Secret Life of a Vampire(8)

"Look!" Constantine pointed across the banquet hall. "There's Bethany and her mom. Can I go see them?"
Angus glanced at Jean-Luc's mortal wife and stepdaughter. "Sure, lad." As the boy scampered off, Angus turned to Jack. "Laszlo told me she couldna be controlled with our psychic power."
"Laszlo talks too much."
Angus narrowed his green eyes. "Then it is true? Ye couldna erase her memories?"
Jack shifted his weight. "No. She's immune somehow."
"She's a threat-"
"No. I can handle her. The situation is under control."
Angus stared at the waltzing couples as they twirled about the dance floor. "How was she able to track you?"
"She knew from the claymores Ian left in the hotel room that the groom was Scottish," Jack began.
"So she crashed weddings with a Scottish groom till she found you?" Angus turned his attention back to Jack.
"Yes." Jack kept his face blank, aware that his boss was studying him carefully.
"She sounds clever. Robby said she was passing fair."
Jack snorted, then resumed his bland expression.
Angus arched a brow. "No comment?"
Jack gave him an annoyed look. "I've known you almost two hundred years, Angus. You're fishing."
Angus's mouth twitched. "Verra well. Robby actually said she was verra lovely."
Jack felt a strange sense of pride on Lara's behalf. "That would be correct."
Angus leaned back against the door frame and folded his arms. "Does she realize all signs of the party were erased?"
"Yes."
"And being a clever lass, she has questions, no doubt." Angus frowned. "I would order you never to see her again, but I'm afraid ye would disobey. I doona want to fire you. Ye're too valuable to the company."
Jack remained silent.
"So I'll suggest ye doona see her again," Angus continued. "Whatever ye do, doona tell her about us. That is an order."
Jack nodded. "I understand." There was no way he could tell Lara about vampires. He'd made the mistake twice in the past, telling his mistress in 1855 and another one in 1932. They'd both reacted so badly that he'd been forced to erase their memories. They'd gone on with their lives, blithely unaware of him and the heartache he'd endured for losing them.
It would be even worse with Lara. He couldn't erase her memory. A confession to her would be a giant leap forward that could never be taken back. Not only would he lose her, but she would remain a threat.
Angus rested a hand on his shoulder. "Be careful, lad. Be verra careful." He sauntered into the banquet hall.
Jack sighed. Telling Lara the truth would put his life and the lives of all his Vamp friends in jeopardy.
The full extent of his dilemma became painfully clear. He couldn't trust Lara enough to tell her the truth. And she would never trust him as long as he refused to tell her the truth. A no-win situation. He should follow Angus's advice and never see her again.
A small voice deep inside him whispered no. It repeated the word a bit louder and louder till it was shouting in his head. Merda. If she called him, if she needed him, he would rush to her side in a second.

Over the next week, Jack adjusted to his new job as head of security at Romatech Industries. It wasn't difficult. In fact, it felt like a vacation after two years of hunting for Casimir in Eastern Europe.
He'd arrived in New York City at the beginning of May in order to attend the annual spring conference and Gala Ball. Then, with Ian's wedding only a week away, it had made sense to stay in New York. Now that he was filling in for Ian, he'd remain here another three months.
Romatech was a bustling place during the day, with two hundred mortal employees making synthetic blood that was shipped to hospitals and blood banks. At night, about fifty Vamp employees arrived. A few, like Laszlo, were brilliant scientists who assisted Roman. The others, not so brilliant, packaged and shipped synthetic blood and Vampire Fusion Cuisine to Vamps around the world. It was Jack's job to keep them safe from the Malcontents, who considered Romatech a prime terrorist target.
Phineas McKinney was there to help him. Dougal Kincaid, who had been stationed at Romatech for five years, was reassigned to Eastern Europe to help Angus search for Casimir. Connor Buchanan was on hand to advise Jack. As personal bodyguard to Roman and the Draganesti family, Connor was often at Romatech.
Whenever Phineas made the rounds, Jack found himself alone in the security office, and his thoughts always wandered back to Lara Boucher. She hadn't called, so hopefully, that meant she was safe. He was tempted to call her, but always managed to resist. Instead, he appeased his curiosity by researching her on the computer.
He knew where she lived. He knew she worked from the Midtown North Precinct. But the more he found out about her past, the more confused he became. She didn't make sense.
She was from a town in northern Louisiana, where her father had served as mayor and her mother resided on the board at the local country club. Lara could be living a charmed life there, so why did she move to New York City? At the age of seventeen, she'd won the title of Miss Teen Louisiana. Why would she give up a pampered life to become a police officer?
On the third night of his investigation, he located a newspaper article that was six years old. Former Miss Teen Louisiana Nearly Dies in Car Accident. His heart tightened in his chest. Santo cielo. The photo showed a crumpled car turned upside down. Lara had been inside that? He scanned the article. Intensive care. Not expected to live.
Merda. What pain and horror had this poor girl endured? He reached for the phone to call her.
No. He'd begged her to leave him alone, and she had. He closed the browser window and paced across the office. He should avoid her like Angus said. No good could come from contacting her. Instead, he should be grateful that she'd recovered from the accident. She was alive and well.
And risking her life every night on the street. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. She could have called during the day while he was in his death-sleep. No messages. He entered her home and work numbers into his phone's directory. Just in case.
Nine circles of hell. What a fool he was. Seven nights had passed, and he still wanted to see her. He almost wished she would get into trouble.

