Emma nodded, then rested her head on Duncan’s shoulder once again. She placed her hand over his heart. “That goes for a woman, too, you know. I can’t forget that Lacey’s killer is out there. I can’t live with that.”

“You won’t have to, Emmaline. Neither one of us will.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Emma went to work the next day, although she was no longer sure why she bothered. She was there in body, but that was it. Every time someone asked her a question, she had to play back in her head whatever it was they’d said, then remind herself of where she was before answering. That left her staring blankly at either her computer or the person who’d spoken while she tried to catch up. So it didn’t even surprise her when Sharon Coffer stopped by her desk and asked her to step into the Congressman’s office. Although asked was a polite way of putting it. It was more of a command performance.

Guy Coffer was out, so Emma and Sharon had the spacious office to themselves. Emma knew she was in trouble when Sharon closed the door deliberately before walking over to sit behind the desk. That was something even the most senior staffers would never have dared, but it had been clear to Emma from the beginning that Sharon considered this as much her office as her husband’s, that Guy Coffer’s election was as much about Sharon as it was about Guy. He just happened to have the more photogenic face, and more charisma in his little finger than existed in Sharon’s entire body.

“Emma,” Sharon said, indicating the chair in front of the desk. Emma sat dutifully. “We were all very sorry to hear about Laney—”

“Lacey,” Emma corrected.

Sharon’s expression tightened, her eyes narrowing to slits, but her voice was all smoothness and light when she continued, “Of course. Lacey. We were all sorry about her death, and we all know the strain you’ve been under.” Sharon paused as if expecting Emma to say something, but Emma didn’t know what that something should be, so she remained silent.

“Unfortunately,” Sharon went on, her tone making it clear she didn’t consider it unfortunate at all, “the business of this office must continue. And I’m afraid you’re not keeping up. I’m sure you understand. Once you’ve packed your things, someone will have to escort you out of the building and, of course, confiscate your ID.”

Emma blinked, not certain she’d heard that right. “Are you firing me?” she asked in disbelief.

“We’re letting you go, yes. The Congressman will, of course, provide you with a letter of reference, and I’m certain you’ll have no difficulty finding another position once your personal situation clears up. But until then—”

“You’re firing me?” Emma repeated, still not believing what she’d heard. “My best friend dies, and you’re firing me because I’m distracted?”

Sharon’s mouth pursed in distaste. “Really, Emma, there’s no need for hysterics.” But she couldn’t conceal the hint of satisfaction in her expression. This was a day Sharon Coffer had probably dreamt of. The day she finally got rid of Emma Duquet, who clearly had designs on Guy Coffer, and whose biggest sin was being better looking than Sharon. By a fucking mile.

Emma stood, refusing to give the bitch any more pleasure than she was already getting from this. “You have my address,” she said flatly, then turned and walked out of the office. Noreen watched with wide eyes as Emma went directly to her desk and began gathering up the few personal items she kept there.

“Emma?” Noreen asked.

“The bitch fired me,” Emma said, through gritted teeth.

“Are you kidding me? Why?”

“Apparently having my best friend die is too inconvenient. Business must go on.”

“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.”

Emma looked up and gave the other woman a smile. “Don’t worry, Noreen. I’ve faced worse than this and come out okay. I’ll do it again.>

Brave words, she thought to herself as she stashed her stuff in her oversized purse. Jobs like hers were hard to find and nearly impossible to get, and Sharon knew that. All that bullshit about a letter of reference . . . Oh, sure, there’d be a letter, and it would say all the right things. But behind Emma’s back, Sharon Coffer would be poisoning the well.

She pulled out all the drawers one last time, then slung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed her laptop and her jacket. She gave Noreen a quick hug, took a final look around, and walked out the door for the last time. If Sharon wanted someone to escort her out of the building, they could damn well catch up.

No one came after her, so Emma kept walking, all the way out of the building and into the parking lot. She threw her purse across the seat, and her laptop followed albeit somewhat more carefully. Emma got behind the wheel and twisted the key. Still no one in sight, and she wasn’t going to wait.

