The Scarlet Deep
Page 23

“It’s been one hundred years, Josie. I don’t see us reconciling now.”
“One hundred years is nothing to us,” Josie said with a careless wave. “Has it really been that long? It doesn’t seem it. But I suppose the years run together sometimes.”
Brigid smiled. “Is this what I have to look forward to? A hundred years passing in a blink?”
“Ask Carwyn,” Anne said.
In some ways, it was true. One hundred years away from Murphy hadn’t lessened her attraction. Or the way they reacted to each other. It would have been so much easier if it had.
“You and Murphy,” Josie continued. “Carwyn and Brig. Me and Tom. Then we’d just have to get Declan paired off and my family would be complete.”
“You’re such a meddler, Jo. Don’t think I didn’t know what you were doing with the opera last night.”
“Did you have a lovely time?” Her green eyes were alight. “I knew you would. Was it very romantic?”
“It was very awkward.”
“Liar. When you and Murphy were together, you were a force of nature,” Josie said. “Gorgeous. Just gorgeous.”
“You’re a hopeless romantic.”
Josie balled up a napkin and tossed it at Anne’s head. “Of course I am, silly. That’s my job.”
Brigid said, “I have such a hard time imagining you two together.”
“That’s because Anne is so quiet now and Murphy is too damn polite,” Josie said with a mischievous grin. “In their younger years, they were the wild ones. They heated a room just by walking in.”
Anne shook her head. “Josie…”
“It’s true. Oh”—Josie’s head fell back, and she closed her eyes—“the way that man looked at you.”
“Still looks at her that way,” Brigid muttered.
Anne shook her head. “He does not.”
“I’m sure he does,” Josie said. “He looked at you as if you were his next breath—well, if he needed to breathe—his last sip of blood. The moon and stars together.”
Anne felt her blood begin to surge. “Josie, stop. You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m glad someone is,” Brigid said. “There’s so much tension between the two of them things are liable to combust if they don’t resolve it.”
Josie leaned forward with wide, innocent eyes. “I have several ideas for tension resolution if you’d like to hear them.”
“I’m sure you do,” Anne said, setting down her wine. “Ladies, I’m here to prepare for the summit. I love spending time with you both, but I will be returning to Galway when this is over. Patrick Murphy is a part of my past, not my future.”
“You’re not going back to Galway.” Josie’s eyes drifted as she watched the fire. “No, you’re not.”
“I am. Don’t be—”
“Not.” Josie’s voice took on a singing tone. “No, you’re not not not.”
Brigid and Anne exchanged a look.
“Jo?” Anne said, leaning closer.
“Not tonight. Such a sight. What a fright,” Josie murmured under her breath.
Brigid looked slightly alarmed, but Anne had become accustomed to Josie’s episodes long ago. She was rarely violent and always snapped out of them within a few minutes. The greatest danger was that they left her completely vulnerable, which was why Tom watched over his mate like a hawk.
Anne scooted next to her friend on the settee and laid her cheek on Josie’s shoulder, clasping a cold hand in her own. Unlike most vampires, Josie had never had much control over her amnis, which left her unable to consistently heat her body to a more humanlike temperature. As a water vampire, she remained quite cool.
“Jo-Jo,” Anne said in a singsong voice. “Where are you?”
“Hell,” Josie said, keeping her voice low. “Fire and rain. Fire and rain and blood in the streets. I’m hungry, and there’s so much blood…”
The dog whined on Josie’s lap as her rough voice sent a shiver down Anne’s spine.
Hungry. So much blood…
“Come back, lovey.” Anne stroked her cold cheek. “It doesn’t sound very pretty there.”
Josie inhaled suddenly, and Anne knew she was back.
“Did I wander?”
Anne nodded, ignoring Brigid’s worried gaze. “Just a bit.”
“Sorry.” Josie took another breath and exhaled slowly. “I want you to be careful in London, Anne.”
“Why?” The superstitious part of Anne could never quite dismiss Josie’s “feelings.”
“Don’t know exactly.” She squeezed Anne’s hand. “Just be careful.”
MURPHY’S satellite office in the docklands was well away from the glass-fronted building that housed his public offices. The old warehouse didn’t look like much from the outside, but the interior was carefully cleaned and refurbished brick. The industrial braces and ducts hadn’t been removed but had been highlighted and worked into the modern furnishings and concealed technology to create an office perfect for immortals. The only windows in the building were high and covered with decorative, solid shutters.
“It’s completely secure,” Tom said, nudging Anne’s shoulder at the conference table, which had been built from reclaimed wooden pallets. “Had a human construction team fit it with the most up-to-date insulation to protect against electronic monitoring, listening devices of all kinds. Murphy ordered the retrofit, but I claimed it as soon as it was finished. I run most of the security out of this office.”