It was just after eleven Sunday night when Lara and her partner arrived at a fifth-floor condo overlooking Hudson River Park. Mrs. Kelsey Trent had called 911, asking for help before abruptly hanging up. Lara could hear the screaming voices from the hallway. A man and a woman.
Harvey knocked on the green-painted door. "NYPD!"
Lara waited about four feet away from Harvey, her weapon drawn and ready if her partner was attacked.
The door swung open. "What the hell do you want?" A middle-aged man stood there in plaid pajama bottoms and a navy T-shirt. His eyes narrowed at the sight of their uniforms. "You must be at the wrong place. There's nothing going on here."
"Are you Mr. Trent?" Harvey asked.
"Maybe. What do you want?"
The man reeked of alcohol, and Lara noted the bloody knuckles on his right hand.
"We received a call," Harvey said. "May we come in?"
"A call?" Mr. Trent gave them a confused look, then his expression cleared. He looked over his shoulder. "You stupid bitch, did you call the police?"
Lara heard a feminine groan from inside the condo.
She raised her voice. "Mrs. Trent, do you need medical attention?"
"There's nothing wrong with her," Mr. Trent insisted.
Lara lifted her chin. "We're not leaving, Mr. Trent, until we have properly assessed your wife's physical condition."
"Well, aren't you the feisty one," Mr. Trent sneered at her. "Then come in, sweetcakes, and properly assess. Assess your little ass off."
Harvey stepped into the foyer and neatly maneuvered the drunken man to the side so Lara could enter. "Can you tell me what happened, sir?"
Mr. Trent ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Kelsey slipped in the shower. That's all."
Lara quickly surveyed the foyer. An oriental rug ran the length of the polished wooden floor. Against one wall rested a wooden console table, topped with a brass lamp that illuminated the narrow hall. Arched openings led into a living room on one side and a dining room on the other. There were closed doors at the back of the foyer and a cushioned bench.
A woman sat there. Kelsey Trent, Lara assumed. Her peach-colored silk bathrobe matched her slippers. She'd folded her arms on her knees and was leaning over to rest her forehead on her arms.
"We heard your voice raised in anger," Harvey told the drunken husband.
"I was yelling at Kelsey for being so clumsy," Mr. Trent grumbled. "Because I care so much, you know."
Lara holstered her sidearm and sat on the bench next to the wife. "Mrs. Trent, are you all right?"
She lifted her head. Her left eye was puffy and bruised, and her lip was cut. She cast a wary glance at her husband. "I …  fell in the shower."
"See?" Mr. Trent said. "That's what I told you."
"Let's go to the kitchen and fix you an ice pack." Lara helped the woman stand and gave Harvey a pointed look.
Harvey would understand. He would commiserate with the husband, trying to lure him into a confession of assault and battery. They could go ahead and arrest Mr. Trent on suspicion, but a confession would make it easier to convict him in court.
"Kitchen's in here." Kelsey Trent opened a door and led Lara into a brightly lit room.
Lara grabbed a dish towel off the gray granite countertop and opened the freezer door. "Do you have any other injuries?"