CHAPTER 1<\/p>\n
Los Angeles, California, April 14th:<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cDamn it, he\u2019s getting away!\u201d Scrambling into the passenger seat of David\u2019s Honda, Chase watched Steve Nolan\u2019s Porsche zigzag through the afternoon traffic and zip around a corner. \u201cDo you have any idea how long it took me to track that bastard down and convince him to come talk to us?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, about as long as it took me to ferret out his name in the first place.\u201d David peeled out of their office parking lot, inundating the car with the smell of burning rubber. \u201cGuess we should\u2019ve tied him to the chair before we told him what we were really after.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou think?\u201d She braced her arms on the dashboard as he squealed through a left turn. \u201cI\u2019ll keep that in mind. Not that it\u2019ll do us any good if you lose him.\u201d<\/p>\n She didn\u2019t have time for this shit. The client wanted results. Yesterday. Yet, even if they caught up with Nolan, then what? How the hell could she make him talk?<\/p>\n Like an idiot, she had guaranteed her client she\u2019d clear his name. But without the information Nolan refused to give her, the investigation was dead. And she\u2019d been so close. Now she\u2019d have to return the client\u2019s deposit–money she needed to keep her struggling PI business afloat.<\/p>\n Just once, couldn\u2019t things go right? No, that\u2019d be too much to ask.<\/em><\/p>\n Brakes squealed. Horns blared.<\/p>\n \u201cShit,\u201d she snapped. \u201cThat was a red light you just ran. Are you deliberately trying to kill us?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou told me not to lose him,\u201d he said, swerving out of the path of a car. \u201cIf I\u2019d stopped for the light, we would have.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMy bad.\u201d She shot him a dirty look. \u201cJust don\u2019t scrunch us. Okay?\u201d Turning back to the window, she scanned the traffic. \u201cThere! Two blocks up. Looks like he\u2019s turning right at the light.\u201d<\/p>\n Nolan suddenly whipped across three lanes of traffic and headed for the freeway.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s seen us. Hit the gas. If we lose sight of him again, we\u2019re screwed.\u201d When he didn\u2019t respond, she groaned. \u201cYou can\u2019t turn into a wuss on me now. Come on, damn it, punch it.\u201d<\/p>\n He cursed but stomped on the gas. The car shot forward, zipped around a truck, and darted into the right lane–just as an elderly man stepped into the street from between two parked cars.<\/p>\n \u201cLook out!\u201d She held her breath, prayed.<\/p>\n David slammed on the brakes. The Honda screeched to a halt, but it was too late. The old man bounced off the right front fender, crumpling out of sight.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, shit!\u201d She jumped from the car and rushed to the man\u2019s side. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir, I\u2019m so sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n His face was pale and pinched with pain, his eyes closed. His left leg stuck out at an odd angle, obviously broken. But at least he was alive.<\/p>\n Weak with relief, she sank to her knees beside him. \u201cEverything\u2019s going to be okay,\u201d she promised, though she didn\u2019t like the look of his aura. It was faint, a pale gray tinged with a hint of muddy blue.<\/p>\n David hurried over, talking on his cell phone.<\/p>\n \u201cIf that\u2019s nine-one-one,\u201d she said. \u201cTell them to hurry.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey said their ETA\u2019s five minutes.\u201d He snapped his phone shut. \u201cDamn, Chase, I\u2019m sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n She shook her head. \u201cIt was more my fault than yours.\u201d<\/p>\n The old man\u2019s eyes fluttered open then widened as he stared up at her. A look of triumph flashed over his worn, pain-contorted features. \u201cChase?\u201d he asked in a clipped British accent. \u201cWould you be Chase Alcott, the private detective? With an office three blocks down?\u201d She nodded. \u201cSplendid,\u201d he said. \u201cI was on my way to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n She blinked. \u201cYou were? What did–\u201d The question died on her lips as the man\u2019s eyes rolled back in his head. \u201cShit.\u201d<\/p>\n Sirens screamed in the distance. Looks like we\u2019re going to be stuck here for a while.<\/em> Tears burned the back of her throat. Nolan was long gone. Why the hell couldn\u2019t she ever get a frigging break?<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n Radlett, England, April 15th:<\/em><\/p>\n Rain dripped down the back of Roman\u2019s neck and trailed along his spine like cold, wet fingers. Forcing himself to ignore the disturbing sensations, he focused instead on the preacher\u2019s droning voice and the coffin being lowered into Melinda\u2019s grave.<\/p>\n \u201cThis wasn\u2019t an accident, Andy,\u201d he whispered to his solicitor. \u201cI tried to tell Chief Inspector Clayton that, but he wouldn\u2019t listen.\u201d<\/p>\n Stepping closer to Roman, Andrew Wright shifted his umbrella to shelter the both of them. \u201cHave you considered going to his superiors?