Blood Red (7 page)

Lauren couldn't believe it of herself, but she didn't move. She remembered what he had said when she crashed into him the night before. The name he had spoken.

“Katie?” she said, then hesitated before going on. “The woman you think I resemble.”

“Yes.”

“I'm not your Katie,” she told him.

A rueful smile curled his lips. “I know that,” he said.

“But you think this man…killed her?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“She died here, in New Orleans?” Lauren asked.

“No,” he admitted.

“I see.”

“No, you don't. Katie did see him here, on a trip. And now I'm afraid he's after you—just as he was after her.”

She sighed, looking down.

He was just as attractive and possessed of all the raw sex appeal as she had thought from the beginning—and he was completely crazy. Maybe even a murderer himself.

He could be stalking her, for all she knew.

She was finally about to get up when he asked, “Did you all stay in your cottage last night, locked in, once you got home?”

“I saw you out on the street, watching us,” she accused him, instead of answering.

“Did you stay in?” he repeated.

“Yes, which is none of your business,” she lied.

He still seemed concerned. “I only asked because it's important,” he told her quietly.

She felt oddly uncertain and was angry with herself, but for some reason she couldn't seem to walk away with things hanging between them.

And Deanna
had
been outside, sleepwalking, something she'd never done before in her life, and Lauren had been out there with her. Not only that, she'd felt as if someone else had been out there, too, and that somehow this man knew about it.

And at the edge of her consciousness was the memory of how she had dreamed about him, and the ridiculous longing somewhere inside that, against all the evidence, he would turn out not to be crazy.

She forced a casual smile onto her face. “Okay, I'll bite. Why is so important?”

Instead of answering, he reached into his shirt pocket. “I'd like to give you something.”

“Please, I can't accept anything from you.”

He smiled then, a charming smile that also managed to convey amusement. “No strings attached,” he assured her.

She was almost bowled over by the unconscious sensuality of his appeal. God, how she wished he were normal. She had never met anyone like him, hadn't even dreamed that she
could
meet anyone like him, since she had lost Ken. The sound of his voice was alluring, his body language subtly provocative. If she'd met him anywhere else under any other circumstances…

“This was Katie's,” he said.

She looked down at the item he'd produced from his pocket. It was a silver cross, beautifully designed and obviously antique.

“I
definitely
can't take that,” she told him, staring across the table at him.

“Please.”

“It's valuable.”

“I would never sell it in a thousand years,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can't take it.”

He grinned at her suddenly. “If you were to take it and wear it, I'd feel better about you being out on the streets of New Orleans. I might even quit being such a pest.”

“I think you really
are
crazy,” she told him frankly.

“I'm not. Honestly.”

She picked up her tea and took a long sip, suddenly aware that she had both elbows on the table now and was leaning closer to him. “Okay, look at all this from my point of view. First I run into you in a bar. Then I see you standing out on my street.”

“My street, too.”

“Coincidence, huh?”

He shrugged.

“Okay. Then I'm sitting here drinking tea, and suddenly there you are, too, with a crazy tale about trailing a killer. Don't you think you should go to the police if you know who the killer is?”

“Probably. I'm just not sure yet how to explain what I know.”

“Because it's crazy,” she suggested softly.

“I swear to you, I only want you to be safe,” he said.

She groaned, looking down at her hands. “I've heard a piece of your story, and I'm not at all sure I want to hear the rest. Please…you're very attractive. But I…I really have to ask you to stay away from me.”

There. She had managed it; she had said the words and told him to leave her alone.

He pulled away, straightening, his expression both resigned and regretful.

Suddenly she heard Heidi's voice. “There you are! Lauren, why haven't you been answering your phone? Oh, hi, Mark. Okay, now I know why you haven't been answering. Can we join you? Or should we get lost?”

And Heidi wasn't alone.

Deanna was with her.

Heidi's voice was, teasing, the day sunny, everything normal. And yet…

M
ark Davidson was charming, and of course both Heidi and Deanna were outrageous flirts when they wanted to be.

First, though, Lauren demanded to know where her friend had been. Deanna seemed surprised that Lauren had been so worried just because she'd wandered off and told her, “Shopping. And I'm perfectly capable of going in and out of stores alone. You're the one who left us high and dry, you know.”

Ignoring that, Lauren asked, “Did you take a carriage ride?”

“A carriage ride? Why would I have taken a carriage ride?”

So whatever had so disturbed her was really nothing, Lauren thought. Maybe she needed to start worrying about herself.

Over a couple of really po'boys, Mark entertained them with tales of his travels, his writing—and his playing.

“So are you good?” Heidi asked good-naturedly.

“I leave that to the listener to decide.”

“I'd love to hear you play sometime,” Lauren said.

He justshrugged. “So, tell me more about your business,” he said.

