Duncan (21 page)

“No? I’m surprised.”

“What happened to Victor, anyway?” Grafton demanded. “I saw him less than two weeks ago and he said nothing about leaving. I do hope he’s well,” he added, as if to soften the demand in his earlier words.

Duncan met the senator’s gaze evenly. “Perhaps he didn’t want to trouble you.”

Grafton studied him a bit longer, then drew closer, as if in confidence. Miguel tensed slightly where he stood near the room’s open archway, but Duncan shot him a quick glance of reassurance. Max Grafton was no danger to Duncan, at least not in the middle of this civilized gathering. Max struck him as more the type to lie in wait with a big gun. Or rather to hire someone else to do it, while Max himself established a credible alibi.

“Tell me, Milford. Will you be assuming . . .
all
of Victor’s responsibilities?”

“You mean the parties,” Duncan said negligently. “Of course. I have all of Victor’s files.”

Grafton froze and his heart rate soared once again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Duncan nearly laughed out loud, but settled for a grin that made his amusement plain. “Grafton, please. A man of your sophistication and . . . tastes? You must have known Victor was taping everything that went on at that house. You preferred blondes, didn’t you? You and the drunken Congressman Kerwin, both. In fact, I believe you shared one or two.”

Grafton stared at Duncan, his face pale and his breathing so rapid that Duncan feared the man would pass out. He swallowed hard once, twice, and then his lips tightened in anger and he snarled, “I don’t know what you’re pulling, Milford. But I will not be harassed in this—”

“Harassed,” Duncan hissed, leaning right into the good senator’s space. “You’re confusing me with Victor, Grafton, and that would be a mistake. I don’t
harass
my enemies. I eliminate them. Remember that.”

Duncan stepped back and signaled to Miguel, who waited until Duncan had walked past and then followed him. The stairs were empty as they headed straight for the door, their mission, such as it was, accomplished for the evening. He heard Miguel calling Ari on the radio, telling him to bring the SUV around, and by the time they were once again out of that claustrophobic house, the familiar vehicle was rolling up to the curb. Ari powered down the window so they could see him, but remained behind the wheel as Miguel opened the back door for Duncan, then followed him inside.

Duncan had felt Miguel’s anger growing all the way out of that house and onto the street, and he suspected it was directed at him. Once they got underway, he placed a casual arm over the back of the seat and glanced at his lieutenant sitting next to him.

“What is it, Miguel?”

Miguel shot him an angry look. “You all but invited him to come after you, Sire. You’ve set yourself up as bait.”

Duncan shrugged. “Perhaps. But it seemed the fastest way to flush them out. Kerwin looked familiar, didn’t he? He certainly knew who I was. And I’d lay good money that Kerwin and Grafton were conferring before I showed up and ruined their party. Emma needs to see Lacey’s murder avenged, Miguel, and I want this matter done with. It isn’t what we came to this city to accomplish.”

“I understand that, my lord. But the job will proceed
much
faster if you’re alive to do it,” he growled.

Duncan sighed. Miguel had a point, but he knew men like Grafton. Unless Duncan pushed and pushed hard, they could dance around each other for months. Emma deserved better than that. She’d never be able to get on with her life until this was resolved.

Next to him, Miguel clicked the receiver on the Bluetooth device in his ear, answering a silent call. Duncan frowned. As far as anyone knew, they were still at the fundraiser, which meant no one would call unless it was urgent.

“What is it?” Miguel snapped into the phone. “Who is— Where are you now? No. No! Don’t call anyone. We’re on our way. Five minutes.” He leaned toward Ari before he’d even clicked off. “Emma Duquet’s place, Ari.
Fast.
”

 Chapter Eighteen

After Duncan left, Emma hurried back to the security center and plugged in her laptop. No sense in draining the battery if she didn’t have to. Louis glanced over when she returned, but he kept working on his own computer, fingers flying at a remarkable speed. The vampires were all happy to let her do the grunt work of wading through photos, trying to figure out who was who. That was okay with her, as long as they let her do
something
. Pulling up her database, she scanned the information and sorted out the fields she thought would help.

