obby sat at the desk in the security office at Romatech, frowning at his MacKay S&I file on the computer screen. What information should he send to Olivia? He could disclose some of his recent activities, but most of his personnel file was off limits.

Birth: October 21, 1719. Scotland.

Death: April 16, 1746. Culloden, Scotland.

Transformation: Sired by Angus MacKay.

There was no way around it. He'd have to send Olivia a pack of lies.

Phineas McKinney lounged in a chair, watching the wall of security monitors. "I'm bored." He propped his feet up on another chair. "At least I have something to do tonight. I'm supposed to meet Stan the Snitch in twenty minutes. You want to tag along?"

"Nay, I'm busy." Robby began typing his response to Olivia, using the generic MacKay S&I e-mail address.

"Are you kidding?" Phineas asked. "I thought you hated Stan. You could threaten him with bodily harm and watch him squirm. It'll be fun, bro."

Robby shrugged one shoulder. "'Tis Casimir I really want to kill. Stan is more useful as an informant." He glanced up. "Have ye learned anything from him?"

"No. The Russians in Brooklyn don't know squat. Stan and I usually have a few Bleers while he gripes about how crazy their leader Nadia is." Phineas yawned. "He's an okay dude once you get to know him."

The door opened and Connor strode inside. "How's it going?"

"Boring," Phineas muttered. "Casimir needs to get his act together, so we can kick some ass again."

Connor arched a brow. "When is the last time ye practiced yer fencing? If ye want to kick ass, ye need to stay prepared."

"You want to rumble, Scotty?" Phineas sat up. "I'll take you on. Name the time and place of your humiliating defeat."

Connor's mouth twitched. "Three A.M., the back garden, claymores. The practice ones, of course. I doona wish to do ye permanent harm."

Phineas smirked. "Bring it on, dude. I've been practicing with Jack."

Connor shrugged. "I can beat Jack with one hand tied behind my back."

"Ha!" Phineas scoffed. "I heard Jack cut your little ponytail off with his foil."

Connor chuckled, then turned to Robby. "How about you? Ye want to fight the winner? Which would be me, of course."

Phineas snorted.

"I'm busy." Robby frowned at the monitor.

"He's romancing a hot babe," Phineas whispered loudly.

"Piss off," Robby muttered.

Connor's eyes narrowed. "Are ye serious? Ye're no' involved with a mortal, are ye?"

"None of yer business." Robby typed a few more words, then changed his mind and deleted them.

"It is our business if ye intend to tell her our secrets," Connor grumbled.

Robby glanced at him. "Maybe ye enjoy being alone for yer entire miserable existence, but I'd like to find someone to share my life with."

Connor groaned. "Another hopeless romantic. And for yer information, I doona consider myself miserable."

Phineas snorted. "Show of hands. Who thinks Connor's a miserable old gasbag?" He waved his hand in the air while giving Robby a pointed look.

Robby smiled and lifted his hand.

Connor rolled his eyes. "I could insult ye both now, but I'll just wait till I have ye pinned to the ground, begging for mercy."

"We'll see who does the begging, bro," Phineas said.

Robby drummed his fingers on the desk. He didn't know what age he should claim. "How old would ye say I look?"

"I'd say...thirty-three." Phineas winced when Robby made a face. "I meant thirty. Not a day over thirty."

"How old were ye when Angus changed you?" Connor asked.

"I was twenty-seven." Robby gave Phineas an annoyed look. "Life was tougher back then. Everyone aged faster."

"Just make up a number, bro. How would she ever know the truth?"

Robby groaned inwardly. Sooner or later he would have to tell her the truth. "I'll say I'm twenty-nine." It sounded better than thirty, and he wouldn't appear too much older than Olivia.

Phineas rose to his feet and stretched. "Well, I've got to grab a few Bleers and meet Stan."

"I'll go with you," Connor offered.

The two Vamps strode from the office. Peace, at last. Robby went to work, finishing his message to Olivia.

Olivia arrived at work an hour early so she could continue her extracurricular research. She was still scouring the Internet, looking for any reference to Robert Alexander MacKay. The day before, she'd e-mailed MacKay S&I for information. All day long she'd checked her e-mail, anxious for a response. Nothing.

She'd called the warden at Leavenworth, and he agreed to send her a list of everyone who'd had contact with Otis Crump. The fax arrived in the afternoon, and she and J.L. had examined the list. The only people who had visited Otis were Harrison and herself. A number of people had mailed letters to him: his mother, his brother, and a few female admirers. The mother lived over a hundred miles away in Missouri. J.L. offered to go with her the next weekend to interview the woman. All Olivia needed to do was ask the lady if she was sending her apples. She would instantly know whether the mother was telling the truth.

Olivia downloaded her e-mail while she stashed her handbag in the drawer. Her breath caught when she saw the response from MacKay S&I. She clicked on it.

Dear O. Sotiris,

Thank you for contacting us. MacKay S&I is a premier investigative firm and provider of security for select clients worldwide. Founded in 1927, its headquarters are located in London and Edinburgh.

Robert Alexander MacKay is one of our most valued employees. He's an expert in firearms, martial arts, and fencing. He has recently served as head of security for Jean-Luc Echarpe, and is currently providing security for Romatech Industries in White Plains, New York. Age: 29. Height: 6'2". Weight: 220.

We would be hard pressed to find anyone as trustworthy as Robert MacKay.

Olivia sat back and read the last line again. It seemed almost identical to something Robby had told her on Patmos. She checked the e-mail address: info@mackays&i.com.

She read the entire message again. It was a favorable report where Robby was concerned, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he'd written the last line himself. In fact, he could have written the whole damned thing.

