Sucker for Love (21 page)

“What?”

You can’t blame a vamp for trying.

“Did I say hair clip? I meant commitment ring.”

He went suspiciously silent. “Why would I buy a commitment ring?” he finally asked.

“Not for Nina, that’s for sure. Really. I mean, you guys are over, right?”

“Right.”

“Which means you should be ready in case, you
know, you find someone else and want to pledge your devotion. You never know when you might fall in love or have a baby vamp or both. In no particular order.”

“Are you feeding?”

“I’m fine.”

“Because you sound light-headed.”

“It’s called being a good sister. I’m just concerned for you. I want you to have it all. The old ball and chain. The 8.3 kids (vamp statistics). The au pair and the Lexus mini-van.”

“I’d rather have a hot stake driven into my heart.”

Little did he know, but that was definitely a possibility. Especially when Nina’s father found out she was pregnant and my brother had no intention of making an honest vampire out of her.

“So what exactly happened at my apartment?” I rushed on, eager to change the subject before I gave in to the crying romantic in me and told him what was up.

Not that I would. It was Nina’s place to tell him and I had no business butting in. Besides, what if she was right? What if Rob totally flipped out? What if instead of being happy and ready to bleed into the commitment vial, he went AWOL and denied Nina and the baby?

I knew that wasn’t the most likely scenario, because family was everything to a born vamp. Still. My brother had never been the most compassionate BV. I’d fallen on a pitchfork in our barn one time and instead
of going for help, he’d hopped on a horse and headed for the nearest tavern.

His explanation when my father had cornered him?
It’s not like she won’t heal, Dad. She’s a vampire.

“Ty said you had a party,” I added.

“It was just Max and Jack and a couple of the guys from work. We ordered Chinese, sucked them dry, watched wrestling and then demonstrated a few moves and, well, that was one ugly end table anyway. ”

I rest my case.

His words registered and my brain snagged on the last part. “I thought you messed up the coffee table.”

“That was pretty ugly, too.”

“And the lamps?”

“You really ought to get a professional decorator in here, sis.”

“As soon as I get home, your ass is out of there.”

“What’d I do?”

“Out,” I barked, and stabbed the
OFF
key.

Maybe Nina
was
better off without Rob. Women had babies alone all the time. Sure, they were human women. But vampires could be in de pen dent, too. We didn’t have to settle for a jerk just because society dictated that procreation was
the
most important thing. That was archaic. Stupid. Ridiculous. And it was high time a brave female stood up and said so.

I thought of my own mother’s reaction and sent up a silent
Thank you
that said female was not
moi.

I was just about to stuff my cell back into my bag when I heard the voice.

“Outta my way, Paris Hilton.” A huge woman barreled past me, and if I hadn’t had fast reflexes (you gotta love being a vamp) she would have run me over and left me for roadkill.

I glanced up in time to see the dyed black hair and pink tentlike dress swish past me.

“Miss Hanover?” I was right on her heels.

“Once upon a time,” she called over her shoulder. “Ain’t nobody called me that since 1960.”

“My name is Lil Marchette. I’m a matchmaker from Manhattan, here on special assignment.” I tried to hand her a DED card, but she waved it away. “I’d really like to ask you some questions.”

“I only got two words to spare right now—
crab dip.
Now, I don’t expect a skinny thing like you to understand, but a full-figured woman like myself who likes to indulge has to pay a certain price if she overdoes it.”

“Come again?”

“You deaf, Slim? I said I need to make a deposit.” She pushed through a door marked Heffers and I followed.

I realized all too late that we were in the restroom. She disappeared into the first stall while I backtracked toward the swinging door.

“I’ll just wait outside—”

“Go on and ask your questions.”

“Excuse me?”

“I might be awhile and there ain’t a blasted thing to read in here. You might as well keep me company.”

“But—”

“It’s now or never, ’cause I got people waiting on me. I ain’t got time to play Twenty Questions with some Nicole Richie clone.”

I stalled just shy of the door. “I thought you said I looked like Paris Hilton?”

“Paris Hilton. Nicole Richie. Kelly Ripa. Leonardo DiCaprio. Don’t think I didn’t read that article on celebrity eating disorders in last week’s
National Tattler.
Why, one great big breeze and you’re liable to blow away.”

“Trust me, I do not have an eating disorder.” Unless you counted an all-liquid diet.

“Girlie, you’re nothing but bones. I could snap you like a chicken.”

Such charm and charisma. I could totally see why this woman had been voted Lonely Fork Homecoming Queen.

“So what do you want, Bones? I ain’t got all frig-gin’ night.”

I gave her the spiel about looking for the son of the high school sweetheart. “I heard you were acquainted with his father. Mordred Lucius?”

“Mordred?” She let loose a low whistle, followed by a few grunts. “Now, there was a hot-looking man.”

“So you went out with him?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it going out. But we sure as shootin’ hooked up a time or two.” She chuckled. “Or three.”

“What can you tell me about him? What did he like to do? Where did he like to go?”

“All the way.” The comment came from the doorway behind me. I turned just as the door swung open and another woman pushed inside. Same pink muumuu. Same black hair. Ditto on the caked-on makeup.

Wait just a friggin’ second.

I did a double take. My gaze locked with the woman’s and I knew in an instant that she was the real Tara Hanover.

Now Tara Mackenzie. She’d been widowed for twenty years and living in Golden Acres for the past five. She had one daughter and seven grandchildren, and she rarely saw any of them because they were busy with their own lives. Which was why she’d moved in here. Between shopping and Bridge and arguing with her sister, she didn’t have time to miss her family.

She’d had a mad bad crush on Mordred Lucius back in the day. She’d given him her virginity in the backseat of his Chevy Impala. She’d meant to give him her heart, too, but he’d disappeared the next day. She’d blamed her father for running him off, but when he didn’t come back or make any attempt to contact her, she’d realized that he’d just been using her for sex.

