Vampire, Interrupted (4 page)

“Julius? Now, why does that name sound so familiar?” Tiny asked.

Marguerite glanced at her partner with confusion as he shrugged into his shirt. She knew he knew the man’s name. They’d been searching for it in archives for weeks now.

“I’ve got it!” he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. He glanced to Marguerite and asked drolly, “Isn’t your dog’s name Julius?”

Marguerite’s mouth pulled into a grin. “Yes, it is.”

“He’s a big dog,” Tiny announced to the others, though his gaze was on Julius as he added, “Fur as black as your hair. A Neapolitan Mastiff. That’s an Italian breed, isn’t it?” he asked and then shrugged and added heavily, “He drools a lot.”

Marguerite turned away and coughed into her hand to hide the laugh that she couldn’t hold back. She wasn’t surprised by the choked quality to Julius Notte’s voice when he asked, “You named your dog Julius?”

Making her expression bland, she turned back and admitted, “I’ve named every dog I’ve ever had Julius.
The first was a couple hundred years ago. I’ve taught a lot of Juliuses to heel over the years.”

A choked gurgle slipped from Christian’s lips that sounded suspiciously like stifled laughter. Tiny grinned widely and gave her an approving nod. Marcus bit his lip, turned his head to the side, and coughed…once. However, Julius Notte didn’t look annoyed as she’d expected. Much to her confusion, the man again looked amused.

Deciding she would never understand men, Marguerite shook her head and turned to head for the door leading to the rest of the suite. “I am going to take a bath.”

“Just a minute,” Julius Notte protested. “You haven’t yet explained about the other attack.”

“Tiny can tell you about it,” Marguerite said calmly. “I am taking a bath.”

She didn’t wait for further protest, but sailed out of the room.

Julius watched Marguerite Argeneau go, a small smile claiming his lips as his gaze slid over her long, wavy chestnut hair with its red highlights, the robe trying to slip off her shoulder, and down to her shapely legs and cute little bare feet. She was magnificent. Beautiful, intelligent, sexy as hell, and sassy to boot, he thought with admiration, but came to earth with a bump when Christian snapped, “Stop looking at her ass, Father. She’s
my
detective.”

His mood of a moment ago ruined, Julius turned on his son and snapped, “Marguerite may be your detective, but she’s my—”

“Your what?” Christian asked curiously when Julius abruptly cut himself off.

“My responsibility,” he finished, avoiding his gaze. “As the head of our family, everyone is, including you and anyone working for you.”

Christian opened his mouth to respond, but Julius quickly turned to Tiny and ordered, “Tell us about the first attack.”

It was enough to distract Christian. He closed his mouth and turned to peer at the mortal expectantly.

Tiny hesitated and then muttered, “I need a coffee.”

Julius shifted impatiently, but waited as the mortal crossed to the food trolley with his cup and then prompted, “The earlier attack?”

Tiny nodded, but reached out with his free hand to shift the silver plate cover off his food. He grabbed a piece of bacon and popped it into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then finally said, “Someone broke in and tried to cut off Marguerite’s head.”

Julius closed his eyes and prayed for patience.

“Er…Tiny, that’s pretty much what Marguerite said,” Christian pointed out.

“And that’s what happened,” the detective said with a shrug and picked up another piece of bacon.

When Julius began to growl, Christian moved a little closer to the mortal in a protective manner. “Yes, but surely you can give us more detail?”

“Was the attacker mortal or immortal?” Julius snapped. “What did he look like? How did he get in? Was he armed?
Was
it a he?” He arched his eyebrows with exasperation. “You’re the detective, mortal, surely you noticed details you could pass along?”

Tiny peered at him calmly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips and it seemed obvious his obtuse behavior now was payback for the earlier attack.
Just when Julius thought he would throttle the man, he answered his questions.

“I suspect he was immortal, but I can’t tell you for certain and can’t describe him because I didn’t see him. Obviously he was armed, he couldn’t cut off Marguerite’s head with his hand. He had a sword. Marguerite seemed to think it was a he, but I can’t say for sure because—as I said—I didn’t see him.”

