with nary a squeak or rumble. Dust motes danced on a light breeze, sparkling like fairy dust.
Grabbing a pair of sturdy work gloves, she tugged them on as she made a mental list of what she’d need today. She’d have to lay down a drop cloth of some sort.
It didn’t take long to retrieve one and spread it across the shrubs and ground out front.
Crossing to the aluminum ladder, she hoisted it up and carried it outside. It was heavy. Much more so than the one she remembered her dad using around the house when she was a little girl.
She smiled, thinking of her dad, who lived with her mom in Michigan. He’d been so proud of her when she told him she was buying the house. He’d ordered this ladder online and had it delivered the following week. More tools he deemed essential had followed in a fairly continuous stream until she’d laughingly told him that if he kept sending them, she’d have to buy another house just to store them all.
A few more trips and she was up on the ladder, safety glasses and mask in place, rocking out to one of her dad’s favorite groups—Sly and the Family Stone—as she scraped flakes of paint off the house’s siding. Memories of the time she and Cliff had spent together kept a smile on her face as she worked. She couldn’t wait to see him again.
The knowledge that she could see him again—here, away from prying eyes—left her as giddy as a schoolgirl.
Emma had just moved the ladder over and climbed to the top to begin scraping another section when the sound of gravel crunching beneath tires infiltrated the music. Frowning, she glanced over her shoulder.
A Chevy Volt in need of a wash crept its way up her driveway.
Unease rose. She wasn’t expecting company and didn’t know anyone who drove a car like that.
Descending the ladder, she removed her safety glasses, mask, and gloves, tossed them down, and turned off the music. A surreptitious pat of her pants pocket confirmed her cell phone was still there. Retrieving the narrower metal scraper with the sharper edge, she pretended to scrape something off one of the ladder rungs, then kept it in her hand as the car slowed to a stop.
The vehicle only had one occupant as far as Emma could see.
Thrusting the driver’s door open, a petite brunette emerged. She looked to be about thirty years old and was four or five inches shorter than Emma. Blue jeans and a Tar Heels T-shirt accentuated her slender figure without being too tight. A brown ponytail swayed in the breeze.
“Hi there,” she called, her smile fraught with uncertainty.
“Hello.” Who was she? Something about her seemed familiar, but Emma couldn’t quite place her. “Are you lost?”
“No.” Her smile faltered, and her pretty face scrunched up a little as though the awkwardness of their brief exchange grated. “I’m Melanie Lipton.”
Emma’s breath stopped. That’s why she looked familiar! She had checked Emma’s wounds the night of the mercenary attack before sending her through the evacuation tunnel.
She was also one of the doctors who worked with Cliff and the other vampires down at network headquarters.
Why was she here? Had she found out Emma and Cliff were seeing each other?
Terror filled her. Or had something happened to Cliff?
Damn it. She couldn’t ask about the last without revealing the first.
Dr. Lipton closed the car door and held up both hands in a take it easy gesture. “Okay. You’re looking a little panicked right now.”
Emma swore. She’d tried to keep her expression blank!
“So let me first say that Cliff is fine. He’s actually sleeping right now, which is great. He hasn’t been doing enough of that lately.”
Because of the voices.
Emma’s heart broke for him. “Why are you here?”
Dr. Lipton lowered her hands. Glancing around as though searching for an answer, she ultimately gave a helpless shrug. “Because I know you’re the reason he’s sleeping. I know you’re the reason the voices are quiet today.”
Emma struggled to find a response that wouldn’t confirm her relationship with Cliff if the woman was merely fishing for answers.
With a long sigh, Dr. Lipton took a step forward. “Bastien told me Cliff visited you last night.”
“Why would he think that?”
“Because he followed him.”
Emma’s hackles rose as anger on Cliff’s behalf filled her. “If he doesn’t trust Cliff, why did he tell him he could hunt alone for a few hours?”
“Bastien does trust him.” She frowned as she continued forward, her steps more bold, until