Beauty Bites (18 page)

He did. The door opened again, and if thunderclouds had faces they’d have been Ric. “Men violently invade my company the day after Camille shows up. I don’t think it’s coincidence.”

“Neither do I. But how many people know the full implications of that?” The v-implications. “How many of those people up there can really help you?”

He chewed on that. “Half a dozen, including Rosie.”

Not what I expected, but I had a trump. “Okay, but how many of those are doctors? Even if they haven’t hurt anyone yet, you know I may be needed.”

“
Fuck me
. Fine, come.” He strode away, nodding to Rosie to fall into step. “But stay behind me. And no matter what they say, what they do, you
stay
behind me, do you hear?”

“I hear.”

“You agreed to that much too fast.” He pulled out his phone as he eyed me over his shoulder. “You’re incredibly honest, which means…damn it, ‘I hear’ doesn’t mean you agree. Lie by omission. You’re getting sneaky, Byornsson. I like that.”

I winced.

“But I won’t tolerate it if it means you getting hurt. You hear and obey.”

“Geez, what am I, a jinni? I obey, master?”

He whirled to take me by the shoulder, his eyes narrow blue fire. “Unless you agree, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Please don’t argue.” Rosie tugged at my sleeve. “Dr. Byornsson, the kidnappers won’t wait long. Please agree with Mr. Holiday.”

“Why are you pleading with me? Ric’s the one who’s being stubborn. Oh, okay. I’ll stay behind him.”

“Good.” Ric strode off, hitting a speed dial on his phone as he went. He held a short conversation—Nikos short, only a few words—in a barely heard murmur, and snapped the phone away less than a minute later.

We used the stairs to go up the single flight. I got the feeling Ric could have gone faster without us, but he kept checking over his shoulder to make sure we were right behind him. Like he trusted me to be wise with Camille but not to keep my head in a crisis. Obey, sheesh. What did he think this was, the Regency?

On the way up, he quizzed Rosie. “How did they sneak by security?”

“They didn’t. They hustled Ralph into the office at the point of his own gun. Then they shouted at us and herded us into the far corner of the floor.”

I assumed Ralph was the security guard on thirty-two.

“How many?”

“Five. No, six. I think.”

Ric grimaced. “And Ralph?”

“He’s okay. They locked his wrists and ankles with those zip tie things, and packed him into your office.”

“One good thing, at any rate. Anyone hurt?”

“No. But the men are seriously armed and on edge. Things could blow up any minute.”

“We’ll have to make sure that doesn’t happen. Quiet now.”

He cracked the stairwell door and edged into the lobby, hand raised to stop us. He scanned the lobby area with keen eyes, finally waving us forward. We approached the Holiday Buzz office cautiously.

No one was visible through the glass.

“Where are the hostages?” he murmured to Rosie.

“When I left they were right there, in that corner.” She was nearly panting in fright. “I don’t see them now. Maybe they’re gone?”

“Rosie, it’ll be all right.” Ric spared time to lay a comforting hand on her arm and look her in the eye. His tone wasn’t the weird hollow echo of vampire compulsion, but rather the simple deep timbre of reassurance and authority. “I’ll make sure of it. You believe me, don’t you?”

Her breathing eased. “Yes sir.”

“Good. All right. I’m going in. You two stay here.”

“No!” Her face went white. “They said you had to bring Dr. Byornsson or they’d shoot you on sight.”

“That doesn’t bother me nearly as much as the thought of them shooting Dr. Byornsson on sight.”

I gave Rosie a quick hug. “Shh. It’ll be all right.” When her color returned I let go and asked Ric, “Why would they shoot me? I’m no threat to them.”

“No.” Ric’s eyes were serious on me. “You’re leverage.”

“What? How?”

He raised one eyebrow.

I blushed. “They can’t think that I mean anything to you. You barely know me. Why would they think threatening me would matter to you?”

He flashed a brittle smile. “Camille.”

