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woman who broke his heart— Chloe shook her head and refocused. Just

because she was a romance writer, did her imagination have to run amok

every time she saw Gavin? And where had she gotten the stupid idea that

some woman had ever broken his heart? All she had seen was Stoicism from

him. But then again— She grimaced. She really needed to get a grip.

“I’d love to stay, Mr. Smith. And I’d really like to have a better look at your

collection. I suspect some of these weapons are very valuable.”

“I’ve done the research,” Alan said. “I’d be glad to take the time to go over

it with you.”

“That would be good. I could be more helpful that way,” Chloe answered and

turned to Gavin who was studying Alan as though he were some rare

specimen. “Have you gotten any more information from the police about

Jake?”

Gavin turned his attention to her. “I have not,” he said in a neutral tone.

“Unless an eye witness appears with some answers, the case will remain

open.”

“A man was ripped to shreds! There may be a dragon loose, for Pete’s sake!

The police aren’t going to do anything?”

“Cops don’t like to mess with the paranormal,” Alan interjected. “Makes

them look less macho if they admit there’s something they can’t control out

there.”

Gavin fixed that dark, penetrating look on him again. “There have not been

any leads. Unless something suddenly turns up, what would you have them

do?”

Caldwell shrugged. “All I’m saying is when the dragon sightings first started

happening, the media had a field day and the cops pretty much ignored it—”

“That’s not exactly true,” Mr. Smith said. “The detectives practically hounded

poor Sophie, all but accusing her of staging a publicity stunt. Thank

goodness she hired that girl, Morgan, to handle the media blitz or the clinic

wouldn’t have been able to function at all.”

Gavin’s gaze sharpened. “Where did Sophie find Morgan? Did she have good

recommendations?”

Chloe kept her face impassive, trying not to look at Gavin. Was he hedging

for personal information about Morgan? Like maybe was she married?

Probably. Morgan had certainly been interested in him. She’d made that

obvious. Chloe sighed. Life was so not fair sometimes.

“I think Michael knew Morgan from some kind of social group,” Mr. Smith

said. “I assume that’s how she came to be hired.”

Gavin’s expression intensified. ‘What kind of group?”

“Oh, something New-Age,” Mr Smith waved his hand dismissively. “Sara

belonged to the group too. I think they called themselves the Circle of

Sisterhood.”

Chloe stared at him. “That’s a Wiccan group.”

“Witches?” Alan asked with interest. “Why would McCain be involved with a

bunch of witches?”

Mr. Smith winced. “I hardly think Sara or Morgan are witches.”

She didn’t know about Sara, but Chloe wasn’t too sure about Morgan. She

certainly had ‘bewitched’ Gavin, it seemed. Still, Chloe’s hippie mother had

instilled the principle of not hurling out negative emotions. They came back

to haunt you. “Maybe Michael was some kind of warlock or something,” she

said with a laugh.

Gavin’s eyes riveted on her and for a moment, she felt as though she were

pinned against a door, but there was only space behind her, then the

pressure lessened.

“Do you believe in witches and warlocks, Miss Whitley?” he asked.

“Do I—? No. I was joking. I mean—I suppose that there are weird people out

there who think they’re witches. The AP gets crazy news stories in

sometimes about people who think they’re werewolves or vampires or

faeries that can fly.”

One of Gavin’s dark brows rose. “Really? And are there logical

explanations?”

“Who knows? They usually pop up in crime cases with insanity defenses,”

Chloe answered.

“Well, Sara and Sophie and Michael were all quite sane,” Mr. Smith said,

“and there just may be a dragon out there.”

“Maybe he’s looking for one of those relics everyone’s been searching for,”

Chloe replied with a big grin. “After all, aren’t dragons supposed to like shiny

bling?”

Three pairs of eyes fastened on her. Mr. Smith frowned, Alan looked

speculative, and Gavin was nearly glowering.

Clearly, he was not pleased. Chloe got the distinctly uneasy feeling that she

had just done a huge faux-pax, but she had no idea why. Would she ever

understand him?

Geez.

****

sat across from her at the massive black-walnut dining room table with its

intricately-carved legs and tried not to notice that the neckline of her scoop-

necked shirt exposed softly-rounded cleavage just above the level of the

table. Tonight her nails were painted neon-pink which, oddly enough, picked

up the pink streaks in her orange hair. The color was a little easier to accept

since she’d told him it was to support breast cancer awareness in the month

of October. Still he wondered what color her hair really was and then his

groin tightened as his mind told him where he might find out.

Chloe—Miss Whitney—had the strangest effect on him. First was the fact

that she seemed immune to any mesmerization effort on his part. She

simply stared back at him and remembered her train of thought. Secondly

was her scent—not just the slightly spicy cologne she wore—vampire senses

were extremely sensitive and more than once, his fangs had itched to

elongate at her unique female smell—but it was her touch that nearly

unraveled the strict self-control he’d learned as a Templar. When she placed

her hand on his arm, liquid fire swept through his veins, making him

remember what it felt like to be human—and how besotted he’d been with

Queen Guenevere whenever she favored him with a smile, but then, at least

half of Arthur’s knights were in love with her.

Gavin sighed, not wanting to remember the outcome of that. Being human

was not something he would ever be again, which was why he kept his

distance from Chloe—when he could. Mr. Smith seemed quite fond of her

and Gavin also suspected his host liked to meddle in match-making affairs,

since he’d boasted at having gotten his vet together with the warlock.

Well, this was one match that would not be working out. It was nearly

impossible for a vampire not to nip his lover in the throes of passion, but it

was also necessary to mesmerize her to heal the wound so she wouldn’t

remember anything but the best climax she’d ever had. Not that he’d mind

giving Chloe—Miss Whitney—the most mind-boggling, earth-shaking,

mountain-moving experience she’d ever had, but Bel’s Fires! She’d

remember his fangs and the moment of ecstasy that came with the blood-

letting!!! Gavin took a bite of his steak Tartar and forced himself not to think

about her blood.