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes. But I doubt it would do any good. They\u2019d be as stumped by the lack of motive as Clayton.\u201d<\/p>\n The parish priest closed the graveside service with a prayer. Finally. Breathing a communal sigh of relief, the two dozen mourners headed out of the dismal little cemetery.<\/p>\n Roman slowed his pace until he and Andy fell behind the others. \u201cI\u2019m also afraid this may have been done by one of my kind.\u201d<\/p>\n Andy stopped walking and stared at him. \u201cA Lycan or a Vampire?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVampire.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf that were true, wouldn\u2019t there be marks on her–\u201d Breaking off when Roman made shushing gestures, Andy shot a quick, darting glance around the graveyard. \u201cSorry,\u201d he said in a lowered voice. \u201cBut wouldn\u2019t there be some evidence of that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOnly if the killer was feeding.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh. Right.\u201d Andy gave a slight shudder. \u201cWould you like me to hire a private investigator for you? There must be someone we can trust to look into this.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot until we have a better idea of what we\u2019re dealing with.\u201d Roman started walking again. \u201cBesides, my father will be home soon. And I\u2019d like to discuss the matter with him first.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEr, ah–\u201d Andy cleared his throat. \u201cLord Fernwood\u2019s stay across the pond has been extended. He was involved in a motor vehicle accident yesterday.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBloody hell!\u201d Roman cringed at the images flooding his mind. \u201cNot him, too.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cRe–relax. He\u2019s not bad–not seriously injured, I mean.\u201d Andy\u2019s words rushed out, tumbling over one another. \u201cI–I\u2019m sorry. I should have told you that first. He has a broken leg, two broken ribs, and a fair-sized collection of bruises. But that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThank heavens.\u201d Overwhelmed by relief, Roman stumbled on legs that didn\u2019t feel attached to his body. He grabbed Andy\u2019s shoulder to steady himself. \u201cHow did it happen?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFrom what he told me when he called from the hospital, he was crossing a street in Los Angeles–apparently against the light and in the middle of the road–when he was hit by a car.\u201d<\/p>\n Roman sighed. \u201cThat sounds like Father.\u201d Then the implication of Andy\u2019s words hit him. \u201cWait a minute. Father\u2019s supposed to be in New York. What the hell\u2019s he doing in Los Angeles?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m afraid I can\u2019t answer that.\u201d Andy paused as they neared Roman\u2019s Rolls Royce. He waited until they were seated inside the limo before continuing. \u201cAll I know is what he told me on the phone. He said he\u2019d postponed his meeting in New York and had gone to California to check out something. Or someone. It wasn\u2019t the best connection, so I\u2019m really not sure.\u201d<\/p>\n Roman rubbed a hand over his face. \u201cWell, knowing him, whatever it is, it\u2019s bound to make my life more complicated.\u201d<\/p>\n A chill skittered through him–one that had nothing to do with the weather.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n Los Angeles, California, May 21st:<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cWhy us, Mr. Wright?\u201d Chase didn\u2019t like the way the British attorney\u2019s aura flickered. \u201cYou must have plenty of private detectives in England.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, I dare say we do. But Lord Fernwood\u2019s afraid a member of his family might be involved. And he\u2019s anxious to avoid a scandal. That\u2019s why he wants you to pose as interior decorators. The English press won\u2019t recognize you, of course, so his family won\u2019t expect you to be anything but what you say you are.\u201d<\/p>\n She glanced at David. He wiggled his eyebrows, rolled his eyes. Stifling a grin, she turned back to Wright. \u201cWhy did Fernwood bring you all the way from London to approach us? Why didn\u2019t he just ask us himself? After all, we spent almost two hours a day with him for nearly three weeks while he was in the hospital.\u201d She got to her feet and paced, wondering why she\u2019d been so restless and uneasy lately–other than the pile of unpaid bills in her in-box. \u201cWhen I asked him why he\u2019d been coming to see us just before the accident, he told me the problem had been resolved.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, well.\u201d He shifted in his seat, his pale blue eyes looking everywhere but into hers. \u201cLord Fernwood felt you\u2019d been extremely kind under the circumstances. He didn\u2019t want to impose any further. But there was another incident last Saturday, and he decided he had no choice. By then he was in New York attending to the urgent business delayed by you–I mean, by the unfortunate accident.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe didn\u2019t hit him on purpose,\u201d she retorted. \u201cThe old fart was jaywalking.