Christian ignored the sarcasm. His cell phone rang as he left the bar. He glanced at the caller ID. “Piers?”
“Things are just getting better and better,” Piers said.
Christian sighed. “What is it?”
“I just received a tip-off. Apparently the Walker is around.”
Christian’s fingers tightened on the phone. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what the man said. The Walker’s been seen, and he’s hunting.”
“Hunting what?”
“My informer didn’t have a clue, but he reckoned we’d want to know.”
Too right, he wanted to know. Unlike demons, the fae had little desire to come to earth. They tended to hold humans in total contempt, along with anything else that wasn’t pure fae, and the Walker was the worst. He was also an assassin, and had no right setting foot out of the Faelands. What the hell drew him so far from home?
Gabriel was dead, one of the seven probably involved, and now the Walker was abroad. Was it all tied in or mere coincidence? Coincidence seemed unlikely. He didn’t believe in coincidence.
“You still there?” Piers asked.
“Just thinking. You need to set up a meeting with the fae.”
Piers swore. “Yeah, I’d already decided that, but I hate fucking fairies.”
Christian agreed. At least you knew where you were with a demon. The fae were tricky. He ended the call.
There were a few people he could talk to who might have information. Or he could return to the office, but that held no appeal. He headed off into the night.
…
Dawn was close by the time he returned to CR International. Graham, as he’d expected, was still at the reception desk.
“Good night?” Graham asked as he came through the doors.
“No,” Christian growled. “A complete fucking waste of time.”
Graham raised an eyebrow, and Christian shrugged.
“Fae problems. I spent most of the night trying to find out just how big, but I don’t seem too popular. I couldn’t find anyone who might talk. They all seem to be avoiding me.”
“Is that significant?”
“Probably. Definitely. How about you?”
“I looked up that information you asked for, about Kathryn Collins.”
Christian forced his mind from the night’s findings or rather lack of them. “Aunt Kathy?”
“Yeah, Aunt Kathy. You’re not going to believe it. And you aren’t going to like it.”
Christian sighed. “Give me the file.”
Graham handed it over and Christian flicked through the contents. “You’re sure about this?”
Graham nodded.
Christian thought about Tara Collins. What was it she’d said she wanted? A normal life? He suspected he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t going to be pleased about this information. That was, if she ever got to the point of even believing it.
…
The young red-haired man, Graham, was at the reception desk when Tara came through the sliding doors of CR International at seven o’clock on Friday night. He looked up as she stopped in front of the desk and regarded her curiously. A slight sense of misgiving niggled at her. She ignored it and smiled with forced brightness.
“Hello,” she said, “I have an appointment with—”
“I remember. You can go right up.”
“I can?”
He nodded.
“Don’t you need to come?” she asked.
His lips curved in a smile, and he shook his head. “Not this time.”
Within minutes, she stood outside those huge double doors, her stomach churning, her pulse thundering.
It wasn’t entirely the thought of seeing Christian Roth again—though that came into it. The truth was, she was still shaky from her bout with Rule Number Two. One teensy sip of wine and she’d blacked out. She’d eventually woken four hours later, to find herself on a trolley in the local ER.
In the two days since, she’d almost managed to convince herself it had been some sort of allergic reaction to the alcohol. Almost but not quite, because she clearly remembered those few seconds before she’d blacked out. The wild exhilaration racing through her veins. It had felt so good. Even now, if she closed her eyes she could feel a residual buzz humming in her blood. That was so not normal.
She’d raised a hand to knock when the doors swung open and Christian stood before her.
Tonight he hadn’t bothered with a suit, but was wearing black cargo pants and a black button-down shirt. He looked lean and mean, and heart-stoppingly beautiful. Which was strange. Last time she’d been so sure he wasn’t handsome, now she couldn’t look away. She made a lingering sweep of his body before forcing her gaze to his face.
“You look different,” she said.
A flicker of amusement flashed in his silver gray eyes. “I’ve been eating well,” he murmured. “Come in.”
He stood back and gestured for her to enter. Tara hesitated, then took a deep breath and stepped past. She stood just inside the door and listened as it clicked shut behind her. “Right, shall we get on with this?”
“First, can I get you a drink?” he asked.