Wicked Wings (Lizzie Grace #5) - Keri Arthur Page 0,95
no talking, only rising desire and utter satisfaction.
Afterwards, when he was asleep, I rose and had a shower, then left him a note and caught a cab home. As much as I would have liked to remain in bed with him, I had a business to run.
It was a slow morning in the café, which was probably just as well given I was basically restricted to one arm. Monty hobbled in just after one and claimed the corner table.
I wandered over. “You here for lunch?”
“And to update you.”
I raised the muting spell again. “Aiden said you weren’t sure the murder last night was the work of the Empusae.”
He wrinkled his nose. “It had some of the hallmarks, but none of the bodies were eaten.”
I blinked. “Bodies? Plural?”
“Yeah—the victims were an old couple who lived on the outskirts of Dundoogal.”
Which was one of the border towns, if I remembered correctly. I frowned. “That’s out of the Empusae’s hunting area—do you think she did it as a parting gift?”
“I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand across his face and, for the first time, the cheerfulness fell. “I’d like to think so, but I’ve a suspicion that’s not the case.”
“The White Lady might be able to tell us.” Belle placed a plate of steak and vegetables in front of him. “Felt you coming and asked Mike to cook this up for you.”
“Anticipating your man’s desires is a sign of true—” He stopped, his gaze running past us. “Daniela, what are you doing here?”
My head snapped around. She strode toward us, her expression giving little away, and her aura a vivid orange that oozed satisfaction.
I had a bad feeling that meant bad news for me.
Her brief smile was as remote and cool as her expression. “I just wanted a final word with Ms. Grace before I leave the reservation.”
I tried to quell the instinctive rise of annoyance and fear and forced a smile. “What about?”
She hesitated. “Perhaps somewhere more private would be best?”
I waved a hand toward the table. “There’s nowhere more private than here.”
Her gaze narrowed, then she nodded and sat down. “The muting spell is clever. I would still prefer, however, if it was a one-on-one conversation.”
“That would be my cue to get out of here.” Monty picked up his food and rose. His gaze met mine, full of warning.
I didn’t react, simply because Daniela watched me. Belle touched my shoulder and followed Monty across the room.
I sat down opposite Daniela. “To repeat, what do you want to talk to me about? I’ve already told you I don’t know the woman you’re looking for.”
“Does the name Clayton Marlowe mean anything to you?”
Somehow, I didn’t react. Somehow, I kept my fear to myself, even though it exploded inside of me.
“No,” I said, voice even despite the inner storm. “Should it?”
Her gaze scanned me. I had no doubt her other senses were, as well, even though the charm around my neck remained mute. “I suspect so.”
“You can suspect anything you like, Daniela, but that doesn’t make it the truth, no matter how much you might wish otherwise.”
She smiled coolly. “Indeed.”
The sense that twelve years of running, of careful lies and mistruths, was about to come to a crashing halt sharpened abruptly. My heart raced so hard it was all I could hear, all I could feel.
I licked my lips and said, perhaps a little hoarsely, “Is there a point to this? Because I really need to get back to work—”
“I thought you would be interested in knowing that I’ll be leaving this afternoon. My report should be on my employer’s desk within a few weeks.”
If I’d thought my heart couldn’t race any harder, then I’d been wrong. “Must be a damn long report if it’s going to take that long to write it up.”
“There are still a few things I need to check first.”
“Huh.” I paused, not sure what to say to the woman who was about to destroy my whole world. “And why would I be interested in knowing any of that?”
“Because,” she said softly, “my report concludes that you fit the description I was given in all ways except for one.”
How I held still—how I managed to present a calm front when the confrontation I’d spent twelve years avoiding had just became inevitable—I’ll never know.
“And just what is that?” I somehow managed to say. “Eye color? Because that’s pretty damn major.”
“Yes,” she said calmly. “Which is why I will be recommending that Clayton Marlowe come to this reservation and judge for himself.”