But even up to that point, his offer meant very little. Ames-Beaumont was family, and the most powerful vampire in the world-and Blake didn’t owe anything to Maggie. If his uncle came after her, Blake would be an idiot to stand between them.
So her goals hadn’t changed, even if Blake was now coming with her; she’d keep him safe and find Katherine. And if she managed to do both-and if the vampire didn’t hold her as responsible for James’s actions as she did herself-maybe Ames-Beaumont would let her go.
It had become her mantra: maybe he’d let her go.
Her fingers clenched on the steering wheel. God, she didn’t want this mess. She wanted her job. Before that e-mail, everything had been good. Her new life was insane, full of vampires and Guardians, and her employer was an eccentric, to say the least-but she had been, for the first time she could remember, happy. The world had become strange and new, but she’d understood the people around her, what motivated them, and she’d finally felt as if she fit somewhere. And that feeling had been bone-deep.
And one decision from her past had shattered it.
Blake clicked his laptop shut and slid off the headset. When the computer disappeared, Maggie tossed the clothes onto his lap.
His palms swept over the material, as if identifying it. His brows lifted. “Is this a hint? A shower would be better.”
“You don’t have an odor, sir,” Maggie said.
Sir Pup made a doubtful noise in the back. Relieved to have a distraction from the bleak thoughts circling in her head, Maggie glanced into the rearview mirror. The hellhound had covered the end of his nose with his massive forepaw.
Maggie didn’t fight to hold her straight expression. Blake couldn’t see her reaction, so she could relax, just a little. She’d keep her responses appropriately formal, but she didn’t have to be.
“I cannot detect any odor, Sir Pup,” she said, before looking at Blake again. “It’s to ward against any bugs-tracking or listening devices-that he might have inserted into your clothing.”
Blake fingered the collar of his shirt. “You think he’d do that?”
“I would.”
That must have convinced him. As she pulled into a fast-food lot, Blake shucked his jeans and shirt. When he reached for the folded jeans, Maggie shook her head. “Your shorts, too, Mr. Blake. And quickly, or the girl at the drive-thru window is going to get a good look.”
Sir Pup rolled over onto his back, chuffing great bursts of air. The hellhound version of a laugh.
It apparently amused Blake, too. He wore a smile as he hooked his fingers under the waistband. “Is this really about bugs? Or are you planning to take a peek?”
She didn’t need to. She assumed it hadn’t been a pair of socks filling out his oh-so-happy undershorts. She averted her gaze when he lifted his ass from the seat and worked them off. “We’re on the trail of your abducted sister, Mr. Blake. What kind of woman would I be if I did that?”
“One I’d like to get to know better.”
Maggie’s fingers flew to her lips to hold in her laugh. Oh, he was dangerous. She could end up liking him. And liking led to caring, caring to carelessness. She couldn’t afford that.
And he already knew enough about her. More than he should.
She wadded up his clothes and shoved them into the trash can sitting beside the drive-thru menu. The smiley faces didn’t seem so smug crowded in with the discarded coffee cups. Poor little guys.
The menu was loaded with junk. Not a problem, except that she would be motionless for the next several hours. She’d never liked feeling weighted down when she couldn’t move enough to work it off. “How hungry are you, Mr. Blake? We won’t stop again until later tonight, so order as much as you think you’ll need.”
Blake paused with his boxer-briefs on and his jeans halfway up one leg. Though he was bent over at the waist, there wasn’t a crease or a bulge anywhere that wasn’t muscle. “I could easily eat three hamburgers.”
Of course he could. Maggie tripled that for the hellhound and ordered coffee and a fruit-and-yogurt for herself.
She paid cash. James might be trying to track their movements, and she wouldn’t make it easy for him. Hopefully, though, he’d make it easy for her.
You can stop me.
It wasn’t a question or a challenge. It wasn’t a plea. Just a statement.
But how would she stop him? And why her?
She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, pondering it. By mutual agreement, she and James had decided not to contact one another again-and, despite the circumstances, they had parted on good terms. Her gut said this wasn’t about revenge.
What, then? Was it just coincidence that his path had crossed with hers?
Maggie couldn’t make herself believe that.
Was it about Ames-Beaumont? Was James acting on his own, or had he been hired? And if someone was paying him, had James told them of his connection to her… and to Ames-Beaumont?
But why go after his family and not make any demands?
Frowning, she glanced at Blake. Where had he gotten that picture of her and James? And who had told Blake that the faces in the two photos matched? Not Savi, Ames-Beaumont’s fiancée. If she’d hacked Blake’s e-mail, she wouldn’t have seen the picture from hotel security until after Blake had been taken-so they hadn’t had an opportunity to compare notes.
So Maggie was missing a step, not seeing a connection somewhere. And since the hellhound was watching, she couldn’t use the interrogation method she was most familiar with: aiming her gun at him. That meant digging. Finagling.
Which also meant dropping a little more of the formality. Butlers did not initiate conversations, yet Maggie needed to. “You’re not what I expected, Mr. Blake.”
“I gathered that.”
“Not your blindness. Not just that,” she admitted. “I’ve looked at your dossier.”
“Have you?” Both his voice and his expression were neutral.
“Yes.” She had to look away from him to take the bags at the window. She passed the first to him, then set the others on the console between them. “It’s full of reprimands, complaints, transfers. You’ve been shuttled around Ramsdell for almost fifteen years.”
“I’m not very good at my job.”
She recognized a practiced answer when she heard it-a cover story. “Except that, every time you’ve been transferred to a new branch, a problem has quietly gone away. In London, it was embezzlement by a senior executive. Someone in the Paris labs selling research to a competitor. Using Ramsdell warehouses to smuggle cocaine in Florida. A problem with Ramsdell shipments getting to Doctors Without Borders in Darfur.” Those were only a few, but she didn’t need to go on. And if she wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of surprise-and relief-in his face now. “You go in, act the doofus who yanks out the disability card at every opportunity and lets everyone think you’re getting by on the family name. And while whoever you’re after is feeling secure, because they don’t think they’ll need to pull the wool over the eyes of a blind man, you’re finding what you need to get rid of them. The pattern speaks for itself. Enough that when we heard about your sister, and Mr. Ames-Beaumont said that you were flying in to look for her, I thought it was a good move.”
“But you don’t think that now?”
“Now, I’m wondering how you manage it.”
“You don’t want to know, Winters.”
“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you?” She let her amusement bleed into her voice, so that he would know she was smiling.
“Something like that.” He didn’t return the smile. “At least, my uncle would seriously consider it.”
A shiver raced down her spine. Whatever he was hiding, it was different from the knowledge that Ames-Beaumont was a vampire. And there were only two reasons Ames-Beaumont would kill without a thought: either his fiancée was endangered, or his family was. He would kill to protect the community of vampires he led, but only after deliberation. With his heart and his family, however, there were no questions asked, no shades of gray.