Vampire, Interrupted (2 page)

Tiny and Marguerite had started the search in England, spending the last three weeks searching through dusty church archives looking for mention of his birth or even of the name Notte. They began in the southernmost part of the country, working their way north until they’d reached Berwick-upon-Tweed. It was there that Tiny had finally suggested they question Christian again to see if there wasn’t some bit of information he could give them to help narrow the search to one area, or at least one half of the country.

Relieved by the suggestion, Marguerite had promptly agreed. She’d expected private detective work to be much more interesting than it was turning out to be and was seriously reconsidering her career choice. But she’d promised to help Christian find out the
identity of his mother and intended to do her best to accomplish that.

Tiny was the one who called Christian in Italy and arranged to meet in London. Rather than wait and catch a train the next morning and have to travel during daylight, Marguerite rented a car and they drove through the night, arriving at the hotel shortly before dawn. Christian had already arrived and checked in.

They’d met briefly with Christian Notte, and his cousins Dante and Tommaso on arriving, but only long enough to arrange a meeting at sunset to discuss the case. They’d then parted to go to their rooms.

“No, we haven’t found out anything,” she agreed now, pursing her lips as she peered at Tiny and then added, “But I can’t think of any other reason someone would try to kill me. Perhaps the very fact that we’re here and looking is enough to worry someone.”

Tiny didn’t look convinced. He did look worried though so she wasn’t surprised when he suggested, “I think we should switch rooms…possibly even hotels.”

Marguerite was frowning at the thought of having to dress and pack and move when Tiny suddenly added, “It
was
an immortal, wasn’t it?”

Her startled eyes shot to his face, though she knew she shouldn’t be surprised. She might be a newbie at this detective business, but Tiny was the real thing. She should have realized he’d put it together.

Sighing, Marguerite ran a hand through her hair and nodded. “Yes. I am sure he was. And, yes, we should switch hotels and even use a different name. But not this morning,” she added firmly. “I am sure he will not try again this day and I’m exhausted.”

Tiny nodded and then asked, “Did you leave your balcony door open?”

“No.”

“Was it locked?”

Marguerite hesitated and then shrugged. “I did not open it when I came in, so have no idea.”

Tiny frowned at her answer, and then announced, “You aren’t sleeping in here. You can take my bed.”

“Well, you are not sleeping in here either,” she said firmly.

“No,” he agreed. “I want to stick close to you until we move hotels. Jackie and Vincent would never forgive me if I let you get killed under my nose.”

Marguerite smiled faintly at the mention of her nephew, Vincent Argeneau and his lifemate, Jackie Morrisey, who also happened to be the owner and president of the Morrisey Detective Agency, Tiny’s boss…and hers now too, she supposed.

“I’ll nap on the window seat in my room while you take the bed,” he decided.

“You’ll not get any sleep there.” Marguerite moved to the door leading to the rest of the suite. “You can sleep in the bed with me.”

Tiny snorted at the suggestion as he followed her through the sitting area to his door. “Like I’d get any sleep there.”

Marguerite glanced back and grinned when she caught him watching her behind as he followed her into the second bedroom. It didn’t take her ability to read his mind to know he found her attractive. She’d been aware of that from the beginning of their friendship. And she found him attractive as well;
tall, handsome, built like a line-backer with one of those lovely, wide chests a gal could spend hours exploring…and he could cook too, a skill Marguerite had never acquired. The man was practically perfect. There was only one flaw to him as far as she could tell, but it was a big one. Marguerite could read and control him. Having spent the last seven hundred years trapped in a marriage with a man who could read and control her—and couldn’t resist doing so at every opportunity—she wasn’t willing to visit that on someone else.

“You are perfectly safe with me,” she assured him solemnly as she crossed the room to his bed.

“Marguerite, honey, no man is safe with a woman who looks like you,” Tiny muttered as he closed the door. He watched her climb into bed and added with a shake of the head, “Especially in that nightie. What the hell did they make it out of? A hankie and some lace?”

Marguerite peered down at herself. The nightie wasn’t really that revealing. Or at least, it wasn’t as revealing as some of her other ones. And she liked pretty lingerie, it made her feel sexy. Single gals like herself had to get that feeling somewhere. Besides, she hadn’t expected anyone would see it.

