He held out his hand. Isa shook it briefly and then stood.
"Enjoy the rest of your wine, Mr. Chance."
"Just Chance," he corrected, giving her another appraising stare. "You know, with your black hair and cedar eyes, you look a lot like your grandmother when she was younger."
Isa froze… and then sat back down. "How do you know my grandmother?" Or that she looked like me when she was young?
Chance cast a glance over her shoulder. "We've got company coming, darling, but suffice it to say my sire's an old friend of your grandmother's, and I am here to help you."
Robert's most trusted cohort Paul appeared in the next moment. With his massive size and steamrolling personality, Isa mentally referred to him as Bowling Ball.
"Isa," he rumbled. "Boss wants to see you now."
She stood at once, her mind in a jumble. What had her grandmother done? She wasn't even supposed to know Frazier was in trouble. My God, the woman was seventy-five, she couldn't take the stress!
"Next time try the 1997 Cabernet," she said to Chance, tapping on his wine bottle. "In fact, there's a store on Twelfth Street
called Blue Ridge Vineyards that sells them. They close at seven on weekdays, so you should be able to pick up a bottle tomorrow."
He inclined his head with another smile. "I'll remember that."
Isa hoped Chance would get the message to meet her there tomorrow night. Whatever her grandmother was up to, it had to be called off. Robert wasn't some average stalking suitor who could be dealt with by filing a restraining order. He practically owned the police, and whatever Chance was—a private investigator her grandmother hired, maybe?—he wouldn't be able to handle the heat Robert would bring.
With an inward sigh, Isa went off to pacify her fiancé.
*
Chance heard the men following him. Their heavy footfalls, combined with huffy breathing and accelerated heartbeats, made them as noisy as if they were clanging cymbals together. He inhaled, sorting through the bonanza of the evening's scents to filter what was theirs. The one called Paul had recently cleaned the gun in his jacket; the scent of oiled metal was palpable even above the odors of garlic, spaghetti and meatballs. The other one, Ritchie, was less fastidious with his firearms—and his personal hygiene. He smelled like he hadn't taken a bath for days.
Chance didn't quicken his pace from the same leisurely stroll he'd used while leaving the restaurant. Isabella had watched him go, surreptitiously, of course, but he'd caught her eye right as he went out the door. And then she'd blushed as he winked at her.
That blush was what he was thinking about now, far more than the two meatwagons following him to the parking lot. He'd been observing Isabella since he arrived in Philadelphia over three days ago. Familiarizing himself with her routine, marking the places she visited… and watching Robert "Robbery" Bertini as well.
Robert was much less interesting a subject, in Chance's opinion, and not just because Isabella was infinitely more attractive. Robert was a typical schoolhouse bully, and all his clothes, money, houses or influence wouldn't change that. His insistence on marrying a woman who didn't want him was just as spiteful as a child demanding a particular toy because some other child had it. As a vampire, Chance had seen Robert's type in one form or another for multiple decades, and his tolerance for his sort hadn't grown with time.
Normally vampires didn't interfere in human's affairs. Humans had their own laws and social structure, and to say they differed from vampire society was to put it mildly. Most vampires had enough to handle within their own group of allies and enemies without adding human trials and tribulations to that.
But in this case, Chance could intervene. Isabella's grandmother, Greta, had once been a member of his sire Bones' line. Time had passed, but Bones' sense of responsibility to her hadn't. Even though Chance was Master of his own line now and no longer under Bones' authority, his sire had asked him for a favor. So Chance could meddle to his heart's content with the wedding plans of the arrogant mobster. Someone who would blackmail a woman into marriage made Chance angry. Power was supposed to be used for the protection of those you cared about, not for selfishness. Apparently no one had taught that to Robert Bertini.
In fact, it was high time someone put the Bugsy wanna-be in his place. A smile tugged at Chance's mouth. Why not? he thought. It wasn't what his sire Bones told him to do, which was to simply alter Robert's mind until he no longer believed that he wanted to marry Isabella, but Chance would make sure it still all turned out the same. Well, with just a little well-deserved comeuppance added to it.
And that would mean more time in the lovely Isabella's company. Maybe enough to find out what else would make her blush. Chance already had a few ideas.