\u201d<\/p>\n And you were going way too fast<\/em>, quipped a little voice in her mind.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, there\u2019s no question Lord Fernwood was in the wrong,\u201d he said. \u201cOr that you were a big help in his convalescence.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe felt sorry for him. All alone over here in the hospital.\u201d Snatching a pencil off her desk, she twirled it in her fingers as she paced. \u201cI like him. He\u2019s a great old guy. But we can\u2019t afford to go chasing off to England right now. We took a serious financial hit on the case we lost because of the accident.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd Lord Fernwood\u2019s offering you considerable compensation. To make up for what you lost on that case, as well as for the work you\u2019d do on this one.\u201d He pulled a check out of an inside jacket pocket and handed it to her. \u201cHere\u2019s half the offered fee up front, plus a generous allowance for expenses.\u201d<\/p>\n She gaped at the amount then passed the check to David.<\/p>\n His eyes widened. \u201cThis is in pounds, not dollars?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes. As I said, it\u2019s generous. Especially with the strength of the pound against the dollar.\u201d<\/p>\n Chase chewed her bottom lip. Damn, this was enough money to clear all their current bills, plus hold them over awhile if they didn\u2019t immediately find more clients. And this was only half of the fee?<\/p>\n Still, she didn\u2019t want Wright to think they could be bought so easily. \u201cHow can we go to England under the guise of redecorating the family\u2019s ancient manor? We aren\u2019t qualified for that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow hard can it be? After all, Lord Fernwood doesn\u2019t expect you to do any actual decorating. Your visit will be covered as observing what needs to be done in order to submit a plan and an estimate.\u201d He gave a little cough. \u201cThough, I think you\u2019ve misunderstood me. Lord Fernwood actually wants Mr. Bronson to pose as the decorator,\u201d he said, nodding toward David, \u201cand you to pose as his assistant.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNow wait just a minute–\u201d<\/p>\n David flashed her a grin. \u201cI think it\u2019s a great idea.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou would.\u201d<\/p>\n Wright spread his hands. \u201cYou must understand, Ms. Alcott. We English are still very traditional. Most of us, especially the aristocrats, rarely credit women with enough intelligence for undercover work. So you\u2019ll have an advantage. No one will suspect you\u2019re anything other than what you appear on the surface.\u201d\u00a0He ran his tongue over his lips and swallowed. \u201cAnother reason we felt it best you should pose as the assistant and Mr. Bronson as the decorator is…\u201d Stretching his neck, he pulled on the knot of his tie. \u201cI understand Mr. Bronson is, er, ah…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGay?\u201d David asked with a chuckle.<\/p>\n \u201cQuite. Such people are more the type English aristocrats expect decorators to be, so no one will suspect he\u2019s posing as someone else.\u201d He glanced from one to the other. \u201cIf you get my meaning.\u201d<\/p>\n Chase shot a look at David. His grimace told her he was biting his cheeks, trying not to laugh. That had her biting her own, but it didn\u2019t help. She burst into gales of merriment. Once she started, he joined in.<\/p>\n Wright looked appalled. \u201cI fail to see the humor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry.\u201d Leaning against the wall, she tossed the pencil on the desk and used both hands to wipe the tears off her face. \u201cIt\u2019s just that David poses as someone else all the time. Most of the gay men we know love role-playing. I can\u2019t believe the English don\u2019t know this.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMost Englishmen give little thought to American peculiarities.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cApparently not.\u201d Chase looked over at David again and raised her eyebrows. He nodded. Oh, what the hell. It wasn\u2019t like they had a choice.<\/p>\n \u201cSo how would this work? Do we just show up and say, \u2018Joe sent me\u2019?\u201d At his blank expression, she waved a hand. \u201cNever mind. What I\u2019m asking is, do we have a cover story? I mean, we can\u2019t just show up out of the blue.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe blue? Oh. Yes, of course. If you agree to take the job, I\u2019ll contact Roman Fernwood, Lord Fernwood\u2019s\u2026grandson and tell him you’re coming. Your cover story is that Lord Fernwood asked you to take a look at the manor house.\u201d He grimaced. \u201cRoman won\u2019t be happy about it, but I\u2019m sure he\u2019ll cooperate. He\u2019s very fond of his grandfather, and he\u2019ll do whatever it takes to make him happy. He\u2019ll have to know the real reason you\u2019re there, of course, but none of the other family members or staff will know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTerrific.\u201d She glanced back at David. When he nodded again, she sighed. \u201cSuppose we agree to do this, what\u2019s our timeline?