from New York to Santiago first.
After searching the database for a while, Lann put his fingertips together and leaned back in his chair. Son of a bitch. According to Home Affairs records, the woman he was looking for didn’t exist.
Chapter 2
Lann threw the newspaper down on his desk. He leaned back in his chair and removed his glasses with a groan. Alfonso, his butler, paused in the open door. With what seemed like an evaluation of Lann’s mood, he entered with a tray and cleared a space on the desk.
“Bad publicity, Sir?” Alfonso asked as he set a silver pot and porcelain cup in front of Lann.
“Accusations,” Lann mumbled. His Russian accent was heavier than usual, as it always was when he was upset.
Alfonso tidied some papers. “What is it this time, Sir, if I may ask?” He straightened and clasped his hands behind his back before saying with a glint in his eyes, “Sorcery?”
Of course Alfonso would’ve seen the article when he’d brought the morning paper up to the office. Speculations about the reason for Lann’s celibacy were splashed over the front page.
Alfonso’s lips lifted in synchrony with his left eyebrow. “Maybe if Sir accepted the lady journalist’s invitation, she wouldn’t have written that.”
Lann gave an irritated chuckle. “She’s a player. You know how I feel about that.”
“Yes, Sir,” Alfonso said dutifully. “You prefer females to be the prey.”
Lann fixed him with a stare. “I’m happy to be hunted, but I won’t be manipulated.”
He got to his feet and walked to the double French doors overlooking the square below. This month and a half was supposed to be a holiday, one he needed badly from the investigations he conducted as a member of Cain Jones’s paranormal crime task force, especially after the stress their commander, Josselin de Arradon, had recently put them all through when he’d gone ballistic over the very woman they’d been hunting, in the middle of one of their most intense cases. There was a moment when Lann had feared for all of their lives, worried that Joss was thinking with a body part other than his head. Not that he blamed him. Clelia d’Ambrois’s affection for their commander was evident from the start. He’d never seen a stronger bond between two people. Sometimes he even envied them, but then he reminded himself of what he was, and that a man like him had no future with a woman—at least nothing long term.
The escape to the dilapidated Franciscan monastery and church he’d bought with the intention of turning the buildings into a museum/home had seemed like a welcome break, but the renovations had been challenging and repeatedly delayed. The work on the monastery had only just been done. The church was far from finished. Add to that the damn media that wouldn’t leave him in peace, and his dream sabbatical had turned into a nightmare.
One more month remained before he was due back in New York to take up his post as aeromancist for the team. His only intention was to enjoy his new property and to immerse himself in the library that came with his purchase—a collection of twenty thousand antique books, many of them handwritten with the oldest dating back to 1494.
The athenaeum had been neglected. It pained him to see books of such value uncared for. When he bought the place, the books were scattered throughout the monastery in piles. They found them everywhere—in the former reading rooms on dust-layered desks, in the original library, in the great hall, and in the seventeenth century vault. There was even a stash in the abandoned church on the adjoining property. The Franciscan priory and its library had been privately owned, and when the proprietor had run out of funds, the government hadn’t had the resources to maintain the historical building or its treasures. It had been pure luck that the opportunity had come to his broker’s attention.
The first thing he’d instructed the builders to do was to extend the library to a seventy-foot hall fitted with three stories of built-in shelves. The ceiling had already been high enough to accommodate the additional levels. It only had to be reinforced. He’d taken special care with fire precautions and safety measures. Then he’d hired Martina, a librarian, and five helpers to catalogue the books and arrange them alphabetically. There was a lot still to be done. Now this journalist, Amelia, was on his tail like a missile, and he had to watch his back twenty-four seven for