
Tastes of Love & Evil
Dear Reader,
Have you been to Bayou Gavotte, LA?
If you haven't, don't worry. It's Rose Fairburn's first visit as well. Not that she has to worry about much, being a vampire---not even garlic, sunlight, or crosses. The only true dangers are her intense sexual appeal to men and her temper---and vamps with no morals. Of course, what she really wants is love.
If happiness exists for Rose, it's in this strange Southern town, hidden amongst the fetish clubs and nosy neighbors, rock stars and psychopaths. She can blend in here, as can Jack Tallis, whose exceptional nature helps him rescue battered women. Bayou Gavotte is the perfect haven for them both. Juxtaposed here are the mysterious and the mundane, the naughty and the sweet, the haughty and the humorous. And love and evil.
Welcome to Bayou Gavotte. We hope you enjoy your stay.
Christopher Keeslar
Senior Editor
"Let me go," panted Rose, "or I'll kill you."
"You'll kill me if I do let you go," Jack said into her ear. "Not only that, you've got Gil's damned dogs barking, and---" His arm tightened across her belly, and the other snaked around to touch her breast.
A hot, honeyed thrill of desire shot through Rose. Oh, God, it felt good: his hands, his voice, his breath in her ear, now his erection pressing against her. Of its own accord, allure reached out to rope him before he could change his mind, to tie him, bind him to her, a helpless love slave...
No. Rose melted into his embrace anyway, protesting, I don't want him, because he doesn't want me.
It doesn't matter, said the allure, and Jack seemed to agree.
These new age vampires aren't really new at all. Succubi and incubi have been around since the dawn of time; the delightful divergence from the usual is that these ones sprout fangs at puberty, develop a vigorous appetite for sex and blood, and make your sex dreams come true. If a vamp wants you, don't bother trying to resist. It's a gift. Enjoy it---but then run the hell away.
If you catch a chameleon, don't expect to see his pot of gold. Lurking, eavesdropping, and in all probability thieving may make him rich, but if you catch one, all he'll show you---maybe---is himself.
---D. Tull, Encyclopedia of Not-so-mythical Beings
Table of Contents
Other Love Spell books by Barbara Monajem:
Rose Fairburn jogged in the predawn darkness, fantasizing about her dream man.
He was an unassuming sort of guy, attractive but not flashy, educated and kindhearted. A caring sort who wanted her for something besides sex. Her mind drifted to scenes where they cuddled by a crackling fire discussing...Hmm. Metaphysical poetry. Maybe Shakespeare. They didn't jump into bed the day they met; in fact, he resisted at first. We need to know each other better, he said, so they took time to explore shared interests. Such as theater, say. Or music. Football, even. Football was perfectly fine. She had no objection to football, because it wasn't sex. He gazed at her with eyes brimming with love, not lust. His voice conveyed tenderness, not desire, desire, and more frigging desire. They exchanged opinions like intelligent, well-read individuals. And he wasn't fixated on her fangs.
She had left Chicago the day before, headed for a new life---and, she hoped, a new kind of man---in Louisiana. He'll be a true Southern gentleman, she told herself, slowing at the gas station for coffee and doughnuts because the hotel where she was staying had nothing but vending machines. She pushed the door open and went into the warm, bright interior, where a clerk was brewing fresh Java. The newly filled doughnut case boasted chocolate iced, jam filled, sprinkle covered, bursting with custard, and plain but clearly scrumptious glazed.
"Yum."
A stringy dude with dirty hair put an arm around her and waggled his eyebrows. She whirled away with a choke of disgust, and the clerk at the coffee machine glanced her way. Stopped. Stared. Dropped the filter and moved puppet-like toward her. The stringy guy leered and closed in. Fantasy Man faded, and the familiar reality of a vampire's life flattened the romance blooming in Rose's psyche like a lump of cold porridge. Sex was what she was all about. That was that.
Hot tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back, flung a curse at the men, and stormed right back out the door. Who was she kidding? Dream men were just that---dreams. She jogged down the road toward the hotel. Reality was fending off jerks. Reality was getting laid by the more tolerable toughs and mobsters. Reality was a taste of good red blood on a regular basis.
Her fangs were making a nuisance of themselves again. She should accept herself for what she was---again---and shoot some allure at the man she'd seen briefly in the lobby last night. Something about him intrigued her, and although he wouldn't be a gentleman, since no such species existed, he'd take the edge off, and that was the best she could hope for.
Rose slowed, pacing herself through the parking lot. The guy's beat-up old Jeep was already gone. Oh, well. It was for the best. Just because she'd salivated at the sight of him, just because her fangs were making demands, it didn't mean she should jump this random man.
She pushed through the glass doors into the vestibule of the hotel just as her Random Man came out, backpack over his shoulder, eyes anywhere but on her. He must have moved his Jeep. She turned to say good-bye to his butt as it vanished past her out the door.
A silver Cadillac lunged up the semicircular drive outside the entrance. Random Man ducked back inside, but not fast enough. A bullet ripped through the sleeve of his worn Saints jacket. He sucked in a tight breath and gripped his arm. Blood, ripe and intoxicating, welled up over his thumb, and the backpack slipped off his shoulder to collide with his hand.
"Shit," Random Man said. For the first time, his eyes met Rose's.
Whoa.
But this was no time to think about those eyes. The silver Caddy squealed to a stop farther down the drive, and already doors were being thrown open.
Random Man cursed again, cramming the backpack under his wounded arm as he hunched down in the vestibule, inching toward the lobby doors. "Get away, lady." His voice was low and knifelike. "These guys mean business."
So do I.
"Room two-o-nine," Rose said. She dropped her key card into the pocket of his jacket and hurried into the lobby ahead of him, thinking fast. Apart from the desk clerk, the lobby was empty. Rose listened for Random Man's footsteps behind her, and sashayed across the polished floor in the opposite direction.
She reached the alcove with the vending machines as the lobby doors slammed open. "FBI!" a rough voice shouted. "A fugitive came in here. He's wounded, armed, and dangerous. Keep calm, and no one will get hurt." The newcomer stabbed a gun at the desk clerk. "Which way did he go?" Another man, stocky with a ponytail, charged into the lobby, waving a pistol, while the clerk babbled about being too busy to notice a thing. Random Man was nowhere to be seen.
FBI, doing a drive-by in a silver Caddy? Right. Rose took a long look at the men and their guns and resorted to the only weapon at hand. She draped herself against a vending machine and sent tendrils of allure across the room. Both men hesitated, distracted and confused. Good. The leader, well built with wavy blond hair and a purple shirt with a tiger on it, recovered quickly, ordering his cohort toward the back door. He scanned the lobby, his eyes lingering on Rose before he headed through the employee-only doors.
Rose rummaged in her pocket for money and fed the machine. She punched the buttons and grabbed doughnuts and a Snickers bar from the tray. When the blond man reappeared, she stuck a five into the cappuccino machine and braced herself.
The blond swaggered up and jabbed his pistol at her. "You're the jogger who came in a minute ago."
"What's it to you?" Rose countered, pissed as hell about the gun, tossing allure his way.
He blinked but regrouped in a hurry. "You were in the lobby with the dude---uh, fugitive. Where did he go?"
"There was no one in the lobby except the desk clerk. It's barely six a.m., for God's sake. Most people are still asleep." She sent out another stab of allure.
It didn't work. Annoying, but no surprise: he might be naturally resistant, or a devoted husband and father, or even gay. Regardless of the reason, he wavered only briefly and recovered with a frown. "He was in the front with you, lady."
"Some nondescript guy was on his way out when I came in," Rose admitted. She straightened to her whole five foot eleven, making it clear that no one as negligible as Random Man got her attention. As for this hard-ass: "Show me your ID." She jutted her jaw at him.
The gunman postured. "The dude went back inside. He was right behind you. You must have seen him."
Rose shrugged. "I wasn't looking behind me."
The man with the ponytail reappeared near the elevators, shaking his head, and the blond left to join him. Rose picked up her cappuccino and sauntered across the lobby.
Near the elevators, the gunmen conversed in low voices that Rose's vampire hearing picked up just fine. "We'll search every goddamn room," the blond said. "You take this floor. I'll do upstairs."
The second they were gone, Rose descended on the desk clerk. "Call the cops. These guys aren't really feds." When the clerk merely gaped, Rose picked up the phone, dialed 911, and pressed it into his hand. "Tell the operator they wouldn't show ID. Tell her they pointed their guns at us. Tell her your guests are freaking out."
Once the clerk was talking to the emergency operator, Rose scooped up her breakfast and took off across the lobby. Traffic was picking up; the elevator coughed out a couple with their luggage, and a woman in a business suit clattered toward the doors. Down the hall a man shouted, and a woman shrieked a protest.
Rose took the stairs two at a time. Her room was near the end of the hall, but it was a small hotel, and the blond had almost reached her room. People dithered, peeking out their doors. The woman in 208 wailed as the thug rampaged through.
"The hotel called the local police," Rose said in a loud voice. "To give you guys some backup," she added when the blond whirled. "So no one will get hurt."
The thug sent Rose a glare and punched the radio button on his cell. "Cops are on the way," he said, already moving toward 209. He banged on the door and wrenched at the handle. "FBI. Open up!" When there was no response, he drew his gun.
"Hey!" Rose hollered. "That's my room! There's no one in there."
The pseudo-fed leveled the gun between Rose's breasts and stuck out a hand. "Your key."
Rose put the coffee and doughnuts on the floor and turned out her pockets, taking her time. "I swear I had it when I left to go jogging. Maybe I dropped it. I'll go to the front desk and get another."
"Fuck that," said the gunman as the laundry cart lumbered around the corner three rooms away. Way too quickly, he had the gibbering maid's master key. He kicked open the door to Rose's room, swinging the gun from side to side. Rose plunged after him, wishing her own little pistol weren't safely in a pocket of her suitcase. She'd thought she wouldn't need it down here.
The room was empty.
No, it just appeared to be. "I told you there was no one here." Her nostrils quivering, every sense alert, Rose scanned the bed, the curtains, the embroidered mantle draped on a chair, the Elizabethan gown on the luggage cart. "Now get out of my room!"
The gunman ignored her, ducking in and out of the bathroom, glancing into the closet, going efficiently through every hiding place. Warmer, cried Rose's senses, warmer, warmer, damn, oh God please no, as he shoved past the luggage cart to the window, and then as he returned, colder, warmer, colder, where the hell is the man? One-handed, the fake fed lifted the mattress and box spring, but no one was concealed underneath.
Sirens cried in the distance, and a second later the gunman's phone squawked a warning. He left without looking back.
Rose retrieved her breakfast, double-locked the door, and scanned the room. Aha. She'd seen this phenomenon once before. She knew Random Man was in the room, somewhere near the window. "They've gone," she said softly. "You can come out now. You need to have that wound tended."
Nothing. Where was he?
"I brought coffee and doughnuts." She put the food on the table. "I'd be happy to share, once we've patched you up." Pause. "I know you're here. I can hear you breathing."
Nothing.
"I can smell you," Rose said, her voice rising, tendrils of allure escaping. You and your blood. "I'm here to help, you fool!"
Still nothing. Or maybe...a faint shimmer, like heat rising in summer air, over on the luggage cart, right by the Elizabethan gown. Damn it, thought Rose. If he stains that costume...Anger coupled with the aroma of blood overwhelmed her senses, and her fangs slotted down. Purposely this time, she directed her allure toward the luggage cart. Another shimmer, instantly controlled, and then absolute stillness.
No more pussyfooting around. She smiled and sent a wave of allure crashing across the room. Random Man resolved into view, gold and tan and brown blending with the dress, then gradually reacquiring his own muted shape and colors, blue denims and Saints jacket, nondescript but definitely all there.
"God help me," Random Man said. "Not another vamp."
The last thing Jack Tallis saw before he thudded into unconsciousness was the chagrin on the vampire's face. The first thing when he woke was the hotel room ceiling, followed by the girl's orange ponytail bobbing up and down as she licked and sucked at his injured arm. He convulsed, shuddering with outrage.
"Stay still," the vamp said, one hand steady on his injured arm as she licked, the other firm on his opposite shoulder. "I'm almost done."
No. "Get off me!" he croaked, struggling under her, but his limbs wouldn't move and his head swam. And the girl was strong.
"You've made it bleed again," she said impatiently, pushing hard on his sound shoulder. Why was he surprised? Vampires were invariably strong, and at the moment he was abominably weak. His helplessness enraged him even more, but he set aside the anger and said politely, "I appreciate the help, but I'll just tie a rag around it. I need to get out of here before those assholes come back."
She stopped licking long enough to say, "You need to rest. You've lost a lot of blood."
And you lapped it up.
"You're lucky I was here to heal your wound."
What a load of bull. Sure, she'd helped him out, but she'd also taken advantage of his wound to gorge herself, and they both knew it. But she was licking slowly now, carefully, and a creeping pleasure threatened to replace his indignation. She'd eyed him in the lobby last night, and a guy couldn't help but notice this kind of girl. He had to admit his arm didn't hurt much anymore. And the rest of him felt pretty goddamn good.
And the girl looked fabulous.
No. Never again. Jack stared at the ceiling rather than at her glorious breasts straining against the thin tank top. "I really do appreciate it," he repeated, "but I have things to do. Places to go."
The vampire retracted her fangs with a sigh, stood, and started packing. She folded clothes and laid them in a suitcase, stowed a hot-glue gun and some wire cutters in the bottom tray of a fishing-tackle box, then stowed spools of thread and other sewing paraphernalia in the top. "You'd better stop at a drugstore for some bandages. I did my best, but it was too messy and too long after you were shot for me to do a tidy job. Just because it doesn't look bad doesn't mean it's healed underneath. My spit can only do so much."
Jack eyed the flesh wound on his inner arm: not completely healed, but it looked a damn sight better than before. He pushed himself off the carpet tentatively with both hands, quickly favoring the right, but a trickle of blood escaped anyway. The girl's head whipped around.
"No," Jack said, pressing his already saturated T-shirt to the wound. "Not necessary. Thanks."
The vampire shrugged. "Suit yourself."
Damn right. She'd got what she wanted; he didn't owe her a thing. All he had to do was leave, right now, and hopefully they'd never meet again. He stood, his head spinning, and staggered before righting himself and reaching for his jacket, which she had draped on a chair. When he tried to ease his arm into the sleeve, more blood drizzled down.
"Oh, for God's sake." The vamp rummaged in her suitcase for a ratty blue bandanna. "This should do temporarily." She fastened the bandanna around his arm with a safety pin. "Have some doughnuts and coffee. There's enough for both of us." She zipped the suitcase shut. "Where did you move your Jeep to?"
No doughnuts, no coffee, who the hell were those guys, and..."My Jeep?"
"It's not where you parked it last night." The girl ripped open the packet of doughnuts and bit into one.
Jack cursed and went to the window. The spot where he'd parked the Jeep was empty.
"Maybe they knew it was yours and took it." The girl scowled at the remnant of doughnut in her hand. "The cops are gone. I hope the thugs don't come back." She washed the doughnut down with coffee and set the cup on the table. "You can have the rest." She took her handbag and a change of clothes and went into the bathroom. A second later the shower came on.
Jack sat on the chair and tried to think. Any number of people might want him dead, but usually they didn't know who he was, much less where to find him. The ability to fade into the nondescript---and even into the woodwork---meant most of his rescues ran smoothly, and the abusers never found out where their women had gone. But someone had figured him out, someone with muscle and guns. This he could handle, once he got away from here; it might even be fun. But a little blood loss was no excuse for losing control, and as for being forced out of camouflage by a vampire...disastrous.
He crammed down the other doughnut and was halfway through the Snickers bar before he recollected himself and laid the rest on the table. He swallowed the warmish coffee as well. It doesn't matter. She offered it; I left her half the Snickers, even Stephen. He reached into his back pocket and drew out his wallet, cradling it in his left hand while he pulled out a five with his right.
But with the money on the table and that small balance restored, his options looked no better. Stuck in some Podunk Mississippi town, weakened by a gunshot wound, and pursued by thugs with weapons and transport, he didn't stand much of a chance. If he holed up in the hotel, they'd find him. If he tried to leave, they'd catch him. His cell phone in its pocket on the backpack had been destroyed by the bullet. The woman's cell lay on the table next to the half-eaten Snickers, but he didn't know a soul less than three hours away, and long before anyone got here, those thugs might be back.
Which left the vamp.
But if she found out too much about him, if she blabbed to her noxious vampire friends...
The girl's cell vibrated. He read the display: CORKRAN COSTUMES. The phone vibrated again. Normally he wouldn't answer someone else's phone, but in this case it might be justified. For his own protection, he needed to know more about her.
He flipped it open. A panicked male voice battered his eardrum. "Rose, the Elizabethan gown has been stolen! You're the only one who can save this account!"
Jack infused sleepy disinterest into his voice. "Rose's line. May I help you?"
"Who is this? Where's Rose?"
"I'm Jack. Rose is unavailable at the moment." As he spoke, the shower stopped, and he interrupted the groans and curses at the other end. "Ah, I hear her coming. Who shall I say is calling?"
"Tell her it's Miles. It's an emergency."
Jack glanced at the elaborate bodice with the beaded serpent on its sleeve hanging in full view on the luggage cart, the skirt he'd camouflaged against pinned below it and the embroidered cloak on the chair next to his, and he gave thanks for a well-rounded education. A secret for a secret. Fair's fair. An even exchange. One way or another, they would drive a bargain.
He knocked on the bathroom door.
Rose dressed in shorts and a fresh tank top and wound the towel around her head. She opened the bathroom door, glowering, and encountered that dark, intent pair of eyes. The shower had helped her recover her poise. She seldom met with horror and disgust when a guy realized what she was, but it still threw her for a loop twelve years after sprouting her fangs. Frustrating, since she should be past that by now.
The eyes held hers for a long second. "Someone named Miles. He seems upset."
Instead of fantasizing, while jogging, about men who didn't exist, Rose should have been rehearsing the lies she was about to tell her former employer. She took the phone and a deep breath and launched into an offensive. "Don't you dare start on my private life, Miles. It's none of your business."
The only good thing about the last few days---starting when a vampire calling herself Titania had arrived from New Orleans and seduced Miles---was that he had reverted abruptly to his role of father figure with regard to Rose. This should have been a relief, as his moves on her since his wife's death had been a huge nuisance. Too bad that Titania, the first vamp Rose had met in years and only the second in her entire life, had turned out to be a thief.
Miles obliged with the familiar babble about settling down with a decent man. "Who is this Jack fellow? You never mentioned him before. Have you finally found someone suitable?"
"What are you talking about? I don't know anybody called Jack."
"He sounds somewhat educated," Miles said. "Nothing like the scum you tend to prefer. Where did he go to school?"
The guy with the eyes pointed to himself, his mouth twitching. All of a sudden the vamp hater had a sense of humor? "Is that his name? How should I know about his education? He's just some random man staying at this hotel."
"A man you don't even know?" Miles groaned. "That's even more dangerous than the lowlifes you usually date!"
Miles yammered on, and Rose let him, wishing she'd gotten the Elizabethan costume bagged up so it wouldn't stare her in the face when she lied. She turned away from both the gown and the eavesdropper. She didn't want to lie, but her throat blocked up at the thought of telling Miles the truth. He'd be furious. He wouldn't accept her explanation, and he definitely wouldn't understand. With Titania there vamping him, he wouldn't even want to.
"I told Titania about your boyfriends," Miles said, "and she's very worried about you." He dropped his voice. "She says a vampire can defend herself with her fangs, but an ordinary girl like you is at risk with that kind of man."
Luckily, Miles had never seen Rose's fangs; he would have whispered the news to every customer who came through the door. Fortunately, Titania hadn't caught on, either. She hadn't even bothered to lower her voice in the next room when she was calling someone named Gino to arrange the proposed theft. A normal person wouldn't have heard her, but a vamp would. And had.
I did the right thing, Rose told herself. Now that the dress Titania coveted was gone, she would dump Miles. He'd take it badly, and Rose couldn't bring herself to make it worse. Not now. Not yet. Once the dress was delivered and paid for, she'd have good news to balance the bad.
A weight lifted off her. "Get to the point, Miles. You're not calling at seven a.m. to lecture me about my sex life."
Miles got his lines as anticipated, rant and all. Rose's voice trembled from anxiety rather than shock, and her responses were right, if the delivery was appalling. "Oh, my God," she said weakly, and "Miles, that's terrible," and "Who could have done it?" Meanwhile, Jack watched and listened, and it shouldn't have mattered that she was lying, but somehow it did.
"I need you here right away," Miles said. "Where are you?"
"It doesn't matter where I am." Oh, for God's sake. "I'm in Mississippi, heading south."
"If you turn around right now, you'll be here in time to start another dress tonight."
"I'm not coming back to Chicago." Squawk. "Calm down. I can make another dress just as easily down here. I've got some of my own supplies, and I can get the rest in New Orleans." Double squawk. "Stop fussing. I'll make the dress and deliver it on time."
Rose heard a grunt behind her. Jack had picked the worst possible moment to change his shirt. "You could have asked for help," she said, gathering up the hem of the stained T-shirt with her free hand. He stiffened briefly before relaxing and letting her pull it over his head. "Nothing, Miles. I was talking to Jack."
Jack, who had well-defined pecs and a taut abdomen. She sighed.
"What if you can't find what you need in New Orleans?" Miles fussed. "We can't afford to screw up this job."
Rose shook out the silk shirt---a designer label, not cheap---that Jack had unearthed from the remnants of his backpack. "It'll be fine, Miles," she said, and then some evil prompter messed with her boss and he got his next line all wrong.
"If you won't come back, I'll bring you the supplies."
Rose's heartbeat ramped up. She dropped the shirt on Jack's lap and paced the length of the room and back. "No, Miles. No. You don't need to come down here. You can't leave the shop. You have other commissions to take care of." How could everything be going so wrong? "Tell you what. I'll go to Bayou Gavotte. It's not far from New Orleans. The customer lives there, and you can FedEx whatever I need." Pause. "No, I don't have an address in Bayou Gavotte. I will by tonight. No, it won't be too late---"
"Rose." Jack held out a business card. "Use this address." Rose waited, ignoring Miles's yammer, trying to read those stark, unfriendly eyes. Jack stared coolly back. He said, "But since I've lost my Jeep, you'll have to take me there."
Rose scanned the card. Poetic Options---whatever that meant---and an address and cell number. Convenient, even providential, that Jack lived in Bayou Gavotte---and providential for him, no doubt, that she was headed that way. So, why not?
There were plenty of reasons why not. He didn't like vamps, he might well be a criminal, and he was being pursued by murderous thugs. But a much bigger why, in the shape of dear, deluded Miles, hung over Rose's head.
She smiled. "What could be better?"
That smile would have knocked any other man off his feet, but Jack steeled himself and got the expected result: Rose turned up her nose and swiveled away. No point wasting a smile, as Titania, the biggest screwup of Jack's entire life, would have said. He might need Rose's help, but no way, Jack decided, no way would Rose catch him weakened and off guard again.
He listened as she fought to reassure the hysterical guy in Chicago.
Chicago. Damn. Rose was from Chicago. The woman he was supposed to be meeting---covertly escorting, rather---came from Chicago. Rose was a vampire, and so was Violet Dupree, the woman who had sent him here. Could Violet have set him up? Sent him here to be shot? That made no sense. Violet had no reason to want him dead. On the other hand, no one but Violet had known he'd be here. But if she had set him up, why send a woman for him to escort if he wouldn't be alive to do it?
He tuned in to Rose's anxious voice again. "Miles, it'll be fine. Jack's just a regular guy. Sort of nondescript."
Nondescript though Jack might seem---and he strove to keep it that way---Rose had jammed the phone between her ear and shoulder and was proffering help once again. He almost wished he'd been wearing his Rolex or driving the Porsche. Then all this helpfulness would make more sense.
She held out the shirt and slid it carefully up his injured arm and around his back so he could put the other arm through. She even did up the buttons. With her breasts right under his nose and her clean scent assailing him, he could already feel himself being sucked in. What blood he had left needed to stay in his brain, not plunge to his groin. Jack stood hurriedly and moved away from her.
"Miles," she said as if she had heard Jack's thoughts, "this is the deal. If you come here, I won't remake the gown. Send the supplies to Jack's, and I will."
Jack reached the window and immediately backed away. "Damn."
Rose clapped the phone shut and stowed it in her handbag. "The thugs are back?" She moved quickly now, fetching shampoo and toothbrush from the bathroom, dropping odds and ends into the smaller of her two suitcases.
Jack peered through the crack between the curtains. "One of them, at least. He's talking to some girl in an SUV."
"Maybe she'll keep him busy and we can slip away."
"Not with you showing all that skin and your van parked just down from the SUV." Immediately, he wished he hadn't mentioned her vehicle; now she knew he'd been aware of her last night.
Rose shrugged. "Guys notice me regardless of what I wear."
"What typical conceit," Jack muttered. With his good arm, he slung the larger suitcase onto the luggage cart.
Rose dumped her tackle box next to it. "It's nothing to do with conceit. Do you think I want jerks like you coming on to me?" She clasped the reddish gold mantle around a coat hanger and hung it next to the Elizabethan gown.
"I didn't come on to you." Jack put the other suitcase at the opposite end of the cart. "Why else would you wear a tank top and skimpy shorts in January?"
"It's warm out." Rose checked the closet and under the dust ruffle, hanging her handbag on a hook above the suitcase. "It'll be hot in the van."
"It's not even fifty degrees out there," Jack scoffed.
"It's twenty below in Chicago. Fifty is warm." Rose began to unzip a huge canvas garment bag, then furrowed her brow at Jack. "You'll have to do your chameleon act again. Are you well enough yet? Blending like that must take a lot of concentration."
Only when I'm confronted with a half-naked vamp. "I'm fine," gritted Jack.
"Everybody will be looking at me any way." Rose zipped up the garment bag again. "The dress and mantle will be better camouflage than this bag, right?"
There was no alternative, so he clutched his torn backpack and squished himself between the suitcases. "You've seen the chameleon thing before."
"Only once---and no, he wasn't trying to hide from me." She ate the rest of the Snickers bar in two quick bites. "What's this five on the table?"
"Payment for breakfast," Jack said, blending, swathing himself in camouflage.
She huffed and left the money where it was.
"Not everybody's terrified of vampires," she said, holding the door open and shoving the cart through. "Some people actually like them."
Jack clamped down on a retort, wondering if he really heard bitterness and uncertainty in her voice. She had called him a jerk, and with good reason. His manners were deserting him at every turn.
From across the hall, the chambermaid asked, "Were you talking to me, ma'am?" Jack shut down everything he could and blended even more.
"No, just my invisible friend," Rose said. "There's a five in my room for you."
"Thank you, ma'am," said the maid. "Everybody else left so fast they forgot to tip me."
"Thank my invisible friend," called Rose, already halfway down the hall.
In the elevator, she said conversationally, "I once dressed as a nun for a Halloween party, and the guys still swarmed over me like wasps on a jam jar."
Jack said nothing.
"When I flaunt it, a lot of them are intimidated. Those who aren't, I get rid of however I can." Rose paused. "Not that I care whether you believe me."
That's a lie, Jack realized, surprised again. He held himself still as she checked out of the hotel, narrowing his eyes to slits, but he could still see her long, bare legs, and her heady aroma harassed his nostrils almost beyond bearing.
She's just sulking, he told himself, because I'm not all over her. That must be it.
Rose hurried the luggage cart through the parking lot. It was only a few hours' drive to Bayou Gavotte. Unfortunately, she couldn't wash her hands of this grumpy vamp hater until tomorrow, because of the supplies Miles was sending. She didn't need them, but she couldn't purposely waste Miles's money any more than she could have sat back and let Titania steal the Elizabethan gown. Once the costume was delivered to Violet Dupree and paid for, she'd explain to Miles and return the unneeded supplies.
Not surprisingly, most of the hotel guests had cleared out in a hurry. No silver Cadillacs, thank God. Only an old Chevy pickup, a shiny white Lincoln, and the thug with the ponytail propped against a black SUV, smoking a cigarette and staring at the sky. Inside the SUV, a girl slumped against the window frame and sulked.
"You're a stinking sadist, Stevie," she griped through the open window. "That's all I have to say." She wiggled her fingers at Rose, who gave her a tight little smile in return.
"Does that mean you'll shut up now, Juma?" Stevie blew three lazy smoke rings.
"The least you could do is listen to my side of the story, but you're like every other grown-up in the whole stupid world. Nobody gives a crap about me," Juma said.
"Watch your language, girl. Your grandma won't want to hear you were cussing. Or that you were hitting on me. I might not tell her that one if you shut the fuck up."
"You wouldn't tell her that!" Juma shrieked. "You wouldn't dare!"
"No telling what I might do if I get pissed off," Stevie said, his eyes now on Rose. She kept her head down and tried to suck up all her allure and bury it somewhere deep inside. Not that it had ever worked before, and this man, by the look of him, wouldn't be easily intimidated. I'm an idiot, she thought. This guy would notice anyone showing skin. Why had she let Jack get to her?
"Well, well." Stevie handed Juma the cigarette.
Juma cursed and tossed the cigarette after him. Rose pushed the cart quickly around the far side of her van and slid open the side door.
Stevie was right behind her. "Little lady like you needs a strong man to help with those heavy bags."
Rose slapped at his paw, which was already reaching for the larger suitcase. "Thanks, but I'm not little and I don't need your help."
He had a hard, country-boy face and a firm, stocky body. He grinned and grabbed the suitcase. "Sure you do."
Damn! She needed to get him away from the cart so Jack could get inside the van. "All right, then." She led him around the back and opened the double doors, scanning the dress dummy and the plastic tubs of fabric, relieved that they concealed the rear of the entire bench seat. Quick, Jack, get inside! "Just put it there. I appreciate it."
Stevie was already way too turned on. He stowed the suitcase and said, "Gimme a thank-you kiss, baby."
"No way!" Rose made a show of rearranging bum rolls and a bundle of steel hoops to make room for the other suitcase. Not a sound came from the luggage cart except Jack's soft, slow breathing. Why didn't he get on with it?
Meanwhile, Stevie was breathing down her neck. She elbowed him away. "I meant what I said. Beat it."
"Not till you give me what I want." He pressed his firm body with its correspondingly firm erection against her butt.
"Beat it, creep." Rose shoved backward, but Stevie didn't budge. Neither did Jack. Get in the van, you fool!
The thug nuzzled her neck. "You're so hot, baby."
"Stevie," piped up the girl in the SUV, "my grandma won't want to hear about this."
"Shut up, Juma." The thug's nasty mitt crawled toward Rose's breast.
Rose knocked it away and squirmed aside. "In a parking lot? You're out of your mind." He was, of course. That's what her allure did to guys, but it was her own fault he'd gotten so hot so fast. She'd gradually become better at controlling her allure, but anger always made it stronger, and she was still way too pissed off at Jack.
Stevie grabbed her arm. "Plenty of room in your van, if you don't like an audience. Come on, honey, you know you want me. I'm irresistible."
No, I am. And the longer he stayed this close, the stronger his need would grow and the harder it would be to fight him off.
"I'll tell your mama on you, Stevie!" Juma yelled.
Rose twisted her head to avoid the thug's attempts to kiss her, barely keeping her fangs at bay. "Let me go, or you'll regret it."
"I need you." He'd reached the desperate stage, and because Rose was listening for Jack, her concentration was off, so before she got her knee anywhere near Stevie's nuts, he had her plastered against the back of the van. "You can't say no to me now."
Finally, finally she heard movement from the luggage cart, and then Juma, bless her, hit the horn in the SUV over and over and over again.
"Shut the fuck up, Juma," Stevie roared, his fly already open, ripping at Rose's shorts.
"I'm warning you," Rose panted, writhing away from his groping hand. Her fangs slotted down. "Get off me, or I'll tear you to pieces."
But Stevie was blinded by lust and didn't hear, didn't see what was coming next.
Fortunately, Random Jack did. "Don't," he said to her. His fist connected right below Stevie's ear. The tough landed with a thud on the tarmac.
The girl in the SUV hooted and hollered. "Nice one, dude. Where'd you spring from?"
"Thank you," Rose said furiously, pulling her shorts together. "If you'd gotten into the van when you were supposed to, it wouldn't have come to this."
"If you hadn't insisted on wearing next to nothing," Jack retorted, "he wouldn't have attacked you." He took hold of one of Stevie's arms. Rose grabbed the other, and together they dragged Stevie's unconscious body onto the grassy verge of the parking lot behind the SUV.
"That is so unfair of you," Rose said.
Jack didn't reply. He removed a small pistol from inside Stevie's jacket, stuffed it into the waist of his jeans, and led the way to the open side of the van. He grabbed the smaller suitcase with his good arm and slung it into the van.
"Hey!" Juma called. "What about me?"
"I was distracting him to protect you," Rose said. She hung the garment bag inside the van, then separated the bodice and skirt and hung them as well. "I would have fended him off just fine if you hadn't waited and waited and waited until it was too late."
"Right." Jack rolled his eyes. He tossed the tackle box into the van.
"You are the rudest, most obnoxious, most ungrateful criminal I have ever met in my entire life."
"I'm not a criminal. You are."
Rose gaped. "I certainly am not!"
Jack took the mantle off the cart. "What about this?" He hung it up and motioned to the gown. "And this?"
Rose flushed. "I---It's none of your business. If you're not a criminal, why are those thugs after you?" She slid the side door shut.
"Hey!" Juma pounded the horn in the SUV. "Come back here! Help! Help!"
"I don't know." Jack slammed the back doors as well and sent the luggage cart along the curb. "What the hell is wrong with that girl?"
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Rose said, but Jack was already at the SUV.
