Written in the Ruby Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Written in the Ruby

  ISBN 9781419917776

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Written in the Ruby Copyright © 2008 Ravyn Wilde

  Edited by Kelli Kwiatkowski.

  Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.

  Electronic book Publication August 2008

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  WRITTEN IN THE RUBY

  Ravyn Wilde

  Dedication

  I’d like to dedicate this book to Shelley Munro and KyAnn Waters, critique partners extraordinaire! Thank you, ladies, for reading my manuscripts, the advice and unfailing support—not to mention the chance for a first peek at your marvelous stories.

  Trademark Acknowledgements

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Armani: GA Modefine S.A

  Chevy: General Motors Corporation

  Ford: Ford Motor Company

  Google: Google Inc.

  Military Channel: Discovery Communications, Inc

  Motown: Motown Record Corporation

  Sheetrock: United States Gypsum Company

  Wikipedia: Wikimedia Foundation, Inc.

  Wonderbra: Canadelle, Inc. Written in the Ruby

  Chapter One

  Nicole Martin was searching for a monster.

  Something…spine-chilling. A creature based in mythology that she could twist and turn to her liking. Make him more than he was when he haunted the nightmares of ancient—what? Regency England?

  No. Earlier. Ancient Greece, or Egypt during the time of the pharaohs? Didn’t matter, she’d know him when she found him.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m federal agent Mike Maloney and I’d like a moment to talk with you.”

  Raising her hand to brush away the words buzzing in her ear like an angry mosquito, she went back to studying the book in front of her. He couldn’t be talking to her. “Ma’am” was someone’s grandmother. If this Mike person was calling her “ma’am”, she was liable to slug him.

  But there were laws against hitting federal agents.

  When she’d entered the library an hour earlier, it had been empty except for the kid behind the desk. Secluded as she was behind a tall bookcase in the fiction section, there was a chance she’d missed a burst of rain-drenched air as the door opened, but she didn’t think so.

  She sighed. Mike “I’m a federal agent” Maloney had to be talking to her.

  Glancing up removed all doubt. He stood peering down at her. “Excuse me?” Tilting her head, she frowned at the mountain of a man who was dressed in a dark suit and white dress shirt. His blond hair cut high and tight in typical military fashion. Instead of meeting her gaze, the green eyes set in his chiseled face earnestly studied her chest.

  Nicole sighed again. The man wasn’t making brownie points.

  “Interesting reading.”

  The books scattered in front of her were on monsters, vampire lore and arcane magic. They were interesting, so she nodded, guessing that the look on her face would definitely fall under the deer-in-the-headlights category. Mind racing, she tried to define the man’s tone of voice as she scrambled to think of anything she might have done to warrant attention—besides the fact that she had a bountiful bosom.

  Talk about paranoia.

  His gaze shifted from her chest back to the books. “You seem pretty engrossed in vampires and paranormal creatures. May I ask why?” he questioned.

  At the moment, she was reading a book on Greek mythology, but she decided that was irrelevant. Pushing her fingers into the hair at her temple, she tried to massage away the headache she was getting without undoing her heavy braid. “I’m sorry? I don’t understand why the government is interested in my choice of reading material.” This conversation was too weird. Nonchalantly, Nicole flipped the button on the small recorder lying in her lap. She’d been using it to make a few notes on her research material. She had a suspicion this conversation might be more entertaining.

  “As I told you, I’m federal agent Mike Maloney and my partner and I would like a few minutes of your time. If you’ll answer my question, I’ll be happy to explain in a moment.”

  Nicole got the impression this man didn’t enjoy having his motives questioned. He’d mentioned a partner and she looked around to find an older version of Mr. Maloney walking up to join them. His posture rigid, the man oozed ex-military.

  “What agency are you from? Can I see your badges?” she requested with her hand out. Her feeble smile disguised her effort to remember what her college roommate’s husband had told her about his job. Robert worked for the FBI and she’d interviewed him a few times for research on various books. She’d seen his badge, knew they should be showing her something that carried their thumbprint, a picture and their title. Beyond that, she couldn’t remember further details and had no idea what other forms of government identification might look like.

  Mike let out an irritated sigh as he reached into his brown overcoat to retrieve the badge from the inner pocket of his suit. His biceps stretched the fabric of the jacket. When she met his eyes, she knew he did that on purpose. He had the look of a man who’d want her to make some comment on his assets.

  Nicole didn’t look at the badge he flashed. Keeping her hand outstretched, she silently waited for him to hand it to her. The anger in his eyes could have come from her refusal to fawn over his overstated muscles or because she wanted proof of his identity. She didn’t care.

  Only when he slapped the badge into her hand did she look down. Oh goodie. She was in luck. Swallowing beyond the lump in her throat, Nicole studied the embossed shield in front of her. FBI? What in God’s name did the FBI want with her? If this guy really is from the FBI… The stray thought had her pulling her tablet closer.

  “What are you doing?” he questioned her.

