“Hi, Nigel,” Mike said. “We’re in one piece, don’t worry. Superintendent Penderley and his people have examined our heads for the last two hours.”
Nigel didn’t crack a smile. He said slowly, never looking away from her, “Master Nicholas said you’d been shot at. He did not say, however, that you were covered in blood and glass, looking like you’d been dropped into a war zone.”
“I’m fine, Nigel, really. It’s all on the surface, not like Nicholas’s poor Beemer.”
“No, Mike, you are anything but fine, and Master Harry will be here in an hour. You will go with Daisy. She’ll draw you a hot bath and help you get cleaned up. I will handle Master Nicholas.” To her surprise, Nigel took her hand, held it tightly for a moment. “I am so relieved you are both all right. I understand you shot down the drone that attacked you.”
“She did indeed, Nigel, and a brilliant job she did of it. When Daisy is through with her, I would appreciate your looking at her. She has a cut on the back of her head. No stitches necessary, but it does need cleaning.”
“Unnecessary. Daisy will tend to her nicely. Do as she tells you, Mike, and all will be well. Ah, yes, drinks will be served promptly at half six, dinner at seven.”
Once Mike and Daisy had disappeared down the second-floor hallway, Nicholas said to Nigel, “We will talk while you get me ready for my father.” He lowered his voice, “We don’t know what’s going on yet, but it isn’t good. I believe there are ears everywhere. We all have to take care now.”
Mike didn’t mind a bit being in Daisy’s very kind, competent hands. She was a woman about the age of the Gorgeous Rebecca, but there all comparisons ended. She was stout, her hair in crimped curls around her face, but like Mike’s mother, Daisy had a brilliant smile and lovely white teeth.
By six fifteen, Mike was dressed in her favorite little black dress, pressed by Daisy, her hair shiny and clean and free of glass. “No need for Mr. Nigel,” Daisy had said as she’d lightly touched an antibiotic on the cut and covered it with a Band-Aid, luckily hidden beneath her hair.
Daisy handed her the heels she’d packed with the dress and stood back. “Goodness, you’re a tall one. But it’s perfect you are, Ms. Mike.”
Perfect? Like that would ever happen, but still it sounded nice. Daisy left her sitting on a chaise longue, researching drones on her iPad. A ton of information, none of it particularly helpful. Ah, she found something else that was fascinating. She looked up at a soft knock on the door, then Nicholas stepped in. His hair was damp from his shower. As usual, he looked James Bond picture-perfect, tall, dark, garbed in an incredible black Armani jacket and pants that fit him to perfection. She wanted to kick him and jump him.
“Don’t tell me these came out of your carryall?”
“Well, no, Nigel picked them up yesterday, he told me.”
“On sale, I suppose?”
“He didn’t say.” He stepped back as she rose, looked her up and down. “You look as sharp as you did on our memorable night in Venice. But I do miss the boots with your black dress, not that the black heels don’t make your legs look a mile long—and give me ideas.”
She didn’t want to kick him now, only jump him.
He walked to her, lifted her hair. “Nice Band-Aid. No more shards in your hair?”
“All good. Daisy checked me out thoroughly.”
He leaned down, breathed in her hair. “Jasmine. You smell like my mother.” He grinned, tapped her chin. “You look lovely.”
She shook her head, cupped his face in her hand. “Nicholas, do we have to whisper when we meet your father downstairs?”
“No. I’ve taken care of things, at least for tonight. Don’t worry. My father is due in ten minutes. What are you reading?”
She shrugged. “A bit about drones, until this caught my eye. Interpol has an orange notice out for a killer operating in Europe. He’s a serial, Nicholas. They don’t normally get serial killers moving across the borders. They’re calling him Dracula, and that’s what caught my eye. Whoever it is, he is preying on Eastern Europeans mostly, lots of Romanians, in several countries. He has a rather horrific MO to match his nickname. He kills them with blunt-force trauma to the head, then exsanguinates them. There are even bite marks on their necks. The whole Dracula deal. Creepy.”
“Very creepy.”
She studied his face. “You already knew about this, didn’t you?”
“I believe I saw something from Interpol, yes.”
“When? You didn’t have time. You never sleep. I know, you’re the vampire they’re searching for.”
Nicholas said, “Not me, I never had a taste for blood. I can see this fascinates you, so why don’t you give Menard a call? I’m sure he’ll have all the inside scoop.”
“Yes, perhaps I will. It’s not every day you run into Dracula roaming free with his fangs out and bloodied. It’s nice having a friend in Interpol. Pierre’s like you, he never sleeps. Hey, maybe he’s the vampire.”
Nicholas laughed, then grew serious. “I spoke to Adam. He hasn’t had any luck identifying the drone from the assassination this morning. Penderley called to say he has nothing on the one you shot down, either. They’re taking it apart, piece by piece, but it’s not one of theirs, nor ours. A phantom drone.”
“Then it stands to reason someone has their own private arsenal.”
“Add that to the list of who’s selling—and buying—drones on the black market. And I’m still trying to figure out exactly how they knew where to find us, but I know someone’s listening to us. I scrambled the call with Adam, not to mention our plane has incredible defenses. Nigel swept the house for listening devices and found nothing. With any luck we can get an idea of what’s going on from my father at dinner. I think that’s why he agreed to dinner so quickly. He wanted privacy to talk.”
He found himself once again touching her shiny hair. She’d scared him today, again. He could still see her leaning out the shattered window, firing up at the drone. “I’m tired of seeing you bloody, Agent Caine.”
She laughed. “Me, too. I promise not to jump in front of a bullet unless I have to protect you. It’s what I promised your mother.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Harry Drummond arrived promptly at half six and immediately went to Mike, wrapped her in a tight bear hug, then turned to his son. “I’m so glad you’re both all right. We will get to the bottom of this, I swear it.” He studied Nicholas a moment, patted him on the back, then nodded. After his un-English show of affection, he accepted a Scotch from Nigel and toasted them.
Mike grinned at him and raised her glass of wine. She knew Nicholas would look very much like his father in thirty years, tall and straight, dark eyes burning with intelligence. And endless curiosity, like his son.
Harry looked around the long, narrow living room and slowly nodded. “I haven’t stayed here for a while, not since I signed Drummond House to you when you turned twenty-five. When I’m up, I stay at Clapton House. I like what you’ve done, Nicholas. Updated it to the new century, but not quite.” He pointed to the heavy golden draperies and the exquisite Regency marquetry table Nicholas’s mother had picked out years before. He nodded to the three Turner paintings on the opposite wall. “Old friends.”
He turned back to his son. “Do you have any idea who tried to kill you today?”
Directly to the point. Nicholas loved that about his father. “No, sir, we don’t. Nor do we know why or how they knew where to hit us. Which is almost as important as the attack itself. Drones are easily summoned, but I’m hard-pressed to think someone has been sitting outside Farrow-on-Gray simply waiting for us to leave. The attack felt much too coordinated. So we’re hoping you can tell us what’s happening, Father. I know there’s more to this than we’ve been told.”