"Stop screeching," he told Juma, and then said softly, "Jesus Christ."
Juma yanked on the handcuffs that attached her to the steering wheel.
"Don't do that!" The tall, redheaded woman looked over the guy's shoulder. She had a kind face. "You're bleeding."
"Where are the keys?" the guy asked.
Juma told him. "In the pocket of Stevie's jeans."
The guy went around the back of the car.
"Thanks for all the honking and hollering," the woman said. "I'm Rose, by the way. Was he saving you for later?"
Juma shuddered. "Stevie and me? God, no. He just didn't want me to get away."
"No kidding. What does he want with you, then?"
"He's taking me home. Back to hairdressing hell," Juma said. Oh, crap. Why had she blurted out the truth? They'd never go for anything so lame.
The guy returned, jangling the keys, and opened the car door. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen." Reflex; it was what she always said. Another mistake.
The guy had harsh eyes. Nothing else about him jumped out at you, but those eyes were like weapons. "No, you're not," he said flatly.
No point bullshitting this dude, especially since he had the handcuff keys. "Oh, all right, I'm sixteen. What difference does it make? I can leave home if I want."
He unlocked the cuffs. "Just don't lie to me." Then he and Rose said in unison, "You'd better come with me." They stared at one another for a long, weird second or two, and then Rose took Juma's suitcase and backpack while the guy ripped a cable and a couple of belts out from under the hood and locked the keys inside the SUV.
"Where are you going?" Juma asked.
"Bayou Gavotte," Rose said. "Does that work for you?"
"Sure," Juma said. "That's great. Thanks." It couldn't possibly be that simple, but she'd take what she could get. She settled into the passenger seat of the van, a tacky yellow piece of junk she'd normally never be seen dead in. Never mind that Stevie lived in Bayou Gavotte now; he wouldn't expect her to be there, and anything was better than being dragged back home to the boonies. She took the tissue Rose held out and cleaned the blood off her wrist.
"You're going to leave Stevie lying on the ground?" Rose said.
"Why not?" The guy sounded slow now, as if he were drunk or on drugs.
"Jack, lie down on the bench seat." Rose stuffed the reddish gold embroidered cloak and the fabulous costume with the snake on the sleeve inside a big canvas bag to make room for him. "You need to rest, and you're probably dehydrated." She gave him a bottle of apple juice and a pillow, slammed the side door shut again, and came around to the driver's door.
"Does he have the flu or something?" Juma asked.
"Or something." Rose backed the van out and took off through the parking lot just as an elderly couple trundled out the side door with their suitcases, headed for the white Lincoln. Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror as she wheeled the van hard right toward the exit. "Shit."
Immediately, Jack sat up. "What?"
"Lie down," Rose said again. "You'll be useless if you don't rest. I can take care of things."
"I need to know what things you're taking care of," Jack said.
Rose huffed. "The white car a few spaces from the SUV is parked nose out. When the people who own it go around the back to open the trunk, they'll see Stevie. People notice bright yellow vans. If they saw me driving away, they might connect us with him." She blew out a breath. "I hope they get him medical care."
Juma couldn't believe it. "Even though he tried to rape you?"
Rose hunched a shoulder. "He didn't succeed."
"That doesn't make it right," Juma said. "Plus, he handcuffed me to the steering wheel."
"That burns me up a lot more than him messing with me." Rose accelerated along the on-ramp and hit the interstate. "It's too cold to leave someone lying unconscious on the ground."
"He deserves it," Jack said, and lay back down with the pillow over his head.
"I agree," Juma said. "You're way too softhearted." And therefore easier to suck up to. "But thank you so much for rescuing me. I really mean it."
"Sure." After a pause, Rose said brightly, "Tell me about hairdressing hell."
Me and my big mouth. But Rose seemed safe enough, and nice, apart from her grooming. Juma could forgive her unpolished nails, but as for the way she'd yanked her ponytail back into place...Ugh. Split ends, too, and her clothes were classic Wal-Mart. Still, something about Rose felt reassuring.
"It's boring." Juma grimaced. "Tell me about that amazing costume in the back."
Rose started, frowning. "What about it?"
"It's gorgeous, like out of Shakespeare in Love. The snake on the sleeve is awesome!"
Rose had an absolutely lovely smile. "It's a replica of one worn by Elizabeth the First."
"The Rainbow Portrait," Jack said.
Rose glanced at him over her shoulder, a tiny crease between her eyebrows, then faced the road again. "That's right."
"Elizabeth as Astraea, the celestial virgin, aka Lady Justice," Jack said. "The serpent represents wisdom."
Rose said nothing.
"Are you going to make the headdress, too?" he went on. "And the wings?"
"Yes," Rose said, her tone clipped.
Juma gaped. "You made it? Whoa!"
"I make period costumes for a living," Rose said. "I'm delivering it to a customer in Bayou Gavotte."
"How fabulous," Juma said. "I love history." My big mouth again. But Rose was cool, eyes on the road, and in spite of the hair and clothing, she didn't look like she thought education was a waste of time. Jack must have loved school, to remember such obscure stuff.
Juma leaned back, wondering what she would do when they reached Bayou Gavotte. Stevie had found her a week after she'd run away to New Orleans, a month ago. He'd found her at a friend's place in Baton Rouge at three o'clock this morning after only one day away from home. Sooner or later he would find her again. When he did, he'd be more pissed off than ever. Not that she was all that worried about Stevie. He might tattle, but he wouldn't hurt her, because he was more scared of Grandma than she was.
Juma slid her hand into her jacket pocket and caressed the book of poetry her dad had given her for her birthday. Dad slipped her the coolest books, and Grandma hadn't found this one yet. Time to start memorizing it, because...
No. She would not let Grandma find her. She'd get to keep her books from now on.
"About hairdressing hell. Besides boring." Rose showed nothing but kindly interest, but so did a lot of adults---and then they betrayed you.
Still, Juma had to tell her something. "My grandmother wants me to go to beauty school and be a hairdresser like her. I refuse. End of story."
"She sent a hit man to bring you home because you won't be a hairdresser?"
With a truth freak in the back, Juma couldn't risk a lie, but if she told the whole truth, they wouldn't believe it. Nobody ever did. It was much easier for people to peg Juma as the delinquent child of druggies, and Grandma as the feisty old lady doing her best to help her poor, screwed-up granddaughter. Fortunately, Stevie's behavior today made part of the truth credible.
"Grandma will do whatever it takes to get me back. Ste-vie wants to get in good with Biff, so---"
"Hold on a sec," Rose said. "Who's Biff?"
"The man with the silver Caddy. He called Stevie this morning and had him detour to steal a Jeep at that hotel."
Jack cussed and swung upright again. "That was my Jeep! Where is it?" His eyes drilled into Juma.
"I don't know. Jeez, don't look at me like that! I didn't steal it. He left me in the SUV."
"Shall we go look for the Jeep?" Rose sounded eager. "It won't take long. There's an exit less than a mile away."
Panic filled Juma's gorge. "No! It'll take forever to get away again. Stevie drove the Jeep into a ditch."
Wrong move. Even without looking at him, Juma felt Jack seeing right through her. "Didn't I tell you not to lie?" he said.
"I don't want to go back there!" Juma cried. "You said you'd take me to Bayou Gavotte. What if Stevie gets me again?"
"Can't you see she's upset?" Rose said. "She doesn't know whom to trust!"
"Stevie's sick of coming to get me. He's really mad at me this time." And Grandma will be even worse. Juma squeezed her fists tight and held her breath. Please!
"I can't afford to waste my time on liars," Jack said.
"I can't afford to waste my time on jerks," Rose said. "Sometimes there's no choice."
"There's always a choice," Jack said.
Idiots, bickering about philosophy while her life was at stake. Juma sucked in another desperate lungful of hope. "What if those old people saw us drive away and called the cops? What if the bad guys find us?"
Jack said nothing. Rose slowed the van. "Juma, I won't let Stevie get you. We're almost at the exit, Jack. Make up your mind."
"No," Jack said. "Too risky, and I think he's disabled the Jeep. The solenoid wire lying on the rear seat of his SUV must have been mine."
Juma let her breath out with a whoosh. "Yeah, Stevie threw it in there."
"See," Jack said in a patronizing voice, "you didn't need to lie. I'll get the Jeep later."
Rose gunned the van back up to speed, and Juma relaxed.
Not for long. "Tell me what you know about Biff," Jack ordered.
Juma put on a cooperative face. "He's somebody important in Bayou Gavotte. Stevie's a bouncer at the Threshold."
Jack cussed under his breath.
Juma smiled to herself. Stevie would never take her near the Threshold, but Jack didn't need to know that. "Stevie says Biff is his ticket to big things in the underworld." She snickered. "Not if Biff has any brains."
Rose slewed her head around. "Underworld?"
"The organization that controls the clubs in Bayou Gavotte," Jack said. "Go on, Juma."
"I've heard of those clubs." Rose winked at Juma. "Kinky stuff, right? And vampire clubs, like Blood and Velvet."
Juma grinned. "It's the coolest vampire club in the world!"
"You've been to Blood and Velvet?" Jack's voice dripped disapproval. What a party pooper.
"Of course not," Juma said in her best Sunday-school voice. "I'm underage. A guy I know had his canine teeth filed to points so he could work the bar, and one of my girlfriends swears she'll go there the second she's eighteen to look for a real vampire. Her absolute favorite fantasy is doing it with a vamp." Before Jack had a chance to butt in, she said, "Grandma says it's a good thing they're just superstition, because if they were real they'd be evil---but I think vampires would be cool!"
"Definitely cool," Rose said. Juma waited for Jack to start sermonizing, but he said nothing, and then Rose said, "Who makes up the underworld? The local mob?"
"No," Jack said irritably. "They're a group of vigilantes who make sure their rules are followed and the clubs prosper."
"Sounds to me like the mob," Rose said.
"They're not the mob," Jack retorted. "There is no mob in Bayou Gavotte. The underworld punishes people who don't follow the rules, even makes them disappear sometimes, but they don't profit from it except in a general way, in that they keep the town safe for tourists and clubbers in general."
For a truth freak, this seemed a lot like splitting hairs. Not that Juma had any objection to Bayou Gavotte, her favorite place in the world.
"What do the cops think of the underworld?" Rose asked.
"As long as the underworld works quietly, the cops are grateful for their existence," Jack said. "Ten years ago the place was chaos. Underage kids got into the clubs and got hurt, tourists weren't safe in the streets, and enrollment at Hellebore University had fallen catastrophically. Now the club owners do their damnedest to keep the kids out, the crime rate is spectacularly low, consenting adults can experiment with bizarre sex in whatever degree of safety---or danger---they choose, and Bayou Gavotte is known as a center of the arts."
Yes! And I'll go to college there if it kills me.
"All because the underworld can do what the cops, strapped by legalities, can't." Jack shrugged. "Is it right? I don't know. But it's effective. What else, Juma?"
"Nothing, except Biff was mad because Stevie made him miss his hit. Wait, was that you?" She swiveled. "You don't look hurt."
"The bullet barely touched me," Jack said. After a pause: "Rose patched me up. Where did Biff go?"
"Back inside the hotel to look for you once the cops were gone. They took his Caddy, but he didn't seem to care. I bet it was stolen. Why are they after you?"
"I have no idea." Jack lay down and covered his face again. A moment later he raised the pillow. "How many times have you run away from home?"
"Lately?" Juma countered. "Or in my whole life?"
Jack made an exasperated noise in his throat.
"That sounds rough," Rose said. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"Of course she wants to talk about it," scoffed Jack. "That's hardly the point."
"Of course it's the point. If we know what's going on, maybe we can help."
"We already know what's going on. She runs away, she gets hauled back home. She runs away again, she gets hauled back, ad infinitum. It has to stop."
Despair slammed into Juma. "No! I won't go back! You can't make me stay there forever!" She grabbed at Rose, tears flying. "Pull over, pull over now. Let me go!"
"For God's sake, Jack!" The van swerved and Rose pumped the brakes, straightening the wheel with one hand while the other, warm and kind, took hold of Juma's. "Sweetie, I won't let you be taken back. Any way, I don't think that's what he meant." When Jack said nothing, she added, "If you do the same thing over and over and it doesn't work, it's time to try something different."
Jack was silent.
"Right?" Rose let Juma go with a gentle pat.
"More or less," Jack said as if the words were squeezed out. "If you don't confront a problem head-on, it keeps coming back."
"But how?" Agonized longing jostled Juma's misery aside. "My grandma never listens, and nobody believes me."
"We'll make her listen," Rose said. "We won't give her a choice."
"But she's got Stevie. And Stevie has muscles and guns and friends like Biff. We can't fight the whole Bayou Gavotte underworld."
"Maybe you can't," Jack said, "but I can."
"But it won't come to that," he added. The words were out before Jack realized he felt compelled to explain himself, to excuse himself for sounding like a posturing ass. Lucky he'd sworn off vamps, because judging by the glance Rose exchanged with Juma, he'd totally blown his chance with this one.
Not that he wanted a chance.
And if some part of him did, it only went to show that after all these months, he hadn't learned a thing. So what if a minute earlier she'd understood exactly what he meant? Rose was intelligent, but so was Titania, in her twisted way.
He sat up. "I'm bringing some infractions at the Threshold to their attention. I'll add your experience with Stevie to the list."
"What are you?" Rose demanded. "Some sort of spy?"
What? "No." Not really. "But I've been checking out the clubs, and the Threshold is doing some dangerous rule bending. It would be irresponsible not to let the underworld know."
"They might not like that," Rose said. "Mobsters don't take kindly to criticism."
They're not mob---
He caught the tilt of her lips just in time, sharing, in spite of himself, the humor in her eyes in the rearview mirror. She had lovely bright eyes when she wasn't enraged.
He shook off the attraction and turned to Juma. "I'll help you on one condition. You only get one chance. Do as I say, and I'll present your case and ensure your safety. Lie, disobey me, or run away, and I'll wash my hands of you." He gave her a look. "Understand?"
"One chance?" Rose's voice was incredulous. "That's all?"
"Only one. Those are my rules. Juma?"
"Sure," Juma said, so insincerely he had to stifle a laugh. "Whatever you say."
Jack put the pillow over his head for the third time. Next he'd have to worm the girl's history out of her, but for now he needed to get his throbbing arm into a comfortable position and his brain around what really mattered.
Fact 1: Chicago. In spite of her Montana plates, Rose had come from Chicago. Not in a little Toyota as expected, but in a funky yellow van. Fact 2: She knew about the Bayou Gavotte clubs, notably Blood and Velvet, which was owned by Violet Dupree. Fact 3: With Mardi Gras less than a month away, Violet Dupree would need an elaborate costume, and Rose was transporting just such a gown.
Then there was the question of last night's hotel. A lone woman, attractive and in her midtwenties, should have been easy to pick out. Even at capacity, such a small hotel wouldn't have many guests. And there won't be much chance of escape when my thugs come, Violet might have added.
Except Violet really had no reason to kill him. She was self-centered, manipulative, and temperamental---a typical vamp---but when Jack had approached her almost a year ago, returning the earrings he'd stolen from her car, explaining that Titania had tricked him into believing she owned the purple sports car and had lost her keys, she had been amused. You win some, you lose some, she had said. I win more often than Titania, of course. Sympathetic, even: Don't get maudlin about it, darling. Even if you did think it was Titania's car---I'm not saying I believe you, though---you couldn't control yourself. She's a vamp.
He'd held on to his temper. He wasn't a thief, and he damn well could control himself, and would in future. She'd dismissed him with a vague promise to take him up on his offer to make up for it. Yesterday's call had been a surprise and a relief.
God, he hated owing anyone.
He'd been stupid to call and tell her he'd wait till morning. He'd made himself a sitting duck.
Quack, said a snarky voice in his head that sounded like his partner Gil in Bayou Gavotte. You shouldn't have taken the job. You have better things to do.
I owed her, damn it. What choice did I have?
There's always a choice. That sounded like himself, lecturing one of the women he rescued. And where did the wrong choice lead you?
You were outed by a vamp.
If only she hadn't seen the chameleon thing. Bad luck, pure and simple.
Not quite. If he'd been more vigilant, if he'd had better control over his camouflage, if he hadn't blindly trusted Rose instead of picking a better place to go to earth...
Up in the front of the van Rose was playing mother hen, putting on stately, soothing baroque music and telling Juma to get some sleep. Complimenting her on the ridiculous man's suit jacket and two ties she had decked herself out in. Not vamplike behavior, but Rose sure as hell wasn't trying to impress him. A bizarre notion occurred: perhaps she was, quite simply, being kind. He shifted his arm again and closed his eyes.
He fell asleep to Bach and woke to the Dave Matthews Band. Jack sat up. Dizzy.
Shit.
After a few moments his head cleared and he got his bearings. Another hour to Bayou Gavotte. He dug in his backpack for his cell and remembered it was broken. He'd rather not ask to use Rose's; he intended to keep the balance of favors equal, or better yet, firmly weighing on his side. But he needed to get word to Gil, and not just about the shooting. If Jack stayed out of touch too long, his mother would start worrying and call his father, and his father would try to drag him into even more schmoozing for conventional charities than he was already stuck with.
He eased to the middle of the bench seat and watched Rose through half-closed eyes. Should he spell it out clear and simple? You keep your mouth shut and so will I. So far she hadn't blabbed, but vamps were known for their terrible tempers. An ultimatum would amount to lighting the fuse on a bomb. Better to say nothing at all for now.
In his calmest, most detached voice he said, "Take the next exit, if you don't mind."
Rose switched off the music. "Sure, I could use a pit stop."
"I was thinking a late breakfast at the truck stop. It's on me."
"That's not necessary," Rose said.
"It would be my pleasure," Jack said, with the exact degree of politeness he used toward guests at charity dinners.
Rose responded with the slightest hunching of the shoulder, as if she were distancing herself from his insincerity. For which he should be thankful. He tried reminding himself that she was a blood-sucking time bomb, but instead he felt almost ashamed. They pulled into the parking lot of the truck stop, and Juma opened her eyes and stretched.
"Park around the side where it's less noticeable," he said. "Facing out, in case we need to leave in a hurry." He hoped it was an unnecessary precaution: no one knew he was with Rose, and Stevie's SUV needed new belts and cables before he could pursue Juma.
Jack caught Rose wrinkling her nose at the smell of stale cooking oil as they entered the cramped restaurant. Cindy, the rescue he'd brought here six months earlier, hadn't loved the place much, either. Neither had Jack when he'd bought it a few years before, but it was small and relatively clean, with showers for both sexes, racks of cheap T-shirts and videos, and heaps of Mexican blankets. Three of his rescues had successfully started new lives here. Cindy hadn't waitressed since college, but she'd taken the job without blinking an eye. Gratitude was the worst part of every rescue gig. Embarrassing, unwarranted, unneeded.
And unavoidable. Bracing himself, he led the way to a secluded corner booth with a view of the front door. Juma and Rose had hardly slid onto the bench when from the kitchen door Cindy cried, "Miracle Man!" and tossed herself in his direction. He caught her thin form---fuller and curvier than a few months ago---in his good arm and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. "You've filled out. Looking good."
"Feeling good, too!"
Before she could start gushing, he gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "We're in a hurry." He introduced Juma and Rose.
Juma waggled her fingers, and Rose said cheerfully, "Happy to meet a friend of Jack's." She sounded so sincere he wanted to...believe her. Damn.
"I don't have any money for breakfast," Juma said.
"I'll take care of it," Rose said just as Jack repeated, "Breakfast's on me."
"See?" Rose spread her hands. "You can eat twice if you want."
Cindy laughed and gave them menus, and Juma grinned. "Thanks, I will! I'm starved."
"Better order both meals now." Jack's smile was so phony his cheeks hurt. No way was Rose paying a cent. He continued smoothly, "The guys with the guns are still out there somewhere. Juma, do you have anyone to stay with in Bayou Gavotte?"
"I have friends at the university, but Stevie knows them, so he'll find me again. I could have sworn no one knew where I was in Baton Rouge, but he found me right away."
"I'll find someplace safe for you." Yet another reason to call Gil.
When the women had ordered breakfast and headed together for the restroom, Jack waylaid Cindy. "I need a phone to make a private call. In the office won't do."
"Sure." Cindy fished in the pockets of her apron for her cell. "They're rescues?"
"The kid will be, if she doesn't sabotage herself first."
"So who's Rose? A girlfriend?"
"Just an acquaintance," Jack said repressively.
"Maybe you should get better acquainted. She looks hot." His expression must have betrayed him, for she laughed. "And nice, too. Go for it."
"Considering what you've been through, I'm surprised you're recommending romance to me or anyone else." He took the phone. "If Rose tries to pay, tell her it's been taken care of."
"Oho! You do like her. Better snatch her up before someone else does. Did you see how many guys were eyeing her?"
Shit.
"She's got that certain something," Cindy added.
It's called fangs.
"Take her away quick," Cindy laughed, "or the truckers won't look at me anymore."
"I'm not in the market for romance, and neither should you be." And I won't be able to help you if there's a next time. He didn't need to say it out loud; she already knew.
"Just because I had bad luck, it doesn't mean love isn't out there waiting for whoever needs it." Cindy rolled her eyes. "And no, I'm not gonna get serious about any of them. I'm enjoying being me way too much to risk messing up with another no-good man."
Out through the back door, Jack leaned against the cool concrete wall and punched in Gil's number. "I've been trying you all morning," his partner griped to the click of computer keys in the background. "Your mother left a message first thing. Two of the African charities called, and so did a literacy group. Where have you been?"
"Running an errand." A pigeon bobbed toward Jack, picking up this crumb and that, headed for the bonanza of half a hot-dog bun on the pavement next to his shoe. "Violet Du-pree called in that favor I owed her."
"You and your favors. Hey, you're calling from Cindy's number. Is she okay?"
"She's fine. My phone's broken." There was no way to sugarcoat today's fiasco. "Somebody shot at me this morning and stole my Jeep." Jack shifted, breaking into Gil's exclamations, and the pigeon skittered a couple of yards to the right. "I'm fine. I've hitched a ride, and I'll be back in a couple of hours. I'll take care of the calls then. I need you to find somewhere for a sixteen-year-old girl to stay."
"What sixteen-year-old girl?"
"A runaway named Juma, likely from Mississippi or Louisiana. See if you can ID her. She's scrawny, olive-skinned white, five foot six, black hair---"
"We don't do runaways."
"We do when they were handcuffed to the steering wheel by their abductors."
Gil sighed. Understandably, some bad experiences with runaways had left him wary. "No choice, then."
"Try for a place in Bayou Gavotte, but if necessary I'll bring her to New Orleans." Jack repeated the physical description, and Gil resumed clicking on the keys. "Her grandmother owns a hairdresser's shop. Some guy from her hometown named Stevie works at the Threshold, and he's friendly with an underworld thug called Biff."
The keyboarding stopped dead. "What does this girl have to do with the underworld?"
"Enough that I don't want them to find out I've got her."
"Perfect," Gil grumped. "I thought we came to Bayou Gavotte to get the underworld's help. Not that I ever believed it would work. This town is full of weirdos."
"Which is why you and I fit right in," Jack said, hoping he knew what he was talking about. He and Gil were anomalies, just as vamps were, as was the town's local rocker, Constantine Dufray. For some unknown reason, Bayou Gavotte attracted people with strange abilities. Most of the inhabitants, though, were garden-variety screwups like everywhere else.
"I'll never fit in. I don't like the feel of the place at all."
"You'll get used to it." A fat woman and a small boy went into the building. An eighteen-wheeler rolled ponderously out of the parking lot. Diesel fumes tickled Jack's nose, and the pigeon headed for the hot-dog bun again. "I'll approach the underworld when Constantine Dufray comes back from his tour, but first I have to know who's pissed at me, and why."
"Isn't it obvious? You rescued somebody they didn't want rescued. Maybe somebody paid for her." Jack felt his friend's shudder through the phone lines. The occasional sale of some hapless virgin to the worst of the clubs was one of the issues Jack intended to bring to the underworld's attention. "Maybe that somebody wants revenge."
"No, the rescue didn't happen until after they shot me."
"Great, so they're after you for two reasons now."
Jack held himself still and gray, nowhere near invisible but mostly unnoticeable against the bare wall, wondering if, with practice, he could blend his voice with the rumble of engines, with footsteps and toilets flushing and the opening and closing of doors. "If the underworld is what it's cracked up to be, Stevie and Biff will be in big trouble, which gives me more of an edge when I contact Dufray."
"What makes you think he'll care about your rescues? He has a reputation for violence, he's rumored to have driven people to suicide, and he probably poisoned his wife. Why would he even remember you? You knew him ages ago."
He'll remember me.
But he couldn't explain that to Gil without revealing secrets that weren't his own. "That's why it's useful to have an edge. I've been interfering in the clubs. It was warranted, but this girl's problem helps tip the balance in my favor."
"What do your dumb balances matter?" Gil sighed again. "I'll see what I can find."
The pigeon nipped a chunk from the bun. "Short-term will do. She'll probably blow her chance within a day or two, but she'll have served her purpose by then. In the meantime, see what you can find out."
"Wait! What if they're planning to ambush you outside the shop?"
Jack frowned down at the pigeon, which ripped its third hunk off the bun as another two pigeons muscled up to share. "Not in Bayou Gavotte. Unwanted people disappear; they don't get shot on the street. The underworld wants to keep the tourists safe in Bayou Gavotte, not scare them away." Even hours away in Mississippi, why pick such a public place to get rid of him?
"Stay where you are," Gil said. "Just till I get some information."
"My ride won't wait." Jack shifted his feet to counteract the urge to camo. The new pigeons scattered, but the old one stuck with the bun. "The underworld has no reason to connect me with my ride, or with the rescue for that matter." Here we go again. "Yes, my ride has a phone. No, I don't want to get her number for you. This is someone I can't afford to owe."
"Don't pull that 'even Stephen' crap," Gil said. "It's a phone number. Why does it matter?"
Shit. But he wasn't about to lie. "Because she's a vampire."
Gil groaned. "Another one? Where do you find these women? Get over it. I have to be able to reach you if there's an emergency. She can't force you into bed."
Jack's insides curled with uneasiness, drawing him toward the safety and comfort of total camouflage. He resisted, pacing along the wall past a bench and a trash can.
Gil went on. "I need to set up a rendezvous, find a safe place for the girl, if that's even possible where the underworld's concerned---"
"I have to get rid of the vamp first," Jack said, louder now, swiveling, striding the length of the building. "Compared to dealing with a vamp, the underworld is a piece of cake. Vampires are animals. They'll do anything for blood and sex. They skew your judgment, they destroy your self-control..." A couple of truckers approached and he faced the wall.
"Oh, come on," Gil said. "They can't all be bad."
"So," Jack said, "how'd the meeting with the real-estate agent go?"
Silence.
"When you can get up the guts to spend half a day with an attractive woman in the interest of a cause you care deeply about," Jack snapped, knowing he was being an unsympathetic jerk, "you'll be ready to see a vamp from a hundred yards away." But, damn. Now he had to even the balance with Gil. "Fine. I'll get her number. But you're the one who owes her, not me."
"That's garbage, Jack. It's all in your head."
"So are your fears, Gil." We're both fucked-up, and we know it.
With Gil's keyboard clicking in his ear, Jack went indoors to wait at the entrance to the restaurant for the women to return from the restroom. At least the meal was on him; that might balance out the use of Rose's phone.
As she and Juma approached, he put on a bland face and tried to ignore the three fools following Rose, and several others gawking from a distance.
"How about a French braid?" Juma hurried beside Rose, brandishing a purple hair pick. Half Rose's hair trailed about her face, and the remains of the ponytail flopped to one side. "At least let me take that rubber band out of your hair. You should never, ever use a rubber band."
"I'll remember that," Rose snarled. She would have swept past Jack if he hadn't put up a hand. "What do you want?"
"Hold on, Gil." He caught Rose's eyes and wished he hadn't. Wished he had never met her. Wished this was over. "I need a number to give my friend in case he needs to call while we're on the road."
"Sure," Rose said, but Jack sensed her fizzling, hissing, ready to blow. What the hell had he done to cause this? The allure was making him dizzy.
"Give me the phone. I'll talk to him." Rose swept a lock of hair off her face.
Jack clenched his teeth. "Just tell me the number."
Rose got right in his face and said in a low, shaking voice, "Have you by any chance noticed all these guys watching? And listening?" She shoved the stray hair behind her ear. "I may be an animal, but even I can't handle this many men at once."
Jack blew out a long breath. That made sense. Even manipulative, promiscuous, bloodthirsty Titania wouldn't have given twenty-odd truckers her number. On the other hand---
With a grunt of fury, Rose ripped the rubber band out and shook the dazzling orange waves of hair behind her. Allure rolled off her like a tsunami. At a nearby table someone dropped his coffee cup with a clatter and a splash.
A hush blanketed the room, and one of the men moaned. "Hot damn," said another.
"Hallelujah," an old man quavered. "Thank you, Jesus."
Jack clutched at the doorframe and fought the longing that swirled over and around him. "Bitch," he groaned, agonized. I've resisted this before. I can resist it again.
Rose's voice broke through the dizziness and the resistance as well, leaving him with nothing but naked, painful desire. "Jack." She gripped his upper arms, propping him up, and her aroma engulfed him. She whispered, "I'm sorry. Sometimes I lose control of my allure." Her lips brushed his ear, and he almost came then and there. He flung his arms out and stumbled away from her, landing against a table, sucking in deep breaths of secondhand smoke and rancid oil---anything but Rose.
"Jack!" The phone crackled from where it had landed beside the ketchup. "What's going on?"
"Hey!" A belligerent voice came from behind. "What are you doing, shoving the lady?"
"Who do you think you are, calling the lady names?" The scrape of a chair, and heavy, menacing steps.
Perfect. He was about to be beaten to death by mesmerized truckers.
"Hold on there!" Cindy's voice, followed by determined steps. "No brawling!
The old man's chair clattered to the floor. "Defending this lovely lady, I will go happy to my grave."
Fine for you, but I wasn't planning on checking out so soon. Jack drew in another long breath and eyed the circle of threatening faces. Cindy looked imploringly at Rose.
"Butt out," Rose said. "Leave him alone." Allure flew from her, a challenge and a threat. "He's a great guy to be a bitch for when he doesn't have the flu."
"You can be my bitch any day," said the belligerent trucker, a burly dude, obviously a good guy unless he was about to kill you. He grinned at Rose.
"Why, thank you," she replied, "but I've got all I can handle for now." She grabbed Cindy's phone, said into it, "Hold on a minute, please," and took Jack by the arm. "I'll take care of him from here. This bitch knows exactly what he needs."
"Lucky guy," said the big trucker.
So many fools, Jack thought, enraged at the triumph in Rose's voice. I will not be one of them ever again.
"Sick," he blurted, his head sloshing and clanging as he stumbled beside her, fighting to shake it clear. His stomach heaved.
"That's your own stupid fault," Rose accused. She dumped him at their table and stormed away.
At the front of the truck stop in the cool outdoor air, Rose said into the phone, "Excuse me while I control my temper." An animal, am I? So are you, Jack. A pig.
"Take all the time you need, ma'am." A deep, melodious male voice enveloped Rose like a comforter. Suddenly, she felt...safe. And not so much angry at what she'd overheard through the restroom window as sad.
Until the voice asked, "Is Jack all right?"
"Apart from being an intolerable jerk?" Several furious strides into the parking lot, that soothing voice dissipated her anger again.
"He has many issues," the voice said, incredibly gentle and kind. "I know it's hard to believe, but deep down he's a great guy."
Something about the man's voice made her want to crumple. To just give in and let it all out. What in God's name was that about? "Just because I can't stand him doesn't mean I should take it out on you. He lost some blood, but he should be fine."
"You've taken a weight off my mind. Thank you for driving him and Juma to Bayou Gavotte. I'm Gil, by the way."
"Nice to meet you," Rose said, mollified again. "I'm Rose."
"You're the vampire Jack mentioned?"
Rose's temper flared. "What's it to you?"
"Just that I'm happy to meet you, ma'am. Please accept my apologies on Jack's behalf. Some bad experiences with vampires have scarred him, but that's no excuse for rudeness."
Rose marched past a row of vehicles, glancing at her burly trucker and a friend hanging out in front of the building, watching her every move. "Vampires are human beings, not animals," she blurted. "We're not undead. We're not evil monsters who drain people dry. Just because we need sex and the taste of blood doesn't mean---" She clamped her mouth shut. Gil was a total stranger, for God's sake. Why was she letting herself get so upset? "Not that it matters what Jack thinks."
"Of course it matters," Gil said, and maudlin sadness swept over Rose. Hastily, she gave him her cell number.
Jack's Jeep turned into the parking lot. "Oh, no. Here they are," Rose realized.
"Who?" For the first time, Gil's voice was less than soothing.
"Bad guys," Rose said. "Shit. Shit. How did they find us?" She whirled toward the main entrance.
"What's going on? I can have the cops there in five minutes."
"No! That'll only make things worse. Don't worry. I won't let them get Juma."
"What about Jack? He's injured, and---"
"He's not that badly off." I hope. "We'll handle it."
"Don't risk your own safety, Rose. If Jack's well enough to function, let him protect the girl. Those guys are underworld, and therefore extremely dangerous."
"Fuck the underworld," Rose said. "Gotta go." She slapped the phone shut---and collided with the big trucker.
"Need some help, ma'am?"
Rose pushed herself slowly away from his chest, appraising him and his buddy, a lanky guy with horn-rims and a goofy grin.
"Yes, please," she said. "I believe I do."
Grimacing, Jack sipped the chamomile tea Cindy had pressed on him the instant Rose stomped away.
Juma seemed genuinely anxious. "Are you okay?"
