Authors: Karen E. Taylor
Hunger (47 page)
“Some unlucky mugger chose the wrong victim.”
“You were mugged?” He lost his pout and grew instantly concerned. “Where? You really should be more careful.”
I laughed, and gave him a sharp look. “You should know better than anyone that I have very little to fear from someone not armed with a wooden stake. I was right outside this apartment and he surprised me; I suppose I wasn't paying attention. But I can assure you he got the worst of the exchange. All I received was a bullet in the shoulder that unfortunately I could not dig out myself.”
“Did you call the police?” He seemed personally affronted that this had occurred.
“No, I didn't.”
“Why not?”
“When he left, he had two broken wrists and was missing about a pint or so of blood. I really didn't want to have to explain that to your friends at the precinct. And I believe he'll probably be a little reticent about attacking a lone woman in the future.”
Mitch laughed. “I guess so. You really broke both his arms?”
“At first I broke only one. I hoped that he would take the hint and leave me alone. But then he shot me, and it hurt. I got angry and, I'm afraid, a little carried away.”
“And you told all this to Dr. Samuels?”
“No, Sam never asked how it happened. I asked him to remove the bullet, and he did.”
“In the hospital?”
I gave a small laugh. “You know how much I hate hospitals, Mitch. I wouldn't allow myself to be admitted. We used the kitchen table.”
“Bloody hell, Deirdre. You let my psychiatrist perform surgery on you on my kitchen table?”
I shrugged and smiled. “What difference does it make? Yes, your kitchen table. I'll buy you a new one if you like.”
“No, that isn't the point. Didn't it hurt?”
“It hurt like hell. But it's over now.”
“But, Deirdre . . .”
“Hush, my love.” I put one finger to his lips and traced my other hand slowly up his shirt-sleeve until I reached his neck. I pulled his head toward me so that our faces were only inches apart, and smiled. “Now, do you want to talk about my operation,” I whispered, “or do you want me to welcome you home?”
Chapter 18
“D
eirdre?”
eirdre?”
“Hmm?” I murmured lazily, my head resting on Mitch's chest, my fingers gently stroking the faint scars on his right arm, the visible memories of his confrontation with Max.
“I think Dr. Samuels may suspect what you are.”
I raised my head and met his eyes. “Why? What exactly did he say?”
“Well, he never came out directly with any accusations. But he asked some really strange questions during our exit interviewâall about vampiresâdid I still believe that they were real, did I have any guesses about how they would survive in modern times, how would they live, what would they look like?”
I gave a small chuckle. “And what did you say?”
He matched my smile. “I lied shamefully, of course. You'd have been proud of me. But”âMitch paused a moment, combing his hair back with his fingersâ“he seemed disturbed by my answers. He acted strange, almost as if he were disappointed that I denied everything. And from the look in his eyes, I think he suspects. It could be a problem.”
“No, it will not be a problem. And you are wrong, he suspects nothing. He knows.”
“How on earth could he know? And what do we have to do about it?” His voice was edged with anger, not directed toward me, I thought, but toward whatever peril Sam's knowledge might contain.
I stroked his cheek to calm him. “Don't worry, my love. I plan to do nothing about Sam. He knows only because I told him and I trust him with the truth. He is no danger to me, or to us.”
“Us.” His voice was soft now, he took my hand and kissed the palm. I closed my eyes and savored the sensation; his warm mouth sent a shiver up my spine. “I like the sound of that.” His mouth moved up to the soft, delicate skin on my wrist. “And what do you plan to do about us?”
“An interesting question, little one.” My body tensed and my eyes flew open at the sound of Max's voice. I glanced around the room and saw him, lounging indolently in the doorway. “What shall we do with your human lover? Transform him? No, I can tell you don't like that idea. Marry him? Why not? The three of us could be very comfortable together.”
Go away, I urged him silently, aware of Mitch's growing confusion. Just go away and leave me alone.
Max laughed so loud that I thought it was impossible that Mitch would not hear. But he seemed oblivious of the unwelcome presence in the room.
“Deirdre? What's wrong? I don't mean to pressure you about our relationship, but I can't seem to help myself. It was hell those years without you; I can't bear the thought of losing you again. I told you before that I don't care what you are or what you've done. I love you and I want to marry you.”
