Night Walker (18 page)

But while their ecstasy blossomed, so did the thirst.

It beckoned him to taste her in a purely inhuman way, and the faster her pulse raced, the closer she came to climax, the stronger the call became. Calisto fought to keep the desire for blood at bay while he covered her neck and shoulder with passionate kisses. Her pulse tempted him, so close, her body so willing.

Suddenly he felt her nails scratch down his back. She tensed under him and moaned sharply. Her body pulsed around him, as he plunged into her over and over. Gasping her name, Calisto shuddered and his release finally exploded through him, leaving him weak in her arms.

He rested his head on her chest, enjoying the sound of her deep breaths, her heart beating, and feeling her fingers stroking his hair back from his forehead slowly.

Calisto closed his eyes. Nothing would come between them ever again.

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Chapter Sixteen

The sun blazed through the window when Kate finally opened her eyes. Her muscles still felt a little tight from the run-in with the mugger the night before, and her knee was definitely bruised, but none of that mattered. What mattered was Calisto.

He was gone.

Kate sat up, looked around the room, and collapsed back on her pillow with a groan. The down comforter was askew, and sunlight filtered through the shutters onto the king-sized bed where Calisto should have been. She peered over toward the bathroom, but the door hung open and the room was dark.

He left without even saying good-bye.

Maybe she’d been wrong about him after all. Last night he held her until she drifted off against his chest. It didn’t seem like a one-night stand. She saw the emotion in his eyes when they made love...

Or she thought she had.

When she rolled over to get up, she noticed something on the pillow beside her. His pillow.

She smiled, gently lifting the freshly cut Romneya bloom. Taking in its sweet fragrance, she picked up a folded slip of paper beside it.

Dearest Kate,

136 LISA KESSLER

Please forgive me for being such a terrible host. I had out-of-town business to attend to this morning, and you looked
so peaceful that I did not wish to wake you. I left the phone
number to reach Betty. She can assist you in retrieving your
car. I hope I will find it in my driveway when I arrive home.

I am counting the minutes until I see you again.

Love eternally,

Calisto

Kate ran her finger across the words on the page, imagining he had touched them just a couple of hours earlier. The script was beautiful, not the chicken-scratch most men jotted down. Holding the flower in one hand, and the note in the other, she flopped back onto the down pillow and smiled.

She had to get a grip on herself. She was acting like a lovesick puppy.

But she didn’t care. He hoped she’d be here when he got home.

He counted the minutes until he saw her again. Laughing softly, she rolled over in the bed. His scent still lingered on the pillows and sheets, and she breathed him in deeply before completing her rotation to look up at the ceiling. She opened the note, and read it one more time, pausing at the end.

Love eternally…

An oddly romantic salutation. She’d heard of “yours forever” or

“love always,” but “love eternally” seemed almost like... a promise.

Maybe the salutation meant something different in Spanish than when he translated it into English.

She shook her head and sat up.

She was reading
way
too much into a short note. Time to get busy.

After a quick shower, Kate walked back into the bedroom wrapped in a plush white towel and stared at the mirror. She felt like a different person. Last night she’d experienced the most intense passion of her life. The thought of a condom hadn’t even crossed her mind. Being on the pill made pregnancy worries nonexistent, but still…

In spite of her uncharacteristic recklessness, she had no regrets.

She leaned in closer to the mirror, examining her wounds. Her
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forehead had a bruise, but other than that, she didn’t see any other traces of last night’s attack. She touched her lower lip, and frowned.

She thought she split her lip. She’d tasted the blood, but she didn’t even have a scab. Strange.

She didn’t want to think about the attack. As she stared down at her jeans and t-shirt lying on the floor beside the bed, she cringed. She didn’t want to put those back on.

Ever.

Walking over to one of the whitewashed dressers, she decided she’d borrow something from Calisto. She’d get a clean set of clothes from home and have his put away before he ever knew they were gone.

