He carried her bags to her car, waiting while she got settled behind the wheel, raising his eyebrows pointedly when she didn’t immediately fasten her seatbelt.

“Geez, Baldwin, you’re like a mother hen.”

“I like my job, Emma. I don’t want anything happening to you on my watch.” He closed her door and sped back to his SUV, then tailed her through the front gate and onto the street.

It was a short and uneventful journey back to her house. She didn’t live that far away in simple distance. It was traffic and street closures for the constant VIP convoys that made the trip longer during the day and evening. But this late at night, the streets were nearly empty. There were parties going on, but not in her part of town, so once they left Duncan’s neighborhood, there wasn’t even that to consider.

But when they got to her house, there was nowhere to park. With the end of winter, the street sweepers were back and everyone had moved their cars to one side of the street for the next morning’s cleaning. She had to park a block over and two blocks down, and even then the space was barely large enough for her car. Good thing she was a good parallel parker.

Baldwin pulled up next to her and reached across to open the passenger door on his SUV. “Get in,” he called.

Emma grabbed her bags, tossed them into the SUV’s backseat, and climbed in, gazing around happily. She liked riding in big trucks. She would have bought one for herself, but it wasn’t practical in D.C. Maybe someday she’d have a house in Virginia or Maryland, and she’d have two vehicles—a practical sedan for the ride into work, and a big ass SUV like this one for zooming around the countryside on weekends. She smiled, liking the idea.

“What’re you smiling at?” Baldwin asked.

“I like your truck.”

“Not my truck. I’m only the driver.”

“Well, I like it anyway.”

“I’d let you drive, but Duncan wouldn’t like it.”

“Why not? I’m a good driver.”

“Yeah, but what about the other guy? My reflexes are faster than yours.”

As it turned out, Baldwin’s reflexes were good for more than avoiding accidents. He drove like a bat out of hell, switching lanes and zooming into tight spaces that had Emma reaching down to check her seatbelt more than once. But they made terrific time, getting there much faster than she would have on her own.

Pettry was busy when she arrived—she didn’t want to inquire doing what this late at night—but he’d left a maroon, linen-covered box for her that held a similarly covered bound book with the words In Loving Memory gold-stamped on the front. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she closed the box quickly. This was going to be harder than she thought.

“Is that everything, Emma?” Baldwin asked quietly.

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you out of here.”

Emma clutched the box to her chest and followed the vampire back to the truck. He helped her up onto the high bench seat, not saying anything when she refused to let go of the box.

The drive back was just as fast, but much quieter. Emma was tired. She’d been going all day, and it was nearly one o’clock in the morning. She might even have dozed off a bit, because suddenly they were in front of her house. Emma blinked, then straightened and reached for her door handle, still clutching the memory book to her chest.

“Wait,” Baldwin said. He double-parked, turned off the engine and climbed out of the truck, circling around to her side to open her door. “Get your keys out,” he ordered.

Emma didn’t argue. She handed him the book, then twisted around to the backseat and shoved a hand into the zipper compartment on her bag. She dug out her keys and raised her hand, jingling them in the air where he could see them.

“Okay,” he said and held out a hand to help her down. He gave the book back to her. “Give me a minute to get your other stuff.”

He closed her door and had reached for the back door of the SUV when his phone rang. He raised a finger, telling her to wait, and answered the phone. Emma could only hear his half of the conversation, but it was obviously one of the other vamps looking for something at the house. Everything was such a mess there. She didn’t know how they kept track of it all. Baldwin tucked the phone between his chin and shoulder and opened the truck door. Emma shivered. There was a slight wind, and she was cold, despite her warm jacket. With a glance at Baldwin, who was reaching across the backseat, she went ahead and climbed the stairs to her house, thinking about nothing but getting inside and into her warm bed.

She slipped the key in the lock and pushed the door open. She heard Baldwin call, “Emma, wait!” And then several things happened all at once.

The shadows of her living room belched forth a big man, his eyes twin ovals of white in a dark-bearded face, his hands hard as he closed the few feet between them and grabbed her arm with one hand, while the other closed over her mouth.

In the same instant, her front door crashed open to slam against the wall, and Baldwin was there, twisting her away from the stranger and stepping between them so quickly that Emma stumbled and nearly fell. The man squawked as Baldwin’s hand closed on his throat.

