This Case Is Gonna Kill Me (13 page)

Ryan stood up in surprise. “Good God, what’s that?”

I urged Steppi with my lower leg, and he dropped back to the ground and trotted off. I brought him back to the observation stand. “Somebody’s trained him to do the levade. This horse is a treasure.”

“I think you might be too. You’re one hell of a horsewoman.”

I blushed and managed to thank him, and we returned to the barn. Steppi got his carrots, and I held back a few for Maarten, Lily, and Sirocco.

Back at the house, I hesitantly asked if I could take a quick shower and get the sweat and candy out of my hair. Ryan’s response was instant—
of course.
I kept listening for the bedroom door while I showered. The lack of a hostess still had me jumpy, but Ryan was a perfect gentleman. Apparently there was no expectation that I would pay for the privilege of riding his horses. I put on the rather crumpled sleeveless white linen dress I had been wearing at the office, realizing I should have packed civvies.

Ryan was waiting in the entryway when I came downstairs. He took my arm and escorted me out the front door and back into the town car. As we rolled down the driveway, he said causally, “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. Shall we have dinner when we get back to town?”

I dithered. Were we getting into date territory? That was dangerous for so many reasons. He was my superior. He was a vampire.

Or maybe he was just hungry. I certainly was.

Oh, for God’s sake, Linnet, you’ve eaten lunch with him. How is this any different other than the time of day?

“Sure,” I said.

8

During the drive back into the city, I burbled about the horses.

“Unitario has the most comfortable trot. Wish I could say the same for Steppi, but he makes up for a bone-rattling trot by knowing
everything.
I love Grand Prix horses. Their idea of an evasion is to piaffe.” I suddenly realized I had been going on and on and on about horses. I shut my mouth, my teeth closing with an audible
click.

“What?” asked Ryan, laughing.

“I’m sorry. Me and horses. I become such a bore. What would
you
like to talk about?”

“First, you’re not boring me, and I find the bond between you and horses to be fascinating.”

“Oh, please don’t lay all that old Freudian shit on me. It has nothing to do with repressed sexuality,” I said.

“I still think Freud was right. You feel empowered because you’re in control of a large animal.”

I made a sound indicating
wrong.
“Nope. It’s about communication.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Well, with a horse I don’t have to talk. It’s like telepathy. Total understanding. Within a very short time on a horse I can think
turn
, or
trot
, and they’ll do it. Of course I know they’re actually reading minute changes in my muscle tone, but it feels like they’re reading my mind. Also, horses are the only species to give you back precisely what you give them. If you show affection to a horse, it will reciprocate. If you’re abusive to a horse, it will fight you. There are no hidden agendas with horses.” The memory of those final, painful months with Devon came crashing back. Me trying desperately to explain why I couldn’t go to Dubai. Him not responding—or, worse, telling me he understood, when I knew damn well he didn’t, because he was assuming I would, in fact, go to Dubai. Ryan was frowning at my sudden silence. I gave him a bright and brittle smile. “And I did it again, off on a rant about horses.”

Ryan laughed, slipped an arm around my shoulders, and hugged me close. “You are quite adorable.”

Okay, this was not a friendly meal between colleagues. Definitely verging into date territory. But I’d already accepted. I couldn’t gracefully back out now, and he was very good company. I was enjoying his conversation, quickness, and interest.

We rolled into Manhattan. Ahead of us, brake lights flared and dimmed as the cars proceeded in fits and starts between traffic lights. The blare of car horns was muted but still audible, and the city seemed to thrum beneath millions of tires. Above us, the skyscrapers looked like spires of light, and the top of the Empire State Building glowed a rich blue.

We sat through a light for a third time, advancing only a couple of car lengths. Ryan began drumming his fingers on the door.

“Sorry, sir. The traffic is really bad tonight,” Stephenson offered. He sounded nervous, which surprised me. Ryan had struck me as a very reasonable boss.

“Why don’t we hop out and walk?” I offered.

Ryan opened his door and stepped out. He extended his hand. I took it, and he helped me slide across the leather seat and out onto the street. We darted onto the sidewalk as the traffic jerked forward.

The pavement seemed to exhale heat, but I didn’t care. It was New York on a Friday night. I was out with an interesting vampire, I’d ridden a couple of great horses, and I was starting to get control over my cases. Ryan tucked my arm beneath his and we stepped out, weaving through the other pedestrians.

