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“We became partners just over five years ago.”
“And you knew him well?”
“Yes.” Or she thought she had. But the dawning of every day seemed to bring out more and more she hadn’t known.
Mary snorted softly. “We all heard the news reports. They were lovers, for Christ’s sake. Of course she knew him well.”
Lyssa shifted on her chair and angrily speared a piece of meat off her plate. The sudden viciousness behind the movement left Sam with no doubt that Lyssa was not the gentle soul she looked. She glanced at Gabriel, and noticed he was once again regarding her with that oddly intense expression.
She switched her gaze to Stephan. For some reason, she sensed it was important that this man, if no one else, believed her. “We were friends—good friends. Nothing more, nothing less.”
He nodded, his green gaze flickering briefly to Gabriel.
Lyssa jumped into the brief silence. “And were you also such good friends with his wife?”
Sam’s smile was grim. “No. She was a total bitch.” Who would probably get on extremely well with Lyssa.
The young blonde pursed her lips, eyes glittering with an odd mixture of jealousy and hate. And the way she held her mouth stirred a memory. They’d met before, though where, Sam had no idea.
“Jealousy speaks,” Martyn murmured.
She abandoned the pretense of eating and pushed her plate away. Mary, she noticed, was the only one who was really making any attempt to eat, shoveling in the food with a gusto that was surprising. While vampires could—despite the myths—consume food, they generally ate only a small amount; otherwise they’d simply regurgitate it. A vampire needed blood to survive, and while food wouldn’t kill them, it couldn’t sustain them, either. So why was Mary eating as though her life depended on it? Was s
he, perhaps, one of the newly turned, and not yet fully adjusted to life as one of the undead?
“My partner’s clone was trying to kill me. I shot him. End of story.” At least for now. She hesitated, sweeping her gaze across the four of them. “Why don’t we talk instead about this Sethanon Jack is supposedly involved with?”
Mary almost choked on her food. Martyn slapped her several times on the back, and then glanced at Stephan. As did Lyssa. It was almost as if they were looking for direction.
Which would make Stephan the leader of this little group, and maybe even of the Federation itself.
“What do you know of Sethanon?” he asked quietly.
“Only what Gabriel has told me.” She looked at the man in question. His hazel eyes gave little away, as usual. “Which was nothing much, believe me.”
Mary stood up quickly, her chair scraping across the wooden floor. “I think I’ve got something stuck in my throat. Please excuse me.”
Lyssa rose. “You okay? Let me help.”
Mary waved the offer away. “I’ll be fine. I won’t be a moment.”
Sam watched her walk out the door, and the sense of wrongness jumped about ten degrees. She shifted, trying to deny the urge to get up and run from this house. She was a police officer, for Christ’s sake. She’d been in a hell of a lot tougher situations than this.
So why did she feel that if they didn’t all move soon, they’d die, right where they sat? It didn’t make any sense. The house was well protected—the security cams and sensors near the front gate and front door were top of the range. No one would get near the house without Stephan being warned.
But what if the threat was from inside? What if the poisoner was about to escalate the game? Her gaze went to the doorway. Maybe she should follow Mary and see just how bad the food lodging in her throat was.
“I need to go to the restroom.” She gathered her bag off the back of her chair and stood.
Gabriel regarded her for a moment. Though there was no emotion in either his face or his eyes, she nevertheless sensed his concern. Or was it mistrust?
“Turn left out the door. The guest bathroom is the third on the right.”
She nodded her thanks and walked out. The hall beyond the two rooms was quiet. She turned left and headed for the bathroom. Once she found the correct door, she opened it and peered inside. No one was there. Frowning, she turned and listened, trying to get some feel for where Mary might have gone.
She could hear the men talking—not so much their words, but the gentle rhythm of their voices. Water cascaded to her left, a soft sound that failed to soothe. Above her head, a board creaked. Was someone walking up there, or was it just the inherent noise of an old house? She didn’t know, but the feeling of wrongness seemed to be coming from that direction.
She continued on down the hall until she found the stairs. Placing her foot on the bottom step, she paused and looked up. Nothing but shadows waited above—yet the sense of dread was getting fiercer. Something was very wrong, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that if she didn’t hurry, they would all die. Was there really danger upstairs, or was this weird certainty of death a sign that the stress of the last few days had finally pushed her over the edge? Probably the latter, she thought grimly.
