“I tried calling you at Guy Coffer’s office,” Dietrich continued, “but you were out, and they couldn’t . . . or perhaps wouldn’t . . . say when you’d be back. I didn’t leave a message with them for reasons . . . well, for reasons I’d rather not discuss on an answering machine.”
Dietrich inhaled deeply, and Emma realized she was smoking a cigarette. That explained the rough quality of her voice, but not perhaps the tension that underlay every syllable she spoke.
“Call me, Ms. Duquet,” Dietrich said bluntly. “But use a phone you can trust absolutely. Don’t use your personal cell, don’t use this line either. I’d recommend a pay phone, if you can find one, or a prepaid cell phone. I’m leaving you a number, but don’t bother trying to track it. I’ve taken my own advice and will dispose of the phone if I don’t hear from you within forty-eight hours. Call me. You’ll be glad you did.”
The machine beeped loudly, announcing the end. Emma stared, then scrambled frantically to replay Dietrich’s message. She hadn’t paid any attention to the date and time stamp, didn’t know for sure if the clock was even set on the machine. Damnit! Why hadn’t the woman called her cell? Okay, fine, she didn’t want it traced, but couldn’t she at least have given Emma a head’s up? Her fingers were shaking as she found the right button and hit replay.
“What’s that?”
Emma shrieked and spun around, having forgotten all about Duncan’s guard.
He frowned at her. “Is something wrong?”
“Do you have a cell phone?” she demanded.
“Well, yeah, don’t—”
“Give it to me,” she said, punching the replay button on the answering machine, which dutifully informed her that Dietrich’s lone message had come in last night. While Emma and Duncan had been with Violet. Did Dietrich know about Violet? Was that why she’d called? To warn them away from the young woman? Was Violet in danger because of what they’d done? No, that didn’t make sense. If she’d already talked to them, there was nothing to gain by getting rid of her. The smart move now would be to get rid of Emma and Duncan. Maybe that’s what Dietrich was doing. Setting Emma up to be eliminated.
The message wound down to the phone number Dietrich had left and Emma wrote it down, then turned to the guard who eyed her as if she’d lost her mind.
“Phone?” she asked impatiently.
He studied her for a minute, then handed it over. There was no way her enemies could know to monitor this particular guard’s cell phone, so it should be safe. She punched in the numbers quickly, then waited while it rang and rang. She’d almost given up when Dietrich’s raspy voice answered. “About time, Duquet.”
Emma’s stomach sank. “How’d you know it was me?”
“You’re the only one I gave this number to,” Dietrich said dryly. “That was the whole point.”
Right. “I got your message,” Emma said tightly. “What do you want?”
“You came to see me,” Dietrich reminded her. “As it happens, however, I have some free advice for you. Get out of town. You and your boyfriend both. Go as far and as fast you can.”
“Look, Dietrich. This is Tammy Dietrich, right?”
“Got it in one, sweetheart.”
“Well, sweetheart, I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I’m not leaving until—”
Dietrich laughed bitterly. “This is no game. Max doesn’t play games. He never did. He simply clears the board until he gets his way, and you, Duquet, are in his way.”
“Max Grafton? Your brother?”
“Half brother, but who’s counting. I don’t have time for this. I called to give you a warning and I’ve given it. I wanted to talk to you at Lacey’s service, but there were too many people around. So I’m telling you now. Your life is in danger, and dying won’t bring Lacey back. That’s it, Duquet. That’s all she wrote.”
“Wait! How do I get in touch with you?”
“You don’t. I told you, I’m taking my own advice. I’m going to dig a hole somewhere far away and crawl into it, and hope to hell Max never finds me. Good-bye, Ms. Duquet.”
“Wait!” Emma cried again, but Dietrich was gone. Emma gave a wordless shout of frustration and spun on the guard. “What’s your name?”
“Marlon.”
“How long ‘til sunset, Marlon?”
He glanced at his watch. “Two hours, give or take, probably less.”
Emma thought for less than a minute. Getting out of town wasn’t even a consideration, especially without Duncan. And she would bet a year’s salary that the vampire lord had absolutely no intention of leaving, not because of Max Grafton or anyone else. But as powerful as Duncan was, he bled and he could die.