“Sure, she saw you and me and what we did at the party.” I specifically avoided the word kiss. “But, well, you’re a bit of a playboy, aren’t you? She wouldn’t think I’m anything special.”

“Except she has a
nose
.” He touched his own. “She’ll have scented the nature and strength of my attraction to you. Trust me, you’re very special.”

While the implications were terrifying, a small part of me thrilled at that. I was special? So many men thought I was only a warm blow-up doll. I wanted so much to be taken seriously. And now Ric Holiday, rich, successful and smart, thought I was “very special”.

No, Synnove, he just means you’re sexually special. It’s attraction based on superficial looks, like all the rest
.

Arg. This is not the time to get in an argument over it.

Who’s arguing?

You are. I mean, I am. I mean…crap.

Not important at that moment. Whether Ric’s attraction was only physical or something more, it apparently could be used against him.
I
could be used against him. I shuddered.

At the shudder, Ric hugged me close. “I’ll protect you. Rosie, you stay here.”

“Please, I can’t.” She wrung her hands. “I promised I’d return with you and Dr. Byornsson. They’re expecting me.”

Ric swore again. “Fine. I’ll simply have to protect you both.”

He glided to the door, every inch the deadly predator. I took Rosie’s hand and followed.

As we reached the door, Chicken Little barreled into view, rake of bangs and red wattle quivering as he ran. The door flew open with a crash. “The shit is falling!” Charles Little screamed.

Yeah. If fairy tales were coffee, I was
so
switching to decaf.

Little ran past us into the stairwell. The thunder of his feet tapered quickly into silence.

Ric glanced at the two of us. I shrugged. Rosie swallowed. Grim-faced, he nodded, turned and led us through the door.

Chapter Thirteen

The agency was nothing like yesterday. It was still, silent, and empty save for the scattered workstations and half-walls. Even the bank of windows to the left, which had streamed bright sunlight yesterday, was shadowed and blotchy.

I blinked to clear my eyes. The windows weren’t dirty. Those shadows were
people
, stretched against the glass.

Men and women lined the whole length of the windows, palms flat against the panes—except for one bear of a man whose eyes burned angrily over his shoulder. He looked familiar. Harry, that was his name. He’d been protective of Rosie, and she’d dosed his headache with aspirin.

Behind the Holiday Buzz employees, half a dozen men clad in black from head to toe pointed lethal looking rifles. The ease with which they stood, the lithe economy as they checked their surroundings said they were serious trouble.

One good thing was their black masks. No faces meant maybe they planned to let the hostages live.

Another good thing, the men stood in the bright sunshine. So probably not vampires. Which meant Ric was faster than them.

Although the combination of so many men and the sunshine might make overcoming them impossible even for Ric.

Then I saw a seventh man standing apart from the rest, holding a flat, serious-looking handgun. The leader? He was taller than the others and heavier in a lumpy way. His chunky features were smashed flat by dark nylon.

He looked like an ogre.

Forget the decaf. From now on no more fairy tales, period. In fact, I was only reading Barbara Cartland.

Unless he really
was
an ogre. I’d thought vampires were fairy tales, after all. Maybe Ric would know. I caught his hand, pressed two fingernails into his palm, imitating fangs, and cast a significant glance at the seventh man.

Ric concentrated on the leader, nostrils flared. Then he twitched his head, left-right. The ogre-faced man was indeed human.

“Finally.” The ogre’s voice was a growl, not the kind I’d come to associate with vampires, but like Batman trying to disguise a high voice.

Ric eased in front of me. “Why have you taken my people hostage? What do you want?”

“Mr. Nosferatu wants to ask you some questions.”

Nosferatu
was behind this? Why? His emissary Camille had already strong-armed Ric into agreeing to listen to her.

“There’s no need for this,” Ric said. “I’m working with Camille—”

“I don’t know nothin’ about that. All I know is Mr. Nosferatu calls me in a couple nights ago and tells me bring in Ric fuckin’ Holiday cuz he wants to talk.”

Night before last? Was it possible Nosferatu didn’t know about Camille’s victory yesterday morning for team Nosy? Or had he sent these goons and simply not bothered to recall them?

