The Vampire’s Mail Order Bride (2 page)

She ducked inside. It looked like a pretty typical office space, one front desk with several doors leading off to other offices. A little messy maybe, but she wasn’t about to judge the stacks of boxes and towers of paperwork on every cabinet. Especially when she was being chased by a murderer and his son. Odd there wasn’t a computer in sight. Whatever. She had bigger fish not to sleep with.

She leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths, her heart slowing but nowhere near normal. She stuck her phone in her jacket pocket.

“I’ll be right there,” a female voice called out with a slight French accent.

Delaney opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Too much shock still coursed through her system. She needed to call the police. Then what? She became a witness for the prosecution? If it was anything like TV, they’d change her name, give her a new identify and hide her away in some gross motel until the trial. Then she’d have to sit in front of Anthony Rastinelli and tell the judge and jury what she’d seen while he was right there in the same courtroom.

She wasn’t a coward, but…those witnesses in the movies seemed to end up dead about 99% of the time.

Germans eat twice as much chocolate as Americans.
She rolled her eyes.
Shut up, brain.
Now is not the time for useless facts about chocolate.
Everyone had their nervous tics, right?

An older, sophisticated woman with an armful of files walked out from one of the back rooms, exuding so much class that Delaney forgot everything that had just happened for a split second.

The woman smiled. “My apologies for the wait. We’re a little understaffed at the moment.”

Tall, with dark hair pulled into a twist, pin-straight bangs and narrow black-rimmed glasses, the woman wore a slim suit in midnight blue and a single strand of gunmetal pearls at her throat. A slick of burgundy lipstick, winged eyeliner and perfect brows completed the look. Those brows lifted slightly as she took Delaney in. “Ah. You’re not here about—never mind, you’re here for the secretarial position, aren’t you? Very good. I’m Adelaide Poirot, and you are?”

Not French, that was for dang sure. Delaney had never felt more like a slob in her entire life. Fortunately, the office phone rang before she had time to respond.

Adelaide rolled her eyes good-naturedly, but her smile thinned with frustration. “I’m afraid I must take that.” She set the files on the front desk. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

Delaney nodded.

Adelaide disappeared back into whatever dimension of perfection she’d come out of.

Delaney grabbed a brochure from the stack on the filing cabinet next to her.

Eternamate. Specializing in unique and exceptional arrangements.

Arrangements? There wasn’t a flower in the joint. She opened the brochure.

While Eternamate caters to the particular gentleman, we pride ourselves on providing only the most capable and understanding partners in our arranged matches.

Oh.
Those
kinds of arrangements.

Many of our couples even fall in love…
blah, blah, blah.

Delaney put the brochure back. She needed to call the cops, not find a man. Benny might be dead. She had to tell the police what she’d seen. It was the right thing to do.

Even if she ended up dead too.

Her stomach knotted. She pulled her phone out and stared at the dark screen. How was she going to testify when she couldn’t even find the courage to dial?

Okay, calm down.
Anthony Rastinelli didn’t even know she’d been there. How could he? She’d call in the shooting anonymously, then send the video in from some random library computer that couldn’t be traced back to her, and that would be that. She tapped the screen to bring it to life.

Two text messages waiting. She brought them up and almost peed. The first one, the one she’d ignored on the walk home, was from Anthony Rastinelli. But wait…that was well before the shooting. The second one was from her phone company, no doubt telling her the bill was due.

She opened the first message.

D, you left your apron.

Her throat squeezed shut, making it impossible to breathe. When he saw that her apron was gone after he’d texted her about it, how would he
not
assume she was the one who’d been there? He’d know without a doubt she’d been present for the shooting.

Twenty-seven was too damn young to die. She closed her eyes and tipped her head against the wall.
Think
. There had to be a way out of this.

Adelaide’s phone conversation carried from the back office. “I have the files together and the women have their matches, but I haven’t sent any of them the travel information yet.”

Travel information? Delaney opened her eyes and straightened. Her gaze went right to the files. Were those the files the woman was talking about? She glanced toward the back. She could hear Adelaide, but not see her, which meant Adelaide couldn’t see Delaney either.

Delaney stuck her phone back into her pocket, snatched the first file off the top of the stack and flipped it open. No picture, just a name. Beatrice Mackenzie, age thirty-three, dog lover, so on and so forth. Delaney skimmed Beatrice’s info until she came to a box near the bottom labeled Matched. In that box was scribbled a man’s name and address. The guy Beatrice had been fixed up with was in Scotland, and she was supposed to meet him in two weeks. Good for her, not so much for Delaney.

She grabbed the next file. No picture in this one either. Maybe they didn’t do pictures? At any rate, this woman, Annabelle Givens, age twenty-eight, had been matched with a guy in Nocturne Falls, Georgia.

Georgia was about thirteen hours away. Maybe more like fourteen with stops for gas and the added factor of traveling with Captain. A long drive however it worked out, but very doable. She could be there by tomorrow afternoon.

A tingle of something shot through Delaney’s spine. Fear? Hope? Stupidity? Probably all three. There was no time to think about this. Anthony Rastinelli and his greasy son could be headed to her apartment at this very moment. Her breath stuck in her throat. Captain was there! If they hurt him, she would make sure they went to prison. Then she would send them poisoned cakes.

She paused. Except they’d be going to her old address. She’d moved a month ago and had yet to give Rastinelli her new info. There was hope yet.

