Downbeat (Biting Love) (14 page)

“All right.” Dragan lounged against the black leather. “What really happened back there?”

Julian scowled at him, making a mess of the seat belt. Nixie pushed his hands away. “Why should we tell you anything?”

“Because I can help.”

“You?” Julian laughed contemptuously. “Why would you help us?”

Dragan shrugged. “Must I have a reason?”

“You’re seriously annoying me, Zajicek. You always have a reason, and it always involves personal gain. And if you won’t come clean…” Julian rapped at the privacy glass. “Mr. Hinz, please stop. Mr. Zajicek is leaving.”

“Wait.” Dragan held up a hand. “Very well. I’ll try to convince you I’m serious. The reason I wish to know is because Hugo is my friend. When I agreed to take his orchestra, the members became my responsibility.”

“You? Responsible?” Julian waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Dragan’s jaw tightened. But his tone was mild when he said, “Think what you will. Just tell me if my musicians are in danger. I would be…grateful.”

Julian stared at Dragan long enough to weigh his soul. My stomach tightened as if I was playing a twelve bar phrase on one breath. Finally Julian said, “I don’t know. Elena will find out.”

“Thank you. I would appreciate knowing as soon as possible.”

Julian nodded. I released my breath.

When the limo pulled up outside my flat, before Mr. Hinz could pop out, Dragan pushed open the back door, unfolded boldly onto the sidewalk and then, the epitome of well-heeled male, turned and offered me his hand.

Great. This never went well. But he wasn’t giving me much choice so I took his hand and prepared for the awkward scootch across the seat and the hilarious stumble onto the sidewalk.

He drew me out so smoothly it was sensual, his strength depositing me on my feet with ease.

Wow. I could get used to that.

Stuff me in a tuba and blast me into outer space. I gave myself a stern scolding as he walked me to my door. I could not get used to that, because he was an international conductor while the farthest I’d gotten from home was Chicago.

Although he was in Meiers Corners now. On my stoop. Pulling me into his arms… His brilliant black eyes were focused on my lips.

“Ahem.”

I turned my head, still in his arms. Julian and Nixie glared from the walkway, Julian not bothering to hide his elongated fangs or the fact that his eyes glowed red. Oh yeah, I’d be talking to Elias again, sooner rather than later.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, the scrape of metal on metal, like a door opening, caught my attention.
Jaws
music played in my brain.

Slowly, I turned my head the other way.

My mother stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over a smock that read “Artists Do It With Feather-Light Strokes”.

Her stare was actually scarier that Nixie’s or even Julian’s. Instead of a black scowl or a blood-red glare, her eyes twinkled with maternal delight. “Mr. Lambo man! What are you doing standing there with your arms around my daughter like a mummy’s bandages? Come in, come in!”

With a blare of horns, the shark strikes
. “Mom! Hi. Um, I know what this looks like but it isn’t really what it looks like—”

“Of course it is. And I’m delighted you’ve finally met someone.”

“No! I mean, yes, I met Maestro Zajicek but not in that way, and he’s only dropping me off and can’t stay.”

“Of course he can. It’s late and you’ve both had a hard night at musical practice, haven’t you? I bet Maestro Zajicek could use a drink. Who can say no to a refreshing drink?”

With the pricey stuff Dragan had turned his nose up at? Him. Then I thought of my mother’s best cooking sherry—one for the pot, two for Trudi—and winced.

Dragan brushed my cheek with elegant fingertips. “It will be all right.”

“Said so much fresh mother meat,” I muttered.

He took my chin in his fingers and turned my face gently to him. “It would be rude of me to refuse.” His brilliant eyes held a gentle twinkle. He’d apparently dealt with mothers before.

But he hadn’t dealt with
my
mother, who was five parts artist and one part nuts, which made her all pistachios. I tried one last time. “We don’t have anything to drink, not up to your standards. We don’t have cognac, period, just my cheap beer and hard cider and Mom’s sherry.” The Hrbek women were as trendy as pantaloons and waistcoats-pronounced-weskits…I got momentarily distracted as a swirl of harpsichord music spiraled through my head; not only Mom was six parts artist-pronounced-nuts.