"Fine, thanks." Except that a vamp had, quite possibly, just saved his life. Again. She had certainly saved him from a roughing up. She was furious at him, but she hadn't stood back and let it happen.
"I don't know what got Rose so mad." Juma picked at the polish on her nails. "We were in the restroom, and I was going to French-braid her hair, and suddenly she went nuts. But she didn't seem mad at me." She looked up. "Did she?"
Jack shook his head slowly. "She's not mad at you." He took a long swallow of the herbal tea. Even Cindy was annoyed. You should have told me you had the flu, she'd said reproachfully. No coffee for you. He was being told off for not lying, treated for nonexistent illnesses, and deprived of what he needed to get himself moving. He yawned, drained the tea, and filled the cup himself with warmish coffee from the half-empty carafe left behind at the next table.
What had he done wrong? Apart from calling Rose a bitch, but that was after she'd gone ballistic. Her uncontrolled allure had directly caused his atrocious lapse of manners.
Other people's behavior is no excuse for yours. That was his endlessly caring mother. She hadn't saved much sympathy for him, but she'd been even harder on herself, so he couldn't complain. See it from the other person's point of view, she'd always said.
Ha. He couldn't possibly see from the point of view of a vamp.
Juma removed items from her backpack one by one. Lipstick. Tacky leopard-print wallet. Tampons. A package of bubble gum. "Where is that scrunchy?"
Jack finished the cup of coffee and poured another. "I thought you didn't like doing hair."
"I love doing hair! That doesn't mean I want to be a hairdresser."
"What do you want to be?" He looked intently at her. A mistake. Usually he managed to suppress the hard stare that was the legacy of the short time he'd known Constantine Dufray. He tried to tell himself Rose had knocked him off-kilter, but it was another unacceptable excuse.
"Not a hairdresser." Juma stabbed the purple pick at him. "Leave me alone."
Gladly. If he didn't figure Rose out, he wouldn't know where the balance stood between them. First she'd gotten mad for no apparent reason. A common enough female trait, and vamps were prone to tantrums. Then she'd bombarded him with allure, rendering him all but helpless, and gloated at her triumph. And yet, she'd said she was sorry, and now that he could think instead of reacting, he knew that she'd meant it.
Get real. Vamps don't apologize. That was courtesy of his dad, who'd had a string of vamps over the years. Jack's head began to throb.
Juma scrounged in another pocket of her bag: a book light, battered trigonometry and world-history textbooks, purple nail polish, and a paperback of Renaissance poetry.
Jack reached forward, but Juma snatched the book away. "It's mine!"
"Of course it's yours," Jack said irritably. "You like poetry?"
She stuffed the book into a pocket of her oversized jacket. "Got a problem with that?"
Jack sighed. "Juma, I don't care what you do with your life, and I care even less about your taste in poetry, but I promised to help you, so I need some information. Not only your full name and address, but I need to know why your grandmother is so set on you becoming a hairdresser. Don't your parents have a say?"
"My mother died of an overdose when I was a baby, and my father's still a druggie. He's useless. I gave up on him years ago." Juma turned the backpack upside down and shook out a rain of debris, including a wad of used chewing gum coated with lint. "Grandma thinks if I'm a hairdresser, I'll stay in the boonies forever. Not going to happen." She pounced on a tiger-print scrunchy. "There it is! It'll look great in Rose's hair." She laid the hair elastic beside the purple pick.
Jack watched Rose out front, yammering at Gil, while he idly inventoried Juma's collection of junk. Zit cream, fake tattoos, SweeTarts, a transmitter...
This time his grab was fast and sure. "You see this?" He waved the transmitter in Juma's face. "This is how Stevie found you."
"What?"
"If you ever cleaned out your bag, you would have seen it. It's a transmitter. He's been tracking you. Which means he knows where you are right now."
Juma drained white. "What am I going to do?" She reached for the transmitter, but Jack had already pocketed it. "Give it to me!"
"Calm down, Juma. Let's think rationally. Make a plan."
"Turn it off, you shit!" Juma yelled. "Smash it to bits!" She grabbed the pick and lunged in his direction. "You're just like all the others! You want them to find me and take me away!"
"Cool it." He flipped the pick out of her hand and put it back on the table.
The trucker who'd objected to Jack's language must have been waiting for an opener. He clomped over. Cindy hurried in their direction as well.
"Harassing the ladies again, dude? You need to be taught a lesson."
Jack put on the most inoffensive face he could dig up and read the trucker's name tag. "Nice to meet you, too, Walt." He held up the transmitter. "You know what this is?"
"GPS transmitter. What of it?"
"A seriously bad dude is looking for my young friend here. He put this transmitter in her bag. She wants me to destroy it. I'd like to look at our other options first."
The trucker scowled at Jack and then at Juma. "You look mighty young to be on your own. Where are your parents?"
"In jail," Juma said. She blanched under the stare Jack gave her.
Walt's eyes flicked to Jack and again to Juma. "That's a drag, but shouldn't you be in school?"
"I'm sixteen. I don't have to go to school if I don't want to."
Cindy slipped into the booth beside her. "You don't like school?"
"I didn't say that. But he has no business telling me what to do, and neither does Jack."
"They're just concerned for your welfare, honey," Cindy said. "We all are."
"Everybody says that," Juma retorted. "But do they listen to what I want? No. Never."
"So, Walt," Jack said, "what do you think we should do with the transmitter?"
The trucker pondered and shook his head. "He's right, kid. If you destroy it, he'll figure you found it. If your story is legit..." He paused meaningfully. "Better to have him think you're in one place when you've really hightailed it somewhere else."
"You could leave it here," Cindy said, "like it fell out of your bag, maybe."
"Better yet, get someone to take it in the wrong direction," Walt said. "Sure to be someone here who can help. And then"---he stabbed a finger at Juma---"go back home where you belong. This fella may be okay." He pointed at Jack. "A lot of guys aren't."
"Walt's right," Cindy said. "You lucked out with Jack."
A Jeep turned into the parking lot. Jack's. Rose had seen it, too, and was hurrying back inside.
"The bad guys are here," Jack said. "Time for plan B."
Pale and trembling, Juma crammed her belongings into her backpack. Jack turned the transmitter over and over in his hand. "Juma, go to the kitchen with Cindy."
Cindy dumped the last of the teenager's stuff into the backpack and zipped it up. "Don't worry, kid. We're all on your side. Should we call the cops?"
"No. Take her to the kitchen. Keep her out of sight." Jack headed for the front doors, hating the decision he'd had to make, hating to have to ask Rose for anything.
She banged through the doors and walked smack up to him. "Listen, Jack---"
"She's hiding in the kitchen," Jack said. "There was a transmitter in her bag."
"They're both here, Stevie and Biff."
"With luck, we can tackle them separately." Jack forced the next words out. "You distract them, I'll take them down."
"Right," Rose said flatly. The thugs were getting out of the Jeep.
"We'll corner them in the women's showers," Jack said. "Best if I can get in there unseen."
"Tell me what to do," Rose said. The thugs were striding quickly toward the building. "Let's go." She took off toward the women's section at the rear of the building.
Walt the trucker hurried up. "Anything I can do?"
"See those two guys?" Jack backed away after Rose. "Country boy with a ponytail and a blond in a Tigers shirt. They ask you any questions, stall a little, act dumb, but don't get in their way. Rose and I can handle this just fine."
"What do you mean, 'just fine'?" Rose hissed as he caught up to her at the hallway to the showers. "I have no idea how your camouflage works."
"Stay ahead of me. Walk in a straight line right next to the wall. The rest we play by ear."
It was smooth sailing along the corridor. A woman carrying a sports bag zoomed past without noticing Jack sliding semicamoed behind Rose. They passed the entrance to the toilets and came to an open area with sinks down one wall and shower stalls down the other, and a woman in a bathrobe about to dry her hair. Rose hesitated, moved sideways to the right...and they were screwed.
"What's he doing here?" The woman aimed the hair dryer like a gun.
Rose whirled and whacked Jack playfully on the shoulder. "You bad boy, I told you we can't do it in here. Shoo!"
"Come on, baby, you know I get off on shower action." Jack yanked the plug out of the wall and leered at the woman holding the dryer. "Time to go, lady. Unless you want to watch?"
The woman backed away. "That's disgusting!"
Jack slung an arm around Rose, held his breath, and waggled his tongue in her ear. Oh, hell. His breath went out with a whoosh as heat swept over him. "Whoa," he managed, rubbing lasciviously at his crotch. He ogled the woman. "Hey, I'll even do you if you want. I'm the best. Ask my gal here."
The woman grabbed her clothes and hair dryer and scurried off.
"This gal here thinks you're revolting," Rose snapped---but her flushed cheeks and hard nipples told another story. She clamped her mouth tight, clearly struggling to control her fangs. Jack smiled sourly. If summers with his dad and his brief time with Titania had taught him one thing, it was how to tell when a vamp was turned on. Or majorly pissed off.
"It got rid of her." Jack ripped his consciousness away from Rose, did a quick check of the shower stalls, and turned on the second shower. "Take your clothes off. Hurry up."
Rose glared. "I'm not undressing while you gawk."
"What if they both come in here? You need to provide maximum distraction. Don't try to convince me you're shy." Crap. Why was he being such a jerk? You should be ashamed of yourself, son. Both his parents were talking now.
Rose's voice shook. "You don't know anything about me. Turn the other way."
"There's no time. If you want to save Juma, just do it." He pulled the neighboring shower curtain partway open and arranged himself against its pink and green pattern and folds. "You can't be all that different from any other woman. I think we'll both survive."
I'm scum. He held himself still and let the camo take over.
"I want you dead," Rose said.
"You're not the only one," Jack replied.
Rose turned the water off and stepped into the shower to undress, reaching out to hang her clothes on the hook. She didn't need to hide her nakedness as much as the bizarre and ominous pricking of tears. Already Stevie was yelling his way down the hall. She turned the water back on just in time.
"Juma, I've had it with your monkey tricks! You're going home and staying there if your grandma has to chain you down."
He ripped the shower curtain open.
"Hi, Stevie." Rose draped herself against the shower wall and looped him with allure, drawing even his peripheral vision away from the next stall.
Stevie said not a word. He stared. He drooled. A fist materialized from the shower curtain next door, and for the second time that day Stevie dropped like a brick. His handheld tracker crashed to the floor and rolled.
"Get dressed." Jack reappeared and stepped across Stevie's unconscious form. He patted the thug down, untaped a knife from Stevie's shin, and scooped up the tracker. "I'll have Cindy tell you what to do next." Without once looking at Rose, he took off down the hall.
Cindy showed up as Rose was tying her sneakers. "Wow, the guy's out cold. Jack asked Walt to tie him up and put him in the laundry cart. Jack's got it all planned. He's so cool!"
"Uh-huh." Rose concentrated on her shoelaces. "He's very impressive."
"Don't you like him?" Cindy said. "He's awfully impatient, but underneath he's an angel. He saved my life. I mean literally saved it. Two minutes more and I would have been dead. He got me this new job and a new life, and I'll always be grateful. That's what he does. Saves people---abused women and children mostly."
Something ridiculously like jealousy stabbed at Rose, followed by a swift pulse of shame. She tied the second shoelace and stood up. "That's very commendable, and I would be perfectly happy to like him, but he's been rude to me from the get-go. Once we're in Bayou Gavotte, I'll never have to see him again and it'll be all good." She led the way out. "Where's the blond guy in the purple shirt? Is Juma okay?"
"She's hiding in a cupboard. The blond is snooping around your van. Jack needs you to distract him, but the guy has a gun."
Rose shrugged. "I'm used to guns."
"Aren't you scared?"
"Sure, but what choice do I have? We can't let them take Juma."
An eighteen-wheeler had parked in front of her van, hemming her in. The blond leaned against the side door, messing with his cell phone. He was taller than Stevie, slim but beautifully muscular, and pretty good-looking if you went for blonds.
The old man from the restaurant sat on a bench by the long, bare, concrete-block wall, smoking a cigarette. An audience. A complication, too, but one for Jack to handle. She focused on the blond thug and threw out a few tentative strands of allure.
"So, we meet again." Biff straightened and clapped his phone shut, eyes narrowed. Without an emergency to distract him, he was a different man. "Smile for me, baby," he said in a voice both sexy and deadly. Ah, this vibe she recognized. This she could handle.
Biff chuckled nastily. No wonder he felt familiar, considering the number of mobsters she'd met while she was Lou's mistress. "You're a vampire, aren't you, sweetheart?"
Rose flashed her fangs and sashayed closer.
The old man creaked off the bench and shambled toward them, knuckling his eyes. "Well, I declare. Never seen such a thing in my en-tire life."
"That explains it," Biff said. "Poor old Stevie couldn't help himself. You even had me going for a second there at the hotel." Rose moved closer, undressing him with her eyes, and the guy put up his hands and whistled sadly. "Sorry, baby, but I'm not available just now." He reached in his shirt pocket. "But hey, when I'm free, I'd be happy to oblige. Call and ask for Biff." He handed Rose a business card with nothing but a phone number.
"What the hell?" She glared at him, scrounging up more allure.
"Call me. Please." He tsked. "Damn shame. Meantime, where's the girl?"
Rose ripped the card in two and tossed it to the ground. She whammed all the allure she could muster straight at the gunman.
"Fuck." Biff staggered against the van. "I told you, I can't oblige just yet."
"It's now or never, butt head," Rose said, pissed off at him, at herself, and especially at Jack, who was witnessing her failure. She thought she'd gotten good at managing her allure. She'd grown up without help or guidance from other vamps, and if it hadn't been for Lou letting her practice on him...
Seemingly, she hadn't done as well as she thought. She couldn't crack this dude, and she'd almost made Jack pass out earlier. What if she'd really harmed him? Shouldn't he sidle out from behind the van any second now?
The old man toddled steadily forward, and a flurry of pigeons took off whickering from the gutter that edged the roof. Rose searched for a stupid line to hand the blond.
She didn't have to think hard. "I don't give second chances."
The blond groaned. "Sorry, baby. I just can't. Where'd you hide the girl?" He pushed a button on his phone and sauntered toward the building.
Panicking, Rose stormed past him and planted herself in his path. "She went with some trucker. What girl could possibly be more interesting than me?"
"Don't get me wrong. She ain't interesting at all." He grinned at the old man and trailed a finger lightly down Rose's hair toward her breast. "Ain't she something, Grandpaw? Yum."
Rose slugged him. He laughed and fended her off.
"If I'm so tasty, why not take a bite?" Rose smashed herself against him, running her free hand under his jacket. "Better yet, I'll take a bite of you." She let her fangs slot all the way down.
"Hot diggity," the old man said. "This is better than the movies."
"She sure does have pretty fangs. Watch it, baby, you're getting too close to my gun." He pushed her hand away. Set her aside.
Jack didn't want her, either. Was she losing her touch? "That's not the kind of gun I'm interested in," she said. The old man hobbled closer, a long, bony finger leading the way.
"I don't think you're her type, Grandpaw." Biff indicated the truck stop with his chin. "Seen a girl in there? Bratty sixteen-year-old?"
"Yep, she tried to stab some guy with her comb. The waitress took her away to the kitchen." The old man twisted his head upward, leering horribly. His finger inched toward Rose's fangs. "An honest-to-goodness real-life vampire."
"Do not touch me!" hollered Rose, swatting his hand away, and then finally, finally, she saw Jack. She jerked the old man aside as Jack leaped off the roof of the truck stop and knocked Biff flat into the pavement.
Jack landed neatly without looking at Rose or the old man. "Sorry it took me so long."
An apology? From Jack?
"It was a slow climb with only one good arm, but you stalled him perfectly."
Approval? A compliment?
Still not looking her way, he searched the thug, taking the gun, the cell phone, and one of Biff's business cards. "Thanks very much for the ride. I'll take Juma the rest of the way. You're free to leave."
Rose steadied the old man and plunked him back on the bench. So what if Jack had apologized? So what if she'd done something right? It was over.
While Jack and Walt dumped Biff in a laundry cart and rolled it into the eighteen-wheeler, Rose dug an oversize T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants out of her suitcase and went inside the truck stop to change.
Juma stomped up to her. "Jack says he's taking me the rest of the way in his Jeep. I don't want to go with just him. I want to go with both of you."
"But he can take you somewhere safe." Rose led the way to the ladies' room. "I've never been to Bayou Gavotte before. I don't even know where I'll stay. He can protect you from those thugs, and I can't."
"That's what I thought at first, but you've been doing good so far," Juma said eagerly. "Both of you together. Cindy says you and Jack make a great team."
Rose stripped and changed clothes. "Maybe, but he's going his way and I'm going mine."
"Then I want to go with you." Juma bit at the peeling polish on her nails. "I don't trust him. If I tell him my name and address, he'll dump me someplace to wait like a sitting duck while he goes straight to my grandma, and she'll put on her helpless-old-lady act and be all shocked about how Stevie treated me, and then she'll make me come home." When Rose hesitated, Juma's expression darkened into bitterness. "I get it. You don't really want to help me, either. Jack said you weren't mad at me, that you were just pissed off at him, but obviously he was wrong. I'm better off on my own. I'll take care of myself. It's not like I haven't been doing it my whole life." She sulked her way back down the hall.
"For cripes sake, give me a second to think things through," Rose said, following her. "Maybe we can work something out."
In the kitchen, Jack tossed back another coffee. A dozen hundred-dollar bills in a secluded corner had persuaded Walt to drop the thugs near Jackson. Another hundred had sent the transmitter to Texas in another eighteen-wheeler. Now that the adrenaline rush was over, Jack's headache and lassitude had returned.
Meanwhile, Cindy laid into him. "I'd keep my mouth shut because it's none of my business, but I owe you, so I have to tell you when you're acting dumb."
"You don't owe me anything," Jack said.
She wouldn't leave it alone. She shoveled their breakfast into Styrofoam containers and bitched. "Rose is so nice, and incredibly brave, and yet you've been rude to her ever since you met."
"Did she tell you that?" he asked, on the defensive and supercilious because of it.
"Don't be a jerk, Jack! Don't even pretend to be a jerk."
"Cindy, don't make me out to be anything special."
"You are special! You have a responsibility not to be messed up. There aren't enough good people around. I don't know what Rose has done to deserve your being so unkind, but---"
"Exactly. You don't know, so butt out." Oh, shit. He handed her a napkin. "Cindy, don't cry. You don't understand."
"You're right, I don't." Cindy blew her nose. "Tell me, and maybe I will. What has she done to you?"
She forced me out of camo. She helped herself to my blood. But he couldn't tell Cindy that. Fortunately, she was perfectly ready to keep on talking.
"You and Rose work so well together. Look how you took those two guys down."
A fluke. Two flukes. Three, counting this morning. Besides, he worked alone.
Cindy poured orange juice and coffee and kept on trucking. "You know who gets the credit for that? She does, because she put up with your crap for a good cause."
"Hey," he said feebly, "I have to put up with her, too." But Cindy only narrowed her eyes, so he said, "I'm sorry, but it's none of your business. It's between Rose and me."
"Then do something about it, you big dope," Cindy said.
Back in their booth, Rose watched Juma unearth a bottle of truly horrible nail polish from her bag. The girl had a sense of style---her clothing and artfully cut black hair showed that. But the purple polish was ghastly. Still, fresh ghastly was better than chipped.
Juma shook the bottle. "I'm scared of Jack."
"Don't bullshit me," Rose said. "I'm already on your side. There's nothing scary about Jack."
"There is too! You heard what he said. One measly chance! Nobody can be that perfect. Even a little white lie for a really good reason doesn't get past him." Juma grimaced as she repainted her nails. "And those harsh eyes of his totally creep me out."
Huh, Rose thought. That's one thing I really like about Jack. But there was no point liking anything at all about him, so she told Juma, "Lies get complicated. It's better to stick with the truth."
"Not when nobody cares what you think, or feel, or want. Not when they think the truth is impossible." Her eyes met Rose's and dropped again. Doggedly, she coated each dreadful nail.
Rose said, "If I promise not to think it's impossible, will you tell me what's going on?"
"Maybe," Juma said.
"I am doing something about it." Jack hovered inside the kitchen door, itching to be gone. "I'm going to thank her for the help, say good-bye, and move on with my life."
Cindy stuffed the containers into paper bags and flung cutlery, salt, and pepper in after them. "I believe in giving people a second chance."
"Look where that got you," Jack said. It was a low blow. What was up with him today?
She rammed the cups of coffee and orange juice into cup holders. "I said a second chance, not a hundredth. I know where I went wrong, and I'm not afraid to admit it. I'm not afraid to change." When he said nothing, she put her nose in the air and pushed through the swinging kitchen doors into the restaurant. "Suit yourself."
"I'll do exactly that," Jack said, "if those trucker friends of Rose's hurry up and bring back my Jeep."
"What do you mean, you disabled the Jeep?" Rose shot a glance toward the kitchen doors. Jack still hadn't emerged. "I asked you to hide it, not hurt it."
"Whoops," the burly trucker said. "Does this mean I won't get my kiss?"
"What did you do to it?" Rose demanded, hands on hips, frowning him down.
"Well, ma'am, we figured the bad guys wouldn't be able to take the kid if their vehicle didn't work."
"That's Jack's Jeep. They stole it from him. He needs it so he can leave."
"Whoops," the burly guy said again, grinning now. "It'll only take him an hour or two to get road service and make it operational again. It's just a couple of flat tires and the battery."
"The battery still works," said his lanky friend. "He can have it back if he asks real nice."
"Serves him right," the burly trucker said. "He wasn't treating you the way he should."
Rose flung up her arms. "That's why I want him to leave in his own vehicle."
The burly trucker said, "Don't I get my kiss?"
Rose glowered at Jack as he came out of the kitchen. "We have a problem." She plowed right into the explanation.
Cindy dumped the bags of breakfast on a table and broke out laughing, and Juma joined in. The two truckers sniggered at the entrance to the restaurant, still hoping for their kisses, and Rose bit her lip, because it was funny, or would have been if it didn't kill Jack to utter a kind word now and then. If he didn't detest her for no reason at all. It wasn't her fault the truckers were so eager to help her. It wasn't her fault she was a vamp. It hadn't been her fault when she was born, it hadn't been when she hit puberty, and it wasn't now. She folded her arms and waited, daring him to dis her again.
He sighed and shook his head. His lips twitched ever so slightly. He snorted, and then he laughed, and suddenly his face was open and almost cute. "Looks like the joke's on me."
Then he caught Rose's eye. The openness vanished and the fleeting sweetness was gone.
Cindy stopped laughing. "Look, Rose, if you really can't stomach another minute of Jack, he'll stay here until he gets his Jeep fixed."
"It's not that simple," Rose said. "Juma wants to come with me, which is fine, but I'm not equipped to protect her on my own." She took a bracing breath and looked squarely at Jack. "I have to pick up the supplies my boss is shipping to your place. How about you give me directions, and I bring Juma to a safe house and stay the night with her, and come pick up the supplies tomorrow? We'll find a more permanent solution for Juma then." She felt Juma stiffen and put an arm around her. "Calm down. We'll work it out."
Jack bored into her with those hard, beautiful eyes.
"Fine," she said after she'd given him way too long. "I'll handle it myself. Come on, Juma. Let's go." She dug into her purse. "How much is the bill, Cindy?"
Jack put up a hand. "I've already taken care of it. Let me call Gil before we decide anything."
Rose offered him her phone, challenging him with her stare. Then the phone rang, and she flipped it open.
"Rose?" Urgency overlaid the soothing sound of Gil's voice. "I waited as long as I could before calling, but it's an emergency now. Is Jack all right?"
"He's fine," Rose said. "Talk to him yourself."
"Wait," Gil said. "I need to speak to you first."
Rose flicked a glance at Jack, but ignored the crease between his eyebrows. "Go ahead."
"There's a woman, Linda Dell, who's in constant danger from an abusive husband, on the verge of leaving him for months now, and she's finally made up her mind. I'm afraid if Jack doesn't go get her immediately she'll lose her resolve, and perhaps her one and only chance of a new life." Gil paused. "Would you mind taking a short detour in a good cause?"
Shit, thought Rose, her heart, her whole psyche sinking. "Sure. I'm happy to help."
Intolerable tension emanated from Jack. Rose's insides twisted into a knot.
"Thank you so much," Gil said. "You're obviously a caring person, and Jack won't ask for help because he hates being beholden to anyone, especially a vampire. If anyone owes you for this, it's me."
"Nobody owes me," Rose said. "And now you need to speak to Jack."
Jack took the phone and stalked hurriedly away from the others. Gil said, "Go ahead, cuss me out, but I had to ask Rose for help. She didn't need any convincing, so you can't blame it on my damned voice."
"I'm not blaming anyone." Except myself. Jack watched Rose hug Cindy good-bye and head smiling toward the two truckers. Judging by his past experience, Rose should be a conniving bitch, and yet she seemed so consistently nice. So goddamned fine. As for his own behavior---
He wheeled for the men's restroom and a small measure of privacy. "What's going on?"
"Linda Dell is finally ready. You have to go there now. Rose said she'd take you, no problem. Oh, and your mother called again. She's going to the Caribbean to spend a month with your father."
Momentarily distracted, Jack said, "At this rate, my parents will be spending all their time together soon."
"That's great, after twenty-something years mostly apart."
"I guess." Maybe in later life, his father's libido had subsided to a normal level. The vampire who'd had him in her clutches all through Jack's childhood had left years ago, and he'd run through a string of both vamps and ordinary women after that, but lately he seemed happier doing without.
But, by God, if the old bastard started cheating on his mother again, he'd---
He'd do nothing. He'd never been able to do anything about it, not when he was seven years old and not when he was full grown. His mother wouldn't thank him for butting in now any more than she had back then.
"Maybe you'll finally learn to forgive your father. I told Rose if anyone owes her, it's me."
"I wish it were that simple," Jack said, back in hell. One measly apology wasn't enough to right the balance.
"She said nobody owes her," Gil insisted. "If you can just be polite for a few hours---"
Jack interrupted. "What's the plan?" He sorted through Gil's instructions automatically with half his mind, while the other half processed the transactions between himself and Rose. Snippets of conversation dropped through the cracked-open window high in the restroom wall. The querulous voice of the old man, who sat on a bench in the winter sun and raved about seeing a vampire. The amused responses of his blissfully disbelieving audience.
No wonder Rose was so angry. With her acute vampire hearing, she must have heard every insulting word Jack had said earlier about vamps, even if the window in the women's restroom was closed. Which meant one more huge discourtesy in the appalling tally he'd run up in only a few hours.
Rose hugged and kissed her two truckers chastely on the cheek, laughing off their protests and pleas. "My kisses are dangerous. But you guys are the greatest!"
"Would you like me to drive?" Jack sounded as if the polite offer took an effort. "This isn't a short detour. She lives in a place called Calico, at least an hour and a half each way."
"Maybe later," Rose replied. Once they reached the highway, she said, "I don't know the first thing about rescuing people, but I assume we don't just up and knock on her front door."
"She's meeting us at a store," Jack said.
Rose accepted an egg and toast sandwich from Juma. "You don't sound so sure about that."
"Of course I'm not sure." Jack spoke caustically, but then his tone shifted abruptly to neutral. "She's been shilly-shallying for a long time."
"Gil said she finally made up her mind."
"Let's hope so," Jack muttered around a mouthful of scrambled eggs. "Otherwise we'll have wasted your time and gas. We'll pay you for both, of course."
Rose swallowed hastily. "I don't care about the gas. Or the time. This is someone's life we're talking about!"
"Unfortunately," Jack said, caustic again, "you're absolutely right."
"Cindy says you've rescued a lot of abused women." The interstate stretched ahead, lined by stands of pine trees and farms, green even in January. "For someone who does that sort of work, you're mighty unfeeling."
"I have no tolerance for people who screw up over and over again," Jack said.
"Some people don't know how not to," Rose said. "They have emotional problems."
"Sure, but those are their problems, not mine," Jack said. "I give them a chance to start over, and if they screw that up, too, I'm gone."
Rose noticed her fingers clenching the steering wheel. "What about compassion?"
"They can get that from someone else." Jack leaned between the seats to scrounge in one of the bags of food for another biscuit.
"That's so cold," Juma said.
"You're one to talk." Jack slathered strawberry jam on half a biscuit, all too clearly relishing the food. "You gave up on your father, remember? Told me he was useless."
"He is useless! He fries his brain with drugs, he was in and out of jail while I was a kid---and yeah, it was a lie, he's not in jail right now---and he never stands up for me against my grandmother. Apart from giving me cool books, he does the same stupid stuff over and over..." Her mouth hung open, toast dangling from her hand. "Oh. I see what you mean." She took a bite of toast and chewed thoughtfully.
"Still," Rose protested, "if people's lives are in danger---"
"I give them a chance to start over." Jack punctuated his statement with a burp.
"Gross." Juma opened a bag for Jack to drop his trash inside.
"And if it doesn't work out, you just abandon them?" Rose said.
"No," he replied impatiently. "I don't abandon them. Gil puts them in touch with the agencies that usually handle this sort of thing." Jack drained his orange juice and dropped the cup into the trash as well. "I do what I can, but they're not my responsibility. Why should I care more about them than they do about themselves?" Rose heard him slide down onto his back on the bench seat. "Wake me up when we get close to Calico, or if you want me to take the wheel."
Juma spread peanut butter on a triangle of toast and handed it to Rose. "People have to give their relatives more chances, though, right?"
"I suppose." Rose bit into the toast, thinking about all the chances she'd given her mother until she'd finally given up instead.
"My mother died of an overdose when I was a baby. Dad says she wasn't much of a loss, but I would have given her a chance if I could've. She couldn't possibly be worse than Grandma." Juma scrunched up her face and peered at Rose. "You have a useless family, too?"
"I haven't seen them in years. My mother didn't want me when I was a kid, and she couldn't stand me in my teens." Rose paused, hearing Jack shift on the backseat. "Everything was my fault. I'd ruined her life, and I was ruining her marriage, too, and I was sure to ruin my little sisters' lives as well." She waited for Jack's contemptuous snort. It didn't come. "But she fed and clothed me, so I wouldn't call her useless."
"How could she not love you?" Juma was indignant. "You're so nice."
"Thanks, Juma. I try."
"What about your dad?"
"Never met him," Rose said. "I'm the product of a brief affair. Even when I was old enough to understand, Mom refused to talk about him." Jack shifted again behind her. Rose squared her shoulders. "Except, of course, to tell me all my bad qualities came from him. One day when she was ranting and raving, I got so fed up I said, 'Then where do my good qualities come from? Because they're definitely not from you!'"
"Go, Rose!" Juma said. In the backseat, Jack let out a long slow breath and turned over.
"For my own sanity, I decided I was who I was, and that I didn't care what she thought anymore. At sixteen, I left home for good." She paused, fighting to keep her voice cool. "I still miss my sisters." She hit the power button on the CD player and let Jason Mraz take over. Juma pulled a paperback out of her pocket and hunched down over it, and a couple of CDs later they reached the outskirts of Calico, Mississippi.
Rose shut down Dave Matthews in midgrowl. "Wake up, Jack. We're here."
Five minutes later they pulled into the parking lot of a squat, white, asbestos-shingled house with five uncontrolled camellia bushes blooming deeply, ecstatically pink behind a chain-link fence. The house had been converted into a store with a tired-looking sign: DICK'S BOOKS.
"We're meeting her at a bookstore?" Delight suffused Juma's voice. "I absolutely 1---" She cut off whatever she was about to say and cast Rose an anxious glance.
"The perfect place to wait," smiled Rose. "I can spend hours in a bookstore."
Juma beamed. "I could live in a bookstore." She stuffed the paperback into her jacket pocket and hopped out of the van.
"We won't be here long." Jack let himself out the side door. "I hope."
Juma scowled. "You have a problem with books?"
"No, I have a problem with waiting for someone who doesn't show up."
"That's a lousy attitude," Rose said as Juma scurried into the store.
"It's a realistic one," Jack replied.
Two hours and several craft books later, Rose had to admit Jack was right. He spent half an hour discussing poetry with Juma before settling down in the magazine section. Juma, alternating between Beowulf and a collection of Restoration plays, seemed entirely engrossed and even happy.
Rose couldn't concentrate for worrying about the abused woman. After another hour, surfeited with crochet patterns and craft ideas, and aware of the increasingly annoyed glances of the sole clerk manning the almost empty store, she asked Jack, "Have you spoken to Gil again?"
He glanced up from Musician. His eyes were bleak. "No news."
"What are we going to do?"
"I don't know." His voice was flat and cold.
"You must have some idea," Rose insisted. "Some sort of backup plan."
"When the time comes, I'll decide."
She could at least see to other matters. "Juma and I are hungry. How about you? I could pick something up for you."
"Thanks, but no thanks." He took out his wallet and offered her a fifty. "There's a burger joint across the road." After a moment, Rose took the money and went. Jack's long, slow sigh followed her all the way to the door.
"She made you leave school?"
There, thought Juma, she already doesn't believe me. Frowning deeply, Rose took a huge bite of her burger. Juma gave her a grossed-out look in return. I want it raw, Rose had told the waiter, an older guy who'd blushed like a kid. If the cook won't do that, make it barely seared, she'd added, with an emphasis on the barely. Juma began to wonder if Rose was into some sort of kink. Regardless, she exuded something that majorly affected guys.
Whatever. If Rose wanted to kiss random truckers and get crude with over-the-hill waiters, it was her business. Juma's business was to make use of Rose for as long as possible. Lie to her, or tell the truth? Nobody ever believed the truth. Once they met Grandma, they really didn't.
But Rose wouldn't meet Grandma, because Juma was never, ever going back. That thought sent a warm glow through her, from her fingertips all the way to her heart. But she had to play her cards exactly right.
