To Love (Vampire Assassin League Book 21) (3 page)

His sporran jiggled without warning. Cullen looked down in surprise at the sensation, before bird notes emitted next, proving it was one of his cell phones.
They truly vibrate?
He’d had his cell phones on vibrate mode since the Vampire Assassin League sent them. He’d watched it tremble in his palm before. This is the first time he’d felt it. It tickled. Annoyed. He snagged the pack and slid one out before he had to scratch.

“Yes?”

“Ah. Cullen. There you are. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

It was Akron calling. Not Nigel. That was odd, but not enough to take Cullen’s interest from the front stoop, three-and-a-half-stories beneath him.

“
Nae
,” he answered.

“Ah. Good. You’re just hanging out then.”

Cullen blinked. There was no possible way Akron could know he was perched atop a concrete ledge, next to a drain pipe, just below a roof eave, blending in nicely with the red bricks all about him. Nor could Akron know he’d been here all day. It was just a figure of speech. An odd one coming from Akron, but still...

“What is it, Sir?” he asked.

“Well. I was going to ring you up and go over the Lang murder video. I wasn’t planning a pleasant conversation, either.”

“Um. Video?”

“You heard me. Video. Apparently it’s going viral, too. Surely you knew that might happen when you selected a World Heritage Site as a setting last night?”

Two policemen exited the building below him. Cullen watched them go to the vehicles. It must be shift change. Again.

“Not really,” he answered.

“Well. As I just said, I originally planned to open this call with the statement that your handling of the Lang assignment had to be the worst example of covert killing activity I’ve seen. Barring most of the assignments sent to Rafaele de Jesus y Santiago, of course. I expect his hits will be messy. That man is a walking billboard for 4-D services.”

Cullen mumbled something. He wasn’t really listening. The sun was setting although nothing changed much. It was still drizzling. Had been all day. Cullen didn’t mind rain. It was a Scotsman birthright. And today, it had the added benefit of keeping everyone at street level from looking up toward him. But he knew night was falling. He felt it. Everything on him perked up. Energy was flowing. With that came a strange feeling of warmth. And all kinds of new sensations.

“But I have since changed my opinion. Had a paradigm shift, if you will.”

“Sir?”

“Very few associates handle a hit in full view of no less then twelve cameras while at a highly populated tourist site. Nor would they escape with a minimum amount of notoriety. And even better. You actually managed to get an innocent bystander to handle the hit and the resultant fall-out.”

“That isn’t what—” Cullen started to explain, but Akron interrupted him.

“It’s more than remarkable. It’s brilliant. Why...you are demonstrating such ability, I truly believe Nigel would benefit from your leadership.”

“Nigel...Beathan?”

“Of course, Nigel Beathan. What other Nigel would I be referring to? He’s chomping at the bit for some field experience, and you just demonstrated major skills. What could be better?”

“He’s a bairn.”

“You’re not much older, if I don’t miss my guess.”

“Twenty-three. Full grown.”

“Ah. Yes. Twenty-three. A Highlander from the dark past. They did mature fairly early back then...mainly because they died so young. If I don’t miss my guess, you were probably nearing middle age. This call has reached it’s time limit. Grab another cell.”

The connection went dead. Cullen looked at the phone for long moments before sticking it in the gutter above his head. The building maintenance crew could try to figure that out when they next cleaned. He fished out another cell. His mind wasn’t on Akron, or VAL, or the call. And he truly didn’t have time for Nigel. Not now. Not when everything was focused and ready. Not when he’d found his mate!

The phone trembled in his hand. Cullen slid the front of the credit-card sized phone open. Akron was already talking.

“Of course, Nigel. He’d be delighted to host you. Cullen?”

“Yes?”

“Nigel has added to his wardrobe. Apparently he’s very fond of MacKettryck clan colors. That won’t be an issue for you, will it?”

“But, Sir—”

“It’s red-on-black. You wear black-on-red. Not too different. Entirely different centuries, but for all I know, you’re related somewhere down the line. No? Well. I remember hearing that a Scotsman never forgets. So I decided to check. No ancient clan rivalry I’m not aware of?”

“Sir. It’s not a good time.”

“Why not? Oh. Wait. There is one thing I needed to clear up first. Minor issue.”

“What?”

