CHAPTER EIGHT
She couldn’t stand the woman and the feeling was mutual.
Everyone assumed that they hated each other because they were both beautiful women, although as different as night and day.
Jan was a modern-day version of Marilyn Monroe, all soft smiles and lush curves, with shoulder-length blond hair, big brown eyes, a bow-shaped mouth and a come-hither look that was as natural to her as breathing.
However, that sex-kitten appearance hid a razor-sharp intellect and an unusual bio.
She’d once been a field agent, one of Nick’s best ever.
Sam had heard him mention that many times—and it riled her even more than Jan batting her lashes whenever a guy walked by.
There was more. Jan and Nick went way back—no one knew just how far.
Nick was a legend in the agency. It was said he’d come close to dying for his agents a dozen times, and had taken down some of history’s worst demons as far back as Roman times.
Jan was somewhat of a legend, too. Way back when, she’d been at his side through thick and thin, taking down the world’s worst evil with him.
It was rumored she’d lost her fiancé to a gladiator in the Roman Colosseum.
It was a long enough history that Jan could talk back to Nick without any consequences, or offer him unsolicited advice and unasked-for opinions—no matter who was present.
More importantly, she seemed to know everything that Nick knew.
Clearly, although a PA and employee, she was also a friend and confidante.
Speculation ran wild on the exact nature of their friendship.
The bottom line was that Jan had a special relationship with the boss, and got special treatment because of it.
Sam had hated her on sight. Jan had hated her as instantly.
And last year, Nick had taken Jan back in time to find a demon witch who was hunting Tabby. He’d known how badly Sam had wanted to go. That had been the deal breaker. Jan could lie down on Hudson Street in front of a steamroller and die for her, but Sam would never get past last year.
Now she stood in front of Sam’s office door, wearing a slinky, sleeveless aqua-blue dress and high heels, not bothering to smile. Sam faced her, wearing her usual short denim miniskirt, a tank top and midcalf boots. “You’re in my way,” she warned.
“Late night?” Jan asked, too innocently.
“They’re all late nights.” Sam smirked at her. Then she added, “I’m a Slayer, not a secretary, remember?”
Jan ignored that. “Was yesterday a sick day?” she mocked. “You didn’t call it in but we know you went into Five.” She smiled. “Too much fun and games all over midtown Manhattan with Mr. Clean? Whoops, I mean Mr. Down and Dirty.” She smiled, and Sam knew she’d seen the video from the other night.
“Jealous?”
Jan actually laughed. “I am not into bad boys, Sam.”
“I forgot. You live like a nun.”
“Some of us can control our libido. Some of us put self-respect above sleeping around with whatever’s available.”
“Some of us just wanna have fun.” Sam shoved past her. Her perfume was soft and sweet, like her appearance. Sam wanted to gag.
“Was last night fun, too?”
Sam decided Jan knew that Maclean had shown up at her loft. But of course she did—Maclean had been tailed. Her mind veered instantly from that encounter to the DVD and his phone call afterward.
“What’s wrong? All bent out of shape because Maclean got away from Super Sam?”
“Gee, did you get demoted to Personnel?” Sam walked over to her desk. She would never understand why men went nuts over Jan. Probably because she looked like a centerfold but was holier-than-thou and never put out. Jan was some kind of morally correct male fantasy.
Rumor had it that she was mourning her dead lover. It was some kind of deathbed vow that only soul mates could make.
Jan followed her, hips swaying. “Nick is so pissed.” She seemed pleased.
Sam tossed her messenger bag and briefcase on the small sofa that was on one wall, beneath several rows of bookcases. “Nick is always pissed.”
“He’s pissed at you.” Jan smiled. “On several counts. You didn’t report in. You left a wake of devastation around the city yesterday—which CDA will have to pay for. Maclean got away—whoops! And he stole the page. Nick wants to see you ASAP.” She sauntered out, her ass swaying.
Sam would have slammed her office door closed behind her, but Kit stood there uncomfortably. Sam faced her. “One of us needs to go.”
“She’s actually a nice person.”
“Don’t you dare become friends with her! I will take that as a personal betrayal.”
“Hey, okay. It was an observation. Are you okay? Did you survive Maclean?” Kit asked, stepping inside.
“Worse. I survived Rupert Hemmer, who came by, came on and offered me an unholy anti-Maclean partnership.”
Kit started. “And you’re playing?”
“Yeah, I’m playing.” Sam went to her bag and handed Kit the DVD. “I know I can trust you. Find out if this is genuine or shopped. Don’t let anyone here see it, either. I’ll never live it down, especially not after the videos from Maclean’s Park Avenue house.”
