After Dark

Chapter 16

THE SOUND of the bedroom door being stealthily opened brought him out of his brooding thoughts. His first reaction was a small rush of relief. He had been sinking deeper and deeper into the morass of possibilities, angles, problems, and risks since he had stretched out on the sofa and turned off the light.

His contemplation of how to juggle the search for Quinn with his bargain with Wyatt had been continually interrupted by the memory of Lydia's flashing smile when she agreed that their contract would be terminated tomorrow. Looks like I'll be getting my sofa back…

She didn't have to be quite so thrilled at the prospect of getting him off her sofa. Hell, she was welcome to it. The damn thing sagged in all the wrong places. It was lumpy and it was too short.

He caught the faint thump of a bare toe striking a wooden table leg in the hall. The small sound was followed by a stifled groan and a muffled curse. He moved one arm from behind his head and glanced at the fluo-rez-lit face of his watch. Two in the morning. Apparently Lydia had not had any more luck getting to sleep than he had.

All the plans and contingency schemes he had been grafting receded in the face of the more immediate question that had just arisen. Why was Lydia coming down the hall?

He was keenly aware that the question was not the only thing that had arisen. The knowledge that she was up and moving toward him had been enough to give him an erection.

He wondered if she was still angry. Then he wondered if it had occurred to her, as it had to him, that they had no logical reason to see each other again after they retrieved the cabinet tomorrow. Did she even give a damn? She had looked extremely pleased by Bartholomew Greeley's call. Just delighted at the news that their contract was about to end.

He lay unmoving, conscious that his blood was heating up with what had to be really stupid anticipation. What the hell did he think was going to happen now? Was he really dumb enough to believe that she might be coming out here to join him on the sofa?

More likely she was headed for the kitchen. Only logical destination under the circumstances. She couldn't sleep, so she was going to get herself a nice glass of warm milk. Or something.

He saw the pale outline of her white robe as she tiptoed around the corner, the shadowy blob that was Fuzz perched on her shoulder.

He held his breath and willed Lydia to come toward the sofa.

She headed for the kitchen.

He exhaled deeply and watched her disappear through the doorway. A few seconds later he heard the refrigerator door open. Light glowed briefly from the opening to the kitchen and then disappeared again. There was a soft clink. Lydia had removed a glass from the cupboard. Then he heard the lid of the pretzel jar.

Well, hell. Did she really expect him to sleep through all that racket?

He eased the covers aside and got to his feet. Halfway to the kitchen he remembered that he was wearing only his briefs. He glanced down and noticed that they did not provide much in the way of camouflage for his aroused body. Suppressing a groan, he reached into his open carryall and snagged his jeans. He yanked them on quickly.

"Didn't mean to wake you," Lydia said from the kitchen doorway.

He kept his back to her as he struggled carefully with the zipper. "I wasn't asleep."

At last he managed to get the pants fastened and turned to face her. She looked so good that it was all he could do not to take a bite.

She had a glass in one hand, a couple of pretzels in the other. She fed one of the pretzels to Fuzz.

"Mind if I have one?" Emmett asked, disgusted by his inability to come up with a more stimulating conversational gambit.

"Help yourself."

His arm brushed against the sleeve of her robe as he went into the kitchen. It was as though he'd touched a live wire and sent a jolt of raw energy straight to his already over-rezzed body.

He yanked the lid off the pretzel jar and started to reach inside.

"I don't think you want one of those," Lydia said. "Fuzz has probably drooled on them. Get one out of the bag in the oven. That's where I keep mine. Fuzz isn't strong enough to open the door."

Emmett replaced the lid and jerked the oven open. He gazed at the bag of pretzels inside. "Ever accidentally turn this thing on while the bag was in here?"

"Once," she admitted. "I keep a fire extinguisher under the sink now."

He helped himself to a handful and closed the oven door.

He could tell that she was still pissed. All because he hadn't told her the details of his deal with Mercer Wyatt.

What did he have to lose? he wondered. She probably couldn't get much more ticked off. It was Guild business, but maybe she had a right to know some of it.

"Okay, I'll tell you about my deal with Wyatt," he said around a mouthful of pretzel.

She lifted her chin. "Don't bother. You made it perfectly clear that you don't consider it any of my affair."

"It isn't. But the cold-shoulder treatment is working."

"I'm amazed. A Guild boss who's susceptible to the cold shoulder?"

"Ex-Guild boss." He crunched another pretzel. "In a nutshell. Mercer found out that Quinn disappeared shortly after visiting a youth shelter in the Old Quarter. A place called the Transverse Wave."

She looked thoughtful. "I know it. It's been around for several years. They offer social services to street kids."

"Wyatt thinks there's some connection. A couple of other young, untrained dissonance-energy para-rezes have disappeared too. They'd also had some contact with the shelter. He wants me to find out what's going on. But he wants it done discreetly."

She tipped her head to one side. "Why discreetly?"

"Because, as of a few months ago, the Cadence Guild Foundation began funding the shelter."

"Ah."

"Right. Ah." He shoved another pretzel into his mouth.

"Could be real embarrassing for the Guild if it turns out something illegal is going on at the shelter."

"In particular, it could be very awkward for Tamara." Emmett hesitated. "Mercer's in love with her. He wants to protect her."

"Hard to picture Mercer Wyatt in love with anyone except the power he exercises as a Guild boss."

"People change."

"Some do. Some don't."