“The code.”

“Code?”

Cullen’s interest perked up on the scene below. Several officers had exited and stood beneath him, speaking to still-unseen persons. Voices drifted upward. Feminine voices mixed with masculine ones. Maybe his mate was finally making an appearance?

“Surely you read the last part of your assignment?”

Cullen narrowed his eyes. No. His mate wasn’t in this batch. There was a man, holding hands with a woman that could be his wife. They were followed by two girls that could be related. They were escorted to a waiting van. They didn’t look happy. They looked tired. Cullen heard one of the officers gave a warning.

“Don’t leave the country without telling us. Got that, mate?”

“Well? Cullen?” Akron asked.

“Oh. Sorry, Sir. What was the question again?”

Akron sighed. The sound was amplified into horn-blowing decibel range. Cullen snatched the phone back, but too late. His ear was already ringing. He rubbed absently at it while moving the cell to his other ear.

“Our clients wanted their problem eliminated, Cullen. Permanently.”

“He’s dead. It’s pretty permanent.”

“Amusing. Barely. The assignment wasn’t just for Alton Lang’s death. There was a codicil at the end of your message.”

“Oh. That.”

Now that Akron mentioned it, Cullen remembered. There had been some words at the bottom of his message. He’d skimmed them before deleting.

“Apparently Lang was a very smart man. Smarter than our clients realized. He’d have to be to pull off this heist. I know you read about his ability to use disguises. Otherwise, you’d have lost him.”

“Uh...” Cullen didn’t know how to answer.

“He also padded his odds. He knew his firm’s weaknesses...and their...shall we say fiscal illegalities? He’s got files that could send CEOs to very nice barred places. For a very long time. Lang sent them a warning. That’s why they used us. We’re the best. We can find anyone, eliminate anything, and get their secrets.”

“Secrets?”

“Lang had secret files. They’re to be sent to the nearest authorities if anything happens to him. Hmm. Getting stabbed by a complete stranger at Stonehenge definitely fits that criteria. Therefore, I certainly hope you read the entire assignment, and consequently you have the code.”

“Not...at the moment,” Cullen remarked.

“Well. Someone does. Did Alton exhibit any proclivity for an accomplice by any chance?”

“Aye. ’Twas a red-headed woman. Right bonny.”

“You know where she is?”

“I nearly beheaded her last eve.”

“Ah. She must be the Jane-slash-John Doe the local authorities are stymied over. The discovery of her remains, as well as her true gender, are on another video. Also going viral. What a quandary for all involved. I don’t suppose she coughed up the code before you eliminated her?”

“No.”

“Well. I guess that leaves us with the woman.”

“Woman?”

“This call is near the time limit. I really detest technology sometimes. Get another cell, Cullen. I’ll call right back.”

Cullen slid the phone shut as he leaned forward. Another group was leaving the building. They had a woman with them. She looked small. Insubstantial. Overwhelmed. And old. Cullen pulled back to his perch.

It wasn’t his mate.

Again.

He was just ditching the cell beside the last one when another one rang. Cullen pulled it from his sporran with his other hand. Opened it. Akron was already speaking again, but he wasn’t talking to Nigel.

“Cullen? Good. No more wasting time. The police have a woman they’re questioning. Let me see...yes. Here it is. Marla Sanders. She was the one brandishing the murder weapon. No one can explain where she got it, although she continues to tell them it came from a tall, muscled, young, handsome fellow who fell at her feet. And then he just up and disappeared. Oh. He was also wearing a kilt. At Stonehenge. During the fall equinox. Hmm. What are the odds there would have been another Highlander there?”

“I can explain,” Cullen began.

“No. Please. Allow me to fill in the gaps. It’s so much more entertaining. And it’s not a problem. Nobody believes her at present. If I didn’t recognize your description, I’d have trouble believing her. Oh. Look. It appears your Miss Sanders hails from over here. United States passport. Las Vegas, Nevada. Nice name. Nice face. Hmm. Nothing remarkable...”

Cullen’s back clenched. He forced it to relax.
Nothing remarkable?
Only the most wonderful thing in his world.

“She has also told them the deceased gave her a series of numbers. She doesn’t recollect the exact sequence, and the authorities don’t know what it means, but I do.”

“You do?”