Part of Emma’s job at Guy Coffer’s office had been filtering the daily requests from lobbyists who wanted to see the Congressman about one thing or another. Sometimes, they wanted a face-to-face, sometimes they only wanted to invite him to a cocktail party or other glad-handing social event. The thing was, there were something like eleven thousand lobbyists in Washington, D.C., and every one of them thought their particular issue was
the
most important thing on the planet. She didn’t fault them for that; it was their job to feel that way. But Congressman Coffer sat on a couple of very influential committees whose influence went beyond any one issue. And that meant a whole lot of lobbyists were after his vote. Emma’s job was to weed through the requests and provide a daily report as to who wanted what and whether they were worth the Congressman’s time. The deciding factor was usually money in the form of campaign donations, but since she was a government employee, her time couldn’t be used for any fundraising purpose. So her reports had to be couched in other terms, like importance to a particular constituency or public awareness of an important issue. It was all bullshit. But money won elections, and publicity provided sound bites so the people back home felt like their congressman was doing something once they elected him.

Emma, being the hyperactive Energizer Bunny she was, had built up a database of information on the various lobbyists—names, affiliations, contact info—along with information on the assistants and secretaries she dealt with at least as often as their bosses. She pulled up the list of initials they had from Victor’s files and started working, trying to match them with her various contacts. It took far longer than she expected and was ultimately disappointing. There were too many women with the same initials, and no way of sorting them by likelihood. If she’d had marital status in her database, for example, she could have eliminated the married women, at least on the first cut. Some of them, she knew, were too old to match any of the photographed women, but for most she had no idea if they were the ones she was looking for or not.

“Emma,” Louis said from behind her.

She straightened and turned around, rubbing her back, which had gone stiff from sitting hunched over the computer.

A woman stood next to Louis. She was petite, with a wild mane of curly dark hair, and she had to be a vampire. Either that or Duncan was employing teenagers now, because this woman looked about nineteen in her tight, faded jeans and bright red sweater.

“Emma, this is Phoebe Micheletti. She’s the one I told you about, with the FBI.”

Okay, definitely a vampire. But it was kind of unsettling to know the FBI had vampires working for them. The conspiracy theorists would go nuts if they knew!

“Former FBI, and only a consultant,” Micheletti corrected, and smiled as she held out her hand.

Emma stood, automatically taking Micheletti’s hand, feeling the strength in those delicate fingers. “Emma Duquet,” she said. “Louis mentioned you’d be coming by.”

“And here I am.” She made a shooing motion at Louis and said, “Run along, Louis, I’ll take it from here.”

Emma blinked, waiting for Louis to react to the female vamp’s dismissal, but he laughed. “You can’t have her, Pheebs. If Emma wants a job, Duncan has first dibs.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Phoebe said innocently.

Louis gave her a skeptical look, but strode back to his computers.

Phoebe continued to watch as Louis sat down and bent to work once again. “He’s one of the best hackers alive, you know. I tried to recruit him for my firm, but he’s Duncan’s down to the bone.” She looked at Emma. “If Louis wants you, you must be good.”

Emma shrugged uncomfortably. “I haven’t done anything yet. I think he’s just happy someone else is doing the grunt work.”

Phoebe had been reading over Emma’s shoulder, her eyes switching between Emma’s computer with its database and the list of initials. “What’s this?”

“It’s my own database of lobbyists and their affiliates. I work for Congressman Coffer.”

“Ah,” Phoebe said. “That explains it. Louis is a compulsive collector of information. He has database envy.”

Emma laughed. “It hasn’t done me much good yet. I never thought I’d say this, but there’s too much information.”

“No luck, then?” Phoebe murmured, sitting on the chair next to Emma’s and paging through her notes. The action irritated Emma for some reason. Those were
her
notes. The female vamp could have at least
asked
before she started snooping through them.

She realized Phoebe was waiting for her to say something. “No luck,” she said, remembering the question. “Not yet. But I’m still working.”

“How about the men?”

“Louis said you were working on that.”

