Desire After Dark (8 page)

“Do not assume that I am like him,” Battista said.

“Were you following me?” she asked, hoping he would say yes.

He nodded.

“Who was that man?” she asked. “Who are you? What are you doing in Pear Blossom Creek?”

“He is a murderer,” Battista replied calmly. “A man without conscience or rectitude.”

“That doesn't tell me who you are.”

“Perhaps I shall tell you one day.”

“Why not now?”

“You would not believe me.”

“Why are you here?” She frowned. “Did you come here to find him?”

“No. The fact that we are both here is mere coincidence.”

“So, what is it you do for a living?”

He shrugged. “I have no employment at the moment.”

“Really?” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you live around here?”

He resisted the urge to say he did not live at all. “No.”

“Well, since you don't work, you can't be on vacation, so what brings you here?”

His gaze moved over her, lingering on her lips. “Fate, perhaps?”

Warmth spread through her, pooling deep within her being. “You're not married or anything, are you?”

“No, my sweet one. I would not be here with you if I were.”

She nodded, then covered a yawn with her hand. “Sorry.”

He glanced toward the window. “It grows late. I should let you get your rest.”

She nodded, but he saw the fear in her eyes, fear of spending the night alone.

“I can stay, if you wish.”

“Would you?”

He nodded. “I will keep watch outside.”

“No! I mean, shouldn't you stay in here? I mean, wouldn't you rather stay in here? You'll be more comfortable.”

“As you wish.”

“I'll get you a blanket,” she said. “And a pillow, and you can bed down on the sofa. Or you can watch TV for a while if you're not tired…” She closed her mouth. She was babbling, but she couldn't help it. His offer to spend the night had seemed like a godsend at first. But now, she wasn't so sure. Earlier, she had convinced herself she felt safe with him. Now that he was here, she was suddenly nervous at the thought of being alone with him, of having him spend the night in her house. After all, what did she really know about him?

He was watching her, his expression impassive, yet she had the uncanny feeling that he knew exactly what she was thinking.

He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “Have you changed your mind?”

Had she? Did she want to be alone tonight? “No, no.” She smiled. “I'll just be a minute.”

She hurried out of the room and down the hall to the linen closet. There, she paused, one hand over her pounding heart.
Please, Lord, let me be doing the right thing
.

She pulled a sheet and a blanket out of the closet, along with an extra pillow and a clean pillowcase. Then, taking a deep, calming breath, she returned to the living room.

He was standing where she had left him.

Discomfited by the silence, she switched on the TV. The familiar voices of the cast of
Friends
filled the silence as she set about making up the couch and fluffing the pillow, all too aware of Antonio's nearness. She knew he was watching her every move. His gaze was almost tangible, like invisible fingers stroking her back, caressing her nape.

“There.” She turned to face him. “I hope you'll be comfortable.”

“Do not worry about me,” he said.

She wondered if anyone had ever worried about him. He was tall and broad-shouldered. Strength and confidence fairly oozed from every pore. She had no doubt that he could look out for himself, and yet, far below the surface, she sensed a vulnerability. Or maybe she was just imagining it because it made him seem more human…She frowned, wondering where that thought had come from. Perhaps she was more tired than she thought!

“Well.” She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. “Good night.”

“Buona notte.”

Battista watched her leave the room, his gaze resting on the sweet sway of her hips, and then he shook his head. He was not here to admire her beauty or to seduce her. He was here to protect her, nothing more. But her image danced in his mind, the womanly scent of her hair and skin lingered in his nostrils.

To distract himself, he switched off the television, then strolled through the house, noting that she was a tidy housekeeper and that she favored the color mauve and had a fondness for candles and clocks. The living room was rectangular. Aside from the TV set, there were a high-backed sofa and a chair. A table held a lamp with a mauve shade. The furniture was mismatched but somehow blended together to create a homey atmosphere. A pair of tall bookcases were crammed with books, everything from cookbooks and dictionaries to literary fiction and murder mysteries.

