"It smells good." Gregori reached for the bottle.
Angus grabbed the bottle and sat on the desk.
Connor smiled as he opened the folder. "One of these four people is the slayer."
Gregori picked up the first profile. "Sean Whelan. Boo, hiss. I betcha he's the one."
"'Tis true that Whelan hates us, especially after his daughter married Roman." Connor retrieved the profile from Gregori. "But Austin acts protective of the slayer, and he wouldna feel that way about a former boss who blacklisted him."
Angus enjoyed another gulp of Blissky. "'Tis no' Whelan. The man hasna got the balls for it."
Connor handed him the next profile. "This is Garrett Manning."
"Whoa!" Gregori jumped to his feet, pointing at Garrett's photo. "That guy was on the reality show last summer." He gave Connor a stunned look. "You told me Austin was masquerading as a contestant, but you didn't say anything about this guy."
Connor shrugged. "There was no reason to tell you."
"Aye." Angus nodded. "Ye're not important enough to know everything."
Gregori made a face. "Piss off."
Connor chuckled. "I seriously doubt Garrett is the slayer. He has verra little psychic power, and he was busy doing the reality show last summer when the first slayings occurred."
"Well, who else is here?" Gregori turned over Garrett's photo. "Whoa, a babe."
"Aye." Connor nodded. "The last two are female."
"A female mortal killing male vampires?" Angus plunked his bottle on the desk. "'Tis no' possible."
Gregori snickered. "So much for your theory about needing balls." He made a grab for the bottle of Blissky.
Angus stood, taking his bottle with him.
Connor passed him the next profile. "A female slayer would explain Austin's protectiveness."
"Whoa, baby. She's hot." Gregori grabbed the photo.
Angus studied the profile on Alyssa Barnett. Psychic power: five. She was brand-new to the CIA. No field experience prior to the Stake-Out team. "She's no' the slayer."
"Bummer." Gregori dropped the photo and reached for the next profile. "How about this one? Emma Wallace."
Angus stiffened. "The Wallace?"
"You mean like Braveheart?" Gregori's eyes widened. "Hey, did you guys know him?"
Connor snorted. "The puir man was executed long before we were born." He turned to Angus. "'Tis a common name these days."
"'Tis the name of a warrior." Angus snatched the profile from Gregori. Psychic power: seven. Black belt in several styles of martial arts. Trained by MI6 in antiterrorism. His heart began to pound. Could it be true? Could the slayer be a female?
"Sweet." Gregori was practically drooling over her photo.
Angus set down his bottle and yanked the photo from Gregori's grasping fingers. His heart stammered and lunged up his throat. No wonder Gregori was panting like a hound dog. She had creamy pale skin that contrasted dramatically with her rich brown hair. Her eyes were a golden-brown that glimmered like amber. There was a sharp intelligence in her eyes. A strong will. A fierce passion that marked her as a warrior.
"She's the one," he whispered.
Connor shook his head. "We canna be sure until we catch the slayer in the act."
Angus set her photo down. Her eyes seemed to be following him, calling to him. "We'll catch her. Tonight. Connor, you take the northern half of the park, and I'll take the southern half."
"I'll come." Gregori took a swig from Angus's bottle. "I can spot a good-looking babe a mile off."
"Hey." Angus grabbed his bottle back. He'd been so intent on Miss Wallace's photo, he hadn't seen Gregori nabbing his Blissky. "And what will ye do when a black-belt slayer knocks ye down and whips out her wooden stake?"
"Oh, come on, dude." Gregori straightened his tie. "No woman wants to kill a sharp-dressed man."
"Angus is right." Connor gathered up the profiles and photos and closed the folder. "Ye're no' prepared to fight a slayer. Stay here and tell Roman what we decided to do."
"Damn." Gregori tugged at his shirt cuff. "Not fair."
Angus removed a pewter flask from his sporran and filled it with Blissky. "'Twill be a long night. This will keep me warm."
"I'll fetch my claymore, and we can go." Connor headed for the door.
"Wait." Gregori's mouth twitched. "You two guys are going to Central Park in the middle of the night, wearing skirts?" He laughed. "No one's gonna believe you're looking for a woman."
Angus glanced down at his kilt. "I dinna bring any trousers."
Gregori snorted. "You mean you own some?"
"Doona worry." Connor rested a hand on the doorknob. "Today was St. Paddy's Day. The city is full of men in kilts. No one will think twice about it."
"What will you do if you find her?" Gregori asked.
"Have a wee chat," Connor replied as he left the room.
Angus recalled Emma Wallace's whisky-colored eyes and intoxicating mouth. He'd be sorely tempted to do more than talk. He smiled as he screwed the top on his flask. Let the hunt begin. He slung his claymore onto his back and strode toward the door.
"Okay, if you insist, I'll stay here." Gregori picked up the bottle Angus had left on the desk. "I'll just guard this for you till you get back."
Emma Wallace stomped her feet silently in the grass. The chilly air felt good as long as she was walking, but whenever she crouched behind a tree for very long, her legs grew stiff.
This part of Central Park was dead, even too dead for the Undead. Time to move on. She slung her canvas tote bag over her shoulder and enjoyed the comforting sound of wooden stakes clattering against one another. She slipped out of her hiding place and skidded down the sharp incline to the brick path below. Her movement startled some birds from a nearby tree. They cawed, beating the air with a fluttering of wings as they flew into the darkness.
Emma waited, blending easily into a tree's shadow with her black pants and jacket. All was quiet once more. Hard to believe that a short walk south would deliver her to noisy avenues where postparade celebrations still raged.
Maybe that was why the park was so quiet. The vampires could be hunting in the streets. After a long day of green beer and whisky, the revelers would never remember what bit them.
Suddenly the brick path beside her was clearer. Brighter. She could make out individual trees and bushes. She moved quietly onto the pathway and looked at the nearly full moon. The clouds had moved away, leaving the orb bright and glowing.
A slight movement caught her attention, and her gaze lowered. To the south, a lone figure stood on top of a huge crag of granite. His back was to her. Wisps of clouds floated past him, stirring his kilt. Moonlight gleamed off his dark red hair.
Mist swirled around him, making him look ethereal. Like the ghost of a Highland warrior. Emma sighed. That's what the world needed more of today - brave warriors, willing to fight evil.
Sometimes she felt vastly outnumbered by the creatures of the night. As far as she knew, she was the only vampire slayer in existence. Not that she blamed anyone for that. Most people didn't know about vampires. But she did blame her weak and ineffectual boss. Sean Whelan was afraid to pit their small team of four against a group of vampires in battle, so he had assigned them to merely watch and investigate.
Watching wasn't enough for Emma. Not since that horrid night six years ago. She refused to dwell on it. She'd found a much better remedy than grieving. The trick to killing vampires was to find one alone in the act of feeding, then take him by surprise with one swift stake through the heart. With every vampire she turned to dust, she was one step closer to finding peace.
She patted her bag of stakes. With a permanent marker, she'd written Dad on half of them and Mum on the other half. The stakes were working great, and the death count was up to four. It could never be high enough.
She glanced again at the kilted man standing on the boulder of granite. Where had all the brave men gone? Fierce warriors who could stand alone in the face of danger.
The mist drifted away, leaving the man's form outlined in silvery moonlight. Her breath hitched. He was stunning. His broad shoulders filled the dark sweater he wore. His kilt fluttered slightly in the breeze, revealing strong, muscular thighs. Good heavens. He would make a great warrior. Strong and relentless in battle.