The Thorndykes 1: Dispossessed (8 page)

Jay tried to shrug and nod, but Lucille was more than “that woman.” She was one of his kind. She needed his protection. No, fuck it, he wanted more of her. “It didn’t stop me coming to check, did it? How were they?”

“The family?” Jay liked that Pete didn’t use any names. Better that way. That family had been close to detection by some very nasty people. Today they could have been lying dead. But they weren’t, so he should feel good about that. Shouldn’t he?

“They’re fine. Scared, worried about what lies ahead, but fine. We’ll extract their finances and make sure they get it all.”

“Great. Let me know if you need help.” Clearing up the possessions was a snap compared to moving the family. Routine, almost.

He crossed the lawn at the front of the house, registering the soft springiness of the turf, another expensive luxury in this place. Someone stood waiting by the helipad, so he scanned the stranger’s mind. Just a guest out for a stroll, the normal, chaotic mind of a mortal with no idea of the power he could harness. Mortals were lazy or focused outside themselves, or they didn’t have time to learn. Except for a few, who’d realized psi powers were available to all, depending on the level of the gift.

Nah
. Jay paused and spread his senses. Sleeping people, some amazingly still playing after the ball he’d set up last night. Nobody he considered a threat.

Jesus, all his fucking life he’d fought this insidious menace, the prejudice against those of his kind. A few mortals knew about them, and some resented them. People had always been afraid or jealous of others who looked the same as them but weren’t. Sometimes Jay thought it might be easier if Talents just admitted they existed. What could they do?

An answer came immediately. A lot. Threats easily turned into action, and while vampires were infinitely more powerful than mortals, they had their weaknesses during the daytime, and there weren’t many Talents, when compared to the number of mortals. A vampire at the height of his or her powers faced with a small army didn’t stand to win anything except a swift death.

Jay carried on walking, trying to detect anything untoward until a disturbance trembled through his shields. Just a twinge. Not something he could place or force, and certainly he couldn’t pinpoint a direction, but distress. From about a mile away.

A shame that telepathy didn’t have a built-in compass, but he could eliminate a few areas. That left…a fuckload of ground to travel. But he’d do it. Something wasn’t right. He walked farther out, hands loosely by his sides, wishing he’d brought a gun instead of the slim blade he always carried as a matter of course.

Without warning, a Talent communicated with him. Male, and someone he couldn’t recall contacting him before. A stranger.
“There’s a copse of trees. One big maple.”
An image flashed into his mind, of a configuration of branches, one twisted.

“I know it.”

“Come now.”

Chapter Five

The voice abruptly shut off, and try as hard as he could, Jay couldn’t connect with it again. No help for it. He quickened his pace, ran toward the area the unknown voice spoke of.

Was he running into a trap? Should he call for backup? He shot a message back to his agent.
“Here. Now. Run.”
This person was another fucking vampire, so as weak as he was during daylight hours, but that was relative. They were also trained fighters.

Perhaps Pete would bring a weapon. Just to make sure, he corrected himself and received the incredulous,
“You’re not armed?”
in return.

Jay concentrated on running.

He reached the copse, saw a flash of color where there should be none. The blue of faded denim. A white top, maybe a shirt.

One man slumped on the ground, lying on his back. Blood soaked into the earth. Even in his mortal state, Jay could smell it—a heated, thick aroma permeating the air. Another man leaned over him, got up at Jay’s near noiseless approach, and turned around.

Blue
. Jay recognized the Talent’s imprint now that he was closer, and Blue wasn’t doing anything to hide his presence.

Jay didn’t stop to think. The man on the ground had called him, but Blue had intercepted the message. This bastard was trouble, and Talent or no, he had to suffer for it.

Jay sprang, lashing out with one fist as he got within reach, but Blue sidestepped. That was why Jay hadn’t used his feet. He’d have lost his balance. So the Talent knew how to fight. He tried again, landed a punch on the base of Blue’s rib cage.

With an inhuman roar, Blue surged forward, eyes glowing red, hands out, wicked claws extending them.
Oh shit
. A shape-shifter didn’t lose his powers during the daytime. Jay was so screwed.

