Twilight Illusions (8 page)

“And then?” He wanted to know. He didn't stop to tell himself that he shouldn't. It wouldn't have mattered if he had.

“Things got rough. We decided we could do better on our own. And we did.”

He considered reading her mind. “How old were you?”

“Sixteen. And that's all I'm going to say about it. I came here, Damien, despite the fact that I still don't really trust you, because right now I distrust you a little less than the other guy.”

She'd changed the subject so firmly that he knew she wouldn't reveal any more of her past to him. So he took the bait. “What other guy?”

She paced the room, shoving her hands into the deep pockets of her brown suede jacket. She moved toward the fire. Stood near it, as though she were absorbing its warmth. “On the streets, when someone does you dirty, you do them right back. But it works the same the other way. I guess I've never gotten that damned unwritten code out of my head. You helped me out, so here I am. Maybe I'm an idiot, but here I am.”

He moved closer, wishing he could see her face, read whatever was in her eyes. He understood her pain over losing Tawny a little better now. They'd been together since they were just kids. They must have been like sisters. “Shannon, I don't have a clue what you're talking about.”

She whirled around, standing so close he could feel her agitated breaths on his face. Her eyes were wide, dark gold.

“I think you're in trouble, Damien. I think maybe we both are.”

But the urgency in her eyes faded when she glanced past him. Frowning, he turned to see Netty just beyond the doorway, a steaming mug in her hand. She stepped forward, beaming a smile as she brought the toddy to Shannon.

“Thanks, Netty.” Shannon sipped. “Mmm, wonderful. Aren't you having one?” Her gaze probed Damien's.

“Ah, he never eats a thing, this one. Surprised he don't waste away before my eyes.”

“That's all for today, Netty. Go on home to your grandchildren.”

She nodded, blew Shannon a kiss, then waved as she trotted away in search of her coat. Shannon sipped her drink and walked to the book lying on its bent pages. She set the mug down and bent to pick the heavy volume up.

“Oh. Gilgamesh again. You read about him a lot, don't you?”

“Hobby of mine.”

He heard the back door close, though he knew the sound would never reach mortal ears. Soon afterward, the car started up and Netty drove away.

“Not a pleasant one,” she said. “You weren't too happy with whatever you read in here.”

“It's what I
didn't
read in there. But that's off the subject, isn't it?”

“Can I take it home? I'd like to read it.”

He nodded. “It'll bore you to tears. Moldy old stories that don't matter anymore. You said you were in trouble, Shannon.”

She set the book carefully on the desk. “I said
we.
”

She shrugged the backpack off, let it thump to the floor. The thing was heavy. She knelt, unzipped it and pulled out a stack of papers. Then another. File folders, notebooks, photographs, manila envelopes. “I thought you ought to see these.”

“What are they?”

She fished in the bottom of the bag, making sure she'd removed everything, then shifted her position, curling her legs beneath her for comfort. “Don't know for sure—haven't gone through it yet.” She glanced up at him, her eyes slightly shiny. She was excited, maybe still afraid, but wound up, as well. “Damien, did you know the CIA had you under surveillance?”

“The CIA?” He almost laughed. Then he saw her frown, and knew she was serious. He shook his head slowly and sat down across from her. “Shannon, what's going on?”

“This suit broke into my office today. It was the same man we saw last night, with the ME. When I got there he was going through my files. Flashed some fancy ID card and said he was CIA. ‘One of its subdivisions' were his exact words. This DPI—if it's for real—must be it. He wanted to know all about Tawny and me, and then he started asking about you. Threatened to have my investigator's license pulled unless I talked.”

Damien felt a slow anger begin to simmer. “He threatened you?”

“Don't worry—I didn't tell him anything. But he knew I'd been with you lately, and he more or less said you were being watched.” She shook her head, glancing down at the pile of documents in front of her. “Do you have any idea why they'd be interested in you?”

He shook his head. There was only one reason he could think of, and that was impossible. No government agency would take the existence of his race seriously enough to investigate it. The murder, then. It must have to do with the murder. “You said they asked about Tawny?”

Shannon's glimmering amber eyes clouded just before her lashes lowered, hiding the emotion in their depths. “They aren't going to bring her back, Damien. He wouldn't tell me where they took her or why, just that her body belongs to the government now, and I…I can't even bury her.” When she looked up her eyes swam with tears. “He knows how she died—I'm sure of it. But he won't say. I have to know, Damien. Can you understand that? I have to know what happened, who put those holes in her throat, what she went through, whether she suffered or was afraid…”

She was hurting, this pixie with the leather-tough heart. She was hurting because her best friend had died. And he knew that pain so well that he hurt, too. He reached up, cradled her head in his hands and drew it downward to rest on his chest, with the mound of papers on the floor between them. He stroked her silky hair, wishing he could do more. “I'm sorry, Shannon. I know how much it hurts to lose someone you loved. There's no other pain like it. I know.” It wouldn't ease her pain to know how Tawny had died. She'd never believe it if he told her it really had been a vampire. So he didn't.

She let him hold her there a moment longer, then she straightened, blinked for a moment and stared hard into his eyes. “Who did you lose?”

Enkidu's face hovered in his mind's eye, his laughter filled Damien's ears. Just as if no time at all had passed. “A friend,” he told her. “He was like a brother, like the other half of me. My weaknesses were his strengths, and his were mine. We did everything together….” Damien swallowed the lump in his throat, searched her face. What was it about her that had him talking about Enkidu this way? He hadn't voiced that old anguish in ages.

