Chapter Four
Emma Duquet parked her small Honda beneath a winter-bare cherry tree and stared at the elegant white mansion down the block. It was all lit up, sitting there like a queen lording it over the rest of the houses—the biggest lot and the biggest house on a block of big houses. Even the tiniest home on this street probably cost more than she’d earn in a lifetime. She frowned. Well, maybe not an entire lifetime. She planned to live long and well, if only to spite the Fates which seemed to have been against her so far.
A dump truck lumbered past, its headlights picking out the incongruous pile of debris sitting inside the house’s fancy iron gate. In her neighborhood, that trash would have been dumped right on the street for pickup, but they probably had codes about that sort of thing around here.
The driver of the truck leaned out to speak into a receiver on the side of the mansion’s small guard house, obviously announcing his arrival since the guard house itself was empty. The gate rolled open, but instead of driving forward, the truck reversed into a quick three point turn before backing through the gate and stopping with the rear of the truck bed right next to the pile of junk. Not seeming to care that their truck kept the gate from closing, two men jumped out and began tossing junk from the debris pile into the open bed of their vehicle.
Emma watched curiously, wishing she’d thought to bring some binoculars with her. On second thought, sitting in this district and staring through binoculars might get her arrested. For that matter, she’d better do something besides sit here, or someone would call the police on her. Washington was a very paranoid place these days.
Decision time. The gate was open, a golden opportunity if ever there was one. She could waltz right up to the front door of the vampire embassy and request an audience with the ambassador or whatever the hell they called him. She’d probably never get a better shot than this. Of course, it was also possible she’d waltz through the gate and into the arms of some angry guards. Maybe even a dog or two. Although, she didn’t see any dogs and besides, the stories all said dogs didn’t like vampires. Plus, with the gate open like that, if there were dogs, they’d surely be—
“Snap out of it, Em,” she scolded herself. She had a tendency to overthink things as a way of postponing the inevitable. And this visit was definitely inevitable. Her roommate Lacey was missing, and Emma had run into a brick wall in her own attempts to find her. But someone in that house knew exactly where Lacey was, and Emma intended to find out.
She got out of her car and looked around. No one was watching. She hurried down the street, slowing as she neared the battered truck. Changing her quick dash into a brisk, confident walk, she strode past the two busy men with a nod and a smile, as if she came this way every night.
The driveway was one of those long curving things, and between her nerves and the three inch heels she’d worn to work, she was a bit winded by the time she reached the pretty brick stairs. She paused at their foot and drew a calming breath.
“You can do this, Em,” she whispered and took the stairs at a quick trot.
She reached the front door and stared in surprise. The lock had been destroyed. It looked like someone had fried it. Weird. But convenient. Between that and the open gate, the gods were clearly smiling on her mission tonight. She touched the knob delicately to be sure it was safe, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.
It was dark, although not spooky dark. There were a few lights down a hall that disappeared behind the big staircase right opposite the door. And a crystal chandelier overhead that looked as if it was on its dimmest setting. The crystals gleamed a yellowish gray, as though the light was not strong enough to punch through the glass.
Emma took another step inside, shivered, and closed the door behind her. It was surprisingly warm, despite the shadowy lighting. A part of her had expected it to be as cold as a tomb, like with the vampires from the movies. But there was a pleasant fire burning in the room to her right, the sight of which had been blocked by the open front door. The room had the look of a small library and was softly lit by pretty Tiffany-style lamps which were perched on a desk and on two small, round side tables. She heard the distinctive sound of someone sliding a book back onto a shelf and took a tentative step toward the doorway.
“Hello?” she called softly, somehow reluctant to announce her presence in this big empty-feeling house. She tiptoed closer to the room and shrieked, jumping back and nearly tripping on her own heels as a big, blond man suddenly stepped into view.
He eyed her curiously, his full lips curving into a faint smile. “May I help you?” His voice was smooth and easy, and it brought to mind the cool water running in gentle mountain streams back home.
Emma stared at him. He could definitely help her, but probably not in the way he meant. Emma liked tall guys, not giant tall, but tall enough that at five-six she could still wear high heels without being taller than her date. Not that she had that many dates with her work schedule, but one could always hope.
This guy was more than just tall, though. He was lovely. Late twenties, maybe a bit over six foot, with long blond hair falling loosely over broad shoulders. He had strong arms and a taut, muscled chest that filled out a dark blue, long-sleeved t-shirt and tapered down to a tight, flat abdomen. Faded denims clung to narrow h*ps and muscular thighs, and . . .
“Excuse me,” he repeated in that same soothing voice, but with an undercurrent of amusement. “Did you want something in particular?”
Emma flushed, embarrassed at being caught ogling. What was she thinking? She wasn’t here to pick up some guy, no matter how delicious he was.
“Yes,” she started, then, discovering her throat was too dry to talk, swallowed. She coughed and started again. “Yes, I’d like to see the ambassador, please.”
Warm brown eyes crinkled at the corners. “You may have noticed,” he said, his gaze sweeping over what she could see of the obviously not-open-for-business embassy, “that we’re in transition here. The old ambassador has been called home. However, his replacement will be in place soon, and when he is, I’m quite certain he’ll be happy to meet with you.”
“Oh,” Emma said, suddenly worried. “You mean Victor’s gone? Like for good?” When he nodded, she asked, “How long will it be before I can meet with whoever’s in charge then?”
The blond tipped his head to one side appraisingly. Was he trying to decide if she was worth disturbing the new guy? Emma straightened self-consciously, wanting him to know she was a serious person, here on business, which might seem questionable after her earlier bout of hormonal gawking.
“Can you wait a few moments?” the hunk asked.
Emma jerked in surprise. “Sure,” she said immediately. “I mean, yes, of course. Uh, where do you want me to wait?” She glanced around, then leaned to one side, looking past him into the library, which appeared to be full of intriguing books.
Oddly, the blond didn’t seem to know where to put her while he went to check on the new ambassador’s whereabouts. Maybe he’d arrived with the new guy. An unwelcome thought popped up its horny head. Considering the way he was dressed and his total fitness and general hunkiness, maybe he was the new guy’s boyfriend. Damn. Why were all the gorgeous guys gay?
The blond suddenly grinned, as if he knew what she was thinking. “You can wait in—”
Fast, heavy footsteps thudded from somewhere deep in the house moments before a dark-haired man barreled in from the hallway behind the stairs. Moving incredibly fast, he did a standing slide and stopped in front of the blond like a runner into home plate.
“Forgive me, my—”
“It’s all right, Miguel,” the blond interrupted. “This young lady . . .” He turned to look at her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get your name.”