Not that it would stop him trying. He recalled what he’d told Lucille sometime last night—
”Not all Talents are good”
—and cursed himself for not taking care of the problem then. “Are you impervious to bullets?”

“They don’t hurt me when I’m in my other form.” Scales rippled over Blue’s skin but didn’t stay. Blue had just given a demonstration. Dragon.

“So what does?” Jay went for a kick this time, too fast for Blue to catch and twist.

Blue raised his brows in an expression of exasperation. He stepped aside and back. “Shit, and I thought all I had to do was show up. Jay, don’t you know me?”

“Nope.” Maybe he could get Blue to shape-shift, and then he could try for the vulnerable parts, the underbelly and between the claws where the skin was relatively softer.

“Nathan Beaumont.” Blue watched him warily. “You won’t recognize the first name, but you might remember the second. Sir George Beaumont, terror of all London, at your service.”

He was speaking English.
English
English. Blue—Nathan—dropped his mental shields and the fog he’d used to obscure his mind.

Without the Midwest accent, the mask, and the obfuscation, Jay knew him. His memories spun back, way back to when he was first converted, when he’d torn up London. Boxing the watch, drinking daffy at a gaming hell, testing the whores in Covent Garden, making them perform like ladies—that had been Beaumont’s idea.

Shock arced through him. He lowered his hands. “Fuck.”

“Yes, well.” The American accent returned. “I’ve just joined the Thorndykes, but when I saw you, it was like walking into the past. I tried to get you alone, but you took that woman away. I thought you’d come back once you’d fed.”

Jay gaped. His thoughts whirled, scenes and memories playing in his mind. He’d seen wars since then, attended more wild parties than he could count, traveled the world. This man brought him back to where it all began. “Where have you been?”

“Here and there. Mostly here.” Blue glanced around. “We’ll do the rest later. I need help. Someone’s hurt this boy bad.”

Jay forced his considerations into obedience. Nathan was right. Blood pooled beneath the youth who lay on the ground. He was barely breathing. “What happened?” He sensed the Talent inside the unconscious body. Nathan was inside this man’s mind, helping him to survive, moving his chest, willing him to stay alive. Jay withdrew, shuddering. “He’s near death. What happened?”

“Silver bullet.” Nathan moved to the boy’s other side. The man was tall, early twenties maybe, with a shock of close-cropped red hair. Hair the shade of the long tresses he’d run his fingers through the night before. “You know him? Does he live around here?”

Realization slammed into him with the force of a rocket. “Oh, fuck. It’s Drew Parker.”

BREAKFAST WAS A little overproduced. While she’d been disappointed to wake alone, Jay’s cook arrived with an array of dishes, enough to feed all her lunch guests and probably some more. She sent away everything except the coffee and cereal. “His other guests need feeding.”

“There’s a pile of stuff in the public dining room,” the woman said. She was about forty, hair tied strictly back from her face, a few blonde wisps that had slipped out of the clip framing her cheeks. “You can eat there if you like.”

She didn’t like. The implied intimacy might be too much for her this morning. She smiled. “I’m Lucille Parker. Are you from around here?”

“Houston,” the woman said shortly. “I work when Mr. Trevino has one of his parties.” She glanced at the plastic-covered garments she’d just draped over the curve at the end of the bed. “I brought spare clothes. He guessed at your size, but jeans and T-shirt, he said, and they’re not critical. If they don’t fit, pick up the phone, dial nine, and ask for a different size.”

“Does he do this a lot?” She almost snorted. Of course he did. This routine looked well established.

The woman shrugged. “Yes. He likes lame ducks, but he prefers his women dressed and off the premises by the time he gets back. I’m surprised there’s only one of you.”

Pain pierced Lucille’s heart. Naturally he was old and experienced. He’d have had lots of women, and he told her he traveled alone. What else had he said? Oh yes, he was exclusive for as long as it lasted, even if it was just one day.

Twelve hours, more like.

Still, she couldn’t forget his prompt action when she’d started bleeding. She owed him for that.

A pack of plain white underwear sat accusingly on the vanity where the woman had dumped it.
Obviously not the friendly type
. The breakfast, at least, was welcome, and she was so fucking eating before she left. “I’ll eat, shower, and get going.”

