“Um, no.” From Chloe’s look he could tell he was required to elaborate, so he said, “At least not since my … relative was attacked by a demon, I certainly don’t laugh.”
Yvonne turned in her chair and looked at him. “Really?”
“Really,” he answered grimly, and wished she’d look away because, well, he was getting perilously close to losing the battle with his natural instincts.
What the hell was wrong with him? Maybe he should just bail now and go home to work. It would be the safer alternative. But as he stared at the blonde something else struck him.
“Do I know you?”
He was horrified to see her blush faintly, because that rising blood in her cheeks called to him like water in a desert.
“I, uh, I saw you once,” she admitted. “You were on your way out of the building as I was walking up. I think that was when I was thinking about buying the condo there.”
Now he remembered. The briefest moments in passing as he left his building, moving as fast as possible while pretending to be human, to avoid noticing anyone, to avoid the kind of neighborly contact that could create problems. He could easily have missed her scent, if the wind was right and he was going the other way. “Did you buy it?”
“Yes.” She furrowed her brow a bit. “Don’t you own one of the penthouses?”
Something in him stilled. She had troubled to find out where he lived, which meant her interest was more than passing. He needed to keep an eye on her. “Yes,” he said after a moment. “The topmost.”
She nodded. “Nice to meet you, neighbor.” Then she turned back to Chloe.
He wasn’t sure this was nice at all, not when he considered how hard he worked to make certain his neighbors just plain didn’t notice him.
He had put out the cover story that he was a reclusive intellectual with a medical problem who worked odd hours on papers for an international relations think tank, all of which was true except for the recluse part. Of course, being a vampire could be considered a medical problem.
He made sure to be seen leaving by way of the lobby once in a while, and coming back the same way so questions wouldn’t be asked, he had food delivered which he then carted out in smaller quantities to a food bank, and his blood deliveries sailed in safely under the banner of his “medical problem.”
But why had she asked about him, based on one small glimpse of him leaving the building?
He stared at her back and wished Jude would hurry up. He had questions now about this woman, and they were questions he could not ask. But Jude could, without making her suspicious.
The phone rang and Chloe answered. “Hi, Jude! When will you be back? You’ve got a client waiting. Okay. I’ll tell her.”
Chloe hung up and smiled at Yvonne. “He says fifteen minutes, max.”
Creed wished he could see more than the back of Yvonne’s head. Could feel more than uneasiness and a strong desire to pounce. Her aroma kept wafting his way, and only curiosity kept him from going home now to get out of the range of temptation.
And only self-restraint kept him glued to the couch. Finally, desperate, he announced, “I need some air,” and walked out. He waited outside on the quieting night street in the cold autumn air, impervious to the temperature.
And then Jude emerged from the shadows. Creed had heard his approach, though no mortal ever would have.
“What’s up?” Jude asked.
“Your new client.”
Jude came to stand beside him. “What?”
“She lives in my building, just moved there.”
“Okay.”
“And she knows where I live even though she claims to have seen me only once.”
“That made you suspicious.”
It wasn’t a question, which Creed appreciated. “You know the profile I keep. Of course it made me suspicious. She shouldn’t have noticed me enough to be curious. All I did was pass her quickly on my way out one night.”
“Well, some humans do feel an instinctive fascination.”
“Maybe. But then she turns up at your office.”
Jude nodded. “Consider me on guard. Maybe you should go home.”
“I’m curious. But her scent …”
Jude suddenly laughed. “Okay. I understand that one. Terri’s scent about drove me nuts. Can you handle it long enough to satisfy your curiosity?”
“I’ll have to. If you see her in confidence, you can’t tell me a damn thing.”
“Then come on. Let’s go get our answers.”
“But not for long. Crap. Now I’m blowing my cover as a medically troubled recluse.”
“We can take care of that, too. But first let’s find out what’s going on.”
Creed followed him inside, his step heavier than usual.
Inside, Jude shook hands with Yvonne Depuis and invited her into his inner office. Sometimes Creed thought Jude had been born suave, but he’d also seen Jude’s other side—impatient and occasionally cranky. On leaden feet, he went into Jude’s office with them, and took a chair as far away from Yvonne as space allowed.
“Mr. Preston,” Jude explained to Yvonne, “consults with me as his health allows, so I’m sure you don’t mind if he stays with us while we discuss your problem.”
Good going, Jude, Creed thought.
Yvonne shot another glance at Creed and again colored. “No, of course not. Might as well have the entire world think I’m crazy.”
“We don’t often think that around here,” Jude said soothingly. He pulled a piece of paper in front of him and picked up a pen. “What brought you to Messenger Investigations?”
“A friend of mine is on the police force. She said you have a reputation for dealing with weird stuff.”
Jude smiled. “So we do. Who recommended us? I like to thank people for referrals.”
“Detective Matthews.”
“Ah, Pat. A very nice lady.”
“She taught a criminology course I took a number of years ago and we became friends.”
“You’re in the police, too?”
Yvonne shook her head. “Not my cup of tea. I was just curious about law enforcement. I’m a writer. I’m curious about a lot of things.”
Jude nodded, scribbling something. “And the problem that brought you to us?”
Yvonne bit her lower lip. Creed inevitably thought about how he’d like to bite it for her. He had to close his eyes for a moment.
“It’s so hard to explain.”
“But you managed to tell Pat about it.”
A tremulous sigh escaped her and she managed another nod. “Okay. I moved into my condo about a week ago. And since I did, well, it’s hard to explain. I’ve never felt like this before. But I feel continually watched. Never alone. Every single minute I’m there. And then some things got moved around and I know I didn’t move them.”
“So you think someone may be getting in?”
“I don’t know. I mean that feeling of being watched … If someone was there, I’d know it. The condo’s not big enough for someone to really hide for long. But no one’s ever there. Frankly, I don’t even