The Scarlet Deep

  “Already did, love. And you liked it.”

  She saw his eye twitch as soon as the words left his mouth.

  “Anne, I’m—”

  “No.”

  She shoved him to the side, but he refused to budge. Then Anne put her hand on his neck and pushed.

  “Move.”

  Blinking, he stepped to the side long enough for her to unlock the door and slip into the hallway.

  “Bloody fecking woman…” He muttered behind her. “Anne!”

  Anne dodged the security guard, only to run into Gemma in the hall. “Anne, did you—”

  “I need to leave, Gemma.”

  Gemma glanced over Anne’s shoulder, and she must have seen Murphy stalking down the hall.

  “Go,” she said. “I’ll call him back to the meeting. One of you has to attend.”

  “Thank you.” She rushed out of the house, one of Murphy’s men following her, and jumped into the back of Ozzie’s car.

  “Take me back,” she said.

  “Are we waiting for Murphy, miss?”

  “No.”

  She was stupid. So, so stupid.

  He would break her. Again. And she was the one who let him.

  SHE found Carwyn visiting with Daniel in a drawing room at the Mayfair house.

  “Anne!” He smiled and rose to his feet. “Daniel and I were just discussing his plans to visit Clare. He’s thinking next fall, but I wasn’t sure… And you don’t want to talk about rock climbing, do you?”

  She managed a smile. “Not really.”

  “Excuse us,” Carwyn said to Daniel. “I believe Dr. O’Dea and I have business to discuss in the library.”

  “Of course,” Daniel said with a smile. “But Anne, when you have a chance, I would love to talk with you about my trip. If you’d like.”

  “Yes, of course,” Anne said. “Carwyn… I’ll meet you in the library?”

  “I’ll walk with you now.” He gave his son a hearty embrace and slapped his back, whispering something in his ear before he escorted her to a wood-paneled room surrounded on all sides by bookcases bursting at the seams.

  Anne asked the computer attendant to leave them and took a seat on a settee close to the fireplace.

  “How are you feeling?” Carwyn asked.

  “Much better physically, thanks to your wife.”

  “I know she was happy to offer. We both feel indebted to you, Anne, for helping Brigid with so many of her demons.”

  “That’s what I do.”

  “It is.” Carwyn sat in a sofa across from her. “It is what you do. What I did for so many years as well.”

  “We help people.” Anne frowned. “Or you did.”

  “I hope I still do. What can I help you with?”

  She took a deep breath and decided to ignore the fight with Murphy for the moment and focus on the greater problem. “How did you balance what was told to you in confidence and the realities of our life?”

  Carwyn nodded slowly. “I was wondering whether this would be an issue. It doesn’t surprise me that it has become one.”

  “I know things—things told to me in sessions—and… they’re pertinent. They would add information, possibly vital information—to the discussion.”

  “You cannot share them,” he said quietly.

  Anne leaned forward. “I told myself that. Before I came here, I drew a line, and I knew… It seemed so simple.”

  Carwyn’s face took on the weight of a thousand years. “Oh no, my dear. It is never simple. Bearing another’s secrets, holding their trust, is a precious burden. But it is never simple.”

  “Faced with the prospect of others being hurt because of this knowledge or sharing it and violating the trust of a patient, I confess I do not know what to do.”

  “Is Murphy aware of this?”

  “He is now. I don’t think either he or Mary thought through the consequences of sending me here in a political position. The negotiating I’ve done for Mary in the past has been smaller scale. Business related. But now… I’m hearing things and realizing that I know things that could have a bearing on this summit.”

  Carwyn stared into the fire. “It’s possible that Murphy didn’t think through the consequences of bringing you here because he was so eager to have you join him, but I very much doubt that Mary wasn’t aware of the position she was putting you in.”

  Anne froze. “Why do you say that?”

  “You don’t really think she approves of what you do, do you?” Carwyn’s voice was kind, but his eyes were piercing when he looked at her. “I have much respect for your sister, but she is ruthless, Anne. She wants you at her side. Or at Murphy’s. This strange independent space you’ve occupied between them has never sat well with her.”