Rose tipped her head to one side, reaching out a hand to finger Juma's two ties. "Remind me to give you another tie tonight. I've got one that suits the green better than the orange you're wearing, and it'll work well with your dark hair, too."
"Thanks." Juma couldn't afford to let Rose's kindness turn her soft. Their food came, and she squeezed a little pile of ketchup onto her plate. She opened her mouth to lie, but the truth came out instead. "On my sixteenth birthday, Grandma locked me in my room and went to the school and unen-rolled me." It was too much info, but she couldn't unsay it. Shakily, she smothered the ketchup with Crystal hot sauce and stirred it with a fry.
Rose's appalled gaze went from the ketchup to Juma's face. "Why? It makes no sense!"
"It does when you're warped like Grandma." She ate the fry. "To go to cosmetology school, I have to have done tenth grade and be at least sixteen. I'm a year ahead, so I already had tenth grade." More info! Ack! After she'd done so well not telling Jack anything that mattered, this totally sucked. She took a bite of hamburger. Maybe if her mouth were stuffed with food, she wouldn't blab anymore.
Unfortunately, she couldn't chew forever. After she swallowed, Rose asked, "Why didn't you just reenroll yourself?"
"I tried, but they wouldn't listen. I wish my mother was alive. She would have made them reenroll me." She made the next bite last, but Rose's inquiring look didn't go away, and eventually, Juma had to say something.
"They went on and on about rules and regulations, and how I had to go to a different school on the other side of the parish once I'd left the regular system." She swirled a fry through the doctored ketchup. "I don't know if that was true or just bullshit because they're scared of Grandma."
"Why would the school system be scared of an old lady?"
"She knows everybody's dirty secrets. People step carefully around Grandma." Juma shrugged. "I had no transportation to the other school, so it didn't matter."
Except that since she'd left school in the middle of the semester, she'd failed all her classes, majorly skewing her average. This meant she wouldn't get a scholarship to Hellebore University. She'd been counting on that her entire life.
"Of course it matters," Rose said. "If you were a year ahead, you must be on the college track."
Juma nodded glumly. She would get to college if it killed her, even if she had to take the GED and wait a zillion years until they considered her mature. The whole world was in league against anyone who didn't follow their ridiculous rules, but she wouldn't knuckle under. If she was ancient before she got her doctorate, so be it. She wouldn't let Grandma defeat her. She'd do whatever she had to do---no matter what---to win, including keeping her mouth shut about anything that would help identify her.
She polished off her burger, smothered the rest of the fries in ketchup, and finished those, too. Unfortunately, Rose ate slowly, contemplatively, as if she savored every bite of that disgustingly bloody meat. Instead of fries, she'd ordered a second burger.
Juma sucked down the rest of her Coke. She got a toothpick and meticulously picked her teeth. She went to the restroom, but she could only spend so long there. When she got back to the table, Rose was still munching away.
"Don't worry," Rose said. "We'll get you enrolled in an alternative school, no problem."
Oh, crap. Rose actually meant what she was saying. If only---
It all came pouring out. "That's really sweet of you, but if I try to finish school someplace else, they'll send for my records, and Grandma will find me and drag me home and lock me up until I agree to be a hairdresser. And what with no sheets to climb down anymore, and the window boarded up and the hole in the wall fixed, and nothing sharp left in my room, I don't know how I'll get away again."
"She can't lock you up! It's illegal!" Rose said stupidly.
"That won't stop her," Juma said. "It sucks to be in the dark for days."
That familiar look of disbelief blanketed Rose's features. Every adult got it sooner or later. Too much truth for them to bear.
Juma stood, putting on her best cocky grin. "Just for future reference, when did you start not believing me?"
Getting Rose to accept that fifty should have felt like a victory. Instead, her scrutiny and acceptance meant she was considering Jack's feelings. Bottom line: he owed her even more.
This was getting ridiculous. Unfortunately, that didn't make it any less painful. Perhaps the smothering necessity of gratitude was similar to the oppression Gil suffered when women succumbed to his voice. His talent helped evaluate rescues on the phone, but he couldn't carry on a normal relationship with a woman. Bloody gifts. Constantine Du-fray's telepathic abilities seemed to have backfired on him, too, and as for Rose, she'd lost her entire family because she was a vamp.
Jack found himself recalling his blessings---his endlessly patient mother, and his sneaky, disloyal jerk of a father, from whom he got both his chameleon ability and an endless supply of money---and shuddering at the weight of it all.
He lowered himself into a tattered leather easy chair by the front windows of the bookshop and flipped through Guitar magazine. Not that he expected to find anything useful about Constantine Dufray any more than in Musician, but it was the best he could do to pass the time. He had a bad feeling about Linda Dell. She'd pleaded with him not to come near her house, and since he couldn't tell her about his camo, he'd had to agree.
She'd had her chance. In another hour or so, he'd have to leave. Another failure in an occupation---if you could call it that---plagued with failures. Just let it go. Back to Dufray, whose concert tour was almost done. He'd be back in Bayou Gavotte in a couple of days. Time to meet Constantine, assess him, and put the proposal before him.
Jack snorted at the notion of assessing Constantine, who was probably the most dangerous individual he had ever met. Dufray didn't run the underworld---his sometime drummer, Leopard, did that---but only a fool would fail to recognize Constantine's importance. After months scoping out the underworld, checking out all the clubs, and evaluating Bayou Gavotte's potential as a safe haven for battered women, Jack was back to square one: it all hinged on Constantine Dufray. Did he enforce the safety standards the clubs boasted, or did he turn a blind eye?
He didn't, if Constantine was the same person Jack had once known, but time and circumstances changed people. Could Jack commit his rescues and their shattered lives to a town controlled by a man who had, quite possibly, murdered his wife?
"Ooh, Constantine Dufray. Sex-y!"
Christ. Jack stood and gave Juma the chair and the magazine. Rose came up, holding out a paper bag from which wafted the unexpectedly welcome aroma of burger and fries. "You need to keep up your strength."
He would never be able to even the balance at this rate. He thanked her, making an effort to hide his dismay, but she was already looking over Juma's shoulder at the magazine.
"He's the sexiest Native American in the whole world." Juma drooled over the photo of Constantine naked past his navel, with his long black hair flying and a sultry pout.
"He's even more attractive in real life," Rose said. "I met him backstage at a concert."
Juma clapped a hand to her chest, mimicking a swoon. "Oh, you lucky, lucky thing! Do you think he really did poison his wife?"
Surprisingly, Rose didn't come out with a vehement denial. "I hope not. He was sweet to me, but I think he would be capable of almost anything. He scared the shit out of my jealous boyfriend with just a look."
That sounded right. The police hadn't arrested Constantine, who'd been two hundred miles away performing at a club when his wife died, but the media had had a field day and bizarre theories were rife. Seemingly random outbursts of violence at his recent concerts fueled the speculation even further. Most reasonable people wouldn't believe that stuff, but Jack knew better. Where Constantine was concerned, bizarre and violent were all too likely to be true.
"Did you know he lives in Bayou Gavotte?" Juma said. "He's not just a rock star. He's one of the vigilantes Jack told you about. Even if he didn't kill his wife, he's probably killed a bunch of other people. They say he scares people to death without even coming near them, so he never gets caught. All bad guys, of course."
That didn't make it right. And yet, violent crimes against women were almost nonexistent in Bayou Gavotte. Not for the first time, Jack wondered if he was afraid not for the rescues but for himself. When the eight-year-old Constantine, his best friend in the world, had up and disappeared one day, he'd gone through rage and misery and loneliness, and then gotten over it. When Constantine surfaced years later as a violent rock star, Jack wasn't all that surprised, but he didn't try to contact him. Childhood friendships don't usually rekindle well.
It wasn't a matter of friendship anymore. He needed someplace safer and more manageable than New Orleans. Someplace where he could better maintain a low profile and keep this gig separate from the conventional charities his father dragged him into: committees, administration, fundraisers, wining and dining the wealthy.
Talk to Dufray. What's the worst that can happen?
In his pocket, Rose's cell phone rang. He read the display and flipped the cell phone open. "Rose's line."
"Damn it, where is she? This is an emergency!"
"Miles, my friend. It's Jack again. Shall I give you to Rose?"
Rose took the phone and marched away, frowning. "What is it, Miles?"
"Your customer," Miles said. "Violet Dupree. She's the one who stole the Elizabethan gown."
"Don't be ridiculous. Who told you that?"
"It's a scam," Miles said. "She pays the deposit, steals the goods when they're ready, and then demands a refund."
"That makes no sense at all. She needs the dress for---" Rose stopped herself just in time, glancing around. Juma was by the bookshelves, while Jack flipped through Sports Illustrated a few feet away. She had promised Violet Dupree to keep the whole thing secret, start to finish. "Some sort of social function. Lots of people will see it." She swung away and went out the front door. "What idiot fed you this hogwash?" As if she didn't already know.
"I know you don't like Titania, but I won't have you speak of her that way," Miles said. "Titania says Violet chooses small businesses hundreds of miles away who can't afford to follow up, and if we do, she has underworld connections who can make our lives very uncomfortable, to say the least. I knew we shouldn't have taken this job."
Anxiety pricked at Rose. She shook it away and let anger take its place. How dared Titania feed Miles such lies? A mother and her chattering daughter brushed past and into the bookstore. Rose took a calming breath and reached through the fence to finger a camellia.
"Titania says she's known Violet forever," Miles said. "They went to school together in New Orleans. She says Violet's father was a gangster, and Violet is just as bad."
Rose sucked in another attempt at a deep, soothing breath. The camellia showered pink petals onto the ground. "Even if I believed that, which I don't, I can take care of myself."
"Rose, you left Chicago to get away from shady characters, not to end up in even worse company. Titania says Violet's not a safe person for you to know."
"I'm not going to date the woman, Miles." She paced away from the bookstore, turned, and paced back. "I'm just making a costume for her." She paced away again. And if you say "Titania says" one more time---
"Titania says you're in danger. If Violet finds out you're on to her, there's no telling what she'll do to make sure you keep your mouth shut. Titania says you need to turn around right now and come back to Chicago. She says---"
"I don't give a flying fuck what Titania says!" Rose clapped the phone shut. At a small sound behind her, she swiveled.
Jack stood by the fence, his face harsh and grim. When had he come outdoors? And why was he looking at her like that?
Rose got a grip on herself. "What are you doing out here?"
He didn't reply, and his eyes cut into her like ice picks. He must have sneaked out and camouflaged himself while the mother and her talkative daughter went in; otherwise she would have noticed. "You were eavesdropping! Weren't you?"
He had the grace to look abashed, but only for a second. He nodded.
Unbelievable. "Why?"
He took his time. "Let's just say I need to know everything that's going on."
"'Let's just say'? What's that supposed to mean?" Her fangs bucked in her gums, and she forced them back in their slots. "Tell me the truth!"
"It's complicated. There's a lot going down just now."
"What does that have to do with me? I saved your sorry ass, remember?"
"I do remember, and I appreciate it, but under the circumstances I need to take note of everything going on around me, and that includes you."
"Because you don't trust me." Rage boiled up and her fangs slotted down. "And why should you? I'm an animal, and a destructive one at that. You'd better start running. Closer than a hundred yards, and no telling what might happen."
"I apologize for that, Rose. If I'd known you could hear me, I---"
"What does it matter whether I could hear you? The truth is the truth."
"That wasn't the truth, it was prejudice speaking, and I should know better."
She licked her fangs, considering and rejecting this feeble attempt at recovery. "Regardless, you can't bring yourself to trust me. Is that why you wouldn't tell me what you're planning to do about Linda?"
He hesitated, and that was enough to send Rose through the roof. "You think I'd do something to jeopardize an abused woman? Are you out of your mind?" Rose clamped her mouth shut to muffle a scream.
Jack raised his hands in a patronizing male gesture. "No, I don't think that. I didn't tell you what I was planning because I didn't know yet."
"Bullshit." Rose's phone rang again. She stormed away, flipping it open. "Damn it, Miles---"
"Don't hang up on me. This is serious. I don't know what to do. I can't pay the woman back her deposit and neither can you, but at least I can get you here where you're safe."
"We won't have to pay her back," Rose said, struggling to sound confident and calm. "I'm making another costume, remember? Did you ship the supplies?" She sucked her fangs slowly into their slots, and this time they stayed put. Jack leaned against the wall, shamelessly listening now. She lowered her voice and walked away along the fence. Let him follow if he dared.
"Yes, but Titania says it's no use. Violet will tell us it's too late, that she's lost confidence in us. She'll demand her money back and order a costume from someone else, and if we don't pay her, she'll sue." His voice dropped. "You know how slow business is. I don't even have insurance anymore. I'll have to file for bankruptcy."
"You will not go bankrupt." She yanked a camellia and it sprang from her hand, recklessly flinging petals to earth. "If she reneges, I'll find a way to keep you afloat."
"Rose, I appreciate the thought, but you can't possibly find the kind of money I need."
"Yes, I can," Rose said, her morale plummeting like the deep pink petals at the prospect. "I promise." I've done it before. I can do it again.
She yanked her morale by its bootstraps and scrounged up the most cheerful voice she could find. There was no reason to believe a word Titania said. She was a thief. Since the original gown was gone, she had the audacity to expect Rose to trot right back to Chicago and make another, so she could steal that instead. "Don't worry, Miles. I'm good at getting money when I need to. Everything will be fine." This time she said good-bye before hanging up. She shut the phone and sank slowly onto the curb.
Bootstraps or no, her anxiety must have shown, for Jack approached, stopping a few feet away. "Anything I can do?"
She revved herself up enough to say, "It's my problem, not yours, and you had no business listening, and if you were a decent human being, you'd let my private conversations be just that---private."
"I mean it. If there's something I can do to help---"
"Stop it! You don't owe me anything."
"It's got nothing to do with owing you," he said. "If you need help---"
"I don't," she gritted. "It's my problem and I'll deal with it."
He blew out a long breath. "Right." He lowered himself beside her. "Now, about tonight."
So, Titania was involved. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on. Violet's little game made sense now. What a delicious revenge, to have Jack help foil her archenemy. He had no problem appreciating the humor in that.
Except that Rose was involved as well. Violet should be thrashed for endangering her, and his blood boiled at the thought of Rose anywhere near Titania. Jesus. Rose would be safer sleeping with Dufray, whom she found so attractive. Sweet, she'd called him.
Wait. Why in hell was he jealous of Dufray, when he had no intention of succumbing to Rose's charms himself? He needed to explain himself to her, though. She'd taken everything wrong, but when she'd licked her fangs, he'd gone totally blank.
Rose had lovely fangs, tiny and sharp, gleaming white on either side of her sweet pink tongue. Moist, delicious lips, glorious breasts, and in the women's showers, she'd been right to undress behind the curtain. He wouldn't have been able to prevent himself from scanning her luscious curves.
No.
He forced his mind away from the sex bomb beside him and let his gaze roam across the bookstore parking lot, past the burger joint on the other side of the road to the sun setting behind a stand of pines. At least Rose hadn't jumped up and stomped away the moment he approached her. She sat hunched over a little---a crying shame for such a tall, vibrant woman---looking utterly dejected. He longed to put an arm around her, pull her close, and tell her everything would be all right. Wished he could borrow Gil's soothing voice, so she would believe him, so she would feel safe and confide in him.
How the hell was he supposed to protect a woman who couldn't stand him?
"It'll be dark soon," he said. "I promised Linda Dell I wouldn't go near her place, so I couldn't risk it in daylight. Too many neighbors might have caught a glimpse of me, and even if I had a tranquilizer gun they would have noticed the dogs were out cold, so I---"
"What dogs?"
"The woman next door has two yappy dachshunds. I'm surprised Linda's husband hasn't killed them by now."
"You'd shoot tranquilizer darts into two helpless little dogs?"
"They're not helpless. They're fierce little devils. The tranq doesn't do any long-term damage, and there's no other way to shut them up. Also, there's no cover in front of the house and damned little at the rear." He grimaced into the sunset. "Linda won't sleep at night unless she thinks she's disappeared without a trace."
"So why did she pick this bookstore? Why not Wal-Mart or some other place where she'd be lost in the crowd?"
Jack shrugged. "Everybody has their own weird logic. I need to go to her house and take a look. She probably chickened out, but since we've come this far, I have to make sure. Give me the keys to the van and I'll take care of it."
"No," Rose said. "I don't trust you any more than you trust me."
"I do trust you," Jack said. "What I said back there at the truck stop...It was completely unwarranted. I should be horsewhipped for my rudeness."
She cocked her head to one side. "No, a funky little flogger should do the trick." She huffed. "Stop trying to bullshit me. I'll go get Juma."
Jack banished the image of Rose with a flogger and shook his head. "I've only seen Linda once---I insist on meeting my rescues first, to verify the situation---and it was obvious she'd been beaten, and badly." An appropriate uneasiness crossed Rose's face. Good. "This might get ugly, so it makes more sense for me to go alone. I'm used to this stuff." If one ever gets used to it. "I'm not a thief. I'll bring your van back."
"No," Rose said. "I'm driving. And I don't see why Juma can't just wait in the van."
"And I don't see why you can't just stay here," Jack said, but Rose deigned no more than a glare.
He threw up his hands. "Juma can't come because it might be dangerous. I don't anticipate any problems, but Juma's a minor and I can't take chances with her. At least you're an adult, and you have your own built-in weapons."
That's right. Think of the damn things as weapons, not instruments of pleasure most supreme.
"Not that I want you to use them," he said, putting up a hand.
That was dumb. Really dumb, because in a flash the tenor of their conversation changed. Rose laughed, and her smile lit up the dusk. Their eyes clashed, and heat swept over Jack. "Of course you don't." She ran her tongue across her upper lip, holding his eyes.
Jack dragged his gaze away, cleared his throat, and focused on the pink and gold sky behind the pines. This was yet another of the things he couldn't stand about vamps. Sex was always in the air, always, even when it should be the last thing on anyone's mind. Which was a mighty hypocritical attitude for Jack Tallis, since what had attracted him to Titania was her appetite for plenty of sex. More than that---almost a surfeit of sex. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
"Jeez, Jack. Don't freak out. I was joking." She rolled her eyes. "I'll tell Juma what's going on."
Rose followed Jack's directions to a rundown strip mall containing a convenience store, a church in a tiny storefront, a dry cleaner, and a nail salon. Jack pointed past the Dumpster and a sagging wooden fence to the backyards of a subdivision. "See that white house? Her place is across from it, a couple of houses down. I'll cut through, scope things out, and be right back. Half an hour, forty-five minutes tops." He jumped down into the gathering dusk. A chill wind sneaked into the van.
"Be quick. I'm really worried about Juma."
Jack lifted a shoulder. "She's a survivor."
"She's frightened, and she was not happy at being left there alone." Rose rubbed the gooseflesh on her upper arms.
"Was that my change you gave her?"
"Sure, so she could get a Coke or something if we take too long."
He blew out a breath, shaking his head. "You gave her too much." But before she could tell him what she thought of his stinginess, he jogged away and disappeared behind the Dumpster.
She thought, but couldn't be sure, that she saw him climbing over the fence. Straining her eyes, which were far better in the dark than a normal person's, she still couldn't tell whether that flutter in the leafless vines at the lip of the gully was Jack. Impressive, Rose thought wistfully. Not only that, he was educated, read poetry, liked music, wore a football jacket...and didn't want her for sex.
Be careful what you wish for, Rose.
She turned her mind to practical matters. Poor Miles had lost his wife recently and now was worried sick about his little shop, perhaps with good reason. Rose knew almost nothing about Violet, only that the Louisiana woman, more than anyone else in the online vamp group, had been a lifesaver in the insane period after Lou's death: a font of practical advice on allure management, boyfriend control, and so on, down to details like the optimal care of fangs. Rose shut out all traitorous suspicions of Violet and called Miles instead, hoping to at least soothe him.
No answer, but she couldn't just sit in the van worrying. She scanned the stores in the strip mall, rejected offering herself up for ritual staking at the church, fretted some more, and gave up in favor of the only outlet she could think of: a run. She scrunched her ponytail under a ball cap, tucked a note under the windshield wiper, performed minimal stretches, grabbed the walking stick she routinely carried for protection, and took off through the parking lot onto the main road. So what if she accidentally ended up near Linda Dell's? Even Jack couldn't object to her jogging along a public street.
Forty minutes' gentle run later, through a well-lit neighborhood of aging brick ranch houses, Rose passed what should have been Linda Dell's house for the third time. For the third time also, she passed the house before it and approached the house after, gritting her teeth and clutching the walking stick. Still no dachshunds. She'd passed a growling retriever in one fenced yard and a feisty little Yorkie in another. In any case, this couldn't possibly be Linda's house. On a porch swing under a yellow bug light, a couple now sawed back and forth, cuddling close, sharing a beer and whispered conversation in the cool evening air.
Rose slowed to a walk. He really fooled me. Jack had deliberately pointed out the wrong house, because he didn't trust her. She seriously hadn't thought he would lie. Make excuses for himself, sure, but downright lie...? Disappointment and relief jostled each other, and relief should have won, but annoyingly, disappointment pricked her.
A torrent of yapping careened into the night and hurtled across the lawn. Rose swiveled, clutching the walking stick, terror riding up into her gullet. Two snarling, yapping dachshunds tossed themselves against the fence and Rose clutched harder, her chest heaving, fighting her fangs.
They're just dogs.
Noisy little dogs behind a fence.
Grow up, Rose.
So he hadn't lied after all. That comfy scene on the porch meant a reconciliation, and Jack was probably back at the van. Just as Rose had calmed herself enough to walk with dignity past the little fiends, all hell really did break loose at the house next door.
Jack hovered inside Linda Dell's house, camouflaged against the curtains, watching Rose approach for the third time.
Enough, he decided. Enough of listening to Linda weep all over the man who only this morning had beaten her almost senseless. Enough of the man's slobbering apologies and excuses. I need you, Linda. I need you. You have to stay with me. Till death do us part. Which it surely would before long. Whatever had transpired between this morning's desperate call to Gil and now, she was back with her husband, her one chance gone. She'd have to turn to others: police, women's shelters, groups that helped victims get new lives. If Jack left now, he could cut through the woods and get to the van about the same time as Rose. Maybe they'd talk a little on the way back to the store. Maybe he'd convince her that he really wasn't as hateful as he'd seemed. Maybe he'd find a way to help her. Start regaining the balance, even if it took years. According to some cultures, he would never stop owing her. She had almost certainly saved his life. Up till now, he'd thought owing his father was as bad as it could get.
Next door, the neighbor let the dachshunds out for a run. They barreled across the lawn, barking furiously. Tall and pale under the streetlight, Rose whirled, gripping her stick. He hadn't thought of Rose as the easily startled type. Quickly, though, she relaxed her posture, glancing from the dogs to Linda and her husband on the porch swing.
"Goddamn!" Bingo Dell sprang off the swing, toppling his wife with a thrust of one fist and grabbing his shotgun with the other. The beer bottle crashed to the floor. "That's him, isn't it? This is the third time the bastard's jogged past our place." Red faced, panting with rage, Dell slammed a shell into his gun.
Panicked, Jack shot out of camo and ran for the door. For a terrifying instant, Rose gawped at the shotgun. Then, thank God, she threw herself into a crouch and duck-walked against the neighbor's wire fence, away from Dell's toward the shrubbery. The neighbor lady hollered, "Missy! Lupe! Get in here now!"
Missy and Lupe barked even harder, leaping and snapping at Rose through the wire. She stumbled and sprawled away from the fence, recovered, and kept moving. Jack resumed his camo, opened the door, and crept forward. Rose reached the driveway next door and squatted behind the bushes.
Dell stomped down the steps, raising the gun. "I see you, you sniveling, motherfucking home-wrecker. I'll blow you to kingdom come, buddy."
Linda Dell scrambled after him. "There is no other man!" She pulled at the shotgun. "I told you this morning, Bingo baby. I never wanted any man but you."
"You lying, cheating bitch." Dell belted her hard and kicked her as she crumpled to the ground.
Shit. Jack went softly down the stairs. Linda sobbed into her hands. The neighbor shrieked, "Missy! Lupe!" but the dogs kept barking.
Rose finally made it behind the neighbor's car. A spray of shot hit the lawn only a foot from the dogs. One dachshund took off into the backyard; the other scrambled up the steps to the porch. The neighbor dragged the dog inside and slammed the door. Rose stood up, and Jack almost lost his camo again.
"You lunatic! Why are you shooting at those dogs?" She strode forward before Bingo Dell had a chance to reload, throwing her ball cap to the ground, tossing her hair free. "Can't you tell I'm not a man?"
Dell, poor bastard, had never had a taste of allure before. The shotgun hung limply while he stared. Jack let out a long breath, dropped his camo, and moved forward. "Linda," he whispered.
The woman gaped at him, gibbering.
"Linda, it's me, Jack. This is your last chance. We can run for it while she keeps him busy." He took her arm and dragged her to her feet.
Linda backed into the house. "But...my stuff. I had it all packed, but then Bingo came home."
"No stuff," Jack said. "I told you before, it's a fresh start. A new life." He pulled her, resisting, through the living room. "You forget the past and move forward."
"I don't want to forget the past," Linda whimpered. She snatched a photo album off the coffee table and clasped it to her heart. "I just want Bingo to be nice to me."
"Bingo doesn't know how to be nice," Jack said. "Come on."
"He does, too," Linda whined. "I need him to love me. What is that woman doing?"
Slowly, tantalizingly, Rose ran her hands over her breasts and down to her hips. Bingo's fingers lost their grip and the shotgun fell to the grass.
"Distracting Bingo," Jack said. "Let's go."
"No way in hell." Linda dropped the photo album, flung open her purse, pulled out a handgun, and hared through the front door. "Get away from my husband, bitch!"
"Closing in five minutes," the store clerk said. He was a big dude, middle-aged and slow moving, who looked liked he'd forgotten how to smile.
"Five minutes?" Juma said. "The sign says you're open till eight!"
"Not if I don't have any customers," he said. "I want my supper. Make your decision now and come up to the front and pay."
"But my friends aren't back yet," Juma said. "They probably won't be here for at least a half hour."
"You can wait for them in the burger place across the road." He moved away down the aisle, tidying as he went, facing some books out, straightening others. Juma watched him go, and when he was around the corner, looked hopelessly down at the copy of Beowulf in her hands. It was a fabulous translation by Seamus Heaney with the Anglo-Saxon text and the English translation side by side. The seniors assigned it for summer reading had no idea what a treasure they possessed.
Juma wanted the book. Since she was stuck doing all her college prep herself, she needed it, too. She'd do a lot more with it than those of her contemporaries who were lucky enough to be in school. Education was what really impressed college professors, and well-disposed profs could ease her way through all those hoops. Who wouldn't be blown away by a freshman who read Anglo-Saxon?
Juma really, really wanted the book, not to mention a bunch of others, but she'd never get away with taking more than one. She flipped pages back and forth, thinking, rethinking, deciding, and undeciding, and the clerk kept lumbering past the end of the aisle at the wrong moments, so she never quite got it into the big side pocket of her jacket. And although shoplifting had been a useful way of getting her grandmother's goat in the past, it wouldn't have that effect in a strange town where Grandma had no influence. If she got caught, she'd end up in Grandma's clutches again, only with a police record as well.
And of course Jack would disapprove, which would mean the end of her one chance. Rose would be disappointed in her, and for some weird reason Rose's opinion mattered. Not only that, a girl had to be practical, and Rose was an ally Juma didn't want to lose. If she ever saw Rose again. Almost thirty dollars for a Coke? Yeah, right. Guilt money for sure, and they'd never come back to get her. Juma needed to keep every penny.
I really need this book, she thought in despair. She was almost done with trig and world history. How could she prepare for college without any books?
The clerk scowled from the end of the aisle, said, "One minute," and moved on.
Juma gave up. The clerk wasn't going to give her a chance to steal the book. If she sucked up enough, Rose might buy her one in Bayou Gavotte. She put Beowulf reverently back on the shelf, picked up her book of poetry from the stool beside her, and dropped it in her jacket pocket.
"Aha!" Moving way faster than she would have believed possible for such a big, old dude, the clerk grabbed her by the wrist. "Caught you, you thief."
Juma yelped and tried to yank her hand away, but the man held hard. He plunged his other hand into her pocket and got her book. "Hey!" she shouted. "That's my book. I didn't steal it! It's mine!"
"And a liar, too," the man said, breathing hard. He stank of stale cigarettes. "Just like every other damn teenager that comes in here. Liars, vandals, and thieves."
"You're hurting me!" Juma twisted and turned in his grasp, lunging for her precious book of poetry. "That's my book. I had it when I came in."
"Bullshit. I saw it on the shelf just this morning. I know every book in the store." He tightened his grip and she squealed in pain, but he ignored her cries and dragged her toward the desk. "I've been watching your every move. Do you know how hard it is for an independent bookstore to keep going these days? I don't put up with thieves. So you, little girl, are going to jail."
"No! Please!" Juma stumbled after him. "I'll do anything! I'll wash dishes. I'll clean the whole store!" The clerk made a derisive noise, set her poetry book on the counter, and picked up the phone.
Juma knocked it out of his hand. It clattered to the floor. "Please, please don't call the cops. I mean it, I'll do anything you want. I'll sleep with you. I'll give you head, I'll---"
The clerk let go of Juma's wrist as if she carried the plague. "You disgusting little whore. I hate teenagers." His foul breath washed across her and she backed away, gagging. He bent to pick up the phone.
"I'm not a whore." She grabbed her book and took off for the front door, yelling, "I'm not a vandal. I'm not a thief." Okay, so I used to be, but I'm not now. She stuffed the book into her pocket as she ran.
"Oh, no, you don't." He moved way too quickly after her. "The door's locked. You're not going anywhere."
Juma reached the door and tugged hard. It rattled, but it wouldn't budge, and the clerk had almost caught up to her again. She sidestepped him and dashed between the book bays, looking for something to use to smash the window. Up and down the bays she ran, and the clerk followed, wheezing and cussing.
Nothing but books! The clerk loomed in front of her. She leaped to the side and shoved a cardboard display across his path. He tripped and fell heavily. She pushed hard, then harder, on a bookshelf. It crashed down in front of the clerk before he could get up. She ran to the other end and knocked another bookshelf over behind him. Okay, now. There had to be another way out.
Duh. The back door.
Juma scrambled behind the counter and through the doorway that led to the rear. The clerk clambered up from under the display, shouting, "You can't go that way!"
She scrambled past a bathroom and through the stockroom. A dark corridor yawned ahead, with a low-lit room to the left, but at its end was Juma's goal: a kitchen with a screen door leading into a yard.
The clerk shouted frantically from the store. Juma plunged into the corridor. A huge shadow loomed on the wall, jaws and teeth and slavering tongue. She stumbled, her shriek of terror drowned out by the baying of an enormous hound.
The enraged woman with the gun in her trembling hands ran jerkily across the lawn, and as she neared Rose, the lurid glow from the streetlight reached her face. Linda Dell was a scrawny little thing; she couldn't have been more than thirty years old. One entire cheek was purple and hideously swollen. Blood trickled from her nose and across her split lip. Her other eye was bloodshot and edged with purple and black.
Jack stalked across the lawn behind Linda. He looked extremely pissed off.
"Oh, my God," Rose said. "Look what your husband did to you! Why don't you leave him?"
"So you can have him? Never, bitch. I'll kill you first." Linda glared at her husband and waved the pistol his way. "God damn it, Bingo, stop staring at this whore or I'll shoot you, too."
"You're not going to shoot anybody." Gently, Jack took the gun away. Linda hardly seemed to notice. Jack opened the chamber, clicked it shut again, and tucked the gun into his waistband. With the slightest flick of his chin, he told Rose to go.
No way.
"I'm not after your husband," Rose told Linda, letting up a little on the allure. "I'm just distracting him for a minute or two." Bingo got a bewildered look on his fleshy face. "So you can leave," Rose urged. "Right now, while you have the chance."
Beside Linda, Jack was shaking his head. Rose scowled back at him.
"You'll be safe," she continued. "Bingo will never beat you up again. Please, go now."
Linda's eyes flicked to Jack and then to her husband, who still stared at Rose. Linda limped slowly closer, licking blood off her lip. "You can't have him!" She swung a fist at Rose. "He belongs to me!"
Rose sidestepped easily and reeled in the allure. Linda stumbled, gathered herself, and charged, fists flying.
"You stupid woman." Rose dodged again, fending Bingo's wife off with the walking stick. "Don't you understand? He'll kill you!"
Bingo, somewhat free of the allure now, finally noticed Jack. "So you're the bastard," he roared. "I'll kill you with my bare hands."
"No!" Linda veered away from Rose. She grasped at her husband's arm. He flung her to the ground and kept going.
"Stop right there." Jack pulled out Linda's gun and leveled it.
Bingo Dell laughed. "That gun's never loaded. Can't trust a dumb bitch like Linda with a loaded gun." He kept coming. "You're a dead man."
"Worth a try." Jack tucked the gun back in his belt. A second later Bingo was flat on his belly, Jack on top of him, cranking the man's arm up behind his back. Bingo cried out.
"Don't hurt him!" Linda dragged herself up off the grass. "Please don't hurt him. Don't call the cops!" She broke into hysterical sobs.
Without even a glance Jack said, "I won't call the cops." His dark, furious eyes grabbed Rose and shook her by the throat. After an endless second he let her go, motioning with his chin toward the shotgun lying on the grass. "Take it and get the hell out of here."
Rose picked up the shotgun, hesitated at Linda wringing her hands and weeping, and at Bingo gasping in pain.
"Run," Jack ordered.
This time, Rose did as she was told.
