THE DAEGON GRAY LOBBY HUMMED WITH early morning cell phone chatter and the constant arrival of suit-clad professionals. Frigid air pumped out of the vent over Cassidy’s head. She sat in the plush waiting area chairs and shivered. The black suit-jacket she wore was for style, not warmth, and the short black skirt did little to keep the cold leather seats from biting her legs. Arms crossed over her leather portfolio, she lay in wait for her target.
It had been four days since the club had burned down. Wren had kept Cassidy busy for two of those days and when Cassidy woke up on the third, she didn’t have the gumption to leave her room. This interview scheme jump-started her reentry into the real world after the Knights flipped her beliefs on their sides. Besides, since she didn’t get to the club before it burned down, she hoped to make it up to her editor with a face-to-face interview with Alexander Gray himself.
She’d called the night before to get on Mr. Gray’s schedule and had been politely, but firmly, denied. It was time for plan B—stalk then pounce. The stalking part was easy. She needed only to wait for him to show. The pouncing might prove difficult since that depended on when Mr. Gray arrived and who he had around him. She could easily sidestep a secretary, but security guards presented a different problem.
She’d chosen her spot well amongst the array of deep-backed chairs in the waiting area. She could keep an eye on the bank of elevators and the front doors within the building’s glass walls.
Damn, it’s cold. Cassidy shivered. Across the street, the coffee house churned out customers. She would kill for a cup of hot coffee, or a blanket, or even a pair of socks, but she couldn’t leave her post and risk missing her target.
Cassidy paced around the waiting area for the third time. She stretched and rehearsed the questions she planned to ask about the club. Even in her head, her voice cracked.
Relax, he’s just a man. But not every man had the money and power of Alexander Gray.
Speaking of power, what if the Knights were right? What if Gray and his company were part of this Shadow Clan thing? If there was some secret war going on, she didn’t want to get caught in the middle.
Carjacking and kidnapping aside, she’d grown fond of the Knights, but she didn’t believe they’d given her the whole story. Even though she’d witnessed some crazy stuff both on the bridge and in her own backyard, she still found everything hard to swallow.
A chill shook her and her teeth chattered. This is ridiculous. I need to move again.
She walked around the small waiting area to get her blood moving and stared at the Dali painting for the third time. She liked his art, but after the second inspection of melted furniture and bent clocks, it lost its appeal. Next to the painting, a press release announced Daegon Gray’s purchase of Seagren Chemical and how adding the agricultural giant to the existing corporate portfolio excited Alexander Gray.
Huh. How exciting can fertilizer and insulation be? She blew on her frozen fingers and rubbed her hands together. Come on, Gray, where the hell are you?
Mr. Gray strode out of the elevator and around the corner, heading for the main doors. He’s been here all along. She straightened her suit and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Only two lackeys and they’re walking behind him. Time for the frontal assault.
Folder in hand, she hustled to beat him to the door.
“Mr. Gray!” Cassidy shouted above the bustle. “Mr. Gray.”
Alexander Gray did not take note, but the closest guardian put out a restraining arm to keep her at bay.
Amateur. She may not have been in the reporting business long, but even she knew how to avoid “the arm.” She lunged, reached for the door handle just ahead of Alexander Gray. His warm fingers closed over her popsicles and sent a strong emotional jolt up her arm. Cassidy tried to pull away, but he refused to let go.
Furious brown eyes turned toward her as a wave of malevolence hit. Her hope for an interview wilted under that hateful stare, but in a flash it was gone, replaced by a gentler mien.
Whoa.
“I am sorry, Miss?” He unleashed his world famous smile.
“Sin…Sinclair, Mr. Gray. Cassidy Sinclair, with the Weekly.” She reversed her grip and shook his hand, pumped it twice with purpose as her father had taught her.
“My goodness, Ms. Sinclair, your hand is an ice cube. How long have you been waiting down here?” His smooth baritone soothed her jangled nerves and calmed her down. She breathed easier and her heart rate slowed its sprint. What was I worried about? He seems like a normal guy.
“A little while, sir. Would you mind answering a couple of questions?”
Mr. Gray’s two associates stepped between them, but he refused to release her hand. When he shifted his eyes, the men backed off.
Beat it, boys.
His heat stole into her, worked its way up her chilled arm, and made her skin tingle as the warmth returned. She didn’t want him to let go.