“Sherry?” To my surprise Dragan brightened. “An enlightened soul.” He released me. “Mrs. Hrbek, I’d be delighted to accept your invitation.”

“Call me Trudi.” She threw the screen open as wide as her answering grin.

Showing more guts than sense, Dragan glided inside.

Nixie cleared her throat behind me.

I turned and gave her a what-you-gonna-do shrug. “After-rehearsal drinks?”

“We’d love to!” She grabbed Julian’s hand and towed him toward the stoop.

I stood aside and simply watched; it’s always humbling to witness the kind of love that lets a hundred pounds soaking wet drag around six plus of pure muscle. Then I shook my head. “I thought you had to get back to Jaxxie.”

“Plenty of time.” She motored onto the stoop, Julian still in tow. “Lots of people to fuss over her at home. You, on the other hand…” She grabbed my wrist and muscled me into my own apartment. Okay, maybe it wasn’t just love. Maybe she was a pretty strong cookie. “You and yours need protection.” She released me to point at Dragan, towering over my mother.

Nixie had a point. The tall, elegant male would be intimidating as a mere human; as a vampire, he was overwhelming. Maybe even strong enough to hold his own with Mom.

Julian gazed slowly around the room. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here.”

“Does it look different?” I remembered Nixie had once lived in this flat, before marrying Julian. It was before Liese Schmetterling had lived here (before she married Logan Steel) but after Elena O’Rourke (before she married Bo Strongwell). Come to think, a lot of my friends had lived here—right before they’d met the guy of their dreams and gotten married. I frowned. Quite a coincidence.

I looked at Dragan. Oh well. Nothing I’d have to worry about.

Then my mother crooked a finger at Dragan and lured…I mean, led him into the kitchen. Shark music thumped in my head.

Nope. Nothing to worry about. Probably. Hopefully.

“The hats are a nice touch.” Julian fingered the deerstalker of a mouse in full Sherlock.

Trying to see the place from Julian’s perspective distracted me from Dragan. Mom’s moving in with me had meant finding room for her crafty animal dependents, including a collection of small animals with felt hats. Even a rat. Normally rats are yucky but Mom had glued a cute little bonnet and ruffly apron on her. Mommy Rat. Eh, art is an imprecise thing and only needs to make us look at our world in a different way. They all don’t have to be winners.

“My fave’s the moose,” Nixie said. “Speaking of, do you think Trudi would take a commission?”

“Probably.” I’d just realized we had new additions to the family—a shadowbox of tiny frogs on thimbles. I sighed. Either Mom was slowly bringing her entire corpus over here, or they were reproducing. I really hoped the moose didn’t crossbreed with any of the indoor animals. “What kind of commission?”

“Jaxxie would love a lawn pony. We’d pay, of course, although with the economy I wouldn’t say no to the friends-and-family discount.”

“For Jaxxie? She’d do it for free. I’d better brave the kitchen. Do you want beer or cider?”

“I’m nursing.” Nixie grimaced. “I’d better stick with water. Give me a glass for Mr. Hinz out in the limo too, okay?”

“Sure. Julian?”

“I’ll try the cider.”

“Got it. I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll help,” Nixie said.

“I’ll come too,” Julian said.

I raised palms. “It’ll be too crowded in the kitchen. Mom and Dragan are already there…oh.” Julian didn’t want Nixie there with Dragan without him. Julian really did not like Dragan. “Okay. Try to stay out of the way.”

In the kitchen, Dragan stood watching my mom fill two of our best jelly-jar glasses from her gallon jug of sherry. My face heated ten degrees. I could just imagine what international artist Dragan Zajicek thought of backyard artist Ermintrude Hrbek’s height-of-chic stemware.

As we crowded through the door her laugh rang out, but not as I’d ever heard it before. The peal was almost…girlish. “Why, Mr. Zajicek.” She tapped a playful hand on his arm. “That’s naughty.”

“Please. You must call me Dragan, as Raquel does.”