Juma ran headlong down the corridor. She swerved left, into a large sitting room lit by a standing lamp and two sconces on the far wall, and slammed the door behind her. The baying faded. She glanced from a flat-screen TV to a red leather couch and recliner to a heavily curtained window on the far side of the room. She could shove the couch against the door, climb out the window, and run.
Oh, my God. What did this dude have on his walls? She found a light switch by the door. The ceiling fixture lit up the whole room. Juma snickered. She didn't have to worry about him calling the cops, not with what she could hold over his head.
She walked slowly around the room, taking it all in. She'd seen some of it before. It was almost like being home with Dad, except this guy had collaged it all over his walls. He'd done a simply fabulous job. Then she saw the poems of the Earl of Rochester on the coffee table and lost interest in the vintage porn as wallpaper.
She was perched on the arm of the red leather couch, totally absorbed, when the clerk opened the door a few minutes later. He stood in the doorway, gasping, a hand over his heart. Juma felt almost sorry for him.
But not quite. She stood and motioned to the decor. "I won't have any reason to tell the police about this if you don't call them."
The man's face drained. "This isn't illegal," he wheezed.
"With me in here it just might be. Even if it's not illegal, when the whole world knows about it, your bookstore will be finished."
The man sagged against the doorjamb, ashy white.
"I don't mean you any harm," Juma said. "I know how stupid people get about porn, but I won't have any choice unless you let me go---with my book, because it really is mine. My father gave it to me. I'll show you where he wrote in it." Reluctantly, she laid Rochester's poems on the coffee table. "I need you to lock up your dog and let me out the front door, right now."
The man staggered over to the red leather couch.
"You're not having a heart attack, are you?"
"No." He dropped heavily onto the cushions. "I'll be okay."
Juma perched at the far end of the couch. This was so not good. If the old guy died, Grandma would find a way to use it as leverage. For the moment, Juma couldn't see how, but that didn't mean it wouldn't happen. "Are you sure? Should I call a doctor? Do you want water or something?"
The man shook his head. He fumbled in his front pocket. "Keys. Go. Dog's in the back, not a problem."
"I can't just leave you like this. What if you die?"
"We all die sooner or later," the man said as if he didn't care much one way or the other. He slumped against the arm of the couch.
"Not because of me," Juma said, and then she figured out how to play it. "There's a mega mess in the store, and you're in no shape to go lifting bookcases and stuff. Not that it wasn't your own fault, but since I have to wait for Rose and Jack anyway, why don't I put the books back where they belong? I'm good at both genre and alphabetical order. I'll get everything right."
The dude stared at Juma as if she were insane. "Not necessary. I found my copy of that poetry book. I apologize. You should go."
"Okay, how about in exchange for this book?" Juma pointed to Rochester's poems. "Honest work for honest pay."
"Definitely not. I may be into porn, but I don't give obscene poetry to children."
I'm not a child. But no adult ever agreed with that, so she grinned and said, "It was worth a try. My dad won't give me Rochester until I'm eighteen, either, but that's because he's scared Grandma will find out." She swept an arm to indicate the cool walls. "My dad has scads of vintage porn, only his brain is so blown he'd never think up anything creative to do with it. My grandma used the porn---and the drugs, of course---to have him declared an unfit parent. Which he is, but not because of the porn. It's not his fault I snooped through his stuff and stole some."
She stopped, waiting, hoping. The man didn't look angry anymore, or freaked out, or in imminent danger of a heart attack. Finally, he said, "If you clean up, you can have that copy of Beowulf you were planning on stealing."
Yes! Indignation wasn't worth the effort, so she only said, "I didn't steal it, though."
"Because I was watching." The guy pried himself up off the couch.
Juma shrugged. "There were other reasons."
The clerk opened a box of Altoids mints, popped one in his mouth, and offered the box to Juma. "Seems like a strange book for a kid to steal. Or buy."
"I'm a strange kid," Juma said, bristling. She took a mint.
The man almost smiled. "None of my business, huh? While you tidy up, we're going to have a little talk."
"Sure." Nothing mattered now that she was getting that fabulous book. Anyway, she didn't have to listen. She'd had plenty of practice at that.
When Rose reached the van, Jack was already there. She dropped the shotgun and the walking stick, dashed behind the Dumpster, and vomited next to the fence. And vomited again, and retched and heaved until nothing was left.
When she emerged from behind the Dumpster, Jack was still leaning against the van. "Anything I can do?"
"No," Rose croaked. She opened the driver's door, reached across the seat for a tissue and a bottle of water, and came back out to clean up, while Jack watched her and said nothing.
Go away! But where could he go? He was stuck with her, and she was stuck with him. She ran water over her hands and splashed her face, and rinsed out her mouth and spat, and rinsed and spat again. She blew her nose and swallowed a few shuddering sips of water.
"Want me to drive?" Jack said.
Rose shook her head.
"It's understandable if you're feeling shaky." He sounded like he actually cared. "When I first started this gig, it made me sick, too."
Don't, thought Rose.
"You win some, you lose some." Jack slung open the side door and put the shotgun and the walking stick on the floor of the van. "Them's the breaks." He shut the door.
"Please don't," Rose said.
"Don't what?" He held out his hand. "Give me the keys."
Rose shook her head. "Don't try to make me feel better. He's going to kill her, isn't he?"
"Yep, I'd say that's a given. Next week, next year..." He shrugged. "Not our problem."
"But it's my fault!" Rose let out a long, keening wail, and this time those horrifying tears, which had been threatening since the moment she'd met this man, couldn't be restrained. She dropped her face onto the hood of the van and wept.
"Hey," Jack said after a long, long moment. "No, it's not your fault." She sensed him right next to her now, almost touching her, but not quite.
"She's so young to die," Rose gulped into the cold metal. "I screwed everything up. If I hadn't interfered, you might have gotten her away somehow." She raised her head and blinked blearily through the trees and the gully to the subdivision where anything might be happening to poor Linda Dell. "I lost my temper because of the dogs, and it about killed me to get it under control, but I did. Then I made everything worse by using my allure on purpose against her husband, so you had to come out and take her gun, and her husband saw you, so now he really believes she was having an affair, and---"
"Whoa." Suddenly his arm was around her. Astonishment froze her, but he didn't pull her close, merely squeezed her shoulder. "He already thought that. He's been accusing her of having affairs since day one, and she wasn't going to leave any way. I tried to persuade her, but no go."
"Why n-not?" Rose hiccupped.
"She's addicted to him." He let go and walked away, soft footsteps in the cool, quiet night, and returned with the box of tissues from inside the van. "She'll never leave him. She wants her house and her stuff." He put on an obnoxious voice. "She wants Bingo to be nice to her."
Rose cringed. "Don't be so mean! Poor girl, that's never going to happen." She blew her nose.
"Maybe you did her a favor," Jack said. "Maybe he'll kill her next week instead of next year. Put her out of her misery sooner."
"How can you say such a horrible thing?"
Jack shrugged. "Failed-rescue humor."
Way too much like mobster humor. "We can't just leave it like this. We have to call the cops." She pulled out her cell phone. "He may be killing her right now!"
Jack snatched the phone away and dropped it into his shirt pocket. "Gil has already contacted the police."
"You told Linda you wouldn't call them."
"I didn't. I used the pay phone on the corner to report to Gil. What happened next was his decision, not mine."
"That's such a cop-out. What if there were no Gil?"
"One of the neighbors may have called as well. In any case, Linda made her choice." Jack's voice was cold. "That it's the wrong one is none of my business."
He really doesn't care, thought Rose.
"For what it's worth, she should be okay for the moment, regardless of whether the cops can help," Jack said. "They were all lovey-dovey when I left. I convinced Bingo you were my cheating girlfriend, trying to get Linda out of the way so you could have him."
Okay, so maybe he does care, sort of. Rose gave a horrible little giggle.
"You did your best. It doesn't matter any more." Jack held out his hand. "Keys?"
"I didn't do my best," Rose said. "If only I'd known. If only I'd thought---"
"But you didn't think," Jack said. "And you definitely didn't know. Now get over it and give me the keys so we can leave." He blew out a long exasperated breath. "Rose, it's not your problem anymore."
Rose swallowed. "And you really believe it's not yours, either?"
"She had her chance with me. She can get help someplace else, and I can get on with my life. Which would be a lot easier to do if you'd give me the keys."
"It's all very well for you to be so self-satisfied, but I didn't do my best," Rose insisted. "I screwed up royally."
"I'm not self-satisfied, I'm resigned. And you screwed up a little, not a lot."
Tears welled up again. I haven't been like this for years, Rose thought, I don't cry like this anymore. But she knew these tears wouldn't just go away. She would have to let Jack drive.
She tried ramping up her tone to businesslike, but it came out all wobbly. "Show me your driver's license." When Jack frowned, she added, "My insurance doesn't cover unlicensed drivers."
He hesitated, and she didn't know why, but she didn't have the energy to get riled. "Oh, what the hell," he said under his breath, then took out his wallet and flipped it open. "Fine, but don't ever accuse me again of not trusting you."
She didn't understand that, either, but she leaned into the van to read by the dome light. "Iachimo Tallis. Iachimo?" Another horrible, hysterical giggle leaked out. "From Cymbeline?"
He nodded. "My mom had a crush on an actor who played him. Said his Iachimo made her laugh." He tucked the wallet in his pocket. "Nothing like a weird name to encourage strength of character."
"Tell me about it," muttered Rose, and then wished she hadn't. She dropped the keys into Jack's palm and climbed in by the passenger door.
Jack adjusted the driver's seat and started the van. He wheeled it out of the parking lot and onto the road. "Rose isn't your real name?"
"It's my middle name," she admitted.
Jack glanced across at her, a grin tilting his lips. Oh, he had dimples! She'd never noticed that before. She had such a soft spot for dimples in a man, and...
Rose's heart twisted. He was firm and capable, beautifully male and almost fun. He was even caring and kindhearted in his strange way. And he'd only been able to bring himself to touch her for...what, five seconds? Ten at most?
You got most of what you asked for, Rose.
"What's your first name?" he asked.
"I'm not telling you. It's totally the wrong name for me. You'll say something mean."
"You got your laugh," Jack said. "Now it's my turn."
"Nope," Rose replied regretfully. "I've got to build up my defenses again. I can't take any more abuse tonight." She hiccupped on a huge, gulping sob. "I can't believe I said that! That poor, poor woman, and Juma's in terrible trouble, too"---and you don't want me for sex---"and here I am feeling sorry for myself. I'm such a wimp. I'm such a slime."
Jack said nothing. Rose tried stiffening her spine. Nope. She gave up and let the tears fall.
"Huh. Looks like they're shut," Jack said stupidly, because he had to say something to the silently weeping woman beside him. More than anything, he wanted to take her in his arms, to kiss her and console her. But because she was a vampire that would lead to desire, and desire would lead to sex, and sex would lead to catastrophic loss of control.
Never again.
He peered into the half-lit bookstore. The bulky figure of the clerk moved around in the rear. Beside him, Rose blew her nose and carefully wiped her eyes. He was about to back the van out and cross the street to check the burger joint when Juma whipped out from behind a bookshelf and ran toward the front door of the store. Yelling something.
Rose jumped down from the van, still clutching a tissue. She reached the door of the bookstore just as Juma flung it open.
"No, Dick," Juma hollered over her shoulder, "that's the deal. You show my friends your little secret, and I'll have a heart-to-heart with Rose. Otherwise, no dice." She grabbed Rose by the arm. "Let's leave. Now."
I don't think so. Jack turned off the van and joined the party. Maybe Juma's antics would take Rose's mind off Linda Dell.
The clerk waddled forward, panting. "Juma, it's none of their business. I can do as I please as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else."
"I have as much right as you to do as I please," Juma argued.
"No, you don't," Dick said. "You're underage. You need protection from yourself."
"I need protection from my grandmother," Juma said. "But hey, I'm fine with leaving things as they are. Let's go." She noticed Rose properly. "What's wrong? Something yucky happened, huh?"
Rose nodded mutely. Juma threw her arms around Rose, making comforting noises, and Rose hugged her back while Jack stood jealously by. He tried for a sympathetic exchange of glances with the harassed bookstore clerk, but no go. This guy had something major on his mind.
Rose extricated herself from Juma's embrace and wiped her nose. Her voice came out barely a whisper. "It was awful. He'd beaten her black and blue, and she still wanted him."
"Wow. That sucks chunks," Juma said.
"She wouldn't leave." Rose blew her nose hard. "Even if he goes to prison for a while, eventually he'll get out and he'll kill her, and there's nothing we can do about it." She added through clenched teeth, "I'd like to kill him."
God, she was fierce. And beautiful, and tender-hearted...
Hell and damnation! Jack wrenched his eyes away from her and settled on the camellia bushes. High on the bush nearest the door, a new and perfect blossom nodded in his direction.
"Except that he deserves a fate worse than death." Rose blew her nose again and squared her shoulders. "Thanks for the hug, Juma. I needed that. Now, what's going on?"
You knew she needed a proper hug, the camellia seemed to say. Your loss. Why not give her something else? Some token of your admiration and respect.
No, Jack told the camellia.
"Nothing's going on," Juma said blithely. "Nothing at all. Dick and I had a little misunderstanding, but we sorted it out, and I shelved some books in exchange for this." She indicated the paperback of Beowulf sticking up out of her pocket. "Let's go."
"Shit," muttered the bookstore clerk miserably. He swayed as if he was about to pass out, but recovered himself against the chain-link fence and stood his ground.
The camellia bush quivered and the perfect flower motioned to Jack again. Why not me?
No, Jack said again.
"Bye," Juma said. "Thanks, Dick. Nice meeting you."
"Oh, no, you don't," Dick said. "I agree to your terms."
"Are you crazy?" Juma shrieked. "What if they squeal on you? You could end up in jail!"
"So could you, or far worse, with the path you're following," Dick said, gripping the fence. The camellia fluttered, but Jack ignored it.
"My path is my business!" said Juma. "My friends are in a hurry to leave."
"No, we're not," Jack said. The camellia quivered frantically pink. Nothing to do with you, Jack retorted to the flower. "No hurry at all."
Juma glowered at him before turning back to Dick. "Oh, all right. I'll talk to Rose." Jack bent his gaze purposely on her and she quailed. "That wasn't a lie!"
"As good as." Jack motioned the others into the store. "You can talk to both of us, and you can do it now."
"Oh, no," Juma wailed. "I'll just die!"
"Too bad." Jack closed the door on the camellia. Juma looked imploringly at Rose.
"If you made a bargain with Dick, you'd better keep it," Rose said.
"Fine. Just fine. But Dick has to give up his nasty secret first." Juma grabbed Rose by the hand and hauled her past the sales counter, toward the back. "I'll show you. Come with me."
"Wait!" Dick scrambled after them. "Hold on there!"
"It's too late, Dick," Juma shot over her shoulder. "Now that I'm stuck making the big, disgusting confession, you're stuck, too."
"Stupid teenager," breathed Dick, giving up the chase. "She's going to set off the alarm again." He wheezed toward the sales counter, but motioned Jack ahead. "Better for me to go under than for her to end up in God knows what mess. Kids are so fucked-up these days. Your girlfriend needs to tell her not to bribe any random guy with head and more."
Holy Jesus, Jack thought, the mind boggles. He wanted antisex advice from a vamp.
No, be fair. It'd be from a courageous, kindhearted woman who also happened to be a vamp.
A monstrous dog's shadow leaped up the wall. Its baying stopped Rose's breath. Her heart battered against her chest, and her fangs bucked.
"Oh, no!" Juma cried. "I forgot about the dog!"
Rose flung herself back toward the bookstore and smacked into Jack. A pair of hard, strong arms came around her and held her tight.
"It's just an alarm," Jack said in her ear. "Not a real dog." The shadow disappeared and the ghastly baying ceased. Rose slumped, trembling like a fool, against the warmth and safety that was Jack.
"The real dog's out back," Juma said. "He's a bloodhound, and he's the sweetest thing. You want to come meet him?"
Rose shook her head and pushed herself away from Jack. "I don't get on with dogs. What did you want to show me?"
"It's no big deal." Juma led the way. "But now that he's making me confess, I will show you, and I hope the old creep suffers."
"Confess what?" Rose asked.
"I don't see why I should have to tell Jack, too. I'm supposed to get advice from you."
Rose glanced behind her. Jack was slumped against the wall. He pushed himself upright and headed back toward the store. "Now's your chance," Rose said. "Jack went the other way."
"Dick says you look like a good person to talk to about sex."
Of course he does. "Why were you and an old guy like Dick talking about sex?"
Rose let the girl pull her through the doorway on the left into a walk down memory lane. She'd seen most of it before, but never collaged as wallpaper. "Good Lord." She frowned at Juma. "How did you end up back here?"
"I ran away from him," she said. "Don't look like that! Let me explain! Just because I'm a teenager, he thought I stole a book."
Rose rolled her eyes. "Many retailers are suspicious of teens, but they don't chase them around the store because of it."
"I thought about stealing a book, because I need it to prepare for college, but I decided it was a bad idea. Then he accused me of stealing my very own poetry book. He didn't believe me when I said it was mine."
Rose gave her a look. "Go on."
Juma huffed. "He wanted to call the cops. The front door was locked, so I ran back here."
Rose crossed her arms. "None of this explains why you were talking to him about sex. He should have had you out of here lickety-split. What the hell went on?"
"Nothing," Juma said, red and miserable. "Nothing went on."
"Then why does he want you and me to have a heart-to-heart?"
"When he threatened to call the cops, I..." Juma's voice descended to a whisper so low that a normal woman might not have heard it, but Rose caught every word.
She shoved down a surge of rage and clamped her mouth tight shut.
"Oh, God," Juma said into the silence. "I'm so embarrassed."
When she could speak again, Rose said, "That was incredibly dumb. What if he'd taken you up on it?"
"I know," Juma said. "I would have barfed all over him. He smells gross."
Lord help us. "What if you got pregnant or caught an STD?"
Two sets of footsteps approached in the hallway. "I'm on birth control," Juma said sulkily.
"I'm glad you have one of your bases covered, but that's nowhere near enough. We'll talk about it later," Rose said. When I've gotten a grip on myself.
Jack strolled into the room. He cast a cool, amused eye around the walls, said, "Different," and noticed the book of poems on the table. "Obscene Poetry of the Earl of Rochester." His lips twitched, and the dimple peeped out. "Not your average coffee-table book."
"Not your average living room." Rose chuckled, and their eyes met.
Oh.
Then he turned away.
Dick appeared in the doorway, tense and gray. Rose let go of her dismay and reached into her store of kindness to smile at him. "Your walls are lovely, Dick. That Japanese print..." She motioned to an elegantly copulating couple above the couch. "My old boyfriend owned an original woodcut. He collected erotic art. But your treatment of it is so much more fun."
Jack cleared his throat. "If you're interested in doing this sort of work commercially, you might consider approaching the clubs in Bayou Gavotte."
"What a great idea!" Rose said.
By the time they returned to the bookstore, Dick was ecstatic, full of plans for a portfolio, his fears of exposure dispelled.
Rose selected two craft books she didn't need. "Do you want another book, Juma?"
Juma's eyes grew round. "Of course! Yes, please!"
"Allow me," Jack cut in. "Juma and I have a mutual interest in literature, and I would be happy to buy her something." He beckoned to Juma. "Did you see that huge annotated Shakespeare?" He headed toward the shelves with Juma right behind, and Rose leaned against the counter, relieved. She was pretty broke, but clearly Dick needed sales. Maybe Jack thought bribing Juma with books would make her talk, but she sure hoped he could afford it. Except for that one designer shirt, he didn't show signs of being well-off. Rescuing people must cost money, and she didn't think it was a paying job.
She made idle conversation and let Dick look his fill until her eyes fell on a book about surviving abuse on the special-order shelf, with a paper sticking out that said "Dell."
"Do you know Linda Dell?" she asked. "Is that book for her?"
Dick tore his eyes away long enough to look at the paper. "Yeah, it's been sitting here for two weeks. First time she's ever bought nonfiction; usually she's into romances. I called this morning and left another message, but she never showed up. It's a special order that I can't return, so I'm stuck paying for it."
"She didn't come because her husband beat her up," Rose said.
Dick paled. "Jeez. She said she needed it for research. I thought she was writing a college paper."
"I'll pay for the book, if you'll keep it for her." Rose scrounged in her wallet for a business card just as Jack and Juma showed up with a bunch of paperbacks. "Put this inside it, and let her know to call this number if she wants help."
"Will do," Dick said. Jack said nothing, and Juma's nose was in one of the books.
"I believe in second chances," Rose said.
"That's your privilege." Jack pulled out a credit card. "Put everything on my account."
Rose opened her mouth to expostulate and closed it again. Jack seemed to like paying, and as Gil had said, he hated owing. "Thanks," she said.
"My privilege." A few minutes later they headed out the door.
"It's been a pleasure, Dick," Rose said. "Do me a favor?"
"Anything," he breathed. The odor of cigarettes overlaid with mint wasn't appealing, but the man was a sweetheart all the same.
Rose pointed to a perfect pink camellia at the top of the closest bush. "That flower," she said. "It's gorgeous, and it's calling to me."
They had barely turned onto the road when Rose let fly. She rounded on Juma and said, "Do you have any idea how lucky you are?"
Juma clutched Beowulf and quailed. "I guess, but---" "What if Dick hadn't been such a decent guy? What if he'd taken you up on your offer and then insisted on more? Or worse, what if he'd freaked out when you saw his wallpaper and decided to make sure you couldn't blab?" Rose tamped down on her anger, willing her fangs to stay where they belonged.
Juma pouted. "I know, but he didn't do anything. It's over, so forget it." She slumped against the bench seat and muttered, "I didn't think you'd give me the big moral lecture. That's more Jack's style." Hurriedly, she added, "But I'm really, really grateful for the books."
Jack let out a crack of laughter. "Morals come with too much baggage. My values are purely practical, and most of them have to do with not behaving like an idiot."
Juma sank farther into the seat, mulishly maintaining her sulk.
Rose tried to moderate her tone. "Sweetie, this isn't about morals, it's about common sense. Don't you understand? If he'd been a different kind of guy, he might have killed you!"
"Don't you understand?" Juma retorted. "I didn't have any choice. He was going to call the cops."
"Jack and I were coming right back. We would have straightened things out."
"How could I know you were coming back? Just because you said so doesn't mean anything, and then you gave me too much money. Two or three bucks for Coke would have made sense, but thirty bucks is guilt money. I thought you were going to just leave."
Rose glanced at Jack. He spread his hands.
"The cops would have taken me to Grandma, and then I might as well be dead!" A tear rolled down Juma's cheek. Angrily, she brushed it away.
Rose groped around for the tissue box. "I did come back, though," she said gently. "I keep my promises. The point I'm trying to make is that some risks simply aren't worth taking unless you're desperate."
"I am desperate." Juma wiped her eyes.
"Not anymore," Rose said. "I'll take care of you, but I need you to promise me you won't go bribing anyone else with sex."
"I can't promise that. What if I get into another mess and you're not there? So far I've been lucky. I'll keep hoping for the best. Anyway, Rose, not to be rude or anything, but you bribed those truckers with kisses. What if Jack hadn't been around, and one of them thought you wanted sex?"
Good thing she didn't see me with Biff. "They knew I was just flirting," Rose said. "I don't need Jack or anyone else to protect me."
"What about Stevie? He was about to rape you!"
"I would have stopped him if Jack hadn't hit him first."
"How? He's bigger and stronger, and he---"
Unexpectedly, Jack broke in. "Trust me. She would have stopped him."
"Okay, let's say I believe that one, which I don't, but whatever," Juma said. "What if you were flirting with Biff and a bunch of his buddies, and they thought you really meant it? Maybe you can tackle one guy. How about two or three? How about if they have guns or knives?"
"It doesn't matter," Rose said. "All that matters is what I intend. If I offer sex, it's because I'm willing. If I'm not willing, I don't say I am. Period."
The dark countryside flew by. Rose couldn't bring herself to look at Jack. Now he'd think she would have willingly gone to bed with Biff, which wasn't true. A month or two ago, she might have considered it. Now? No.
"But those guys are dangerous. They might not take no for an answer."
"Juma, I've had a lot of experience with dangerous guys. I can take care of myself."
"I'll learn to take care of myself, too," Juma said. "Self-defense classes or whatever."
Rose strove to keep her voice level. "Self-defense would be good, but that doesn't give you a license to prostitute yourself."
"Oh, great." Juma crossed her arms. "Now you're calling me a whore, just like Dick."
"I am not calling you a whore." Rose gave up. "Speaking as one who prostituted herself for years, in a situation a thousand times better than you'll ever find yourself in, it's not such a great life. Find a better way."
"You were a prostitute?"
"I was a gangster's mistress. He set me up in a penthouse and paid my way through college, but only because I'm different from other women, because his friends envied him, and he felt like the world's biggest stud. You're an ordinary girl, and ordinary girls end up with shit. Or dead. Don't do it."
"Well!" Juma said furiously. "I know you're gorgeous and sexy and guys are all over you, except maybe Jack, but people think I'm pretty, too, and I don't see why with a little experience I couldn't do just as well."
Except maybe Jack.
"Now, you listen to me," Rose said, quivering with rage. The camellia, which had so far stayed put in her hair, slipped down beside her ear.
"Hold on," Jack broke in. "Your reasons are none of her business. Think before you speak."
Rose's head whipped around. The camellia flew off and Jack caught it. "What else am I supposed to do? She has to understand."
"No, she doesn't," Jack said, his eyes back on the road. "You gave her good advice. If she doesn't take it, it's her problem."
Rose faced front, fuming, desperate now in her own way. She needed to help this girl. She needed...
"This isn't about you, Rose," Jack whispered.
Helpless, Rose subsided into the seat.
"As for you, Juma, take my word for it. Rose is different. Most guys find her irresistible, and although you may think that would be great, it's actually a major pain in the ass. She also has better self-defense skills than most girls can dream of. She cares enough to give you sensible and appropriate advice. So back off, shut up, and show her some respect."
There was a long, long silence.
Jack's voice broke through the chaos in Rose's brain. "Rose." Reluctantly, she turned her head. He held out the pink camellia, with a smile so faint and so rueful she wasn't sure she saw it in the darkness.
Jack's rueful smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and he fixed his eyes on the road. Juma dozed off after a stony, sullen hour with Beowulf and a book light. Rose cradled the camellia blossom while Jack went from news to music to a football game on the radio. He made a few unsuccessful attempts to reach Gil and asked a couple of questions about features of her phone, but nothing could drown out the deep silence that hung between him and Rose.
Her cell rang: Miles. Soothing him wouldn't be fun while Jack eavesdropped, but anything was better than this silence. She flipped it open.
"Rose! You tried to call me. Are you on the way back to Chicago?"
Maybe this wasn't better. "No, of course not."
Miles cursed. "Rose, I need you here. Titania's made me a wonderful offer. It will save the shop!"
Rose tried to ignore the nausea burbling in her gut.
"She wants a costume, and she's prepared to pay an absolutely obscene amount if we do it right away."
"That's great." It was also bullshit. "But it has nothing to do with me."
"Of course it does. The Elizabethan gown impressed her so much that she's determined to have you and only you make her costume." Bullshit again, judging by the sneer on Titania's face when she'd first seen the gown.
Rose twisted and turned the wilting camellia. "Here's the deal. Get Titania to wire a fifty percent down payment to your account, and have her sign something agreeing that the down payment is not refundable under any circumstances." She registered Jack's jerk of the head toward her and away again, but ignored it. "Get a witness to her signature. No, two witnesses. Reliable ones. When that's done and the money's in your account, call me back."
Silence, and then Miles said, "I don't think she'll go for that, Rose."
"I won't return for anything less." She hung up, and before Jack could start asking nosy questions or offering help, she asked, "Where are you taking us?"
"To an apartment near Gil's place," he said.
"A safe house?"
"No, as of the last time I spoke to Gil, he hadn't come up with anything in Bayou Gavotte. We have places in New Orleans and Baton Rouge, but we're relatively new here." He paused, and Rose went back to cradling the camellia blossom, as she had cradled it ever since Jack gave it to her.
But of course he hadn't really given it to her, whatever she might wish. She pulled a petal off the camellia.
"I should be able to sort things out before those thugs find us." Jack rolled his shoulders and shifted the arm that had been wounded only this morning. Her saliva had done a pretty good job, but the wound must be hurting him.
I could make it better, Rose thought sadly, dropping another petal. She allowed herself a glimpse of his inscrutable profile. Really inscrutable, now that she thought about it. Smooth, empty of emotion, eyes straight ahead.
Was there more to the chameleon effect than she had imagined? He hadn't spent much time smiling, so she couldn't judge by the dimple alone, but...It was as if he had more than one face, or rather a continuum of faces, ranging from the bland one he usually presented, to the cute, dimpled, almost sweet face she'd glimpsed once or twice. As if instead of blending against a background, he was blending against himself.
Wistfully, she glanced at him again. He's driving, dummy. He should be looking at the Rose---uh, road. But that didn't mean he wanted to look at her. Another petal fell.
But he defended me to Juma! She caressed another petal and let it drop, then another and another. So what? Just shrug and move on. She rolled down the window and released the pink flower to the winds.
Jack's voice dispersed her gloomy thoughts. "Busy day tomorrow?" Motioning with his chin toward the back, he added so quietly, so incredibly low and softly that no normal person could hear, "She still asleep?" He locked his gaze on hers for an instant before facing front again.
Rose quivered deep inside. Those eyes, and the intimacy of his tone, stirred her.
No. He just wanted to say something Juma shouldn't hear.
She listened for a long moment to the girl's slow, even breathing. Jack wouldn't be able to hear her if she spoke at the same low level, so in a normal voice she said, "Yes, I think so. I have to bring the gown to my customer and do a fitting, for starters."
"What else?" He lowered his voice again. "Did she talk to you at lunch?"
Oh, no you don't. Rose sent him a frosty glare, but he probably didn't notice, eternally facing front as he was.
"Apart from picking up the supplies from Gil," he said aloud, and then the whisper: "Anything about who she is, where she comes from?"
Not that I'm willing to tell you. Rose retrieved a stray camellia petal from her lap, pondering. She put on a perky voice and said, "Also, I'll see if my customer has friends who need costumes. Friends are the most valuable resource of all, in business and in life, but you have to treat them right." She caressed the petal's smooth softness. "Maybe I'll check out the clubs and theaters, see if anyone is hiring a costumer."
His head jerked toward her and immediately away. "You're planning on staying in Bayou Gavotte?" He sounded appalled.
Her perkiness deserted her. "What's it to you?"
"I thought you lived in Chicago." His tone accused her; his eyes focused grimly on the road. "What about Miles?"
"He wants me to get away from the mob scene and find someone 'suitable,' but he doesn't know what I am. He's been like a father to me."
She didn't add that her father figure---in a horrible echo of her stepdad years earlier---had shown signs recently of degenerating into another lascivious male. Amazing, that she'd been happy at first when Titania showed up. Anyone but me, she had thought.
Rose folded the camellia petal into a squashed, pathetic lump and dropped it to the floor. "I bet there are plenty of guys who like vamps in Bayou Gavotte. It's probably the perfect place for me."
The heavy silence reasserted itself. Faced with the dreadful prospect of Rose permanently in Bayou Gavotte, Jack seemed to have forgotten about Juma.
"Rose." There it was again, hardly a whisper. Damn, it shook her down to her guts, down to her soul.
What? she mouthed at him. When had she become so ridiculously needy?
Another whisper: "Not a matter of friendship. You just met her."
Perhaps, but Juma had spoken in confidence.
Jack breathed, "For her own good."
Maybe, maybe not, but that was irrelevant. "Maybe you don't value friendship the way I do," said Rose. "I've learned to treasure every second of friendship that's offered to me, because most guys only want one thing, and most women..." Damn, she was getting maudlin again. "It doesn't matter how good my intentions are; I am who I am, and things always fall apart. I can't relate to my mother, I haven't seen my little sisters in years, and although women frequently confide in me, they always end up hating me." Which Juma already did.
"I don't see how all this applies to someone you hardly know."
She wanted to clobber him. "It applies to everyone. Don't you care what people think of you?"
"Way too impractical," Jack said. "I have no control over what other people think. My own opinion of myself is all that matters."
A gasp erupted from Rose. "And you said I was conceited!"
"I misjudged you," Jack said. "Later, I apologized." Softly then, for her alone: "I didn't say I had a good opinion of myself."
Shaken, she faced the road stretching ahead of them in the darkness.
Like a shawl of kindness, he dropped his next whisper. "You'd see it as a betrayal of her trust." His understanding rippled all the way to her solar plexus, which was absurd. She closed her eyes, trying to shut off the gratitude that threatened to well up through her voice. Way too needy. He tosses you back and forth like a shuttlecock. And you let him.
He took the turn for Bayou Gavotte, and their brief, bizarre intimacy was over.
"I have no idea how much risk we're facing," Jack said a few minutes later. "There's no reason, as far as we know, why they'd expect either of you to show up here, or that I'd be with you, but since our puzzle's missing most of the pieces...Ah, I see Juma's awake. Keep your eyes and ears open, both of you, please."
They trundled slowly through well-lit streets, past banks and gas stations and a mall, past side roads leading to darker residential areas, and on into downtown Bayou Gavotte. Juma, wide-eyed and anxious but at least speaking to her again, explained the layout to Rose.
"I ran away to Bayou Gavotte last summer and stayed with a friend in her dorm for two weeks before Grandma found me. Downtown's about the size of the French Quarter in New Orleans. Most of the clubs are over that way"---she motioned left---"including Blood and Velvet and the Threshold, the dive where Stevie works. The other way leads to Hellebore U." She pointed to a funky-looking restaurant with a blue CLOSED sign in the window. "That's the Impractical Cat. Constantine Dufray's drummer, Leopard, owns it, and Constantine hangs out there when he's in town. He's on tour now, though."