  “Writing down your badge numbers.”

  “That isn’t necessary. All we want to do is ask a few questions. Why are you so paranoid?” Mr. Maloney didn’t bother to hide the dark suspicion in his voice. This man had absolutely no people skills.

  “Let me ask you a question, Mr. Maloney. If you were sitting in a library minding your own business and someone came up to you, said they were a federal agent and wanted to ask you some questions, would you just answer those questions and not verify who you were talking to?” Raising her gaze, she waited for his answer.

  Studying her with focused intensity, he finally shifted his attention to his partner. After a silent exchange between the two, he shook his head. “My apologies, ma’am.”

  Wordlessly the other man slid
his badge across the table.

  Nodding, Nicole jotted down the men’s information, adding a quick description of each to help jog her memory later.

  John Jackson, older man—early fifties? Medium height. Square face, hair going gray at the temples. Fanatical light in his eyes.

  Pausing, she realized her description was right. Mr. Jackson’s attempt to play good cop was ruined with his pewter eyes telling a different story. And if their eyebrow-raising, shoulder-shrugging communication—a show of humoring her—led them to believe she wouldn’t check on them, they’d be wrong.

  “Mike.” The second agent’s voice seemed to hold a warning for the younger man. Extending his hand to her, he introduced himself. “Ma’am, sorry to trouble you. As the badge says, I’m John Jackson. May we sit down for a moment?” His deep, gravely voice may have been polite, but the tight lines around his gray eyes told her he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Nicole shrugged her shoulders. Taking the reaction as a sigh of assent, the two men sat. Her innate curiosity finally kicked in. Now she wanted to know why they were here.

  “The Idiots Guide to Vampires, The Definitive Book of Monsters and An Arcane Guide to the Paranormal…like Mike said, interesting reading. Mind if I ask if you’re looking for anything specific?” Mr. Jackson asked.

  Nicole frowned at the broad-shouldered man. He wasn’t old and worn down. No. John Jackson kept his body in good shape.

  John Jackson. Right. Did she look that stupid? Mike Maloney, John Jackson. MM. JJ. She’d bet money their names weren’t any more real than her pen name. “What kind of specific would I be looking for? I’m a romance writer and the stories I create are paranormal and science fiction. Today I’m skimming for ideas to help me create a new world, to set the boundaries and laws of what my creatures can or can’t do.”

  “Romance writer, huh?” Mike’s tone said he didn’t believe her.

  Digging into her purse, Nicole squealed when both men reached into their jackets and she caught a brief, dark flash of metal in Mike’s hand.

  Throwing her hands in the air, her heart skipped a beat. “Are you insane?” she screeched, eyes wide, only to be shushed by the librarian. Feeling as if she were the lead in a very bad play, she continued in a stage whisper, “I’m just getting one of my bookmarks! It lists my web address, has a couple of my covers on it with reviews.”

  After they nodded she carefully lowered her hands. Reaching into the side pocket of her purse to draw out the thin, rectangular piece of cardstock, she handed it to John, who passed it to Mike.

  “Your name isn’t Danielle Divine.”

  No kidding. And yours isn’t Mike Maloney, you idiot, she thought as she bit her lip in an effort to keep her opinion to herself. After their stunt with the guns, her curiosity had quickly turned to fear-tinged irritation and she needed to work very hard to remain civil.

  “Danielle Divine is my pen name,” she succinctly stated. She refused to volunteer another thing to these two until they explained what they wanted. Going for their guns in the middle of the city library…did they think she was some sort of desperate criminal?

  “Ms. Martin, obviously our initial research on you lacked some vital information. I apologize. We’ll get to the point. Are you living with Zane Patrick?” JJ bluntly inquired.

  They’d researched her? Scary thought. Although she was happy to know that her attempts to keep her pen name unlinked from her real name had been successful.

  But when she focused on the question JJ had asked, Nicole couldn’t keep the look of slack-jawed surprise off her face. She closed her mouth, unable to respond. Living with Zane? As much as she’d like to put action to her secret fantasy life, he was way out of her league. Finally she found her voice. “What? You’ve got to be kidding me, I barely know the man.”

  “We’ve seen you enter and leave his estate at all hours, Ms. Martin. You’ve spent every night there for the last two months.” Mike’s tone made her fingers itch. She wanted to slap that I-know-you’re-his-slut look off his face.

  “Well, apparently your surveillance sucks. Two months ago I bought a house and three quarters of an acre from Mr. Patrick. I live there…in my house. He plans to put in a new road this summer and move the wall to exclude my home from his property.” She wasn’t lying. But she thought she’d keep the information to herself that she had no intention of letting that happen. One of the main selling points of her new home had been the fact that it came with the added security of burly guards and a twelve-foot-concrete wall surrounding the property.

  She really liked her privacy. There were a lot of crazy people in this world—and she was talking to two of them. Nicky had a feeling she should have stayed home behind that twelve-foot wall and done her research on the Internet today.

