"What you've seen is the natural attraction of a man for a beautiful woman in a form fitting outfit. Half the men in this restaurant looked at her that way."
Han's smile was gentle, almost mocking. "As you wish, my friend. What can I do for you?"
"Keep an eye on her for me. As I said, I don't trust the general, but I've no option on leaving."
"She will come to no harm in my restaurant. I shall monitor them, if you like."
"I like. Thanks Han." He clapped the big man on the shoulder and quickly left. In the shadows of the bridge he shapechanged and headed for Greenvale.
* * * *
So much for dressing to kill, Sam thought, watching Gabriel's retreat. Even if he had admitted his attraction, he'd actually taken about as much notice of her as he would have a gnat doing the cancan.She leaned back in her chair and toyed with her drink. As a seductress, she'd been a miserable failure. Beyond his initial surprise, he'd given no reaction, made no comment, about how she looked. Nor had he had any obvious physical reaction to her caressing him suggestively with her toes.
Maybe he really did prefer tall, leggy blondes to short, slender redheads.
She sipped her water and stared at the dancing dragons. After a while, a waitress came in and placed a platter of hors d'oeuvres on the table. She nodded her thanks and glanced at her watch. Ten past eleven. The general was late. She hoped he wasn't reneging. The evening would be a total waste if he did.
As if on cue, the door opened. Han came into the room, followed by two men. Heat tingled a warning across her skin.
The general wasn't human, nor was the man who accompanied him.
"Would you gentleman like a drink?" Han asked.
"Two coffees," the general replied, tone almost offhand.
"Two coffees it is." Han's gaze touched hers. "I'm only a call away if you need anything else."
She nodded. It was good to know Han was close. There was something about these two men she didn't trust, and it was more than just the warning itching her skin.
Somewhere, sometime, she'd met the general before. There was something horribly familiar in the way he walked.
The two men sat opposite her. The general's companion was in his mid-twenties, with red-gold hair and green-gray eyes. He could have been Harry Maxwell's brother. Could have been her brother.
Maybe he was.
If Hopeworth was playing with genetics, and if she was somehow connected to Hopeworth, then anything was possible.
"Samantha Ryan, I presume?" the general said.
She took a sip of water and nodded. The general glanced at the man beside him. "My attaché, Duncan King."
The younger man held out his hand. For a second, she regarded it warily, and then she reluctantly clasped it. Power tinged through her fingertips — a power that was similar, and yet different, to the kind of energy that she felt in storms. It was a little "earthier" than the ethereal energy of the storms, though.
One other thing she noticed — part of the power that surged between them had a sucking feel — like he was a drain and everything she was swirled towards him. King was psychic, and he was attempting to read her. She tore her hand away.
The general's eyes narrowed slightly. "You mentioned a murder case on the phone. Are the thirteen men you requested information on suspects?"
"No, but they may be victims." She scratched her palm under the table. Her hand burned were King had touched.
"Ten of the thirteen men are dead. Why would you consider them possible victims?"
So the general knew about the recent kite murders. Knew, too, that the other seven men were dead. "We have two separate murder cases involved here. Benson, Lyle and possibly White were killed by a vampirelike creature we call a kite. We believe Cooper and Haynes are the next likely victims."
"Which is why the SIU currently have both under protection?"
She nodded. "We thought it best for their safety."
The general's smile suggested he didn't believe that excuse. "And the other eight men you requested information on?"