"So far, so good," Jack said. He turned suddenly down a side street and abruptly veered again, and then again, until by twists and turns they arrived at a tumbledown brick warehouse less than a block, if Rose's sense of direction was correct, from the Impractical Cat. Jack turned off the headlights, pulled sharply up to a yawning doorway blocked by wrought-iron gates, and stopped. He rolled Rose's window halfway down and said under his breath, "Look, listen, smell..."
"What's going on?" Juma squeaked.
"Shh!" Jack held up a cautionary hand.
Rose peered into the darkness and listened hard. Dance music sounded from at least a block away; boisterous conversation came from somewhere on the far side of the warehouse. Much closer, garlic and ginger in hot oil made her nostrils twitch. Here, nothing but the tiniest rustle far away in the shadows and the odors of brick dust, mildew, citrus, and fresh rodent droppings. "There are rats in there. And oranges nearby?"
"Satsuma tree in the yard." He looked a question, and Rose shrugged an okay. They did make a good team, just as Cindy said. Sadness swept over Rose again at the thought of what might have been.
Jack got out and opened the gates. "Here goes nothing." Slowly, he drove into the pitchy depths of the warehouse. "Warn me of any impending collisions. I can't see a thing."
Clearly he knew his way well even in the dark, for unerringly he took the van past piles of bricks and bags of mortar mix, and a wheelbarrow topped with two shovels. Near the far corner, Rose spied a metal table with some apparatus on top, and beyond that the light-colored sides of what might be a kiln. And beyond that...
"A raku kiln? I love doing raku. Is that metal table a slab roller?"
"Gil's a potter," Jack said. "He used to have a store in New Orleans."
"How can you see anything in here?" Juma said.
"It's diet related," Jack said sardonically. "Right, Rose?"
"Not right," Rose retorted. "It's genetic. It doesn't matter what I eat. I assume you know there's a wall up ahead?"
A little light penetrated from glassless windows high above them. Jack took a right and followed the wall into an area that no longer had a roof. He pulled up and asked Rose to listen once again, then jumped down to open a metal garage door in the wall ahead. The door rose slowly onto an empty courtyard flanked on three and a half sides by old brick buildings. A low-slung car covered by a protective cloth huddled next to one wall. Across the yard, an alley led to another street. Jack parked the van opposite the car and out of sight of the street.
In silence, they unloaded the van. Jack took the confiscated guns and the larger suitcase, and led the way up an external staircase in the dark. He unlocked a door on the landing and ushered Rose and Juma inside. With a minimum of words in a dry, businesslike tone, he showed them a clean, sparsely furnished apartment with high ceilings and tall windows: a bedroom and living room, a kitchen in need of redecorating, a bathroom with a dream of a shower in decadent Italian tiles. Thick curtains covered all the windows; a Persian carpet graced the aged pine floor.
Jack removed a classical guitar from the futon couch and placed it on a stand by the wall. "The futon will fold down into a bed for one of you. The other can use the bedroom. Blankets, sheets, and towels in the closet, shampoo and soap in the bathroom. There's a bowl of satsumas on the table, and probably something to snack on in the fridge."
He shoved to one side the small amount of clothing in the bedroom closet---actually a wood-encased nook in the wall with a rod to hold hangers---partly covering some largely empty shelves. "Rose, you can hang the costume and whatever else you want in here. The chest of drawers is available, too." He dropped Rose's car keys into her outstretched palm and showed her a spare key to the apartment on a nail by the kitchen door. "I'll be over in the morning. You can stay here as long as you want, but you'll need a less conspicuous vehicle until we've sorted things out. I'll get you a loaner in the morning." Pause. "Juma?"
Reluctantly, Juma turned her attention from a glass-fronted cabinet with a distressed finish, its shelves full of books.
"Was anyone else with Stevie and Biff this morning?"
"Nope." She zoned in again on the bookshelves.
Jack made an impatient noise. "Neither Stevie nor Biff carried ID. I need to know everything you can tell me. Have you met Biff before? Any idea where he works or whom he works for?"
Juma reached for a book. Jack put out a hand to stop her. "If you don't answer my questions, I'll take the books away. All of them. If you do answer, I might lend you a few."
Juma's expression wavered between annoyance and delight and resolved into a light frown. "Nuh-uh. Stevie was talking about him is all, when we were driving up there. He wants to be just like Biff, but he's a little scared of him, I think."
"He should be," Rose said. "Biff's probably ex-mob. Or a freelancer. Not a bad guy, considering. I've seen far worse."
Jack gave her an irritated look and turned back to Juma. "Dredge your memory. Anything you can come up with will help. The sooner I get these guys put out of commission, the sooner we'll all be safe."
Without a backward glance he left, taking the guns with him.
Jack hurried down the stairs and through the warehouse, shutting the garage door and the gates behind him. He had until tomorrow morning to figure out what was going on and find a way to protect Rose from Titania. If he hadn't alienated her, she might have trusted him...No use dwelling on that.
A short walk around the block through the cool darkness brought him to Gil's pottery shop.
Oh, shit. Parked in front of the store, glowing ominously purple under the streetlight, stood a Z-300. What the hell was Violet Dupree doing here?
Jack unlocked the darkened store. He stowed all the weapons except Stevie's in a cupboard in the stockroom. Gun in hand, he crossed the courtyard. While Jack left the yard on the other side of the wall purposely unkempt, Gil trimmed and fed his shrubs and scattered homemade ceramic statues amongst them.
He let himself in through Gil's back door. The aromas of steamed rice and stir-fry greeted him, accompanied by the clink of wineglasses and Violet's throaty giggle. Gil's two little Pomeranians pranced up to say hello.
Jack acknowledged the dogs and strode into the kitchen. Gil was shoving vegetables and steak around in a wok. Violet set the wine bottle back on the counter and saluted Jack and the gun with widened eyes and a catlike smile. Jack took one look at Gil's air of bewildered well-being and dumped the pistol on the counter.
"Jeez, Violet. You didn't."
But of course she had.
Violet giggled again, running her hands through her lush orange hair---brassier than Rose's and nowhere near as compelling. She rubbed her back sinuously against the counter. "Iachimo! How lovely to see you. Don't blame poor Gil. He didn't stand a chance."
No duh, but while it undoubtedly did Gil good to get laid now and then, this was a complication they didn't need. Jack's exasperation must have shown, for Gil greeted him with the slightest jut of the chin. "Where's the runaway?"
Apparently Gil hadn't blabbed about Rose. Not that he blathered by nature, but with a vamp involved, one never knew. "Somewhere safe," Jack said.
Violet pouted. "Your rescue operations are simply scrumptious, and I'm dying to help. I adore taking care of troubled teens."
Jesus Christ. Since every damn female confessed her life history to Gil, evaluating safe havens was his responsibility and Jack had never interfered. So far.
Gil's chin jutted even more. "Violet says the underworld won't mess with anyone under her care."
Jack eyed the vampire skeptically. "What were you doing here in the first place? You didn't send me on a wild-goose chase so you could hop in the sack with Gil."
"If I had known about Gil, I might have. Poor, deprived, little me." She sipped her claret. "Darling, I was worried about you. You didn't answer your phone, and I thought you were just a spoiled society boy. You could have run into any kind of trouble. I had no idea you were so intrepid."
"Being intrepid didn't stop me from getting shot." Jack emptied his pockets and shrugged his jacket off. His injured arm twitched irritably, demanding rest. He showed Violet the hole in the sleeve and dumped the jacket in the trash. "Instead of a woman with Illinois plates, I got a hit man from Bayou Gavotte." Pause. "At the hotel to which you sent me."
Violet gazed at the bloodstained bandanna on his arm, licking her lips. She returned her eyes to Jack's. "Someone doesn't like you. Who knew you were there?"
"You." Jack matched her stare for stare. "No one but you, Violet."
Gil tsked, shaking his head, while Violet shivered and turned delicately away. "You have such irritating eyes. Surely you're not suggesting I had anything to do with it. What earthly reason would I have to harm you?"
"None that I'm aware of," Jack said. "I thought we were square."
"So did I. Not that I ever felt you owed me; that was your silly idea. I would never blame you for what you did while under Titania's influence."
Jack glowered at her. "I take full responsibility for my actions."
Violet rolled her eyes, but then her tone switched from casually bored to velvet over ice. "Are you quite, quite sure you're not under Titania's influence again? I don't appreciate being double-crossed."
What the hell? "Definitely not," Jack snapped, hauling hard on his temper. "I hope I never see her again."
Violet tittered. "Still in reaction phase, I see. Being dumped by a vamp screws with a man in every way but the one he wants."
Jack gritted his teeth. He'd never been one to kiss and tell, and he wasn't about to start now---not that she would believe him. "Although I'm not unaware of the poetic justice, I don't appreciate being a pawn in your petty revenge."
Violet grinned. "It was a sweet thought, no?" Her face hardened, and the tips of her fangs peeked out. "Unfortunately, my plan seems to have backfired. My friend's safe arrival in Bayou Gavotte was very, very important to me. What if Titania got wind of it and called on her dear, sweet Iachimo to help foil my plans? With promises of a suitable reward, of course."
Christ. "Nothing would induce me to lift a finger for Titania."
"I hope not, Iachimo darling." Her fangs were all the way down. "I don't approve of violence, but if you helped that bitch, I will show you no mercy."
Jack shrugged again, ignoring the complaints of his arm, and went down the hall to borrow one of Gil's shirts.
Violet's voice followed. "If the girl herself went over to Titania's side, she'll rue the day she was born."
If you touch Rose, I'll kill you. Without breaking stride, Jack continued to the bedroom, thankful he'd turned away from Violet, because murder---and the reason for it---would have shown all too clearly on his face. He shucked off his grubby shirt, put on a clean dark T-shirt, and returned to the kitchen. Violet had retracted her fangs and was sulking over her wine.
Cool. Calm. He popped open a beer. "Why did you drag some poor woman into your stupid feud? You might feel justified using a schmuck like me, but a friend?" he said. "Doesn't sound like friendship to me."
"She's not some poor woman; she not only makes fabulous costumes, but she does great wearable art. You wouldn't believe the contests she's won. She was even featured in Quilting Arts." Violet pouted. "Besides, coming down here was her idea, not mine."
Jack plunked himself and the beer at the table.
"I thought she was a friend." Violet appeared genuinely concerned.
"What was so important about getting her here?"
Violet's mood shifted instantly. Her fangs popped down. "None of your business. And if I find out---"
"No mercy, rue the day. I got that."
She scowled. "Titania may have won this round, but she will not win the game."
Gil scooped the stir-fry onto one of his homemade platters. A slice of red pepper dropped to the floor. He caught Jack's eyes with his own, asking a silent question as he bent to pick up the pepper.
The answer was Hell, no. Jack wasn't about to hand Rose over to Violet without explaining very clearly to Rose what she was getting herself into, and without offering her an alternative.
"I wonder who wants you dead?" Violet remarked. "Gil says it's someone from the underworld, but they're generally very civilized. Not like the mob at all, and believe me, I know. My daddy was from one of the New Orleans families."
"Handcuffing a girl inside a car doesn't seem civilized to me."
Violet made a little moue. "I detest bondage, and it's not permitted in my club in any form, but a lot of people come to Bayou Gavotte because they're into that kind of kink. Are you sure she wasn't willing?"
"Completely sure."
Violet rolled claret around her tongue. "Leopard and Constantine won't be happy to hear about this, but they've been gone on and off for months, so it's no surprise things have gotten a little out of hand. Even though it didn't happen here, the man had better be able to account for his actions. I dearly love Constantine, but he can get dreadfully violent."
As usual, Jack couldn't decide whether or not this was a plus. "The guy's name is Stevie, and he works at the Threshold. Do you know him?"
Violet shuddered artistically. "Of course not. I never go near that horrible place."
Gil heaped another platter with rice and set it on the table, then took the wok to the sink to clean it. "Go ahead," he said. "Serve yourselves."
"Hungry, Iachimo? I am." Violet smiled with typical vamp innuendo, and Jack noted his indifference with relief. Maybe he was finally getting over the worst year of his life. Maybe, with a little more effort, he'd be back in control for good. He could never erase the past; anyone who let himself get involved with vamps had to live with the consequences. In spite of what he'd garnered from his father's experiences, Jack had learned that the hard way himself, resulting in one debt he'd never be able to repay.
Violet filled one of three plates on the table and set it in front of him. Jack scooped up a pair of chopsticks and dug in. "What do you know about a thug called Biff?"
Violet's blue eyes widened for the briefest second. Huh.
"Such a distressingly fifties name," Violet said languidly, but her fingers gripped the stem of the wineglass. "Biff was at the hotel this morning?"
"Biff is the man who shot me."
"I'll have to get back to you on that one," Violet said, a dangerous edge to her voice.
"Spit it out, Violet," Jack said. "Who is Biff?"
Those sharp little fangs peeked out again. A muscle flickered at the corner of one of her eyes. "I said later." She took a long draft of wine. The fangs disappeared.
"While it's nice to know you can control your temper, I need you to answer my question."
Violet sent a pained glance at Gil's back and murmured, "He's already uncomfortable about Bayou Gavotte. You don't want him to know."
"Just tell me."
"You're so insensitive. Gil is a sweetie, and so much fun to talk to. I want him to stay here in town, and it so happens this is the worst." Violet lowered her voice even more. "Biff's a part-time enforcer for the underworld, and he's moving up the ladder fast."
She didn't need to say the rest.
He works for Constantine Dufray.
Jack left the minute he finished eating, devoutly thankful he had never let Gil in on the camo thing. His partner's respect for his supposed courage drove him nuts, but the fewer who knew the truth, the better. Who could say what Gil might confide to Violet if they became deeply involved? For now, they were stuck with a vampire as their first haven hostess in this town.
Grudgingly, Jack admitted that she might do on a temporary basis. Whatever she had spilled her guts about to Gil must have convinced Gil she wasn't dangerously skewed. On the other hand, Gil had kept his mouth shut about Rose, probably because Violet had also let fly about her ongoing feud with Titania. It didn't matter that he'd told Violet about the rescues---hell, the rescues themselves might spread the word about where they'd found help---but Jack's chameleon ability made the whole operation possible.
Strange, Jack thought, I kept it a secret from everyone. I hid it from Titania by sheer dumb luck, and then totally blew my cover with Rose. The circumspection of a lifetime negated by an instant's insanely blind trust.
Although, to be fair---and he was determined to be scrupulously fair where Rose was concerned, because every little thing added up toward restoring the balance---Rose had shown no sign of holding it over his head. In fact, she seemed more inclined to protect him. Which tipped the balance in her favor again.
I'm not going to think about her.
Jack buttoned the old overcoat he'd borrowed from Gil and made for the club district. Too bad there wasn't time to do some digging in Blood and Velvet, but Violet would return to the club soon. He didn't think much of her conviction that no one else knew her plans. If Biff was one of Violet's lovers, he might have overheard something. If not, someone else had. Regardless, who had sent Biff to kill him?
Constantine had no reason to want Jack Tallis dead. In fact, Gil was probably right, and Constantine had forgotten his very existence. Which would definitely suck, but there you go. On the other hand, it was said that even from a distance, Constantine kept his finger on the pulse of Bayou Gavotte. Jack was careful, putting his buildings in a corporate name, keeping himself and his usual vehicle as nondescript as practical, not because of Constantine, but because he tried to keep Jack the Rescuer separate from Iachimo Tallis, son of the international mogul. Still, he wasn't hard to find. Violet, once he'd given her his new cell number, had had no trouble at all.
Maybe Constantine had heard about random disturbances in the clubs over the past months, incidents where innocent people were removed from danger by a guy no one had actually seen. Maybe Constantine had put two and two together. Maybe he resented interference with the Bayou Gavotte clubs. Maybe he wanted Jack out of the way.
But that contradicted everything Jack believed---no, knew---about Constantine.
And what about Rose? Do. Not. Think. About. Rose.
Semicamouflaged in the darkness, more like shadow than reality to anyone who noticed him, he bypassed the brilliantly lit front entrance to the Threshold and turned up the alley toward the rear. Inside the back door, an armed and brutal-looking guard hovered in a barren, equally well-lit vestibule, virtually impossible to camouflage past. But sooner or later he would come out for a smoke break with a couple of his buddies, and Jack would slip past unseen.
If Rose were with him, he wouldn't have to lurk out here in the cold. The Threshold wasn't a private club, but you couldn't get in if they didn't know and trust you or want you for some of their games. Underage girls, and to a lesser extent guys, got in occasionally and sometimes didn't come back out. One flash of Rose's fangs and she and her escort would be welcomed with open arms. The Threshold would never refuse a vamp.
Again, Jack shut the door on thoughts of Rose. He slid between the Dumpster and the rickety wooden fence at the edge of the Threshold's rear court. Bedraggled English ivy hung against the fence, an interloper from the walls of the restaurant next door, where seekers of vicarious thrills were treated to tales about the hellish shenanigans nearby. Glad that the cold muted the stink from the Dumpster, Jack camoed against the ivy's musky leaves.
Twenty minutes later, when he'd justified thinking about Rose as a method of keeping warm, a furtive footstep from behind the Dumpster broke his reverie. A scrawny male figure, silhouetted against the murky gray sky, appeared at the end of the Dumpster and crept through the darkness toward him.
Shit.
Option 1: get out of the way quickly and quietly, and let the fool meet the fate he deserves.
Unfortunately, he had to go for Option 2.
Jack locked his right arm around the guy's throat and thrust him hard against the side of the Dumpster, twisting the guy's left arm up behind him. The morning's wound in his own arm spasmed. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he growled.
The kid was too busy suffocating to answer, so Jack let up a little. The kid gasped and hacked, bucking feebly between Jack and the Dumpster. Jack shoved on the twisted arm and the kid whimpered.
"Any minute now," Jack said, letting up again for his own sake as much as for the kid's, "some dude about twice as tall and three times as heavy and a thousand times meaner than me will come out that door. Either you shut up, stay still, and listen to me, or I'll throw you out there for him and his buddies to rip apart with their bare hands. And teeth."
Maybe this was a mite exaggerated, even given the bizarre predilections of the people who frequented this dive, but chances were the kid would soak it up. And he did. The boy subsided, and Jack eased his grip a little more, cursing his injury.
"Don't get me wrong, kid. It's fine by me if you have a death wish, but go in through the front door. That way you might have some fun while you kill yourself."
"They won't let me in the front." Bitterness choked the youth's voice.
Of course they won't. "Because...?"
"Because I'm underage." The ultimate humiliation. The kid tried to twist his head to see his captor and sobbed as Jack put pressure on his arm again. "I'm not a kid. I'm old enough to know what I want."
"Maybe, maybe not. It might be smart to wait till you're eighteen to find out for sure."
"That's forever," the boy protested. "I need to get into that club."
Christ. "The people who run the Threshold don't care what you need. They intend to stay in business, and staying in business means no one gets in if they're underage."
"I'll never tell," the boy said. "Please, man. Please let me in. I belong there. Out here, I'm so fucking bored I could die."
"Suit yourself," Jack said, a familiar indifference taking over. The club door swung open and fragments of hot, heavy music slithered out, accompanied by a massive figure. Two bouncers followed to hover at the edge of the pool of light by the door. One was Stevie, a bruise on his left temple and a vacant scowl on his face.
"Now's your chance for some excitement," Jack whispered in the kid's ear. "I've heard they're very creative about punishment for rule breakers. Who knows what they'll be in the mood for tonight? Death by stoning...dismemberment...Castration first, I suppose. Out you go." He set the kid free.
The boy flung away from Jack with a loud, choking cry, thunked against the Dumpster, and stumbled toward freedom as fast as he could go. What a nincompoop. Still, Jack knew he'd gone too far with the scare tactics. Anyone gullible enough to think frequenting the Threshold would solve his problems had no idea how to think at all.
Stevie gave chase, cutting off one escape route, and the mingled cries of success and agony told Jack the other bouncer had snagged the fleeing youth. "Well, well," said the humongous security guard ponderously and unoriginally, "what have we here?"
Stevie, oblivious to Jack's presence only a foot away, turned to join his companions. Jack took the opportunity to yank him back by the throat and shove the muzzle of Stevie's own pistol against his side. They stood in the darkness. "Not so fast, Stevie," he said.
"What the fuck?" Stevie clawed at Jack's hand.
"Cool it." Jack's injured arm spasmed again. "Keep your voice down and answer my questions, and I'll let you join your buddies. What's Juma's last name?"
"Who the...?" Jack tightened his hold and Stevie gasped, "Loveday-Smith."
"Good." Jack eased the stranglehold and rested his reluctant gun hand against the fence, the muzzle still lightly on Stevie's ribs. "Her grandmother's name and where they live. The name of the hairdressing salon where she works."
"Estelle," Stevie spat. "Estelle Loveday. They live in Destrierville. I don't know the fucking name of the fucking salon." Jack squeezed, and Stevie choked out, "Loveday's something or other."
"Her grandmother owns the salon?"
"Of course she owns the fucking salon. She owns half the goddamn town."
"So why is Juma running away from home?"
"Yo, Stevie," called the other bouncer. "We caught the kid. Let's go teach him a lesson."
If Rose were here, she could keep those guys busy while I finished with this moron. What bozo had hired Stevie? He hadn't even realized Rose was a vamp, and he'd shown no self-control at all. Even in a club like this one, the employees knew their boundaries and feared the consequences of a slipup: if a vamp arrived unaccompanied, they wouldn't do more than vie with one another to escort her inside and show her around, in the hope she'd bestow her favors on them later.
He shut out the thought of Rose giving herself to any of these lowlifes, well trained or not, and tightened the stranglehold again. "Why does she keep running away?"
Stevie coughed out a curse. "Her grandma won't let her go to college."
"What?" Jack's injured arm twitched. His hesitation must have shown, or maybe Stevie wasn't as dumb as he seemed, but an elbow jabbed Jack in the ribs and he dropped the gun. Hissing with the pain, Jack sidestepped Stevie's follow-up swivel and rush, grasped the fence with his good arm, and vaulted into the yard next door.
In no time they would be after him. He toppled a trash can and flung the lid across the yard, tossed a flower pot toward the alley, and camoed against the ivy-covered wall. That should give them plenty to chase. His arm throbbed like crazy, though, and now it was sticking to his coat. Well, crap. It was bleeding again.
Rose could have fixed that just fine.
You don't need Rose.
Two minutes later, while Stevie and the other bouncer bumbled around the restaurant yard with flashlights, guns, and threats, Jack climbed over the fence, retrieved Stevie's gun---maybe he was that dumb---and slipped through the back door of the Threshold in time to see the security guard round a corner, dragging the blubbering kid. God, he hated this place.
Jack semicamoed up the gloomy corridor in the wake of the guard, wrinkling his nose against the stink of blood and fear that permeated the back areas of the club. This kind of dump screwed things royally for the regular bondage types, for the vampire wannabes who frequented clubs like Violet's, for kink freaks in general. The media lumped them all together---and yet, if dives like the Threshold didn't exist, extremists would dig themselves even deeper and take kids along with them to find the kicks they craved. Or so Jack believed.
The guard turned right toward the private rooms. The kid could wait. A couple of minutes with the bouncers would guarantee he'd never, ever come near the Threshold again.
Jack headed toward the safety of the dance floor. Even more nondescript than usual in the haze, with no need to camo against the flicker of the strobes, he worked his way through the pulsing, pounding noise and chaos, through the miasma of unrestrained highs and lows, to the men's room. Inside a stall, he took off Gil's coat and awkwardly retied the bandanna around his arm. He set his mind to figuring how to rescue the kid.
Just go home, his arm throbbed.
Where home? I gave my bed to Rose.
Who would be really, really useful right now.
Fine, Jack snarled, she'd be useful, but she's not here and there's no time.
I hurt, his arm complained. You got enough info from Stevie. Forget the kid. You can't save the whole fucking world.
Goddamn obligations, thought Jack. Goddamn stupid balance of favors. Why should I risk my life for some kid who's determined to kill himself? Yet it was easy enough to create a diversion, get the crowd to panic, and draw the entire security staff away from the rear. If a bouncer stayed with the kid, he'd deal with it.
He was weighing the boring option of flipping the circuit breakers against the more entertaining one of shooting out the lights, when the music faded and an appalling scream filled the lull. Drawn by the hope of blood and the thrill of fear, the crowd on the dance floor surged toward the back hallway.
A screamer. Jack wondered what the situation was this time. If she'd signed on for the scene, the club had the right to keep the screaming woman here. She might even want them to. They wouldn't do her any real harm---some artistically placed cuts, some souvenir scars---and if she got over her terror she might even get off on her fantasy come true of being licked, sucked, and invaded by several of the elite members of the club.
She also might get any number of STDs and eventually die as a result. She sounded awfully young. Why did kids take these chances?
Jack pushed and flowed with the rest, thrusting one drunken girl to the side, grabbing another from the midst of the melee and passing her off via his other arm, throbbing or no, before she went down under the wave. The bouncers moved fast with whips and bludgeons to control the mob, but not fast enough for the pushiest, who crowded the back hall. Shouting for blood, they surrounded a screeching, naked girl being hauled on a leash toward a private room where only the elite were allowed.
"Help me, please!" the girl shrieked. "I didn't sign up for this. They sold me to this club!"
Sold? He'd heard about this, but he'd never found one in time. So far, he'd only rescued the occasional screamer who'd signed up for a scene and then changed her mind.
Sold, sold, sold...An ecstatic hiss snaked through the crowd.
Jack moved up behind two of the regulars. In his sleaziest murmur, he asked, "That true? They really bought her, or is it just a gimmick?"
"What I heard," one dude said.
"For a fucking fortune," the other guy said, awe in his voice.
So...maybe, maybe not.
"Blood," somebody growled behind him. Another dude took up the chant, and a woman's shrill voice joined in. Calls for blood bounced off the walls, punctuated by the girl's sobs and screams. "Somebody save me! Oh, God, have pity on me."
"No pity," responded the growler, and the crowd took up the cry, and it might just be a performance, but...
"Fuck," Jack said, and went into action. Camoing as best he could while moving, he scrambled into the darkened private room amongst the leaders of the crowd, ducking the bludgeons, shoving toward the stage. Here he had room to maneuver. The crowd leaders would be allowed to stay; some might even be accepted into the elite, depending on how they handled themselves. Everyone else was slammed out into the hall to be driven like animals back to the dance floor.
Two burly men dressed only in loincloths hoisted the squalling girl onto the stage and tied her arms to a bar above her head. A single spotlight haloed her, shimmered over her glistening tits and ass, casting the surrounding stage into even deeper shadow. Another man, hooded executioner-style, strolled into the light, sharpening a long knife with slow, sinister strokes. No telling what was planned here. If they'd paid for her, they would do whatever they damn well pleased.
Judging by the mood in the room, they would do what they pleased regardless.
Jack slipped behind the stage, scoped the room's rear exit and the narrow hallway beyond, then semicamoed through the darkness onto the stage. The guys in the loincloths were spreading the girl's legs. It was now or never.
He memorized the setup, raised the gun, and fired. The spotlight shattered. With his weaker hand, Jack stowed the gun in his pocket; with the stronger hand he swiped the knife as his foot connected behind the executioner's knees. Two swift strokes while the audience hollered and the big guys blundered in the dark, and the girl was free. Jack grabbed her as she fell, half carrying, half dragging her through the backdrop.
"Stand up," he hissed, slugging someone who had shown up backstage, instinctively ducking a return blow. "On your feet, girl. Move." He thrust her through the door, slammed it shut, and hauled her along the corridor, smashing the wall sconces as he passed.
Now for the kid.
Jack's arm throbbed furiously. Yeah, yeah, I really could use some help. No, not Rose. Someone who has guts and thinks on her feet.
And that would be...Rose.
But Rose wasn't there, only the naked, gasping, sobbing chick. Ahead of him a door opened and Stevie came out. Jack plowed straight into him, feet and fists flying, and mowed him down to the floor. One sharp blow with the butt of the gun and Stevie was out for the third time that day.
"Shut up," he told the squealing girl. "Do you want them to find you?"
He pushed her into the room from which Stevie had come, dragging the scumbag behind him. The kid from the Dumpster was tied to a chair there, a few bruises on his face but battered mostly by fear. Ten seconds later the kid was free. Jack covered the girl's mouth as the behemoth of a security guard lumbered past, joining the fiasco in the private room, and a minute later they were in the yard, then in the alley and home free.
"Thanks," the kid gulped, unable to keep his eyes off the naked, shivering girl. She couldn't be more than eighteen or nineteen.
Jack took off Gil's coat, removed the gun from the pocket, and wrapped it around the girl. "Where do you live?"
She pulled herself together enough to gasp, "The dorms."
Jack herded her toward the main drag, with the boy tagging along.
"Did they really buy you?" Jack asked.
"I don't know!" Pause. "I don't remember." She broke into a fresh spate of tears, but he didn't dare touch her, not after what she'd been through. Rose sure would come in handy.
The girl wiped her eyes on Gil's coat sleeve. "That's what they told me, but I don't remember anything that happened. I just went there to have some fun."
Rose would give these idiots another chance.
Jack hailed a taxi. As it pulled to the curb, the girl said, "Thank you. Thank you so much!"
"Show your appreciation by staying away from that dive." Including the boy in his stare, Jack said, "If I catch either of you there, I won't rescue you again." He then put the girl into the taxi, paid the fare in advance, and shooed the boy on his way. Then he walked alone, lying to himself and justifying it like mad to the cool, indifferent night.
Rose woke, sweating and throbbing, to the sound of her own drawn-out moan. She rolled over and pressed her face into the pillow, squeezing her legs together to make the most of it, waiting for the aftershocks to subside. It wouldn't keep her going long, but she needed anything she could get.
Then her brain kicked in. She shouldn't be this horny. She'd gone without for a month---she couldn't stomach another mobster boyfriend---but she'd had a good taste of Jack's blood yesterday. Usually, either sex or blood---although both together worked better---calmed her enough to keep the sex dreams away.
Jack's aroma wafted up through the pillowcase and tickled her nostrils. Rose tossed the pillow across the room and sniffed the sheets. Sure enough, even though the sheets were clean, the mattress cover beneath smelled of Jack as well.
So, this was his bed. And this was his apartment. No big surprise, what with all the literature in the bookshelf. The few clothes in the closet were costly, the kind of designer clothing that would draw attention to the man who wore them, while Jack's expertise seemed to be in avoiding notice. Still, Rose herself had plenty of attention-grabbing outfits to make the mobster boyfriends happy. Maybe these were Jack's impress-the-woman clothes---definitely not what he was likely to wear for her. Tomorrow she'd find someplace else, rather than be tortured by the pheromones of a man she lusted for but couldn't have.
Rose swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She took off her T-shirt, replaced it with a tank top, and yawned her way to the living room, where Juma had fallen asleep over a book. The girl's backpack lay in open invitation beside the bed.
No way, Jack. Rose turned off the light beside Juma and continued to the kitchen. A cockroach skittered partway beneath the toaster, waving its antennae, but she let it be.
Pickings in the fridge were slim. Beer. Eggs. Grapefruit juice. Apples in the crisper. She peeled a satsuma orange from the bowl on the table and ate it slowly, wandering through the living room to the windows. She pushed open the blinds and looked down into the street. This wasn't a quiet town. Music still wafted from at least two sources, and a couple strolled out of a bar on the corner. Cars passed, and on the next block a neon sign advertised tattoos.
Loneliness crept toward Rose from inside the apartment, whose owner didn't want to be anywhere near her, from the dark streets of a town she didn't know. It was nothing she wasn't used to, nothing she couldn't handle. Juma would be gone in a day or two, but for now she was glad to have someone to take care of, to offset the anxiety over Titania, Violet Dupree, and the Elizabethan gown, and to compensate, however briefly, for the disappointment---the strange and foolish dismay---over Jack.
Back in the bedroom, she rolled her T-shirt for a pillow and curled up at the bottom of Jack's bed. Here the aroma of pheromones was far fainter, and with luck she'd get through the rest of the night. She concentrated on Juma's steady breathing in the other room, visualizing herself in that same peaceful sleep. She focused on a long, deep breath...
A breath which came from another direction entirely.
Rose shot up in bed. Who the hell?
Calm down, she scoffed. There must be an apartment next door. She listened again, picturing the externals of the building, trying to recall what little she'd seen. Yes, there might be a room on the other side of this wall.
The breathing broke, followed by a weary sigh and the faint squeak of a mattress as someone turned over.
Behind the closet, Rose decided. She held herself silent and still. The breathing slowed and deepened, more soothing than Juma's by far. Rose lay down and closed her eyes again. A thin wall, but so what? The breathing broke again and the sleeper shifted. The sharp scent of blood assailed her. Rich, delicious, familiar male blood.
"Damn!" said a voice from behind the closet, way too loud and clear for a too-thin wall.
Rose leaped up. "Jack? Where are you?"
No answer, but the sound of movement. Rose switched on the bedside light and scanned the closet. The shelves were at one end, Jack's clothing and the Elizabethan dress in its garment bag and the mantle at the other. At the back of the closet hung a tacky old vinyl shoe holder with two pairs of high-quality men's shoes and a rip down the middle. She peeled the ripped vinyl to one side...to reveal a neat round hole in the wood.
"A peephole?" The aroma of fresh blood overwhelmed her. Jack's wound must be bleeding again, which pissed her off even more.
"Rose," came Jack's voice, roughened by sleep, "calm down."
