Marguerite's eyes snapped open, muffled sounds jerking her from sleep. She was immediately alert. Even so, she had to blink several times before her mind accepted the sight before her. Tiny dangled in the air, caught by the throat and held above the floor by... Christian Notte? Eyes locked on the two men, she reached back blindly to feel around until her hand knocked against the bedside lamp. Finding the switch, she turned it on and squinted against the light that exploded into the room.

"Good evening, Marguerite."

Stiffening in the bed, she stared at the man presently dangling Tiny in the air. It wasn't Christian Notte. This man was several inches over six feet in height, with wide shoulders, handsome features, and deep silver-black eyes. All of which described Christian, but this man had short black hair and wore a business suit. Christian's hair was long and auburn and she'd never seen him in anything but black leather or black jeans. "Who are you?" she asked, glancing worriedly at Tiny's face. Much to her concern the mortal was turning blue, his struggles becoming less frantic. She scowled at the man holding him and said, "Stop being so bloody rude and release my co-worker. We're friends of Christian's and he won't be pleased if you kill Tiny."

"Co-worker?" He dropped Tiny and perched his hands on his hips to scowl at her. "Is that what they call it now?"

Marguerite didn't respond, her concerned gaze was on Tiny. The detective was gasping and coughing and struggling to get to his knees. But he was alive. That was something, she supposed, finally turning her attention back to the angry man looming over the bed. It seemed obvious he was somehow related to Christian, who was technically their employer, but... really this situation was somewhat beyond her. This was her first job. How did one deal with these things? She wanted to snap at the man to get the hell out of her room--well, Tiny's room, she supposed. However, she wasn't sure if that was the most professional approach. Perhaps she was supposed to be polite.

Marguerite glanced to Tiny, wondering if he was recovered enough to give her some guidance in the matter. Her eyes widened with alarm as he lurched to his feet and--still struggling to get back his breath--launched himself at their visitor.

The attack seemed to suggest she didn't have to be polite, Marguerite decided with satisfaction, and then winced as the immortal responded to the assault with an impatient flick of one hand that sent Tiny flying backward into the bedroom wall.

"Hey!" she cried out. Her gaze flickered between the man and Tiny until she saw that the mortal seemed all right. At least, his expression was grim, not pained, and he was moving himself into a sitting position where he'd fallen.

Scowling, Marguerite turned back to the attacker, mouth opening to berate him, but she paused when she noted that he was no longer looking at her. His attention was on the bed. She followed his gaze to see what fascinated him so.

The comforter had slid to the floor and while she clutched her half of the sheet to her chest, the other half still lay in place on the bed, wrinkled and flat where the large detective had slept on it. The sight seemed to fascinate the man, though she didn't know why. Before she could even try to sort it out, Tiny distracted her by tackling him again.

Marguerite clucked impatiently at his foolishness even as the intruder simply responded by tossing him against the wall once more. She winced at the thud as he slammed into it, and then decided enough was enough. It was time to intervene before the sweet but apparently not-as-bright-as-she'd-thought detective got himself hurt.

Reaching out, Marguerite grabbed up the bedside lamp and swung it around. She'd expected the plug to pop from its socket as the one in her room had when she'd used it to fend off that attacker's sword. Her intention had been to smash it into the man's chest. Instead, something about the angle and the table being close to the wall prevented that happening and rather than hit him, she nearly dropped the damned thing in her lap as the cord pulled tight and brought it to a halt.

Muttering impatiently, she turned and began tugging the cord this way and that above the table, trying to get it free.

Honestly, if she'd had this problem when the man with the sword had attacked, she'd be dead right now, Marguerite thought with disgust, then cried out as she was grabbed from behind and pulled backward against a hard chest.

Of course, now the damned cord decided to give way and the lamp popped her in the eye as it flew free. Cursing, Marguerite ignored the sting of pain and quickly shot her hand out with the lamp as he tried to grab for it.

Her attacker immediately switched his hold on her, his right hand dropping across her chest to hold her in place as the left hand--previously at her waist--now reached for the lamp.

Marguerite squawked in shock as his right hand closed over her breast. She didn't really think he was even aware of it in the struggle. She was, however, and wasn't at all happy to be groped by a complete stranger, accidentally or not, and somehow-related-to-their-boss or not. That was about the end of her patience right there.

Gritting her teeth, she swung the lamp up and over her shoulder, smashing it into her attacker. Marguerite wasn't sure where she hit him, but it had the desired effect. The man cursed, his hold on her loosening in surprise, and she burst from his arms and began to scramble off the bed. She had one foot on the floor, the other folded under her and pushing her off the bed when he suddenly grabbed that ankle and tugged.