But the drawer was empty.

Kate frowned and opened the rest of the drawers. They were all empty. She could make up a million reasons to try to explain it, but something was wrong. No one traveled so much they didn’t have any clothes at home.

The closet.

She hurried to the walk-in closet and slid the mirrored door open.

One sports coat hung on a single wire hanger. The rest of the closet was unused, no clothes, no shoes, no belts, no ties, nothing. There must’ve been a logical explanation, but it eluded her. The feeling he had never used this room came back to her full force, and she realized again that she knew nothing about this man she thought she might be falling in love with. He might be more of a stranger than she realized.

Kate put on her bra and panties and went into the bathroom to put on the chenille robe she saw hanging on the back of the door.

Tying it closed around her waist, her stomach clenched tight.

Whirling around to the toilet, she wretched until she lost whatever remained of last night’s dinner. Kate sat back against the wall, resting her head in her shaky hands. She hated throwing up.

Even as a teen, the few times she had stayed home sick from school, her mom had been right there to hold her hand afterward.

No one was here for her now, while she sat in the house of a man she just slept with, who also might be some sort of spy or something.

138 LISA KESSLER

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. She usually did a better job thinking through decisions when it came to intimacy. But she’d never been so swept away by passion. The need to touch him had been all-consuming.

Just thinking about it made parts of her body heat up.

Her decision-making aside, it didn’t change the fact that Calisto was hiding something. What kind of man had empty dressers and closets in his own bedroom?

The kind of man you shouldn’t get involved with.
She heard her mother’s warning in her head. Still giving her advice she didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t need.

Kate slowly picked herself off of the floor, fighting another wave of nausea. Maybe she had stomach flu. Food poisoning wouldn’t linger like this. When her head cleared, she tightened the robe and left the master bedroom determined to explore the rest of his house.

There had to be an explanation for the lack of belongings in his bedroom.

Walking through the living room, she stopped and gazed out at the ocean through the French doors. He had an awe-inspiring view.

The waves washed up the sand, and for a moment her moonlit walk down the beach with Calisto filled her mind. Holding his hand that night had awakened something inside of her that she’d never known existed, a hidden passion and an unspoken trust.

It couldn’t have been a lie.

The kitchen was at the other end of the house. It offered a very open design, with a bay window that overlooked the shoreline. Large clay tiles covered the floor, and the stainless steel industrial oven was immaculate. She had a hard time believing it had ever been used. It did have a Spanish flavor to the décor that fit Calisto.

But he’s never used it,
she thought but immediately dismissed it.

He’s just got a great maid, that’s all…

A lame explanation, but all she had at the moment. The more she looked around, the harder it was to convince herself a housekeeper could be this meticulous. She wandered around the kitchen, pulling open drawers and cupboards, searching for food or cooking utensils
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that might be appropriate to have in the kitchen.

She didn’t find much.

The sum total of Calisto’s kitchen inventory consisted of a set of dishes and silverware, twelve cans of assorted Campbell’s soups, and two boxes of cereal that were two years past their “best by” date. No pans, no cooking utensils, and no sign that the large stainless steel stove had ever been used.

She opened both sides of the side-by-side upright refrigerator, revealing an empty freezer and two small Tupperware containers in an otherwise empty refrigerator. Maybe Calisto didn’t live here at all.

This might be a friend’s house he used to impress women.

No. She didn’t want to go down that path. There must be some other reason.

She closed all of the cupboards and drawers while she pondered the strange situation she found herself in. Maybe he just got back to San Diego and hadn’t been to the grocery store yet. He was wealthy, so maybe he had his meals delivered and never used the kitchen.

It still didn’t explain his empty bedroom or why he kept cereal he obviously had no interest in eating.

He just traveled a lot. He told her so himself.

But you couldn’t pack everything. Even frequent travelers left a few things behind in their dresser drawers. But Calisto didn’t.