The kitchen was small and neat and contained all the usual appliances. Two chairs flanked a round table covered with a mauve cloth. He peeked into the bathroom, then opened the door into what was meant to be a second bedroom, only there was no bed. A computer desk took up most of one wall. Two racks framed the single window, one filled with CDs, the other with DVDs. A large aquarium sat on a wrought-iron stand. Several pictures hung on the walls, including an autographed black-and-white photo of a man dressed as the Phantom of the Opera, and one of Victoria standing between a man and a woman that Antonio assumed were her parents.

Moving silently up the stairs, he paused outside Victoria's bedroom door. Closing his eyes, he listened to the even sound of her breathing, the steady beat of her heart, the quiet hum of blood flowing through her veins. His fangs pricked his tongue as his thirst roared to life, aroused by the scent of the crimson river beyond the door, the nearness of prey.

Needing to put some distance between them, he left the house. Standing below her bedroom window, he wondered what Victoria would think if she could see him now, with the lust for blood burning in his eyes. He closed his eyes, imagining what it would be like to take Victoria into his arms, to inhale her scent, to taste the salty sweetness of her skin, hear the accelerated beat of her heart as he took his first taste…

With a low growl, he thrust the image aside. He needed to feed and soon, but it would have to wait. He couldn't take a chance on leaving her alone, not with Falco out there. Hands clenched into tight fists, he took several deep breaths, willing his hunger into submission.

He was about to go back into the house when an instinct born of hundreds of years told him he was no longer alone. Lifting his head, he sniffed the wind, sorting through the myriad smells of the night—damp grass, trees, earth, rotting vegetation, the stink of human waste common to civilization.

He turned slowly, his preternatural senses filtering through the mundane until he pinpointed the inhuman scent of one of his own kind.

“Falco.” The name whispered past his lips.

Mocking laughter echoed on the heels of the night wind. “I am here, Battista. Come, meet with me, brother. Let us speak of the delectable damsel who lies sleeping within the house.”

“Be gone, Falco. She will never be yours.”

“Women throughout the ages have been mine.” Again, the sound of mocking laughter rose on the wind. “No woman I desired has ever escaped me, brother.”

“You will not have her!”

“You cannot stop me, Battista.”

Antonio started forward, then paused. Haring off into the darkness and leaving Victoria unprotected was exactly what Falco wanted.

Muttering an oath, Battista dissolved into mist. In less than a heartbeat, he was inside Victoria's bedroom.

He materialized beside her bed, once again fighting the almost overpowering urge to surrender to the need that burned within him, to take her in his embrace, to taste her and touch her until he knew every delicious curve and contour of her body, every unexpressed hope, every unspoken dream.

Turning away from the bed, he sat on the floor as far away from her as he could get. He would not leave her room until the sunrise was upon him. He had never met Dimitri Falco, but he knew the creature's reputation. Falco was relentless in his pursuit of prey.

But he would not have Victoria.

Not this night, or any other.

Dimitri Falco ghosted through the night. Leaving Pear Blossom Creek behind, he stalked the dark streets of the neighboring town. At this time of night, the only people out and about were those who enforced the law and those endeavoring to break it.

He found what he was looking for on a street corner.

He smoothed his hair and put on his most winning smile as he approached her.

Her gaze moved over him in a quick assessment, noting the cut of his clothes, his expensive shoes. “Hi, honey,” she purred. “What's a handsome guy like you doing out so late?”

“What do you think?”

She tilted her head to one side. “You tell me.”

He grinned at her. “I'm not the law, if that's what you're thinking.”

She laughed softly. “Oh, honey, I know that.”

He lifted a handful of her hair, let the silky strands slide through his fingers. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “Is it dyed?”

“Dyed?” She looked insulted, and then she smiled. It was a blatantly seductive smile. “For fifty dollars, I can prove it's natural.”

“Sounds like a bargain to me.”

“I'll take the money first.”

With a nod, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred dollar bill.

