Dead and Dateless (12 page)

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine what it would really feel like. Warm, I knew. I tuned in to my skin and tried to conjure the sensation, but nothing came. While I’d felt the sun’s effects before—drained and powerless because I’m a born vamp and all that—I’d never felt the breezy, airy sensation of being outside, fully exposed to the sun’s rays.

The closest I’d ever come had been this really cool papier mâché lamp I’d bought down in SoHo. It had been a hanging light shaped like the sun. I’d suspended it in the corner of my apartment and stood under it many times and thought about the real thing.

Not that I wasn’t happy being a denizen of the dark, mind you. I love my life. Absolutely, positively, completely and totally
adore
being a vampire and all its perks—enhanced senses, super fashion sense, and primo shape-changing abilities.

But sometimes (don’t tell my folks) I still wonder what it would be like to be, you know,
human.

I lifted the edge of Ty’s forgotten duster, which lay draped over the back of the couch, and ran my palm over the cool material. While he couldn’t walk in the sun any more than I could, he hadn’t always been so limited. I conjured an image of him poolside at a posh resort, a mai tai in one hand and a bottle of suntan oil in the other.

While I could totally get into a slick, coconut-scented version of Ty, the mai tai thing (complete with a little umbrella) sort of blew the big, bad alpha bounty hunter image.

I wrinkled my nose and let go of the jacket.

Then again, such a scenario might prove helpful. The next time I wanted to rip off my clothes and do a little mattress dancing, I could picture him with a plastic umbrella drink. Even worse, I could put him in a Speedo, wearing some of those paper sunglasses they hand out at the eye doctor’s office. I’d had a client walk in just a week ago wearing a pair of those because—quote—they served a purpose and saved him from having to spend his hard-earned money to buy some real ones—end quote.

I know, right? Needless to say, I’d yet to find a woman who didn’t want to smack the cheapskate in the first five minutes, much less one willing to sit through an entire date with him.

I pictured a cheap sunglasses version of Ty wearing a Speedo, but since he was ultra-hot, the skimpy bathing suit didn’t have the desired effect. Add forty pounds and back hair. Yep, I wanted to smack him, all right.

I flipped open Ty’s laptop and double-clicked on a word processing program. I spent the next ten minutes keying a list of possible meet markets for Viola’s twenty-seven alpha males. When I finished, I made a few more notes on some pre-existing clients, including Esther Crutch, an old maid made vampire desperately looking for love. Or at the very least, companionship. Surely Ty knew some other made vamps like himself? I made a note to pick his brain for possibilities when he came home and then spent the next half hour Internet surfing.

Unfortunately, I’d left my purse back at the office which meant no credit cards, which meant no shop ping, which meant no W-A-Y. I was bored out of my mind in a matter of minutes.

I stretched out on the couch, determined to kill a few hours with a nap. Easy, right? I mean, the couch was totally nonsexual and in no way connected to Ty’s half-naked, sleeping body. Except, of course, for the fact that he’d slept on it the night before while I’d been in his bed. And he’d definitely been half-naked with just his worn jeans and sexy grin. I sat up. I
so
wasn’t going to be able to do this.

I walked toward the windows and stared out at the surrounding view. It was early in the evening—barely seven o’clock—and cars zipped up and down the street. People walked here and there, some coming home from work, others heading out. In the apartment building across the way, I caught a glimpse of a man and woman cooking dinner. Another man sat Indian-style in the middle of his floor, his palms upturned, his face a passive mask of yoga contentment.

I’d just tuned in to a twenty-something female with a cell phone in one hand and a giant slice of pizza in the other when the sensation hit me. My arms prickled and awareness zipped up my spine. My gaze swiveled to the street below. A group of women headed for the corner. A businessman walked the opposite way, a newspaper under one arm. A taxi idled at the curb several feet away while a woman held a small boy with one hand and dug in her purse with the other.

There were no suspicious-looking characters dressed in black. No sharpshooters staring at me from the opposite rooftop. Nothing looked frightening or out of the ordinary.

Yet, I felt it. Fear and an insistent niggle that something wasn’t quite right.

That, or paranoia.

I decided on number two, shook away the strange sensation, and turned my mind back to the matter at hand: finding something—anything—to do. I paced from one end of the apartment to the other. I turned on the stereo and Fuel blasted from the speakers. I tried dancing, but heavy metal rock ballads didn’t lend themselves to bumping and grinding, so I ended up lip-synching.

Before I gave in to the impulse to clean (I
know
—I needed out in the worst way), I headed for the bed room area. Two a.m. was a
long
way away and I just couldn’t make it. After rummaging in Ty’s drawers, I walked toward the bathroom, my arms full.

A few minutes later, I eyed my reflection. (The whole thing about vamps not having a reflection? So not true. Thankfully. I mean, can you imagine an eternity of not being able to apply a decent coat of lip gloss?)

But I digress.

I eyed myself from various angles. Where rest and relaxation hadn’t been enticement enough to stay in, this was.

Since going out in my usual, fashionable glory was completely out of the question, I’d done my best to come up with an effective disguise. Ty was more the cowboy type—nix any baseball caps lying around—and I wasn’t in a hurry to draw unnecessary attention to myself. Therefore, I’d bypassed the black Stetson and gone for a red and black Harley handkerchief I’d found in his top drawer. I’d tied my hair up into a ponytail, wrapped the handkerchief around my head in my best biker chick imitation, and donned a spare pair of his sunglasses. I’d slipped on one of his black T-shirts that swallowed me up and fell to mid-thigh. A pair of old sweats covered my bottom half. The only thing that hinted at my fantabulous taste was my shoes (I couldn’t very well wear Ty’s size twelves). I had on my black Nine West ankle boots I’d scooped up back at my apartment. Not ultra-expensive, mind you, but they’d been handy and they did go with everything.

