Laws of the Blood 4: Deceptions: Deceptions (18 page)

“
She
doesn’t want to kill him? For the thrill of the chase?”

“Only if he really wants to. I don’t think—no, I shouldn’t say that. I don’t
really
know what he wants.” She only knew what she wanted and couldn’t have. Still, she could accept that she could never be with him as long as he went on with his life. She’d have a certain kind of happiness if Andrew decided to live. She’d be happy for him, at least. “Could you ask Rose to talk to him? Please?”

“Certainly,” Bentencourt answered, with a definitive nod. “Olympias shouldn’t have burdened you with this. Never send a mortal to do a vampire’s job, I say.”

Maybe that was what was wrong with her. Maybe Bentencourt was right and her mistress had asked too much of her this time. She almost grasped Bentencourt’s hands in gratitude. “Thank you. I appreciate your doing this. Andrew is camping out in Rock Creek Park. I’m sure Rose will be able to find him. I really can’t thank you enough for the help.”

“It will be Rose you’ll need to thank. Speaking of my beloved, that’s why I’m here.”

“Of course.”

“Rose is very upset about this abrupt order to vacate her home of over two centuries. Do you think that Olympias would be willing to meet with her to discuss the necessity of our nest vacating our home? Will you relay this request to your mistress?”

“Yes, of course.” Sara realized that Rose must require the old-fashioned formality of using diplomatic channels rather than picking up the phone.

“Good. And you’ll let me know what Olympias says.”

Again, Sara answered, “Of course.” She began to stand up to leave, but he put out a hand to stop her. “Something else?”

“There is a friend of mine who is waiting for an answer from Olympias on a very personal, intimate matter. Perhaps you know what I mean.”

Sara had to think about it for a few moments before she said, “The bunny?”

“I was trying to be subtle, Sara.”

“Sorry. You know how to contact the vampire who wants him?”

“I am acting as go-between in this matter, yes.”

Why wasn’t this guy working for Olympias? He seemed to have more of a handle on what was going on locally than anyone else. There weren’t supposed to be any vampires locally, which was the big problem they were trying to solve. Olympias didn’t have the time to keep tabs on them. That was the point in making them move. Olympias had said she’d check on the mortal, and had taken the time last night to find the man. And come home with a headache from doing her duty as a local Enforcer. Not that the surrounding nests appreciated that she did work for them.

“She did make contact with him, I believe,” Sara answered.

“Has Olympias made up her mind about whether my friend can have him as a companion?”

“I—don’t think so.” Sara recalled mention of a bedroom in connection with the mortal. Bentencourt did not look satisfied with this equivocating. What was the last thing Olympias had said on the subject? Something about the young vampire not being able to control the mortal in question? “I think she has concerns about your friend’s ability to handle the relationship.”

Bentencourt chuckled. “Believe me, Sara, once you taste your lover’s blood, there’s nothing you want more than to please your vampire lover. If you ever get the chance to know that ecstasy you’ll truly understand about who
handles
the relationship.” He touched her hand. Sara fought hard not to jerk angrily away, but she knew he felt her stiffen. “What do I tell my friend?”

“To wait, of course.” Sara got up off the bench. “The decision is for the Nighthawk to make,” she added, knowing that she sounded portentous. She still held her head up proudly and walked stiffly away, no matter how silly she supposed she looked to the companion left sitting on the bench.

Did he ask for her number? Falconer couldn’t remember. He stared out his office window, almost painfully aware that there were a lot of things about last night he didn’t remember. Considering how very precise his memory was, the lack of it was very disturbing. He had an important assignment ahead of him, he needed to be calm and focused.

Unfortunately, he barely remembered stumbling into the Walker Project headquarters this morning. He vividly recalled the sex. He remembered that he hadn’t discovered her last name. He remembered her beautiful, thick black hair, and her night-dark eyes. He remembered the heat of her mouth against his and the feel of small breasts and hard nipples.

The woman was like nothing he’d ever known in bed. Their coming together had been like nothing he’d ever known. Every touch and taste and move was brand-new, wildly exciting, yet the act had also carried the comfort of long-time lovers coming home to each other. He wondered if she’d felt it too, the connection that ran like a deep, ancient river through blood, muscle, bone, and spirit.

Or, maybe he hadn’t gotten laid for a long time and he’d imagined it all in the euphoria of finally getting a woman into bed.

He smiled faintly as he lifted the first cup of morning coffee to his lips. He was almost glad of the cynicism, for he’d learned that wearing a protective shell in matters of the heart was by far the safest way of dealing with them. There’d been women, there’d been a wife, and their thoughts, feelings, and needs always came to grind
against his mind and work their way inside to where he didn’t know what was him and what was them. Had he ever been truly, soul-deep in love with any of them, perhaps it would not have mattered. He’d never had a soul mate.

Perhaps now . . .

Oh, please!

He put the cup down on the desktop hard enough to slop hot coffee over his hand. “Damn!”

The door opened as he shouted. “You’re not in a very good mood this morning,” Sela said, her large frame filling the doorway. “And it’s only going to get worse.”

“What’s Grace done now?” was his first reaction. Followed by, “Did anyone ever teach you to knock?”

“Not part of my civil service training. And why are you suspicious of Grace?”

“Call it a feeling.”

She grinned. “A man of your abilities should never doubt his feelings.”

“We’re trained to be observers,” he reminded Sela.

“Then why are you in here feeling, when you should be in the conference room or with your controller, observing?”

