Lake Tahoe was twenty-two miles long and twelve miles across, encompassing a surface area of more than 190 square miles and bridging the outermost edges of California’s eastern snowcapped Sierra Nevada mountains and the high desert plains of western Nevada.
And what a surface it is, Rene thought, looking down the steep slope of mountainside toward the plane of dusk-draped cerulean below. The sun was sinking beneath the Sierra Nevada peaks behind him but even without the full benefit of daylight, the view was extraordinary, damn-near breathtaking.
They’d followed Interstate 10 to the outskirts of Los Angeles, then turned north to take highway 395 to Carson City, Nevada. From there, he’d taken highway 50 and hugged the southern shoreline of Lake Tahoe’s impressive and expansive circumference until hitting state route 89 west toward Emerald Bay. He’d have to double back along 89 in another hour or so to meet Lina and Brandon at a local restaurant for dinner.
“What is this place?” Tessa asked. Her voice was small, her eyes enormous as she took in the sweeping vista of dense pine forests, rocky peaks and that stunning view below. It was at least ten degrees cooler in the mountains than at lower elevations as a general rule of thumb; after sunset, you could notch that down another ten degrees at least. He’d stopped in the town of Stateline and bought a coat for her; it was always either ski season at Lake Tahoe, or damn near it, so finding something stylish enough to suit her and warm enough to be practical hadn’t been a problem. The lightweight pink parka had cost him almost three hundred dollars, but it was quilted and down-filled, and she seemed grateful for it now as she tugged the collar flaps up toward her face and stuffed her hands into her pockets. The wind flapped dark strands of hair across her cheeks as she followed his gaze down to the water.
“It belonged to my father,” Rene said, turning away from the edge of the slope and walking around the front of a Jeep Wrangler Unlimited. He’d stowed the Jaguar sedan at a hotel in South Lake Tahoe when he’d checked in, and rented the Jeep to better navigate the rough-hewn terrain. “And now it’s mine. Come on, pischouette. I’ll give you the grand tour.”
They were north of Emerald Bay, looking down upon the expansive inlet, on twenty-five acres of relatively untouched wilderness accessible only by four-wheel drive. Rene didn’t know why or how the property had come to be among his father’s assets; the deed had been included among the documents left to him upon Arnaud’s suicide, but the origin remained a mystery.
A loud, rustling crash from somewhere in the woods startled Tessa and she jumped, wide-eyed. “What was that?”
“Probably just a pinecone falling out of a tree.” There were black bears in the forests surrounding the lake, enough to warrant them being considered an official nuisance by most area residents, but Rene decided now was probably neither the best time nor place to point this out to Tessa.
“A pinecone?”
He leaned down, hefting one from the thick carpeting of dried pine needles on the ground. Not your run-of-the-mill, residential variety of conifer seed cluster, it was as big as a softball at the circumference of its base, thick and heavy with sap. He tossed it to her and she caught it with both hands, her eyes widening again at the surprising heft.
“Pinecone,” he said again, chuckling at her. “Watch your head when you’re under the trees.”
Although the land itself was extremely valuable, it was relatively vacant. Surrounded on either side by state park acreage, the area was virtually undeveloped, and the only building on Arnaud’s property had been what Rene had surmised to be some kind of fire lookout about 900 square feet in circumference, with windows on all sides to award a panoramic view. The windows were hidden beneath hinged shutters that could be propped up and open, but were closed and padlocked in place otherwise. There was no plumbing, phone service or electricity, although there was room in a crawl space beneath the house to install a generator if Rene had ever wanted. Which had been his plan, once upon a time.
“The road up here from the highway is pretty much impassable in the winter, but I used to come every year in the summer,” he remarked, fishing a set of keys from the pocket of his own down-filled ski jacket. “I don’t know what it is, but I’ve always felt something…like I’m supposed to be here, like I’m home.” He glanced over his shoulder at Tessa and smiled. “Once upon a time, I was going to retire from the police force and move here. Of course, then I got shot. Kind of messed up the whole idea.”
“Are we going to stay?” Tessa asked, a bit apprehensively as he led her up a rickety flight of wooden steps to the plank porch that wrapped around the entire breadth of the house.
