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That, however, was a long time ago.
“That you?” Tucker said, looking over his shoulder as Doyle realized he had picked up the photo, and now his finger was tracing over the glass.
“It’s nothing,” he said, hurrying out of the room. “Come on.” He started up the stairs to the next level. A few moments later, Tucker caught up with him.
“You never talk about that.”
“And if you think I’m going to start now, you don’t have the brains to be my partner.”
Silence hung heavy, then Tucker pushed open one of the doors. A guest room, apparently, as it looked as if no one had lived in it for years. They tried the other door, and Doyle let out a low whistle. “Here we go.”
“It’s a little girl’s room,” Tucker said, looking around at the pink bedspread topped with antique rag dolls.
“His ward. Tasha. And she’s not young. Body stopped aging at seventeen, but the girl’s got centuries on you.”
Tucker picked up one of the dolls as he nodded. “Right. I remember hearing about that. He violated the Concordat when he turned her. She wasn’t in her right mind after some head injury on her farm or something.”
“He knew he shouldn’t, and he turned her anyway. Almost got them both staked. Shoulda been, but fucking Tiberius granted them a pardon, and the damn PEC didn’t challenge it.”
“Was that what—I mean, you guys used to be friends. Was it because of Tasha that you’re not?”
Doyle shook his head. “No. That was later. I knew the girl. He watched over her. Treated her like a daughter. Kept her out of trouble and helped her keep the darkness down. But I knew from the beginning he’d never manage to keep her muzzled forever. There’s a reason children and the unstable aren’t turned. Fucking vamps are dangerous enough as it is. Add another layer of instability to the mix, and that is some seriously bad shit.”
“You think he took her on the run with him?”
“I do.” Lucius Dragos might be a prick, but he’d sworn to protect Tasha. And if Doyle knew the vamp—and he did—he also knew that Luke wouldn’t break his word.
“They’ve surely skipped town already.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. A Seer’s working off the signet ring. With luck we’ll have a location soon.”
“Dragos must know by now he lost it. He’ll know we’d use a Seer. And he’d get the hell out of town at least until the aura fades.”
“Maybe,” Doyle repeated, then slowly smiled. “Or maybe he’s playing a much longer game.”
“What are you talking about?”
Doyle didn’t answer. Instead, he met his partner’s eyes and grinned.
ChapterEight
Luke cast his gaze around the cavernous room, lit only by the glow of the monitors that made up the security feed. Right now, all was clear. That was good. But the clock was ticking down. Doyle would learn where he was soon enough, and there were still things to be done.
Despite the need for action, he didn’t yet reach for the telephone. Instead, he closed his eyes and leaned back in the leather-upholstered desk chair, his thoughts not on his plans but on Sara.
Sara.
Were it not for her, he would have no qualms about what he was about to do. He knew how to disappear, and he knew better than most of his kind how much changed over the course of the centuries. He could wait, and when he emerged from hiding, no one would care about the events of tonight. He would be free to come and go as he pleased.
And Tasha would still be alive and safe.
Sara, however, would be dead and buried.
The thought burned inside him. For the last twenty years, she had been his constant. First as her sworn protector, later as a woman whose vibrancy and passion aroused his senses even as much as the way the moonlight played across the hollows of her cheeks or the honey-gold of her hair.
He knew her grief, her dedication, her resolve. And, yes, he loved her. But before tonight, he never thought he could have her. Now, to have touched her on the very night that he must run…
Well, Fate truly was the cruelest bitch of all.
