Twilight Illusions (5 page)

She stiffened, remaining in the doorway. “What is this? I said I wanted out.”

“Shannon, when you broke in here and asked for ten minutes, I gave it to you. I'm only asking you to return the favor.”

Her head tilted to one side, a wary animal sizing up its chances with a predator. She didn't trust him. She had good instincts.

“You can leave whenever you want to. I won't stop you. There's a phone on the desk over there.” He pointed. She looked, licked her lips, nodded.

“All right. Okay. Ten minutes. No more.”

No more. Unfortunately for both of them, there was going to be more. A lot more. And he'd keep her with him by force if he had to. But first he'd try to talk her around to his way of thinking.

And he'd pray he wasn't worthy of all her fear.

 

Why the hell did she agree to sit here and listen to him? The guy could talk her into buying swampland in the desert if he applied himself. There was something about him…

She walked into the library, took a look around. The room's shape came as no surprise. The curving walls were lined with books, most of them old-looking, with that wonderful, slightly musty smell that old books always have. The sofa and chairs were rich brown leather. New. Their aroma mingled with that of the books, and that more subtle scent that was distinctly Damien.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He stood right where he'd been before, watching her intently. It was his eyes—that's what it was. They were so huge and deep and expressive. So dark. Combined with the tenor song of his mellow voice, they were compelling.

“So, talk,” she said, trying to sound callous, wishing she felt that way. She didn't want to think maybe she'd been wrong about him. She didn't want to let her defenses down. And she sure as hell wasn't going to trust the man. She didn't trust anyone. She and Tawny…they'd trusted no one but each other.

“What was that?” His sable brows rose slightly, and his jet eyes probed. He came toward her, then stopped.

“What?”

“You looked…” He licked his lips, shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind. It's none of my business.”

“Probably not.” She turned and ran her fingers over the dusty spines, glanced at titles.
Sumerian Mythology, The Gods of the Ancients, The Epic of Gilgamesh…

“I know you think I killed your friend. But since I know myself better than you do, I'm inclined to disagree.”

He came up behind her as he spoke. Too close. She felt his nearness like static electricity, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck. She tried to focus on the titles instead of on the physical effects of being so close to him. A newer volume about Gilgamesh. And another. He had several versions of the same story.

“That in mind, I have to assume someone else is responsible for her murder. If I'm right, then you're at risk.”

“
If you're right?
Sounds like
you're
not even convinced you're innocent.” She turned in time to see him blink when she said it, as if she'd poked a raw spot.

“I thought you might be in danger. That's why I followed you home last night. That's why I brought you here when I saw that you were too sick to defend yourself. I was only trying to protect you.”

She met his gaze, fighting to keep her own hard, not let it soften the way her heart had begun to do at those last few words. She swallowed hard. In all her life no one had ever thought to protect her. No one had cared enough to. She'd had no shelter against the cruel realities of life. She'd had to face them all, head-on, and her only protection had been her own strength. “Yeah? Why should I believe that? You barely know me, why would you want to protect me?”

“What was the alternative, Shannon? Stay here and let you die? Read about your body being found in the headlines of tonight's paper?”

“Tonight's, tomorrow night's…what's the difference?”
Someone
would be finding her body one of these days. After this last attack, she figured it wouldn't be much longer.

He frowned, his gaze probing so deeply she had to turn away. “What do you—”

“Look, I have to go. Is there anything else you want to say before I do?”

“If you go, and there
is
a killer stalking you, you'll be defenseless.”

“I've been called a lot of things, Damien. Never defenseless, though.”

“Shannon—”

“If I stay here, he won't try anything.” She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin. “If he doesn't try anything, I won't be able to take him out. You get it?”

He blinked twice, understanding dawning in his black eyes. His hands went to her shoulders. Strong hands. Hard and warm and urgent. The urge to lean closer whispered across her mind. Stupid. She must still be slightly off kilter from last night.

“You
want
him to attack you.”

“You're damned right I do.”

“That's insane. You'll get yourself killed.” He appeared shaken by the idea.

“It's perfectly sane from my point of view. And so what if I do? I'll take the bastard with me.”

“You're risking your life—”

“It's not so much to risk. Let go of me.”

He looked down at his hands, as if he hadn't been aware of the way they'd been holding her shoulders, the way they'd begun to pull her just a little closer. The way that scared the hell out of her, because she'd been thinking about getting closer to him. Wondering what would happen if she slipped her arms around his muscled neck and leaned against his broad chest. Would he hold her closer, harder? Push her away? Murder her?

His hands fell to his sides. He lifted his ebony gaze to hers. “What do you mean by that? That it's not much to risk?”

Fears crept up on her. She battled them away. She wouldn't talk about it. She wouldn't think about it. And she damned well wouldn't cry about it. Her eyes burned, but she blinked them cool again. What was so bad about death?
Life
hadn't exactly been a walk in the park. “I'm leaving now. You said you'd let me go. So let me go.”

“I'm sorry, Shannon. But I can't.”

The rush of anger was a welcome relief after the other things she'd been feeling. “I
knew
I couldn't believe a word you said!” She brought her fist into his middle clean and fast and hard, smiling smugly when he staggered backward, doubling over. She turned and ran toward the doors.