“We’re not, no.” He couldn’t remember which key was which. It had been at least three years since he’d been out here. The last vestiges of daylight were rapidly dwindling, too, and he handed her a large Maglite he’d been carrying beneath his arm. “Here, pischouette. Do me a favor, no? Shine that light over here so I can sort through these keys.”
She did and after several clumsy attempts, he found the right one for the front door. It opened on rusty, creaking hinges into a solitary room; the air inside smelled musty and stale. It was sparsely furnished: a twin-sized cot in one corner with a bare, lumpy mattress; a small, propane-powered one-burner stove on a wooden table in another corner, along with a dust-covered box containing pots, pans and other household items. No sink or toilet.
He glanced at Tessa again, offering a feeble smile. “Be it ever so humble,” he remarked, sidestepping across the threshold so she could follow him inside.
“You were going to live here?” Tessa panned the flashlight around, sweeping its wide yellow beam across the wooden floor, the stark white walls. The only fixture was a single vertical beam, a post in the center of the room spanning from floor to ceiling. “But there’s nothing here. No rooms.”
“I don’t need them,” Rene said, walking slowly toward the center of the room, listening to the soft crunch of dust and grit beneath his shoe soles. “Or walls, either. Never have liked them much.”
“Why?” Tessa asked.
With a laugh, he shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m claustrophobic. Can’t stand to feel shut in for too long.”
“I didn’t know that,” Tessa said, looking surprised.
“It started when I came home from my tour of duty in Vietnam,” he said. “We used to go humping around in the middle of the night through some of the densest goddamn jungle you can imagine. You could never relax because as soon as you did, someone would take a potshot at you. I remember always feeling smothered, like everything was closing in on me and I was suffocating. I guess that just stayed with me.”
Dark places were particularly bothersome for him, maybe because light—particularly from windows—helped lend the illusion of space. He always kept the lights on at his loft in the city; a restored Victorian gaslight burned perpetually in the center of his living space. If he had no light to see by, he’d become disoriented, panic-stricken, suffering nearly full-fledged anxiety attacks. Sometimes in his mind, he’d even have flashbacks to his time in Vietnam, delusions that were realistically intense, even down to the remembered fragrance of mud and rain, the stink of his own ripe, pungent fear. In fact, being in that dark room, with only the flashlight’s glow to orient him, was making him feel a bit edgy. Should have thought to open the windows first, he thought.
Not that he intended to stay long enough for it to matter.
“Good thing our sort don’t really have to camp out in coffins, no?” he said with a wink. “I’d be in real trouble.”
She smiled, and he watched as she traced little concentric circles on the top of the mattress with the flashlight beam. “You want to break that in or something?” he asked.
She swung the light directly into his face, blinding him. “No,” she said, laughing.
He laughed, too, groping against the glare, shoving the light aside. “No?” He caught her by the wrists and pulled her against him, making her dance momentarily on her tiptoes. The simple prospect of making love to her—even in the dark in these close quarters—was enough to get his heart pounding, and the fly of his jeans to suddenly feel tight and strained. “You sure about that, pischouette?”
She could feel his arousal against her; he could tell by the mischievous reflection of light in her dark eyes. When he reached between them, sliding his hands deliberately, firmly against her breasts, reaching for the zipper of her coat, she giggled, pushing his hand away. “Don’t even think about it. It’s freezing in here.”
He hooked his brow, smiling wryly. “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “I’ll keep you warm.”
She laughed against his mouth as he kissed her, walking her back toward the bed. “There’s no way that mattress is going to hold both of us,” she told him, muffled against his lips.
He glanced over her shoulder, then steered her to the right, crossing the room. “Fair enough.”
Tessa laughed again as he knocked the stove and box of pans off the tabletop, sending them clattering to the floor. He lifted her up, hooking his hands beneath her ass and hoisting her atop the table. As he laid her back, her face was draped in yellow glow and heavy shadows from the fallen flashlight and he unbuttoned the front of her slacks.
