Dark Lover

She felt herself still. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“He’s living here?”

“Bought an eighteen-million-dollar home, right on Park Avenue.” Nick smiled at her.

Sam was shocked. Why would he come to New York? She walked over to a window and stared down at the pedestrians and traffic on Hudson Street. “When did this happen?”

“Last January. A month or so after your little visit to Loch Awe.”

“His deciding to live here has nothing to do with me,” Sam said without thinking.

“I didn’t say it did.” Nick eyed the folder. “That is interesting reading, by the way.”

Sam folded her arms, her instincts going into overdrive. When she’d arrived at his home on Loch Awe, he’d been expecting her. How was that possible?

“I was wonderin’how long it would take ye to find me.” He was amused.

She smiled coldly. “In your dreams.”

He had poured her champagne, ignoring his other guests and his Playboy centerfold girlfriend. “Welcome to my lair. ”

“Your father was the wolf.”

“Like father, like son,” he murmured, his gaze dipping to her cleavage.

“In the mood for a proposition?”

“I’ve been in the mood since we first met.”

There’s no way he’d come to New York to pursue her. No woman would ever be worth that kind of effort for him and she was sure of it. He’d come to town for other reasons. The Duisean? She wouldn’t put it past him.

“You’re an amazingly striking and terribly seductive woman,” Nick said thoughtfully. “And you know it. Coupled with that is your power as a Slayer.”

Sam stared at her boss. “Keep up the flattery and I might become frightened.”

He grinned. “Nothing scares you, Sam.”

He was right.

Nick added, “I can’t write off his arrival in New York as a coincidence. He’s dangerous and ruthless.” Nick picked up the folder. “But you’re dangerous and ruthless, too.”

Her interest was piqued. “So he’s my objective.”

“If he has the wrong intentions, I’m counting on you to neutralize him.”

“Goody.” She fingered the folder. “What’s in there?”

“Some interesting coincidences.”

“I’m a Rose. According to our Wisdom, there’s no such thing.”

Nick smiled. “I know. He’s been flagged by our agency, but he’s also on Scotland Yard’s watch list. Do you recall the theft of that van Gogh in Milan two years ago?”

“No, I don’t.”

“The painting just vanished into thin air in the middle of a working day. According to a clerk there, no one from the public was inside the gallery that morning and no alarms went off. But Maclean had been a visitor earlier in the week.”

Sam paced thoughtfully, tingling with some excitement. “He leapt into the gallery and leapt out with the painting. Gee, I wonder if it survived traveling at the speed of light.”

“Guess who is rumored to now have it?” Sam waited and Nick said, “Hemmer.”

Sam started. “Okay. So that explains the guest list. He stole the painting, sold it to Hemmer, and now they’re best buds.”

“He’s best buddies with various other wealthy art collectors around the world.” Nick was wry. “And he’s linked to five international art dealers, who have suffered the combined loss of eight masterpieces in the past decade. Several of his other friends are reputed to be in possession of those stolen works of art now.”

Sam stared at Nick. Maclean was using his powers to steal. So this was how he’d acquired his wealth—and his Park Avenue address. And then the comprehension was instant and blazing. “You don’t think he’s here to hold Hemmer’s hand.”

“I don’t think he’s here to hold Hemmer’s hand.”

“He’s going to steal the page,” Sam said softly.

Nick stood. “And I bet you’ll do anything to get in his way, won’t you?”

Sam slowly smiled. “Oh, yeah,” she said, with relish.

His stare hardened. “Do not let him out of your sight tonight.”

Sam saluted.

“There’s nothing like a woman scorned,” Nick suddenly grinned. “I’m sort of glad he pissed you off.”

“I’m not pissed off. And I hate to tell you, I wasn’t scorned. But, Nick? I’m better than the cliché. I don’t get mad, I get even—and then some.”

“I’m counting on it.”

CHAPTER TWO (#u5497b82a-db68-50f9-980b-8b99e441769e)

MACLEAN WAS NOWHERE in sight.

Standing in the marble foyer just outside the brass doors of the elevator, which had taken them to the penthouse, Sam and Kit exchanged glances. Hemmer had built the building in his usual style—Las Vegas glitz meets haughty Fifth Avenue. There were marble floors, gilded mirrors and Corinthian columns. Everything was as costly as possible, screaming money. A handful of guests stood ahead of them, filing forward, and black-clad security agents were everywhere.

Sam wore a strapless red jersey dress, which clung to her every curve, and gold spike sandals. She’d added one of her mother’s gold bracelets to her right wrist, although bracelets tended to get in the way during tight, hand-to-hand combat. Rings were actually useful—they could be annoying for the enemy, inflicting painful little cuts. She wore several. Most women carried a clutch, but she wore a wallet-size bag on a shoulder strap. It was almost weightless, holding only a credit card, her cell phone and her red lipstick, and couldn’t possibly get in the way of anything. And she wore the diamond hoops her sister had given her last year. She only took them off to clean them.

She glimpsed Rupert Hemmer just within the doorway of his home, his blond wife with him, greeting the guests as they came in. The room beyond them was already crowded, but she didn’t see Maclean amongst the glittering partygoers. Her heart was thudding oddly, slow and steady—the way it always did before she leapt into battle. He was present. She was certain of it, and not because Nick had said he was on the guest list. She felt him, somewhere in the penthouse.

Sam could sense white power, and Maclean’s was obvious.