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLord Fernwood would like the matter settled before his return to England. As he\u2019ll be in New York for about a month, that should give you plenty of time.\u201d<\/p>\n She studied the attorney\u2019s aura. Once again, it pulsed with dingy gray. \u201cThere\u2019s something you\u2019re not telling us. What is it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, yes.\u201d He smoothed his thick, white hair then studied his fingernails. \u201cI, er, you\u2019ll, ah, have to know, of course,\u201d he said as he brushed some non-existent lint off the lapel of his jacket. \u201cOne investigator, a reporter named Melinda Carter, has been killed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cKilled? How?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe fell over the railing of a third=floor balcony.\u201d<\/p>\n David leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. \u201cIf she fell, why–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe balcony railing is at chest height for an average-height woman. Ms. Carter was short, barely five feet tall, so the railing would have hit her at the shoulder. Could she really have fallen over something that high?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do the police think?\u201d Chase asked.<\/p>\n \u201cScotland Yard ruled it an accident. The woman had a habit of walking in her sleep, and they decided she must have tried to climb the railing while sleepwalking.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut you don\u2019t agree?\u201d<\/p>\n Wright shrugged. \u201cPersonally, I haven\u2019t a clue. But Roman says it was murder.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDoes he have any suspects?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNone that he\u2019s mentioned.\u201d<\/p>\n She turned to David. The relaxed posture of his rangy body belied the keen interest in his piercing gray eyes. \u201cStill think it\u2019s a good idea?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m game. If we go as decorators, we should be safe enough.\u201d<\/p>\n She combed her fingers through her hair, an unconscious stalling technique she\u2019d used all her life when her instincts said something wasn\u2019t right. Attuned to it, the fact she used it now told her not to rush into this. Not that she could afford to pass up the money Fernwood was offering.<\/p>\n \u201cVery well,\u201d she said, despite her misgivings. \u201cWe\u2019ll do it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cExcellent.\u201d Beaming, Wright handed her a business card. \u201cCall me when you\u2019ve made your flight arrangements. And send me the contract as soon as possible. I\u2019ll take care of getting it signed.\u201d<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n Chase stared out the front window as the attorney left their office.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s lying to us about something. I don\u2019t know what, exactly, but something.\u201d She paused a moment, distracted by a man leaning against a building across the street. She\u2019d seen him there yesterday, too, and wondered why he was back. Waiting for someone, perhaps? Or maybe on a stakeout? If so, he was doing a poor job of it. Much too obvious. Shrugging it off, she turned back to David. \u201cI\u2019m concerned about what we may be getting into.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow do you know he\u2019s lying?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou mean, aside from the fact he was as nervous as a mouse at a cat show?\u201d<\/p>\n He groaned. \u201cAside from the bad jokes, yes.\u201d<\/p>\n She stuck out her tongue at him. \u201cHis aura flickered with splotches of dirty gray.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAh, his aura.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine,\u201d she snarled. This was a familiar argument. \u201cYou don\u2019t have to believe me about seeing auras, but have I ever been wrong when I told you someone was lying?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNot as far as I know.\u201d He jammed his hands into his pockets. \u201cAt what point did his–did you notice he was lying? If you can recall the subject, it might tell us what he was lying about.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI noticed it several times, but more strongly when he talked about the grandson.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo, you don\u2019t think it\u2019s about the murder then?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo. I\u2019m sure he told us the truth about that, at least as much as he knows it. It has something to do with Roman Fernwood. Although it may only be about how much cooperation we\u2019ll get from him.\u201d<\/p>\n She pressed her fingers to her eyes, troubled, and exasperated because of it. \u201cI can\u2019t believe I\u2019m even considering taking on a case when I\u2019ve got a bad feeling about it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe don\u2019t have a choice, and you know it. We need the money too badly.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd if it gets us both killed?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not sure I understand your concerns.