“Raise your hips,” he told her, and she did, letting him slide the pants and her underlying panties down her legs, bunching them around her ankles. Goose bumps immediately raised along her skin at the chilled air, and he leaned over, kissing her lightly on her belly, huffing a warm, soft breath against her groin. God, he was tempted to taste her there; he let the blade of his tongue flick lightly, quickly against her, delving ever so slightly between her folds, and she jerked in surprise. He wanted to spread her legs wide and explore her with his mouth, but he knew there wasn’t time. The idea of it left him throbbing with painful, urgent need; that aside, he’d promised to meet Lina and Brandon at a specific time, and he was in deep enough shit by Lina’s estimation without adding to it further. He’d have to settle for the proverbial quickie.
He unzipped his jeans and lifted her legs, propping them against his shoulders, hooking her pants around his neck and raising her buttocks slightly off the table. He turned his head, kissing the creamy, silken flesh along the side of her knee, stroking his hand against her skin. My God, I love this woman, he thought, gazing down, admiring her in the dim light.
Her breath was already hitching with anticipation; her eyelids fluttered closed, her fingernails hooked into the tabletop. She was wet and ready for him; he could feel it as he prodded lightly against her. He could smell her eagerness, the light fragrance of her arousal and he couldn’t contain himself, even if he’d wanted to. He groaned her name, his voice husky with need, and buried himself inside of her.
The height of the table was perfect for his long legs, the angle it provided even more so, keeping Tessa tight around him. They didn’t have time for anything slow or sweet; he took her hard, fast and fierce, making her moan aloud. She arched her back and he ripped open the zipper on her coat, shoving her shirt and bra up toward her neck to expose her breasts, the cold-hardened points of her nipples as they bounced with each thrust. He folded himself atop her, drawing one rose-colored nub lightly between his teeth and the tip of his tongue. She closed her fingers in his hair, holding him there, urging him on.
“Rene…oh, God…” she whimpered, and when she came, her legs tightened against his neck, her entire body tensing, her voice cutting short in a sharp, fluttering gasp.
Christ, I will never get tired of making love to this woman, he thought, shuddering with his own release. He gripped her buttocks with his hands and grinded against her, closing his eyes and uttering a hoarse cry.
He winced to pull away from her, to feel the biting chill of the air against parts of his body that had been enveloped by her warmth only moments earlier. “Saint merde,” he whispered shakily.
“You say that a lot,” she said as she sat up to kiss him. “What does it mean?”
“Holy shit,” he replied by way of translation, making her laugh. “It’s a compliment. I promise.”
After redressing, they walked back outside onto the porch together. “So why did we come here?” Tessa asked, hooking her arm through his and sidling beside him. She looked up, smiling winsomely at him. “Besides so you could have your way with me on the table.”
“Have my way?” He laughed. “Woman, you haven’t let me have my way on a damn thing since I met you!”
She laughed, too, and when she leaned against his shoulder, he kissed the crown of her dark hair. “I figure this is as good a place as any to keep Martin out of trouble,” he told her, and she immediately grew tense and wary.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see,” he replied.
They went back to the Jeep and he opened the rear hatch. Martin was unconscious, still bound and gagged, but he stirred, groaning lightly as Rene hauled him out by the arm. He’d adjusted the bonds so that Martin’s hands were tied behind his back, his ankles unfettered, and forced the other man to walk now in stumbling, dazed tow for the house.
Martin grumbled around the gag, bleary and disoriented, and grunted in pain when Rene shoved him through the front door, knocking him to his knees.
“Can we freeze to death?” Rene asked Tessa, dragging Martin over to the vertical post in the center of the room. He squatted, loosening the electrical cord around Martin’s wrist long enough to cross his arms behind him around the beam, then lash them together again.
“What?” She stood hesitantly nearby, angling the flashlight so he could see what he was doing by its swath of illumination.
“Our kind, you know, Brethren. Can we freeze to death?”
“I don’t know. Sure, I guess.”
Rene nodded, giving an experimental tug on the cord to make sure it was secure. He rose to his feet, giving Martin a rough pat on the shoulder. “Well, don’t worry, mon ami. Unless there’s a late-season snowfall, you probably won’t have to worry about that.”
Martin glared up at him, shrugging against his bonds and snarling around the washcloth between his teeth. “Mmmfllffrrr!”