  “You think she put me in this position intentionally?”

  “I do.”

  “You think she wants me to choose?”

  “Yes.”

  Anne took a deep breath and realized she wasn’t as surprised as she would have expected. Forcing Anne to declare political allegiance and abandon her assumed neutrality was just so… Mary.

  “I love my sister, Carwyn, but sometimes I want to strangle her.”

  He burst into laughter. “Family is the most infuriating and rewarding of problems, isn’t it?”

  “She hates Murphy. And yet she sends me to him, practically throws me into his arms.”

  “Oh…” Carwyn’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t think you were averse to the toss, were you?”

  “Shut up, Father Brat. Oh, he made me so angry earlier.” Anne shook her head. “That man drives me mad. He’ll come in and apologize profusely.”

  “And you’ll forgive him.”

  “Yes, and then he’ll do it all over again. Do I really want my life to be that?”

  “Everyone’s life is like that,” Carwyn said, smiling. “Life is one long series of making mistakes and seeking grace. What makes you and Murphy special?”

  She sighed and closed her eyes. “Do you really think Mary wants me to choose between them?”

  “Yes and no. I don’t think she has any desire to lose you as a sister. But if you chose to put yourself under Murphy’s aegis, she wouldn’t object.”

  “Put myself under Murphy’s aegis…” She must have made a face, because he laughed.

  “Everyone has to be under someone’s aegis, unless you want to rule,” he said. “The fact that you’re not has grated on her. Mary doesn’t hate Murphy. Well… she does and she doesn’t. She likes him for you. Do you know why?”

  “Honestly no.”

  “Because he drives you mad. Because he throws you out of your comfort zone. He makes you live, Anne. And that’s why Mary likes him, not for himself, but for you. That man adores you. I don’t know if you even see the way he looks at you. I do. Brigid does.”

  “And that excuses hurtful words?”

  “Absolutely not,” he growled. “But you need to let him apologize if he comes to you.”

  “Carwyn—”

  “You gave me a piece of advice once. You told me to leave Brigid. It went against every instinct in me to do it, but you were right. She needed the time on her own. So I’ll return the favor now with a few words of advice from a very old man who loves a very difficult woman.”

  “She’d say the same about you, you know.”

  “Please,” he said with a wink. “I’m a lamb. But Murphy—”

  “Is an arse.”

  “That he is.”

  “So I should leave him?”

  “No.” He leaned forward and took her hand. “I’m going to tell you to stay. No matter what. Rail at him when he crosses the lines. Bite back when he pushes too far. Mostly, tell him when he hurts you. Because I can guarantee there is no greater punishment for that man than hurting the woman he loves. He loves you, Anne, but he expects you to leave.”

  Because she had before. He’d hurt her, and she had left.

  Anne sighed. “How can we be so old and still so bloody cluele
ss about love?”

  “Speak for yourself; I am an expert.”

  She heard a tap on the door a moment before Brigid poked her head in.

  “I heard you were gabbing in here. Anything I can join in?”

  Anne smiled at her friend. “Did you know your mate was an expert at love?”

  The sound of Brigid’s laughter drove the last of the shadows from Anne’s mood.

  She had some difficult decisions to make, but first…

  Anne needed to write a letter to a Russian.

  Chapter Sixteen

  MURPHY RUSHED OUT THE DOOR as soon as the meeting adjourned. He was almost to his car when he heard the Dutchman’s voice.

  “Mr. Murphy?”

  He turned, pasting a polite façade over his frustration. “Mr. Anker.”

  “Please, if you would call me Rens.”

  “Then you must call me Murphy.”

  “Of course.”

  He paused long enough that Murphy started to wonder what his purpose was.

  “I wonder if you might share a drink with me,” Rens said. “I have… a theory I would like to discuss in private.”