“What is it?”
“A sex tape. Of me and Maclean.” She spoke casually but there was nothing casual about her body now. Even thinking about him and the tape did crazy things to her.
Kit’s eyes widened and she blushed.
“I haven’t slept with him, Kit. But Hemmer plans to blackmail me with it, so it would help to know if this is a fake or if it came from the future.”
“Okay. I’ll find a consultant to analyze it.” Kit was worried now.
Sam clasped her shoulder. “Don’t worry. What’s the worst he can do? Put it on YouTube? I can handle it.” She meant it. She’d let him do as he wanted with the sex tape before giving in to his blackmail. Of course, she’d prefer the damn tape disappear. Sam turned to go but Kit caught her arm.
“By the way, a Mercedes salesman called. You can pick up your new car anytime today at their Lower East Side showroom.”
“What?” Sam asked.
Kit shrugged. “I’m only the messenger. He said he left you an e-mail—as per Lord Maclean’s instructions.”
Sam walked swiftly to her desk, tapping the keyboard and pulling up her e-mail. She was disbelieving. “He bought me a car,” she choked. “That bastard bought me an SL 500 convertible—fully loaded!”
“Wow,” Kit said.
He’d owed her, but she hadn’t thought he’d come through.
And he’d owed her a Lexus—not a hundred-thousand-dollar Mercedes.
Her insurance would have paid for most of the new vehicle and so would the agency.
But Ian had bought the convertible right off the lot.
And it was waiting for her. “Maclean is nuts.”
“You shouldn’t accept it. It’s a conflict of interest. But what a gift! Maybe he’s sorry about what happened yesterday. Sam, maybe he really likes you.”
She was taken aback. “Are you kidding?” she said.
“This is just another come-on. Maclean doesn’t have guilt—or emotions.
I have to deal with the boss.” She hurried out, shaken.
He didn’t like her—he wanted her. Those were two different things.
Men liked Jan. Men liked Tabby. She was too strong to be liked, too capable, too powerful and much too independent.
Nick was on the phone when Sam stepped to the threshold of his large corner office. He gave her a stare and said, “I’ll call you later.” Hanging up, he stood. “Gee, did you get enough beauty sleep?” he asked, alluding to the late hour, and pointed at the chair in front of his desk.
Sam sat. Nick remained standing. “I’m sorry he got away with the page,” she said. “I take full responsibility.”
“I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry, too. So what?
Should we hold hands and cry while he laughs at us and sells it to Hemmer, or worse?
” Before she could speak, he said, “Your judgment went out the window the night of Becca’s birthday party.
I thought I could count on you to take Maclean on, take him down.
But I can’t. Your wits are addled. What are you, sweet sixteen?
You’re acting like a virgin around him.”
“Not fair,” Sam bristled, standing. “And not true. You must be referring to the surveillance tape from his house. Well, he’s an ass. Most women would have caved but I’m not putting out, Nick.”
Nick snorted. “You sleep with the objective and you’re out.”
Sam inhaled. “I screwed up. He’s sharp and he’s crazy. He doesn’t care if he dies. Otherwise I would have had him yesterday. But I will get that page for us. I need some time.”
“He’s playing you left and right and I don’t like my kids played.” Nick’s blue gaze was hard. “I don’t like my kids hurt. I don’t like them dead.”
“He’s not evil. He won’t go that far. If I die, it will be incidental.”
“He frigging went berserk with the demon. He snapped.”
Sam was grim. Nick was right on that point, anyway. “Nick, it was personal. It was a bait and trap.” She told him about what she’d found from his e-mail. “What do you know about his captivity?”
“There aren’t any details in his file, but I can guess.
We know that Moray terrorized Scotland for almost a thousand years.
He was so powerful that he consorted with kings, queens, generals and popes.
Want to know why?” When Sam waited, he continued.
“His pact was made directly with Satan. He admitted it to one of our agents in the sixth century. He’d been a Master long ago, one of the first. And his power—the ten centuries of murder and mayhem—was what he got in return for his allegiance with evil. ”
“Wow,” Sam said. “Good thing he’s dead and buried.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the course of my work here at HCU, it’s that the most dangerous demons have sold their souls directly to Satan. That’s when evil has no bounds.
“Moray was using Ian to control his father, Aidan of Awe. As long as he kept the kid alive, he wouldn’t care what he put him through. I imagine it was a living hell.” Nick’s gaze sharpened. “I’m getting a feeling I don’t like. You can’t possibly feel sorry for him. You never feel sorry for anyone.”