Vincent’s gut clenched as he signaled Ortega and Zárate to get on with it. Not because he gave a damn about Dave Harrington or his hollow threats, but because the human’s dire warnings echoed his own fears. And Vincent hadn’t been afraid of anything in a very long time.
Spinning on his heel, he strode into the building and went directly into the elevator his security was holding for him. It was only three floors up to the penthouse, but it seemed to take forever.
“She won’t thank you for that,” Michael muttered next to him.
Vincent shot a silent glare at his lieutenant, but he didn’t say anything because he knew what Michael said was true. When Lana found out about Harrington, about how Vincent had shuffled him off to the airport, she wouldn’t be pleased. She didn’t like him fighting her battles. And she especially wouldn’t like him taking action without even checking with her.
“Is Lana in the building?” he snapped instead, not directing the question at anyone in particular.
“Yes, my lord,” someone said. “In the residence.”
Good, Vincent thought. That’s where he needed her. They’d close the door and be alone again, and then they could talk.
The elevator doors opened and his step faltered at the level of activity that greeted him, and the noise that went with it. When he’d left, things had still been gearing up. Now, it seemed as if half of the vampires in Mexico City were hanging around outside his front door. He didn’t have time for this. He started out of the elevator, intending to go directly to his condo, but a familiar voice stopped him.
“Vincent.”
It was a voice that was as familiar at his own, but one he hadn’t heard in a long time. He turned with a smile that conveyed all of the warmth and joy he felt at seeing her again.
“Camille,” he said, taking the final step to meet her, his hand cupping her elegant jaw. “When did you get here?”
“To Mexico City? Or to your headquarters?”
“Both.”
Her laugh was a delicate chime. More men than he could count had made fools of themselves just to hear that sound. He and Camille were siblings of a sort. Both children of Enrique—or so he’d thought at the time—they’d “grown up” together, having been turned around the same time.
“I arrived just this evening,” she told him. “Enrique had me shoved away on the coast. He always resented our closeness, and I’m sure he knows my allegiance is more to you than him. He won’t like it that I’m here, but I couldn’t miss the big finale. And, besides, I brought some friends.” She indicated the conference room with a slight shift of her eyes.
Vincent stroked the back of his fingers over the velvety softness of her cheek. “Thank you, bella. It’s good to see you,” he murmured. He was about to say more when a small noise drew his attention down the hall to his left. He turned and saw Lana standing in the open doorway of the condo, staring at him. She was dressed in sweats and carrying a towel, as if on her way downstairs to the gym.
She looked beautiful and strong, and he abruptly regretted his pride-driven confrontation with Harrington. He opened his mouth to call to her, but with a single unreadable look, she strode down the hall until she was close enough to touch.
Except she ducked his hand when he reached for her, holding her own out to Camille and taking a step closer.
“Camille,” Vincent said, stinging at Lana’s rejection. “This is Lana Arnold. Lana and I are—”
“Partners,” Lana interjected. “Vincent helped me with a job assignment I just finished.”
Vincent saw Camille’s eyes dancing with laughter, but he didn’t find anything funny. He turned his scowl on Lana and was about to make some excuse to Camille while he dragged Lana back to the penthouse and figured out what the fuck was going on, but before he could say anything, Lana was speaking again.
“Well, I’ll leave the two of you to your . . . consultations,” she said, backing away. “Nice to meet you, Camille. Vincent,” she said with a brisk nod, then she was gone before he had the chance to say anything, ducking into the stairwell with her human bodyguard in tow.
Vincent took a step to go after her, but Michael appeared at his side and said softly, “Sire, Camille brought Tulio.”
“I’m sorry, Vincent,” Camille said softly, her gaze filled with understanding for his plight. “But Tulio is waiting in the conference room,” she reminded him.
Vincent swore softly. Amado Tulio was a powerful master from Baja who hated Enrique, but would never be powerful enough to take him on himself. He was willing to support Vincent’s bid, but only if he could be convinced that they would win. Tulio wanted Enrique gone, but he wasn’t willing to risk his own neck to get it. If there’d been more time, Vincent would have said to hell with Tulio and gone after Lana. But there wasn’t any time at all. He needed to know tonight where Tulio would stand tomorrow.
“Make sure she doesn’t leave the building,” he growled at Michael, and then turned with a smile for Camille and headed for the conference room.
LANA HUGGED THE folded bath sheet like a security blanket as she ran down the stairs to the first floor. She’d been on her way to the pool even before seeing Vincent with his girlfriend, hoping to relieve some of the stress she’d been feeling ever since they boarded the plane for Mexico City.
That idea was blown all to hell now. She’d have to swim until she was exhausted to erase the image of Vincent and Camille, staring at each other with that look on their faces. All that picture needed was fairy dust twinkling around their heads, it was so fucking sweet.
The irony was that Lana had been happy to see him. She’d heard his voice even before the doors opened, and her heart had done the proverbial jump for joy. She’d known in that moment that, while she might not belong here, this was where she wanted to be. With Vincent.
Her first thought when Vincent had emerged from the elevator was that he looked tired. But then the woman—Camille—had said his name, and his exhaustion had seemed to drain away.