Sean flipped off the radio. Fiona closed her eyes, her hands clenched into fists on her lap. “This is the end. Everything I’ve worked for—finished. It’s over.”
Declan took his sister’s hand. “Fee, don’t say that. It’s just one sword. We can go after something else. Or even give this up altogether. You knew it had to end one day.”
Fiona made an anguished noise from deep in her throat, cutting off her brother’s flow of words.
“No,” Christophe said, his gaze fixed on her too-pale face. “That’s not it, Declan. She doesn’t care about the sword. At least, not much. It’s her reputation—her integrity. The Scarlet Ninja is known for never harming anyone; only helping those in need or want due to the vampires and their unending greed and lust for power. Now they’re saying that the Ninja is a murderer. It’s one of the worst things that could have happened to your sister, and it’s devastating her.”
He suddenly blinked, realizing he’d damn near made a speech. Where in the nine hells had that come from? He shut up and angled his body to face the window, clenching his jaw shut against more stupid yammering. But a touch made him glance down, and the sight of Fiona’s slender fingers on his sleeve caused something hard and painful to catch in his throat.
“How did you know?” she whispered. “How could you know? You’ve only just met me, and yet . . . and yet you knew exactly how I was feeling.”
He had a moment to wonder if a man could drown in her eyes, before the car slammed to a halt.
“We’re here, or at least as close as I’m going to get you,” Sean snapped.
“You don’t have to do this,” Christophe told her, ignoring the driver and Declan for the moment. “I can go listen and find out what they know.”
She squared her slim shoulders and lifted her chin. “Yes. I do. I’m going with you. Someone murdered those guards and I’m going to find out who did it. Then we’ll get the sword back.”
She’d said we. We’ll get the sword back. A flash flood of fierce joy rushed through him, in spite of the circumstances.
“Let’s go to a press conference, then.”
“I’m going to work the crowd. Find out if anybody knows anything, what the rumors are, and so forth,” Declan said, reaching for the door.
“Good, but don’t be obvious,” Christophe told him. “We don’t want you to become a target. Whoever they are, they’ve almost certainly got men in place in the crowd watching and listening.”
Declan nodded and left.
“Why do you think that?” Fiona asked him. “They got what they wanted, why would they be here?”
Before he could answer, help came from an unexpected source.
“He’s right,” Sean said grudgingly. “That’s how I’d have done it, back in the day. Need to keep eyes and ears on the investigation, find out how hot the situation is. You’d best get out now, before I get moved along or ticketed. I’ll be circling. Just give me a ring when you need me to swing back in and pick you up. Same spot.”
Christophe nodded his thanks and opened the car door. When he and Fiona were on the sidewalk, he watched the car pull away.
“You have a good kid there,” he finally admitted. “He’d do anything for you.”
“That’s what I worry about, especially now. If I put him or Declan or Hopkins in danger, I’d never forgive myself.”
“Hopkins? I’d be more worried about anybody trying to face him down. That man is a warrior dressed up in a butler suit.”
A true smile appeared for an instant on her face. “Yes, I’ve often thought that. He will never tell me much about his younger days, but I get the feeling he wasn’t always a butler.”
“I’d put coin on that,” he agreed, taking her hand. “So let’s play tourist and go back to the Tower of London.”
“We should be thankful they don’t behead people there anymore, I guess,” she muttered.
“Nobody will touch so much as a hair on your aristocratic head while I’m alive to prevent it,” Christophe vowed, all humor vanishing.
She stopped and stared up at him, a curiously vulnerable expression in her eyes. “Why would you care so much? Or want to protect me? Surely not simply because we . . . slept together. You just met me.”
Part of him was wondering the same thing, but damned if he’d admit it. “You’re my partner. It’s just good business,” he finally said.
Fiona pulled her hand away from his and a sheet of ice masked her expression. “Right. Of course. How could I forget? And so long as you have blackmail material on me, I’m stuck with you. Come along, then, partner. We have a crime to solve.”
Regret swept through him as she marched off, not looking back once to see if he followed or not. Crime solving. Right. Christophe and Sherlock Holmes. Conlan was undoubtedly going to have something very unpleasant to say about this. He grinned at the thought, shoved his hands in his pockets, and strode off after his unwilling partner. At least he could piss off the high prince and the high priest all in the course of one mission. The day was looking up.
Chapter 14
Fiona stormed off toward the main gate, berating herself for her foolish moment of softening toward that criminal. What had she been thinking, to sleep with him? He was so aggravating. Annoying. Infuriating.
Delicious.
She ran a hand through her hair, suddenly as disgusted with herself as at him. She decided to break her sexual fast and it had to be with a jewel thief. Who just happened to have blackmail as a trump card.
He caught up with her, and she tried not to notice how his closeness made her skin tingle. Dangerous bad boys had never been her type before, but apparently her hormones were up for new things. The memory of him rising over her, hard and urgent in the moonlight, flashed into her mind and she caught her breath.
“Are you okay?” His gaze moved back and forth, scanning the sidewalk, the street, and everyone on both.
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” She gritted her teeth against the sound of her own voice, which had come out exceedingly prim, proper, and headmistress-ish.
“Okay, Princess,” he drawled, grinning at her.
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “And your humor is inappropriate. Those guards died.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. We have an unconfirmed report by a hysterical woman, based on a tabloid story. The radio report didn’t mention murdered guards. If you believe everything in the London tabloids, then you also know Elton John is supposedly having an alien baby any minute. Should we stake out the hospitals?”
“If you think—” Fiona stopped mid-sentence and took a deep breath. He was right. She was operating purely reactively, which was not only stupid, but dangerous. “You’re right. We need to get to that press conference.”
“I’m always right. You’ll get used to it,” he said cheerfully “There’s a big group forming over there, just inside the gate.”
She followed Christophe through the throng of people clustered around a makeshift podium until they stood roughly in the middle of the crowd. Close enough to see and hear everything, but far enough away so as not to draw too much attention. When the official spokesperson stepped up to the microphone, Fiona ducked partway behind a large man in front of her, out of the spokesman’s line of sight.
Christophe raised an eyebrow.
“I know him. Lord Fairsby, formerly of Interpol. Now he’s the director of Scotland Yard’s new Paranormal Ops division.”
“Does he know you?”
“We’ve met a time or two, at charity events. I doubt the man remembers me.”
His green eyes flared hot as he stared down at her. “Oh, he remembers you. Any man who met you even once would remember you.”
Her cheeks heated up, and she tried to ignore the warmth sweeping through her from his tone. “Quiet. He’s starting.”
Lord Fairsby looked out over the crowd and then down at his notes. “As you may have heard, we’ve had an incident. The villain who calls himself the Scarlet Ninja has struck at the very heart of our nation, leaving behind his calling card as proof positive. The scoundrel made off with one of England’s most precious treasures—William the Conqueror’s sword, Vanquish.”