Julius let his breath out slowly as the man continued.

“He’d fled out onto the balcony by the time I reached her room. Marguerite was tangled in her sheets on the floor. She’d apparently woken up to see the sword coming down and rolled out of the bed. She had a nick on her neck and blood on her nightgown and pointed to the open terrace doors when I ran in.” He shrugged again. “The assailant was no longer out there when I got outside. He must have come down from the roof and escaped the same way.”

Julius’s mouth tightened. Marguerite Argeneau had nearly been killed. Someone had tried to kill her before he’d arrived in her room.

“Marguerite thinks it has to do with the case,” Tiny added.

Julius’s head snapped up at those words. “What?”

The detective shrugged. “She says she has no enemies, but pointed out—and rightly so—that there
is
someone who doesn’t want Christian to know who his mother is.”

Julius winced. The man wasn’t even trying to hide his ridiculous suspicions. Not that they were really ridiculous, he acknowledged. After all, he
had
done everything in his power to keep Christian from finding his mother. No doubt both Tiny and—more im
portantly—Marguerite would think him behind the earlier attack as well.
Hell
.

“Did you do it?” Christian asked.

Julius’s head reared back with affront. “No!”

“Don’t look so offended, Father,” Christian muttered impatiently. “You don’t want me to know who my mother is and have turned away every detective I’ve hired until now to ensure I don’t. But Marguerite and Tiny aren’t from Europe and Marguerite’s family is powerful. You can’t use threats to make them quit like you have the others.”

“You know about that?” Julius asked with surprise.

“Of course I know,” he said with disgust. “Most of the immortal detectives I set to the task were younger than I. I could read them. They were
telling
me they couldn’t find anything and thought it a waste of time, or that they had ‘urgent matters needing attending’ and couldn’t afford the time for such an extensive search, but their minds were usually screaming,
“Oh shit, I have to get out of this or Julius Notte will crush me like a little bug.”

Julius turned a scowl Marcus’s way when a bark of laughter slipped from the man’s mouth.

“So, did you attack Marguerite?” Christian asked, then added encouragingly, “Maybe not with the intent to kill her, but just to scare her off?”

“No,” Julius repeated, holding his gaze.

Christian looked like he might believe him but then sighed and shook his head. “I want to believe you, but…”

“Can’t you read him?” Tiny asked. “I thought you guys could read us and each other so long as you
aren’t lifemates. Marguerite was constantly reading Vincent in California.”

“Marguerite is older than Vincent,” Christian explained. “I can’t read my father unless he opens his mind to me.”

“So, have him open his mind,” Tiny suggested.

Julius glowered at the mortal, but then went still as Christian turned an arched eyebrow his way.

“Will you open your mind and let me read it to be sure,” Christian asked.

Julius didn’t even bother to speak, he merely sneered at the very suggestion.

“Just what I thought,” Christian muttered with disgust. “You did come here to—”

“Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere,” Marcus suggested, reminding them of his presence. When they both glanced his way, his gaze slipped meaningfully toward Tiny who had pulled the food trolley in front of one of the chairs by the window and was settling down to his breakfast.

“Don’t mind me,” the detective said with amusement. “I’ll just eat while you talk.”

“We’ll get out and let you eat in peace,” Christian growled and then glanced to Julius and said, “We can talk in my room.”

When he nodded agreement, Christian turned to head for the door.

Julius glanced from his departing son to the mortal and hesitated. He’d wanted to rip off Tiny’s head when he’d found him in bed with Marguerite. In fact, he’d wanted to right up until Marcus had whispered in his ear that he’d read the man and he and Margue
rite hadn’t done anything but share the bed, that they didn’t have the kind of relationship he’d assumed.

Of course, as Marcus had also said, Julius would have known that himself had he taken the trouble to read the man rather than just assume the worst. Now he felt kind of bad about the whole thing. The detective had just been trying to ensure Marguerite’s safety. Julius considered apologizing for his earlier behavior, but then recalled that if Tiny hadn’t opened his big mouth about his opening his mind for Christian to read him, his son wouldn’t be pissed at him right now. The two deeds cancelled each other out, he decided. He didn’t owe him an apology.