Pulled off balance, Marguerite tumbled to the floor with a grunt, and then rolled onto her back to sit up, only to fall back with another grunt when he started to get off the bed, got caught in the sheets and fell on top of her, the impact forcing the air from her lungs.

That's when the door opened. The room had gone dark when the lamp plug had pulled from the wall, but the moment the door opened, light from the hall splashed into the room again. Then the overhead lights by the door came on, brightening the room further.

"Tiny?"

Recognizing Christian's voice, Marguerite struggled out from under the intruder who had gone suddenly still on top of her. Once free of him, she sat up and peered over the bed. The first person she saw was Christian's cousin, Marcus Notte. Her eyes widened in surprise. Marcus hadn't been with Christian when they'd met up just before sunrise that morning. He was here now, though, and with a woman in a maid's uniform. Judging by the concentration on his face and the blank expression on the woman's, she knew he was wiping the memory of this incident from her mind.

Marguerite's gaze slid around the room then until it landed on Christian. The second immortal was kneeling beside Tiny, checking him over. He glanced around now, though, eyes widening when he spotted her.

"Marguerite?" Standing, he started to move around the bed, but froze, his eyes widening with shock when her attacker suddenly sat up, popping into view as well. "Father?"

"Father?" Marguerite echoed, turning an amazed gaze on the man she now knew was Julius Notte.

"Yes," Christian said, his mouth hardening with displeasure as he hurried forward to help her to her feet. Once he had her upright, he glanced around, then grabbed Tiny's robe and quickly bundled her into it.

Marcus had finished with the maid and closed the door by this time, and as she slid her arms into the robe, he hurried past them to approach the father who was getting to his feet. She saw Marcus whisper something in his ear, and while she didn't catch what he said, she did hear Julius hiss, "What? Are you sure?"

"Yes, and you would be too if you'd taken the time to read his mind," Marcus said a bit impatiently. "I told you to wait until--"

"I know, I know," Julius muttered, interrupting him. "But I couldn't."

"There." Christian's voice made her glance his way, and then down to see that he'd tied the sash of the robe for her. She smiled her thanks, and then looked curiously back to the two older immortals. Christian did too, but while her expression was now curious, his was annoyed.

"What the hell were you doing, Father?" he asked shortly.

The senior Notte peered at his son, and then avoided his gaze by straightening the cuffs of his business suit as he said innocently, "Nothing. I just stopped in to have a word with your detective."

Marguerite's eyes widened incredulously. "A word? You attacked Tiny!"

He shrugged. "I thought he was attacking you."

Marguerite snorted with disbelief. It was Christian who asked with interest, "Why would you think that?"

"Her room is a mess," he explained calmly. "There is a broken lamp, glass everywhere, and the sheets and comforter are strewn across the room. I naturally assumed she'd been forced in here against her will."

Christian glanced to her in question. "Is that true?"

"Well, yes," Marguerite admitted, and then frowned and scowled at the man again as she asked, "How did you get in?"

"The maid," he answered promptly, and--she felt sure--honestly for the first time. "When I received no answer to my knock, I knew something was wrong. It wasn't yet sunset and you should have been in. So, I got the maid to open the door with her card key."

Christian nodded. "That's how I got in here just now. My bedroom backs onto this one and all the racket in here woke me up. I hurried out to see if everything was okay and met Marcus in the hall. When no one answered our knock, we had the maid open the door." He glanced from Marcus to his father and shook his head. "If you're both here, who's running the company?"

Marguerite glanced to Julius. Notte Construction was a very successful, family run company that had become international with job sites all around Europe and North America. She knew Julius headed the company and that Marcus was the second in charge.

"Your aunt Vita," Julius murmured, and when Christian's eyes narrowed and he seemed about to ask something else, the man quickly glanced at Marguerite and asked, "So what did happen in your room? Were you and this Tiny person--?" He froze abruptly. "There's blood on your nightgown."

Marguerite glanced down to see that the robe Christian had wrapped her in had slipped, revealing the blood-stained neckline of her nightie. Sighing, she pulled the collar of the robe back into place and said, "Someone broke in and tried to cut off my head."

"What?!" The three immortals squawked at the same time.

She nodded. "That's why I am in here. Tiny didn't want me staying in my room in case my attacker returned, and I didn't want him sleeping in there for the same reason, so..." Marguerite shrugged. "He offered to sleep on the window seat, but he's much too large for that. So we shared the bed."

A moment of silence passed as the three men turned and peered at Tiny. Marguerite rolled her eyes, knowing they were probably reading his mind, seeing if sleeping was all they'd done. She found it vastly annoying. It was really none of their business. She could have an orgy in here and it would be none of their business.

