He studied it for a second, then said, "It almost looks like a book."
It was—on the history of cinema effects. But I'd added a box of chocolates to fudge the shape a little. "You'll just have to wait and see."
"Bitch."
I grinned.
"Do a U-turn," Rhoan said, his hand momentarily over his cell phone. "Head for Chapel Street."
"Chapel Street?" I said, surprised. "What the hell is there, beside upmarket shops and trendy snobs?"
He waved a hand for me to shut up, so I returned my attention to Liander. In the sharp morning light, he was an almost icy silver. The only thing that lent him some warmth was the blue of his clothes and the matching streaks in his hair.
"Going for the winter look this week, are we?"
He gave me a smile that had all sorts of warning signals flashing. "Winter is very 'in' at the moment. But just wait until you see what I have planned for you."
"I think I should be afraid."
"Very. You are going to be extremely foxy."
My eyebrows rose. "Meaning I'm not now?"
"Darling, you're pretty but very underdone. A little time, care, and makeup certainly wouldn't go astray."
"That's a very backhanded compliment."
He grinned. "Sometimes the truth hurts."
"So can a smack in the head."
His grin widened and he shook his head. "You are so like your brother sometimes, it's scary."
I raised my eyebrows. "Rhoan's threatened to smack you?"
"Oh, many times." He gave me a glance that was pure mischief. "Trouble is, I enjoy it."
"I think that falls into the category of a little too much information at this hour of the morning."
"Gentle pain can be quite a turn-on if it's done right."
"Give me normal sex anytime." I pointed to the road ahead. "And if you don't concentrate, you're going to ram the back of that Ford."
He slammed on the brakes, throwing me backward. "If you'd stop yakking about sex, I could concentrate."
I shut up. After a few more urns and yeses, Rhoan hung up and glanced at me. "We're going to Chapel Street because Jack lives above a restaurant—he owns the building, and leases out the restaurant section."
I frowned. "Is it safe going there?"
"Apparently only Director Hunter knows the address. A different address is used on files."
And Quinn would never get the address off Director Hunter. Not only was she older in vampire years—and therefore more powerful—but because he was honor bound to obey her. Or so Quinn had said when he'd briefly mentioned the vampire hierarchy system a few months ago.
"We're not going to get parking anywhere near that street at this hour," Liander commented.
"There's a multilevel parking lot behind the Jam Factory, which is just down the road from Jack's."
"Meaning we get to go shopping while we wait for Jack?" I glanced at my brother as I said it, but couldn't resist adding the barb. "Oh, that's right, you already have. That's why we have no money left."
"You got pretty sweaters, so don't bitch."
"I need to eat more than I need new sweaters."
"We have tin food."
"Spaghetti and baked beans just don't cut it after a few days."
He gave me an annoyed look. "You're beginning to take all the fun out of shopping."
Which was precisely the point of nagging. I grinned and looked away. We battled our way through the rush hour traffic, getting there just after nine-thirty. Liander threw several large bags our way, then grabbed the remaining four himself. Jack was waiting in the shadows a few doors down from the Jam Factory complex, out of direct sunlight and well covered up. Age gave vampires a certain amount of immunity to the sun, so the older they were, the more they could walk in daylight. Quinn only had to avoid the hours between twelve and two. Jack, four hundred years younger, had tighter restrictions. He was probably pushing his limits right now.
We followed him to a small door to the right of an Italian restaurant, and up a set of stairs. His apartment was one long room—barring a doorway that led to what I presumed would be the bathroom and laundry—and surprisingly airy, with the front and back walls all windows. Though right now, awnings covered the back windows to stop direct sunlight. The color scheme and furnishings were very masculine, all blue colors, dark woods, and rich leather, and the walls were covered in what looked like prints from the old masters. Only they weren't prints, but real paintings. Given how old Jack was, that was more likely than it seemed.
"So," Jack said, as we dumped the bags on the floor near the table. "How did Quinn discover the mission timetable had been moved up?"
"Through me." I pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. "Apparently the fact we've shared blood has given him greater access to my mind—shields or no shields."
Jack raised his eyebrows. "If that were the case, he'd be here, nut heading to Genoveve."
"You've got him under observation?" Rhoan asked.
Jack nodded. "We seconded several hawk-shifters from Overseas Operations recently to tail Gautier. One of them is currently on Quinn. He'd sense another vampire, even if we had a guardian who could go out in morning sunshine."
Which was why Jack was so determined to set up a daytime division, with me, Rhoan, Kade, and Liander all as its chief operatives. Right now, the Directorate was very limited in its operational times, and not all the bad guys did the nasty stuff during the night.
"Quinn can only read my thoughts during times of stress or pleasure," I explained. "So right now, now matter how much he tries, he hasn't a hope of getting past my shield."
Which wasn't exactly the entire truth—he could actually touch my mind during sleep, as well. But I was pretty sure that was a connection that took both of us to form and went no deeper than a dream state.
And I have to say, the man gave amazing dream sex.
"We'd better hope he can't," Jack muttered. "Because I do not want him near this operation."
I raised my eyebrows. "Why?"
"Because he is only interested in revenge. We want to bring down the cartel's entire operation." He sat down on the chair nearest the com-unit, and interlaced his fingers. "We had our first breakthrough about six weeks ago. You remember the letter Misha left you on his death?"
It was hard to forget, given the circumstances under which he'd died. A tremor ran through me. God, I still had nightmares about those watery spiders, and Misha being eaten alive from the inside. I licked my lips, and said, "He gave us the name of the fifth clone—Claudia Jones. But he didn't know the alias she worked under at the Directorate."
"We've since discovered she doesn't actually work for us—though she does visit several times a month."
The glint in his green eyes suggested amusement, but for the life of me, I couldn't see why. I mean, there were thousands of people who visited the Directorate every month, all of them for legitimate reasons.
"She's not one of Alan Brown's whores, is she?" Rhoan said, a note of incredulity in his voice.
"Yes."
I glanced at my brother. "How the hell did you jump to that conclusion?"
He just grinned and tapped the side of his head. "Brains, dear girl. Brains."
I snorted softly. "I wasn't aware that's where you kept your brains."
"Enough." Jack touched a button on the keyboard, and the com-screen sprang to life. On it was a picture white haired, white skinned woman. She was extremely pretty and yet oddly ethereal, and there was an unearthly sense of power in her luminous blue eyes. "This is Claudia Jones."
"She looks like I did—well, except tor the eyes." I looked across at Liander. "When you made me up for the raid into Brown's office."
He nodded. "She seemed to be one of his regulars, so we thought it would be less suspicious if you looked like her."
"Of course, we weren't to know that she was Gautier's contact." Jack pressed another button, and the woman's picture gave way to porno—Brown fucking Jones in his office. As far as lovers went, the man had no finesse whatsoever—just got it out, shoved it in, and pumped away. Which was probably why he had to rely on prostitutes to relieve his sexual needs.