The cell phone in Rene’s pocket, the one belonging to Martin, suddenly vibrated against his hip, startling him. Monica Davenant had been calling her husband all goddamn day. He’d finally become so sick of the constant ringing, he’d pulled out the phone and figured out how to switch off the ringer. “Looks like your old lady is calling you,” he remarked, fishing the phone out of his pocket. He held it out, waggling it at Martin. “Your first one, anyway. Anything you’d like me to tell her?”
“Rene, don’t—” Tessa began, but it was too late. He answered the line.
“Bon jour.”
He heard a clipped intake of surprised breath, a pregnant pause, and then a woman said, “Martin?”
“I’m sorry, chère,” Rene said. “Monica, is it? But your husband is sort of…tied up at the moment. No wait, hold on. He’d like to speak with you.”
“Mmmrrrgggllrrrrpphhh!” Martin yowled around the gag as Rene again held the phone out toward him. Or something to that effect anyway.
“Did you catch all of that, chère?” Rene asked with a chuckle, drawing the phone to his ear again. “The reception out here is for shit most times.”
“Who the hell is this?” the woman asked, her voice icy and brittle, like the edge of a razor blade scraping against a tin roof. “What have you done to Martin?”
“Nothing he didn’t have coming,” Rene replied wanly. “Au revoir, madame. The pleasure’s been all mine, I’m sure.”
He hung up the phone and tucked it back in his pocket. “She sends her love,” he said, dropping Martin a wink as he walked toward the door. “We’ll check back with you in a couple of days. I’d leave you some food, but it attracts bears.”
“Grrrlllmmffrrr!” Martin yelled in garbled protest.
Rene slipped his arm around Tessa’s shoulders and turned her around, steering her in step with him. He didn’t doubt for a moment that Martin could smell the lingering scent of their lovemaking in the air and that made the entire arrangement all the more satisfying. “Come on, pischouette,” he said as they left. “I’m starving.”
Less than thirty minutes later, Rene parked the Jeep in the parking lot outside of the Burger Lounge in South Lake Tahoe. It was the perfect place to meet Lina and Brandon, because even though they had never been to Tahoe before, there was no way to miss the distinctive sign, shaped like an enormous beer mug overlooking the road.
“You sure you want to do this?” he asked, as she checked her reflection in the sun-visor mirror for at least the thousandth time since leaving Emerald Bay. She kept dabbing and redabbing powder and makeup on her face, trying to disguise the purple discoloration left in the wake of Martin’s attack. He might have told her there was no use; Brandon was deaf, not blind, but knew she realized this, just as she recognized her own futile efforts.
Tessa closed the mirror, her eyes anxious and fearful as she glanced around the parking lot. Lina and Brandon were already there; the silver Mercedes 280 they had borrowed from Rene was parked almost directly across from them.
“I can call Lina,” he offered. “Tell them something came up, we can’t meet them until tomorrow.”
She shook her head, closing her little powder compact and tucking it back into her purse. “No,” she said. “No, that’s all right, Rene. I…I should do this. It’s probably about time anyway.”
He took her hand because she was trembling, and drew her knuckles to his mouth, kissing her lightly. She glanced at him and smiled. “Thank you, Rene,” she said. “For everything. You’ve done so much for me…and for Brandon, too, and I…I’m really grateful.”
He leaned across the SUV’s center console and kissed her on the lips. “It’s been my pleasure, pischouette. Now stop talking like we’re about to die. Lina’s not that pissed, I promise.”
At least, he hoped Lina wasn’t pissed enough to kill him. As they walked into the small, crowded dining room and caught sight of Lina and Brandon at a four-top table, he could tell that she was still pretty damn close.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call,” he said as they approached, not even bothering with a greeting or other bullshit. She wasn’t about to believe it anyway, so he figured he’d best save his breath. “My phone’s been acting up. I told you. Maybe it’s busted.”
He’d also hoped that Tessa’s cosmetics might buy them at least a few minutes, but that didn’t work, either. Before they’d even reached the table, Brandon was on his feet, his dark eyes round with alarm.