“Mitch.” I tried to keep the anger from my voice, for it was not directed at him. “I don't want to talk about this now. Later, perhaps, when we are alone.”
“Alone?” Mitch sat up and looked around. “Who else is here?” He gave a small nervous laugh when he saw nothing, then relaxed and ruffled my hair. “Deirdre, we are alone.”
“IâIâI know,” I stammered, upset at my error and outraged at Max. “I meant after we've spent more time together alone.”
Dammit, Max, get the hell out,
I thought to him.
You're not wanted. Go away and leave us alone.
I thought to him.
You're not wanted. Go away and leave us alone.
Max threw his head back and laughed, undaunted by my anger. I could do nothing in this situation but endure his presence, and he knew it. Then his eyes softened and he nodded toward me. “I'll come back, little one, look for me.” His figure faded and he was gone.
I sighed and continued to stare at the empty doorway. Mitch reached over and waved his hand in front of my face.
“Deirdre, are you okay?”
I pulled my eyes away from where Max had been standing and turned my attention back to Mitch. “I've been away and you haven't been well. I think we should wait a while, take it one day at a time. A lot of things have happened to the both of us while we've been apart.”
“Nothing has changed for me, Deirdre.” His voice was sad. “I thought you felt the same.”
“I do, Mitch, I do.” I kissed him. “But, well, there are a lot of things you don't know, about me and how I have been living.”
“You could tell me.”
“I could and I will.” I got up from the bed, pulled a pair of jeans and a sweater from my suitcase, and began to dress. “But I can't talk about it now.”
“What are you doing? Are you going somewhere?” Mitch was growing angry, and there was nothing I could do.
“I have to go out.”
“Just like that, huh? Welcome home, Mitch, and then you're off again?”
I walked over to him and sat down on the bed. Smoothing his hair, I held him close to me. “I do love you, Mitch. You must believe that or we'll never be able to come to terms in this relationship. And I will be back tonight. But right now I have some business to tend to.”
He started to reply, but the phone rang and he answered. “Yeah,” he said with a suspicious look at me, “she's here. And who the hell are you?”
He grunted and held his hand over the mouthpiece before handing the phone to me. “Some guy named Ron. Sounds young and handsome. I suppose he's the business you need to see about?”
“Jesus, Mitch, he's my attorney.”
“Oh,” he said, handing me the phone with a shrug and a sheepish smile. “I'm sorry.”
“Hello, Ron.” My voice sounded tired and irritated. “What can I do for you?”
“You know.” His voice was warm and intimate and I stood up, turning my back to hide my embarrassed blush from Mitch's keen eyes. “But,” he continued, “I assume that's still out of the question. Was that your cop who answered?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so. He sounds like a cop.”
“Excuse me, Ron, but did you call for anything specific?”
“Yeah, sorry. I just wanted to let you know that I did some checking around and I can accept your job without a conflict of interest.”
“You know, Ron, I have been meaning to ask you, what sort of conflict could there be?”
“Well”âhis voice sounded evasiveâ“there's the other night, for one thing.”
I laughed. “You have a hell of a set of professional ethics if that's all it is.”
“The Bar does tend to frown upon relationships with clients.” He stopped abruptly, and I knew there was another reason he did not want to mention.
“And?”
“And what?” Now Ron sounded defensive.
“And there's something else. I can hear it in your voice.”
There was a long pause, and Ron sighed. “Well, I have, in the past, done some work for The Cadre, and since they inherit everything if you decline, I thought there might be a problem.”
“Oh.” That made sense to me. “What exactly is The Cadre?”
“An international organization of entrepreneurs.” The answer came readily to his lips, as if it were rehearsed, but I hardly cared one way or the other.
“So,” Ron said, his tone relaxed again, “when should we get together? I'll need to read over the will.”
“I have to be at the Ballroom sometime tonight.” I winced at Mitch's intake of breath and glanced at the clock. “How about nine or so?”
“That'd be great.” He hesitated. “Ah, you aren't bringing your friend along, are you?”
“Oh, no,” I insisted. “I don't think that would be wise.”
“Good,” Ron agreed. “I wasn't looking forward to meeting him anyway.”
“No, I suppose not. I'll see you later, Ron. Thank you for calling so promptly.”