  Murphy might have wanted to apologize to Anne, but he knew it needed to wait. A meeting with one of the primary intelligence peddlers in Europe could not.

  “Of course.” He plastered on his most charming smile. “Walk with me. There’s a club nearby that has late hours.”

  “Excellent.”

  He walked down the mostly deserted sidewalk, enjoying the smell of rain in the air. Puddles reflected the streetlights, and damp filled the air. He took a deep breath and drew the water into his lungs.

  “I am also attuned to freshwater,” Rens said, “more than salt.”

  “We’re some of the few, then.”

  “And yet my brother loves the sea.” Rens shrugged. “I love the canals and the rivers. He loves the sea.”

  “A good balance.”

  “It is.”

  Murphy said, “My sire was of the ocean. And I was not. Some things cannot be predicted, can they?”

  “No. I have watched you this past week, Murphy. Watched you as you observed the others. You are everyone’s friend, I think. And yet you take everything in and only speak when you must.”

  Murphy disliked being scrutinized. “You’re very observant. Of course, I suppose it pays to be.”

  “You are correct. I think… you are a man who sees many angles, not all of them visible.”

  Murphy shrugged. “I do my job, same as the rest of us.”

  “My sire called Livia of Rome ‘de spinnekop.’ The spider. I believe—even after her death—her web still entangles.”

  Murphy paused at the corner and watched low clouds move across the sky.

  “The spider? I hadn’t heard that one before.”

  “Come,” Rens said, putting on his own charming smile. “We need beer.”

  “HOW much do you know about Livia?” Rens asked when they were sitting in a secluded booth with dark pints of porter between them.

  “I know she was the mate of Andreas, son of Kato. I know she supported Giovanni Vecchio’s son, Lorenzo, as he hunted the original formula for the Elixir of Life. I know she succeeded in making it, only to have Vecchio kill her in a massive explosion outside Rome.”

  “And yet,” Rens said, “Elixir still lives.” He held up three fingers. “Three original strands in the spider’s web. Production. Distribution. Advertising.”

  “Production was in Bulgaria. Distribution, no one knows exactly. And Livia was the advertising. Is that what you’re getting at?”

  “Livia was trying to sell it as a legitimate cure for bloodlust. It was not.”

  Murphy had never truly understood the need to “cure” bloodlust. He enjoyed drinking blood. He enjoyed hunting. Enjoyed the taste and the heat of it. But since experiencing Anne’s more extreme hunger, he had changed his mind. If there was a true cure for her thirst, Murphy knew he would pay a fortune to obtain it, and he wouldn’t be the only one.

  “But she was found out,” Murphy said. “Vecchio and his mate discovered the side effects for humans, and vampires and exposed her. Exposed the drug.”

  “And one strand of her web—the legitimate one—is torn,” Rens said. “There are two others remaining. Production and distribution. And there is no need to seek approval for either of those. Livia produced the drug in Bulgaria using her cosmetics factories. But she needed blood from all four elements to even begin. Substantial amounts of blood from all four.”

  “She was a water vampire,” Murphy said.

  “And she had both earth and wind vampires under her aegis. Livia only lacked the last.”

  “No fire,” Murphy said. “She was a known antagonist of fire vampires. Rumor has it she tried to convince Andreas to kill his son when he was sired to fire.”

  Rens smiled. “Considering that same son killed her in the end, it could be argued that she exhibited foresight. But that didn’t solve the problem of obtaining a substantial donation of blood from a fire vampire for the initial production.”

  “Who was it? Do you know? Was he or she killed in the battle in Rome?”

  “He wasn’t killed. He walked out before the battle even started. Livia was paranoid about information dissemination. When her fire donor discovered the side effects of Elixir, he abandoned her. He wanted no part in it.”

  “Who was it?” Murphy asked.

  “Oleg.”

  He sat up. “The Russian?”

  Rens nodded.

  “Oleg Sokolov had knowledge of the Elixir—”

  “And I believe he was also an investor. He would have demanded some kind of financial stake. That is his way.”