"I will not calm down." She slapped the vinyl back into place and banged the wall hard with her fist. It hurt, but she banged it again anyway. "What kind of pervert are you?" The thought that he might have seen her writhing in her sleep, turned on by his damned bed, made her more furious than ever. "Can't stand vamps, but still want to watch?" She banged the wall again.
Ouch!
"Rose, let me explain."
"Go away!" Rose throbbed. Her fangs bucked angrily inside her gums. She clamped her mouth hard to keep them in place and moved the garment bag, making good and sure it covered the rip in the vinyl. She hung the mantle beside the garment bag and kicked the wall once more. Somewhere, floors and walls away, a dog yapped twice.
"Stop making such a ruckus," Jack said.
"I'll make as much ruckus as I please." She gave up on fighting her fangs and let them slot down. "If you wanted me to put on a nasty little show for you, why didn't you just ask? At least I'd have the pleasure of saying 'No fucking way.'"
"I don't want you to put on a show."
Jack sounded disgusted. Again. And Rose simply couldn't take it. Hurt and rage twisted inside her. "For a moment back there in the van, I thought you were actually going to treat me like a human being. You even defended me for a few seconds. Took all the niceness right out of you, did it, saying a few positive words about a vamp?" She kicked the wall. "I bet there are chameleons who aren't good guys, but do you hear me dissing you because of them?" She kicked the wall again. And slammed her fist into it, over and over.
The distant dog launched into a crescendo of hysterical barking, the shelves at the end of the closet swung open, and Jack strode through, tousled, gorgeous, and pissed off. A secret door? The tornado of rage inside Rose spiraled and twisted and grew. Another dog joined in the frenzy.
"Stop it right now," Jack said, dabbing the edge of his T-shirt against a trickle of blood on his arm. "Listen to me."
Fat chance. Her nostrils quivered at the ripe scent of his blood---blood she craved, blood she couldn't have. "That's why you pushed your clothes to that end of the closet? So I wouldn't notice the door you were going to sneak through?"
"Of course not, and if you'd just get a hold of yourself for a second---"
Rose lashed out with a fist and a barrage of allure. Jack blocked the fist with a hand, whipped around and pulled her hard against him from behind. "Let me go," panted Rose, "or I'll kill you."
"You'll kill me if I do let you go," Jack said into her ear. "Not only that, you've got Gil's damned dogs barking, and---oh, shit." His arm tightened across her belly, and the other snaked around to touch her breast.
A hot, honeyed thrill of desire shot through Rose. Oh, God, it felt good: his hands, his voice, his breath in her ear, now his erection pressing against her. Of its own accord, allure reached out to rope him before he could change his mind, to tie him, bind him to her, a helpless love slave...
No.
Rose melted into his embrace anyway, protesting, I don't want him, because he doesn't want me.
It doesn't matter, said the allure, and Jack seemed to agree. He palmed her breast and nuzzled her neck, toyed with her nipple and touched his tongue to her bare skin.
The telephone rang.
Thank God, thought Rose.
"Thank God," Jack said, and let her go, and Rose wanted to slug him.
He grabbed the phone on the bedside table. "Gil, I'm fine. It's nothing. Don't call the cops." He sat on the bed, raking his hands through his hair---thick, dark hair, which Rose wouldn't at all mind running her own hands through. After she slugged him, of course. That healthy hair would be perfect for dragging him back to her cave. Not that she wanted him in her cave, or anywhere else. Right.
"Just a little mishap." Jack dropped his forehead onto one hand, and blood drizzled to his elbow. "The underworld is not attacking me." He pressed his fingers to his temple. More blood trickled down. "No, you don't need to come over. See you tomorrow." He hung up the phone.
"Ah, I see." Rose flung allure heedlessly around the room. "You won't even introduce me to your friends now. Are you afraid I'll jump the poor man? I wasn't planning on it, but since you'd doubtless like to be proven right---"
Jack groaned. "Damn it, would you stop with the allure? You don't want me any more than I want you, so it's nothing but a goddamned nuisance. Didn't your mother teach you how to control it?"
Rose stormed off to the bathroom and turned on the cold water full blast. Two seconds later, she remembered Juma's backpack. Jack was already in the living room, the sneaky bastard. Was he planning to go through it, looking for information?
"Come in here with me," she snarled, softly so as not to wake Juma, although if the preceding commotion hadn't disturbed her, Rose doubted anything would. She seized Jack by the belt and hauled him toward the bathroom.
"Bad idea," Jack began. "Neither of us wants this."
"Don't worry, I'm not going to take my clothes off," Rose said. She shut the bathroom door behind them and got into the shower, fully dressed.
Jack closed the toilet lid and sat down. "Why am I in here, then?"
"What happened to the cold water?" Rose messed with the taps. The cold tap was totally on, no hot at all. Why wasn't the water cold?
Jack stuck his hand in the shower. "We're in south Louisiana. That's as cold as it gets."
"This place sucks," Rose said. Okay, so maybe she was exaggerating, but she was so horny that even freezing water wouldn't do the trick. "No, Jack, my mother didn't teach me about controlling my allure because she couldn't. She's not a vamp."
Tense silence. Serves him right.
"Oh," Jack said.
"I got the vampire gene from my father. Most of what I know about being a vampire I learned through trial and error."
"Oh," Jack said again. Another silence. "This is all fascinating, but I still don't see why you dragged me in here, so---"
"Oh, no, you don't." Rose popped the shower door open to grab him as he stood. "I'm not leaving you out there to go through Juma's bag."
He made an exasperated noise and removed her hand from his arm. "Stop jumping to conclusions." He sat down again.
"Like you never jump to conclusions," Rose sputtered, back under the shower. "That's all you've done about me all day. The last one was only ten seconds ago."
"I apologized earlier, and I apologize again, but---"
Rose broke in. "You can apologize all the way to China for all I care. It's too late to make up for the crap you've fed me." She let out an enraged little scream. "How the hell do you take cold showers in this godforsaken place?"
"You don't need a cold shower. You need to grow up."
"Listen, mister." Rose opened the shower door, stuck her head out, and dripped water all over the floor. Her furious eyes caught his and held them. "Just because I loathe you---more every minute---it doesn't mean I don't want to fuck you." She got back under the water.
After a long, horrible pause, Rose couldn't take it anymore. She glanced through the shower door. Jack still sat on the toilet lid, head in his hands. A drop of blood gathered on his arm, swelled, and fell to the floor. And another, and yet another.
Tears rose along with her gorge. She faced away from him, toward the fabulous Italian tiles. "That doesn't matter, because it's just sex. But why would you rather bleed to death than let me heal that wound?"
Once again, he said nothing.
She turned off the water, squeezed out her hair, and opened the shower door. Jack was gone.
He moved quietly and fast through the closet, across the secret bedroom, and up the stairs to the flat, open roof. He had to get away; he'd almost ripped off her clothes and jumped her, jammed her, rammed her, hard against the shower wall. Just sex, she'd said. Maybe that's all it was for her. Did Rose have no idea what her allure did to a guy?
Titania had known exactly what she was doing. She'd steamrolled him in two minutes flat, and he'd been so blinded by lust that he hadn't seen through her for days.
He would never lose control like that again.
The two nearby clubs were closing their doors. The bar across the street had rolled out its last customers and locked up for what little remained of the night. Jack took stock of the jumble of roofs, flat and steep, on both sides of his building, across the street above the exotic pet shop and the tattoo parlor, and stretching on one side into the club district proper, where Violet Dupree lived in a garish purple Victorian house behind Blood and Velvet. A half block away on the other side, the dormers above the Impractical Cat gazed with closed, secret faces across the rooftops at Jack's jumble of buildings. He still wasn't sure why he'd bought this derelict property over a year earlier.
He sat down against the parapet. Rose would find him if she wanted to, but there was no reason to suppose she did, unless she felt like cussing him out even more.
Too late. Her words hammered at him in the quiet darkness. He curled up, head in his hands, and sank into camouflage against the cool bricks. Too late.
Damn it all, didn't he deserve another chance? What were the odds of his meeting the one good vampire? Was he supposed to get over his lifelong prejudice in just one day?
You never give anyone else a second chance.
He huddled against the bricks, desire and chagrin and common sense thrashing it out inside him. In childhood, camouflage had been his refuge from the unwelcome: from chores and from homework, from his mother when she was distressed and he could do nothing to help, even from bullies, until he learned how to fight. Then it became a game, to disappear from the schoolyard and reappear as if he had never been gone. And because he was very, very careful, and because in any case what he did was impossible, no one ever caught on.
Except Constantine Dufray.
Constantine was the scariest kid in the whole school. Probably on the whole Navajo reservation, Jack had figured back then, although his experience of the Rez consisted mostly of the elementary school where his mom taught. Even as a third grader, Constantine was terrifying. The fifth and sixth graders stayed well out of his way. Part of it was superstition---not that the Navajo kids would have discussed it with a white kid like Jack, even once they'd accepted him. Jack got his information by eavesdropping in camouflage. He didn't believe in skinwalkers any more than he believed in the devil. Superstition aside, though, Constantine had abilities no one else could touch.
So did Jack, which explained, maybe, why Jack was more intrigued than afraid. More than once he wondered if Constantine sensed his presence when the others at school had no clue. A couple of times when Constantine overpunished some bully, Jack slipped out of camouflage to break up the fight. Constantine didn't turn on Jack as everyone expected; he'd merely offered an amused look before walking away.
One spring weekend when Jack didn't want to do his chores, he'd left the compound where the teachers lived, to take refuge amongst the pinions. Crouched on the cracked earth, he faded into warm, comfortable camo. He was half asleep in the sunshine when a hard, sharp hello rapped inside his head. Constantine Dufray lazed against a fencepost a few feet away.
"Come on, Tallis," the young Dufray said. "Drop the invisible act. I know you're there."
Jack said nothing, did nothing. Always his first line of defense: stay quiet, blend, wait and see.
"Nobody's watching except me," Constantine said, "and I've seen you do it a zillion times." Constantine looked right at him, grinning amiably---unusual for Constantine---and in a way it was a relief. Jack shook off the camo and stood up.
"Tell you what." Constantine led the way up the hill, confident as always, sure Jack would follow. "You teach me how to disappear, and I'll teach you how to scare the shit out of everybody."
"Why would I want to scare the shit out of anybody?" Jack asked.
"You never know when it might come in handy." Constantine moved silently but fast, and Jack hurried in his footsteps until they were halfway up the ridge, alone in the ponderosa pines.
Thus began the intense, short-lived friendship that shaped Jack's life. Then one day at the end of summer---and they'd both made progress imitating each other's bizarre gifts, which made it all the weirder---Constantine didn't show up. He didn't show up when school began again, either, and nobody knew where he had gone. Either that or they wouldn't say, and even eavesdropping didn't reveal a thing.
It simply was not possible. Constantine Dufray, however changed, couldn't want Jack Tallis dead. He would bet his life on that. It looked like he might have to.
That must be when this one-chance shit began, Jack decided. He'd long since forgiven Constantine---it wasn't a boy's fault if his family moved---but what with his father jet-setting around Europe with a string of vampires and his mother plodding through life on the Rez, Jack lost his expectations of people long before hitting his teens. Maybe some of them were worth the bother of a second chance, but he didn't have the patience to find out. Since the fiasco with Titania and its aftermath, he didn't even want to.
But maybe he'd gone just a little overboard.
If Rose didn't care whether they had sex, why did she want to heal his wound? Jack raised his head and leaned back to see the sky. It was nothing like the night sky on the Rez, where the Milky Way hung above you in the clear, crisp darkness, and a hundred million stars testified to a magnificent infinity. Here in sleepless Bayou Gavotte, only a few faint glimmers won out against the city's lights.
The door to the stairway opened slowly. Rose came out and shut it behind her. Lithe and lovely, silhouetted against the deep purple sky, she drove every other thought from Jack's mind.
Maybe she heard him, although he was quiet and still. Doubtless he stank, since he hadn't showered, but either way it didn't take her long to zero in on him. "I couldn't find your jacket, so I brought a blanket in case you were cold."
He was freezing, and he hadn't even noticed. He let go of the camo. "Thanks."
"And a clean bandanna to tie up your wound." She handed him the blanket and the bandanna, and immediately moved away along the parapet. She peered over the edge at the roof of the next building, then turned his way. "I know you came up here to get away from me, and I'll leave again if you like." Her voice, soft and sad, tentative and sweet, sucked him in. "But if you want to finish whatever you were saying when I kept interrupting, go ahead."
Jack said nothing. Stupidly clutching the blanket and bandanna, he huddled against the parapet, bedeviled and ensnared.
"I promise to shut up until you finish." She gave an unhappy little laugh. "I figure since I forced you to listen to me, the least I can do is hear you out."
Awkwardly, for his arm was giving him hell again, he tried to get the blanket around his shoulders.
"I've gotten used to defending myself. Sometimes I can't tell when I don't need to, and I get carried away. Here, let me help...You're still losing a little blood."
Jack swallowed. Just ask her.
"I'd better go." She drew away again, twisting her hands together. "I can't just stand here while you bleed."
He gave in with a long, slow, utterly silent moan. "Then stop the bleeding. Please."
In an instant she was on her knees beside him, his arm cradled upon her breasts. He slumped against the parapet, ease seeping through him as she licked, then pleasure spreading delicate tendrils across his skin, through his innards, gut and brain and bones, causing the stirrings of an erection.
"But you don't owe me," she said, with a long, smooth, delicious lick. "Haven't you ever heard of paying it forward?" Another lick.
"Mm-hmm." The sweetness of her ministrations tormented him. He might feel obliged to accept her help---hell, he wanted to accept it, which was bizarre in itself---but he mustn't let this go further.
She gave his arm another shivery, luscious swipe of her tongue. Jesus.
"So if owing is an issue, just pass it forward to one of your rescues."
"I already have too much to pay forward," Jack murmured, squirming as his erection grew. "My father...endless money. My mother...endless patience. Me...? Never-ending pay-forward."
"You are so screwed up," Rose said. "Helpfulness isn't something you measure. If people do something nice for you, accept it. If you can do something nice for someone else, do it and don't expect anything in return. Finished."
"Been there, considered that," Jack said. "Doesn't work."
Her hair, damp and fragrant, brushed his face. His good arm moved instinctively toward her hip---
Crackcrackcrack. Knockknock! Oh, hell, that hurt. Like a jackhammer in his head. "Ow!"
Rose pulled away. "Did I hurt you?"
"No, no, it's nothing to do with you." Jack stood hurriedly, raising a barrier against the invasion as instinctively as when he was a child. A light went on in the dormer window of the Impractical Cat. "Thank you, Rose."
Constantine was back. He was supposed to be in Shreveport, partying after the concert with his adoring fans or maybe just sleeping it off, so something had gone wrong, something major. The rock star's anguish crashed over Jack in waves and waves and waves.
Not now. Not with Rose here.
He didn't want to believe Constantine would harm him---in fact, he bloody well didn't believe it---but just in case his childhood friend had completely lost it, he needed Rose out of the way. He closed the distance between the two of them in a few quick strides and pulled her into the shadow of the stairwell wall.
The light in the dormer above the Impractical Cat went out again. A second later, the casement swung outward. A tall, wide-shouldered man climbed onto the steep shingles and jumped down to the roof garden. He stumbled slightly as he landed, recovered himself, and straightened, but defeat hung about him like a dank, deadly cloak. He raised his arms to the sky, and a breeze, the herald of dawn, stepped up to toy with his long, dark hair.
"Whoa," Rose said. "That's Constantine Dufray."
Rose leaned against the stairwell wall in the deep shadows next to the strangest man she had ever met, and watched the second strangest. Constantine probably wanted privacy, poor guy---being famous must suck---and he didn't need to know they were watching. He launched into a sequence of Tai Chi.
Jack didn't look well. He didn't smell right, either, but it wasn't the body odor and dried blood nor the hint of garbage that clung to his jeans that perplexed Rose. Finally he spoke, though his eyes never left Constantine Dufray. "Just for the record, I'm not a voyeur. That hole's been there since before I bought this place."
"I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions."
"You couldn't have known, and you were perfectly right about chameleons. We're not all good guys; even my own father has been unscrupulous in ways I'm not proud of." He blew out a long breath. "I wasn't planning to sneak in and look at Juma's stuff. I went to the Threshold and extracted some information about her and her grandmother from Stevie."
"Is that how you hurt your arm again?"
He paused. Inclined his head.
Rose caught the hesitation. "Something else happened?"
He made a dismissive movement. "Nothing that matters. Clubs can be hazardous."
Now she felt even worse. "I'm sorry I sent you into danger, but I couldn't betray her confidence."
A faint lift of the hand. "We each did what we had to."
She couldn't help it; gratitude at his understanding overwhelmed her again. If only---Don't go there. "That doesn't explain why you smell a bit like garbage."
Jack muffled a laugh. "I must stink of a lot more than that, but I did spend some time behind a Dumpster."
"Your body odor doesn't bother me. You have very sexy pheromones." She put up a hand. "Don't freak out. I'm not going to jump you. What did you find out about Juma?"
"Not much. Her last name is Loveday-Smith, she comes from Destrierville---it's near Monroe---and she keeps running away because her grandmother doesn't want her to go to college."
Rose straightened. "That's what she told me! It doesn't make any sense."
He shifted a shoulder. "Gil will research the situation, fill in the blanks."
"But what do we do with her in the meantime? She's terrified she'll be found and dragged back home, and...I still can't tell you exactly what she said. She didn't expect me to believe her, but regardless of whether she told me the absolute truth, I'm sure she's in danger, and I know she's scared."
Jack nodded. "I've been giving it some thought, and with what we've seen and what Stevie told me, I've decided to try a friend in Baton Rouge. She's a prof at LSU. She's helped out before. She might be willing to take Juma for a while, give her the run of the library there, let her sit in on some classes."
"That's a brilliant idea. Juma will love it, and nobody will have the remotest idea where she is."
The professor in Baton Rouge was doubtless a wonderful person, a woman Jack thought highly of. A safe and perfect environment for Juma, too, but...Don't be selfish, Rose.
For a while they said nothing, and she tried to take comfort from the poetry in motion on the rooftop across the way. Except that it wasn't exactly poetry; he kept stopping and starting, as if he couldn't get the moves right. "Constantine's beautiful, isn't he?" she remarked. "I suppose you wouldn't notice that, being a guy."
Jack said nothing.
"He's an incredible performer, too." Now she was babbling, but it had nothing to do with Constantine and everything to do with Jack. "I thought Juma said he was on tour."
Jack shrugged. "He was in Shreveport last night, but there are a couple of shows left. Maybe he wanted a night at home."
"He looks tired," Rose noted. "You're a fan? You follow his career?"
Jack shifted. "You could say that."
"Beautiful but sad," Rose mused. "People say such awful things about him."
"What if those things are true?"
"Then it's even sadder---but I refuse to pass judgment. He was kind to me."
Finally, Jack turned. His mouth twisted at one corner, but not enough for the dimple to show. "Come on, Rose. He wouldn't have any reason to be ugly to you."
"If you mean to ask if he came on to me, no, he didn't, although he knew right away that I was a vamp. He said my allure was red and warm and earthy, and he joked with me like he really understood, and gave me a brotherly hug, which was so sweet of him..." Ah, she wished she could tell Jack more of what was special about Constantine Dufray, but she wouldn't blab about Constantine's secrets any more than she would about Jack's. "Underneath the scary vibes and the exterior cool, he's not a happy guy." She squared her shoulders. "I'd better get ready to go."
"Wait." Now partly camouflaged against the dusty brick wall, Jack spoke as if from some great distance. "Before you leave, I need to ask a small favor."
Of me? "Anything," Rose said recklessly. Hope bloomed vibrant, like last night's camellia before she'd torn it to bits and thrown it away. He'd asked her to heal his wound. One thing might lead to another, and he might come to like her a little, and...
But Jack shivered and receded even further into his camouflage, into himself. Rose couldn't remember feeling so bereft. Certainly not when she'd cut herself adrift from home and family, such as they were. Not even after Lou, her lover and protector for years, was shot and killed.
Jack said, "Gil doesn't know about the camo thing."
"Oh." So?
Jack looked down at his feet. He seemed so tired, so faded, so withdrawn, and Rose longed to put her arms around him, to hold him, to buoy him up. But he didn't want that. He didn't want anything from her at all.
Then it hit her. Jack not only didn't want her in any way, shape or form; he hated having to ask for even the tiniest favor. He'd hated asking her for a ride, hated needing her help getting rid of the thugs and---in this case rightly so---with rescuing Linda Dell. It must have about killed him to ask her to heal his wound. At last she recognized the elusive smell: a huge, horrible unease, growing stronger every second. A harsh odor, not a pleasant one, not a compelling one, almost repulsive, because the favor he needed to ask of her now he hated even more. And still, like a fool, she wanted to reach out, to hold and touch and heal him, to show him that with her he was safe.
His voice was so low, so weak, even she could barely hear him. "I figured you would assume he knew about the camo. Please don't mention it when you pick up your package."
"No problem," Rose said.
"Thanks. And..." Jack's voice drifted to nothing.
"I won't mention it to anybody." Anger spiraled through her anew. God, she was tired of being angry. "You want to keep it secret, right?"
"Yes," he said. "Please."
"You should know by now---" She stopped midsentence and took a breath. She might be furious, she might be hurt beyond bearing, but she was not about to lose her temper again, nor control of her voice. "---that I can be trusted to keep a secret."
"I do know." A long, long pause. "I owe you, Rose. I owe you big. I'll add you to my tally of pay-forwards. You can count on that."
Oh, for God's sake. Did he understand nothing? Childishness kicked in. "Good-bye forever."
She turned to go, but her cell phone rang. Who would call at just past six a.m.? She glanced at the unfamiliar number on the display and opened the phone. "Yes?"
"Rose! At last, it's just you and me."
Oh, shit. Titania.
"We need to have a little talk." A sneer with syrup on top.
Rose didn't bother keeping her voice civil. "I have no reason to speak to you, Titania. Your manipulation of Miles is disgusting."
Beside her, Jack burst out of camouflage to loom stark and harsh beside her, eyes cutting into her, fully intent. What was with this guy?
Titania gave a dreadful trickle of laughter. "Jealousy won't change a thing. That boss of yours is so hot for me I couldn't get a minute to myself until he finally passed out."
"He's not my boss anymore." Rose stepped briskly around Jack and stalked onto the roof.
"Damn it, Rose!" Jack hissed and followed. She ignored him.
More horror-story laughter. "Poor, poor Miles. He's very upset with you and not at all well. The stress of a failing business was already weakening him, and to top it off, you refused my generous offer."
"I didn't refuse it. I merely set terms by which to protect Miles."
"Offensive terms, Rose. How will you live with yourself, knowing you could have helped him rebuild his life but didn't?"
"He was doing fine until you came along."
A rancid chuckle dripped across the airwaves. "He'll tell you an entirely different story. He's completely over his boring, dead wife now. He'll never get over me, of course, but the new tricks I've taught him will pay off for you."
Ick. Ick. Rose paced across the roof, Jack hovered, and against the backdrop of roofs and sky, Constantine stilled.
Titania syruped on. "You're too tall for a girl and totally ordinary, but he'll take you back if I say so. He'll even want to sleep with you, because after being my love slave he'll need plenty. Not that you could ever satisfy him, but you'll be better than nothing."
Rose swung around and paced again. "Are you planning on saying something interesting, or should I hang up right now?"
Titania tsked. "You're digging yourself deeper and deeper, Rose. You may have fooled Miles, but you can't fool me. I know exactly what you're up to and where you're going. Your only hope is to accept my help."
Jack must have lost interest in eavesdropping, because he was watching Constantine now. Rose supposed she should be relieved. "I don't want anything from you."
"How about forgiveness, Rose? I'm not a good person to cross."
"You're not a good person at all."
Her voice was full of venom. "This is your last chance, Rose."
"This isn't some stupid melodrama. You don't scare me." She slapped the phone shut.
Half Jack's mind absorbed Rose's side of the phone conversation, while the other opened tentatively to Constantine Du-fray. While they watched, the rock star had sent a terrifying amount of rage into the dawn sky. Now, most of what Jack sensed was exhaustion.
If he'd ever had a doubt that it was Constantine who'd sent those random telepathic knocks, starting a few years after he'd vanished from the Rez, he didn't now. Jack knew from their childhood friendship that Constantine could plant thoughts in other people's minds. Fortunately, Jack was able to recognize and block those thoughts if he chose. Occasionally there'd been dreams as well, horrific visions rife with hatred and fear. Then, shortly after Constantine's ill-fated marriage, Jack woke in an agony of black, twisted misery, suffocating in hopelessness, certain he would never move, never live or love, never save anyone again. He hadn't been going through the best of times, but Jack knew the feelings weren't his. He'd steeled himself to refuse any more of Constantine's thoughts, when all contact suddenly ceased. Until now.
Constantine stared at him across the rooftops, unmoving, expressionless, as far as Jack could tell. Did he want further contact, or was he pissed off at this intrusion into his private rage?
Jack couldn't afford to ignore Constantine---hell, he didn't want to---but Rose, God help her, was way out of her league with Titania. That was his first priority, so old-fashioned signals would have to do. In the ageless gesture of one helpless man to another, he indicated, with a wide swath of his good arm, the crazy, endangered woman pacing his rooftop.
Constantine made a gun with his hand and got Rose in his sights. Pow. He spread his hands. Problem solved.
Jack shot him the bird in response, but Constantine was already swiveling away.
Rose was on the stairs. Jack followed. "Problems?" he asked.
"Nothing I can't handle."
She hurried through the attic and bedroom. She'd already packed her suitcases and moved them out of Jack's room to stand by the apartment door. She really was planning to leave. And she wasn't afraid of Titania. Jack shuddered at this insanity, following her into the kitchen.
She whirled. "I'm not on the phone anymore, so you don't need to dog my every step."
"I'm going to make breakfast," Jack said, suiting action to his words. He filled the kettle and started on a batch of oatmeal muffins. Rose just stood there, as if unsure what to do next. She peeked out through the gap in the curtains. She leaned against the wall, turning her phone over and over in her hands. She separated the curtains, revealing the pink wash of sunrise. Not as unconcerned as she pretended, then.
Jack put the first batch of muffins in the oven, then opened the cupboard and took out an elegant little Rosenthal teapot, white with a whimsical golden top, with cups and saucers and a creamer and sugar bowl to match.
"Oh!" Rose plopped herself down at the table and reached for the sugar bowl with reverent hands. "Magic Flute!"
"That's right," Jack said, immensely pleased with himself. Trying to impress her, are you? You could have used the old Brown Betty. He ignored the nagging little voice, warmed the pot, spooned in his favorite Darjeeling blend, and filled the teapot with boiling water. He set a tattered wool cozy over it. So there.
"What a shame to cover it. It needs its own custom-made cozy." But Rose's mind clearly wasn't dwelling on a different kind of tea cozy. She clasped her hands together and unclasped them.
Jack prepared the pan for the second batch of muffins, spooned the batter into the cups, and washed the dishes. Rose just sat there.
Jack rinsed his face and hands---not that it helped the ranker areas of his body---and sat across from her. "The set used to belong to my mother. My parents have lived apart most of my life, and my dad sends her a couple of tea sets a year. I inherited her taste for tea, so she passes some of them on to me." He filled their cups and offered her the sugar. "It's a little ornate for my taste."
"Oh, no," Rose said. "It's absolutely beautiful."
Inspiration thwacked him. "Would you like to have the set? It's yours."
She narrowed her eyes at him, all the pleasure draining away. "You don't owe me."
Hell. "Damn it, Rose, that's not why---"
Her cell phone rang again.
"Now what?" Rose snarled into the phone. Jack set down his cup, picked up the teapot, and moved it to safety on the counter.
"Have I upset you?" oozed Titania. "I hope so."
No, that's Jack's privilege. Rose stood, grabbed her teacup before he could confiscate that as well, and paced out of the kitchen. Scalding tea slopped over the brim. She took a gulp, sucked up the pain, and continued across the living room past the oblivious Juma and back again, counting the steps until she could trust herself to speak.
In spite of a humming background noise and the occasional static, Titania's smug delight came through clearly. "Rose, do you have any idea who I am and what I can do?"
Rose gripped her teacup. How to answer that? No way would she give up the advantage of Titania's ignorance.
As it turned out, the question was rhetorical, and this time silence worked in her favor. "Let's just say I'm a very dangerous person," Titania continued. "And that I'm as creative with punishment as I am with sex. Gino, find someplace fast! I have to pee."
Huh? She must be in a car, which would explain the hum. "Get to the point, or I'll hang up again." Rose took a swig of tea, burned the roof of her mouth, and glared at the pretty, hapless little cup.
Titania gave a huge, fake, long-suffering sigh. "In spite of your insults, I've been kind to you so far. I didn't tell Miles you stole the gown, and I convinced him to hold off on calling the cops. Gino, if you don't find a rest area in a hurry, you'll be sorry."
In a car on a highway. On the way here? Rose let out a breath. At least Miles was all right, safe by himself in Chicago.
She heard the low rumble of a male voice in the background, so low even she couldn't pick it up, and Titania's raspy giggle. "That would be fun." Then, abruptly: "Some other time. I'm in a hurry today."
"Get on with it," Rose said. Jack was right next to her, eavesdropping as usual, or maybe he just wanted to protect his mommy's cup so he could offer it to someone else he felt he owed.
"Fine," Titania said. "I'm getting bored with all this kindness, so I'll lay it on the line. If you deliver that gown to Violet Dupree, I'll tell Miles you connived with Violet to bankrupt him. He'll be devastated. He has such touching confidence in you. I wouldn't be surprised if the truth killed him."
Rose's heart lurched. She set the teacup in Jack's outstretched palm and mustered her cool. "How would that benefit you? You still wouldn't have the gown."
"You admit that you stole it?"
"I didn't steal anything," Rose said.
"That's just semantics. I know you have the gown and I know you're bringing it to Violet. Why not be as frank with me as I am with you?"
"How would that benefit me?" volleyed Rose. "I'm a practical woman, just like you. Breaking promises doesn't pay off, so when I've made a promise, I keep it. As far as I'm concerned, you can take your ego trips, threats, and slavery fantasies and go fuck yourself." She shut the phone again.
"Anything I can do to help?" Jack handed back Rose's tea.
"No." She had barely raised the cup to her lips when the phone rang again. Rose let it ring while she took another bracing gulp of tea. She flipped the phone open and snarled, "Already finished fucking yourself? That was quick."
Jack's dimple flashed as he took her cup again. He set it gently on the table.
Titania's voice bit into that small moment of humor. "Listen, you stupid bitch. The second I tell him to, Miles will call the cops in Bayou Gavotte, and they'll throw you in jail. Don't fool yourself into thinking Violet will protect you. She'll deny everything, pay off the cops like she always does, and keep the gown. My gown."
No, my gown. Rose dug a fang into her lower lip to stop herself from screaming the words out loud.
A car door slammed, and Titania said, "I'll give you a couple of hours to think about it. Don't think you can rush over to Violet's place and then pretend you didn't. I'm watching your every move."
Rose wrenched her fang out of her lip. "Oh, please," she said, licking up her own blood. "I'm not afraid of you or your creative punishment or anything else."
"You will be." Titania hung up.
Rose closed her phone and turned it off. Poor Miles, so far away and all alone, believing that witch's lies.
"Rose," Jack said.
"What?" She barely managed not to wail, or scream, or cry. "Why can't you mind your own business? Just because you have a rescue complex, it doesn't mean you have to try saving me."
Jack recoiled. "Rescue complex?"
Rose flapped a hand. "At least it leads you to help people, but you don't really like what you're doing, and when it comes to me, you have to force yourself just to be civil. I'm not saying you don't mean well---you do, of course you do---but you don't genuinely care." She retrieved her cup and swallowed the rest of the tea in one gulp.
"Of course I care. I wouldn't be wasting my time on all these idiotic women if I didn't care."
He was immediately sorry, because amusement lit her eyes. "I rest my case. Thanks for the offer of breakfast, but I have to run."
"No," Jack said. "You don't. Not until we've had a little talk."
She set the cup on the table. "About what?
He took a deep breath. She wasn't going to like this, but rescue complex or not, he did have to take care of her: regardless of how she'd first gotten into this mess, she knew nothing about Titania, or she'd be terrified. "About Violet Dupree, and why you need to think carefully before getting any more involved with her."
Her amusement faded. Her fangs peeked out. "What do you know about Violet?"
"Enough to know that she has dragged you into one of her vampire feuds. You need to leave town and set up somewhere far away while you have the chance. I'll relocate you and deliver the gown to Violet in your stead."
"You can't do that. The gown is nowhere near finished. It has to be fitted, and---Damn it, how come you know so much?" The tips of her fangs gleamed.
"What is it for, a Mardi Gras ball?" Jack asked. "There's plenty of time for Violet to find someone else to finish the gown. Your safety is far more important."
"You know way too much for my liking." She poked a finger into his chest. "How come? Huh?" Her fangs were down now, close, sharp, and bloody distracting.
Memory tugged at his loins of succumbing, utterly and completely, to Titania's allure. The pierce of her fangs, followed by such a rush of pleasure that...
No.
"If it was that dangerous, why didn't Violet say so?"
All it takes is control, he told himself. Just tell her what you know. "Maybe she didn't want to scare you by telling you, but she sent me to that hotel to make sure you were safe, and that you got to Bayou Gavotte in one piece."
"Oh, really?" Rose sucked up her fangs, walked away to get her handbag, and returned. "Then why didn't you tell me that?"
"Because I didn't know what was going on. Violet was the only person who knew I'd gone to that hotel, and although I didn't think she had a reason to want me dead, how could I know for sure? I spoke to her last night, and I don't believe she was behind the shooting, but---"
"You spoke to her? When? You didn't tell me that, either." Her voice was cool, but the tips of her fangs peeked out again.