\u201d He held up a hand when she tried to interrupt. \u201cLet me finish. The only reason someone\u2019ll want to kill us is if they think we\u2019re a threat, which they won\u2019t if we\u2019re posing as decorators.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about when we blow our cover?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy should we?\u201d When she rolled her eyes, he sighed. \u201cLook. You know as well as I do, we can pull off a cover as decorators. Especially, if all we have to do is make notes about a project that isn\u2019t even going to happen.\u201d<\/p>\n She stuck out her tongue again and made a face.<\/p>\n He laughed. \u201cGeeze, Chase, you\u2019re such a lady.\u201d Perching a hip on the edge of her desk, he studied her. \u201cNow, what\u2019s really bothering you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d She rubbed a hand over her stomach. It felt like something trapped inside was clawing its way out. Digging in her pocket, she pulled out a roll of Tums and popped one into her mouth. \u201cAnd not knowing bugs me. Plus, there\u2019re all the unanswered questions.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSuch as?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSuch as, why the hell Fernwood would hire American PIs in the first place. Or why he\u2019d pick two unknowns like us. Or why he came all the way from New York to see us then just happened to be on that street so we could hit him with the car.\u201d She paused, shook her head. \u201cNo, I don\u2019t see how he could\u2019ve planned something like that.\u201d The Tums hadn\u2019t done her much good, so she popped another. \u201cThen there\u2019s the size of the deposit. It just seems too much like a setup to me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe Fernwood feels guilty for causing us so much trouble,\u201d he said. \u201cAfter all, I made no secret about the fact that his carelessness cost us a client. And a simple credit check would\u2019ve revealed our financial problems.\u201d When she opened her mouth, he held up his hand again. \u201cBut even if–and I think it\u2019s a pretty big if–he does have ulterior motives, we can still protect ourselves.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, really? How?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know how you\u2019ve been nagging me to update our standard agreement form?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s not true,\u201d she protested. \u201cI mentioned it once. And only in passing.\u201d<\/p>\n He grinned. \u201cOkay, maybe nagging\u2019s not the best choice of words. Anyway, I\u2019ve done a little research, and there\u2019s a clause I was planning to add to our boilerplate contract. It basically ensures that if a client misrepresents the facts to gain our services, we\u2019re free to back out without refunding the deposit.\u201d<\/p>\n Opening a file cabinet, he pulled out a stapled document and handed it to her. \u201cPage three, paragraph six. We\u2019ll include that in all future contracts, starting with Fernwood\u2019s. Once we get to England, if things aren\u2019t on the up and up, we can walk away–and keep the money we\u2019ve been given so far. Besides, Wright needs to learn not to lie to American PIs. Or not to lie to you, anyway.\u201d He patted her shoulder. \u201cSo, does that make you feel any better?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, but it\u2019s a start.\u201d She saw the yearning on his face and knew it had nothing to do with the money. \u201cYou want to go because it\u2019ll make a good case to fictionalize for those crime magazines you write for.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo? It\u2019s also like a paid vacation to England, and I\u2019ve always wanted to go there. Plus, with Fernwood as our client, we\u2019ll be rubbing elbows with the upper class. There\u2019ll be fancy parties and dress-up balls. Hell, we might even get laid.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh, crap, I\u2019m really not going now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cChicken.\u201d He ruffled her hair, kissed her temple. \u201cAfraid to have a little fun?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI think your definition of fun and mine are so different they\u2019re not even in the same dictionary.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAh, come on, Chase. What have we got to lose?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt boggles the mind.\u201d Another sigh escaped. She\u2019d been sighing a lot lately. She wondered if it meant anything. \u201cI\u2019ll probably regret it, but if Fernwood signs the contract, you can make the travel arrangements.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCheer up, girlfriend. Everything\u2019s going to be fine. You\u2019ll see.\u201d<\/p>\n She didn\u2019t answer. He was usually right. But for reasons she couldn\u2019t understand, she feared this time might be the exception.<\/p>\n ***<\/em><\/p>\n Fernwood Manor, near Letchmore Heath, England, May 26th:<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cDamn it, Andy.\u201d Roman paced in front of the fireplace in his study. \u201cI wish to hell you\u2019d talked to me about this before you went to California.