Blood Debt Read Online Free PDF Page A

until someone finds out why and stops it. Henry isn’t trained for that kind of an investigation.” When he opened his mouth, she lifted a hand in warning. “And don’t you dare say I’m not either. I’ll be stopping a killer. It doesn’t matter that he’s dead.”
    No. It wouldn’t. But the ghost had little or nothing to do with his reaction. He leaped to his feet and pushed past her, out of the office and into the main room where he’d have floor enough to pace. “Do you know how far it is to Vancouver?”
    â€œAbout 4,500 kilometers.”
    He stomped to the door and back again. “Do you realize how short the night is at this time of the year?”
    â€œLess than nine hours.” Her voice added a clear indication that she wasn’t pleased about it either.
    â€œAnd do you remember what happens when you’re caught out in the sun?”
    â€œI barbecue.”
    Hands spread, he rocked to a stop in front of her. “So you’re going to go 4,500 kilometers, in less than nine-hour shifts, with no sanctuary from the sun? Do you have any idea how insanely dangerous that is?”
    â€œI’ve been thinking about buying a used van and making a few minor modifications.”
    â€œA few minor modifications,” he repeated incredulously, trying to bury fear with anger. “You’ll be a sitting duck all day, no matter where you park—a charcoal briquette just waiting to happen!”
    â€œSo come with me.”
    â€œCome with you? As a favor to Henry-fucking-Fitzroy?”
    She got slowly to her feet and glared up at him through narrowed eyes. “Is that what this is really about? Henry?”
    â€œNo!” And it wasn’t; not entirely. “This is about you putting yourself in unnecessary danger. Don’t they have PI’s in British Columbia?”
    â€œNot ones who can deal with something like this and no one Henry trusts.” She smiled, a little self-mockingly, then spread one hand against his chest and added, her words slowed to the rhythm of his heartbeat, “I don’t want to become a charcoal briquette. I could use your help, Mike.”
    His mouth snapped shut around the remainder of the diatribe. The old Vicki Nelson had never been able to ask for help. When Henry Fitzroy had given her his blood, he’d changed her in more than just the obvious ways. Celluci hated the undead, romance-writing, royal bastard for that.
    â€œLet me think about it,” he muttered. “I’m going to make coffee.”
    Vicki listened to him stomp into the tiny kitchen and begin opening and closing cupboard doors with more force than was strictly necessary. She drew in a deep breath, savoring the scent of him. He’d always smelled terrific; a kind of heated, male smell that used to make her incredibly horny whenever she got a whiff of it. Okay, it still made her horny, she corrected with a grin. But now it also made her hungry.
    â€œDon’t you ever throw your garbage out,” he snarled.
    â€œWhy should I? I don’t create any of it.”
    He hadn’t needed to raise his voice. She could’ve heard him if he’d whispered. She could hear his blood pulse through his veins. Sometimes she thought she could hear his thoughts. Although he might be honestly concerned about the dangers of travel, when it came right down to it, he didn’t want to go to Vancouver with her because he didn’t want to do Henry Fitzroy any favors. Neither did he want her to go to Vancouver, and thus to Henry Fitzroy, without him.
    Finishing off the bit of bookkeeping she’d been doing when Henry’d called, Vicki saved the file and waited for Mike to make up his mind, wondering if he realized she had no intention of going without him.
    That Henry was being haunted by a ghost who played twenty questions with deadly results didn’t surprise her. Nothing much surprised her anymore.
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