“We’re leaving, Marlon. Duncan’s in danger.”
Marlon didn’t waste words. He grabbed her arm and hustled her out of the kitchen and through the living room, where the local TV news was covering a story about an explosion and fire somewhere in the District. They were calling it terrorism, which was the first thing everyone thought of these days, whether or not it was. Emma reached out as Marlon dragged her past, intending to turn off the TV, when she recognized . . .
“Marlon,” she said breathlessly.
Something in her voice stopped the hard charging guard. He turned to stare at the same horrifying image on the television screen that had caught her attention. It was Duncan’s house. And it was on fire.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Emma felt like she was dying. If she had gone directly to Duncan’s after leaving work, maybe she’d have been there in time to have stopped whatever this was. She needed to get to the house, needed to see for herself what was going on and how bad it was. Duncan and his vampires were all there, helpless in sleep. Was the house burning around them? Were they dying as she and Marlon raced through the D.C. streets? She didn’t believe it, couldn’t believe it. Deep in her heart, she was sure she’d know if anything had happened to Duncan. He was too important, too alive, to die without causing even a ripple in reality, certainly in Emma’s reality. But what if he wasn’t dead, but badly injured? What would she do then? Every vampire she knew was with him. Whom could she call for help? When Baldwin was shot, it was Duncan who brought him back with his blood. But who would be there to bring Duncan back?
She gripped the padded handle of the door as Marlon sped down side streets to avoid traffic, taking every turn with a squeal of tires. Emma had the local news channel up on her cell phone, the same one they’d watched back at her house. The station was running a live feed from the scene, but it didn’t show her enough. She needed details, closeups. She screamed at the screen every time they broke away to the useless news anchors, who did nothing but repeat what she already knew. The authorities were on the scene and refused to speculate on the cause, but that didn’t stop information from leaking. This was Washington, after all. The leading theory was a gas explosion of some kind. But was it an accident or intentional? Speculation was running wild. All the embassies in the area had shut down tight.
There was no mention of anyone being hurt, but there wouldn’t be. Duncan and his vampires could all be dead and no one would know it until sunset. Emma swallowed hard, refusing to give in to the terror screaming at the back of her brain. She squinted at the tiny images on the video, comparing what she was seeing to what she knew of the house and its layout, trying to determine which part of the house was burning. A gas explosion could be anywhere, and the house was half-empty. But the images she saw were from the street, and the flames and destruction were very visible, which meant the front of the house was involved. And Duncan’s bedroom looked out over the green expanse of the front lawn. Emma turned the phone face down on her thigh and looked away. She couldn’t watch it anymore. She needed to see for herself.
She closed her eyes and half-listened to Marlon, who was on the phone, trying to reach his supervisor, the guy in charge of the daytime guards, but so far he’d had no luck. The guard commander was far too busy dealing with the emergency to worry about Marlon and Emma. But then she heard Marlon tell someone they were on their way back.
“She’s here with me. Yeah, five minutes tops.” He paused, then, “Why the fuck not?”
“What?” Emma demanded. “Put it on speaker, damnit.”
Marlon gave her a harassed look, but said, “Wait. I’m going to speaker. It’s my boss,” he added for Emma’s sake.
“Ms. Duquet?” The voice that came out of the speaker was deep and controlled. The voice of authority.
“Call me Emma. What is it?”
“Well, Emma, the fire department wants to enter the residence, and I can’t permit that.”
“Wait. Say that again? Are you telling me no one’s fighting the fire?”
“No. They’re on the scene and they’ve got hoses going full-bore, but they want to get inside the house. Lord Duncan himself has given me very specific orders that no one, under any circumstances, is permitted inside the house during the day.”
Emma listened with half an ear, her brain racing. It had to be an embassy thing. Embassies were considered the foreign government’s sovereign territory and everyone treated the vampires’ residence like an embassy. She could see why there might be some confusion, but . . .
“Okay, I understand that,” she said out loud. “But this is an emergency. Surely—”
“No one, under any circumstances,” he repeated firmly. “Except you.”
“Pardon?”
“You’re the only one allowed inside during daylight. Even I’m not allowed to go in there.”
“Well, but that’s—”
“Standard procedure, ma’am. And the press is all over this. I’d rather not say more until we can speak in person.”