  “Why did he sell the house to you?” JJ asked.

  “I made an offer.” Nicole rolled her eyes.

  “You didn’t know Mr. Patrick before—”

  Nicole didn’t wait for John to finish the question. “No. And I’d like to know why you’re asking me these questions. Have I done something wrong? Has Mr. Patrick?”

  Good grief. She’d believed Zane when he’d explained the guards and fence around his property were there because he was a wealthy man and took precautions. The horses he raised and trained to compete in dressage were worth more than she made in a year.

  When she’d asked why he was selling off the small house, he’d told her the two-bedroom home had belonged to a friend who’d recently passed away, and he wanted to sell the place in an attempt to create distance from sad memories. At the time, she’d murmured an appropriately sympathetic response. She really hadn’t cared why he wanted to sell as long as he sold the little cottage to her. One look at the fresh pain in Zane’s eyes when he’d shown her the place had her scurrying to make the offer. She hadn’t wanted to take the chance that time would make him reassess cutting out a small chunk of his real estate.

  Her private musings were interrupted by another question.

  “But you see him now?” Mr. Maloney persisted.

  “Depends on what you mean by ‘see’. If your definition is a causal wave every third or fourth day from separate cars? Then yeah, I guess I see him.” She wasn’t sure what they wanted from her. Until she knew, she wouldn’t mention the three times they’d accidentally met for coffee. Or the night a few weeks ago when she’d run into Zane downtown and they wound up having dinner together. It was none of their business.

  “So, you’ve seen him during the day? Not just after dark?” JJ’s urgent tone raised the small hairs on the back of her neck.

  She couldn’t help glancing down at the vampire book Mike held clutched in his brawny fingers. The men had questioned her reading material, mentioned the word “vampire” with heavy emphasis and now they wanted to know if she’d seen Zane during the day.

  Surely they weren’t…? Nah. They couldn’t be. “Yes. I’ve seen Mr. Patrick during the day. Why?”

  “This is a little difficult to explain, Ms. Martin. We’d like to get a closer look at Mr. Patrick and since you live within the compound, the government needs your help getting inside,” JJ said.

  “Why are you concerned about Zane?” Silently, Nicole added, You need my help and you go for your guns when I reach into my purse? Her friends often teased her about her very active imagination. Pinching herself under the table, she struggled to stay grounded in reality. Yeah. It hurt. She was really here, sitting at a table in the library with two FBI agents who were asking very strange questions about her neighbor.

  “That’s none of your—”

  “Mike!” JJ stopped Mike from sticking his foot farther into his mouth.

  Nicole silently groaned. Mikey was certainly turning out to be a jerk. She tried to suppress the part of her brain urging her to jump up and run as far as she could from these two. Instead of bolting out the door, she simply raised her eyebrows in question.

  “It’s complicated and unnecessary for you to know,�
� JJ said.

  So. Either he thought she was stupid or this was his more polite way of telling her it was none of her business. JJ wasn’t making any more points than his hotheaded partner.

  This entire discussion had started to sound like a bad comic routine. Like she would help them without an explanation? At this point, she wouldn’t help them with one. Unless… “Did he kill someone?” Please-oh-please no, she thought.

  Both men shifted in their seats. “We haven’t linked him to any bodies,” JJ hesitantly admitted.

  She wasn’t sure that was an answer. “He’s selling government secrets?”

  “No.”

  She wondered what else it could be. “Has he stolen something?”

  “Not that we’re aware of.” This time JJ didn’t meet her gaze when he mumbled his answer.

  “Well, the only other thing I can think of…he hasn’t paid his taxes?” she persisted.

  “Ms. Martin. This isn’t helping,” JJ protested.

  “No kidding. You want me to help you trespass onto the compound, yet you’ve given me no reasons. Your partner has been rude, condescending and both of you went for your guns when I reached into my purse. I’ve never been the type of person to do something without questioning all sides. So tell me why I should help you?” They were completely insane if they thought she’d let them use her without knowing the full story.

  Oh, wait. There was no story. They wanted her to trust them.

  Not happening.

  Nicole caught the angry look JJ flashed at Mike. Ah, dissension among partners.

  “Show her the pictures, Mike,” the older man ordered.

  Looking as if he wanted to protest, Mike reached into his coat pocket and threw several pictures on the table in front of her. The fact that he did it without arguing told her something about the dynamics of their partnership. John Jackson was the man in charge.

  Reaching out to pull the pictures closer, she saw a man who looked a lot like Zane smiling back from each photo. In the black-and-white picture he was dressed as a James Dean wannabe, one foot perched on the bumper of a 1957 Chevy. She knew the make of car because her dad used to have one. In the second he appeared as a very serious, sepia-toned gunslinger. The last showed him in living color. Dressed in an Armani suit, all scrumptious, long brown hair and bulging muscles. It was the only photo that showed his right side clearly—the side where Zane had a small scar running through his eyebrow.