He had quite a knack for turning the conversation away from himself, she thought—and decided not to allow it. “Mark lost a fianceé, too,” she said. “Her name was Katie, and she looked like me. Or I look like her.”

The table went dead silent.

“I'm so sorry,” Heidi said.

“Me too,” Deanna told him. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

Lauren noted the way he studied her in return. Not lasciviously, more as if he were searching for something, expecting her to give herself away somehow.

“He's worried about us,” Lauren added.

“Why?” Heidi asked.

“Because of that body they found in the Mississippi,” Lauren said.

To her surprise, Heidi bestowed a tremendous smile on the man. “That is so sweet of you!”

“Imagine. We go on vacation and find a handsome protector,” Deanna said. She turned to Lauren. “And he's in the cottage right next to ours.”

They were both crazy, Lauren decided. The sun was too much for them. And the way they were flirt…She wasn't sure whether to scream or vomit.

“He thinks he knows who the killer is, that it's the same man who killed his fianceé.”

“Oh, my God!” Deanna said, leaning forward and touching him gently, real concern in her eyes.

“I didn't actually say that he killed her, but he was responsible for her death,” Mark said, frowning at Lauren.

“You should go to the police if you have any information at all,” Heidi told him.

“You're right, I should,” he said. To Lauren's surprise, he stood. “I think I'll take a stroll down to the station right now. Thanks so much for letting me join you for lunch,” he said. “And I'm in cottage six, if you need me.”

“Are you two insane!” Lauren asked in a vehement whisper as he walked away. When he looked back with a glance of amusement; she knew that, even at a distance, he had heard her, and she blushed.

“What is the matter with you?” Heidi demanded. “He's unbelievable.”

“That would be the point,” Lauren muttered.

“You're being ridiculous,” Heidi announced. “He obviously has the hots for you, but if you're going to be an idiot and turn down a good man, let Deanna have a crack at him.”

“Lauren, if you're not interested in him, you're going off the deep end,” Deanna told her.

“Hey, I wasn't the one sleepwalking,” she snapped. “And he's lying—I'll be you he's lying. He isn't going to the police station.”

“We can follow him and find out,” Deanna suggested.

“Yeah—right after we pay the check. He joined us for lunch and walked out,” Lauren reminded them, waved a hand to signal the waitress.

“May we have the check, please?” Lauren asked when the woman came over.

“The gentleman gave me his credit card before he joined you,” she said. “You don't have a check.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Lauren said, staring at her blankly.

“I'll leave the tip,” Heidi offered.

“He was really generous,” the waitress said. “You don't need to. Honestly.”

“Thanks,” Heidi told her. “We'll…we'll just add to it,” she said lamely.

Lauren rose along with Deanna, as their friend dug in her purse, then laid a bill on the table. “Hey, look at this.” Heidi said.

It was the beautiful antique cross. He'd left it on the table, Lauren realized.

“Where did this come from?” Heidi asked curiously.

“Mr. Gorgeous left it,” Lauren said. She shook her head, but took the cross from Heidi. “Come on, I'm going to prove to you both that he's full of shit.”

She led them quickly through the French Quarter, for once ignoring the architecture that never failed to enthrall her and the street musicians who somehow always sounded so good. When they reached the police station. Lauren opened the door to go in, then froze.

Mark Davidson was there, talking to the desk sergeant.

She backed out of the doorway, stunned.

“Ouch,” Heidi protested, as Lauren stepped on her foot.

“I take it Mr. Davidson
is
inside?” Deanna said dryly.

“Yes,” Lauren said, puzzled.

“See?” Deanna said.

“Something's still…not right,” Lauren said.

“You always think something not right,” Deanna told her. “Lauren, you can't live your life with nothing ever being right,” she added gently.

“You don't understand,” Lauren tried to explain.

“Yes, we do.” Both of them spoke in unison, looking at her in concern. They were convinced that she couldn't get beyond the past, and that she desperately needed to.

“No,” she insisted. “I'm fine—these days. I would love to meet the right guy…or even a decent enough wrong guy. Movies, dinner…music,” she said. “Honestly, I know you don't have to plan a lifetime with someone to enjoy his company.”

“You know what she needs?” Heidi said gravely to Deanna.

“I do,” Deanna said.

“And that would be…?” Lauren asked.

“Sex. Wild, hot, passionate sex,” Deanna said.

“Oh, please!”

“Spontaneous. Wicked,” Heidi said, agreeing with Deanna.

“Can we move on?” Lauren said.

“Look—she's blushing. She
is
attracted to him,” Deanna said triumphantly.

“How could she not be?” Heidi said.

“Look,” Lauren insisted, “something just isn't right here.”

“The fortune-teller,” Deanna told Heidi gravely.

