"I'm not quite certain how I feel...." It scared
the hell out of him. He'd had a vision of his life,
and now it was completely in disarray. He'd never
liked change, but if wanted to pursue this, then he
would have to. Byrnes stared at the baby in his
arms. Holding her was starting to grow awkward,
but she smelled rather nice. "This was supposed to
be just a dalliance with Ingrid. But it's very clearly
not. Or perhaps I should say... it's rather rapidly
leading in another direction. What if I can't feel the
same way she does? What if I break her heart? Or
don't want what she wants?" Rosa's words
hammered doubt into his heart.
"Byrnes, I think the question you have to ask
yourself is how you felt the second you realized
she was in danger."
Terrified. He looked up. "Certain for the first
time in my life that she was mine, and that I had to
protect her."
" Can you walk away?"
"I tried that," he snapped. The baby shifted at
the sound of his voice and he froze. "We weren't
going to pursue this. But... Christ, I left her to work
alone today, and this is what happened! She was
injured because I'm too bloody scared of what's
happening between us. I should have been at her
side. I should have been there."
"You were there," Garrett said, "when she
needed you. And this decision doesn't need to be
made in a day. You have time to woo her, time to
sort out your feelings."
"She wants children."
Garrett paused. "Do you?"
"I don't know. I've never really thought about
it before, or about taking a wife." He looked down
at the baby, feeling that age-old surge of panic light
through him. First Debney pushing his way back
into his life, now Ingrid.... It was easier not to have
them there, easier to control all of the old feelings
that Debney brought back into his heart if he didn't
have to confront them, but the idea of pushing
either of them away made him feel sick.
"And the darker side of your nature? What
does it think?"
"The hunger is me, Garrett. I'm not going to
pretend we're two separate identities, like you and
Lynch do."
Garrett shrugged. "I know that. I also know
that it represents everything primal about a man—
or woman. If you want to know what you want, or
what's happening, then it will know. There are no
lies there."
He'd always been in control of himself, unlike
a lot of other blue bloods. Lynch had praised him
for it, but it was vexing now when all of these
urges began to overwhelm him. He wasn't used to
it. "It wants her. No, it's already claimed her, I
think," he said, then cursed himself for an idiot for
giving into thinking of this as the others did. " I
want her. I'm claiming her."
"Go back to her side then," Garrett suggested.
"Work out where you want to go from there. You
have all the time in the world, and frankly, Ingrid
deserves a say in this too. It wouldn't surprise me
if she's completely in the dark about what's going
on in that head of yours."
"I told her we needed to take a step back and
think about things rationally."
Garrett groaned and sipped his drink. "It's
worse than I suspected then. She no doubt thinks
you've given up on her or rejected her. Trust me.
You don't want that to happen."
"Oh, shut up," he growled.
Garrett smiled. "Your mother is safe here, and
I'll set Doyle to fluffing about her. There's nothing
he likes more than mothering someone. She'll be
drowned in vats of tea and buried in biscuits, and
treated like royalty. Go tell Ingrid how you feel."
"Call me if she gets scared. She doesn't like
new places. Or new people she doesn't know."
Byrnes looked down at his mother as he stood and
passed the baby back to Garrett. I wish you were
still there. But she wasn't, and she wouldn't even
notice if he wasn't here when she woke.
But Garrett was right. Someone else would.
"I will."
And he had a vampire to catch, a vampire
who had just happened to attack the place where
his mother was kept.
Coincidence? Byrnes didn't think so.
TWENTY-TWO
Byrnes sank into the armchair in the corner of
her room and watched as the drizzle splashed
against the windows.
There wasn't much he could do. Charlie and
Kincaid had tried to track the vampire whilst he
dealt with his mother and Ingrid, and both had
returned an hour ago, claiming that the trail
vanished in the sewers. The creature had glutted
itself on blood at the Home then simply returned to
wherever it was lurking, as if its purpose had been
served.
Which made him wonder. What had been its
purpose there? Anarchy? There were far more
public places it could have attacked. And his
mother was there. The link bothered him. The way
that woman had looked at him bothered him.
Was this revenge for killing one of her
vampires? Or something else?
A sharp rap came at the door, then Malloryn
strode in, decked out in full opera regalia. A white
silk scarf fluttered around his neck and he carried
his top hat in his hand, but his gaze went
immediately to the bed. "Just received word," he
said, shutting the door behind him.
Byrnes tensed. The man didn't belong in here,
not with Ingrid virtually unconscious. He looked
up and Malloryn paused, as if aware that
boundaries had been crossed.
