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The door opened and Connor strode inside. "How's it going?"
"Boring," Phineas muttered. "Casimir needs to get his act together, so we can kick some ass again."
Connor arched a brow. "When is the last time ye practiced yer fencing? If ye want to kick ass, ye need to stay prepared."
"You want to rumble, Scotty?" Phineas sat up. "I'll take you on. Name the time and place of your humiliating defeat."
Connor's mouth twitched. "Three A.M., the back garden, claymores. The practice ones, of course. I doona wish to do ye permanent harm."
Phineas smirked. "Bring it on, dude. I've been practicing with Jack."
Connor shrugged. "I can beat Jack with one hand tied behind my back."
"Ha!" Phineas scoffed. "I heard Jack cut your little ponytail off with his foil."
Connor chuckled, then turned to Robby. "How about you? Ye want to fight the winner? Which would be me, of course."
Phineas snorted.
"I'm busy." Robby frowned at the monitor.
"He's romancing a hot babe," Phineas whispered loudly.
"Piss off," Robby muttered.
Connor's eyes narrowed. "Are ye serious? Ye're no' involved with a mortal, are ye?"
"None of yer business." Robby typed a few more words, then changed his mind and deleted them.
"It is our business if ye intend to tell her our secrets," Connor grumbled.
Robby glanced at him. "Maybe ye enjoy being alone for yer entire miserable existence, but I'd like to find someone to share my life with."
Connor groaned. "Another hopeless romantic. And for yer information, I doona consider myself miserable."
Phineas snorted. "Show of hands. Who thinks Connor's a miserable old gasbag?" He waved his hand in the air while giving Robby a pointed look.
Robby smiled and lifted his hand.
Connor rolled his eyes. "I could insult ye both now, but I'll just wait till I have ye pinned to the ground, begging for mercy."
"We'll see who does the begging, bro," Phineas said.
Robby drummed his fingers on the desk. He didn't know what age he should claim. "How old would ye say I look?"
"I'd say...thirty-three." Phineas winced when Robby made a face. "I meant thirty. Not a day over thirty."
"How old were ye when Angus changed you?" Connor asked.
"I was twenty-seven." Robby gave Phineas an annoyed look. "Life was tougher back then. Everyone aged faster."
"Just make up a number, bro. How would she ever know the truth?"
Robby groaned inwardly. Sooner or later he would have to tell her the truth. "I'll say I'm twenty-nine." It sounded better than thirty, and he wouldn't appear too much older than Olivia.
Phineas rose to his feet and stretched. "Well, I've got to grab a few Bleers and meet Stan."
"I'll go with you," Connor offered.
The two Vamps strode from the office. Peace, at last. Robby went to work, finishing his message to Olivia.
Olivia arrived at work an hour early so she could continue her extracurricular research. She was still scouring the Internet, looking for any reference to Robert Alexander MacKay. The day before, she'd e-mailed MacKay S&I for information. All day long she'd checked her e-mail, anxious for a response. Nothing.
She'd called the warden at Leavenworth, and he agreed to send her a list of everyone who'd had contact with Otis Crump. The fax arrived in the afternoon, and she and J.L. had examined the list. The only people who had visited Otis were Harrison and herself. A number of people had mailed letters to him: his mother, his brother, and a few female admirers. The mother lived over a hundred miles away in Missouri. J.L. offered to go with her the next weekend to interview the woman. All Olivia needed to do was ask the lady if she was sending her apples. She would instantly know whether the mother was telling the truth.
Olivia downloaded her e-mail while she stashed her handbag in the drawer. Her breath caught when she saw the response from MacKay S&I. She clicked on it.
Dear O. Sotiris,
Thank you for contacting us. MacKay S&I is a premier investigative firm and provider of security for select clients worldwide. Founded in 1927, its headquarters are located in London and Edinburgh.
Robert Alexander MacKay is one of our most valued employees. He's an expert in firearms, martial arts, and fencing. He has recently served as head of security for Jean-Luc Echarpe, and is currently providing security for Romatech Industries in White Plains, New York. Age: 29. Height: 6'2". Weight: 220.
We would be hard pressed to find anyone as trustworthy as Robert MacKay.
Olivia sat back and read the last line again. It seemed almost identical to something Robby had told her on Patmos. She checked the e-mail address: info@mackays&i.com.
She read the entire message again. It was a favorable report where Robby was concerned, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd written the last line himself. In fact, he could have written the whole damned thing.
His grandfather owned the organization. He could have passed her request straight to Robby. She gritted her teeth. Dammit. Now she felt like a fool. Did he really think she wouldn't figure this out?
She hit Reply, then typed a message. With a grim smile, she hit Send. Take that, Robby.
All day long she checked for a response. Nothing.
By the time she left work that evening, she was beginning to doubt her initial conclusion. If Robby was behind this, he would have responded by now.
Robby woke that evening in his small room in Romatech's basement. One whole wing of the complex's basement had recently been transformed into guest rooms for the Undead. He quickly dressed, grabbed a bottle of synthetic blood from his minifridge, and dashed up to the MacKay security office. While his e-mail downloaded, he drank from the bottle.
He smiled when an e-mail from O. Sotiris appeared. He clicked on it, and his smile faded.
We regret to inform you that we may have wasted your time. The Robert MacKay we're looking for doesn't quite match up to your specifications. We believe he is older and quite a bit heftier than the one you mentioned.
"What?" He didn't look older than twenty-nine. And he sure as hell wasn't fat. He punched Reply.
Robert MacKay is in peak physical condition!
He clicked on Send, then winced. What if Olivia had figured out that he'd sent the original message? She could have laid a trap, and like a fool, he'd jumped right into it.
He finished his bottle, glaring at the screen. She'd probably left work for the day. He'd have to wait till tomorrow night for her response.
"Damn it to hell." Sometimes being a vampire was a bloody nuisance.
The next evening he dashed upstairs to check his e-mail. Sure enough, she'd responded that morning.
We at the FBI are willing to concede that Robert MacKay is in excellent physical condition. However, we are experiencing some major concerns regarding his mental faculties. He may not be the brightest lightbulb in the pack.
"What?" Robby slammed his bottle of synthetic blood on the desk. He hit Reply.
I'm smart enough to know when you're toying with me, you saucy wench!
He hit Send. "Take that, Olivia."
The next evening, he rushed to the computer. She'd responded to his last message from a new e-mail address that looked like a personal one. That was a good sign. It was Friday night, so maybe she was planning to correspond with him from her home. Maybe he wouldn't have to wait so long for her reply.
He clicked on her response.
And I'm smart enough to know when I'm being punked! Admit who you are, Robby. This wench is too saucy for you.
He snorted. She'd known all along it was him. A grin tugged at his mouth. What a clever lass she was. It was a good thing she'd moved from her business address to her personal one. His grin widened. Their correspondence was about to get very personal.
In her tiny apartment in Kansas City, Olivia lounged on the love seat in her pajamas. A half-eaten bowl of soup rested on the coffee table in front of her, next to an open package of saltines, her notes, and her laptop. The television was on, tuned to a news channel with the volume turned down to a soft drone.
The three letters from Robby sat on the cushion next to her. She'd brought them home so she could open them in private. She spread the letters out and scolded herself for waiting so long to open them. There was nothing sinister inside. Robby had written that he missed her, and he'd given her his phone number. Simple and to the point. No flowery purple prose with claims of everlasting love. No threatening remarks that indicated an alliance with Otis.