"Little cynic. There's more. Wyatt thinks he's got a traitor on his administrative staff. He believes that person is responsible for whatever is going on at the shelter."

"Uh-oh. I think I know where this is going."

"In exchange for the lead on Quinn, I agreed to try to uncover the traitor on Wyatt's staff."

She blew out a deep breath. "I see. So now you're a spy for the Cadence Guild boss."

He said nothing, just munched.

"Okay, okay, I don't blame you," Lydia said.

That surprised him. "You don't?"

"No. In your shoes, I'd have made the same bargain. After all, your primary responsibility is to find your nephew. And it does sound as though Wyatt may have given you a solid lead. No one gets anything for nothing in this life. And that goes double where the Guild is concerned."

"That's kind of how I viewed it." He swallowed the last of his pretzel. "Sorry I got edgy earlier."

"You're probably not accustomed to having to explain yourself."

He looked at her. "It wasn't that. I didn't want to go into the details because I know how you feel about Wyatt and the local Guild."

"I admit I wouldn't trust Mercer Wyatt any farther than I could throw him. But—"

"But what?"

She smiled wryly. "But you're not Mercer Wyatt."

Something eased deep inside him. "Does that mean you do trust me?"

She lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "A lot further than I would Wyatt."

Okay, so she wasn't declaring her undying faith in him. At least he wasn't in the same category as Wyatt.

"Tomorrow, after we pick up the cabinet, I'll check out the youth center," he said.

"Sounds like a plan. I wish you luck, Emmett. I hope your nephew is okay."

He waited a beat or two. "Something I think you should know before we terminate our contract."

"What's that?"

"I want to correct a slight misconception you have about ghost-hunters."

She watched him from the shadows. "If this is another lecture on Guild politics—"

"It's got nothing to do with politics."

"No?"

He leaned back against the refrigerator and folded his arms. "It's about that little eccentricity problem you mentioned last night. I don't know where you got your information, but you've been misinformed."

"Melanie." She cleared her throat. "Melanie Toft mentioned the eccentricity thing. She seemed very sure of her facts."

"Summoning a ghost or neutralizing one does generate a buzz," he said very deliberately. "But the point I want to make here is that the effect is short-lived."

"How short?"

"Half hour, max."

She considered that. "Come to think of it, I don't believe Melanie mentioned the time factor."

"Yeah, well, I just wanted to make it clear that the effect wouldn't last anywhere near long enough to account for what happened between us last night."

"I see," she whispered.

He unfolded his arms and took one step toward her. Given the small confines of the kitchen, that was enough to put him directly in front of her. The warm scent of her sent a thrill of hunger through him. He knew she sensed it, but she made no move to dodge him. Fuzz eyed Emmett for a few seconds and then tumbled off Lydia's shoulder and disappeared in the direction of the pretzel jar.

"And it sure as hell wouldn't account for this." Emmett pulled her into his arms and covered her mouth with his own.

For a couple of what he decided were some of the worst seconds of his life he thought she was going to push him away.

Then he felt her soften against him, and suddenly everything was all right. Better than all right. Very, very good.

Her arms went around his neck, her fingers slid into his hair. Her lips parted. He could taste her now. Need roared through him. A euphoric excitement followed. He was pretty sure that he could summon a dozen, hell, a hundred ghosts right now—but he was otherwise occupied.

Long periods of abstinence were probably not good for a man his age, he thought. A man his age was not supposed to be engaging in occasional flings. A man his age was supposed to be married. A man his age was supposed to have a wife in his bed. He was supposed to be getting sex so regularly that it became routine, maybe even a little dull, like eating breakfast.

Breakfast had never tasted so good.

Lydia was warm and she smelled of night things, female things. Things that were unique and astonishing and mysterious, things that he had never inhaled before in his entire life and that he was pretty sure he would never forget.

He moved his hand down over the full curve of her hip and closed his fingers around her thigh. She stirred against him. Her toe touched his foot. He eased her back against the counter, kissed her throat.

He reached between their bodies, found the sash of her robe, and untied it. She cupped his face in her hands.

"No, Emmett."

He stilled. Then he raised his head to look down at her. "No?"

She smiled wistfully. "I really don't think this is a good idea. Technically speaking, we're still involved in a business contract."

"That ends tomorrow morning,"

"I know. But until then we're business associates."

Anger and frustration uncoiled deep within him. "What the hell is this? You want me. I want you. Where's the problem?"

"The problem," she said steadily, "is that we don't know each other very well. The problem is that you're a client. The problem is that I don't want a one-night stand."

"Why don't you be honest about it? The real problem is that I'm ex-Guild, isn't it?"

"No."

"The hell it isn't." He released her abruptly, pushed himself away from the counter. "You're so damned biased against anyone connected to the Guild that you can't even let yourself have a normal physical relationship with a hunter."

"Don't you dare blame this on me." She retied the sash of her robe with short, violent motions. "Just because I'm not into flings with men I hardly know doesn't mean I'm not normal, damn it."

"Shit." He shoved his fingers through his hair. "I didn't mean to imply you weren't normal."

"Yes, you did. That is exactly what you said. Bad enough that my former colleagues think I've lost my para-harmonic pitch. I don't need to be told that I'm not normal in other ways as well. If you'll excuse me, I've had enough. I'm going back to bed."

He watched helplessly as she whirled and stomped out of the kitchen. Then he looked down at Fuzz, who was gazing at him from the countertop.

"Ever had the feeling that you just screwed up big-time?" Emmett asked.