Page 123 of Dark Victory

Kit sighed. “I thought you might like to see this. It just came in. Courtesy of the Russian.”

Nick took the file, pleased, and opened the folder and saw a pile of glossies. The top shot was the exterior of the Carlisle, one of Manhattan’s most exclusive hotels, second home to the city’s top politicos as well as visiting heads of state and other foreign dignitaries. The Saudis especially liked it. It was a nice hotel. He flipped to the next photo. “I asked Rose to get on this.”

“It gets better,” Kit said.

Nick stared at the interior of the ten-thousand-dollar-a-night presidential suite, noting the time and date stamp on the upper right corner. It said October 20, 2008, 10:02:38 p.m. It had been taken just a few months ago, not the other night, when Lafarge had booked it.

The room was empty and he flipped to what seemed to be the exact same shot—except the time stamp on top showed it was two minutes later.

He leaned closer. He stared at the shadows in the barely lit room, but he was not mistaken. One of the shadows glowed, its demonic aura unmistakable. A demon had obviously just entered the living area of that suite.

Suddenly Jan walked into his office, her hair wet, wearing jeans and a sweater. She plopped a pizza carton down on his desk, along with a really cold bottle of Michelob Ultra. She glared at him and said to Kit, “I’m not coming in tomorrow. And don’t even think it. It’s not worth it.” She stalked out.

He smiled at her backside. He was clearly forgiven. “Thank you,” he called.

She didn’t answer.

Then he looked at Kit before turning the top photo over and inhaled. Kristin Lafarge was now standing beside the demonic shadow, but she was clearly visible—and completely naked.

He was not surprised. Demons needed to feast on sex and power nightly, even a demon posing as a part of the city’s establishment or a foreign dignitary. And a witch lover with some demonic blood was a pretty good pairing—except that the demon couldn’t get his jollies by finishing the evening off with murder. Not if he wanted to use Lafarge, as he obviously did. He flipped through the glossies, and saw Kristin in action in bed with the demonic shadow.

“She had a demon lover,” Kit said unnecessarily. “Someone who could afford one of the city’s most expensive hotel rooms.”

“I knew it.” He stood. “I bet she met with lover boy just before she went back in the past. Do you have those photos?”

Kit shook her head. “No.”

“Who paid for the room?”

Kit hesitated. “There’s a problem with the hotel records. We’re working on it.”

He was incredulous. “Who was registered there on October twentieth?”

Kit grimaced. “John Smith.”

His frustration knew no bounds. “Find out where she was and who she met on December ninth, damn it.” He’d known Lafarge could lead him to a major player, and now she was dead. “I want the demon who’s cruising our town, posing as one of the good guys,” he said. “Where is Rose?”

“She’s on her way back from a personal trip,” Kit said.

He stiffened. Kit was trying to block him from her thoughts. “She went to Scotland? For what?” he asked dangerously.

“She wouldn’t tell me.” Kit looked nervous.

“Get her in on this,” he said. “And, Mars? Tell Sam to stay away from her bad boy. I happen to know that Maclean isn’t one of us.”

Kit paled.

Blayde, Scotland

The summer of 1298

TABBY LANDED IN THE bedchamber she shared with Macleod. She took a long moment to recover from the leap, sitting in the center of the room on the floor. She was thrilled to be back. But as the room stopped spinning, as all the pain vanished, her senses returned and she knew instantly that he wasn’t present. He wasn’t at Blayde.

Her heart sank with dismay. Dread began. She reminded herself that even though he had gone to An Tùir-Tara, or had intended to go there, it was over now and he had survived, just as she had.

But where was he?

She couldn’t feel him anywhere. Tabby got to her feet, glancing outside. The sky was brilliantly blue and it was pleasantly warm. It was surely summertime. She had arrived with Macleod in the past on June 10, and his attempt to destroy Criosaidh at Melvaig had been five days later. She was worried now about which day she’d arrived back at their home.