Born Into Love (10 page)

“Yes, Mrs. Joyce comes highly recommended.”

“She lives in town?”

“Yes. Here’s her contact number.”

After a conversation filled with details about her sister’s condition, the location of their house, and cost per diem, Mercedes ended the conversation. Mrs. Joyce would start tomorrow at noon.

Mercedes breathed a sigh of relief. The roast beef on rye arrived, as ordered, with Russian dressing on the side.

She took a bite and didn’t stop until she wiped her mouth with a napkin. Dessert felt like a necessity and chocolate cake the solution. She licked chocolate from her finger and thought of Diego. When had she become so wild? And what must he think, really. At least he hadn’t jettisoned himself into the ocean when she hit him with direct questions.

She sucked on an ice cube. What would happen tonight?

As she reached for the bill, the hair on her neck rose. She scanned the café and the neighboring streets. Someone watched her, but whom?

On the museum steps she turned unexpectedly trying to catch unfriendly eyes. Remy’s evil-looking luncheon companion met her gaze. For a moment he paused, deliberate in his rudeness, then he climbed into a waiting limo and slammed the door. Mercedes shivered. What did he want?

* * *

The minute Diego stepped on the exhibit floor the curator hurried to his side. “Mr. Castilla, take a look. We lit the ceramics as you suggested. The larger pieces steal my breath. You must have scoured the length of the Andes.”

“I did.”

“The Pascuas Segundo is anxious to receive them. They will be forever grateful.” She led him away from a hodgepodge of wires crossing the floor. “You’ll be pleased with the number of guests confirmed for opening night. Most are regular supporters.”

“I trust your decisions.”

Her answering smile meant that he had said the right thing. Luz had lectured him on giving compliments. He followed her advice and dispensed them in the twenty-first century, but only when the statements were true.

“I reviewed the items Mercedes entered on the computer and I got the fax. Truth is, Mr. Castilla, we’re only going to need the beakers and two of the coastal pieces.”

“I thought along those lines myself. Tomorrow I will send my crew to repack. Luz will ship the remaining pieces to Lima from my home.”

“Perfect.”

Her secretary called her away and he left to find Mercedes. The laboratory suited him. In the artificial light so far below ground his muscles relaxed. His pass card accepted, he hurried, like a knight eager to see his princess and claim her colors.

She stood at the work table. “Why so perturbed?”
he asked. Her face brightened when she saw him and he wanted to kiss her until his lips ached.

“Ms. Rogers phoned. These are the objects she wants.” She pointed to the table. “I’d hoped she’d use more. What do you think?”

“I spoke with her and I agree with the selection. They are lovely. I had forgotten.”

She extracted the pitcher from the cabinet. “You were supposed to take care of this mystery guest.” Mercedes gave it a slight shake. “Listen.”

He heard the sound.

“Aren’t you curious?”

“No.”

He
wrapped Mercedes in his arms, but she proved relentless.

“I can’t believe you never opened it. It’s not normal. You shouldn’t leave it here. If anyone else sees it, they’re going to want an x-ray at least. Me? I want to open it and film the process.”

His expression must have worried her for she took a breath.

“Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“Seeing the vessel has reminded me of how it came into my possession. I lived another life then.”

“That’s an explanation?”

The truth read like fiction: a captive woman stole her mummified ancestor from the
Centro de Momias.
His brother loved the woman. They escorted both to her jungle village. His brother was slain. The sorcerer of her tribe offered him to their vampire deity. He killed the villagers, but spared the sorcerer’s pregnant daughter. She gifted him with the pitcher. Horrific.

Mercedes stared waiting for an explanation, one
he could not give. “It is a long story and not very interesting.”

“I’m having a hard time believing that. Do you want to take it home now?”

“No.” Not ever. “Lock the pieces in the cabinet. Tomorrow all will be settled.”

“But you will open it, right?”

“If it will please you.”

He
watched how delicately Mercedes handled the pottery. How many had he and his brother crushed looking for gold? When she finished their placement on the shelves and locked the cabinet doors, they hurried home to the night that lay before them. While in traffic, she phoned the doctor’s office to verify a time for the transfusion.

Diego asked
a question but he knew the answer from the way she held him in her gaze. “Would you like to go sailing tonight?”

“Yes. What time?”

“Eight?”

“See you soon. I’ll walk over.”

“Let us keep social tradition. I will call for you.”

* * *

Mercedes looked at her sister. Guilt might as well have been stamped on Annie’s forehead. “What’d you do today?”

“Not much. I lounged around.” A
nnie began setting the table. “I ate small meals and watched television.”

Mercedes persisted. “Have any visitors?”

“Dave didn’t come here, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Mercedes chopped cucumber for the salad. “Good. I don’t want him in the house.”

Sarcasm reigned in her sister’s voice. “But he could come on the deck?”

“
I suppose in an emergency.” Mercedes rested the knife and sighed. “I don’t enjoy being the ball and chain, but someone has to.”

“He’s thinking about giving blood.”

“Got to have it, to give it.”

Spots of color appeared on Annie’s cheeks. “He’s human. He’s made mistakes, but he’s trying to change.”

Mercedes softened her approach. “If you must see him, I’ve got to be home.”