Her eyes widened as he placed it in her hand. “I can't break that.”

“Keep it.” He reached for her hand, his fingers curling around hers in a grip that made her wince as he began to walk, dragging her behind him.

She tried to wrest her hand from his. “My house is the other way.”

“My house is this way.”

“But…”

“You don't want me to change my mind about that extra fifty, do you?”

She considered that a moment, then nodded. “All right, honey, as long as you're not into anything kinky.”

“Kinky,” he murmured. “We shall see.”

Tom Duncan swore under his breath as he read the morning paper. A woman had been murdered and drained of blood in the next town. Had Falco tired of hunting in a small town like Pear Blossom Creek and decided to move on to a bigger place, or was he just expanding his hunting grounds?

With a shake of his head, Duncan tossed the paper aside. He had searched Pear Blossom Creek from east to west and north to south. He had explored every inch of Hellfire Hollow, poked into every abandoned building, looked into every cave and crevice, but he hadn't found a thing. Zip, zilch, nada. Not a trace of Falco.

Finishing his coffee, he dropped a couple of dollars on the table to pay for his meal and left the café.

Outside, he took a deep breath. “Okay, vampire hunter,” he muttered to himself. “Hunt.”

 

The sound of church bells woke Vicki. Bolting upright, she glanced at the clock, then bounded out of bed. She was going to be late for early Mass. Again.

After dressing quickly, she skipped breakfast and left the house. Jumping into her car, she put the pedal to the metal, only to be pulled over when she was three blocks away from the church.

August “Augie” Ryan was shaking his head as he approached her car. “Vicki, where in tarnation are you going in such a rush on a quiet Sunday morning?”

Vicki looked up at him through the window. Augie was the oldest policeman in town. Augie was a big teddy bear of a man, with twinkling blue eyes and a winning smile. By rights, he should have retired years ago, but the people of Pear Blossom Creek wouldn't hear of it, and since his youngest son was the mayor and his oldest son was the chief of police, it was pretty much a given that Augie would be around until he was ready to retire.

Vicki summoned her sweetest smile. “I was on my way to Mass, of course. Where else would I be going on a quiet Sunday morning?” Where else, indeed, since everything was closed except the corner café and the hospital.

“Now, honey, you're just lucky it is Sunday and there's no one else on the road. Girl, you might have caused an accident a'speeding along that way.”

“But I didn't, and I'm really late, so can I go?”

“I should write you up this time, you know that, don't you? It would serve you right.”

“But you won't, will you?”

He rocked back on his heels. “I reckon not. But you slow down, girl, hear?”

“I will, Augie. Thanks!”

She pulled away from the curb at a sedate speed, then glanced in the rearview mirror. Augie was still standing beside his police car, watching her.

With a sigh of exasperation, she kept to the speed limit the rest of the way to church.

She was driving home an hour later when she saw Tom Duncan walking down the street. She had a date with him tonight. How could she have forgotten?

Pulling over to the curb, she honked her horn.

He looked her way, frowning, then smiled when he recognized her.

Vicki rolled the window down. “Hi.”

He nodded. “Hi yourself. What are you doing out and about so early?”

“Church.”

“Ah.”

“And why weren't you at Mass this fine morning?” she asked, then blushed. Just because be wore a cross didn't necessarily mean he was Catholic, and even if he was Catholic, that didn't mean he was in the habit of going to church. “I'm sorry, it's none of my business.”

Duncan laughed. “Don't worry. My soul's in pretty good shape. I've relied on heavenly intervention far too often to turn my back on the church.”

“Really?”

“Faith comes in handy in my line of work.”

“I never thought of that, but I'll bet it does. Is there good money in bounty hunting?”

“Sometimes. Depends on who you're hunting and how bad your client wants him caught.”

“You mean someone is paying you to hunt for Sharlene's murderer?”

“No. This time it's on me.” He glanced at his watch. “Listen, I've got some business to take care of. Are we still on for tonight?”

Vicki nodded. “Sure. See you at six.”

