Free Vampire Memories #5 - Ghosts of Memories by Barb Hendee Page A

strong, with an undertow, so he decided he didn’t need to weight the body.
    After wiping his mouth to make sure no traces of blood remained, he looked out to check if the way was clear. Picking her up with one hand, he carried her rapidly to the edge of the concrete overhang. Then he dropped her body into the bay.
    Without a glance downward, he turned and headed back toward his hotel. By the time he reached Second Avenue, he’d forgotten what she looked like.
    Christian Lefevre stood in Vera Olivier’s sitting room with a glass of red wine in his hand. His wavy, steel gray hair was tucked behind his ears, exposing the gold ring in his ear—a touch of the gypsy for effect. But he was dressed in dark slacks and a black sport coat. As always, his expression was carefully constructed to show a mix of compassion and mysterious passivity.
    The normal routine was for Vera to serve any guests a lavish dinner in the main dining room and then bring them in here, where they would finally be joined by Christian and Ivory—thus building upon any expectations or anticipation.
    Christian had walked into the room only a few moments before, but he’d already managed to do a surface read of the client’s thoughts, and he was bored before the séance even started.
    Tonight’s guest was an investment banker named Jonathon Renault, who’d recently taken a business trip to London. His wife had begged him to stay home—saying she had a feeling something bad was going to happen. He’d laughed off her “feeling” and gone off on his trip, and while he was away, she’d been killed in a car accident. Now his guilt was overwhelming him, and he wanted to tell his wife how sorry he was. He wanted to be forgiven.
    Just thinking about it, Christian tried to hold back a yawn. It was cliché beyond words. Some mortal charlatan pretending to look into a crystal ball could handle this one.
    “Did you enjoy your dinner, Mr. Renault?” Ivory was asking politely. She looked lovely tonight, in a slinky red silk gown that was so long it hid her small feet. No matter what happened, she was always good with the clients, her expression carefully maintained. The only time it ever slipped was when she accidently looked at Christian and a hint of poison flowed out.
    She hated him.
    Since there was nothing to be done about that, he normally didn’t give it much thought, but tonight he was having a hard time keeping his thoughts in check. The phone call from last night was still bothering him—and he knew it would keep bothering him. The shock of a girl’s voice saying she knew Julian Ashton…and that Philip Branté was standing beside her had shaken him to his core. Those nightmares had been over a long time ago.
    He wanted them to stay buried.
    The more rational part of him knew she had to be lying. Philip could not have survived, and the girl could not be a vampire. To the best of Christian’s knowledge, Julian had killed them all. So who was she? Probably a mortal servant of Julian’s, maybe a housemaid with an eye for an opportunity. She’d learned something, heard something, and she’d probably been planning to blackmail Christian—threaten him with giving his location away to Julian.
    But another voice inside him wondered how that was possible. Julian didn’t know his name, didn’t even know he existed, so how could some mortal servant ever have made a connection?
    He didn’t know.
    “Christian, darling,” Vera said, coming toward him with an empty martini glass in her hand. “Shall we begin?”
    He smiled. “Of course.”
    Tonight Vera wore an orange caftan with gold inlay and six strings of pearls around her neck. Countless silver bracelets jangled on both her wrists. She was short and stocky, and from his perspective she was overpaying her hairstylist by a wide margin, but she was necessary, and he knew how to keep women like her happy.
    Since Mr. Renault had come alone, Vera had engaged her cook and her butler, Simmons—who also