Scowling at the mortal, Julius turned on his heel and followed his son.

Three

Marguerite’s gaze slid over the mess in her room as
she headed for the rack where her suitcase sat. Flipping up the lid, she retrieved what she’d need for a bath, and then grabbed fresh clothes to wear afterward, grateful she hadn’t unpacked when they arrived that morning. It saved her having to repack everything.

Turning, she moved into the bathroom and set her things on the gleaming marble counter before moving to the huge tub. Marguerite poured in a liberal amount of bubble bath, pushed the button to drop the drain plug into place, and then switched on the taps before sitting on the side of the tub with a weary little sigh.

She was tired and would have liked a couple more hours sleep. It had been a long drive from Berwick-
upon-Tweed…but then it had been a very long three weeks.

Her mouth quirked with irritation as she thought of the time they’d spent going through book after book of ancient, spidery writing in now faded ink, searching for mention of the Notte name.

So much time wasted
, Marguerite thought with irritation,
and all because the stubborn, stupid man in Tiny’s room refused to simply tell the name of the woman who had given birth to his son.

She shook her head in disgust. Julius Notte was an attractive man, far too attractive for his own good. In all likelihood, the truth was probably that he slept around with so many women—mortal and immortal alike—that he had trouble keeping track of the names. Which one of those had given birth to Christian was probably a mystery to him too. She’d probably dumped him on Julius’s doorstep while he was out.

Wrinkling her nose at her own catty thoughts, Marguerite leaned over to turn off the taps, acknowledging to herself that she was obviously in a very bad mood. Hoping that a nice, relaxing bath would help improve it, she disrobed and stepped carefully into the warm, bubble-covered water, releasing a little sigh of pleasure as she sank into its soothing embrace.

Marguerite loved bubble baths, and had never understood the attraction of showers. She liked to soak, and did so now. It gave her time to relax and think, and she had a lot to think about.

Christian had told them at the start that Julius Notte refused to reveal who his mother was or discuss anything about her. Indeed, the whole family re
fused to discuss his mother, saying only that she was dead and he was better off without her.

The few slivers of information he’d gained over the centuries were just tidbits that had slipped out over time, nothing that would tell him where to start a search, he’d told them. Until the day when he and one of his aunts were looking at a portrait of him as a child, and she had smiled and commented, “You were only a few weeks old there. Your father had it commissioned right after he returned with you from that year in England.”

Finally having somewhere to start the search, Christian had immediately hired detectives to try to find out his mother’s identity. The problem was that any detective for such a search had to be an immortal, and all of the immortals in Europe were easily scared off by Julius Notte and the power he wielded. All it took was one phone call from the man and the detectives would back off the case.

Until now, Marguerite thought grimly. She liked Christian and felt he deserved to know who his mother was. She also wasn’t afraid of Julius Notte or his power. She would continue the search so long as Christian wished. It would just be so much easier if Julius Notte simply told them who the woman was. It would save them all this schlepping around, going through dusty old books.

Marguerite grimaced. So far, she was very disappointed in her new job. She found this research business boring and was definitely considering seeking out a different career after this case was done.

Lifting her leg out of the bathwater, Marguerite ran
the soapy washcloth over it and then set it back and lifted the other to do the same as her thoughts turned to Julius Notte.

Marguerite had no idea why the immortal was so set against his son knowing who his mother was. Were she to guess, she’d say Christian’s mother had probably hurt him terribly. Or, since the family kept telling Christian she was dead, perhaps her death was what had hurt him. The loss of a lifemate was a crushing blow to an immortal, she’d been told. She couldn’t say how crushing, she’d never had a lifemate, but she did know it took some immortals centuries to recover from the loss…if they recovered at all.

Still, while Marguerite could understand that this may be the reason he refused to discuss the woman, Christian had a right to know his mother’s identity.

Marguerite let her second leg slide back into the water and lay back in the tub to run the washcloth over her arms. When she then slid it over her breasts, she found her hand slowing as she recalled the brief, odd reaction she’d had to Julius Notte when she’d started to take off Tiny’s robe and had caught him looking at her.