“That’s perfect. I’m free at eight—why don’t I meet you here with a car at nine and we’ll head to the house. I’ll have my housekeeper prepare dinner if you’d like.”
“Something light,” she said. “I’m sure I’ll have eaten my weight in food by the end of the day. You know how business dinners are.”
He raised his glass. “It’s a date.”
Tenzin smiled coyly. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Ben roused her the next night in the most pleasurable way possible. She’d been meditating in one bedroom while he slept in the other. The blackout shades provided by the club were surprisingly good at lightproofing the rooms, and he hadn’t needed to hide in the closet.
She was contemplating the wood grain in the wall paneling and imagining the age of the tree when she felt him behind her. He slid a single finger down her spine, causing her to shiver and come back into her body.
Tenzin blinked. “Have you ever contemplated the immortality of trees?”
“Trees are not immortal.” His lips touched her neck. “We are.” His fangs scraped along her skin, teasing blood to the surface but not releasing it.
“How old must this tree have been when it was cut? Now it is preserved in this way, living but frozen. Like Mithra’s bones.”
His hands slid from stroking her back to cupping her breasts. “I don’t want to talk about trees. Or bones.”
She pressed back and felt his erection at her back. “Are you sure? What about that one?”
His chuckle was low and wicked. “But Ming, your father would not approve.”
She twisted in his arms and pulled him over her. “I do not care. Ravish me, Amir.”
“As you command, Ms. Zhang.” He was already naked and aroused. “After all, you need to look like you’ve put in a very hard day’s work.” He rocked his hips between her thighs. “Let’s see if I can make you look appropriately ruffled.”
They left the room through the window when it was dark outside, dressed in business suits, and flew several blocks until they could hire a car to take them back to the club. When they arrived, Trevor Blythe-Bickman was already in the lobby.
“Trevor.” Tenzin gave him a small wave. “I am sorry we’re late. If you give us a half an hour, we’ll be ready.”
“No problem.”
Ben smiled, still scenting his amnis all over Tenzin’s skin. “We’ll freshen up and be right with you. Do you have a car waiting?”
“It’s my personal vehicle if that’s all right.”
Ben took a moment to consider. “If you can let me look it over—”
“Amir, don’t be silly.” Tenzin attempted to look exasperated. “I’m sure it’s fine.”
“Protocol.” He looked at Trevor. “You understand.”
“Of course.” The glint of excitement was back. Ming was dangerous. Desirable. “That’s absolutely fine.”
Ben and Tenzin went to change into more casual clothes. Tenzin brushed her hair into a smooth black curtain and applied a light perfume. Ben changed from a suit into simple black pants and a black button-down shirt. Over that, he wore a black trench coat with discreet pockets.
Within a half hour, they were walking to Blythe-Bickman’s car where Ben performed a cursory check. This would be interesting. The car had more electronics than any vehicle he’d ever ridden in. If it managed to start with two vampires inside, it would be a miracle.
Ben patted the hood and looked up. “It’s clear,” he said to Tenzin and the Englishman.
It was clear, but it didn’t start.
Trevor tried starting it a number of times. “I just don’t understand.”
Tenzin and Ben attempted their most innocent expressions.
“Technology,” Ben said. “It’s a mystery.”
At the end of the day, they ended up calling a private car for themselves while Blythe-Bickman called a tow truck. Ben could tell he was embarrassed when they arrived at his house.
Good. He’d be even more motivated to impress Ming.
The massive Tudor mansion in Pacific Heights was on the corner of a block of similarly massive houses. A high wall surrounded the property, and a guard stood at the gate, waiting to open it when they pulled up. They rolled through the automatic gate and entered the immaculately lit yard. Potted plants bloomed in neat rows along the drive and softened the front of the dark brick house.
“What a lovely home,” Tenzin said. “Has it been in your family a long time?”
“Not long. I bought it when I sold my first start-up.” Trevor smiled, already back in his groove. “It’s a good investment, and it has plenty of room for my collection.”
Ben remained silent in the back of the car while Tenzin flirted mildly with the Englishman. Subtlety was the rule of the night with this man, and she was playing it perfectly. She was impressed, but not too impressed. Interested, but also checking her phone for messages.
They entered through carved wooden doors, and Ben took a station outside a small sitting room where Blythe-Bickman’s cook served the couple a light dinner. The maid offered to take his coat, but he demurred and kept his attention fixed on Tenzin and her human admirer.
Who really liked to talk about himself.
Ben tried not to be annoyed; if the man had lived alone, the job would already be done. They could have used amnis to enthrall him and he’d have handed over the keys to his safe, the family silver, and his watch collection with a smile. Sadly, there appeared to be at least two servants in residence, and they didn’t want to attempt to wipe three minds if they could avoid it.
Although…
As he watched the cook and the housekeeper bustle around the house, he realized that neither of them ever headed upstairs. Maybe that was the key. If Tenzin could get Blythe-Bickman upstairs, she’d have him under her command.
They finished their small meal, and Ben watched the Englishman start showing Tenzin around the house. They entered the room with the manuscripts that Ben had seen in the architectural magazine, and he followed them at a discreet distance, examining the pieces but finding nothing like the eighth-century illuminated devotional they were looking for. Ben was scanning the shelves for a distinctive type of chain stitching on the binding that his uncle told him would mark the manuscript as Ethiopian.
Nothing in the library matched the description that Giovanni had given him or the pictures he’d seen, though he did see a cross that he knew was Ethiopian sitting in a corner of the bookshelves, tossed in with other Orthodox crosses. It was carved wood and painted in rich colors, with the twelve distinct spikes at the top that denoted a typical Lalibela-style cross.
As the Englishman and Tenzin headed out of the library, he slipped the relic in his pocket. The man probably wouldn’t even notice it was missing.
As they worked their way through the downstairs rooms, Ben noticed Blythe-Bickman’s body language changing. He was more possessive, more personal. As they moved back toward the foyer, Ben knew exactly where the man was heading.
They turned toward him at the base of the stairs, and Tenzin looked him in the eye. “Amir, Trevor is going to show me his private gallery upstairs. You’ll wait here.”