We passed a clarinet player pitting his music against the car horns and engines. He was good, and I paused, dug in my purse, and placed a five-dollar bill in his open case.

Ryan gave me an odd look as we walked on. “Generous of you,” he said.

“It’s a habit I picked up from my grandfather, though he would have put in a twenty.”

“Really?”

“He was a jazz musician back in the thirties and he said he and his band survived on tips. He taught me to dance when I was a little girl. We used to always dance to the Fascination Waltz.” Memories of that short, upright figure, his iron-gray hair and brush mustache, his resonant baritone, and the smell of his aftershave swept over me.

“He’d go broke in New York with all the street-corner musicians,” Ryan remarked. “He must not come here often.”

“He died shortly after I went to live at the Bainbridge house,” I said, and found myself suddenly sad. Chip and my grandfather had somehow become entangled in my head. I gripped Ryan’s arm more tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“He was very elderly, and he always said the good Lord didn’t owe him a thing. He’d had a great life. It’s just that I didn’t get to say goodbye, because I was living in Sag Harbor by then.”

Ryan guided me down a side street, and we walked up to a cherrywood and brass door beneath a scarlet awning. He paused with a hand on the door. “Do you like Asian cuisine?”

“Very much.”

“This is Asian fusion, and it’s been getting very good reviews. They also keep a nice selection of hosts for people like me.”

“Sounds good.”

The decor continued with the redwood and brass theme established at the front door. We sat in a booth upholstered in black leather that faced the bar. The bartender was cute, with shaggy blond-brown hair and a crooked grin. The cocktail menu was long and varied. In keeping with the decor, I decided to go with the Brass Monkey. It arrived with an umbrella and a plastic swizzle stick with a monkey clinging to the top.

I studied the human menu and went with the tasting platter. I’d always loved dim sum because you get to try small bites of many things, and I’d been known to make a meal of appetizers. The maître d’ brought Ryan the vampire menu. It was tastefully done, with thumbnail-sized photos of the hosts as well as descriptions of their diets and the nuances of their blood. The prices varied depending upon the amount drunk and the expense of the diet used to maintain the host.

The maître d’ leaned in close to Ryan and said softly, “Do you wish to cup, or will this be a natural feeding?”

Ryan cocked an eyebrow at me. “I grew up in a vampire household,” I said. “I’m used to seeing vampires feed.”

Ryan snapped shut his menu. “Natural, and I’ll try Javier.”

“Excellent choice, sir. Highly oxygenated blood. Also, for the comfort of other patrons we do screen for a natural feeding. I trust this won’t offer offense?”

“Not at all,” Ryan said. “Not everyone can be as relaxed as Linnet here and not be bothered.” He smiled at me.

I noticed that he hadn’t picked up on my actual wording. I had said I was
used
to it, not that it didn’t bother me. There was a subtle difference.

The timing of the service was perfect. I was just finishing when the waitstaff set up a beautiful ebony and red silk screen around our booth. Javier arrived. He was of a medium height with the long, lean muscles of a runner, and his lustrous black hair was brushed back from a high forehead. He was dressed in slacks and a vest that left his arms, chest, and neck bare.

“Hello, sir,” he said. His voice had the soft echo of his Spanish ancestors.

“Hello, Javier.” Ryan’s tone was bluff and hearty. “How are you this evening?”

“Fine, sir.” He knelt down at Ryan’s side. “Which vein do you prefer?”

Ryan studied Javier’s bare arms and exposed throat. He saw the pinprick red bite mark on Javier’s neck and shook his head. “Let’s go with the elbow.” He glanced at me. “It’s sort of like eating off someone else’s plate if you go to the same site this close to another’s feeding,” he explained.

Feeling that this fell under the category of TMI, I excused myself and headed to the ladies room as Ryan took Javier’s arm and bent over the vein in the crook of his elbow. I really took my time in the bathroom. I slowly washed my hands, then used the wet skin to help pull up my panty hose. I reapplied lip liner and lipstick, fluffed and combed my hair. But they were still at it when I returned. Ryan was really gorging.

Javier’s eyes were drooping, his mouth slack, wearing an expression halfway between ecstasy and terror. Ryan raised his head, quickly picked up his napkin, and dabbed at his lips. The restaurant used black napkins, so the blood didn’t show too much. I suddenly realized that white table linen was becoming less common in upscale restaurants. Just another way the world had changed.