  Murphy let out a breath. “No wonder Jetta is so suspicious of the Russians.”

  Rens waved a hand. “Jetta has never liked Oleg. He once tried to seduce her. That never goes well.”

  “She’s a very direct woman.”

  “That she is. But back to Livia. There were cases of Elixir found—some by Jean Desmarais and an associate—but others went missing. The formula was out. Rumors abounded.”

  “You think Oleg took over after Livia? That he’s behind all this?”

  “Do you?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t either.” Rens sipped his beer. “But I cannot tell you why.”

  Murphy leaned over the table. “What do you know, Rens?”

  “Know?” The vampire shrugged. “Nothing. Suspect? Many things.”

  “Such as?”

  “I believe Oleg took the missing cases.”

  “To do what? You said he wanted nothing to do with Livia. From what I know about him, he would have no interest in this drug.”

  “But those cases were still his blood. And Oleg does not share his blood lightly. He had one mate—many years ago—and it was a nightmare, from what I’ve heard. He probably killed her. I imagine he only donated the blood because he thought he could make a substantial amount of money from the investment.”

  Murphy said, “But then Livia’s scheme fell apart, and he discovered the truth.”

  “Indeed,” Rens said. “He might not have done anything with it, but he would want the remainder of the Elixir under his control. In his mind, that drug was his.”

  “That makes sense,” Murphy said. “What about distributors? Could any of them have had stock in transit that Vecchio and his allies were unaware of? Livia’s shipping interests were taken over by the new leadership in Rome.”

  “Conti is not involved in this,” Rens said. “And neither were her previous distributors.”

  “Why not?” The answer occurred to Murphy before Rens had a chance to answer. “Of course. It’s moving over water.”

  “If Livia’s sales pitch had been successful,” Rens said, “then she would have no need to conceal the distribution of Elixir. She would have moved it by truck, along with her cosmetics. Possibly to the same vendors, even. But her sales pitch failed. So now whoever is making thi
s must move it covertly.”

  “And make it covertly.”

  “But the ingredients are particular. Some of them are only grown commercially in southeastern Europe. That was the reason she chose Bulgaria.”

  Murphy said, “Bulgaria pays some kind of tribute to Athens, doesn’t it?”

  Rens shrugged. “In that part of the world, everyone pays some kind of tribute to Athens. It is… symbolic. They have little power.”

  “What did Livia think of the council?”

  “They were rivals, of course. But not only rivals.”

  “Explain.”

  Rens cocked his head. “Livia was mated to an ancient. She still saw the court at Athens as the most legitimate in Europe. She wouldn’t have worked in Bulgaria without their approval.”

  “But Bulgaria isn’t on the Mediterranean.”

  “No,” Rens said. “It has ports on the Black Sea—”

  “And we come back to the Russians.”

  “Yes.” Rens paused to drink his beer. “But I do not think the Russians are behind this.”

  “Neither do I.” Murphy frowned. “But why not? Oleg had access to the initial production. Probably some investment in it. He has the money to fund it. Little to no scruples. And he would be able to move it out of the region without question. So why don’t I think he is behind all this?”

  Rens’s eyes were calculating. “How much do you know about Oleg?”

  “Personally? Not much. We’ve only met once.”

  “You should ask your woman,” Rens said. “She knows more.”

  Murphy froze. “Do you think so?”

  “I’d gamble she knows the Russian better than most, not that either one would admit it.”

  What was the Dutchman trying to say? Murphy schooled his features carefully, taking a long drink of his beer. It was bitter, and not only because of the hops.

  “I’ll ask.” Murphy glanced at the clock on the wall. It was getting close to dawn, and he still needed to resolve things with Anne. “Will you be at the meeting on Friday?”

  “I will. I look forward to annoying Leonor some more.” Rens sipped his own beer, his long ascetic face a careful mask, though Murphy could have sworn he saw laughter in the vampire’s eyes. “She only plays ignorant for Jean’s sake, you know?”