With a wave, he continued on down the street.

Vicki was on her way home when she saw Mrs. Heath outside watering her lawn.

After parking the car, Vicki got out and walked up the narrow path. “Morning, Mrs. Heath.”

“Victoria, dear,” the older woman said, looking up from beneath the brim of a wide straw hat. “How nice to see you in one piece.”

Vicki frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“I saw you earlier. You were driving your machine way too fast.”

“Yes,” Vicki said with a wry grin. “Augie thought so, too.”

“Oh, dear, I hope that old fool didn't give you a ticket.”

“Not this time.”

“Well, that's good, though you really should slow down. So, how are you, dear?”

“I'm fine. And guess what?” Vicki could hardly wait to see the expression on Mrs. Heath's face when she told her about Duncan. “I have a date tonight!”

Mrs. Heath stared at her in what could only be described as alarm. “He doesn't have rusty yellow eyes, does he?”

In spite of the warmth of the sun, Vicki felt a sudden chill crawl over her skin. “Yellow eyes?”

Mrs. Heath placed her hand on Vicki's arm. “I saw him in a dream, dear. A horrid man with yellow eyes. He was knocking at your door.” Her hand tightened on Vicki's arm. “Whatever you do, you must not let him in.”

Vicki shivered. “No. No, I won't.”

With a smile, Mrs. Heath released her hold on Vicki's arm, then turned off the water. “Have a good time, dear. And tell me, who's the lucky young man? Is it someone I know?”

“No, he's new in town. I met him at the diner a few days ago. His name is Tom Duncan.”

Mrs. Heath's eyes widened. “Duncan? Did you say Tom Duncan?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

Pressing one hand to her heart, Mrs. Heath sat down on the wrought-iron bench located in the midst of her garden. “Forgive me, dear, the name just took me by surprise, that's all.”

“Do you know Mr. Duncan?”

“I dated a man by the name of Thomas Duncan years ago, before I met Mr. Heath. I might have married him, if he didn't have such a dreadful occupation.”

“Dreadful in what way?” Vicki asked. The only dreadful occupation she could think of was being a mortician.

“He was a vampire hunter.”

Feeling as though the earth had suddenly stopped spinning, Vicki stared at Mrs. Heath, and then she laughed. “You really had me going for a minute there.”

“It's no laughing matter, dear. It's hard to believe that they exist in this day and age, but they do.”

Vicki stared at the elderly woman.

“I know what you're thinking,” Mrs. Heath said. “I didn't believe my Thomas when he told me, either, but then one night I saw one.” She stared into the distance. “He tried to kill me. I'll never forget the sight of that creature, his eyes glowing like a wildcat's, his fangs coming toward me. It was Thomas who saved my life. I was young back then and easily frightened. When Thomas asked me to marry him, I ran away. Sometimes I wonder…No matter. What does your Mr. Duncan do?”

“He's a bounty hunter. People,” she clarified, “not vampires.”

Mrs. Heath patted Vicki's hand in motherly fashion. “Run along and have a good time, dear. It's time for my nap.”

With a nod, Vicki returned to her car. Maybe Mrs. Heath was losing it. Vampires, indeed. They were the stuff of myth and legend.

After parking the car, she picked up the newspaper and carried it into the house. Dropping it on the kitchen table, she fixed herself a bowl of cereal and some toast and then sat down to read the paper.

One look at the headlines and she forgot all about eating.

 

FOURTH WOMAN FOUND DEAD
BODY DRAINED OF BLOOD

 

She quickly read the story. The body had been found in a vacant lot in Woods Hollow by a late-night jogger. There was no evidence of foul play. The police were certain that the murderer was the same person who had killed the three women in Pear Blossom Creek.

Bodies drained of blood…She shook her head, dismayed by the turn of her thoughts. There was no such thing as vampires. She repeated the words aloud, hoping that it would somehow reassure her, but it didn't. Vampires or not, someone was killing women and draining them of blood. Perhaps a Satanic cult was behind the murders. Didn't they use blood in their rituals? But good Lord, how much blood did one cult need?