“Miss Sanders has the code. I would suggest you get back to England. Post-haste.”

“I haven’t left, Sir.”

“You stayed in the south? Odd. But fortuitous. I would highly suggest you get your hands on Miss Sanders then.”

“I’m at the station, Sir. Waiting. Have been all day.”

“You’re at the Wiltshire Constabulary Headquarters? On Devizes?”

“The same.”

“Truly? My. My. I really am impressed. That soothes my mind completely.”

“It does?”

“You are the perfect assassin to mentor Nigel. You have a plan for exiting England, too? Once you achieve possession of Miss Sanders? Why do I ask? Of course you do.”

“I never—”

“Rails will be perfect. The overnight train to Scotland. Good idea. MacKettryck keeps private cars at most of the stations. Let me see...Nigel? Bring up the UK rail lines. Look. It’s exactly as Cullen noted. The Duke of MacKettryck has a car at Watford Junction. We can get it linked to the 2133. The order must’ve gotten misdirected. Send another one. Yes. Now.”

“Watford Junction?” Cullen asked.

“Easy station to spot. Especially from the air. It’s obvious that was your plan. And I am impressed.”

Cullen pulled the phone away and stared at it for a moment. This was completely out-of-character. And mystifying. He never prepared. Akron knew it. Cullen preferred freedom. He took everything head-on. His claymore and skean at his side. And little else. That’s why he had a pile of funds in accounts throughout the world, but only one castle. And it was a ruin.

“Cullen? Cullen, you there?”

He put the cell back against his ear. “Aye.”

“Well. It’s settled then. You have two hours leeway. 2133 is the time of departure. Your car is emblazoned with the MacKettryck Clan crest. It’ll be connected at the end of the train. It’s the perfect solution.”

“But, Sir—”

“You’ll like it, I think. It’s steam-punk.”

“What?”

“Oh. Wait. Now I think of it, I’d best go with Victorian. Thoran MacKettryck never did like gadgets.”

“Victorian?”

“You’ll see. All kinds of mood-lighting, privacy, and such. I’m pretty sure you had that in mind for when you start to...ahem. Well. When you attempt to find out what Miss Sanders knows. Are we on the same page, MacCorrick?”

Cullen considered it. His mate. A fancy private rail car. Mood lighting. Privacy. Several hours alone.

“Oh. Aye,” he replied.

“Good. Oh, there’s one more thing before I ring off, Cullen. Before you wrest the damsel from the dragon’s teeth, would you do something for me?”

“What?”

“Retrieve the cell phones from the rain gutter. Destroy them. Forensic science is nothing to sneeze at anymore...and we don’t need the attention.”

The connection ended before Cullen could react.

“Well. Looks like some of your story checks out.”

Marla lifted her head from where she’d pillowed it on her arms. She’d lost her Alpaca wool sweater. Nobody knew where. She was left with her plastic raincoat and backpack. They were on a chair behind her somewhere. She’d left a pink mark from her forehead on her upper arm. Beneath that was the table surface. It looked just as old and depressed and tired as she felt. No. She was actually more than that. She was sore. Stiff. And could use another bathroom break. She probably shouldn’t have drunk that last cup of tea. She turned her head toward the door and the constable who’d spoken. It was the same man as the last time she’d been questioned. Lean. Graying hair at his temples. Light blue eyes. Carrying a file folder. She sat upright in her chair. Pressed her spine against the back of it. Folded her arms. Regarded him with the same lack of expression he was exhibiting. It didn’t help much.

“All of it should check out,” she finally answered.

“Just heard from the States. They verified that end. You were in a relationship with a chap named Chad. Fellow is still in Las Vegas. So...he didn’t accompany you on this trip after all.”

“Oh. That’s nice. Did the police visit him to get this information?”

“We don’t ask about their methods, Miss. They don’t ask about ours. “

He pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table. It scraped along the floor. Then, when he sat in it, the chair creaked. Otherwise, the room was silent. “That still leaves a lot of questions.”

“I’ve told you everything.”

“You haven’t explained the weapon. Want to go over that for me one more time?”

“Again?”

He nodded.

“I think I’ve tagged you finally. You’re a Taurus, aren’t you?”

“This isn’t about me, Miss Sanders.”