She looked at the info in the file again. Annabelle wasn’t expected for another week. A phone call from Adelaide’s new
assistant
and Annabelle would have to understand this match just wasn’t going to happen.

Delaney would make that call on the way. Right now, she had to get Captain Underpants and herself packed for a trip.

She jammed the file under her arm and raced toward home.

“How are you, Grandmamma?” Hugh kissed his grandmother’s barely wrinkled cheek, catching the fragrance of violet water even though it competed with the arrangement of fresh flowers that adorned the top of the piano. He braced himself for the worst. She wore violets only when she was in an obstinate mood.

Come to think of it, Elenora Ellingham wore violets often.

“Not well.” She held a lacy handkerchief to her nose and looked toward the marble fireplace. She might have been turned in her sixties but she’d been a handsome woman even then. Becoming a vampire had only made her more beautiful.

He stifled a snort as he settled into the velvet Louis chair across from her. “I’m sorry to hear that. You’re not thinking about facing the dawn, are you?”

She dropped her hand to her lap and glowered at him. “I like you least of my grandsons.”

He nodded dutifully, suppressing the grin that would only get him into more trouble. “I know.”

She shook her head at him. “You hardly visit me anymore.”

“We went out to lunch two days ago, and three days before that we were all together for Sunday supper.”

She took a deep breath and stared toward the window. The crescent moon was just visible in the night sky. “I’ve decided enough is enough.”

“What is?” Oh, this had the makings of something epic. He waited to see what he’d done now.

“Of you being alone. Of you mourning Juliette and breaking hearts.” She raised her brows. “It’s been over three hundred years. Plenty of time for you to move on and give me some grandbabies.”

His jaw fell open, but he was powerless to close it.

“Shut your mouth, Hugh. I can see your fangs.” She frowned at him. “It’s not like it’s impossible for vampires to procreate. As long as both parties have been turned, they have as much chance of producing a child as a mortal couple. You know the rest, I assume, or would you like me to have that talk with you as well?”

“Have you gone mad, woman? No, I don’t need to hear the birds and the bees from you.” He pressed his fingers to his brow in an attempt to stave off the headache that would be hitting him at any moment due to the influx of questions barraging his brain. He wasn’t sure where to start, so he chose the topic of least resistance. “Why am I suddenly the one responsible for carrying on the Ellingham line?”

“Well, your brothers aren’t going to do it, are they?”

“Sebastian…no, never mind.” His eldest brother had also been married when they’d been turned, but unlike Juliette, Sebastian’s wife had survived the transition. Their marriage had not. She’d decided she enjoyed the vampire life so much she’d rather try it unencumbered by a husband. The whole ordeal had soured Sebastian on women and wedded bliss.

Hugh understood. To an extent. Sebastian had taken it hard, where as if Juliette had simply left Hugh as opposed to dying, he could very well imagine he would have been remarried by now. “Sebastian may never get over Evangeline.”

“I’ve come to accept that.” She nodded. “Sebastian is broken. I don’t believe there’s a woman alive who could mend that man’s heart.”

“There’s still Julian—”

“Oh, please.” She waved her handkerchief at him. “Julian is a complete and utter charmer, but he’s also a man whore. He’s made a mockery of monogamy. It will take a woman of a very particular kind to set him on a loyal path, if such a creature exists, and I don’t have the time or patience to wait.”

He squinted at her. “You don’t have the time? Grandmamma, we’ve been vampires for almost three hundred and fifty years, and there’s no reason to think we won’t be vampires for another three hundred and fifty. Time is not something we lack.”

“You’re an insolent child.” She huffed. “It doesn’t matter how long we’ve been alive or will be alive, I want grandbabies. I want to see my boys settled down and happy. Or at least one of them. You.”

“I am happy.” He wasn’t jumping up and down with joy, but he was fine.

She gave him the stare that destroyed lesser men. “You rattle around all alone in that house of yours, working on your formulas, wallowing in your grief—”

“I do
not
wallow and I am
not
alone. I have Stanhill.” His man-in-service was a faithful companion, his rook in vampire terms—a half-turned human who served a vampire’s needs in exchange for immortality—but their association was a purposeful one and didn’t disrupt Hugh’s routine. He liked his life the way it was. All that uninterrupted time to spend in his lab.

And maybe a little wallowing. But it grew less with each passing year. At least, he liked to tell himself that.

Her brows shot up. “Stanhill is your rook, not a
wife
.”

“No, he’s not. Thankfully.” Because that was something Hugh was never going to have again. He stood and tried to change the subject. “How about lunch tomorrow? We could go to—”

“Sit
down
.”

Blasted woman. He sat. “No lunch tomorrow?”

“I’ve taken the liberty”—that didn’t bode well—“of arranging for a suitable young woman to come visit you.”

A frisson of anger worked up his spine. He loved his grandmother with all his heart, such as it was. She’d saved him and his brothers from certain death by turning them into vampires, so on some level he owed her his life. But this was a step too far. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Hugh! Language.” She clucked her tongue at him. “Just that next week, there will be a woman arriving at your home, and you’re to entertain her as a possible mate.”

“Are you bloody kidding me? No. I won’t. This is the twenty-first century. There is no duchy to protect, no titles to pass on, no need to produce an heir. You realize you are the dowager duchess in name
only
.” Although in public, he and his brothers often called her Didi as a bit of a tease for that very reason. That, and she wasn’t keen on them calling her Grandmamma in public.