Come the Night

Ross could have had the bastard on the ground in two seconds flat, but he knew what would happen if he so much as waved a fist in O’ Grady’s direction.

“I was cleared,” he said. “And when I find the real killer, I’ll make you choke on your newspaper.”

The reporter laughed, but he wasn’t quite as immune to Ross’s anger as he wanted to believe. “Cleared?” he repeated. “You were released for lack of evidence. Not quite the same thing, is it? But who knows? Maybe I can find something nice to say about you if you cooperate.” He slipped a thoroughly chewed pencil from behind his ear and held it poised over the notepad. “Who is she? She’s from England, right? What’s your relationship with her and the kid? Does she realize—”

He grunted in surprise as Ross tore the notepad and pencil from his hands and threw them to the ground. “If you get anywhere near her, I may have to do something stupid,” Ross said.

O’Grady stared at the notebook, its pages splayed and fluttering in the light breeze. “You already have, Kavanagh.”

Ross leaned toward the reporter, his breath stirring O’Grady’s thin reddish hair. “You’re right,” he said softly. “I’d have to have been pretty crazy to murder that girl. And if I’m crazy, why should I stop with her? Why not try something different this time?”

As if compelled by forces beyond his control, O’Grady met Ross’s gaze. He opened his mouth. No sound came out. He took a step backward. He kept up his retreat until he was well out of Ross’s reach.

“I know where you live, Kavanagh!” he said, all bluster again. “I’ll get my story.”

“Leave us alone.”

Gillian had returned. Her voice was clear, sharp and startling, ringing with such natural authority that everyone within hearing distance stopped and stared. She ignored her audience, her attention completely focused on O’Grady.

“No more questions,” she said. “I must take my son home.”

O’Grady made the mistake of thinking he’d found a new opening. “Sure, I understand. Just tell me where you can be reached, and I’ll…”

He trailed off, his bravado crushed by Gillian’s withering stare. When she moved, he jumped like a rabbit. He stayed put as she stalked away, a muscle under his eye twitching frantically.

“What the hell…?” he breathed.

Ross couldn’t have put it better himself. What had he just seen? One minute Gillian was calm and confident, the next nervous and uncertain, then aggressive and strong. How many different women lived inside that sleek, graceful body?

He fell into step beside her. “I don’t think you should go directly back to the hotel.”

She glanced at him without breaking stride, her hand still clamped around Toby’s, conflicting emotions passing behind her eyes.

“Why?” she asked. “Will that man follow us?”

“I know the guy. He’s a persistent bas—He won’t give up easily. And he knows your name.”

“I’m sorry,” Toby said, abashed. “I didn’t think there would be any harm…”

“It’s okay,” Ross said. “O’Grady could get a clam to confess. But I think it would be a good idea to throw him off the scent.”

“How do you propose to do that?” Gillian asked.

Her tone held the same conflicting emotions as her eyes, anxious and angry at the same time, but Ross had seen how much she detested the kind of attention she’d attracted as a result of her good deed. She would probably do just about anything to avoid answering the reporter’s questions, no matter how benign they might seem.

Ross certainly didn’t want to tell her that O’Grady held a grudge against him and was likely to be even more obnoxious than usual in trying to uncover the nature of their relationship.

“I’ve got a friend who lives over on Long Island,” he said. “Grif and his wife have been out of the country for months, so the place is vacant. They won’t mind if we stay there until O’Grady finds a more interesting story. Shouldn’t take more than a few days.”

“A few days? That is impossible.”

“I think you’ll find Oak Hollow comfortable, even if Grif isn’t as big on the luxuries you’re used to.”

Gillian opened her mouth, hesitated, and closed it again, clearly torn. Then she saw or smelled something that worried her, because she moved a little closer to Toby and drew herself into a defensive posture.

“How will you make certain that the reporter doesn’t follow us to Long Island?” she asked.

“I’m going to give you instructions on how to take the subway back to Penn Station, where you’ll catch the train to Long Island. While you’re doing that, I’m going to lure O’Grady in another direction. I’ll join you as soon as I can. Once we’re at Oak Hollow, you can call Hugh and arrange to have some of your things sent over.”

Gillian nodded with obvious reluctance. He could sense that she wanted to say something else, but was finding it difficult to spit out the words.

“Thank you,” she said at last. “Thank you, Ross.”

“It’s nothing,” he said curtly. “Listen carefully. This is what you do…”

He gave her the promised instructions and accompanied her to the Coney Island station, keeping an eye out for O’Grady all the while. When the reporter appeared as expected—obviously having convinced himself that he’d followed them without being detected—Ross managed to distract him while Gillian and Toby boarded their train. By the time the reporter realized he’d been had, his intended victims were long gone and he settled for his secondary target.

After a couple of hours of following Ross around Manhattan, O’Grady finally surrendered to the inevitable and gave up. Even so, Ross waited another hour until he was sure the reporter had called it quits before he caught the train to Long Island.

The Bridgehampton railroad station was well-lit and relatively clean, reflecting the money and taste of the local residents. Nevertheless, Ross had advised Gillian and Toby to wait for him at one of the local hotels, where he found them eating supper in the attached restaurant. He tipped the hotel’s concierge to call a taxi, which carried them the three miles to Oak Hollow.

The wrought-iron gates at the entrance to the estate were locked, but Ross knew where Griffin kept a spare key under a rock nearby. He opened the gates and waved the taxi through, following on foot. The cobbled, tree-lined road led up to a carriage circle in front of the columned entrance of a Georgianstyle manor house, where the cabbie let Gillian and Toby off.

It was obvious right away that someone had been keeping up the place in Griffin’s and Allie’s absence. The lawn was cut, the hedges neatly trimmed and the flower beds to either side of the porch filled with new plantings. Gillian stood gazing at the portico. Whatever she thought of the place didn’t show on her face, but Toby had his own opinions.

“It’s not nearly as big as Snowfell,” he pronounced, “but it looks much nicer.”

“What’s not nice about Snowfell?” Ross asked, unlocking the front door.

“Oh, I don’t know. It was built in the sixteenth century, but most of it burnt down, and then they rebuilt it, and then it burnt down again, so my great-grandfather had it rebuilt. Some of the old parts are still standing. It ended up a patchwork, not very pretty.” He sniffed. “There must be lots of servants here.”

“Only two, as far as I know.”

“Two!” Toby whistled, earning a reproving glance from Gillian. Ross ushered them ahead of him into the cool central hall. Immediately Gillian stopped, wrapping her arms around her chest.

She might have sensed it, of course. Even though she hadn’t recognized Ross as a werewolf when they’d first met, she might be able to smell a full-blooded one.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you,” Ross said, coming up beside her. “Griffin Durant is a werewolf, and he’s married to a vampire.”

Gillian stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I never met a vampire in Europe, so I don’t know how you feel about them over there. But Allie’s all right. She—”

“A real vampire?” Toby interrupted, the final syllable rising into a squeak. “Are we going to meet her?”

“Like I said, they’re out of town.” He met Gillian’s gaze. “All you need to know is that you’d be welcome here.”

“I see.”