Annie smiled. “Yes, Momma.”

Before her sister went to bed, this time choosing the bedroom on the first floor, Mercedes told her about Mrs. Joyce.

“Sounds like I’ll have two mothers. And the transfusion?”

“Both happen tomorrow.”

She tucked Annie into bed like their mother used to do. “This is a battle we’re going to win. All you have to do is rest. There’s a chance it will go into remission
. “

“That’s the same chorus Dr. Mendez sings. But pep talks are good. Thanks.”

“I’d like to spend a few hours with Diego tonight. Think you’ll be okay?”

“Again we’re going through this? Gee, I’m already in bed and I know how to sleep. Take a chance.”

* * *

Hundreds of tiny white lights sparkled around the deck.

“A new addition,” explained Diego. “I enjoy looking into your eyes. They make it possible.”

“The windows of my soul.”

“I like what I see.”

“Want me to tell you what I see in yours?” Diego pulled away. Had she been too forward? After last night, she didn’t think that was possible.

He drew closer. “All right.”

“I see a mystery.” Again, his gaze flicked away. His arm slipped around her waist almost as if he wanted to distract her.

“The humidity is building. It is going to rain. We can go below.”

“Even if it doesn’t, let’s go below.”

Music played from an unseen source. Violins mixed with sensual beats set the mood as much as the fresh scent Diego wore. Tonight, he’d dressed more formally in dark slacks, a button-down cream shirt of polished cotton that caught the glow of freshly lit candles, black leather loafers, no socks. If he was trying to seduce her, he needn’t have made such an effort.

He invited her to dance, moving slowly. White shorts were a bit too casual, but now the absence of extra fabric added to her growing excitement. And she reminded herself that it was summer. They turned out to be
a great wardrobe choice under the present conditions. When the music stopped, he kissed her.

They relocated to the queen-sized bed. She remembered the feel of his powerful arms and the electricity of his hands on the backs of her knees. And she liked being carried.

“Scented candles. Sandalwood. A good choice. But we need something else. Wait.” She pulled a condom from the pocket of her shorts.

“What are you doing?”

“Here.” She handed him the package.

“What is it?”

“Protection. You know a condom.”

“I don’t need. . .”

“Yes, you do.”

“Of course.”

He wore the condom and she treasured him for it. Together they found what they needed by giving of themselves. With Diego she discovered what she had been missing: acceptance in a loving gaze, tenderness in a touch, and honesty in endearments.

When she returned to awareness, she stayed still and discovered that he was cool. Quickly she pulled the blankets up to their necks. “This will keep us cozy. Remember what I said about this room being claustrophobic?”

An easy smile crinkled his cheeks.

“I take it back.”

A tray appeared outside the stateroom door. He offered champagne and exotic cheeses with sliced fruit. “Your crew’s too quiet. I hope they aren’t spying.”

“They are not. Your suspicious nature has not been subdued by intimacy.”

“My suspicious nature will come in handy someday.”

* * *

Diego was in love.

What had begun as joy in a shell of a man had grown into affection and attraction that poets
wrote about. Even to himself he sounded corny. Luz would call him a loser. Until now he had been...

Upon parting at her door, comforted by
their growing closeness, he and Mercedes made plans for the next day. They would leave for the museum together after Annie’s transfusion. Ever present with Diego? The knowledge that his ugly truth must surface and soon. What would he read in her eyes when she learned that her lover had been dead for centuries?

He
flew away aware that Dave huddled in the dunes. But his thoughts lost their shape and he did not halt his flight.

Chapter 6

The curator met
them at the museum helipad. The tight movements of her body indicated tension. Diego eased her into the revelation. “Please. It will be all right. Tell me now.”

“We’ve had a break-in.
They went after your collection in the lab.”

“What did they take?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Any damage?” She nodded.
He kept his tone level for the woman trembled from stress.

The elevator arrived. She pushed the floor for the workshop level. “The police say it’s an inside job and that’s another worry.”

“Prints?”

“The officer said they probably wore gloves. Even the dumbest crook knows that nowadays.”

The elevator stopped.

“Mercedes and I will work with the authorities using computer records. No need for you to come with us.” The curator’s expression softened as
he bid her good-bye.

He and
Mercedes walked the short corridor into the first workshop. Fortunately no one was working in the space. “Tell me everything that happened yesterday.”

“I worked on the ceramics, with the exception of the pitcher, Remy paid a visit and . . .”

“You should have told me.”

“I don’t like thinking about him and besides, I handled it.”

“He is without scruples.”

“We exchanged words, I threatened him with pepper spray and
the curator’s going to invalidate his pass. He’s neutralized.”

Diego
considered Procteur a coward. Brave only when his victim was weaker than himself. It took only a moment before Diego saw the parallel between him and the earlier version of himself, the vampire he used to be.

“How did he explain his visit?”

“He delivered a plant. I found out later he’d taken it from your exhibit.”

When
they entered Mercedes’ lab, a uniform guarding the area challenged them as his job required. They introduced themselves and showed identification. Mercedes made printouts of the collection and compared pieces. When the policeman answered a call, she mouthed a message. The pitcher had disappeared.