His grandfather owned the organization. He could have passed her request straight to Robby. She gritted her teeth. Dammit. Now she felt like a fool. Did he really think she wouldn't figure this out?

She hit Reply, then typed a message. With a grim smile, she hit Send. Take that, Robby.

All day long she checked for a response. Nothing.

By the time she left work that evening, she was beginning to doubt her initial conclusion. If Robby was behind this, he would have responded by now.

Robby woke that evening in his small room in Romatech's basement. One whole wing of the complex's basement had recently been transformed into guest rooms for the Undead. He quickly dressed, grabbed a bottle of synthetic blood from his minifridge, and dashed up to the MacKay security office. While his e-mail downloaded, he drank from the bottle.

He smiled when an e-mail from O. Sotiris appeared. He clicked on it, and his smile faded.

We regret to inform you that we may have wasted your time. The Robert MacKay we're looking for doesn't quite match up to your specifications. We believe he is older and quite a bit heftier than the one you mentioned.

"What?" He didn't look older than twenty-nine. And he sure as hell wasn't fat. He punched Reply.

Robert MacKay is in peak physical condition!

He clicked on Send, then winced. What if Olivia had figured out that he'd sent the original message? She could have laid a trap, and like a fool, he'd jumped right into it.

He finished his bottle, glaring at the screen. She'd probably left work for the day. He'd have to wait till tomorrow night for her response.

"Damn it to hell." Sometimes being a vampire was a bloody nuisance.

The next evening he dashed upstairs to check his e-mail. Sure enough, she'd responded that morning.

We at the FBI are willing to concede that Robert MacKay is in excellent physical condition. However, we are experiencing some major concerns regarding his mental faculties. He may not be the brightest lightbulb in the pack.

"What?" Robby slammed his bottle of synthetic blood on the desk. He hit Reply.

I'm smart enough to know when you're toying with me, you saucy wench!

He hit Send. "Take that, Olivia."

The next evening, he rushed to the computer. She'd responded to his last message from a new e-mail address that looked like a personal one. That was a good sign. It was Friday night, so maybe she was planning to correspond with him from her home. Maybe he wouldn't have to wait so long for her reply.

He clicked on her response.

And I'm smart enough to know when I'm being punked! Admit who you are, Robby. This wench is too saucy for you.

He snorted. She'd known all along it was him. A grin tugged at his mouth. What a clever lass she was. It was a good thing she'd moved from her business address to her personal one. His grin widened. Their correspondence was about to get very personal.

In her tiny apartment in Kansas City, Olivia lounged on the love seat in her pajamas. A half-eaten bowl of soup rested on the coffee table in front of her, next to an open package of saltines, her notes, and her laptop. The television was on, tuned to a news channel with the volume turned down to a soft drone.

The three letters from Robby sat on the cushion next to her. She'd brought them home so she could open them in private. She spread the letters out and scolded herself for waiting so long to open them. There was nothing sinister inside. Robby had written that he missed her, and he'd given her his phone number. Simple and to the point. No flowery purple prose with claims of everlasting love. No threatening remarks that indicated an alliance with Otis.

All her instincts told her that Robby was innocent and could be trusted. Still, she'd feel a lot better if she could find the actual person who was helping Otis.

Hopefully, she would tomorrow. She dragged her computer into her lap and clicked on Maps. Then she checked her notes for the address of Otis's mother.

The town in Missouri came up, and she wrote down some quick notes. J.L. had offered to drive, and he was going to pick her up in the morning. His car was equipped with a GPS navigation system, plus every other modern gadget known to mankind, so the trip should go smoothly. Thanks to her lie-detecting skills, she would know instantly if the mother was telling the truth.

Olivia clicked on her e-mail, and her heart did its usual flip when she spotted a new message from the MacKay S&I e-mail address. She checked the time. Why did Robby e-mail only at night? She'd had a good laugh when he'd called her a saucy wench. It sounded so old-fashioned, but maybe it was normal speech for a Scotsman. With her heart racing, she opened his latest message.

Aye, this is Robby. I have tasted you, wench, and you weren't too saucy. I thought you were perfect.

She gasped. That...that...

She clicked on Reply, typed Pig! and hit Send. How dare he joke about their most intimate moment? Her cheeks blazed with heat. Memories flooded back of Robby kissing her all over and giving her the biggest orgasms of her life. Thank God she'd taken this conversation off her official FBI address.

A new message popped up. So fast. Her heart pounded. She grabbed her glass of ice water off the coffee table and gulped down a few swallows. Then she opened the message.

Good evening, sweetheart. I have missed you.

"Oh, Robby." Now he was making her heart melt. She sent a message back: I missed you, too.

Within a few seconds, a new message appeared. May I have your phone number?

Her mind raced. Was she ready to get involved with him again? She hadn't found the guilty party yet who was helping Otis, so she couldn't swear with one hundred percent certainty that Robby was innocent. And it was so strange that she couldn't find any trace of him over the Internet.

What did she know about him, really? He'd been the one to send the information from MacKay S&I. He could be telling her all sorts of lies, and she had no way of determining the truth.

But how could she get to know him better if she refused to talk to him? With trembling fingers, she typed her cell phone number and pressed Send.

She jumped when her phone rang. Don't be silly, she chided herself. What did you think he'd do with the number?

She set her laptop aside and strode to her handbag she'd left on the console by her front door. The phone rang again. She retrieved it from its pocket inside her handbag and opened it. "Hello?"

"Och, 'tis good to hear yer voice again."

She bit her lip to keep from moaning out loud. The soft lilt of his accent and the deep timbre of his voice made a lethal combination. Her knees actually wobbled as she headed back to the love seat.

"Olivia? Are ye there?"

She collapsed on the love seat. "Yes. I'm here." Her heart swelled with a flood of longing. God help her, she still loved this man.