“I got my team,” the ogre said. “Last night we drove here and today you’re gonna talk.”

“Fine. I’ll give you my phone number.” Ric’s stance was relaxed but I could see his hands clenching. “He can call.”

“Funny guy. But you’re in no position to be funny. Here’s what you’re going to do. You turn your girl over to us.”

Ric’s
girl
? I’d gone through fire to become a doctor. I was
nobody’s
girl. I surged forward.

Ric palmed me back before I took a step. Damn, he was fast. “Then what?”

“We hold her while you get in our car for a visit to Mr. Nosferatu. Once he’s satisfied, we let your girl go.”

There it was again. Girl, indeed. Any fear I might have felt dissolved in the need to kick insulting black-clad butt.

Ric murmured over his shoulder, “I know something about hostage negotiations. We’ll get through this.” He turned front and, tone calm and professional, said, “And why should I do that? What are you offering me?”

“If you don’t do what I say, asshole, we start killing your people. One every five minutes, until you decide to play nice. Put this on.” Ogre Face tossed a white loop at Ric.

It sailed through the air like a Frisbee and landed near Ric’s feet. Plastic zip tie handcuffs. He picked the loop up. “If I do, you will let my people go. Did you hear me?
Let them go
.” His voice echoed with vampire compulsion.

Several heads jerked toward Ric including a few masked ones, but Ogre Face laughed. “That won’t work on me, Holiday. Mr. Nosferatu picked me special for my natural resistance.”

Ric’s hands clenched, but he only said, “Had to try. Still, you want something, you give something. Let my people go.”

“Tell you what. I’ll let
one
go.” Ogre Face pointed to an older woman near the line’s end. “That one. C’mon, get her out of here.”

A black clad man latched onto the woman’s elbow, jerked her out of line and pushed her toward the door. She looked around, head darting like a frightened doe. The man shoved her with the point of his rifle. Eyeing the man’s gun, she took a stumbling step. He pushed again. She took an involuntary step toward the door, then another on her own, then another and another, gradually speeding up until she scampered across the floor and out the door.

“Your turn. The cuffs.”

“Right.” Ric slid his wrists into the loop. A snap of teeth pulled it tight. He held up his restrained hands with a challenging half-smile. “Now what?”

I’d encountered plastic cuffs during my ER rotation. On the negative side, if misapplied, they could cause nerve damage. On the plus side, unlike metal cuffs, they could be cut or melted. Or, rarely, broken. A doctor had related a story where a young man hyped on drugs had actually snapped the things. I didn’t know how strong vampires were but from Ric’s confident smile, he must have been more than strong enough to get out of these.

Ogre Face snorted. “Mr. Nosferatu’s head of security designed those cuffs himself. Maybe you’ve heard of him—Giuseppe Marrone?”

Ric’s smile disappeared and he actually got angry. “Fine. I’ve put on the cuffs. Now let another of my people go.”

“Why not? That one, I think.” He pointed to bearish Harry. “He looks like trouble. Might as well get rid of him.”

Harry glared at Ogre Face then strode out of line. I was sorry to see him go. Ogre Face was right, Harry might have been helpful in a fight.

As he passed us he snagged Rosie and dragged her along with him.

“Hey,” Ogre Face shrieked, forgetting to disguise his thin voice. “Stop!”

Harry turned. “If I leave, she leaves too.” He squared his shoulders into a bulldog stance. “Unless you want me to stay.”

“No.” Again the little-girl voice. Ogre Face scowled, dropped into his motor-oil growl. “Fine. Go.”

As Harry made double-time for the door, dragging Rosie behind, it struck me how he’d make a dandy bear prince, like the story of Rose-Red and Snow-White. Not Grimm’s
Sneewittchen
, but
Schneeweisschen
, where Rose-Red befriends a bear and also tries to help a dwarf. The bear is grateful but the dwarf is nasty. Eventually the bear kills the dwarf and turns into a handsome prince.