Forged in Flame (20 page)

Morgan sighed and tilted her head to the left. “Is he still rockin’ the late seventies and early eighties look?” She packed more disdain into her words than Nicholas thought possible.
 

“Oh yeah.”

She shrugged and shook her head. “He must die for his insult to fashion alone.”

“Come on.” Nicholas stood and offered her a hand. “We both need to get some more sleep before dark.”

“You’re thinking about sleep?”
 

Nicholas pulled Morgan close and nipped at her neck. “As much as I enjoy other bedroom activities with my wife, we both have busy nights ahead of us. A decent day’s sleep is required.” She slid her arms around his waist. Nicholas closed his eyes and a low moan escaped his throat along with the rest of his sentence, “Though not preferred.”

22 – San Francisco CA – October 20, 2012

The next evening when Eric walked into the coffee shop that Grace had recommended, he smiled. Taking a deep breath, he savored the sharp, almost nutty, scent of brewing coffee, the salty tang of bacon mixing with the myriad of other scents he expected from a diner. If he’d thought about it, he would have known what to expect from a location that she had made her second home. It wasn’t hip or trendy, just a small twenty-four hour hole-in-the-wall joint that hadn’t seen a decorator since it first opened some thirty or so years before.

He strolled to the back and slid into a booth that was in desperate need of an upholsterer. When the waitress approached, she wore jeans and a black T-shirt, her apron and order pad the only indication that she was, in fact, an employee.

“What can I get ya?” she asked, between smacks of her gum.

Eric raised an eyebrow and wondered if his former partner was pulling a fast one on him, but decided against it. “Coffee, strong and black.”

“Anything else?”

“Not right now. I’m waiting for a friend.”

“You got it.” She turned on her heel and sashayed away.
 

Eric sat back in his seat and began scanning the place. A few other patrons were scattered around at the worn tables; none of them screamed cop to his trained eye.

I wonder if my coffee will arrive before Grace gets here?

The waitress had stopped to talk with another customer, gum now making small pink bubbles in front of her lips every so often. He rolled his eyes at the clichéd ridiculousness. Tapping one finger on the scratched surface of the table, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and started reading over the notes he’d made working from the information gathered from the internet. Along with the provided details from Nicholas. “A whole lotta nothing when it comes down to it,” he muttered under his breath, scrolling as though he might see something he missed one of the fifteen or twenty times he’d looked at it since asking Grace for help. “If it was
just
an
accident
, then the timing was damned convenient.”

“Still talking to yourself?” Grace’s voice drifted down to him.

Eric laughed and hit the button to turn his phone off before he tilted his head up to look at her. “And you still have a knack for finding hole-in-the-wall eateries.”

“Hey, they always have good food.”

Checking his watch, he said, “I’ve been here for fifteen minutes and have yet to see my bloody cup of coffee.”

“That’s because you look like a tourist.”

“Normally that’s not a bad thing.” He rolled his eyes. “Back home it wasn’t, and if I remember right, New Orleans is something of a tourist destination.”

“Smart ass,” she said while sliding into the booth across the table from him, a file folder clutched in one hand.”

“Is that what I think it is?” His eyes seemed to pierce the file as she put it on the table.
 

“It’s the report on the accident you asked me about.” She didn’t move her hand from the top of the file, waiting.

“And?”

“If the guy was as into cars as you said, I’m not so sure this was just an accident.” She frowned, her brows dipping low.

Eric tilted his head to the right and raised his brows. “What do you mean?”

“Most car guys, especially car guys with money, would have noticed that the brake lines were going out.” Grace made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “Yeah, it was made to look like they’d worn through, so the investigating officers weren’t willing to look beyond the obvious.”

“Weren’t willing?”

“Yeah, I went and talked to them about it.” Grace shook her head as though unable to believe the words were coming from her mouth. “Their lieutenant didn’t want to do anything either. I got nothin’ but static about how accidents happen, and I shouldn’t be looking for trouble where there isn’t any. You know, the usual blah, blah, blah.”

Eric shook his head and sighed, having been on the receiving end of those talks a time or two himself. “Shit, Grace, I’m sorry.”

She waved off his apology. “It’s cool, but there’s something I don’t get at all. Call it a hunch, but I’ve got a feeling there’s more to this than you’re telling me too, so it isn’t just the investigators who are giving me the runaround, huh?”

“Because there is,” he said before he could stop himself.

“So, talk to me.”

“I can’t.” He leaned back and scrubbed his hand over his face, using the time to think up something plausible. “I’m under a kind of nondisclosure agreement.”

She studied him, eyes narrowing. “Why are you in town?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Then I’m outta here.” She stood. “Have a nice life, Kincade.”
 

He stayed at the table and folded his hands over the file she’d left for him and fought to keep his seat. “Grace, please. I need you to understand.”

“Understand what?” she snapped.

“Not here,” Eric said in a stage whisper.

“If you’re not going to be straight with me, I don’t want to hear it.” She turned on her heels and Eric watched as she stalked out of the coffee shop.
 

