s real.”
Squashing the urge to toss the folder across the room, Sophia instead lifted her hand and flipped it open, scanning the documents inside.
“He lied,” she said at last.
“Yes.”
With a jerky motion, Sophia was on her feet, crossing to stare out the newly replaced window.
What the hell?
The documents that Troy had produced clearly revealed that the Miami addresses were fake, along with Luc’s supposed references.
But why?
It wasn’t as if she was freaking Katy Perry. Becoming her bodyguard wasn’t some fantastic position that a man would lie to acquire.
“I’m sorry,” Troy murmured softly.
“Not nearly as sorry as I am,” she muttered, wrapping her arms around her waist. Why did she suddenly feel so cold? “What’s that saying, ‘There’s no fool like an old fool’?”
She heard the imp cross to stand directly behind her, his hands landing lightly on her shoulders.
“You aren’t a fool, Sophia,” he assured her. “Luc managed to deceive us all.”
“Yeah, but you’re not sleeping with him.”
“Only because he didn’t ask.”
Sophia started to smile when she was abruptly struck by a thought that made her heart clench in agony.
“Holy shit.”
Giving her shoulders a tug, Troy turned her to meet his searching gaze.
“What?”
“He could be working with the maniac who has been stalking me,” she breathed. “Hell, he could be the stalker.”
Troy gave a firm shake of his head. “No, he’s not the stalker. That’s one thing I’m absolutely certain of.”
So was she.
Her lips thinned as the thought whispered through the back of her mind.
She had proof that he had lied to her from the beginning of their relationship. Why did she find it impossible to accept he would ever do anything to hurt her?
“How can you know?”
With a grimace he moved back to the briefcase he’d left on her desk, pulling out yet another folder.
“Because he’s one of Salvatore’s most trusted lieutenants,” he said, pressing the file into her hands. “Here.”
She leaned against the window, her head dizzy as she tried to process yet another shock.
Damn the King of Weres.
She had known when Salvatore capitulated so easily to her refusal to join them in Styx’s lair that he was up to something. Something devious.
He was a Were who always believed he knew best.
So the fact that he had somehow managed to discover she was seeking a bodyguard and had planted his own trusted soldier into her house to keep an eye on her wasn’t at all a surprise.
But that didn’t make Luc’s deception any easier to bear.
He might not be her stalker, but he’d used her desire and all too vulnerable emotions to make sure he could remain close to her and fulfill his duty to his king.
The ... jackass.
Her gaze dropped to the folder she was clutching in her hand.
“What’s this?”
“The information my private investigator managed to dig up. At considerable expense, I might add.” Troy shook his head. “The man buried his identity deeper than Jimmy Hoffa.”
“You have a private investigator?” she absently demanded, flicking through the various pages.
She paused to take in the photos of the large stucco mansion surrounded by palm trees that was Luc’s true home and an unmistakable picture of Luc and Salvatore meeting in a park several miles west of Chicago.
Another shaft of pain sliced through her heart.
“It’s a dangerous world these days,” Troy explained. “You can’t trust anyone.”
“No shit.” She threw the folder across the room, watching the papers fan across her carpet.
Troy nervously cleared his throat. “Are you going to be okay?”
Was she?
At the moment she wasn’t entirely certain.
The pain and disappointment clawing through her felt lethal.
Then realizing that the imp was watching her with a sympathy she couldn’t stomach, she gave a toss of her hair.
“I’m Sophia,” she announced, her head held high. “No man’s going to get me down. Even if he is a lying, mangy piece of shit.”
Troy gave a snap of his fingers, a smile curving his lips. “You go, girl.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Sophia headed for the door, her need to find Luc an overwhelming compulsion.
“Uh, Sophia,” Troy called out.
She glanced over her shoulder. “Yes?”
“If you decide to kill Luc you need to make sure you hide the body,” he warned. “I doubt that your son-in-law would be happy to learn you offed his most trusted soldier.”
A humorless smile curved her lips. “Actually I was thinking I could use a new fur rug in front of my fireplace.”
Troy’s eyes widened. “Yikes.”
Leaving the office, Sophia headed out of the club, her fierce glare keeping the milling employees at bay.
She wasn’t in the mood to deal with clogged drains and missing G-strings.
In fact, the only thing she was in the mood for was blood and mayhem.
Storming out a side door, she was halfway across the parking lot when she heard a faint click. She slowed her furious pace at the same minute she felt a prick in her upper chest. Looking down she realized there was a small dart sticking from her skin.
What the ... ?
That was as far as her confused mind managed to get before her muscles became paralyzed and she was tumbling toward the paved ground. Then her head was smacking face-first into the pavement and the entire world exploded into black.
Waking, Sophia cautiously held herself still as she took stock.
She hadn’t gone to the great kennels in the sky, thank the gods.
She had a throbbing head, and she could feel an odd metal collar strapped around her neck, but the rest of her seemed to be back in working order.
Cautiously she allowed her senses to spread further.
She was in a basement, she realized with a stab of surprise. Or at least underground.
And night had fallen while she had been conked out.
Oh, and the stench of cur was thick in the air.
The same scent she’d caught mere seconds before she’d been shot by the dart.
A growl trickled from her throat as she wrenched open her eyes to discover Morton leaning over her, his face the nasty color of paste in the fluorescent light.
“You.” She surged to a sitting position, barely noticing the narrow cot beneath her as Morton hastily backed away. “Bastard.”
With a visible effort the cur halted his retreat, gathering his shaken courage as he sent her a chiding glare.
“Now, Sophia, I must insist that the mother of my children not use such foul language,” he informed her. “It’s indecent.”
Still weak from whatever poison he’d pumped into her system, Sophia swayed on the edge of the cot, wondering which of them had lost their minds.
She was betting on the cur.
“Mother?” She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. “Are you mental?”
Pinpricks of crimson flashed through the pale eyes. “Don’t push me.”
Oh, pushing him was going to be the last of the little prick’s concern once she got her strength back, she assured herself, glancing around the six-by-six-foot cell that was paneled with sheets of silver.
“Where are we?”
“My private lair beneath Victoria’s house.” He regained command of his composure, one hand smoothing down his white polo shirt. His other hand held a small device that Sophia suspected was some sort of weapon. “Don’t worry, she knows better than to come down here. We won’t be interrupted.”
Her lip curled in scorn. “Does she suspect that you’re a psychopath?”