“I don’t see how you can eat that bloody thing,” Chloe said. “Is it cooked at

all?”

Beside her, Alan laughed. “The Brits aren’t known for their culinary skills.”

Gavin swallowed. “Since we are not in Britain and I did not cook this steak, I

assume you meant to insult our host’s chef?”

Standing by the sideboard, Benton almost twittered, but his neutral mask

quickly returned. Gavin smiled inwardly. He had a feeling Benton did care for

Caldwell anymore than he did.

A faint blush washed over Caldwell and he turned quickly to Smith. “My

apologies.”

Chloe frowned and then turned pink too. “Ohmygod! I didn’t meant to insult

the chef either. I— That is— Um…I love the way my steak is cooked. To

perfection.”

“It’s quite all right, my dear,” Smith said. “Henri is used to unique requests.

I seem to remember that Lucas Ramsey liked his meat nearly the same

way.”

Gavin took a careful sip of wine. If only they knew how often he and

Lancelot had hunted and eaten their kill raw. Seven hundred years of civility

had refined their tastes, but not totally eliminated them.

A sudden loud sound like rolling thunder rattled the windows followed by

shrieking wind and a blinding flash of light. Chloe jumped in her chair. “A

tornado!”

Gavin was already up, willing himself not to use supernatural speed to get to

the door. “Afraid not,” he said.

“Well, what then?” Chloe asked, hard on his heels, Caldwell behind her.

He didn’t want to tell them, but there really wasn’t anyway to delay the

inevitable. Slowly, he opened the door. “I think another present has been

delivered.”

Chloe gasped, her hand covering her mouth. “Ohmygod!”

Part of Mr. Smith’s brick fence was broken and a nearby tree lay uprooted,

but in the midst of the lawn lay the battered, bruised, and bloody shell of a

woman.

Chloe felt the bile rising in her throat as they approached the bloody mess

that had once been alive. She choked it down, willing herself not to faint and

then felt a subtle pressure as though someone had put a hand on her

shoulder. She even turned to look. Gavin stood close, his dark eyes fixed on

her, but his hands remained at his sides. But…it was almost as though she

could feel his strength surrounding her, taking the light-headedness away.

“Perhaps you should go back inside,” he said. “I can already hear the sirens.

In a minute this place will be crawling with police and media. The less said

by anyone right now the better.”

Chloe didn’t hear any sirens, but of course, the police would be on their way.

Already neighbors were beginning to line the streets although none of them

approached. They probably didn’t want to witness another gruesome sight.

“I’m a reporter. I need to cover this.” She inched forward, forcing herself to

look at the woman. What was left of her scanty clothes had been shredded

and her neck had been broken, but not severed. Vicious gashes that looked

suspiciously like claw marks exposed muscle, tissue and bone on her arms

and legs and there were large areas of dried brown smudges on her inner

thighs. Dried blood. Chloe’s hand shook as she stifled a cry. “She’s been

raped too.”

Gavin took her arm, pulling her back. “Apparently.” He looked up as the first

squad car squealed to a stop, followed by a parade of flashing red and blue

lights. “Don’t make any vocal assumptions.”

Chloe watched in a semi-frozen frame of mind as the crime scene squad

efficiently roped off the area. Mr. Smith’s security guards were on in front

too, reminding the media this was personal property and to stay on the

street. That didn’t deter many since their satellite trucks had scoping

equipment and reporters were already scrambling onto the roofs of the vans.

It was turning into a circus and there were times when Chloe hated her job

and wished reporters would have some respect for crime victims, although

this one wasn’t going to know the difference. Still. The television people

were in a near frenzy trying to get live video feed to break the story first.

Mr. Smith had returned quickly to the house, but Chloe saw Caldwell talking

to a skinny young reporter. Vaguely she recalled his last name was Clark

and he worked for a rival paper. She wondered if Alan hadn’t heard Gavin’s

warning not to give out information or if he wanted his fifteen minutes of

fame.

Gavin was talking to Captain Johnson who had just arrived. Chloe started

over to them, but a young officer with closely cropped blond hair and vivid

blue eyes stopped her. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

He looked more like a college kid than a cop, but her mind was muddled. “I

don’t know that I can be any help.”

“You were at the other crime scene a week ago.”

Chloe started. “How do you know that?”

He eyed her hair and smiled slightly. “You’re kind of hard to miss. And, if I

remember correctly, you were a reporter. How did you get here so fast this

time?”

“I…I was having dinner here.”

He glanced up at the mansion. “Isn’t this the place where that wealthy

eccentric who calls himself John Smith lives?”

She nodded, anticipating his next question. “I don’t think he’s available for

questioning right now. He was quite overcome.”

His focus settled on her. “I’m sure the captain will take that into

consideration. Are you a friend of Smith’s?

“I’m helping his biographer market a memoir.”

“I imagine a man like that would have some interesting stories. I did some

checking the last few days. Doesn’t he have a bunch of medieval weapons?”

“Yes. Mr. Caldwell—the writer—originally did an article on them.”

“Seems I read something about him searching for some Celtic relics to add

to his collection. Do you know anything about that?”

Chloe felt her face heat. What to say? She hated lying, but Gavin was right.

The less said right now the better. “I only met Mr. Smith last week.” The

officer watched her, his eyes narrowing slightly and for the briefest possible

second, she thought she saw red sparks, but that was impossible. It must

have been the reflection of the flashing squad car lights.

Do you have any idea of why two mutilated victims would turn up in front of

his house within a week’s time?”

“None.”

“Ummm. Seems strange that two women who worked for him are missing