I hung up the phone and looked over at Mitch. While I was on the phone he had slipped his pants on, and was standing by the window.
“The Ballroom? Why on earth are you going there?”
I moved behind him, put my arms around his waist, and rested my chin on his shoulder. We stood there for a while, not speaking, but watching the glistening rain on the early evening streets.
“Well? Aren't you going to answer me?”
“It's the ultimate joke.” I smiled and kissed the bare skin of his shoulder. “Max left everything to me in his will, including the Ballroom. I'm his sole heir.”
“No kidding? Who'd have thought?”
“Not me. But he did, so now I have to struggle with that as well as everything else. He never did me any favors; even from the grave he's making trouble for us.” I didn't try to disguise the bitterness in my voice. “Max is the dirtiest bastard that ever lived.”
“Was.”
“What?”
“Max was the dirtiest bastard that ever lived. But he's dead now, Deirdre, and he can't hurt you anymore.” Mitch turned around and held me close to him. I wanted to cry, but instead I hugged him back, then broke away abruptly.
“You are right, I suppose. It's just hard for me to believe he's dead.”
“Well, he is,” Mitch said determinedly, “and I don't want to talk about him anymore. I thought we were rid of him two years ago. Let's quit dragging him back. Okay?”
Was that what I was doing, I wondered, causing his presence by my thoughts of him? “Fine,” I agreed, trying to not let my skepticism show. “And now, the sooner I go, the sooner I can get back. Get some rest, my love.” I attempted a sensuous smile. “You'll need it when I get back.”
Mitch followed me out to the living room but stopped me as I started to walk out the door. “Where's your coat?”
“My coat? Why?”
“It's pouring out, you'll get soaked.”
I laughed. “It hardly matters to me.”
“But it does to me. It's bad enough that you have to leave just when I get here, but if you think I'm going to let you back in here dripping wet . . .”
“You can towel me off at the doorstep when I get back.”
“Now, that's a tempting offerâ” Mitch started toward me with a boyish grin.
“Anyway,” I interrupted him, “I don't have a coat. I brought only one with me, and it's now in your kitchen trash.”
“Why is it there?”
“Bullet hole.”
“Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that incident. Look, maybe I'd better come with you tonight. Just give me a minute or so to finish dressing, and I'll be right with you.”
“No, Mitch, you should stay home.” I tried to say it as gently as possible, but it came out as more of an order than a request.
“And what the hell does that mean? That I'm not good enough to be seen out in public with you?”
“I never said that, Mitch. I just think that you should stay home; you haven't been well.” I knew he was getting angrier with each word I said, but there was nothing I could do. He could not accompany me tonight, or any night when I met with Ron. The anger he felt now would be nothing compared to what he would feel if he ever learned what had transpired between me and my newly hired attorney. “No,” I repeated. “You should take it easy tonight. It's your first night home, and you need your rest.”
“And that's another thing, Deirdre, while we're at it. I haven't been sick and there's absolutely nothing wrong with me. This is the second time tonight you've used my health against me. You won't talk about making a commitment to this relationship because I haven't been well. You won't let me come with you anywhere because I haven't been well.”
“And all of that is true, Mitch.” I held my position at the door, although I really wanted to hold him and comfort him. “You haven't been well.”
Suddenly, it was as if all the anger and frustration he had been feeling for the past two years boiled over at once. “Bloody hell, Deirdre. And if I haven't been well, as you so delicately put it, then maybe you can tell me whose fucking fault it is.” I cringed away from his obscenity; I knew he never used that word unless under a great strain, but he ignored my reaction. “I can tell you whose fault it is. This whole situation is your fault; you and all the other goddamned bloodsuckers out there got me into this, and now I can't ever get out. I wish to hell I'd never heard of vampires. I wish to hell I'd never fallen in love with you! I'm sick to death of the whole thing.”
He stood staring at me, panting slightly, and I watched the anger slowly drain from his eyes, to be replaced by sadness and remorse. But it was too late; the words had been said and he could not unsay them. And I could not deny their truth, not to him or to myself.
There was nothing I could say, nothing I could do to change this moment. This was the moment I had spent most of my life avoiding, the inevitable moment I knew would come when I first fell in love with Mitch. Why did I ever allow it to go this far? Why did I ever let him into my life?
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