Magda flushed red with anger and embarrassment. “I’ll tell you my problem,” she shouted. “I’ve seen you with a lot of women, hundreds of f**king women. And not one of them has ever mattered to you. But this one does, and I don’t like it. She’s dangerous. Not just to you, but to the rest of us, and you don’t seem to give a shit about it!”
Lucas straightened to his full height and stared at her coldly. Magda paled, suddenly realizing she’d gone too far. She slid to her knees and glanced up at him once before lowering her gaze to the floor. In that brief flash of her dark eyes, he’d seen his own reflection, his eyes burning gold with power.
“Are you suggesting I don’t protect what is mine?” he asked in a dangerously calm voice.
“No,” Magda whispered instantly. “No, my lord, please. I didn’t mean—”
“Silence.”
Magda’s words were choked off on a sob.
“For the sake of our history together, I’ve indulged your petty jealousies, Magda. I now see that was a mistake.”
She raised her gaze to his, unable to speak, her dark eyes beseeching.
“It may be time for you to try your skills elsewhere. Unfortunately, I don’t have time for this now. You’re excused for the evening. I’ll send word tomorrow as to your new assignment.” He waved his hand, lifting the compulsion and permitting her to speak, then turning his back and walking away.
“Sire,” she sobbed behind him, “please.”
Lucas stopped and turned enough to give her a silent look. Magda immediately cast her eyes back to the carpet, biting her lips to stifle her sobs. Lucas strode out of his office, taking the side door that led to his private quarters. Once out of sight, he picked up his pace. He had to get to the club before Kathryn, or someone else, did something he couldn’t undo.
Chapter Seven
Kathryn acknowledged that she hadn’t been quite honest with Lucas. When he’d called her, she’d just been turning into the club’s parking lot and could easily have waited for him. But his high-handed attitude that she would rearrange everything to suit his schedule had pissed her off even more than being stood up, so she bent the truth just a bit. Besides, as she’d told him, this wasn’t the first time she’d gone to a potentially hostile location to interview witnesses. It might have gone smoother with Lucas at hand, but it was doable with or without him.
She grabbed her FBI ID and headed for the front of the club, only to be confronted by a long line of people waiting to get in. Both men and women were there, although significantly more women than men. And despite various styles of dress, they all had one thing in common—there wasn’t a covered neck among them, with most baring a hell of a lot more than just their necks. She eyed some of the women, with their swooping necklines and tiny skirts, and recalled what Lucas had said about clubs like this. The vamps took blood from human partners and gave them a mind-blowing sexual experience in return. She looked again at one or two of those butt-cheek-baring skirts and decided she didn’t want to know what else those women were or were not wearing.
Not wanting anyone to mistake her own purpose in being there, she made one small change in her own attire. Walking back to her SUV, she pulled open her cargo hatch and debated her options. The only clothes she had with her were the ones in her gym bag, which were left over from her futile search for a place to work out yesterday. She unzipped the bag and pulled out a pair of plain, black leggings, slipping them on under the black knit cocktail dress she’d bought in Minneapolis. The dress was wool, with simple, straight lines, long sleeves and a modest boat neck. It was a little more form fitting than she’d normally wear, but at least the hemline fell closer to her knees than her ass. And the belted waist gave her a place to anchor the clip-on holster for her Glock. She hadn’t been sure when she bought the dress whether she’d be carrying a sidearm into the club, but now she was glad for her foresight. Not wanting to advertise the gun’s presence, however, she pulled her black jacket back on over everything, concealing both the weapon and the clingy fit of the dress. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about her shoes, since her only alternative was the gym shoes from her bag. And since she had to get in the club’s front door, she didn’t think that would work. Most places like this—by which she meant trendy clubs, not specifically vampire clubs since she’d never been to one—had informal dress codes with the bouncer at the door having complete discretion about who got in. She could only imagine that the door guy at a vamp club would be even more selective, and somehow she didn’t think clunky athletic shoes and a black dress would cut it.
Even the leggings were pushing it, but if worse came to worst, she could badge her way in. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, though. Contrary to what Lucas seemed to think, Kathryn didn’t plan on thumping tables and demanding answers. She could be subtle when she needed to be.
Her worries about passing the bouncer’s inspection proved unfounded once she got to the door. The bouncer at Lucas’s club was big. Not just tall, but thickly muscled with arms that bulged around a black T-shirt which seemed too insubstantial for the cold weather. And apparently he was perceptive, too, because he spotted her as a cop the minute she bypassed the long line of customers and stepped up to him.
“Welcome to the club, officer.” He laughed and dropped the velvet rope, which should have made Kathryn happy. But his laugh sounded more like a warning, something cynical, and knowing that had made her instantly suspicious.
She considered turning around and walking away right then and there, but she was too stubborn to give up that easily, thereby effectively admitting that Lucas had been right. So, instead, she flashed her FBI badge and said, “I’m not a cop.”
He grinned. “Close enough, sweetheart. Don’t suppose you’d consider turning over your weapon?”
It was Kathryn’s turn to laugh.
“That’s what I figured.” He sighed. “What can I do for you?”
Kathryn pulled out her brother’s picture and showed it to him.
“You ever seen him before?”
He looked down at the photo almost dismissively and then frowned in surprise. “Yeah,” he said. “Don’t know his name, but he’s been here a couple of times.”
“Twice,” Kathryn clarified. “All of these people coming and going, but you remember this one?”
The bouncer shrugged, massive shoulders moving up and down. “Because he had a camera with him. We don’t usually allow customers to bring cameras into the club, not even cell phones.” He gestured to a table where new arrivals were turning over purses and turning out pockets. They were also signing some sort of form, but she couldn’t read what it was from where she stood.
“This guy,” the bouncer indicated Daniel’s picture, “had a camera around his neck, and not the touristy kind with point and shoot, either. I told him he’d have to check it, and he balked. Said it was too expensive. Anyway, it was early, and we weren’t crowded yet. The boss happened to see what was going on and told me it was okay, that your guy was some sort of famous photographer.” He shrugged again. “So I let him in. Same thing the next night.”
“When was this?”
“Two weeks ago? Maybe a little more?”