She pulled out of the parking lot and drove through the snarl of D.C. traffic, trying to decide where to go. Her heart wanted to rush back to Duncan, to rant and rave until the calm that surrounded him penetrated her anger and made her see that the world wasn’t going to end because she’d lost a job. Rationally, she already knew that, but she was so damn angry. Anyway, it was daytime and Duncan was sound asleep. She thought about joining him, but she hadn’t slept through the day with him yet. It seemed even more intimate than what they had done together in his bed. It was probably silly, but she felt as if he needed to invite her to sleep next to him when he was that vulnerable. Not that she couldn’t be trusted. Hell, he was probably safer with her there with him than not, but she had a gut feeling that he needed to be the one to take that first step.

So where to go? She was too tired to sleep, even if she used the other bedroom, and besides, the residence would seem far too empty without any of the vampires around. There were human guards on the grounds during the day, but from what she’d seen in the morning as she left for work, they stayed outside the house. For that matter, she wasn’t even absolutely certain the guards would let her back inside before sunset.

So she turned away from the vampires’ residence and headed for her own house instead. Duncan wouldn’t be happy that she was going there alone, but he’d admitted that the guy the other night had been a common burglar, not some assassin sent to take her out. And there were practicalities to deal with. Her mail, and Lacey’s, too, would be piling up, and there were bills to pay. And now that she didn’t have a job, she needed to update her resume and start looking for something new. It was also time to let her landlord know that she wouldn’t be renewing the lease on the house. Even if she’d been able to get past Lacey’s absence, she simply couldn’t afford the place on her own. Especially not if she had to go a few months without income.

Emma found a space on the street right in front of her house with no problem, because unlike her, most of her neighbors still had jobs. She had turned off the ignition and was pulling her keys out, when a familiar looking SUV parked right behind her. It was one of Duncan’s. He’d had someone following her the other day, and apparently he still did. So much for going it alone. She sighed and glanced in the rearview mirror, but the SUV’s windows were tinted. She couldn’t see the driver, but didn’t expect to recognize him anyway. She was more familiar with the vamps than the human guards. Grabbing her stuff, she walked back to the driver’s side of the SUV and waited while he slid down the window.

“Hey,” she greeted him.

“Ms. Duquet,” he said.

“I’m going to pack some boxes and things. You want to come inside?”

He turned off the truck’s engine. “I’ll walk in with you, make sure everything’s okay.”

“Oh, I’m sure everything’s—”

“All respect, ma’am,” he said. “I don’t work for you.”

Emma blinked and thought it was too bad Baldwin wasn’t around. At least he was fun. “Okay,” she said, and walked away, pulling out the key to the new lock that Duncan had ordered installed. Mr. Grumpy could follow at his own pace.

As expected, there was a pile of mail on the floor inside the front door. She dropped her keys in the dish, set her bag and laptop on the stairs and gathered up the whole mess. Shuffling it into a more or less neat stack, she headed for the kitchen. Duncan’s guard came in behind her and went immediately upstairs to check everything out. Emma rolled her eyes and stopped long enough to grab the remote and turn on the TV, more for company than anything else. She had a feeling her bodyguard wasn’t going to be too chatty.

She dumped the mail onto the tiled countertop and noticed the message waiting light blinking on her answering machine. The machine itself was a leftover from when she and Lacey had lived together in college, before they’d been able to afford cell service. When they’d moved to D.C., they’d both gotten cell numbers, but their Internet service had been provided over a landline, so they’d automatically hooked up the machine. No one had ever called the number except telemarketers, and even they stopped calling after the first year.

So now Emma stared at the blinking light for a few seconds before she registered its significance. Someone had called her home phone. It was probably nothing but a junk call triggered by Lacey’s funeral notice, except that the phone was in her name, not Lacey’s, and she’d automatically used her cell number on all the required forms.

“Only one way to find out,” she muttered and punched the button. The machine’s mechanical voice confirmed that there was a single message and gave the date and time of the call, then the message began to play.

“Ms. Duquet,” a woman’s husky voice said. “We’ve never met, but you came by my office in Alexandria two days ago.” Emma snatched her hand away from the machine, as if the caller had reached out and zapped her. Alexandria. That had to be Tammy Dietrich. There must have been video monitoring in the reception area. How else could Dietrich have known she’d been there? More importantly, why was she calling Emma, and why on this number?