“Go to the main hall. There’ll be a driver waiting for you. Don’t take too long. Jay doesn’t want you here when he returns.”

He’d been so kind, such a great lover, and now this. The brush-off of brush-offs. Lucille wondered if he’d even remember her name soon. After the things he’d said last night—that he wanted to see her again, that he enjoyed her—he must have changed his mind. Wealthy and spoiled, probably jaded from years of doing what he wanted with whomever he wanted.

Nevertheless he’d done another thing right. He’d helped the unnamed family to safety. Lucille might not know much, but she knew about the Thorndykes, even had the emergency number. She just hadn’t realized there was a station so close. Bastards did good deeds all the time, she reminded herself.

After swallowing her disappointment along with her cereal, Lucille didn’t linger in the luxury shower or play with the expensive toiletries. She’d lost her enthusiasm for that, and the longer she stayed in this place, the more she felt like a whore. Well, not quite that, but someone who’d been used, for sure.

She called Missy, but her phone was switched off. Probably still enjoying the hell out of her actor. That was what Lucille should have done. Enjoyed Jay and then left. Not allowed him so close.

Lucille didn’t want to wear the borrowed clothing, but she had no choice. At least she had clean underwear. She hadn’t been looking forward to donning yesterday’s, even for the short journey home. She’d expected to arrive garbed in her approximation of a Regency lady, the dress tied up or maybe rough stitches just to hold it together. Then all the neighbors would know where she’d been and that she’d stayed out all night. Not a pretty thought.

She wouldn’t keep the things the woman had brought her. If Jay didn’t want the clothes back, she’d donate them to a thrift store.

After roughly drying her hair, she pushed the mass behind her shoulders, stuffed her belongings in one of the bags the clothes had come in, tied it off, and prepared to leave.

My, this house was big. As she traversed the seemingly endless hallways, she must have passed a dozen closed doors. At another time she’d have loved to explore them. Today, sick at heart at her gullibility, she walked past them, then back again until she found an elegant curving staircase leading down to the main hallway.

At least her driver wasn’t wearing some kind of stupid-ass uniform. The space was unoccupied except for her and the driver. She glanced around, frowning. “Have the other guests gone home?”

“They’re in the public rooms. Mr. Trevino has a suite for entertaining in the other wing.”

Lucille nearly scrunched her nose and told him what he could do with his wing. But this man hadn’t done her any harm. He merely witnessed her humiliation as the brusque woman had in Jay’s bedroom. Was it even his own bedroom, or had he taken her to one he kept for his women? She had no idea. The room was quietly neutral; that way, it would suit a woman or a man, and she hadn’t seen anything overtly personal. However, she hadn’t pried, opened any of the drawers or the boxes neatly ranked on the vanity. Maybe he was just a tidy man.

Not that she cared, she told herself. Except this morning she felt cheap, where last night, she’d been convinced she’d met someone really special, someone she could share her thoughts with. More than a lover—a friend.

Nothing of the kind. He wanted to fuck, and she’d obliged. Not that she’d come out of it empty-handed. She’d enjoyed the night too.

In the black limo with the darkened back windows, she gave in to her despair. How stupid was she? He’d left so nobody would know he’d disgraced himself by fucking a local girl. Arriving like this wouldn’t help her, though. Everyone would know she’d been with him.

The car purred, and inside the engine sounded so soft she had to stare out the windows to remind herself they were moving.

At the first sign of habitation, she rapped on the window. It slid back. “Let me out here,” she said. “I could use the walk.”

“Mr. Trevino sent orders for me to take you to your home,” the driver said.

“Fuck Mr. Trevino.” Lucille got out and took great care not to slam the door behind her. “And you can tell him I said so.”

The man didn’t argue. He merely drove away, and a few minutes later, passed her traveling in the opposite direction, toward the ranch.

That was it, then. She’d had her little adventure. Time to get her life back on track. All he wanted was a fuck, and he hadn’t promised her anything really, just made assumptions she’d gone along with. She guessed she owed him for saving her from the silver, but he’d caused it in the first place by binding her. The housekeeper was probably changing the sheets by now. When he got home, the staff would have eradicated all evidence of her presence.