“Dragan, hmm?” She caught sight of me and waggled her eyebrows, her we’ve-hooked-a-whopper face. “Well, Dragan. You’ll have to come over for dinner.”

I grinned at her, slid to where Dragan could see me but she couldn’t and flailed at him, danger-danger-danger. SOS. I signaled so hard Nixie almost got an S to the mouth.

“Sounds delightful,” he said. Then, as if not satisfied with inciting mere disaster, he added, “It would be lovely to join you and your daughter for dinner sometime.”

“Sometime?” my mother said. “As that great German philosopher Anne Nonimous said, ‘Why put off until sometime what you can do tomorrow? I insist you come to dinner tomorrow night.”

“No!” I jumped in before he could sentence himself to the only Friday night activity worse than reruns. “After a long week of work? I’ll be too tired to have company.”

“Oh,” Mom said. “Of course, Rocky. I should have thought of that.” I started to relax. Then she added with a long face, “As your houseguest, I’d never dream of inconveniencing you.” She sniffed.

I felt like a heel. “You’re never an inconvenience, Mom. And you’re my mother, not a guest.”

She brightened. “Then we’ll do it Sunday!”

My muscles knotted up again. Still, lots of things might happen between now and Sunday, like an earthquake or the end of the world. One could hope. “Maestro Zajicek might be busy that day.”

“I’m not,” he said.

I facepalmed. Could this get any worse?

Sure. Mom lit up like a supernova. “Excellent. We’ll have ham!”

I dropped my hand to gape. I don’t know how rich people do it, but in the Corners, everyone knows the rhythm. An invitation to coffee made acquaintances into friends; lunch turned friends into good friends; dinner cemented ties for bosom friends and close neighbors; and ham for dinner meant “Welcome to the family. See this shotgun?”

My gape crossed beams with Nixie’s, her eyes wide open and her pupils constricted. We both turned to Dragan and flailed like synchronized swimmers, or maybe synchronized drowners, because he ignored us, difficult because the kitchen was so small—we nearly took off his arms.

“I’d be delighted,” he said to my mother.

That nailed it. Dragan Zajicek wasn’t just a bad boy who loved to take risks. He was suicidally insane.

Chapter Nine

Maybe if I’d done it differently, events wouldn’t have unfolded as they did. But I wasn’t sure how to do it differently. This wasn’t orchestra, where I could cut my mother off with a circle of the end of my flute, or cue Nixie to jump in with a flick of my head. This was social etiquette, and while other people seem to instinctively know what to do, I hadn’t a clue.

I want to do what’s right, but I don’t know how to act in Polite Society.

So I could only stand there, Berlioz’s “March to the Scaffold” looping in my head as Dragan put himself square in front of the ten-fifteen Mother Express.

I wanted to shrivel into a spitball of embarrassment. I had to do something and do it now, and though I didn’t know what, I consoled myself with the thought that frankly the patient was dead and I couldn’t make things worse. Note to self: that only works in situation comedies.

But I pumped my spine with iron and tried to fix things. “Nixie and Julian are here too, Mom. You can’t invite Dragan to dinner in front of them. It’s rude.”

“Of course,” she said brightly, and my spirits rose for a moment, sort of like the kid getting a swirly allowed to come up from the toilet for a breath. “Your friends must come too.”

Face? Meet toilet.

Nixie’s horror-stricken expression morphed instantly to a mask of delight. “Play paddleball with my bee-hind, nothing we’d rather do. Right, Julian?”

His face was stark white. “Nothing,” he echoed faintly. “We’d love to come.” Wow, he really did love her.

“That’s only five of us,” Dragan said. “Three women and two men.”

I suddenly remembered even numbers at dinner were important for rich people. Did I say I wanted to shrivel from embarrassment? Try wink out of existence.

“Right!” Nixie jumped on that. “We’d need another dude, unattached. And since we don’t know any of those—”

“Except Luke.” Dragan turned to Julian. “Perhaps he would be kind enough to fill in?”

“Absolutely,” Julian croaked, his subtext of, “If I have to suffer so does he,” loud and clear. “If it’s all right with Mrs. Hrbek.”