She raised her gaze to Tiny again to find him settling on the window seat. It wasn’t long enough for him to stretch out on, so he sat himself on it, back against the wall at one end, arms crossed over his chest, expression grim as he avoided looking at her.

“You are not going to get any sleep like that,” Marguerite said with a sigh.

“Yeah, well, I don’t need a lot of sleep,” he muttered, his gaze sliding to her and then quickly dancing away.

Marguerite stared at him for a moment and then shook her head and lay down in the king-sized bed. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but after a couple of moments, she opened them again to stare at the ceiling overhead and then finally turned a scowl in Tiny’s direction. This was just stupid. He wouldn’t catch a lick of sleep on that window seat, and she was never going to sleep knowing
he
couldn’t sleep. Besides, it was a huge bed, with plenty of room for both of them.

Narrowing her eyes, Marguerite gave in to temptation and slipped into his thoughts. It took little effort to take control of the man, bring him to his feet, and direct him across the room to the bed. She made him lie down beside her and then took a moment to ease him into an untroubled sleep before slipping free of his mind with a little sigh.

Marguerite peered at him for a moment, and then turned out the bedside lamp, scooted under the sheet and blankets, and closed her eyes…only to have them pop open a moment later. She peered at the dark outline of the man in bed beside her, a frown curving her lips as she realized that she’d just done to him, what she’d so resented her husband doing to her throughout their marriage. She’d made him do what she’d thought was best rather than what he wished.

Marguerite tried to excuse herself by pointing out that it was late and they were both tired and he really would sleep better in the bed, but that didn’t ease the guilt she was feeling. Tiny wasn’t the first
mortal she’d controlled during her seven hundred years of life, and normally she didn’t have any guilt over it, but Tiny was a friend and friends didn’t control friends…just as her husband, Jean Claude, shouldn’t have controlled her.

Grimacing, Marguerite sat up in bed again, turned on the light, and nudged Tiny’s arm to wake him. His eyes immediately shot open.

“Wh—What’s happened?” He peered around a bit wildly, then spotted her in the bed beside him and appeared confused. “What?”

“I put you in bed so you would sleep comfortably, but then realized that it wasn’t right for me to control you. So, if you really want to sleep on the window seat…” She shrugged.

Tiny stared at her blankly, and then slow anger crossed his face. “You controlled me?”

Biting her lip, Marguerite nodded apologetically. “I’m sorry. I realized it was wrong, that’s why I woke you up.”

Tiny’s anger slid away, leaving him deflated as his gaze slid to the window seat. He didn’t look particularly eager to leave the bed, but sighed and started to shuffle out of it, only to pause when he realized he was under the comforter, but on top of the sheet.

“I thought if you woke up before me it might make you feel better if you were on top of the sheet and I was under,” she explained when he glanced her way.

Tiny relaxed and nodded. “It does. I guess it’s okay if we sleep like this. But next time don’t control me. We’re partners, Marguerite…equals. I need to be able to trust you, but I can’t do that if you’re going to control me any time we disagree on what to do.”

“I won’t,” she promised.

Nodding, Tiny lay back in bed and Marguerite turned off the lamp and followed suit. They lay there in silence for several moments, and then Tiny sighed.

“I can’t get back to sleep. Do you think you could do that control thing and
make
me?”

Marguerite turned her head to peer at him with surprise. “You
want
me to control you?”

“Just to put me to sleep,” he muttered.

The last of her guilt slipping away, Marguerite slid into his thoughts and put him back to sleep, and then lay back with a small smile. She liked Tiny. He was a good man. It was really a shame she could read and control him. He would make a good lifemate for some lucky gal.

Perhaps she should see if she couldn’t find him a lifemate
, Marguerite thought. It would be nice for her nephew’s wife, Jackie, to have her friend with her in the future. She knew the woman would be shattered when he died whether it was next week or some time in the far distant future when he’d reached his dotage.