“Taurus is a fixed sign. Their element is earth. This makes them constant and reliable...but it also tends toward stubborn, inflexible, and resistant. I think that about sums up our relationship.”

He sighed heavily. Put his file on the table and pulled out several images. Turned them toward her. They were all shots of the stake-thing. In all kinds of positions. There were dark streaks on it. That was probably blood. Marla looked back at the officer.

“I need to know about this weapon. We’ve had it examined, but are waiting on an archaic weapons expert. Your weapon was fashioned along the lines of a Roman gladius, but made entirely of wood. Very interesting. It was also assembled from three parts. The round hilt, the hand rest, and the blade. It’s ingenious. Impossible to see on radar. That must be how you got it through Customs and security.”

“I didn’t bring any weapon. I already told you. I pulled it from the man who’d been stabbed with it.”

“Oh. Yes. The man in the kilt. That would be this fellow?”

He opened his file again and took out the four images she’d attempted, two with their sketch artist, two with computer imaging. Marla watched him place them before her, one-at-a-time, atop the weapons photos.
How...odd
. None of them matched the image in her head. Worse. None of them looked like the same guy. She remembered him as much more handsome. She wondered why. She looked back up at her interrogator.

“Maybe I should try again?” she offered.

“To what end?”

“So you can find him! That stake-thing was all the way in his back. He has to be hurt. He’s probably bleeding to death somewhere out there.”

“We’ve sent for a forensic psychologist, Miss Sanders.”

“He won’t need that! He’ll need an ambulance. Or...a coroner.”

“For you,” he told her.

“Me?” Marla’s mouth went dry. Her palms didn’t match. They felt sweaty. Shaky. And she really needed to visit a bathroom.

“Yes. You.”

“But why? I didn’t do anything. I’m nobody. The owner of a small shop in Las Vegas. I study astrology. Give readings. I have a lot of customers, mainly wanting advice on their love life – which, if you think about it is pretty ironic at the moment. I haven’t been in trouble with the law. Ever. You are definitely a Taurus. And I need to use the facilities.”

“Again?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him levelly. It was the same expression he was giving her.

“Very well. I’ll get your escort.”

The same woman came for her. Marla didn’t speak to her. After trying the last two times and receiving nothing, she’d given up. Marla worked at keeping the grimace from her face. She needed to count her blessings here. She hadn’t had much sleep and it felt like she was in the same movie playing the same scene over and over, but they brought her food and drink. She wasn’t shackled. They were being very polite.

It could be worse. A lot worse.

She was taken to the same little room off the hall as before. Her escort turned on the light before leaving her alone. This restroom probably wasn’t used for the public. It wasn’t large, although there was a foyer area with a mirror and sofa in it. Probably for reclining, or maybe the female agents slept here if they were pulling an all-night shift. She didn’t know, nor did she care enough to ask. It looked comfortable. Clean. The inner room contained the stall, along with a sink and a window. Frosted glass covered it, but it wouldn’t have mattered. It had been raining all day. The window didn’t illuminate much during the day. It was bringing in less light now. She must not be considered a flight risk. There wasn’t one bar across the window area.

She shook her head.
Flight risk? Oh man
. She didn’t need her imagination at the moment. She needed pragmatism and common sense. She didn’t need to flee. So she was being babysat. Questioned and re-questioned. She had an escort waiting outside in the hall for her. So what? She wasn’t charged with anything. She hadn’t done anything. It would all clear up. This was just a normal visit to a normal restroom...in a far-from-normal life situation.

Nothing more interesting than that.

She was just drying off her hands when the glass beside the window bowed inward with a cracking sound. Marla spun as the plate fell, shattering on impact with the floor and littering pieces all about her feet. There wasn’t as much sound accompanying that as there should be. But the air immediately felt charged. Alive. Alert. Marla jumped backward, slapping her elbow into the towel dispenser. That hurt. She rubbed at it absently as a muscled leg stepped over the sill. And then she got a perfect view of ripped abs, nice arms and chest, and—

Oh wow. Oh wow.
Oh wow!

