Must Love Hellhounds

And why hadn’t Maggie’s employer prepared her before she’d flown across the country to rescue him? More than that-what the hell had her employer been thinking by letting Blake come to New York alone? Had he actually expected his nephew-a man who couldn’t see, for God’s sake-to track down the woman who’d disappeared from a New York hotel room two days ago?

That the woman was Blake’s sister was even more reason not to have sent him. Caring too much led to carelessness. Which, Maggie thought, was probably why Blake was handcuffed to a radiator.

But at least his blindness explained why her employer had insisted that she bring the dog.

“You didn’t know,” Blake said.

Maggie worked at the lock, pulling herself out of assignment mode and slipping back into the deferential courtesy required by her newest occupation: household management and personal security.

Which, she’d often thought, was just a nice way of saying that she was a butler with a gun.

She popped the first cuff, moved on to the second. “Mr. Ames-Beaumont must have considered your blindness irrelevant to my objective, sir.”

“Is it relevant?”

“No, sir.” She had to get Blake out of here, either way.

“Sir?” His faint smile didn’t soften his strong features. The beginnings of a dark beard shadowed his jaw. His nose, Maggie thought, would have done a Stoic emperor proud. “If you are calling me ‘sir,’ then you must be the recently acquired-and, according to Uncle Colin, the already indispensable-Winters.”

There was no point in correcting him. She’d been called more offensive names before. And she didn’t know why Ames-Beaumont had taken to calling her “Winters,” but considering the salary he paid her, she’d decided that he could address her however he wished.

The billionaire owner of Ramsdell Pharmaceuticals had high standards for his employees-and the closer to his family those employees were, the higher those standards were.

And he’d called her indispensable. Not easily disposed of and replaced. She’d never been that before.

But she couldn’t afford to acknowledge the warm glow the secondhand praise brought, or the despair that it would change.

Yes, “Winters” was much better than what he’d soon be calling her.

“You are correct, sir.” Despite the tightening of her throat, her voice remained even. “I am.”

“Of course you are. And, of course, when we finally meet, I am like this.” Blake gestured at himself with his free hand. “Do you know why you’ve found me half-naked? Do you know what this is?”

Finally meet? He’d said that as if they’d communicated before. Maggie was certain they hadn’t. Blake had been in Britain since she’d begun working for his uncle three months ago. Before that, he’d traveled as often and as extensively as she had, but they’d never been in the same place at the same time-with one exception, four years ago. Maggie hadn’t seen him then; she would have remembered. And he couldn’t have seen her.

So whatever he meant by “finally,” it had little to do with her. More likely, it referenced a conversation between him and his uncle-perhaps the one where she’d been described as indispensable. “I don’t know, sir. What is this?”

“This is karma. This is every negative thing I’ve done, coming back to take a big bite of my ass.”

The tightness in her throat eased. She strove to match the light tone his response invited. “That is unfortunate. Particularly as, in my professional opinion, the consequences of your actions are worse than you imagine.”

“Why do you say that, Winters?”

“Because you are much more than half-naked, sir. And although I have many talents, protecting you from mystical kar mic forces is not one of them.”

He tilted his head, as if weighing that. “So chances are, I’ll lose my shorts before we’re done.”

She ignored the little jolt in her stomach as his smile widened, carving crescents beside his mouth. In the humid air, his overlong hair had curled over his forehead and at his neck and ears. Combined with the smile, his dishevelment was unexpectedly appealing.

The job, Maggie. “We’ll try to avoid that, sir.” Though unlocking the cuffs required touch rather than sight, she focused on her fingers. “Your uncle sends his regrets that he wasn’t able to come.”

“I could hardly expect a vampire to catch an early-morning flight to New York.”

Perhaps not a normal vampire, no. Even if one could rise from his daily sleep, he’d burst into flames at the touch of the sun. But Colin Ames-Beaumont wasn’t a normal vampire, and so he could have come-but his fiancée couldn’t travel during the day, and the vampire would never leave his partner unprotected.

“I was the most expedient option,” Maggie explained.

“How fortunate for me.”

Fortune had nothing to do with it. After reading the e-mail, she’d convinced Ames-Beaumont to send her, citing the same qualifications that had led him to hire her: a level head, weapons expertise, and a history of successful troubleshooting missions.