Good question, but then, Sela’s empathic and telepathic talents were nearly as finely honed as her skills in navigating the intricacies of the government’s bureaucratic structure. The cynical part of his mind pushed away fond thoughts and sensual memories. Business was business, and protecting turf was a big part of business here in the Capital. He needed to find out if Olympias was a potential friend, enemy, or rival, even while at the same time thinking they might have some kind of future as lovers. There was personal, and there was business. Falconer could operate on both levels. Sela was the one he called on for sensitive assignments, looking into areas that might affect the project’s security or funding.

“Her name is Olympias,” he answered Sela. “We met at last night’s party.”

A wicked glint appeared in Sela’s dark eyes. “She took you home and had her way with you.”

Falconer did not dispute her intuition. “She is a very high-level psychic, I think.”

“You think?”

“I couldn’t completely read her. She couldn’t completely read me.” He tapped his forehead. “I’m not sure we did it on purpose, but we danced a little in here. I don’t know what either of us learned. I need to know who she works for, and I don’t think I can be objective about it. Find out who she is. Go Walking through some government offices if you have to.”

Sela brightened considerably at the prospect of doing a little interdepartmental snooping, but she still asked, “Why?”

He smiled. “I want to ask her for another date.”

“You could have just gotten her phone number.”

“What’s the use of having the resources of a government agency to call upon, if I can’t abuse the power? Now,” he said, getting up from behind his desk, “tell me what Grace is up to.”

“She invited us over to her place last night for a practice session.”

“Practice?” Falconer asked suspiciously. “Is she trying to adapt past life regression for Walking?”

“How’d you guess?”

“I am psychic, you know.”

“I’ve heard that somewhere.”

“Is that what she’s up to?”

“Did you really think she’d give up after one failed session? If we hadn’t all seen the same thing, she would have considered it a stupid idea and given up on it. But we did see the same place, the same images, crazy and unbelievable as those images were. Something real happened. You really think our Gracie is going to give up until she figures out what happened and how to refine Regressive Observation into a way to objectively look into the past?”

“Regressive Observation?”

“That’s what she calls it. Apparently she got some pointers from her friend who does past life regressions and—”

“She discussed what happened with a civilian?”

“Jeremy, Donald, and I
are
civilians, Colonel Falconer,” Sela answered, a little huffy. “If you mean did she discuss details with an outsider, of course not. She got pointers on a hypnosis technique, then she invited her fellow
civilian
coworkers to her apartment for a little get-together.”

“You practice Walking outside secured areas?”

“No. We had pizza. We did discuss researching methods of psychic time travel. A field of endeavor, which, as you know, has no connection to the mission statement and activities of the Walker Project.”

“If there’s no connection, why are we having this conversation?”

“Because I think that what Grace is thinking about trying could be very dangerous.”

“Messing around with any type of astral projection is dangerous. It requires controls, procedures, safety nets. It probably shouldn’t be done at all. We do it all the time, but there’s a possibility it’s driving us all crazy.” Seeing vampires, for example, that was evidence that Walking was taking its toll.

“Now you tell us.”

He did not appreciate Sela’s sarcasm. “You knew the job was dangerous when you took it.”

“Why are you talking in comic book this morning, Mike?”

“Probably because we’re discussing Grace.”

“I know you care about her.”

“Enough so that I don’t want to see her—or any of you—end up in a padded room. That is where the things we do can lead, especially if we do it on our own, outside of laboratory conditions.” He eyed Sela suspiciously.
“Tell me you aren’t involved in any psychic time traveling schemes.”

She let out a bark of laughter. “After seeing vampires last time? I don’t think so. Donald and Jeremy, though . . .” She shrugged. “Donald’s young and enthusiastic. Jeremy’s ambitious to prove he’s the government’s hottest psychic. Grace just wants to learn new stuff. Her enthusiasm could drive the other two into experimenting with her. You will nip it in the bud, I trust.”

Falconer nodded decisively. “Count on it.”

“Right now?”

He glanced at his watch. “No. I’m due to Walk through an African embassy before a Delta Force team goes in to rescue hostages. They’ve been told they’re getting their intel from someone on the inside, and that someone is me.”

Sela sighed. “All right, all right, I get it. We do important work providing information that can save American lives. I’ll let you get to it.” She turned back toward the door, but couldn’t resist a parting shot. “I’ll be spying on our own government programs if you need me.”

Olympias tapped Mike on the shoulder as he stepped into the gray mist and said, “Nice way to run an intelligence op.”

He whirled, sending the mist around him swirling into a small funnel cloud. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, stepping through the tornado he’d created.

“Here is certainly a subjective term, isn’t it?”

He spun slowly around, becoming fully aware that they were not exactly anywhere. His face did not show concern, and he certainly wasn’t afraid, but there was a hardness about him as he came to face her again. He was a warrior prepared for battle, and Olympias found this attitude far more attractive than she wanted to admit. She’d sworn off military types long ago, but a woman from a time when everyone carried sharpened blades
couldn’t help but respond to the combination of steely purpose and testosterone.

“How did you do this?”

“I have my little ways. Don’t worry, being connected like this won’t last long. Cool it,” she advised. “I’m not going to bite you.” She gestured, stirring the fog.

“Where are we?”

“On neutral ground,” she answered. “The link you have to your body isn’t severed, but you can’t see it right now.”

“How?”

“We call it dreamriding or dreamwalking.”

“We?”

“Let’s not discuss how or where we’re having this conversation, Mike.”

Corporeal they were not. She was asleep in her bed, with the dog snoring next to her. She supposed he was sitting or lying in an office or lab somewhere in the Washington area. She didn’t know his physical location, since it was his spirit she’d gone looking for this morning. After a long search, feeling her way in deep darkness, she came upon a silver thread of light, and followed it.