Puzzled, and more than a little concerned, Kate continued to explore his house, leaving the kitchen and going back through the living room to an adjacent hallway.

She stopped in front of the first door on her right. Hoping for answers, she turned the knob and walked into a large office.

This was the first room she’d seen that actually looked lived in.

Kate smiled. Unlike the rest of the sparse interior of his house, the office was cluttered with books, folders, and pieces of mail. This room was definitely
his,
and it looked like he spent a lot of time here.

The walls were lined with oak bookcases filled from floor to ceiling. His library reflected his love of art. Her fingers traced over the leather bindings as she skimmed the titles, until something by the window caught her eye.

140 LISA KESSLER

A small oil painting hung to the left of the arched window behind his large oak desk. Two hands, clasped together as one. She stepped closer and stared at the muted earth-toned colors, unable to take her eyes off of it.

The way the fingers intertwined, holding their palms tightly together, spoke to her. In each brush stroke, she felt the strength behind the simple gesture that connected two people. The artist captured a pure, perfect moment, and communicated the power and strength of love through the joining of one couple’s hands. Love captured on canvas.

Kate looked closer for the artist’s signature and found only the initials G.S. in the bottom right-hand corner. And she noticed one more minute detail. On the ring finger of the man’s hand, he wore a thick gold band, flat on top where a stone might be. Or a signet?

The longer she stared at it, the more certain she became that the hand in the painting was Calisto’s. She wondered who the woman might be. Calisto was a bachelor, but that didn’t mean he’d always been one. Maybe he’d been married before. But if he were divorced, he wouldn’t keep a painting of him holding hands with his ex-wife. It didn’t make sense. You wouldn’t want a reminder of her in your office.

Unless she died.

Kate looked out the window with a sigh. She felt incredibly lonely all of a sudden. Death had touched her life, too. She hoped she was wrong about her suspicion. There was no greater pain than losing a loved one.

She hoped the woman hadn’t died.
She shook off the thought.

She didn’t even know if Calisto had ever been married.

Turning back toward the desk, Kate pulled out the high-backed black leather chair and sat down. The large oak desk had a phone and fax machine at one end, and a calendar and stacking file at the other.

Slowly, she opened the drawers of the desk, relieved to find them stuffed with office supplies and hanging files. His files were labeled with color-coded tabs, alphabetically sorted by last names. She quickly searched for her mother’s file, but it wasn’t there.

Kate frowned, scanning the papers out on the desk. When she
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poked through his stacking file, she found it. A membership form with names and phone numbers, her parents’ address and the different functions they had attended were tucked inside. Written in the bottom corner was a small note saying they were deceased, and the value of the property they left to the foundation. She flipped through a couple more papers, wondering where her mother’s piano might be now. The movers picked it up almost three weeks ago.

Then she had her answer. She held up a memo Calisto faxed to Betty on the day they picked up her piano.

Bettina-

Please see that Martha Bradley’s piano is brought to my
home after six o’clock tonight.

Thank you…

C

But she’d been through most of the house, and her mother’s piano wasn’t here. He had a grand piano in the living room, but not the one she’d grown up learning to play. Closing her parents’ file, Kate got up from his chair and left the office, opening the rest of the rooms down the hallway to reveal more of the generic décor she had seen throughout the rest of his house.

Empty guestrooms with empty dressers and empty closets, and no sign of her mother’s piano anywhere.

By the time she got back to the master bedroom, it was already one o’clock in the afternoon. She was hungry, slightly nauseous, frustrated and very confused. She needed to get her car and get something in her stomach.

She unfolded his note again and smiled. Men could be so clueless sometimes. Calisto honestly thought Betty would be happy to help pick up her car, but something told her Betty would be far from happy to find her wearing Calisto’s bathrobe, waiting for a ride. Nope, calling Betty was not an option. Calling Lori wasn’t much better. God, Lori would blow a gasket if she told her about his empty bedroom and unused kitchen.