“What do you think, Lucan? Do we take out the Rogue nest down in Southie first or chase down the lead on those skin traders over in Chinatown and ash the Rogues another night?”
The abrupt question from one of his comrades seated around the conference room table snapped him out of his sensory haze. He blinked at Tegan and the other Breed warriors, feeling embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming in the middle of the patrol review he was leading.
He cleared his throat.
“I want those skin traders stopped first. The Rogues are a nuisance, but we can flush them out anytime.” He stood, effectively adjourning the meeting. “I have something I need to take care of right now. Tegan, Dante, you two come up with a plan for the raid on the Chinatown location. You can run it by me later.”
With his orders dispersed, he stalked out of the war room and headed through the Boston compound with a purpose, all his thoughts and senses homed in on Gabrielle. Just thinking about her made his mouth water and his fangs punch out of his gums.
He sought her out like a man possessed, oblivious to everything except the thought of closing the distance between himself and his mate. And the strange perfume that seemed to beckon to him for the past hours only intensified now that he was on the path to Gabrielle’s side.
He found her in their living quarters.
Fresh out of her bath, she was sitting in their massive bed wearing just a frilly little bit of black lace.
God, she looked delectable.
He was so swept up in the sight and scent of her that he hardly noticed she held a book in her lap, which she held up as he approached the bed.
“Your package arrived from New Orleans a while ago,” she said, smiling. “A signed first edition of Interview with the Vampire? I have the best mate in the world.”
He frowned. “I didn’t send that book. The one I bought for you got ruined.”
Gabrielle’s auburn brows rose. “So this must be from your new friend, Lilliane?”
“Apparently so.”
“Does that mean she sent the candle too?”
“Candle?” A twinge of uncertainty arrowed through him. “What kind of candle?”
“That one.”
She pointed to the flickering flame.
For a second, he expected to see one of the burnt umber glass jars he’d spotted in that mysterious shop. But the candle resting on the bureau across the room came from some other, more ordinary store. The label said Cassidy’s Corner and the name of the fragrance was Orleans. He inhaled the air above its flickering flame and smelled vetiver, sweet olive, and a dozen other scents that reminded him of one of the most magical cities in the world.
“This came with the candle,” she said, pulling a delicate white card from between the pages of her book.
He took it from her and read the calligraphic script written on the back of the Feu de Coeur calling card.
Light this flame for your greatest passion and be grateful that your heart’s desire is already yours.
A slightly modified version of the card Lilliane had described to him, the one that had changed her life.
A custom-made version just for him.
And Gabrielle.
She was smiling when he looked at her. “I followed the instructions.” She patted the bed where they’d so often made love. “It works. I’ve never been so grateful to have you back.”
“Grateful,” he said, tossing the card aside to climb onto the mattress. “Gratitude is just the beginning of what I feel when I’m with you.”
And he found himself grateful for something else as well.
He’d lost many things in his immortal life, but never the ability to rest in the arms of a lover, to cherish the smell and feel of the one for whom he felt destined.
And he had Lilliane to thank for that realization.
LISA SCOTTOLINE AND NELSON DEMILLE
WHEN LISA SCOTTOLINE WAS ASKED if she would be a part of this anthology she said yes, but with a condition.
“I want to write with Nelson DeMille.”
Aiming to please, we contacted Nelson who said, absolutely, since he was a huge Lisa Scottoline fan.
And the team was born.
Both Lisa and Nelson are seasoned pros. They each have tens of millions of books in print worldwide, and they’ve each created a memorable character. Lisa’s Bennie Rosato is a tough-as-nails Philadelphia lawyer with a big heart, while John Corey is a former NYPD homicide detective, who still carries a gun and seems to have trouble keeping a job.
For Lisa, animals are a huge part of her life as she shares her home with a variety of dogs, cats, and chickens. So it’s not unexpected that animals are involved in this story. The challenge came with Lisa having to deal head-on with Nelson’s alpha-male protagonist, and Nelson having to work firsthand with an alpha-female hero.
Right off, they both agreed to help the other get the opposite sex right.
How this story was physically produced could be a tale in and of itself. By his own admission Nelson writes all his novels in longhand, on a yellow legal pad with a number one pencil. Lisa utilizes modern technology with a word processor. But though their techniques differ, their skills as writers are similar and the result is an entertaining and humorous encounter between two people who could not be more different.
The title itself is even prophetic.
Getaway.
GETAWAY
JOHN COREY, FORMER NYPD HOMICIDE detective, and former Federal Anti-Terrorist Task Force agent, sat in an Adirondack chair with his fingers wrapped around a glass of Dewar’s, contemplating the possible end of his third career—with the Diplomatic Surveillance Group—and his second marriage. Was it possible, he wondered, that his career and marital problems were of his own making? No. Shit just happens. He took a sip of scotch and stared into the gathering twilight toward Lake Whackamole. That wasn’t the name of the lake, he knew, but it was some gibberish Indian name. P.C. correction. Some melodious Native American name.
Whackyweed?
No, that’s marijuana.
Anyway, it was a lake. A small one in upstate New York, in the middle of nowhere, and the closest town was Nowheresville, about forty miles away.
It had taken him nearly ten hours from Manhattan to get to this godforsaken place in what was called the North Country, sometimes called God’s Country, and he wondered why he was there. He was a city boy and nature made him nervous. So maybe this wasn’t a good place to relax. It sounded good in theory but he should have known better. He sipped more scotch. The familiar smell and taste of it made him relax, even before the alcohol hit his brain.
He looked again at the darkly mirrored lake and the woods around it. He could make out a few other cabins set back from the opposite shore but they were dark. The only lit one, aside from his own, was the one he could see through the trees about two hundred yards to his left. He wondered who his neighbor might be. With any luck, he’d never find out. But maybe it was a hot babe on the lam from city problems, as he was. Or maybe it was a local girl, single or divorced, no kids, great cook, and looking for a drinking buddy.
And she drank scotch.
Most likely, though, it was some backwoods Deliverance psycho who had a collection of chain saws that he wanted to show his new neighbor.
Dick Kearns, Corey’s former police buddy who’d loaned the cabin, had assured him that no one would be at the lake in late October, and if anyone was, they’d keep to themselves.