Jesus Christ, Tessa! What happened? he asked, his voice nearly frantic in Rene and Tessa’s minds. He rushed toward Tessa, visibly upset, and tried to cradle her cheeks between his palms.
I’m all right, Brandon, she said, ducking away from him. It’s nothing. I—
Nothing? That’s bullshit. His eyes cut toward Rene, his brows narrowing slightly. Who did this to her? What the hell happened?
“Let me guess,” Lina said, rising to her feet. She no longer looked pissed; she looked as worried as Brandon. “Tessa got busted along with your phone.” She cut a glance down at his bandaged hand—another crock of shit she wasn’t buying—and then back at Rene. “Or maybe you had to change a flat tire and the jack slipped again?”
“Touche, chère,” Rene said, then clapped his hand against Brandon’s shoulder. “Let’s sit down. Everybody relax. We’ll order some food and tell you all about it. I promise.”
He let Tessa do the talking, at least through her mind, while they occupied their mouths eating. As nervous as she’d been to tell her brother the truth, once she’d started, it was like a dam had broken, and the words had flowed like an unleashed torrent.
So Martin’s here? Brandon asked. He and Lina both looked decidedly anxious about this revelation, neither particularly pleased with the news. In Lake Tahoe? Why did you bring him with you?
Because the last thing you need is to have Martin running loose in the world to tell the Elders where you are, Rene replied, drawing the younger man’s gaze. Their food had arrived—half-pound burgers all around—and he thought this as he munched a bite of a three-cheese behemoth the menu touted as a “Happy Cow.” That a group of vampires sat around sharing an oversized basket of garlic-laden French fries was an amusing paradox not lost on Rene. Had the circumstances been different, a little less tense all around, he might have shared the observation and a laugh over it with Tessa and Brandon.
“You guys are all telepaths,” Lina said. “Martin Davenant doesn’t need to run loose in the world to tell the Elders. He can just think it—and is probably up at this cottage of yours in the middle of fucking nowhere doing exactly that.” She slapped her napkin down and glared. “What the hell were you thinking, Rene?”
It’s okay, Lina, Brandon thought before Rene could swallow and reply. That’s not how it works. We have to be near someone in order to communicate with them.
“So if the salaud is out in the middle of fucking nowhere—your words, chère,” Rene said to Lina. “That’s the best place for him at the moment. Trust me. He’s not going anywhere.”
Rene thinks we can use him to get the Grandfather off our trail for good, Tessa said. She’d ordered a “Sticks and Twigs” veggie burger with avocado, but hadn’t eaten much of it. Now she unconsciously draped her hand against Rene’s, sliding her fingers between his against the tabletop; a tender gesture that Brandon didn’t miss, to judge by the momentary surprise in his face…
Oh, shit, Rene thought again…. or Lina, either, to judge by the fact the daggers in her eyes had returned…only this time, they were fucking broadswords à la the movie Braveheart.
Oh, shit.
Martin’s been stealing money from the Grandfather through Bloodhorse Distillery, Tessa said, making Brandon blink at her in new surprise. She nodded. We have the papers to prove it—a bunch of invoices and bank statements for a company called Broughman and Associates. Rene thinks Martin made it all up—the company, the invoices, credit cards, everything—all so he could take money from the Brethren and not get caught.
“How did you get a hold of these papers?” Lina asked.
“I took them accidentally when I left Kentucky,” Tessa replied.
How are they supposed to help us call off the Elders? Brandon asked.
“Because Martin chased me halfway across the country to get them back,” Tessa said. “He and Monica don’t want anyone to know about them, that’s for sure. So we convince him to help us, to get the Elders to go home in exchange.”
Brandon raised a dubious brow. He’s not going to do that. Why would he?
“Because we’re not going to give him a choice, petit,” Rene said.
“He’ll either help us or I’m dropping all of his papers in the mail to Dad,” Tessa added. “Dad can get a hold of the Grandfather and tell him all about it.”
“Which will leave Martin Davenant up shit creek with no paddle,” Rene said. He tried to smile, but didn’t miss the fact the sentiment wasn’t shared by Lina as again, Tessa reached for him, holding his hand.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Lina asked him an hour later back at the motel. She and Brandon had checked into a room down from Rene and Tessa. Each room had its own small patio, big enough—barely—to accommodate two adults standing shoulder to shoulder, but offered a nice view of the mountains and lake. She and Rene stood in their coats watching their breath frost in the air, hazy and iridescent in the moonlight while they took swigs from bottles of beer.