Tiny groaned and Marguerite hurried around the bed to kneel before him. He'd managed to pull himself to a sitting position and leaned weakly against the wall, eyes squeezed shut in pain.

"Are you all right?" she asked with concern.

"I'll live," he muttered.

Marguerite smiled at the grumbly tone he was using and stood up, catching Tiny under the arm and lifting him to his own feet as she did.

"Whoa," he muttered, grabbing for the wall to help stay upright. He then grimaced and said, "Stop doing stuff like that, Marguerite, you'll give a guy a complex."

"Stuff like what?" Christian asked with amusement.

"Stuff that proves she's stronger than me," he admitted with a wry smile. "I'm not used to chicks who can bench press me."

"You're exaggerating," she said with a chuckle and urged him to sit on the side of the bed. Once he was seated, she stepped between his legs and grabbed his head in both hands to tilt it down so she could examine the top and back of his scalp.

"What are you doing?"

Marguerite glanced to the side and gave a start when she found Julius Notte looming beside her, a scowl on his face as his gaze shifted between her and Tiny.

"Checking for head wounds," she answered with irritation. "You were tossing him about like a Frisbee and I want to be sure you didn't do him serious harm."

"I'm fine, Marguerite," Tiny rumbled, forcing his head back up. "My back took most of the punishment."

"He's fine," Julius echoed, catching her arm and tugging her from between Tiny's legs. "Leave the mortal alone. They're weak but not that fragile."

"Tiny is neither weak nor fragile," she snapped, tugging her arm free of Julius Notte's hold.

"No, I'm not," Tiny agreed, his chest puffing up as he got to his feet. Marguerite almost expected him to beat his chest, but apparently his ego wasn't that threatened by Julius Notte's insults.

"I gather you're what kept hitting the wall and woke me up," Christian commented as the mortal began searching for something among the comforter and sheets.

"Yes. I woke up to find your father holding me up by the throat," Tiny muttered, distracted by his search. "Where the hell is my robe?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Tiny. I have it. Here, you can have it back." Marguerite began to shrug out of the robe Christian had wrapped around her, but glanced to Julius when he suddenly sucked in a deep breath beside her.

Her hands froze with the robe half off when she saw the way his eyes were moving hungrily over her pink nightie and all it revealed. Tiny had looked at her the same way earlier, and it had made her feel attractive and even a little sexy, but this was different. Silver flames had burst to life in the immortal's black eyes, and Marguerite could almost feel their scorching trail over her body. A shiver slid along her body under her skin in the wake of his gaze. When his eyes stopped on her breasts, her nipples tightened and stood at attention as if he'd bent forward and rasped them with his tongue. When his eyes finally moved lower, dropping over the gentle swell of her stomach, the muscles there rippled under her flesh as if in response to a caress. And when they then shifted to settle at the apex of her thighs as if he could see through the delicate silk to the treasure that lay beneath, liquid heat pooled there and she began to ache.

Marguerite had never reacted to a man like this before and the fact that she was now, and with a complete stranger, sent confusion rolling through her mind, infecting every corner.

"No, no." Tiny was suddenly at her side, tugging the terry cloth robe back up her arms and distracting her from Julius. "That's okay. You keep it. I'll just put on my pants." Patting her shoulder, Tiny glanced over her head to give Julius a narrow-eyed look and then walked over to pick up the jeans he'd apparently hung neatly over the back of a chair before retiring that morning.

Julius Notte cleared his throat, drawing her reluctant gaze away from Tiny as he asked, "What about this attack business? Did you see who did it?"

Marguerite's confusion fled, chased out by irritation as she recalled the events of the evening. Eyes narrowing, she asked sweetly, "Which attack? Yours or the first one?"

She'd meant to insult him. However, the man's lips merely twitched with amusement at her sass. Marguerite scowled in response, then glanced to the door as a knock sounded.

"That'll be my breakfast. I ordered it before I went to bed," Tiny muttered, doing up his pants as he hurried to the door. They all stood silent as he opened the door to a liveried employee who rolled in the trolley of food. The server's eyes widened as his gaze slid over each of them as well as the mess in the room, and Marguerite supposed it must look odd. Three fully dressed men, Tiny in only his pants, and she, in the oversized robe, surrounded by signs of a struggle The man was probably abuzz with questions, but too well trained to ask them.

"That's fine," Tiny said as the man was rolling the trolley of food past Marguerite. The server paused at once, offering her a nervous smile before turning away to cross back to the door Tiny was still holding open.