Come on, Gracie, look back. If you look back, I’ll figure out a way to tell you everything and keep both of us safe.
For the first time in three years, Eric wanted to open up to someone who wasn’t a vampire. As Grace left the cafe and disappeared into the night, the server set a mug on the table and poured aromatic coffee into it.

“Want anything else?”

“No,” Eric turned his attention back to the file on the table. “Thanks, I’m good.” He focused on the report, but the voice in the back of his head kept distracting him. After a few minutes, he checked the time on his phone and frowned. “Shit. I need to go.” He threw a ten on the table, gathered up all of his things and jogged out of the coffee shop.

An hour later Morgan wove the car through the downtown streets of San Francisco, focusing on driving and not chatting. Eric shifted in his seat, feeling tension rising in the vehicle that he wasn’t used to when dealing with his mentor. After about five minutes, he couldn’t stand it anymore; he had to break the silence.

“So, where are we going?” he asked, hoping to draw her out.
 

She glanced over at him for a split second before turning her attention back to the road and answered, “A place where the local Nomads like to go.”

“And just what will we be doing at a Nomadic hangout?”

A sly smile curled Morgan’s lips and Eric thought he spotted a hint of her fang peeking out from under her upper lip. “A little rabble rousing.”

“Isn’t that frowned upon?”

“If you want to get technical,” she said, shrugging one shoulder. “Then yes.”

“Why
aren’t
we worried about technicalities?” he asked.

“Because I have a bad feeling.”

“We’re going on your bad feeling?”

“Yes.”
 

Eric shook his head, every warning buzzer in the back of his mind blared. “Talk to me, Morgan. I’m not like Marcus and Nicholas. I won’t try and stop you because I know it’s stupid.” He chuckled, hoping he’d managed to lighten the mood. When he got no response, he shook his head and continued, “But I do need to know what you have in mind, so I can protect you to the best of my ability.”

Morgan sighed and the silence returned. She flipped on the car’s blinker and eased into a right turn before she spoke again. “It all goes back to Lucian. Things I can’t prove but have a bad feeling about. So please, don’t ask for proof. I do not have it.”

“I won’t. But I just need to know what to expect, for now.” Eric’s mind spun, struggling to keep his tone neutral.
 

“All right.” Morgan took a moment to gather her thoughts. “If I’m correct, there are events being set in motion that could have far-reaching ramifications for all of our kind. That being said, I worry about the sanity of having a vampire like Samair in charge of one of the largest Nomadic populations in the United States.”

“What can you do about it? It’s not as if a member of a Dynastic line can take over as the Lord or Lady of the City.”

“You are correct.”

“So, why are we going to a known Nomad hangout?”

“We are here to meet with a friend.”

Eric smiled and nodded as understanding dawned. “I assume this is a well-connected friend we’re talking about here?”

“Of course.” Morgan smiled, as she expertly maneuvered the car into a tight parking space in front of an old, unimpressive brick building. “Add to that the fact that she hates Samair, and you have a winning combination.”

“So, you’re going to give her some gossip?”

“Yes, I’m here to gossip, in the right way.”

“There’s a right way to gossip?”

“But of course!” She managed to sound scandalized while laughing. “The wrong way brings the story back around to you, and you get your nose dirty. If you do it the right way, no one knows where the story came from, and you come out smelling like honeysuckle and jasmine on a humid New Orleans night.”

“Your friend knows how to gossip the right way?”

Morgan slipped into a sweet Southern belle accent as she killed the engine. “She does, and it doesn’t hurt that she’s very old South from a time when all so-called proper ladies learned how to cut to the quick with honeyed words.”

“Sounds like not much has changed for ladies of the South,” he muttered and shook his head while opening his door and stepping out of the car. He had walked around to her side of the car before asking, “What do you need me to do?”
 

She glanced at the storefront for a moment before turning her emerald eyes on Eric and flashing a fang-bearing smile. “Just watch my back. Make sure no one tries to kill me tonight.”

“If they do?”

“Well, then.” She shrugged. “Make sure they aren’t successful.”

“I can do that.” He smiled and offered her his arm. “No questions?”

“Not while we’re meeting with her. If there’s anything you have to know about, please ask me later.”

“You act like you have some history with this woman.”

“I do,” Morgan said and left it at that.
 

Eric wanted to push more, but they were at the entrance to the shop. When he opened the door, they were assaulted by a cloud of aromatic smoke. “A cigar bar?”

“Why not? It’s not as if we can get cancer. Besides, it’s a great way to get the majority of humans to leave us alone. And you’re only half right, it’s a cigar
club
.”

“Is there really a difference?”

“I suppose there is, legally.”

“I’d never thought about it that way.” Eric mused as Morgan stepped into the room. He followed a step behind.
 

He stopped where he stood, his feet planted as he stared. A rundown counter stood in front of a wall covered in faded signs. Three tiny tables were placed around the small room and an annoyed looking young man stood behind the glass case counter filled with cheap tobacco products. Eric watched, curious. He’d learned that not much in the vampire world could be taken at face value.
 

Morgan walked over to the man and smiled so he could see the flashed tips of her fangs. The kid nodded and reached under the counter before tilting his head to the left. “Go on back.”