“Sure I am.” Rene shrugged. “I know you think I’m this strung-out loser ever since I lost my leg, chère, but I promise you, I can have a beer now and then and not get wasted. Besides…” He awarded her a wink and a smile. “I can’t get addicted. My healing won’t let me.”
“You can still overindulge,” Lina said pointedly. “Which you do. A lot. And that’s not what I meant.”
Tessa and Brandon were behind closed doors in Rene’s room having a little one-on-one follow up to the conversation broached over supper. He was worried about her, half tempted to use his telepathy to try and overhear their conversation. Facing Brandon alone, confiding in him all of the details she’d only hinted at during dinner would be difficult.
“Look, you don’t have to worry about Martin Davenant,” he said to Lina. “I’m sure about that, too. I’ve got him trussed up like a goddamn Christmas goose, and even if he somehow gets loose, he’s got nothing but forests all around him for a good twenty miles. He’s got no coat, no flashlight, nothing, and it’s the middle of the night with a frost advisory issued. I told you—he’s not going anywhere.”
Lina raised her brow. “That’s not what I meant, either.” After a long moment of dark scrutiny, which he tried his damndest to ignore, she said, “Are you sleeping with Tessa?”
“What?” He tried to feign surprise. “No, chère, why would you—?”
“Because if you are, you’d better knock it off,” Lina warned. “Jesus Christ, what the hell’s the matter with you? She’s not one of your little hired guns, Rene. She’s a nice girl and—”
“What are you saying?” he asked, bristling. “I’m not good enough for her?”
“Don’t be an ass, Rene. That’s not what I meant,” Lina replied coolly. “All I meant was that Tessa doesn’t need a fuck-buddy right now. She needs someone who’s going to look out for her and the baby.”
Even Lina—the woman who knew him better than anyone in the world—thought he didn’t deserve Tessa and that wounded him to the core. It was just like Thibodaux, Louisiana, all over again; just like Gordon Maddox, his childhood nemesis who had bullied him for being poor. It’s never enough, is it, chère? he thought about saying, but pressed his lips together, forcing himself to remain mute. No matter what, I’ll still just be white trash, no? Here’s a news flash—I’ve been shot in the hand and burned 10 hours worth of rubber off my goddamn tires looking out for Tessa and the baby. If that doesn’t make me fucking good enough, I don’t know what will.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked.
“Are you?” He glanced at her. “I’m not the only one sleeping with one of the Noble twins. And you’ve got a lot more to lose than I do, chère.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
He took a swallow of beer. “How do you know?”
“Because I love Brandon. Are you going to tell me you love Tessa?”
“I am, yes, and I do,” he said, meeting her gaze. When she rolled her eyes, it stung all the more. “Quoi? You think you have a monopoly on feelings, Lina? You’re the only one who can fall in love these days?”
“No,” she said. “That’s not what I meant at all. It’s just…I’ve known you a long time, Rene, and I’ve never seen you fall in love with anybody. You’re just…you…” Her voice faded and she averted her eyes.
“What?” He frowned. “I’m what, Lina? Don’t be shy. Whatever it is, just come out and fucking say it.”
Lina’s eyes flashed angrily. “You’re still in love with your wife,” she said, startling him. “Yeah. You’ve told me about Irene. You don’t remember? You’ve given me earfuls over the phone during several of your ‘I-can’t-get-addicted’ drinking binges. You told me about her and the baby. And I’m worried that you’re trying to get that back with Tessa, all of the stuff you lost with Irene.”
He blinked, as shaken as if she’d physically struck him. “Thanks, Lina.” Shoving the beer bottle at her, he turned, walking back through the door into the motel room. “Thanks a hell of a lot.”
“Rene, wait.” She hurried after him, but when she hooked her hand against his coat sleeve to stay him, he flapped her away. “Come on, Rene. I didn’t—”
He slammed the door behind him, leaving her alone in the room.