Page 97 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
So the man standing before her with a gun pointed in her face was not much of a surprise. Or much of threat, for that matter.
“Which apartment?” the dark-haired man growled, holding up a drawing of a young woman.
Ursula inspected the drawing. Quite good, she thought. The artist had talent.
“Two-oh-four,” she replied calmly, pointing to the end of the hall. “But she’s not home. Hasn’t been in a few days.”
The man stepped forward in a menacing way, taut and wild-eyed, but Ursula merely raised her brows at him, refusing to step back and let him in her apartment. Clearly he didn’t expect that, as he blinked at her, confused.
“I don’t know what your business is with her, and I don’t care,” she said bluntly, staring down the barrel of the ominous silver gun. “But I do care if you get blood on the carpet. Bloodstains don’t come out.” Ursula knew from firsthand experience exactly which fabrics and materials bloodstains could be removed from. “So don’t get any blood on the carpet, got it?”
The man blinked at her again, and Ursula shut the door in his face.
Then, with a better idea, she reopened the door. “She works at the little bookstore on Baixada Viladecols—Antiquarian, something like that. Six days a week. You’ll find her there.”
Then she shut the door in his face once again.
She waited a few minutes, until the sound of his receding footsteps had faded off into the evening, then picked up the phone and dialed a number she had written down a month ago and stuck to her refrigerator with a magnet. The number had been broadly advertised on television and radio, in all the papers internationally and locally, even in the gossip rags Ursula liked to read. It was a reward hotline for any information leading to the capture of the notorious terrorist who’d killed the pope, the man known only by the name Caesar.
Ursula knew the man at her door wasn’t Caesar. But with those midnight black eyes, that dark hair, high cheekbones, and sharp, shiny teeth, he sure looked damn close. He was one of those creatures, she was sure of it.
And she knew where he was headed. That kind of information could be very, very lucrative indeed.
“I have to go out for a little while.”
Obviously startled, Ember looked up at Christian from her chair on the back patio, and covered her eyes to shade them from the setting sun. He’d found her here, staring past the rose garden into the dark line of the forest beyond, with her legs pulled up under her chin, pensive and silent.
“Oh. Okay. See you later.”
Christian frowned at this response. No “Where are you going?” No “Can I come with you?” It didn’t seem like her.
Then again, she’d been acting strange all day. He’d gone to the bedroom after his call with Leander in the morning to find her already showered and dressed, standing at the windows with her arms hanging loosely at her sides, breathing deeply and staring off into space. Much like she was doing now. Senses prickling with the certainty something was wrong, he opened his nose, sniffing for the cool, bittersweet tang of sadness, the sour acidity of fear, the telltale heat and spice of anger.
What he smelled was only the natural perfume of her skin; warmed vanilla and orange blossom. He breathed a sigh of relief, crossed to her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.
“Are you hungry? I can have some food brought out—”
She startled him by looking up into his eyes and blurting in a low, terse voice, “I’m only hungry for you, Christian. Always, only you.”
She reached up, grasped his face, and pulled him down for a fevered and demanding kiss. He broke away with a groan when he felt the all-too-familiar flash of heat to his groin, and chuckled, pulling her out of her chair and wrapping his arms around her. He nuzzled his face into her neck, inhaling the clean, woodsy scent of her hair.
“I’m glad to hear it. But I’ll never get anything done if you keep kissing me like that,” he said, smiling.
“How long will you be gone?” she asked into his shirt, her voice still low.
He stroked his hands over her hair and down her back, trailing his nose down her throat to the warm, steady pulse at the base of her neck. “Just an hour or two.”
He’d arranged a late meeting with the manager at his local bank; he was going to finalize the paperwork that would transfer all his liquid assets to a trust in Ember’s name. He meant what he’d told her: she’d be well taken care of, for the rest of her life. That was the one thing of which he was determined to make sure.
She tipped her head back and looked at him, really looked at him, her eyes shadowed and intense, her gaze lingering over his face as if trying to memorize his features. Slanting sunlight caught in her lashes and tipped them fairy dust gold.
Somewhere in the garden, a bird began to trill a song, notes that rose and fell and rose again, haunting and sweet.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” she whispered, staring deep into his eyes. “Don’t take too long.”
Christian frowned at her, certain there was something he was missing, some hidden meaning beneath those words that her tone and the haunting birdsong hinted at, but then she broke into one of her brilliant, heartbreaking smiles, and his heart melted like a pat of butter on a hot scone.
She kissed him again and then pushed him away, still smiling. “Go on, then. Go get your work done. And when you get back…” she cocked a seductive eyebrow, “we’ll have dinner in bed.”
