“Well, well, well,” she purred. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
My gaze flicked from one face to another. Businesspeople, society folks, a few crime bosses. I recognized many of the other diners, but I didn’t see anyone who would make Mallory sit up and take notice like that—
Hugh Tucker strolled over to the bar.
My entire body tensed, and another one of those damned heart stings shot through my chest like an arrow pinning me to my chair. Why, out of all the men in Ashland, did I have to be attracted tohim?
On the surface, there was quite a lot to be attracted to. Hugh Tucker was around six feet tall, and his tailored dark gray suit perfectly outlined his impressive shoulders, along with the rest of his lean, muscled body. Tucker was in his fifties, but his tan skin had the smooth, ageless look that was common among vampires, and his black hair, which had just a bit of a wave to it, gleamed under the restaurant’s soft, muted lights. He had high, sharp cheekbones, along with a straight nose, and a neat black goatee adorned his chin, drawing attention to his strong jaw. But even more attractive than his physical appearance was this…buzzaround him, as though the air was filled with invisible admirers constantly whispering about how dangerous and intriguing he was.
A couple of women at the bar must have also heard those same buzzing whispers, because they swiveled around on their stools, like bats sensing possible prey with their echolocation. Tucker seemed oblivious to the women’s admiring looks, and the vampire’s white fangs flashed in his mouth as he smiled at the bartender, who handed him a glass of lemonade.
Tucker took a sip of his lemonade, then planted one elbow on the bar and looked in my direction. His black gaze trailed down my body, and I resisted the urge to fidget in my chair. I was wearing a dark blue pantsuit, along with black kitten heels, and my black hair was pulled back into its usual French braid, but his intense stare made me feel as though I was sporting something special, rather than just boring business attire. His gaze lingered on the ring on my right hand, a diamond rose wrapped in matching thorns. The rune was a tribute to my mother, as well as a symbol for how dangerous beauty could be. And me too.
My left fingers curled into the white napkin in my lap, but I stared right back at Tucker, letting my gaze slide over his shoulders and then down his chest. Heat flooded my cheeks, and I thought about how his body had felt against mine that night at the Mitchell mansion, when he’d shoved me out of the way of some falling rubble. How deliciously warm, firm, and solid he had been—and how kind, gentle, and considerate too, even with all the chaos happening at the time.
Hugh Tucker had always been a perfect gentleman with me, calm, polite, and controlled, even during the weeks he’d spent cooped up in a metal container in my shipping yard along the Aneirin River. Mason had severely injured the vampire during a battle in the Circle family cemetery, and Gin had asked me to watch over Tucker while he healed, a job that had been equal parts frustrating and fascinating.
Sometimes, when we’d been alone together, I had wondered what Tucker would be like when hewasn’ta perfect gentleman. Part of me still wanted to find out, despite how foolish it would be. Mason Mitchell might be dead, but Tucker had been his right-hand man in the Circle for years, and the vampire was still one of the most duplicitous and dangerous people in Ashland.
Tucker abandoned his lemonade, pushed away from the bar, and strolled over to our table. My fingers curled even deeper into the napkin still in my lap, but I kept my features blank. I could also be calm and controlled when need be.
Tucker tipped his head to my grandmother first, then to Mosley. “Mallory, Stuart, you’re both looking well. Married life seems to be agreeing with you both quite nicely.”
“Something like that,” Mosley snapped, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the other man.
The dwarf didn’t much care for Tucker, since the vampire had been part of a Circle scheme orchestrated by Deirdre Shaw to try to rob First Trust bank several months ago.
Mallory ignored Mosley’s glower and grinned at the vampire. “Why don’t you join us? We’re all friends now, thanks to Gin.”
Tucker’s left eye twitched, but that was his only reaction to the mention of Gin. He had a better poker face than just about anyone I’d ever met, which was one of the things I found so fascinating about him. I knew what it was like to always keep your feelings bottled up, lest someone decide to take them out on you, the way my father had on my mother. The faintest slip of a smile, the tiniest hint of a disapproving tone, and the smallest, most polite suggestion were all it had taken for my father to fly into a rage and beat my mother—and me too.
So as strange as it seemed, in some ways, I found Hugh Tucker to be a kindred spirit. I’d suffered at my father’s and brother’s hands, just as he had suffered at Mason’s hands for years.
“Thank you for the kind invitation, but I’m meeting someone for dinner.” Tucker’s gaze flicked back to mine. “A potential new business associate.”
He kept staring at me, as though waiting for me to ask some question, although I couldn’t imagine what it might be—
“Hugh! There you are!” A voice boomed through the restaurant.
Another man strolled over to our table. He was about ten years older than me, in his early forties, and quite handsome, with blond hair, brown eyes, ruddy skin, and a very square jaw. He was also a large man, several inches over six feet, and his navy suit jacket and matching shirt strained to contain his impressive physique. Both his height and his bulging muscles hinted at the mix of giant and dwarven blood running through his veins.
Tucker shook hands with the other man. “Mr. O’Neal, so nice to see you again.”
The man clapped his hand on Tucker’s shoulder. The sharp, jarring motion probably would have made most people rock back, but Tucker didn’t move an inch. “I’ve told you before, Hugh, call me Clyde.” He turned his attention to our table. “Who are your friends?”
Clyde O’Neal’s gaze met mine, and the jovial smile plummeted from his face faster than a skydiver jumping out of an airplane. “Lorelei.”
“Clyde.”
My voice and expression were just as calm and smooth as his, but I reached for my elemental magic, for the combination of Ice and metal power flowing through my body. I might not be as strong in my magic as Gin Blanco was in her Ice and Stone power, but I could still do plenty of damage with it.
Clyde O’Neal was one of Ashland’s meanest, nastiest, and most ruthless underworld bosses. He was a smuggler like me, and we’d had several run-ins over the years, mostly due to us both trying to procure the same hard-to-get items. A few weeks ago, Clyde had been royally pissed when I had outbid him at an auction for a rareKarma Girlcomic book that one of my wealthy clients wanted to give her granddaughter as a birthday present. After I had made arrangements to deliver the comic book to my client, I’d left the auction to find that someone—Clyde—had smashed the windows on my car. Petty, annoying jackass.
But I’d gotten my revenge, the way I always did. A few days later, I’d slashed the tires on Clyde’s SUV while it was parked outside his girlfriend’s house—and then I sent an anonymous text to hisothergirlfriend to come pick him up. The two women hadn’t realized what a cheating scumbag Clyde was, and I’d greatly enjoyed watching them both scream at him from my own car down the street.
Those sorts of minor skirmishes were par for the course between Clyde and me, although he had become a true thorn in my side ever since I had taken control of Dimitri Barkov’s shipping yard. Clyde and Dimitri used to work together, bringing guns, drugs, and other illegal things into Ashland—until Gin had killed Dimitri several months ago.
A week after I moved my business into the shipping yard, Clyde had come calling, trying to get me to sell it to him. I had refused, and he had been pestering me about it ever since. Lately, his attempts had morphed from bush-league nuisances like smashed windows into more serious and pointed threats about the sorts oftragic, fatal accidentsthat I could have while on the job.
