Sufficiently clear to me, Tamara thought. Curt seemed to be in no danger of being murdered at the moment. She put her skates in her bag and slipped away while they were still arguing.
Pain like a skewer running the length of his breastbone, Eric stroked the pink fur of the earmuffs she’d abandoned in her rush to get away from him. She’d left her coat, too. He carried it slung over one arm as he followed the two. Rogers had caught up to Tamara only a few minutes after she’d left. He kept pace with her angry strides, talking constantly in his efforts to end her anger.
“I’m sorry, Tammy. I swear to you, I didn’t mean to hurt you. Can’t you understand I was scared half out of my mind when I saw you in his arms? My God, don’t you know what could’ve happened?”
He scanned the bastard’s mind with his own, and found no indication that Tamara was in danger from him. He did the same after they’d entered Daniel St. Claire’s gloomy Victorian mansion, unwilling to leave her in their hands until he could be certain. And even then he couldn’t leave.
How the hell had St. Claire managed to become her guardian? When Eric had left her all those years ago she’d had two adoring parents who’d nearly lost their minds when they’d thought they might lose her. He could still see them—the small Miranda, a frail-looking woman with mouse brown hair and pretty green eyes brimming with love whenever she glanced at her adorable child. She’d been in hysterics that night at the hospital. Eric had seen her clutching the doctor’s white coat, shaking her head fast at what he was telling her as tears poured unchecked over her face. Her husband’s quiet devastation had been even more painful to witness. Kenneth had seemed deflated, sinking into a chair as if he’d never rise again, his blond hair falling over one eye.
What in hell had happened to them? He sank to a rotted, snow-dusted stump outside the mansion, his head in his hands. “I never should have left her,” he whispered into the night. “My God, I never should have left her.”
He remained there in anguish until the sky began to pale in the east. She now thought he’d only used her to make a point to St. Claire. She obviously had no conscious memory of him, nor knowledge of the connection between them. She called to him while in the throes of her subconscious mind—in a dream. She couldn’t even recall his name.
She paused outside Daniel’s office door to brace herself, her hand on the knob. Last night she’d avoided further confrontation with Curt by pleading exhaustion, a lie he’d believed since he knew how little sleep she’d been getting. This morning she’d deliberately remained in her room, feigning sleep when Daniel called from the doorway. She’d known he wouldn’t wake her if he thought she was finally sleeping. She’d waited until he left for DPI headquarters in White Plains, then had got herself ready and driven in late, in her battered VW Bug. Her day had been packed solid with the trivial work they gave her there. Her measly security clearance wasn’t high enough to allow her to work on anything important. Except for Jamey Bryant. He was important—to her, at least. He was only a class three clairvoyant in DPI’s book, but he was class one in hers. Besides, she loved the kid.
She sighed, smiling as she thought of him, then stiffened her spine for the coming encounter. She gripped the knob more tightly, then paused as Curt’s voice came through the wood.
“Look at her! I’m telling you, something is happening and you’re a fool if you don’t see it.”
“She’s confused,” Daniel said, sounding pained. “I admit, the proximity is having an unexpected effect on her, but she can’t be blamed for that. She has no idea what’s happening to her.”
“You think. I think she ought to be under constant observation.”
She grew angry fast, and threw the door open. “Do you have any idea how tired I am of being talked about like one of your cases?”
Both men looked up, startled. They exchanged uneasy glances and Daniel came out of his chair so fast it scraped over the tiled floor. “Now, Tam, what makes you think we were discussing you? Actually, we were talking about a case. One we obviously disagree about.”
She smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, really? Which case?”
“Sorry, Tammy,” Curt snapped. “Your security clearance isn’t high enough.”
“When has it ever been high enough?”
“Tam, please.” Daniel came toward her, folded her in a gentle embrace and kissed her cheek. He stood back and searched her face. “Are you all right?”
“Why on earth wouldn’t I be?” His concern softened her somewhat, but she was still sick and tired of his coddling.
“Curt told me you met Marquand last night.” He shook his head. “I want you to tell me everything that happened. Everything he said to you, did to you. Did…” Daniel paled right before her eyes. “Did he touch you?”
“Had her crushed against him like he’d never let go,” Curt exploded. “I told you, Daniel—”
“I’d like to hear her tell me.” His pale blue eyes sought hers again. They dropped to the collar of her turquoise turtleneck, under the baggy white pullover sweater. She thought he would collapse.
Curtis seemed to notice her choice of attire at the same instant, and he caught his breath. “Tammy, my God, did he—”
“He most certainly did not! Do you two have any idea how insane you both sound?”
“Show me,” Daniel said softly.
She shook her head and expelled a rush of air. “All right, but first I want to explain something. Marquand seems to be very well aware of what you two think he is. This meeting at the rink last night, I think, was his way of sending you a message, and the message is lay off. I don’t think he was kidding.” She hooked her first two fingers beneath the neck of the shirt and pulled it down to show them the blue-and-violet bruise he’d left on her neck.
Daniel gasped. “Look closely, you two. There are no fang marks, just a…well, let’s be frank about it, a hickey. I let a perfect stranger give me a hickey, which should illustrate to you both just how much stress I’ve been under lately. Between this sleep disorder and your overprotectiveness, I feel like I’m in a pressure cooker.” Daniel was leaning closer, breathing down her neck as he inspected the bruise.
He satisfied himself and put a hand on her shoulder. “Did he hurt you, sweetheart?”
She couldn’t stop the little smile that question evoked, even though she erased it immediately. “Hurt her?” Curtis slapped one hand on the surface of the desk. “She was loving every minute of it.” He glared at her. “Don’t you realize what could’ve happened out there?”
“Of course I do, Curtis. He could’ve ripped my jugular open and sucked all my blood out and left me dying there on the ice with two holes in my throat!”
“If I hadn’t scared him off,” Curt began.
“Keep your story straight, Curt. It was he who scared you off. You were shaking me until my teeth rattled, if you remember correctly. If he hadn’t come to my defense I might have come into work wearing a neck brace today.”
Curt clamped his jaw shut under Daniel’s withering gaze. Daniel shifted his glance to Tamara again. “He came to your defense, you say?” She nodded. “Hmm.”
“And,” Tamara went on, almost as an afterthought, “he took the crucifix right out of Curt’s hand. It did not even burn a brand in his palm, or whatever it’s supposed to do. Doesn’t that prove anything?”
“Yeah.” Curt wore a sulking-child look on his face. “Proves vampires are not affected by religious symbols.”
Tamara