She poured her breakfast down the garbage disposal, changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and went into the den to clean the aquarium. And all the while she thought about Tom Duncan and vampires. Of course, she knew there were stories and legends from ancient times, when anything that could not be explained logically was ascribed to something mystical or magical, like vampires or witches. In olden times, people believed that a moved or fallen tombstone, horses shying away from a grave, or footprints leading away from a grave were indications of a vampire's resting place. People with pale skin and long nails, or those who had no appetite and an aversion to bright lights, were also suspected of being vampires.

Others who might be accused of being vampires were those who were never seen during the day or who were reluctant to enter a house without an invitation. Vicki frowned. She had never seen Antonio during the day. He always waited to be invited into her house. She had never seen him eat…

Vicki shook her head in exasperation. She was becoming obsessed with the Undead. Vampires, indeed. Serial killers often behaved in ghoulish ways. That didn't mean this one was a vampire. Serial killers often killed their victims in bizarre ways, or kept body parts for souvenirs, or collected personal items. This particular killer liked to drain his victims of blood and take a lock of their hair. That didn't mean he drank the blood, but what did he do with it?

She remembered watching a special about vampires and those suspected of being vampires back when she viewed the existence of such things as an interesting myth and not a possible reality. One such, Elizabeth Bathory, had murdered hundreds of young girls and bathed in their blood, believing it would keep her young and beautiful. Eventually, the truth of what she was doing became known and she was walled up in her bedroom, where she died four years later.

“Stop it!” Going outside, Vicki lifted her face to the sun, letting its warmth wash over her. She took several deep breaths, clearing her mind of all her ghastly thoughts. Even if there were vampires, and she wasn't ready to admit such a thing, she was safe now.

She spent the next hour and a half working in the yard. She raked the leaves from the lawn, both front and back, pulled some weeds, and watered the grass, thinking she would have to mow it soon. Thinking how nice it would be to have a husband and children to help with the yard work. For a moment, she imagined her husband teaching their son how to mow the grass while she and their daughter worked in the garden. Later, they would sit in the shade and drink lemonade and then go for a walk in the woods, or go down to the lake for a swim…It came as no surprise that the husband of her dreams looked a lot like Antonio Battista.

Returning to the house, she put an Elvis CD in the stereo, made a cake and put it in the oven, and then fixed a quick sandwich for lunch. When she finished eating, she rolled up her sleeves and mopped the floors in the kitchen and bathroom.

And still, thoughts of vampires and bloodred moons crept into her thoughts. She recalled what Mrs. Heath had said and wondered if Tom Duncan was related to the Duncan that Mrs. Heath had known.

She would have to ask Tom about it when she saw him tonight.

She took the cake out of the oven, changed the sheets on her bed, then frosted the cake, and before she knew it, it was time to get ready for her date.

 

Standing on Vicki Cavendish's front porch, Tom Duncan straightened his tie, brushed a piece of lint off his trousers, and blew out a deep breath. He couldn't remember the last time he had been out with a woman. Hell, he wasn't sure he even remembered how to act on a date! He spent most of his life prowling around dilapidated houses or crawling around in caves and cemeteries. Hardly the kinds of places where a man was likely to meet a woman he'd want to take out. Then, too, he rarely stayed in one place long enough to get acquainted with very many women, let alone establish any kind of relationship. Of course, he might be here in Pear Blossom Creek for quite some time, since he hadn't found a single clue as to where his prey was hiding.

Running a hand over his hair, he summoned his nerve and rang the doorbell, all the while reminding himself that this was just one date, nothing more.

He couldn't help staring when the door opened. “Wow.”

She smiled at him. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He didn't know what Vicki had done differently, but she was a knockout in a pair of black pants and a short-sleeved, vee-neck green sweater that was the perfect foil for her red hair and made her eyes seem even darker and greener than he recalled.