Much the same way her twin sister, Dara, had been using him for sex.

Twins.

The realization hit as Tara barreled past me.

“Jesus,” she huffed as she wedged herself into the second stall. “Haven’t you ever heard of a Krispy Kreme?”

It wasn’t enough I had to deal with one hater. No, I get double the fun.

“I’m not skinny,” I heard myself say. “It’s called svelte.”

“If you say so.” Fabric rustled and the toilet groaned as Tara collapsed on top. “Why don’t you tell her the truth?” she said to the stall next to her.

“About how Mordred was a hell of a lot more attracted to me than he was to you?”

“About how you jumped his bones every chance you could get. The poor fella didn’t stand a chance.”

“You’re just mad because he kissed me more that night than he did you.”

“He did not. You kept jumping in front of me.”

Wait a second. “The two of you went out with him at the same time?”

“I wouldn’t call it going out.” Dara chuckled. “He definitely went in.”

“You’re shameless,” Tara told her sister. “What would Daddy say?”

“What he always said—that you were the good one and I was the bad one. But I think you proved him wrong that night. Horndog.”

Tara inhaled sharply. “You know good and well that I didn’t go there for that.”

“Sure you didn’t. Nobody in their right mind went to Miller’s Creek unless they were looking to get lucky.”

“Miller’s Creek?” I asked. “What’s that?”

“Only the most romantic spot in town. The water, the moonlight.” Tara sighed. “It was breathtaking. Magical.”

“It was the local Lover’s Lane,” Dara added. “Tara showed up one Saturday night when I was there with Mordred.”

“I wanted to make sure that she didn’t hurt him,” Tara offered. “He was a good man.”

“He was a sex fanatic and the only reason you showed up was to see why he was so over-the-moon for me. You were jealous and you wanted to see what I had that you didn’t.”

“You’re crazy. We’re identical.”

“On the outside maybe. But inside, I’m Pamela Anderson and you’re Oprah.”

“I am not Oprah.”

“Yes you are. Though I have to admit you shed the Oprah for a few minutes that night. I swear, I never knew you had it in you.”

I got a sharp visual of Tara and Dara, minus the muumuus, crammed into the backseat of Mordred’s car.

My stomach heaved and I almost bolted for the nearest sink.

“You didn’t …” I searched for the words. “I mean, you’re sisters, right?”

“We did him,” Dara told me, “not each other.”

“Would you stop talking like that?” Tara screeched.

“Just telling it like it is.”

“No, you’re not. You’re making it sound filthy and trashy.”

“It was filthy and trashy, and I loved every minute of it. So did he.”

“He did not.”

“Have either of you seen Mordred lately?” I blurted, eager to shift the topic to something that didn’t make me want to OD on the nearest package of Tums.

“Not since that night down by the creek. It started out as a date and ended in a threesome on account of Tara showed up. Mordred told her how much he loved her and, bam, a Hanover sandwich.”

“He did love me.”

“He left the next day.”

“He left you, too.”

“I didn’t love him.”

“You’re heartless.”

“And you wear your heart on your sleeve.”

“Bitch.”

“Pushover.”

O-kay. I backed my way out of the bathroom and then turned to bolt before the shit hit the fan. Literally.

My nose wrinkled as I headed down the hall,
followed by a steady
pop pop pop
and a very loud
splattt!

A few seconds later, I was winging it back to Lonely Fork. I replayed the conversation with the twins and tried to discern what I’d learned tonight.

They’d had a threesome. He’d had a Chevy Impala. They’d had a threesome. Tara was the good twin. They’d had a threesome. Dara was the bad twin. They’d had a threesome. Both women liked Bridge. They’d had a threesome.

This was so not getting me anywhere.

I needed to change tactics. To think outside the box. To think like a murdering sorcerer hungry for eternal life.

Where would I go if I were this close to slicing and dicing a poor vampire?

A fortified hideout with a ten-foot electric fence and lots of angry Dobermen pinschers. That’s the conclusion I came to as I headed to the Quick Pick to buy toiletries for Nina.

If I were about to commit a felony, I would stay deep in hiding until the deed was done. No cruising around town. Or visiting the local library to check out books. Or stopping off at the diner for coffee. Or dropping by the Quick Pick for cigarettes.

My gaze fixed on the man who stood at the counter with a pack of Marlboros in one hand and a forty in the other. He wore starched khakis, a blue button-down shirt and white running shoes.

No. Way.

No. Friggin’.
Way.

He must have felt my stare because he turned. My disbelief quickly faded in a rush of
I told you so.
The search was now officially over. I’d found Mordred.

I
have to admit, I’d spent so much time thinking about finding Mordred that I hadn’t actually thought about what I would do when I caught up to him. Sure, I’d envisioned swooping in, opening up a can of whoop ass and saving Esther. But I’d never broken the scenario down into a step-by-step plan.

Go here. Do this. Kick this. Save that.

Nada.

Hence the great big bolt of
Holy shit
that rushed through me and jacked up my adrenaline until I felt as if my veins would explode.

Do something!
That’s what my brain screamed.
Wipe the floor with his lying, kidnapping, meet-and-greet-crashing hide.

But that wouldn’t help Esther. She would still be out there. Locked up somewhere. Alone and dying.

The realization had me ducking down behind a Slushee machine while Mordred forked over a twenty and waited for his change. The Slushee machine whirred. The scent of sticky sweet blue bubblegum surrounded me. And I thought smelling like cotton candy was bad? Seconds ticked by, and finally the register gave a loud
dinggg
and spit out several coins into the change dispenser. Man-made soles slapped the tile floor and the bell on the entrance gave a jingle.