\u201d He shoved another log on the fire–more out of frustration than a need for added warmth. \u201cThe last thing I want is another damned woman prying into things she shouldn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYour father specifically asked me not to mention it until the contract was signed.\u201d Andy sighed. \u201cI\u2019m actually his attorney, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy does he think I need another woman here? One who might die trying to uncover secrets best left alone. At least by a human.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019ll have to ask him that. But if I had to guess, I\u2019d say he\u2019s matchmaking again. This one\u2019s beautiful: twenty-nine, tall, and slender, with shoulder length hair that\u2019s a lovely cinnamon color. The same color as her eyes.\u201d<\/p>\n The wistful tone in Andy\u2019s voice alarmed Roman. Women usually didn\u2019t affect the stalwart solicitor this way.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s quite unique. I\u2019ve never seen anyone before whose hair was the same color as her eyes.\u201d Andy gave a rare chuckle. \u201cHer language is quite something, though. I couldn\u2019t understand half of what she said.\u201d Rising from his chair, he headed for the door. \u201cOh, by the way, she thinks your father is your grandfather, so be careful what you call him.\u201d<\/p>\n Roman rolled his eyes. \u201cCrap. Why does Father insist on this tomfoolery?\u201d<\/p>\n Andy stopped on the threshold and turned to face him. \u201cYou know how he is. He\u2019s worried about you being alone after he dies. After all, he\u2019ll be eighty-six next month and won\u2019t be around much longer. He claims you need a wife. However, I suspect what he really wants is a grandchild.\u201d<\/p>\n He cleared his throat. \u201cMaybe you should just marry one of these women. It might stop his interfering. Although, what he expects you to do with her when you…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhen I feed?\u201d Roman finished for him.<\/p>\n Andy winced. \u201cCouldn\u2019t you call it \u2018hunt\u2019 or something?\u201d He hesitated, his lips pursed. \u201cI suppose you can always drug her on those nights.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes, and you saw how well that worked for Melinda.\u201d Roman\u2019s hands rose and fell as frustration fought with annoyance. \u201cI\u2019m still not sure who committed that murder. So I can\u2019t promise I can prevent another one.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIf you want, I can tell Ms. Alcott the job\u2019s been canceled. However, I\u2019d like you to be the one to tell your father she\u2019s not coming.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, I\u2019ll go along with it.\u201d Roman pinched the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. \u201cThe old coot\u2019s using his age and declining health against me. He knows I can\u2019t refuse him anything.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe loves you, and he\u2019s never forgiven himself for the accident that killed your parents.\u201d<\/p>\n Roman sank into his favorite chair. \u201cI\u2019ve told him countless times it wasn\u2019t his fault–for all the good it\u2019s done. He considers it irrelevant that he saved my life by taking me in when none of my relatives wanted me.\u201d Shaking his head, he chuckled. \u201cAmazing. A human raising a Vampire-Lycan cross-breed. But he\u2019s been a wonderful father to me. I doubt my own parents could have loved me more.\u201d He raked his fingers through his hair. \u201cWho knows? After this latest scheme fails, and the woman goes home in defeat, perhaps he\u2019ll finally give it up. I\u2019ll just have to protect her while she\u2019s here. And hope like hell I can prevent another murder.\u201d<\/p>\n \u00a9 2011 by Pepper O\u2019Neal<\/p>\n BACK TO BLURB\u00a0<\/a>\u00a0\u00a0 READ REVIEWS<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" CHAPTER 1 Los Angeles, California, April 14th: \u201cDamn it, he\u2019s getting away!\u201d Scrambling into the passenger seat of David\u2019s Honda, Chase watched Steve Nolan\u2019s Porsche zigzag through the afternoon traffic and zip around a corner. \u201cDo you have any idea …<\/span> Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":26,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-83","page","type-page","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.pepperoneal.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/83","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.pepperoneal.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.pepperoneal.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.pepperoneal.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.pepperoneal.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=83"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/www.pepperoneal.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/83\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":127,"href":"https:\/\/www.pepperoneal.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/83\/revisions\/127"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.pepperoneal.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/26"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.pepperoneal.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=83"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}