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.”
The crowd surrounding
Fiona erupted with excited chatter, but subsided when Fairsby held
up his hands for quiet.
“It’s far worse than
even that, unfortunately. He managed to brutally murder three of
our guardsmen. We promise you this fiend will be tracked and
captured with all haste. We at Scotland Yard will be working with
Interpol, as well, to bring all possible resources to
bear.”
One of the reporters
raised his hand and waved it around. “Lord Fairsby, why are you on
the case? Is there reason to believe paranormal forces are
involved?”
“We’re pursuing all
options at this time,” Fairsby responded smoothly. “We will keep
the public informed as to our progress.”
“When swine fly,”
Christophe muttered. “There’s something off about that
man.”
“Pigs,” Fiona said
automatically. She glanced up at Christophe and hissed in a breath.
“Your eyes. Tone them down. They’re glowing.”
He scowled but closed
his eyes for a moment. When he reopened them, they were normal
again. He leaned down and spoke into her ear, so as not to be
heard, although it probably wasn’t necessary in the din of the
crowd’s noise. “He’s not human.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.
I’ve known his family for years.” But her gaze returned to Fairsby,
now striding toward the exit. He had always seemed a little off to
her, too. Aloof. Arrogant. Even more so than the usual English
upper crust.
Not that she was a
biased Scottish lass or anything.
She shook her head,
though. “No, I don’t think that’s possible.”
“Does your magic tell
you when you’re around other magic?” he asked, putting his arm
around her shoulders and steering her toward the exit, following
the crowd of media still shouting questions at
Fairsby.
“No,
but—”
“Mine does. That’s
how I knew you were there, outside the door of the jewels room
before the guard opened the door. Trust me, that man is not
strictly human.”
She pulled free of
his arm and headed for the gate. That was the problem, of course.
Trusting him. Blackmail and wild sex did not make a terrific
foundation for trust.
Ahead of them,
Fairsby reached the street and slid into the backseat of his car,
which immediately pulled away from the curb. The reporters took
several final photographs and then turned around, almost as one, to
face the Tower gate.
The Tower gate she
was walking through.
Damn.
The first one
recognized her and it was all over.
“Lady Fiona! Lady
Fiona Campbell! Over here, Lady F,” the lead photographer shouted,
aiming his enormous camera at her.
At them, she realized, panic sweeping through her. She
was about to be captured on film with Christophe. For all she knew,
he could be a wanted fugitive.
“What are you doing
here? Were you here for the press conference? What do you think?
Are you going to write a book about the Scarlet
Ninja?”
As they barraged her
with questions, she tried to edge away from Christophe, but he was
having none of it. He put his arm around her shoulders and grinned
at the journalists. She gritted her teeth around a
smile.
“I was just here
showing my friend the sights, when we happened to see the crowd
gathering,” she said, as politely as she could manage. “Was that a
press conference?”
The whirring of
cameras sounded like a horde of locusts attacking, and she fought
to remain calm. Publicity was the very last thing in the world she
wanted at this moment.
“Who’s the guy? Is
this a new man in your life?”
“No,” she
said.
“Yes, definitely,”
Christophe said, flashing that sexy smile of his.
Two female
journalists and one male in the front row nearly
swooned.
“I’m going to kill
you,” Fiona murmured, smiling for the press.
“I get that a
lot.”
Of course, their
different answers sent the reporters into a feeding
frenzy.
“Who are you,
anyway?”
“Are you Scottish,
too?”
“Are you an
author?”
“How long have you
been together?”
“You can call me
Christophe,” her partner drawled. “Not
Scottish, not an author. Just Fiona’s bodyguard. Those kids at book
signings can get kind of frisky, can’t they, darlin’?”
He winked, as if
sharing a great joke with the crowd, and they ate it up. Stupid
charming man. Fiona shuddered to think of what the morning papers
would be like.
More questions flew
at them, this time mostly directed to Christophe. Fiona tried
moving him along, but the fool was enjoying it.
“We haven’t known
each other long, but it was love at first sight, wasn’t it,
sweetheart?”
Her face went hot,
and from the intensifying sound of the cameras clicking, the
photographers caught it all.
“Christophe is just
having a bit of a laugh. We’re only just friends. Thank you all,
but we’ve got to be moving along.”
When the crowd showed
no sign of dispersing, she came up with an inspired idea. “Of
course, I’d be glad to talk about my new book, The Forest Fairies. I first thought of the idea for
the book when—”
As if she’d sprinkled
a little fairy dust herself, the reporters magically found other
things they’d rather be doing. Amazing how interviewing an author
about her book wasn’t nearly as interesting as murder and
mayhem.
“We’re leaving. Now.”
She marched toward the street, texting Sean to meet
them.
“Whatever you say,
Princess.”
“If you call me that
again, I’ll let Hopkins shoot you.”
He laughed all the
way to the car.