A gunshot rang out, and then another, startlingly loud in the confines of her small house. Baldwin grunted, staggered through the open doorway, and literally threw the invader away from the house, sending him flying past the SUV and into the street. The attacker shrieked, the sound cut off abruptly when he hit the hard pavement and rolled into the opposite gutter.

“Emma,” Baldwin rasped urgently.

She spun toward Baldwin, struck by something in his voice. He was slouched over, barely standing, one hand clutching his chest where . . . “Oh my God, you’re bleeding! Are you shot?” She grabbed him before he could fall over, slipping her shoulder under his arm and puffing out a gasp of air as his full weight fell on her all at once. With her arm around his waist, she gripped him tightly and all but dragged him out of the doorway and into the living room. She tried to get him to the couch, but he pushed away from her and dropped to the floor with a moan of pain, rolling over onto his back and staring up at her.

“Computer,” he wheezed. “Get your bags in here.”

“My—” Her eyes widened, and she raced back to the open SUV, grabbing her gym bag and purse with the laptop inside. She closed the truck door, then lugged her bags into the house, and slammed and locked that door, as well. Taking her phone from the table, she rushed over to Baldwin, falling to her knees next to him.

“Should I call nine-one-one? Do you need an ambulance?”

“Miguel,” he whispered. “My phone.”

Emma nodded as the blood in her body finally started routing to her brain once more and she could think clearly. Of course. Baldwin was a vampire. He wouldn’t want the usual medical help. She put her phone aside. “Is your phone in the truck?”

“Pocket.”

Emma looked down. He was wearing jeans and a pullover hoodie which was soaked with blood. She clenched her jaw, determined not to fall apart. Baldwin needed her. She patted his pockets rapidly, ignoring the blood, and found the phone tucked into the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. She lifted it so Baldwin could see.

“Okay,” she asked. “How do I get Miguel?”

“One,” Baldwin managed.

Emma did a quick survey of the phone and hit the first speed dial. It rang twice, and then an angry voice said, “What is it?”

“Baldwin’s been shot,” she said urgently. “Twice, I think. He’s bleeding—”

“Who is—”

“Emma. You’ve got to hurry.”

“Where are you now?”

“My house. Should I call an ambulance or—”

“No. No! Don’t call anyone. We’re on our way. Five minutes.”

Miguel, or at least she thought it was Miguel, hung up, and Emma scooted closer to Baldwin. Yanking her grandmama’s afghan off the couch, she tucked it around him, then leaned forward, trying to share the warmth of her body, the comfort of her presence.

“Hang in there, Baldwin. Miguel’s on the way.”

But Emma was worried. He didn’t look good. She didn’t know much about vampire physiology, but she figured any creature with blood couldn’t afford to lose too much of it, and he was losing a lot. His eyes were closed, his chest barely moved when he breathed, and . . .

“Baldwin?” she said urgently. No response.

She tightened her arms around him and started counting the seconds, waiting for each new breath, holding her own and hoping help arrived soon.

* * *

The slamming of heavy car doors, loud in the night, alerted her. Her head came up. She had time to remember that her door was locked and they couldn’t get in, and then they burst into the house, breaking through the lock as if it was made of paper. Miguel was first, and Emma knew it was because he didn’t trust her enough to send Duncan into an unknown situation on her word alone. And then Duncan was there, his eyes meeting hers, holding her gaze briefly before doing a quick scan of her body and back up again, as if to make certain she was okay.

Ari came in last. He closed the door and pulled the hall table in front of it. It wasn’t a heavy table, but at least it held the door closed.

Miguel dropped to the floor, lifting away the afghan and tearing open Baldwin’s clothes so he could see the vampire’s chest. Emma moved aside, pulling the rest of the afghan with her.

“Emma.” Duncan’s voice was steady and reassuring, calm despite the obvious crisis. She looked into his warm brown eyes, hoping to see something that would tell her Baldwin would be okay.

“I need you to move,” he said gently. “Baldwin needs me.”

She realized he’d taken off the tuxedo jacket he’d been wearing and was rolling up the sleeve of his white shirt. She scooted back, then stood, wanting to be out of the way, but also wanting to know what they were going to do. Why was Duncan baring his arms? If there was surgery to be done, wouldn’t Miguel be the one—