Marguerite closed her eyes, her mind filling with immortal after immortal she knew that may suit Tiny. He was a big, sweet man, a gentle giant. He deserved a sweet, kind wife who would appreciate him as he deserved to be appreciated. She drifted off to sleep while still considering the matter.

Julius Notte looked down at the empty bed and
frowned. It wasn’t even five o’clock yet, more than an hour from sunset. Marguerite Argeneau should be snug in her bed, but wasn’t. He knew he had the right room. The scent of a woman’s perfume—sweet and
musky like fruit at harvest time—assured him that this was her room. And she’d obviously been sleeping here earlier, but now the room was empty.

Scowling, he glanced over the mess around him, taking in the rumpled bed with its sheet and comforter trailing onto the floor, the broken lamp next to it, and the shattered glass that had been knocked from the bedside table.

Concern replacing his annoyance, he retraced his steps, instinct sending him to the door of the other bedroom in the suite. It should be where the private detective, Tiny McGraw, was staying, but when he inhaled he caught a faint whiff of that sweet and musky perfume. Marguerite was in there, or had been at some point.

Julius opened the door and moved silently inside.

Two

Marguerite’s eyes snapped open, muffled sounds
jerking her from sleep. She was immediately alert. Even so, she had to blink several times before her mind accepted the sight before her. Tiny dangled in the air, caught by the throat and held above the floor by…Christian Notte? Eyes locked on the two men, she reached back blindly to feel around until her hand knocked against the bedside lamp. Finding the switch, she turned it on and squinted against the light that exploded into the room.

“Good evening, Marguerite.”

Stiffening in the bed, she stared at the man presently dangling Tiny in the air. It wasn’t Christian Notte. This man was several inches over six feet in height, with wide shoulders, handsome features, and deep silver-black eyes. All of which described Christian, but this
man had short black hair and wore a business suit. Christian’s hair was long and auburn and she’d never seen him in anything but black leather or black jeans.

“Who are you?” she asked, glancing worriedly at Tiny’s face. Much to her concern the mortal was turning blue, his struggles becoming less frantic. She scowled at the man holding him and said, “Stop being so bloody rude and release my co-worker. We’re friends of Christian’s and he won’t be pleased if you kill Tiny.”

“Co-worker?” He dropped Tiny and perched his hands on his hips to scowl at her. “Is that what they call it now?”

Marguerite didn’t respond, her concerned gaze was on Tiny. The detective was gasping and coughing and struggling to get to his knees. But he was alive. That was something, she supposed, finally turning her attention back to the angry man looming over the bed.

It seemed obvious he was somehow related to Christian, who was technically their employer, but…really this situation was somewhat beyond her. This was her first job. How did one deal with these things? She wanted to snap at the man to get the hell out of her room—well, Tiny’s room, she supposed. However, she wasn’t sure if that was the most professional approach. Perhaps she was supposed to be polite.

Marguerite glanced to Tiny, wondering if he was recovered enough to give her some guidance in the matter. Her eyes widened with alarm as he lurched to his feet and—still struggling to get back his breath—launched himself at their visitor.

The attack seemed to suggest she didn’t have to be polite, Marguerite decided with satisfaction, and then
winced as the immortal responded to the assault with an impatient flick of one hand that sent Tiny flying backward into the bedroom wall.

“Hey!” she cried out. Her gaze flickered between the man and Tiny until she saw that the mortal seemed all right. At least, his expression was grim, not pained, and he was moving himself into a sitting position where he’d fallen.

Scowling, Marguerite turned back to the attacker, mouth opening to berate him, but she paused when she noted that he was no longer looking at her. His attention was on the bed. She followed his gaze to see what fascinated him so.

The comforter had slid to the floor and while she clutched her half of the sheet to her chest, the other half still lay in place on the bed, wrinkled and flat where the large detective had slept on it. The sight seemed to fascinate the man, though she didn’t know why. Before she could even try to sort it out, Tiny distracted her by tackling him again.

Marguerite clucked impatiently at his foolishness even as the intruder simply responded by tossing him against the wall once more. She winced at the thud as he slammed into it, and then decided enough was enough. It was time to intervene before the sweet but apparently not-as-bright-as-she’d-thought detective got himself hurt.