"Long night?" the duke asked in a milder tone
as he unfolded a newspaper from beneath his arm
and tossed it at Byrnes. "How is she?"
"Healing," he replied. "It was... bad."
Malloryn crossed to the bed, staring down.
"She's stronger than you think. There's not much
she cannot survive."
"I'm aware of that." He scrunched the
newspaper in his fist, his vision blanking for a
second. Knowing the facts didn't make it easier to
deal with, which was unusual. All he could see
was— "The vampire gutted her. If I hadn't arrived
in time...."
He didn't need to add anything else.
Malloryn turned to face him, his arms
crossing slowly as he settled that piercing gaze on
Byrnes. "This is new. I expected you to still be at
each other's throats." He hesitated. "Do you think I
should reassign you both? Partners with an
emotional attachment don't work very well
together, I've found."
Like hell. "You can try, but I'm not going
anywhere." The words were soft with menace, and
even he heard them. Byrnes shut his eyes, trying to
get a handle on his emotions. The hunger
whi
spered through his veins, resenting the other
man's presence in Ingrid's bedroom. Possessive.
Demanding. Looked like his decision had been
made, and there was no point in fighting it
anymore. "If she gets hurt again...."
"You're not the type of man who'd never
forgive himself."
"You don't know me." He looked up. "But
you're right. I'd never forgive you."
Malloryn's gaze narrowed to slits, and he
seemed to be thinking about whether he'd want
Byrnes as an enemy. "Then we shall leave the
arrangement as it is. You're clearly not thinking
straight. If I try and pair you with someone else,
you'll be distracted and worrying about Ingrid.
That might prove disastrous. I want you focused on
the
mission,
Byrnes."
For
a
moment
incredulousness showed in the man's expression. "I
used to think you a man after my own heart."
"What? That I had none? No man is
invulnerable, I think. Even you might fall prey to
the gentler emotions."
Malloryn didn't quite flinch but he turned
toward the window, dragging the silk scarf from
around his throat.
And suddenly Byrnes understood. "Who was
she?"
"No one that you know," the Duke replied,
peering out into the cold blustery night. "Take a
look at the paper."
Confession time dismissed. Byrnes unfolded
it. The headline screamed bold. Bloody Rampage
At Nursing Home! Blue Bloods on the Loose!
"Hell," he said.
"That pretty much sums it up." Malloryn
balled the scarf in his hands, looking vexed.
"Someone's been busy at the printing presses all
night. There was a newspaper lad right outside the
opera." He cursed under his breath. "I thought we'd
have some sort of lead by now. Whoever is doing
this has to leave a trace somewhere. Somehow.
They can't just simply vanish."
"Ava said that Ulbricht ordered the Doeppler
orbs. We needed to run it by you, but we'd like to...
ask him a few questions."
"Done," Malloryn replied, then frowned.
"This doesn't feel like Ulbricht's style, however. It
bothers me."
"I agree."
Malloryn looked at him as though he'd done
something interesting. "Oh?"
"I think there's more to this than there seems.
Every crime scene has been flawless. No clues, no
trail to follow, or if there is one, it vanishes. Until
the Venetian Gardens, where quite conveniently
there is a Doeppler orb left behind. I've spoken to
Ava—she said that Ingrid was unsettled outside
Hayes's shop. She asked if Ava could smell
something, which makes me believe that the
vampire was watching the orb-maker, as if it
expected us to go there."
Malloryn stared into space. "That seems quite
a stretch."
"I'm an investigator. Putting impossible pieces
together is what I do. Let's also look at the black
flag, and the '0' that is the only blemish on an
otherwise clueless case. Whoever is doing this
wanted us to know that the Sons of Gilead had
something to do with it. Why else would they paint
those symbols? Why else would Echelon lords be
walking around with it tattooed on their wrists?
They're not hiding the symbols, not nearly well
enough. So either they are ridiculously bold and
stupid, or someone is setting them up."
"I thought there was some credence to the
theory that some killers leave behind calling cards
of some sort. Are the flag and symbol not just
that?"
"Usually it's something bloodier—the same
signature kill stroke. I just have this gut feeling...."
"Go on," the duke replied.
"Something's wrong. The vampire knew
where to go. It stalked through an entire borough
full of potential targets before choosing that one
building in Clerkenwell, one with a connection to
me."
"Byrnes."
"It followed me there when I was visiting my
mother. It had to have. But why attack now? Why
me? What the hell drove it there? Is someone
watching us? Was it someone from Ulbricht's ball?