“Stay put, damn you!” The doors thundered shut as if a gale force wind had driven them. She felt her eyes bulge, the shivering up the back of her neck, the tensing of her spine.

She turned very slowly. He was just unbending himself, one hand pressed to the spot where she'd hit him. He looked angry. “How did you—”

“I'm a magician, remember?” He grunted, standing straight again.

“The—the house is rigged?”

“Something like that.”

“You can't keep me here.”

“I'm not going to let you get yourself killed. Believe me, Shannon, I don't like this any more than you do. But until this threat is removed, I'm your shadow. Whither thou goest and where thou lodgest and all that. I'll be there.” He shook his head slowly, as if he'd just reached a decision and wasn't at all pleased about it.

“That's bull. You're up to something. You want something from me. Might as well put it on the table, Damien. I'm not buying what you're selling.”

He licked his lips and the action drew her gaze, sent hot images sizzling into her mind. His kisses. God, what would they feel like? The thought seared her from the inside out.

“I need to see her body,” he said at last.

She blinked, and dragged her attention away from his mouth. “You what?”

“I want to see your friend.”

Shannon's stomach clenched like a fist. “For God's sake, why?”

He averted his eyes, paced back and forth in front of the bookshelves. “I have to see for myself how she died.”

She blinked again, a cold foreboding settling in her heart. “What do you think you can tell by seeing her? Do you have any knowledge of forensic pathology? Have you ever studied death, Damien?”

His head came up, eyes level with hers, and she thought there couldn't have been more pain in them if she'd shot him through the heart. “All my life,” he whispered.

 

“I must be insane.” Her voice was near his ear, a harsh rasp as they crouched in the shrubbery near the rear entrance of Arista's medical examiner's office. “I've been calling every day to try and get her body released for burial. They keep putting me off, saying there are still more tests to be run. They wouldn't even let me see her.” She parted a tangle of branches and peered through.

Damien snagged her waist with his arm and pulled her down beside him again. She was noisy and in constant motion. Clandestine surveillance could never have been one of her strengths as a private investigator. “Sit still,” he warned. But then he had trouble following his own advice. His arm remained around her tiny waist, despite his mind's commands that it move away. Her right side pressed tight to his left one. He could feel the softness of her breast, the curve of her hip, the firmness of her thigh against his. This was insanity.

“I didn't think anyone would be here so late,” she said, as if their closeness had no effect on her at all. “What are they doing?”

A shiny black hearse with a government emblem on the sides, and the letters “DPI” in bright yellow paint, backed up to the door. The driver emerged, walked around the vehicle and opened the back. Shannon stiffened beside Damien. “They're moving her!”

He tightened his hold on her. “It could be anyone, Shannon.”

She shook her head hard, meeting his gaze, her own tortured. Then her head swung forward again, as the office door opened. Two men pushed a gurney out into the night, stopping behind the hearse.

“That's the ME.” Shannon nodded toward the shorter, pudgy one who wore the white lab coat. The other man was taller, elegant in his movements, solidly built and darkly attractive. He wore an expensive gray suit and a long black wool coat.

“You'll rule it a suicide,” he told the medical examiner. His voice carried the ring of authority.

“There's still the PI that found that body—”

“We'll be in touch with her. Don't worry. We've dealt with situations like this before.” The driver and the ME collapsed the gurney and lifted the vinyl-encased body up into the hearse, while the tall man stood with his hands thrust into his coat pockets, watching. His breath made little steam clouds that hid his face. He exuded confidence.

The ME walked back inside, shaking his head and muttering, as the driver slammed the doors. Then the two got into the front seat and the vehicle moved away.

Shannon was shaking all over. “Where are they taking her? They can't just take her away like this. Dammit, Damien, let go of me!”

He held her tighter. She kept struggling until the hearse rolled out of sight, and then it was as if the fight went out of her. She felt limp. Her head lowered to his chest and her hot tears dampened his skin. She clung to him with one hand and rained painless blows on his shoulder with the other. “You should have let me stop them.”

He threaded his fingers in her hair, moved his palms over it again and again. He knew this pain. He knew just what she felt right now, what she'd felt since her friend's death. Too well. Maybe that was another reason for this closeness he had to keep fighting. The grief. The shared pain.

He held her for a long time while she cried. He hadn't had a chance to look at the body, but he'd been close enough. He'd lowered the walls around his mind for an instant, just long enough to focus on the dead woman. He needed to practice more, to hone his mind better. But he had managed to understand one thing. Tawny Keller's death had been brought about by a vampire.

Damien still wasn't certain if that vampire was him.

Shannon straightened, swiped her eyes so hard it must have hurt her. “Something's going on, Damien. Those men were feds or something—the ME wouldn't lie about a cause of death unless he had no choice. I know that. He's a suit, but an honest one.”

Damien nodded his agreement, but was as baffled as Shannon. “I don't understand this any more than you do…unless…”

Her head came up sharply. “Unless what?”

He shook his head. “I was going to say, unless they actually believe in the existence of vampires, but that's unlikely, isn't it?”

She shrugged and looked away. But Damien wondered. If he hadn't kept himself so closed off from others of his kind, he might know more. Was the federal government aware of their existence? What in hell was this DPI?

Shannon touched his arm. “I want to go home. Take me home now.”