Despite the silver plate cover, delicious aromas were wafting off the food on the trolley and Marguerite glanced toward it, and then lifted the silver cover to peer at the food beneath. Apparently, the hotel would send breakfast any time of the day. It was a proper full English breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, black pudding, fried mushrooms, fried tomatoes, beans, and a fried bread slice.

If he ate like this all the time, Tiny was likely to have a heart attack before he could be turned, Marguerite thought, taking a piece of sausage before returning the cover. She'd bit into the juicy bit of meat before realizing what she was doing and then glanced guiltily around. Fortunately, everyone's attention appeared to be on the man Tiny was tipping and ushering out the door.

Shaking her head, she popped the rest of the sausage into her mouth and chewed quickly, thinking that she'd obviously been spending too much time around Tiny. Immortals, or vampires as--much to her disgust--mortals liked to call them, tended not to eat after a hundred years or so of living. Food had the propensity to become both boring and bothersome after indulging in so many meals, but she'd kept Tiny company while he had his meals these last three weeks. Marguerite hadn't been tempted to indulge before this, but it had obviously affected her if she was going to start pinching food off his plate.

"I suppose I should see to introductions," Christian said as Tiny closed the hotel room door.

Marguerite swallowed the sausage in her mouth and turned what she hoped was an innocent, interested gaze Christian's way as he said, "Father, Marguerite Argeneau. Marguerite, my father, Julius Notte."

"Julius? Now, why does that name sound so familiar?" Tiny asked.

Marguerite glanced at her partner with confusion as he shrugged into his shirt. She knew he knew the man's name. They'd been searching for it in archives for weeks now.

"I've got it!" he said suddenly, snapping his fingers. He glanced to Marguerite and asked drolly, "Isn't your dog's name Julius?"

Marguerite's mouth pulled into a grin. "Yes, it is."

"He's a big dog," Tiny announced to the others, though his gaze was on Julius as he added, "Fur as black as your hair. A Neapolitan Mastiff. That's an Italian breed, isn't it?" he asked and then shrugged and added heavily, "He drools a lot."

Marguerite turned away and coughed into her hand to hide the laugh that she couldn't hold back. She wasn't surprised by the choked quality to Julius Notte's voice when he asked, "You named your dog Julius?"

Making her expression bland, she turned back and admitted, "I've named every dog I've ever had Julius. The first was a couple hundred years ago. I've taught a lot of Julius's to heel over the years."

A choked gurgle slipped from Christian's lips that sounded suspiciously like stifled laughter. Tiny grinned widely and gave her an approving nod. Marcus bit his lip, turned his head to the side, and coughed... once. However, Julius Notte didn't look annoyed as she'd expected. Much to her confusion, the man again looked amused.

Deciding she would never understand men, Marguerite shook her head and turned to head for the door leading to the rest of the suite. "I am going to take a bath."

"Just a minute," Julius Notte protested. "You haven't yet explained about the other attack."

"Tiny can tell you about it," Marguerite said calmly. "I am taking a bath."

She didn't wait for further protest, but sailed out of the room.

Julius watched Marguerite Argeneau go, a small smile claiming his lips as his gaze slid over her long, wavy chestnut hair with its red highlights, the robe trying to slip off her shoulder, and down to her shapely legs and cute little bare feet. She was magnificent. Beautiful, intelligent, sexy as hell, and sassy to boot, he thought with admiration, but came to earth with a bump when Christian snapped, "Stop looking at her ass, Father. She's my detective."

His mood of a moment ago ruined, Julius turned on his son and snapped, "Marguerite may be your detective, but she's my--"

"Your what?" Christian asked curiously when Julius abruptly cut himself off.

"My responsibility," he finished, avoiding his gaze. "As the head of our family, everyone is, including you and anyone working for you."

Christian opened his mouth to respond, but Julius quickly turned to Tiny and ordered, "Tell us about the first attack."

It was enough to distract Christian. He closed his mouth and turned to peer at the mortal expectantly.

Tiny hesitated and then muttered, "I need a coffee."

Julius shifted impatiently, but waited as the mortal crossed to the food trolley with his cup and then prompted, "The earlier attack?"

Tiny nodded, but reached out with his free hand to shift the silver plate cover off his food. He grabbed a piece of bacon and popped it into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, and then finally said, "Someone broke in and tried to cut off Marguerite's head."

Julius closed his eyes and prayed for patience.

"Er... Tiny, that's pretty much what Marguerite said," Christian pointed out.

"And that's what happened," the detective said with a shrug and picked up another piece of bacon.

When Julius began to growl, Christian moved a little closer to the mortal in a protective manner. "Yes, but surely you can give us more detail?"