“And then he died,” she whispered. “And now you're a recluse.” She tipped her head to one side. “Is that why? Are you afraid to have any more friends, because they might leave you someday?”

“It isn't a question of ‘might.' Death is certain, guaranteed to every mortal on the planet.”

“I'm all too aware of that. But life's too short to waste it alone.”

He smiled in an attempt to break the tension. “You're one to talk. I haven't seen hordes of companions beating paths to your door.”

“No, but not because I avoid making friends. I don't shut myself away from the world, Damien, the way you do. I just don't make attachments easily.”

She looked up as she spoke, and the fire's light glowed its reflection in her eyes, made her golden hair gleam. Did she want an attachment now? With him? The gods had better help him if she did. She really was beautiful. So fragile looking, skin as delicate as lily petals. The hardness, the calluses on her heart, didn't show.

Damien shook himself when he realized how he was staring. He looked away quickly, glancing down at the papers. “You haven't finished telling me how you got these.”

“Oh.” She blinked, seeming to gather her thoughts. “Well, I threw the guy out on his ear and then I followed him. Some spook. He didn't even notice. He's staying at the Hilton over on Tenth. I lurked around until he went out again, then just went to his room and helped myself.”

Damien's head came up fast. “You—”

“It's kid's stuff, getting into a hotel room. I used to clean them, you know, to put myself through school and help pay the rent. I just gave the clerk the creep's room number and said I'd lost my key.” One hand dipped into her jacket pocket and she pulled out a key card. “He was more than happy to give me another. Figured I'd hang on to it, in case we need it again.”

“Shannon, the man's going to know these papers are missing.”

“Yeah, and if he has half a brain, he'll know who took them. I imagine my license is as good as gone. Doesn't matter, though. He would've pulled it anyway. He was pretty ticked off when I shot at him with his own gun.” She smiled, appearing more like a mischievous teenager than a wounded, wary adult. “Don't look like that—I was only trying to make a point. I didn't hurt the guy.”

“It isn't him I'm worried about.”

Her brows went up and down expressively. “Well, it oughtta be. He really ticked me off.”

Damien felt his lips pull into a reluctant smile as she got to her feet and walked back toward the table where she'd left her drink. He scanned the folders while she sipped. She moved closer to the fire again, her back to him.

“I was planning to close the office soon anyway. Already quit working on everything except Tawny's murder. Sent most of my clients to other agencies.”

A manila folder had her name on its tab. Frowning, Damien opened it and saw medical notes, test results. The file was thick. He closed it, glancing up at her back, and slid it under a sofa cushion just as she turned again.

“Looks like we'll have to pull an all-nighter. You up for it?”

“If you are,” he said. He was more than a little bit worried about letting her see whatever was in the reports on him. But he couldn't think of a way to get around it. He still couldn't believe this Bachman man knew…No. It was impossible. But if Bachman
wasn't
investigating the undead, then just what
was
his interest in this case and in Damien?

Shannon squeaked and jumped backward, sloshing her drink. A brown field mouse raced past her feet and stopped in a corner. Shannon set the glass on the mantel and grabbed the brass poker, turning toward the creature.

“Wait.” Damien stepped forward, closed his hand around hers and took the poker away. He replaced it in the holder.

“What're you, nuts?” She certainly looked at him as if he was. “You let one in, you'll be infested before you know it.”

He shook his head, pointed. “Look at it, Shannon.” She turned her head, staring at the tiny, white-bellied mouse. Its brown eyes bulged and its body trembled. “Just stand still,” he told her. Damien moved forward slowly, his eyes sending silent messages to the creature. When he was close enough he crouched down, cupped his hands and scooped the mouse into them.

“There. See how harmless he is? You scared him half to death.” He closed one hand around the body, careful not to crush it.

“I scared him?”

With one forefinger he rubbed the tiny head. He glanced up at Shannon. “He's just looking for a few crumbs and a warm place to spend the winter. Want to pet him?”

He held the mouse out, and she backed away. “No, thanks.”

He shrugged and walked toward the doorway.

“What are you going to do with it?” She trotted behind him. “Damien, if you put it outside it's just going to come back in.”

“There's a rickety little woodshed out back. I'll turn him loose in there. Mice love woodsheds.”

 

By the time she finished reading, Shannon was feeling more than a little bit uneasy. She'd found herself looking up at Damien over and over again while she'd read the notes, noticing the lack of a single gray hair. Not a wrinkle on his smooth face. Damn, the man had to be old enough to have accumulated a few crow's-feet. Then she'd laugh at herself, realizing how ridiculous it was to be thinking what she was thinking. Then she'd read some more, and feel a little uneasy all over again. Line after line of reasons to believe Damien Namtar was a vampire. A
vampire,
for crying out loud. The so-called evidence was lined up like a grocery list. Times of Damien's comings and goings, side by side with the times the sun rose and set on the day in question. Where he'd been seen, and when and with whom.

He read steadily, never glancing up. He looked puzzled, and then worried, and then angry.

Finally, she stood up and stretched the kinks out of her muscles. She forced herself to dismiss every bit of what she'd read as nothing more than the rantings of a nut. “Well, I guess that settles it. The guy's not CIA, or if he's is, he's suffering from burnout. God, he thinks he's the latest version of Kolchek.”

“Who?” She glanced down and smiled, but the tension remained on Damien's face, in his black eyes.

“Kolchek. You remember, the old TV series with the vampire hunter…. Damien, don't look so devastated, the guy's insane.”

He rose, head down, and paced toward the fire to toss another log onto the dwindling flames.