No wonder her sketches had been all over the map! Her memory was at fault. This guy wasn’t just handsome. He was absolutely gorgeous. Really young. And extremely fit. He had a physique just made for sighing over. Or running her hands across. Wow, again. He was difficult to absorb. Marla hung onto the sink edge. Her knees wobbled. Her breaths got shorter. Quicker.
Holy shit
. She was going to swoon. Maybe, if she’d eaten the last meal they’d brought she wouldn’t be feeling so faint. But...wow. Gorgeous men just did not appear in a ladies room. Not in her experience, anyway. Especially, men dressed in little more than red plaid and leather. And to top it off, he’d been in the rain. His hair was slicked back. Everything looked wet. His skin glistened. His kilt thing clung to what looked like rock-hard thighs, too. And more.

Oh.
Wow
.

“You. You...uh. You—”

Oh. Crap. She couldn’t even get a cohesive sentence out.

He grinned. Her heart fluttered. Her breath caught. Oh...
baby
! He had a grin that could start fires. And make the burn feel good.

“Come along.”

He held out his hand. Marla looked back over both her shoulders before pointing at herself. His grin got wider. And then he winked.

“Aye. You. Now.”

“Um...”

“We’ve
nae
time!”

Oh. He had a voice that raised shivers. It was accompanied by the cutest accent. Marla’s ankles decided to join the fray as they turned to the consistency of jam. Good thing she still held onto the sink. She’d have collapsed.

“Lass?”

He stepped fully into the room, filling the enclosure with raw, barely-clad male. She’d been right on his size. He was enormous. He bent toward her. He needed to. His head grazed the ceiling. Warm breath hit along her cheeks. Her bottom lip. Where her bodice gapped just slightly above her brassiere.
Oh my.
Marla was five foot three. One hundred and ten pounds on her good days. Normal height. A little on the thin side, maybe. But. This guy. He was. This guy was just...

Wow.
Double wow
.

“Do you ken?”

“Uh...”

He exuded fresh rain smell. Or maybe it was wet wool. His muscles kept bunching and moving as if for her eyes to follow. Everything about him felt supercharged with something exciting and virile and as necessary as breathing. She’d never felt anything like this. It was almost frightening...in a heart-pounding, illicit kind of way.

“Take my hand!”

“I... Uh...”

“Do na’ make me beg, lass.”

Her eyes went so wide, it hurt. And then someone started banging on the outer door. He looked over her head in that direction. Marla couldn’t move her eyes. He had cords sticking out of his shoulders and neck. They stood out as he craned his head to listen. He had muscles even there?
Wow.
Again. She needed to find another word for her reaction to him. She’d never felt so...strange. Wound up. Excited. The word wow was starting to pale.

She couldn’t do as he asked, though. Taking his hand was so completely out-of-character, it wasn’t thinkable. Virgos were also earth signs.

Stable.

Secure.

Practical.

Wait a minute. Wasn’t that what Chad had taunted her with? She was an old woman in a young woman’s body? She never took chances? She didn’t know how to live? She didn’t know the meaning of the word
impulsive
?

The pounding sounds intensified from behind her. The handle jiggled. Her escort probably had a master key. That would explain the scraping sounds she heard next. The Highlander moved, looming directly over her, surrounding her with the oddest sensation...something so fantastic, so unbelievable, so incredible! It was a blend of raw earth, combined with wet wool and fresh rain, added to intense throbbing waves of heat. The feeling surrounded her. He still had his hand out in the speck of space between them, too. Palm upward.

“Please, my
anam-charaid?
”

In true Virgo fashion, Marla debated things. Mentally. It took a moment while the sound of a key turning the lock’s tumbler grated through her mind. What was the worst thing that could happen?
Well, Marla?
She’d be wanted for further questioning?

Oh.

What the hell.

Chad was an asshole and she only got to live once. Marla gave the Highlander her hand.

What felt and looked like an instantaneous bolt of lightning flared through the enclosure, spearing both of them in an arc of solid warmth, pulse-pounding electricity, and retina-searing light. Light bulbs exploded. Water jetted from the sink faucet. It rocked her back and then forward while the Highlander sent the deepest groan through the space. Every hair on her head reacted, even the ones firmly ensconced in her braided bun. She could swear she felt them sizzling. The door opened somewhere behind her, sending air into the now-dark room. Marla got pulled right to the Highlander, got a huge dose of what it felt like to be tucked to him with an arm.

And then he leapt right out the window aperture with her.