“I am,” Phoebe said, flashing a smile. “But like you, I haven’t had any luck yet. You have what, hundreds of entries in your database?”

“Thousands,” Emma corrected, feeling insulted and fighting the urge to snatch her database away from the
former
FBI consultant. Hundreds of entries, indeed. And was there any such thing as a former FBI consultant? She wasn’t sure she wanted anyone in government seeing the information on her computer, much less the FBI. Forget that she herself worked for the government. It wasn’t the same thing at all.

“Thousands,” Phoebe allowed. “But there are millions in our facial recognition database, and as brilliant as Louis is, those composites were . . .” She shrugged without finishing her thought, but it was obvious she didn’t think they were very useful.

Emma sat back down at her computer, feeling an irrational need to defend her methods. “I was thinking about this before you came in. If I could identify even one of these women, it would lead to the rest of them.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because they all know each other. They all go to the same parties, and I’m not only talking about Victor’s. The people who work inside the Beltway are like a small town. Everyone knows everyone, or knows someone who does.”

“So, maybe we go to a few of those parties ourselves,” Phoebe mused. “You can get us in?”

“Sure. I get invitations every day in the Congressman’s office. It’s just a matter of picking the—” She froze as a thought occurred to her. “The women all knew each other which means they probably all knew Lacey, too. Lacey’s funeral,” she finished on a whisper.

“Pardon?”

“Lacey’s funeral,” she repeated more certainly. “There were so many people there, but I only knew a few of them because they were all
Lacey’s
friends.”

“But you have the pictures from Victor’s files. Wouldn’t you remember if any of these women had been there?”

“No,” Emma said. “I was pretty much in shock that whole night. If not for Duncan, I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t remember anyone,
damnit
.” She thought furiously. “Wait, there was a—”

“Glen Pettry handled the funeral?” Phoebe interrupted.

“Yes, he was the one who told me—” She stopped speaking because Phoebe had pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and was already punching in a number.

“Glen,” she said pleasantly. “Phoebe Micheletti. How are you? He’s good, grumpy as ever. Listen, do you have security cameras at your place? No. I understand. It’s something we’re working on, but we’ll figure it out. Thanks anyway.”

She clicked her phone off and dropped it into her pocket. “No joy. He has video, but only at the back entrance where the bodies come in because they arrive at all hours. The front entrance is more sensitive. No one wants to think they’re being recorded at Aunt Tessie’s funeral, and the funeral home’s in a good neighborhood. Besides, Glen does a lot of business with vampires, and none of us want a record of our comings and goings.”

Emma remained silent. There was another way of identifying who’d been at the funeral, but she wasn’t inclined to share it. She’d already decided she didn’t want to work with the pushy vampire anymore than she had to.

“It was a good thought, though,” Phoebe said. She stood and looked around. “Listen, if you do find these women, you need to let me deal with them.”

“I think I should call—”

“I’m not trying to steal your thunder, Emma,” she interrupted. “We’re all after the same thing. Besides, Duncan wants you safe, and he’s pretty bossy. He’ll want one of us to follow up if you get a lead, and I can get a lot more information out of those women than you can.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure—”

“It’s likely Victor messed with their memories,” Phoebe interrupted again. “No matter how persuasive or sympathetic you are, they can’t tell you what they don’t remember. I’ll be able to undo whatever Victor did and help them recall things they don’t even realize they know.”

Emma frowned. “If you say so,” she agreed flatly.

Phoebe laughed again. “You haven’t been around us long enough yet, but you’ll be a believer soon enough. All right, I’m out of here. It’s a long way home for me. Louis has my number if you come up with anything, and I’ll let you know if we get any hits on the facial recognition.” She smiled and patted Emma’s shoulder. “Don’t look so discouraged, Emma. It always starts this way.”

She pushed her chair back into the table and looked over to where Louis was typing furiously. “Louis,” she called, waiting until he looked up, his expression a little vague, as if not quite in the now with the rest of them. “I’m out of here. I’ll call if anything pops.” He nodded and went immediately back to whatever he was doing, slapping away the hand of another vampire sitting next to him.