Except for sweat pants.

No way was I setting foot outside Ty’s place dressed like this.

I toed off the boots, padded back to the couch, and finished watching
Pimp My Ride.
By the time the third episode of
Date My Mom
(don’t ask) came on, I’d pulled on the boots and was back to eyeing my reflection.

Okay, it
was
sort of retro looking. Especially if I knotted the T-shirt at the waist and rolled the sweatpants to midcalf and added a few bracelets…There. Not too bad. It’s not like I was going out cruising for a man. Not my own, that is. Besides, I still had the underlying vamp magnetism to outweigh the semi-lameness of my outfit and tip the scales in my favor.

My decision made, I took one last look in the mirror and killed the television. I left Ty a quick note and let myself out of his apartment. I had places to go and people to see and the night was still young.

First on my list of must do? Pay a visit to Dead End Dating.

I know. Dangerous with a capital D. But I’d left my purse (complete with my favorite bronzer and blush duo) and business cards during the arrest and so I really had no choice. Besides, I was going to be extremely careful. I would be in and out before anyone was the wiser.

At least that’s what I was telling myself.

V
ia taxi, Ty’s place was approximately ten minutes from Dead End Dating. Via cute, pink, furry bat, it took two and a half, which included dodging a drive-by courtesy of two high-flying pigeons.

I landed in the narrow alley that ran behind the building that housed Dead End Dating, an interior decorating company, a small CPA firm, and a mom-and-pop health food store. My body vibrated and hummed and quickly the frantic beat of wings faded into the steady pound of my own heart. I glanced down and stared at the tips of my Nine West boots. Present and accounted for. Whew. See, sometimes all the trappings didn’t always make the transition. Then again, I’d gotten quite a bit of practice perfecting my technique in the last forty-eight hours.

The air was sharp with the scent of empty vitamin containers and whole wheat. Add a box of old toner cartridges (wasn’t recycling a tax write-off?) and the one breath I’d been foolish enough to take had me wrinkling my nose.

I eyed a small ledge that protruded at the top of the building and my body lifted. I floated the three stories up and retrieved the spare key I’d hidden beneath the loose edge of one of the bricks.

A few minutes later, I unlocked the back door and twisted the handle. It didn’t budge. I was just about to up the vamp muscle when I felt it again—that same awareness zipping up and down my spine, making the hair on the back of my neck stand at attention. My senses immediately tuned in to my surroundings—the distant sound of traffic, the hum of a nearby air conditioner, the faint sound of voices coming from inside the vitamin store at the far end (they were doing nightly inventory). Normal. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing except the way my stomach clenched and unclenched.

Not out of fear, mind you.

Nope, this was more like full-blown panic on account of the fact I’m not in any hurry to have to pull another Houdini and knee a bunch of cops.

I glanced from one end of the alley to the other. My gaze sliced through the darkness. A trash Dumpster towered at one end. A cat tiptoed through the shadows a few feet away. The animal’s head swiveled and her gaze caught mine. Recognition sparked and she shrank back, giving a slight hiss.

Okay, so this is, like, why I don’t have a cat. Vamps aren’t really cat people. Sure, we’ll adopt the occasional stray, but for the most part we’re a bunch of dog lovers. When we morph, it’s usually a Doberman or an Alaskan husky or, my father’s particular favorite, an intimidating jackal. (My pops was mucho impressed with
The Omen.
I
know.
Creepy or what?) Anyhow, animals can sense our otherworldliness. The cat took one look at me and made a quick getaway. Unfortunately, the strange sensation of being watched stayed with me.

Because there was an entire team of black-clad S.W.A.T. officers staked out on the surrounding building tops, all watching
moi,
a hardened, wanted criminal? Was there a roomful waiting on the other side of the door to slap on some cuffs and haul me off to the pokey? Then again, maybe I was being a total drama queen. Possibly the only thing on the other side of the door was a handful of my closest friends waiting to scream “Happy Birthday!”

My over-panicked brain voted for numbers one and two, my ego cast its ballot for three. Reason nixed them all because (a) I would have seen the S.W.A.T. members with my ultra-vamp vision, in addition to hearing and smelling them, (b) same goes for anybody inside DED, and (c) my birthday was months away.

I shook away the sensation and twisted the knob again. Hinges creaked and whined. Wood groaned. I made a mental note to pick up a can of WD-40 just as soon as things returned to normal. Closing the door behind me, I stood completely still and let my senses tune in to the darkness. Thank the Big Vamp Upstairs for night vision, otherwise I would have been forced to turn on a light, which would have been the kiss of death. While I felt certain the police didn’t expect me to return (in their eyes that would be ultra stupid), they would still be keeping an eye on the place (think Columbo staked out in an old Chevy, munching a sandwich out front, rather than
The Unit
) for lack of any other leads.

I’d hoped to find everything exactly where I’d left it, but no such luck. The police had taken my computer and iPod, as well as my cell phone and file cabinet. I retrieved a batch of business cards from the spare box in my bottom drawer and paused to take a few swigs of the imported blood, which looked like just another bottle of fine red wine, in a nearby fridge. Cold, I know, but I was running on empty since I’d declined to drink at Ty’s place for fear of losing control and giving in to my inner slut.

I took a last, long drink before recorking the bottle and putting it back in its place. Then I stuffed the DED cards into an empty envelope and walked into the outer office. Evie’s computer was missing, as well, along with the small terminal we’d set up in interview room A, aka the storage closet. The only thing the police hadn’t confiscated were the telephones and answering machine. Yeah! A message book sat next to Evie’s phone and I glanced at the latest entry from that afternoon.

Rachel Sanchez. The were-Chihuahua. I smiled, tore off the message, and stuffed it into the envelope.