Heidi linked an arm through Lauren's. “I don't know what we're going to do with you. Wait! Brainstorm! I
do
know what we're going to do. I'm having a vision. It's me, and I'm standing at a craps table.”

“You lose at craps all the time,” Lauren said.

“And I have a hell of a good time doing it. Come on, slave, let's trot on back over to Harrah's. I see us sunning in the late afternoon sun later. A dip in the pool will be followed by dinner. K-Paul's tonight. Then we'll hit Bourbon Street for music and jazz. Cool?”

“Cool,” Lauren said, though she didn't sound convinced. Then she looked at Deanna and frowned. “You're sure you didn't take a carriage ride today? I could have sworn I saw you with a tall, dark-haired guy, like the one I saw you talking to in the bar last night.”

“The cute guy?” Deanna said.

“Yeah. Were you in a carriage with him?”

“No,” Deanna said.

It could be difficult to tell if Deanna was blushing, because her skin was such a beautiful shade of copper, but Lauren thought she had reddened.

As if she were lying.

“Hey, pay attention here, slaves,” Heidi demanded.

They both looked at her. “Harrah's,” she ordered.

Lauren let out a breath, still staring at Deanna. “Right. Harrah's,” she said.

And she started to walk.

Mark had known the women would follow him, egged on by Lauren.

Luckily, they had quickly departed.

And he had gotten more of a response at the police station than he had been expecting. Of course, it had been some time since he'd been in New Orleans. Things here had changed.

At the desk, he'd informed the sergeant that he didn't have any solid information, but he knew of a European national now in the country who had been linked to various crimes overseas—crimes that left victims resembling the woman found in the Mississippi.

He had expected to give information to a bored paper-chasing officer in a cubicle somewhere.

To his surprise, he was ushered into the office of Lieutenant Sean Canady, an impressive man with steel blue eyes and a rock-hard chin.

“I understand you have information regarding the body in the river?” Canady said, taking his seat after a handshake and indicating a chair across from his desk.

“Not exactly,” Mark corrected. “But I do have reason to believe that the crime may be associated with a man named Stephan??? who I believe is in this area now.”

“I see.” Canady's hands were folded on his desk. “Sadly, Mr. Davidson, murder isn't unusual. Nor is decapitation, though I admit it's somewhat less common.”

“No.”

“So…?”

Mark took a deep breath. “There are a number of ancient beliefs that suggest decapitation will prevent someone from becoming a vampire. And there's a modern belief that some vampires are careful to dispose of victims they aren't entirely…sure of. Population control, if you will. Survival of the…”

“Hottest? Most clever?” Canady said.

The man must think he was an idiot, Mark realized. “Yes.”

Canady's eyes didn't flicker. He was either trying to humor him until the padded wagon bound for the asylum arrived, or…

Or nothing surprised him at all.

Or maybe…

He'd had previous experience with vampires.

“Your suggesting there's a vampire loose in the New Orleans?” Canady said.

Mark shook his head. “No,” he said. Then he took a deep breath. “No, I'm suggesting there are several.”

“Look! He's up again!” Deanna said triumphantly, looking at Lauren with sheer pleasure in her eyes. “The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Bonus, bonus, bonus!”

Deanna loved the slot machines with bonus features. Especially this one.

They had both wandered away from the craps table after losing far too quickly, leaving Heidi, had been making all the right bets, to play on her own.

Deanna and Lauren had scaled down to the penny machines, and though the stakes were low, they were winning.

“Isn't that just great?” Deanna asked, pointing at the Creature. “Can you believe that movie actually frightened people?”

Lauren reflected on the question. “It was a long time ago. Before they could do the kind of special effects we have now.”

“I don't think that creature would have frightened me, no matter what,” Deanna said, grinning.

“Cocktails?” an attractively and scantily attired waitress asked, interrupting their conversation.

Deanna looked at her watch. “Sure.”

“Remember sleepwalking?” Lauren asked softly.

Deanna waved a hand in the air. “It's almost five o'clock.”

“It's three o'clock.”

“Close enough. Rum and coke, please. And you, quit acting like my mom. This is supposed to be a wild weekend.”

“A light beer, please,” Lauren said.

“Wow. Going all out,” Deanna teased.

Lauren looked hard at her friend. Deanna was super-model gorgeous, with her height and exotic features and coloring. It was hard to mistake her for anyone else.

“You really didn't go for a carriage ride today?” Lauren asked her.

Deanna stared at her. “No.”

“Where were you?”

“Where were
you
?”

“Looking for you.”

Deanna “I left Heidi trying on her twenty-fifth hat and wandered into a few stores.”

Lauren was sure she could see color suffusing her friend's cheeks again.

“What aren't you telling me?” Lauren asked.

Deanna shrugged. “I ran into that guy from the bar last night.”

“Oh?” Lauren felt a strange surge of unease. “That's who I thought you were with in the carriage.”