Guild Hunter 01 - Angels' Blood

frozen state and heading toward the door. Jeffrey had probably lost it because she’d dared defy him, unlike the rest of his band of sycophants. It had had nothing to do with the fact that he’d called his daughter a whore to her face. “And, Gerry”—she turned at the door—“don’t ever let him find out.”
    The assistant gave a jerky nod.
    Elena had never been so grateful to be out in the noise of the city as she was that day. Not giving the door a backward look, she walked down the steps and away from the man who’d contributed his sperm to her creation. Her hand clenched again and she remembered the envelope. Forcing herself to calm down enough that she could think, she slit it open and pulled out the letter. This was her mother’s legacy to her and she refused to let Jeffrey cheapen it.
    The amount of money was small in the scheme of things—Marguerite’s estate had been split equally between her two living daughters, and consisted of the money she’d made from the sale of her one-of-a-kind quilts. She’d never needed to use any of it because Jeffrey had insisted on giving her a huge allowance.
    Masculine laughter, strong hands throwing her into the air.
    Elena staggered under the impact of the memory, then brushed it aside—it was nothing more than wishful thinking. Her father had always been a stern disciplinarian who didn’t know how to forgive. But, she was forced to admit, he had felt something for his Parisian wife—there had been that huge allowance, gifts of jewels on every occasion. Where had all those treasures gone? To Beth?
    Elena didn’t particularly care about their monetary value, but she would’ve liked to have just one thing that had once belonged to her mother. All she knew was that she’d come home one summer from boarding school and found every trace of Marguerite, Mirabelle, and Ariel gone from the house—including the quilt Elena had treasured since her fifth birthday. It was as if she’d imagined her mother, her older sisters.
    Someone smashed into her shoulder. “Hey, lady! Get out of the fucking way!” The lanky student turned to give her the finger.
    She returned the gesture automatically, glad he’d broken her paralysis. A quick glance at her watch confirmed she still had some breathing room. Deciding to take care of things then and there, she made her way to the bank branch specified in the letter. Luckily, it was fairly close. She’d completed the paperwork and was rising to leave when the bank manager said, “Would you like to see the contents of the safe-deposit box, Ms. Deveraux?”
    She stared into his puffy face, the probable result of too much good food and not enough exercise. “A safe-deposit box?”
    He nodded, straightening his tie. “Yes.”
    “Don’t I need a key and”—she frowned—“my signature on the access card?” She knew that only because she’d had to look it up during a particularly complicated hunt.
    “Normally, yes.” He straightened his tie for the second time. “Yours is a somewhat unusual situation.”
    Translation: her father had pulled any number of strings for God alone knew what reasons of his own. “All right.”
    Five minutes later, she’d had her signature witnessed and was handed a key. “If you’ll follow me to the vault—we use a dual-step system here. I have the key to the vault; you have the one to the box itself.” The bank manager turned and led her through the hushed confines of the solid old building and through to the back.
    The safe-deposit boxes were hidden behind several electronic doors that appeared incongruous in the belly of the historic structure.
    Elena.
    She knew she hadn’t imagined that dark whisper in her head. “Get out.”
    The man she was following gave her a startled look over his shoulder. She pretended to be engrossed in her nails.
    You’re late.
    Narrowing her eyes, she gritted her teeth and wondered if it was worth the headache to keep him out of her head.
    A car will meet you when you exit the bank.
    She halted, stared at the back of the manager’s jacket, able to smell his fear. “Who exactly did you call a few minutes ago?”
    When he glanced at her, his eyes were panicked, a rabbit’s. “No one, Ms. Deveraux.”
    She gave him a cold smile that made it clear he’d pissed her off well and good. “Show me the box.”
    Clearly surprised by the reprieve, he did as ordered. She waited until he’d placed the long, metal box on a viewing table before waving him off. He