Javier shook his head and groped in a pocket for a press-on Band-Aid to place over the bite. He then nodded to us both and slipped away.

“Do you want dessert?” Ryan asked. His eyes were drooping too, and his cheeks were plump and ruddy from the ingested blood.

I shook my head, and Ryan signaled for the check. As we walked to the door, Ryan used his cell phone to call Stephenson. We stood under the awning outside and waited for him to arrive.

“Ryan, I want to thank you for this evening. It’s been wonderful.”

“My pleasure.” He was smiling down at me, and his hand slipped around my waist.

Ryan’s hand actually felt warm because of the recent feeding, and I was very aware of the raw power he exuded. His eyes locked on mine. I reacted as if an electric current had jolted through my veins, then sagged with a sudden lethargy.

“Linnet, you’re a very special person,” he said softly. “When you connect this quickly with someone, it seems like the universe is telling you something, and you should listen.” His car was rolling up to the curb.

I stepped back out of his reach. “First, don’t do the Lure on me. Say what you want.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed a bit, then he smiled and nodded. “Okay, fair enough. Come home with me, Linnet. I don’t want the day to end.”

The feeling of warm molasses in my veins was gone. I could make this decision dispassionately. I thought of my apartment, of the nights I woke up drenched with sweat, heart pounding from nightmares. I wanted to go with him. I didn’t want to wake up alone.

“Yes.”

*   *   *

Ryan lived in a brick apartment building on West Seventy-third street. The doorman touched his cap as we entered, then hurried to summon the elevator for us. Ryan lived on the fifteenth floor. He unlocked the door and allowed me to enter. I was met with the smell of leather and lemon wax—pleasant and very male.

The furnishings had the feel of an English men’s club. My feet wouldn’t reach the floor if I sat well back in one of the big armchairs. The were lots of bookshelves and an entertainment center with a turntable, speakers, and an amplifier, as well as an old portable television. At least it was color. I guess when you don’t die in the conventional sense, you don’t have a lot of interest in getting the newest, hottest thing. I had expected Ryan to be more modern than this room indicated.

He took my hand and drew me toward him. He cupped the back of my neck with his free hand, then bent to kiss me. The smell of blood on his breath brought back memories of that night chip had been murdered, and I turned my face away.

He straightened abruptly. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“You’re a partner, which makes you my superior. And you’re a vampire and I’m a woman. Do we really want to risk this getting out of hand with a really bad outcome for both of us?”

“I won’t bite you. It’s why, frankly, I gorged at the restaurant.”

“So, you were planning this all along?”

Ryan gave me a smile. “I was hoping I’d get lucky. Look, we share so much. Let’s share this too. And it’s not the Middle Ages. It’s time for us to create new patterns of behavior and put aside superstition.”

This assertion made sense. It also ran counter to what his apartment said about him, but maybe this was how he fought the tendency to become hidebound. I thought about Ryan’s constant lunches with the human associates. Now he’d brought me home. I was really getting in deep here. I thought about leaving but again remembered the nightmares. I decided to stay. Ryan read the capitulation in my face, and he smiled. “The guest room’s in here. There’s a robe in the bathroom.” He led me to a door. “I’ll be right in.”

It was a prosaic room. A queen-sized bed with a plain wood headboard, a dresser made from the same wood, and a bedside table with a lamp. It had a Holiday Inn feeling. But then what did a vampire need with a bedroom? It wasn’t like he slept.

As he said, there was a very plush terry cloth robe in the closet, and a toothbrush, still in its packaging, resting on the counter next to the sink. The sight of the toothbrush irritated me. He had been very confident. Which made me want to leave, except I couldn’t figure out how this late in the game.

I availed myself of the opportunity and brushed my teeth. I unzipped the dress and let it slither down over my hips and legs. I stepped out and hung it up. As I unhooked my bra I realized that I liked the act of undressing a lover. The slow unbuttoning of his shirt when you can feel the heat radiating off him. Pushing the shirt off his shoulders and feeling the bulge of muscle in his shoulders and biceps. The slow rasp of a zipper, and the gasp as you slip your hand inside. It was like a Christmas present. This seemed … I groped for a word.
Clinical? Distancing?