“However, you’re well past two hundred now and I suppose we have to acknowledge that you’ve grown up some. So if you’ll try to cut out the ‘dudes’ and ‘dudettes,’ I’ll do my best to be less condescending and older brotherish.”
Thomas felt his eyebrows rise at the suggestion.
“Deal?” Bastien asked quietly.
“Deal,” Thomas echoed.
“Well, now that we have that out of the way…Since you’re going to be spending the next few days with Inez anyway, and will be right there to read her reaction, why don’t you just explain about us to her and—” He stopped when Thomas burst out laughing.
“No thanks,” Thomas said. “Nice try at dumping one of your problems on me, though.”
“I thought it was worth a shot,” Bastien conceded with a laugh.
Thomas smiled faintly at his admission, and then said, “Surely, there is someone at the company here who could take care of it?”
“You would think so, wouldn’t you?” Bastien asked dryly. “But no one will do it. I’ve always done it and they expect me to continue to do so.”
“Nice,” he said dryly
“Yeah.” Bastien sighed. “Okay, look. Just do the best you can to keep her from finding out. Wipe her mind if she sees or overhears something she shouldn’t, and I’ll bring her over for the indoctrination right after you find Mother.”
Thomas nodded silently, and then remembered Bastien couldn’t see him and said, “Yeah sure.”
“Good. Call that techie friend and then catch some sleep while you can. But, call me back if he is able to track her phone.”
“Okay. Later.” Thomas’s gaze landed on the open binder on the table as he pressed the button to end the call. Scowling, he reached out and flipped the book closed. The music he was working on was for a comedy, and he wanted the music to be light and bouncy to reflect that. Unfortunately, it was difficult to write light, bouncy music for Vincent’s play when his mind was full of worry and concern for Marguerite. Despite his best intentions, Thomas doubted he’d get any work done until he found his aunt. Fortunately, Vincent didn’t need it right away.
Turning his attention back to his phone, Thomas opened the digital phonebook to find his techie friend’s number.
Herbert Longford was his name. An immortal who’d lived in Toronto for a while during one of his breaks from his homeland of England. Thomas had met him several years ago while delivering blood, something he occasionally did when Bastien’s couriers got behind, or one was off on vacation. The two had got talking and a friendship had formed. Herb was British, 280 years old, and even more of a computer geek than Etienne. If anyone would know if Marguerite could be tracked by her cell phone, Herb would.
Pushing the button to call his number, Thomas sank back on the love seat, mentally preparing an apology for waking the man during daytime hours when he, like most of their kind, was no doubt sleeping.
Thomas was dreaming of music when the irritating ring of the phone woke him. Despite the circumstances that had brought him to Europe it was a light and sweet refrain and was still playing through his head as he snapped his eyes open. His gaze shot to the binder on the table and Thomas automatically snatched up the pen that lay beside it as he sat up. He was already scribbling the notes on paper as he reached for the phone and flipped it open.
“Yeah?” he said absently, his attention on getting the music he’d dreamed onto paper.
“Thomas? I’m guessing by the fact that you didn’t call that Mother can’t be tracked by her cell phone,” Bastien said, sounding unhappy. “But I called just to be sure and to let you know that I’ve arranged for blood to be delivered to your room. It should arrive at sunset or shortly thereafter.”
“Sunset?” Thomas asked setting down his pen with a frown. “I won’t be here by sunset, I should think. And, yes, they can track her cell phone. I did call the penthouse to tell you that, but I got your answering machine.”
“I’ve been in my office all morning waiting to hear from you. They tracked her?” Bastien asked eagerly.
“Yes. You won’t believe where she is, though,” Thomas said with a wry laugh.
“Where is she?” Bastien asked, a frown evident in his voice.
“Amsterdam.”
“Amsterdam?” Bastien echoed with disbelief. “No. That can’t be right. Have them double check—”
“I did have it double checked, Bastien,” Thomas assured him with annoyance. “Both times it came back Amsterdam, though from two different locations in the city,” he admitted reluctantly.