"Was the attacker mortal or immortal?" Julius snapped. "What did he look like? How did he get in? Was he armed? Was it a he?" He arched his eyebrows with exasperation. "You're the detective, mortal, surely you noticed details you could pass along?"

Tiny peered at him calmly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips and it seemed obvious his obtuse behavior now was payback for the earlier attack.

Just when Julius thought he would throttle the man, he answered his questions.

"I suspect he was immortal, but I can't tell you for certain and can't describe him because I didn't see him. Obviously he was armed, he couldn't cut off Marguerite's head with his hand. He had a sword. Marguerite seemed to think it was a he, but I can't say for sure because--as I said--I didn't see him."

Julius let his breath out slowly as the man continued.

"He'd fled out onto the balcony by the time I reached her room. Marguerite was tangled in her sheets on the floor. She'd apparently woken up to see the sword coming down and rolled out of the bed. She had a nick on her neck and blood on her nightgown and pointed to the open terrace doors when I ran in." He shrugged again. "The assailant was no longer out there when I got outside. He must have come down from the roof and escaped the same way."

Julius's mouth tightened. Marguerite Argeneau had nearly been killed. Someone had tried to kill her before he'd arrived in her room.

"Marguerite thinks it has to do with the case," Tiny added.

Julius's head snapped up at those words. "What?"

The detective shrugged. "She says she has no enemies, but pointed out--and rightly so--that there is someone who doesn't want Christian to know who his mother is."

Julius winced. The man wasn't even trying to hide his ridiculous suspicions. Not that they were really ridiculous, he acknowledged. After all, he had done everything in his power to keep Christian from finding his mother. No doubt both Tiny and--more importantly--Marguerite would think him behind the earlier attack as well. Hell.

"Did you do it?" Christian asked.

Julius's head reared back with affront. "No!"

"Don't look so offended, Father," Christian muttered impatiently. "You don't want me to know who my mother is and have turned away every detective I've hired until now to ensure I don't. But Marguerite and Tiny aren't from Europe and Marguerite's family is powerful. You can't use threats to make them quit like you have the others."

"You know about that?" Julius asked with surprise.

"Of course I know," he said with disgust. "Most of the immortal detectives I set to the task were younger than I. I could read them. They were telling me they couldn't find anything and thought it a waste of time, or that they had 'urgent matters needing attending' and couldn't afford the time for such an extensive search, but their minds were usually screaming, 'Oh shit, I have to get out of this or Julius Notte will crush me like a little bug'."

Julius turned a scowl Marcus's way when a bark of laughter slipped from the man's mouth.

"So, did you attack Marguerite?" Christian asked, then added encouragingly, "Maybe not with the intent to kill her, but just to scare her off?"

"No," Julius repeated, holding his gaze.

Christian looked like he might believe him but then sighed and shook his head. "I want to believe you, but..."

"Can't you read him?" Tiny asked. "I thought you guys could read us and each other so long as you aren't lifemates. Marguerite was constantly reading Vincent in California."

"Marguerite is older than Vincent," Christian explained. "I can't read my father unless he opens his mind to me."

"So, have him open his mind," Tiny suggested.

Julius glowered at the mortal, but then went still as Christian turned an arched eyebrow his way.

"Will you open your mind and let me read it to be sure," Christian asked.

Julius didn't even bother to speak, he merely sneered at the very suggestion.

"Just what I thought," Christian muttered with disgust. "You did come here to--"

"Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere," Marcus suggested, reminding them of his presence. When they both glanced his way, his gaze slipped meaningfully toward Tiny who had pulled the food trolley in front of one of the chairs by the window and was settling down to his breakfast.

"Don't mind me," the detective said with amusement. "I'll just eat while you talk."

"We'll get out and let you eat in peace," Christian growled and then glanced to Julius and said, "We can talk in my room."

When he nodded agreement, Christian turned to head for the door.

Julius glanced from his departing son to the mortal and hesitated. He'd wanted to rip off Tiny's head when he'd found him in bed with Marguerite. In fact, he'd wanted to right up until Marcus had whispered in his ear that he'd read the man and he and Marguerite hadn't done anything but share the bed, that they didn't have the kind of relationship he'd assumed.

Of course, as Marcus had also said, Julius would have known that himself had he taken the trouble to read the man rather than just assume the worst. Now he felt kind of bad about the whole thing. The detective had just been trying to ensure Marguerite's safety. Julius considered apologizing for his earlier behavior, but then recalled that if Tiny hadn't opened his big mouth about his opening his mind for Christian to read him, his son wouldn't be pissed at him right now. The two deeds cancelled each other out, he decided. He didn't owe him an apology.

Scowling at the mortal, Julius turned on his heel and followed his son.

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