“Not at all. In fact, I was just going to indulge in a cup of coffee. Would you care to join me?”
Cassidy nodded. Awesome.
Gray ordered his men to stay put and escorted her across the street.
* * *
“Put these on the corporate tab, please…” Alexander read the cashier’s name tag and winked, “Glenda. Thanks, sweetheart.” The joyful barista couldn’t take her big, doe eyes from his and fumbled with the keys on the register. Hiding his impatience, Alexander nodded and carried the drinks to the table the young reporter had chosen.
What was her name? Eh, it did not matter.
She was an odd one, though. Pretty. He detected a hidden strength when he touched her hand. Curious, he wanted to find out more.
Cups in hand, he wove among the tables to the one in the back. “Sorry that took so long, Ms.—”
“Please, call me Cassidy, and it’s no problem.” Cassidy wrapped her hands around the steaming cup.
“I hope you like the special blend.” Alexander sipped first and suppressed a shudder as he choked down the nasty brew. He despised coffee, but jumped on the opportunity to get the girl into a less threatening setting. Taking this reporter out of the proverbial lion’s den would help her yield her secrets. “Daegon Gray owns a number of coffee plantations in Colombia. We ship our brand to all our companies throughout the world.”
Cassidy took her first sip.
“What do you think?”
“It’s very good.”
He lifted his cup in salute and forced down another bitter mouthful. “So, you have questions for me?”
Cassidy jumped and grabbed her pen. “Oh, um, yes, I do.” Hand poised, she met his gaze.
Through those bright, blue windows, Alexander peered directly into Cassidy’s soul. Even without the enhancement of shadow magic, he could tell this woman had seen her share of pain. It had left its indelible print upon her psyche. Nevertheless there was a resilience there, a strength of spirit he rarely encountered anymore.
As he invaded her mind, her face went slack.
Like an awl, he gouged his way through layers of experience, down to her earliest memories, and though his intrusion only lasted a few seconds, he extracted a lifetime of information.
He preferred to work his way out from the first day, fast-forwarding through the lives of his victims. The reporter’s oldest memories had devolved into emotion more than remembered fact, colored by retelling and the perceptions of the people involved through the years. He got the impression of a glorious childhood filled with wonder, support and love.
Disgusting. While he did not relive each and every remembered moment, he gleaned a general sense of her personality. The memories of her father were the worst—attending her swim meets, laughter, big hugs next to the pool.
They made him want to retch.
Where is that pain? He recognized its mark, knew it was there. Did he miss it? No. There was no sign in her early days. He needed to search her current memories. They were more distinct, easier to follow.
Here. Poor dear. And St. Matthew’s, how fortuitous. Wait, what is this? Alexander schooled his features, putting a damper on his emotions. He grabbed the edge of the Formica table and dug his fingers into its underside. Brutally, he ripped his consciousness out of her mind, planting the seeds of an excruciating headache and the strong sense of being violated, though she would never know of his transgression.
The Knight of Flame lives. She has seen him. Helped him. Felt a fondness for him and his fellows. I failed. Father was right to doubt me. The thought burned.
No. Control slipping, Alexander called upon centuries of magical discipline to ease his apoplectic mind. Father was not right. So the Knight lives. I can fix that.
This woman was the key. Once he destroyed the Knight of Flame, he would dine on her soul.
As he discarded her memories, he refocused on the woman seated across from him.
“Ms. Sinclair?” He jiggled her arm. “Ms. Sinclair, are you alright?”
With a start, Cassidy broke the trance. Wincing, she raised her hand to her head and grimaced.
Yes, the pain. Consider that a taste of things to come.
“Ahhh.” Cassidy mumbled, “What happened?”
“What do you mean?” Alexander asked, feigning concern. “You were in the middle of asking me a question when you grabbed your head.”
“Oh god, it hurts.” She dug her fingertips into her temples. “I feel like someone stabbed my brain.”
“I am so sorry, Ms. Sinclair, but I need to get back to work.” Alexander stood. “My driver can take you home or to the hospital or get you an aspirin perhaps?”
“No, I’ll…ugh, I’ll be fine in a couple of minutes.”
“Speaking of hospitals…would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the ribbon cutting ceremony at St. Matthew’s this Friday?”
“St. Matthew’s? I don—”
“Splendid. My assistant will get your address from your employer and I’ll send a car for you at 8:30. I do hope you feel better.”
Alexander left the shop wearing a twisted, confident grin.