There's coincidence, and then there's too many
coincidences."
Malloryn
looked
disturbed.
"That's
impossible. Although... the vampire does almost
seem as though it's taken a particular interest in
you. Perhaps it knows you killed its... friend."
"Not the vampire," Ingrid whispered, and
both of them shot to the bed.
"Ingrid," Byrnes said, his voice suffused with
relief. "You're awake?"
She blinked sleepy eyes at him, frowning
grumpily. Her hair was a mess. "Someone keeps
talking. How could I possibly sleep through all of
that?"
Byrnes curled her hand in his and squeezed it.
She was alive and awake, and he hadn't realized
until this moment how on edge he'd been.
"What did you mean about the vampire?"
Malloryn pressed.
Dark shadows haunted Ingrid's eyes. "The
woman. The woman's controlling the vampire
somehow. And she's interested in Byrnes."
"That's impossible," Malloryn stated flatly.
"You keep using that word," Ingrid said with a
yawn. "Right now, I believe that anything is
possible."
"The flute." Byrnes chewed the thought over.
"I think Ingrid's right. I'd never believe it if I hadn't
seen it for myself now, but this is twice we've
encountered a vampire that doesn't simply go off
on a killing spree until it's cut down. No vampire
has ever walked past dozens of potential victims
like that. It should have started killing the second it
came into the streets, unless it was being
controlled. These attacks are focused and planned.
I think it's trained, somehow, which is the craziest
thing I've ever said, but I cannot come up with
another reason. And why is Ulbricht's mistress
interested in me?"
"You killed her vampire, and tracked Ulbricht
to his meeting. Maybe she wants revenge? Maybe
she’s impressed? I don't think she's his mistress
either." Ingrid was fighting a losing battle against
sleep. "And it was wearing some sort of collar too,
now that I think of it. One that shocked me as soon
as I touched it."
They had suspected that someone was pulling
the strings of the Sons of Gilead, after all. Who
better than a woman in control of one of its leading
members?
"Maybe Ulbricht's not the danger?" he mused.
"Maybe he's the distraction?"
"I'll see if any of my networks have anything,"
Malloryn
said,
watching
Ingrid.
"Byrnes,
tomorrow you can work wi
th Kincaid." Byrnes
looked up sharply, but Malloryn held a hand up.
"Until Ingrid is on her feet."
"I'm fine, Your Grace," she said stubbornly,
pushing up onto her hands and looking surprised to
find that they trembled.
Byrnes eased her back down. "No, you're not.
And don't look at me like that. The sooner you get
enough rest, the sooner you'll be on your feet.
You're not ready. You'll only slow me down, and I
need you at your best."
If looks could kill....
"I'll leave you to it," Malloryn murmured, and
slipped through the door as if the sudden intimacy
bothered him.
"I'm not an invalid," Ingrid growled the
moment the door was shut.
Byrnes dragged the armchair toward the bed,
then slumped into it. "Do we have to argue about
this?"
"You're the one who started it!"
"Ingrid, I had to stuff your guts back into your
stomach and hope to hell that you'd heal. There
was nothing I could do. None of my rudimentary
on-scene training...." Byrnes swore, looking away
as the vision of it flashed before his eyes, taking
him back to that moment. "I thought you were going
to die." He broke off as that panicky feeling
speared through him again. Only clasping his hands
together helped. He could force the tremble down.
"I don't think I could bear it, to see you hurt again
so badly."
When he looked up, her eyes were wide and
startled. All of her anger had leeched out of her
and she turned her gaze to the ceiling, looking
troubled. Candlelight warmed her features.
"I thought I was going to die too," she
admitted in a quiet voice. "Just for a moment."
He swallowed the sudden fierce lump in his
throat. "I'm not cut out for this."
Ingrid looked at him, but she didn't say
anything.
Byrnes reached out slowly to curl her hand
into his. Ingrid looked at it, then squeezed back
gently. He sighed.
"Sleep," he told her. "You're safe now, and all
bandaged up. You need to rest. And then you can
work with me again."
An uncomfortable look crossed her face.
"Promise you'll watch over me while I sleep?"
Ingrid whispered, her eyelashes fluttering. "I can't
keep fighting the loupe, and it makes me feel
vulnerable."
Byrnes folded himself into the seat by her
bed. "Promise."
And just like that, she stopped fighting the
loupe and her own stubborn nature and her lashes
fluttered shut.
TWENTY-THREE
INGRID WOKE because someone was trying to