"I haven't had much chance, Rose. You were asleep until a while ago. Now, listen. I didn't tell Violet I'd seen you, because I wanted you to weigh your options. Violet should be flogged for endangering you, and she doesn't deserve your loyalty."
"I have to leave. Now." She took a business card from her handbag and held it out. "Tell Juma---"
"It would be better if you stayed," Jack said.
"Better for whom?" She marched into the living room and tossed the card on the bed beside Juma. "Why should I believe a word you're saying? For all I know you're double-crossing Violet. Maybe that's why you're so set on keeping me here." She poked him again. "In fact, that seems all too likely. I made a commitment to Violet, and I will not let her down."
"I'm not double-crossing anyone." Jack put his back to the door and crossed his arms. "It's not a good idea for you to leave just yet."
Rose's fangs slotted fully down. She bore down on him, fists clenched. "You're going to try and stop me?"
"Of course not," Jack said, maintaining his position. "I'm concerned for your safety, that's all. If you're determined to deliver the gown, it would be prudent for you to stay here, where no one can see you or your very conspicuous van, until I get you another vehicle." He paused. "In any case, Violet's unlikely to be awake. She works till all hours at her club, so she won't be up at dawn."
"I don't suppose the streets are swarming with thugs at dawn, either." Little jabs of allure sizzled toward Jack. "Why would I be in any danger?"
Jack shrugged, fighting to ignore the fangs, to stave off his attraction. "I don't have any specifics. I just think---"
"Move over." Rose shoved at him.
He didn't budge. Her fangs called to him, her allure tantalized and teased, and his stubbornness was morphing into simple stupidity, but he didn't care.
Rose blazed. "Get out of my way!"
He was about to throw up his arms in disgust---seriously, he was thinking about it; really, he was intending to step aside---when she got right in his face and the allure locked him in. He couldn't, really couldn't, couldn't possibly drag his eyes away from her hot delicious mouth, her tiny sharp fangs, her tongue ready to tangle with his.
Through drooping lids he watched her eyes close. Their lips touched. Ahhh. His hands dropped to his sides. His fingers itched and stretched and yearned toward her. He sucked in her heat, breathed back hot and hard in response.
A nagging voice in his head piped up. You'll be sorry.
Shut up, said another, a voice with clear authority. This is Rose. You have one chance. You have to get this right.
He dabbed his tongue against hers, parried her response, thrust past her defenses, and raked his tongue across her fangs. She shuddered and opened to him with a mew of pleasure. He pressed his advantage, testing, tasting, exploring that sweet mouth, capturing her tongue and slipping away, nipping her upper lip, dabbing, teasing at her fangs. Her handbag slipped from her shoulder to her elbow, from her elbow to her hand, from her hand to the floor.
Jack ran his tingling fingers across her hips, feinting with his tongue as he slid his hands under her shirt to pinch at her waist, fondle the edges of those glorious breasts, feather past the taut nipples. Oh, love. A distant terror ran through him, but he pressed on, taking the kiss deeper, stronger.
Rose pulled away, growling softly, and lunged back at him in a flurry of lips, fangs, and tongue, her hands clawing into his hair, her everything jammed lush and pliant against him. In a surge of relief and lust he urged her on, sucked and licked and pulled at her lips, lifted and dragged her across his erection, ran his fingers gently down her butt and harder back again, up the crack of her ass. She moaned and writhed against him.
Breaking the kiss, Rose ran her fangs down his cheek and sank them into his throat. Oh, God. Heaven. If---
"Jeez, take it to the bedroom, will you?"
Hell.
Rose jerked her fangs out. It hurt like the devil, but Jack sucked up a groan more of despair than pain and moved his arm quickly upward to hide her face, shifting Rose slightly so Juma wouldn't see. "Sorry," Rose gasped, sucking her fangs back into their slots. She took two shallow, shaky breaths, swiped her healing tongue across the tiny, stinging cuts on Jack's throat, and licked her lips clean of his blood.
She took a few steps back, and Jack turned away to get his own mess under control. The last thing he needed was some teenybopper goggling at the rapidly healing cuts on his throat or the remains of his erection. Damnation. Although, if he had even a small fragment of common sense, he'd be thankful the dumb chick was here.
Rescued from the maw of heaven. Uh...of hell. Right.
He got his breathing under control and retreated to the kitchen. Better than standing there hopelessly, helplessly, tongue lolling out and gaping at Rose. One point in his favor: he'd definitely got her going.
Not a major accomplishment, with a vamp, said a nasty, practical little voice.
"Juma, I apologize," Rose croaked. She ran a hand over her face and cleared her throat. "That was so rude of us."
Juma yawned and sat up. "No problem. Bedroom, like I said."
Rose adjusted her clothing. "As a matter of fact, I was about to leave."
"That was some good-bye kiss," Juma said---and then, in a sudden panic, "You're going? Where?" She sat up in a hurry, taking in the suitcases by the door. "Don't leave me!"
Rose sat beside Juma on the futon. "I have to deliver the dress to my customer, sweetie."
"You don't have to take your suitcases to the customer," Juma said. "You were trying to sneak out before I woke up. I should have known. You're like all the rest. You make promises and then you break them."
Rose put her arm around Juma. "I'm not breaking my promise. I will not desert you. I packed my suitcases because that bedroom is Jack's and I don't want to share it with him." She picked up the business card and gave it to the girl. "Jack is making some excellent arrangements for you, but if you're not happy with them, call me and I'll come get you."
"I don't believe you." Juma shrugged Rose's arm away. "You'll just say you're too busy, or you don't have a place for me to stay, or that I belong with my fucking family."
Jack watched the emotions travel across Rose's face, watched her hurt, think, care, give up on something, decide something else. A reprieve.
He put the first batch of muffins on a plate and set out butter and jam while Rose talked Juma into the shower. "I need to talk privately to Jack," he heard her say. "I swear to God, I will not leave without letting you know first."
She came into the kitchen and sat down. He poured her a cup of fresh, hot tea, put a muffin on a plate, and set it before her. "Eat."
"I have to leave," Rose said, not looking at him, inhaling the steam from her teacup, her knee jiggling under the table. "Stop trying to make me stay."
"What's your rush? I told you, Violet won't be awake."
Rose went to the window and fingered the curtain aside. The rose flush of dawn had given way to a blue and gold morning, and a mockingbird played jay outside the window. "I don't see why Violet would send you. She knows I can take care of myself. Why didn't she call and tell me about you?" Her gaze flickered to his and back. "Oh. She doesn't have my cell number. She always called me at work."
"She just wanted me to make sure you got to her place okay. At first, I didn't know you were the one. I was sent to find someone in a Toyota from Chicago. Eventually it became obvious, regardless of your Montana plates, that you were the woman I was looking for." Oh, hell. A spasm of something like grief twisted his insides.
She glanced at him again. "The Toyota was too small for my stuff. I got the van from a guy who just moved from Montana. I figured I'd get new plates here." She was back to looking out the window, tapping her foot, uneasy for all the wrong reasons. Why couldn't she just look at him and believe him? She was one of the few people who didn't flinch from his gaze. He liked that. A lot.
"Rose, I'd be happy to bring you over to Violet's place later."
"No, thanks." She scanned the street. "She had no reason not to tell me everything. Bringing the gown early was my idea."
"Does it really matter? For whatever reason, she didn't want me to approach you."
Rose's eyes flew back to his and away, following the mockingbird's retreat. "Why not?"
Jack made an impatient noise. "How should I know? She's a vamp." Idiot! He struggled to recover. "You have to understand, Rose, that the vampires I've known have been irrational and self-centered, when not downright evil. Just because you turned out to be a---"
The bathroom door opened, and Juma came out. Shit.
"A what?" At last, Rose faced him. Flushed, hurt and angry, open, still aroused, God only knew what. He ached to pull her close and smother her in kisses, because kisses would speak for him, while the words stuck in his craw.
He shook his head and went to test the second pan of muffins. "They're done."
"A what?" Rose asked again. Juma was rummaging in her backpack.
Jack set the muffin pans on the counter and turned off the oven. "Different. Not like the rest."
Rose picked up her cup and retreated to the window again. "I guess it doesn't matter what you were going to say." She swallowed the rest of her tea. "What else haven't you told me?"
I love you.
His nasty voice jumped in. Are you insane? You hardly know the girl.
Yes, but he knew everything that mattered. She kept her promises, honored her confidences, and was a stickler for the truth.
She's a vamp.
Hell, yes.
Are you listening to yourself? What happened to just saying no?
"What else?" Rose demanded, strong and stunning and yet so heedless.
"There's nothing else. Since you still want to go to her place, I'd prefer to fulfill my obligation to Violet and see you safely there."
"Your obligation is not my problem." She set her cup on the table and left the kitchen.
He followed. "Rose, I mean it. I believe you're in danger. Please stay here with me." Terror for her crawled through him, up into his throat.
"No. I have to take care of this myself." She unzipped her suitcase and took out a necktie, which she tossed to Juma. "This is the one I told you about yesterday. I can teach you how to make your own ties, if you like."
"Damn it all, Rose," Jack said.
She ignored him and said, "Juma, call me when you get to where you'll be staying. I want to know that you're okay. We'll set up a date to get some cool fabric and make some unique ties."
"I guess," Juma said sullenly.
Rose dug further in her suitcase. She took out a small pistol and dropped it in her purse. "You can stop freaking out, Jack. If any thugs happen by, I'll be armed."
Jack felt himself scowl. "You know how to use that?"
She rolled her eyes, slung the handbag over her shoulder, and picked up the Elizabethan gown.
Jack threw up his hands. "Fine. I'll follow you over there."
"And leave Juma alone?"
"She's not a baby," Jack said. "Why don't you start breakfast, Juma? Grits in the pantry, bacon and butter in the fridge. I'll be back in ten minutes to cook the eggs. Fifteen tops."
Rose huffed and took off down the stairs. Jack grabbed the keys to his Porsche and followed.
She had to get away. She couldn't think straight with Jack around. She couldn't look at him without yearning to trust him. She thought he meant well, but...He was holding something back. Uneasiness suffused his voice, colored his pleas.
Not his kisses, though.
Oh, God in Heaven, it was as if he'd poured his heart and soul into those kisses. She'd kissed far too many men, but no one's kisses spoke to her like Jack's. Like he was talking to her and her alone, like he belonged to her alone. Not a sexual thrall, not a besotted fool---she'd had plenty of those---but a strong, dependable, passionate man.
It wasn't just skill. She'd had men with bedroom skills. Sure, he had a talented mouth and capable hands. And aggressive! He'd pushed her so high, so fast---but that wasn't the point. He'd brought tears to her eyes. No man had ever done that.
She didn't give him a chance to offer to lead the way. Rather, she tore out of the alley entrance while he was still peeling the cover off his car. At the first stoplight, she pulled the map she'd printed before leaving Chicago out from the pocket in the driver's side door. She mustn't let his prejudices and fears affect her. Soon she would be at Violet's place, and everything would be fine. She would have a happy customer, maybe even a new friend, and a fresh start in life.
A dark Porsche idled behind her van. Judging by the size and shape, it might be Jack's.
In less than five minutes, she reached the purple Victorian where Violet Dupree lived. No obvious thugs lurked nearby. She puttered past the house, down the live oak-lined street and around the block past the entrance to Blood and Velvet, which shared a back alley with Violet's house, but nothing was going on. A few cars, a school bus, a TV news van, and not much else. The club district of Bayou Gavotte slept in the morning. The Porsche had disappeared, and no one else seemed to have followed her. So much for danger.
She pulled into the driveway of Violet's house. The purple paint was just subdued enough to be pleasant, and the offwhite trim made the house look only vaguely like a gigantic cake. A porch swing, its chains motionless, hung below the veranda rail, along which sat five ceramic pots of pansies. From behind a glossy green bush---gardenia, maybe---a gray ceramic cat peeked with sly purple eyes. Cypresses lined the walkway to the rear, and camellias hung heavy with white blossoms on either side of the front steps.
It seemed a friendly house in the morning sunshine, but a sleepy one, blinds drawn upstairs, curtains closed below. Ah, except for a small window at one side of the door, behind which sat a calico cat, a real one this time. The cat closed and opened its eyes at her and began to wash.
Rose watched and stewed for a moment or two, until a black Mercedes sporting a TONY'S PIZZA sign on the roof pulled up across the street. Rose's alarm signals stirred. Mercedes owners didn't commonly deliver pizza, and pizza wasn't usually ordered for breakfast.
She stole a quick glance at the driver, but he didn't look her way until he'd exited the car and taken a couple of pizza boxes off a rack in the back. When he lazily took stock of her, her alarms went ballistic. An older guy with grizzled hair, a former bruiser by the look of him. Black T-shirt with rolled sleeves showing his forearms, barrel chest, and a lavish moustache beneath a nose that had been broken more than once. So much for no thugs.
The bruiser left the pizzas on the roof of his car and strolled across the street toward her. He didn't look threatening, and the tantalizing aroma of fresh, hot pizza reached Rose through the closed window. She hadn't taken even a bite of muffin, and she was ravenous.
She frowned down the street. No sign of Jack, and no way of knowing if he was there. Maybe she should have listened to him. She put a hand on the gun in her purse.
"Problem, lady?"
The bruiser had a gorgeous grin. Whoa. It took all Rose's strength not to grin back. The alarms he sent up now were of a totally different kind, but he had an endearing twinkle, and far as she could tell, he wasn't carrying. She shot another glance down the street and caught a flicker of movement by a massive live oak.
She rolled the window down an inch. "Is this Violet Du-pree's place?"
"Who wants to know?" The guy's grin was mesmerizing.
"I have an appointment with her." Rose glanced down the street again.
"Not at this time of day, you don't," the pizza guy said. "Vi's never up before noon. Better come back later." He followed the direction of her eyes. "What are you looking at?"
Crap. "Not at," Rose said. "For. Signs of danger."
The guy scanned the street. "Nobody dangerous here but me." He winked and went back to his car for the pizzas.
Jack slipped partly into view in shades of gray and brown under a canopy of Spanish moss. His arms were folded, and his posture calm. So, the pizza guy was okay.
Rose looked away. It hurt to meet Jack's eyes, even if she couldn't feel their intensity at this distance; it hurt to know he only cared from a sense of obligation. The memory of that kiss intensified the pain. Deliberately, she focused on this older guy, whose grin was to die for and whose body language promised incredible, incomparable sex---
Oh!
She jumped down from the van and leaped up the walk after the pizza guy. "Excuse me, but are you by any chance a vampire?"
The man tossed a smile over his shoulder, revealing gleaming fangs.
"That is so cool. I don't know why I find it so reassuring," Rose said, as much to herself as to the pizza guy, "but I do." She hurried up the steps beside the first male vampire she'd ever seen. "If Violet's not awake, why are you delivering pizza to her place?"
"It's not for Vi." He rapped on the door and the cat stalked away from the window, its tail in the air. Turning to Rose with an appraising expression that shouldn't have been reassuring at all, he stuck out his free hand. "Tony Karaplis. Pleased to meet you."
She gripped it briefly: firm, warm, strong. "Rose Fairburn."
Tony chuckled. "You feel reassured because you know that although I'm unbelievably attractive, I won't come on to you."
"I do?"
"Vamp-vamp sex? Hell, no. Nobody sticks their fangs into me. Besides, my specialty is hard-up women, and although I can see you're susceptible right now, no vamp's hard up except by choice." He rattled the doorknob, banged on the door, and bellowed, "Zelda! Open up!" He reached out a rough finger and gently rubbed Rose's forehead. "Don't look so worried, baby. Why do you suppose I hang out with Vi and little Zelda? Because they don't come on to me."
Rose goggled. "How did you know I'm a vamp? I didn't smile, and I thought I had my allure clamped down."
"I've been around," Tony said. "You've got a glow."
The curtains swung partway open, a pale face appeared, and the door was flung wide by a scrawny, freckled teenybopper with orange hair sprinkled with black dots. "Finally," she said, "I'm starved," and then her face scrunched into a dubious evaluation of Rose. "I don't mean to be rude, but---"
"Then don't be," Tony said. "There's plenty of pizza for three."
Zelda hooked her thumbs in the pockets of her jeans and blocked the doorway. "Tony, I need to talk to you. I can't do that with one of your girlfriends here." She reduced her voice to a whisper. "She's young enough to be your daughter. Mom will be so mad."
"She's not one of my girls," Tony replied patiently. "Her name is Rose. She has an appointment with your mom."
Zelda's face opened into a huge, dazzling, definitely vampire smile. "You're Rose? Whoopee!" Just as abruptly she closed down, peering through the doorway at the van, then scanning the street. "You're not Rose. Rose drives a Toyota. Do you see a Toyota? I don't see a Toyota."
"Because I don't have one anymore," Rose said.
Zelda stuck her chin out. "I bet you don't even have Illinois plates. Imposter!"
Cripes. "I can explain that," Rose began.
"If you're here to mess with my mom---" Zelda's fangs popped down. She squeaked and clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh, crap!"
Tony rolled his eyes. "Zelda, you're acting way too much like Vi these days."
Zelda slumped. Tony gave her a gentle shove and motioned Rose ahead of him. Before he closed the door, Rose glimpsed a dark blue Porsche passing by.
She followed Zelda into an elegant living room with a toile de Jouy sofa and drapes. Tony set the pizza boxes on the coffee table. "Even your mom knows better than to lose it in front of a complete stranger. Fortunately, Rose is a vampire, too."
"I hate being a vampire." Zelda's voice throbbed. "I don't want to have a temper. I hate my fangs slotting down about nothing." She rounded on Rose, fangs still partway down. "Not that I'm saying this is nothing. You've got some explaining to do, and you'll have to get past me to get to my mom."
"Cool it, Zelda. If she means Vi any harm, I'll deal with her." Tony turned a perfectly terrifying gaze on Rose, and then winked.
"Since I don't mean any harm, that's fine with me." Rose positioned herself on the couch where she could see her van out the big front window. The calico cat reappeared, its nose twitching toward the pizza.
Zelda dumped paper plates on the table and opened the pizza boxes. "Thank you, Tony. You're the best." She squeezed off some melted cheese and gave it to the cat.
After a couple of bites of what must be the best pizza outside of Chicago, Rose felt a hell of a lot better.
So did Zelda, it seemed. "Sorry, guys. I'm overtired. I was up half the night, because Mom came home all pissed off and freaked out and worried about Rose. The real Rose."
"Hey! I am the real Rose." Rose explained the purchase of the van and dug a business card out of her handbag. Zelda read it skeptically, but Tony didn't seem to care.
A male vampire. Out of the corner of her eye that wasn't keeping watch on the van, Rose scoped Tony out. He wasn't any where close to handsome, but...No wonder her mother had been so smitten she'd forgotten common sense and, unfortunately, birth control. Except that if she hadn't forgotten birth control, Rose wouldn't have been born. Thank heaven for male vamps.
Zelda said, "If you're a vamp, why do you keep gawking at Tony? That's, like, practically incest." The cat leaped onto the coffee table, and she pushed it off again. "And if you're the real Rose, why are you sneaking looks out front like your reinforcements are coming?"
"You are the most suspicious kid I've ever met. I'm scoping Tony out because it helps me finally understand why my mother ended up pregnant with me. I almost find myself sympathizing with her." She considered. "It also helps me understand why guys go so nuts about me. I've never been able to see it from the other side before, and it makes me feel like less of a freak."
Zelda pushed the cat off the table again. "You never saw a guy vamp before?" She fed the cat more cheese.
"Nope," Rose said. "I've never met my dad. I don't even know his name. Until today, I'd only met two girl vamps, and I wasn't impressed by either of them. I've been a misfit since I sprouted my fangs, and if your mom hadn't been so wonderful to me in the online vamp group..." Rose shook her head. "She helped me out when I was really low."
Zelda nodded wisely. "It's the vamp destiny to help those crossed in love. Or just in trouble." She focused her teenybopper eagle eye on Rose. "Which is why I won't let anybody mess with Mom, because she's the greatest. Why are you looking out the window?"
"I'm keeping an eye on my van. If you get to be paranoid about your mother, then I can be paranoid about the dress I slaved over for her."
Zelda shrieked. "You've got the dress?" The cat skittered back from the table.
"Of course I've got the dress. Why else would I be here?" "Wahoo!" hollered Zelda. "Go get it! I'll wake up Mom!" Two minutes later, Rose brought the gown and mantle indoors, with Tony carrying the tailor's dummy. Rose assembled the dress on the dummy, stuffing the sleeves with cardboard tubes and adjusting the skirt over the bum roll. It would look even more impressive with the wings, but she hadn't had time to make them yet. She draped the mantle across a chair just as Zelda clattered down the polished wood staircase from the upper floor.
"Oh, wow," Zelda said. "That is so unrepentantly cool."
A curvy lady floated down the stairs dressed in a sheer white cotton nightgown, red hair flying around her shoulders. "Oh, darlings," Violet Dupree said as she stepped off the bottom step. "It's perfect. What a dreadful shame I can't use it."
Fury roiled up and Rose's fangs slotted down. Her fingers curled into claws and she spoke through a wall of rage. "You what?"
Violet stood her ground, hair billowing, breasts quivering under her nightgown, and opened her eyes incredulously at Rose. "Now, now, don't get all worked up."
"Not get worked up?" Rose advanced toward Violet in a haze of allure, keeping her hands at her sides by sheer willpower. "Do you have any idea what your scheming does to other people? Do you even think about the consequences?" She towered over Violet, seething, and Violet's own allure gathered in response.
"Tony!" Zelda cried. "Vamp fight! Help!"
"Stay out of this," Rose snapped. "This is between your mother and me." The cat tore out of the room.
She snarled at Violet. "You should be ashamed of yourself. You've driven poor Miles into bankruptcy, but of course I can't let that happen, so I'll have to sell myself to some mobster to rescue him. And you almost got Jack killed!" It was all Rose could manage not to spit in Violet's face. "Jack was right. You should be flogged!"
"Nah," Tony said. "Violet's not into punishment. She hasn't even come round to bondage yet."
"Don't make dumb jokes, Tony," Zelda pleaded. "Do something!"
"That insufferable two-bit jerk!" Violet's fangs slotted down as well. Hands on hips, she glared at Rose. "So he did find you yesterday. I spent the whole day worrying about you because you didn't show up and didn't show up, and I didn't have your number, and Jack didn't answer my calls, so I worried about him, too. I'd like to cut him in pieces and sear him on the grill and eat him up. How dare he mess with me like that."
"How dare you mess with me?" quivered Rose. "I slaved over this dress, and now you tell me you don't want it? I should deck you, here and now!" She shook with the effort to hold back.
"All right, all right," Tony muttered. "You take your mom."
Before Rose could process anything, because all she could think was how to get out of there without slugging Violet, Tony had his arms around her from behind, and she couldn't move. "Let me go!" she panted, twisting and turning in his grip. He tightened his arms so she could scarcely breathe. Zelda grabbed Violet's arm with both hands and dragged her toward the couch.
Rose went slack and dug an elbow into Tony's ribs, and it almost worked.
"Jesus." Tony tightened his arms again. "I don't want to hurt you, baby, but I can't let you attack Vi."
"I trusted her. I kept her secrets and protected the gown for her. I thought she was my friend." She swung herself off the floor, but Tony hardly budged. "Let. Me. Go."
"This doesn't work for you, I guess," Tony said. "It always helps Vi get it under control." He sighed. "Promise you'll calm down if I let you go?"
Zelda squashed her flailing mother into the sofa. She grabbed a porcelain giraffe just before Violet threw it. "Tony, help me!"
"Come on, Rose," Tony said. "Vi's about to make a godawful mess, and she'll be grumpy as all get out when she has to clean up after herself. Do you promise?"
"I will not calm down!" Rose let out an ear-shattering shriek. "Jack was right. Vampires are self-centered, manipulative, violent freaks."
"Uh-huh," Tony said. "We all suck."
"Stop with the jokes already," panted Zelda, as Violet's fingers curled around the stem of a Tiffany lamp. "She'll never get over it if she breaks this lamp."
"I don't give a damn about your lamp!" Rose hollered. "I thought I would find---find friendship here in Bayou Gavotte. I thought I'd find people who would love me, and who wouldn't shun me because of my fangs, and---" Her voice broke on a sob.
Silence blanketed the room. Slowly, Tony's arms loosened. Violet's fingers relaxed. Zelda, tight mouthed and white, straightened the lamp and set it in its place.
Rose burst into tears.
"No, no, darling!" Violet started crying, too.
Tony turned Rose to face him, and his arms closed gently around her. His voice tickled her ear. "Hey, sweetheart, we do love you."
Violet's arms came around them both from one side. "We would never shun you," she said, a throb in her voice. "Never, ever."
Zelda snuggled up to them on the other side. "Group hug! Vamps stick together."
The cat purred and rubbed against Rose's legs.
That did it. Rose wept all the way down Tony's shirt.
"We're your family, darling," Violet said, and Rose sobbed even harder.
Violet patted her on the back, let go, and said in a wobbly voice, "Tea. We need tea."
"Greek coffee," Tony said, his big, kind hand caressing Rose's hair. "Or mud, as Zelda calls it. Go get your checkbook, Vi, and set the girl's mind at rest. You don't have to screw any more mobsters, Rose." His shoulder shifted under her cheek. "Unless you want to. Your choice."
Rose pulled slowly away. Her voice emerged as a paltry squeak, and she blinked at Violet. "You don't want the dress, but you're still going to pay me?" She wiped her eyes.
"Of course I'm going to pay you," Violet huffed. She straightened her nightgown, eyes mournful on the Elizabethan gown. "I could kill Titania for wasting all your wonderful work, but I'll make it up to you. Was Iachimo rude to you? Don't believe a word he says about vamps. His only experience is with that bitch Titania and her horrible friends."
Juma was most of the way down the stairs when Jack parked in the courtyard again. "Where are you going?"
"Away." Juma headed for the alley. "You don't like me and Rose is gone, so why should I stay?" When he followed, she rounded on him. "Back off, dude. If you so much as touch me, I'll scream rape!"
Guys usually freaked at this. Jack pinned her with his harsh eyes and said irritably, "I don't dislike you, Ms. Porcupine, or I didn't until you threatened me."
"Whatever. I'm leaving, so you can forget me and my one stupid chance."
"Unfortunately, I can't do that without upsetting Rose. She doesn't give up on people as easily as I do."
Juma snickered. "I get a second chance 'cause you want to get laid?"
The jerk actually reddened a little. "Look at it that way if you like. I'm trying to reach a friend in Baton Rouge, a professor at LSU, who might be able to take you in."
This sounded promising---really promising---but Juma couldn't let that show. "So you'll be able to maul Rose without being interrupted by a teenage bitch."
"That would be an added advantage," Jack said. "What happened to making breakfast?"
"I started it, but then I thought you'd gone for the cops."
"Cops are a complicated, red-tape-ridden last resort that I avoid at all costs. Come on, let's go eat."
She was hungry, and judging by his extremely cool car, Jack wasn't such a bum as he'd seemed yesterday. He also noticed way too much. Two minutes later, he said, "If I take you to Baton Rouge, you have to promise not to steal my friend's books."
Now it was Juma's turn to blush, which was weird, because what did she care what Jack thought of her? She rummaged in her backpack, took out Jack's copy of An Old English Grammar, and put it on the bookshelf where it belonged. Resentment swelled up, but he was already cracking eggs into a bowl.
"I'm going to be straight with you," Jack said a minute later. She huffed at this standard lie and considered walking out again, but the grits bubbled and spat and the bacon smelled great, and Stevie wasn't likely to show up at this time of day.
"You couldn't have a better ally than Rose." Jack whisked the eggs. "Not only does she give second chances, she refused to tell me what you confided to her yesterday."
"Go, Rose!" Juma said, then realized she'd been had. "Give me a break. I'm not really surprised she blabbed." That was a lie, and of course he knew it, which made it even worse. She'd lost her edge with Rose; now she was losing it with Jack, too. "How else could you know I told her anything?"
"She's the kind of woman people confide in," Jack said. "It didn't matter in the end, because I went to the Threshold last night and had a talk with Stevie."
Juma sprang up. Her chair clattered to the floor. "He's on the way here to get me? I could have gotten away!" She grabbed her bag and made for the door.
"Juma." Something in his tone made her turn. "I am not in cahoots with Stevie. I rescue people. I don't give them up to creeps who handcuff girls to their cars. Perhaps I should have said I forced him to talk." A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. "With a gun sticking into his ribs and my other arm choking him."
Cool! "He deserves to be choked, but that doesn't change anything. You had to be nosy and find out about me, instead of letting me live my own life." She slumped, letting her bag fall. "What did he tell you?"
"That your last name is Loveday-Smith, that you come from Destrierville, and that your grandma owns not only a hairdressing salon but half the town. Given a little time, I would have found that out on my own. Far more important, he told me she doesn't want you to go to college." He picked up her chair and set it for her. "What I want to know is, why not?"
Nobody ever believed her, but what Stevie said was gospel? "Because she wants me to be a hairdresser. I told you that." She sat again.
He went back to the stove. "Does she want you to take over the store when she dies?"
"How should I know? Anyway, with my luck, she'll live to be a hundred."
"Have you considered going to hairdressing school first, then to college afterward?"
Every adult asked that. "It'll mess up my chances for scholarships, and Grandma won't pay for me to go to college. I said I'd go to a state school if she insisted on being cheap, but she refuses to pay for anything. She says education is a dangerous waste of time and I'll have a better life at home, but I'll die of boredom in the boonies." She glared at Jack's unbelieving expression. "You don't understand. If I give in one little inch, I'm doomed. I can't let Grandma win."
After that, it was question after question, but the food was good, and he had plenty of Crystal sauce. Why did you quit school? How long have you been out? Where do you want to go to college? She told him what she'd told Rose. "I'm totally screwed as far as scholarships are concerned. I can't enroll in school anyway, because Grandma will find me the minute the new school sends for my records, and she'll make me come home."
"No, she won't," Jack said. "I'll enroll you in a private school and have them ignore the courses you had to drop midsemester. You'll be put on a fast track for graduation, if that's what you want. And if you're afraid of staying here because of your grandma, I'll send you to school in Europe."
Jack bit back a smile. This was the advantage of offering something awesome: now Juma couldn't help wanting to believe him.
"You can't send me to school in Europe. You can't even send me to a private school here." But her tone was less incredulous than her words, due, Jack assumed, to her having seen his Porsche.
"Sure I can," he said. "My rescue operation gives me access to special scholarships for that sort of thing."
She worked her way silently through breakfast, her mind clearly far away. He lost a bit of ground when Nan, the professor in Baton Rouge, e-mailed that she would be at a conference all day but that tomorrow would be fine. When he showed Juma the e-mail, she scrutinized the address, checked the LSU Web site to verify Nan really was a prof there, and calmed down again.
"You can stay with Gil while I run errands," Jack said. "He'll give you some work to do. I assume a little money for books would come in handy."
Juma gave him one of her skeptical looks, but she couldn't disguise the eagerness behind it. The kid was such a literature freak. He would have to confront the grandmother and find out what was really going on.
They found Gil fiddle-farting around in his store preparatory to opening. Juma went straight for a shelf with books and magazines.
"I couldn't ignore what my voice revealed," Gil said before Jack had a chance to open his mouth.
"I understand that, but I don't have to like it." The hypnotic quality of Gil's voice might be useful, but his interpretation of women's confessions wasn't always accurate.
"Violet is skewed, but she means well," Gil said. "My voice and I were in complete agreement about how to handle her."
Jack snorted. "You think you did the handling?"
Gil said stiffly, "My voice and I, yes. Just because you can't deal with a vampire doesn't mean no one can."
Jack let that pass, but as always he wished his partner wouldn't talk as if his damned voice were a separate being.
"She wouldn't deliberately harm a rescue," Gil said.
"Perhaps not, but as long as she's feuding with Titania, anyone in her orbit is endangered." Jack called Juma away from the bookshelves and introduced her.
The girl's eyes widened---women's always did---as she looked Gil up and down. "Hey, Gil. For an old guy, you sure are cute."
"Poor old Gil's always fighting off one woman or another," Jack said. "Be kind to him this morning and don't join their ranks, okay?"
Juma made a face. "I don't really like sex. I only do it if I have to. This is a majorly cool store." She wandered to a display cabinet, but not out of earshot.
Gil whispered, "You're leaving her here?"
"Just for today. Nan will take her, but not until tomorrow. Juma wants to earn money for books, so give her something to do."
"What if someone from the underworld shows up?" His voice rose. "Did you hear the news? There was a riot at Constantine Dufray's concert last night. Ten people killed and thirty-seven injured! They've cancelled the rest of his tour. There's a TV news van outside the Impractical Cat, and the paparazzi are cruising up and down the street."
That explained Constantine's behavior last night. "Big drag, but what does it have to do with us?"
"It's the violence. He carries it around with him wherever he goes." Gil rearranged the pottery animals in the window. "He lives here, Jack. How can it possibly be safe? Even Violet says he's dangerous. By the way, she wants me to make figurines for her garden."
"That's great," Jack said. Working with clay helped ground Gil. "Don't worry about Constantine. I'll figure that one out one way or another."
Gil grunted. He switched the positions of a rabbit and a frog. "And now you're leaving me with a runaway," he muttered. "You know how vulnerable they are."
"This one's tougher than most."
Gil was whispering again. "Where's Rose? Can't she take care of her?"
"Rose is at Violet's place. I tried to convince her to stay away from that damned feud, but she's stubborn and she doesn't trust me."
"We both know whose fault that is." Gil tidied the bits and pieces on the counter.
"Yep," Jack said. "I fucked this one up so bad I'll never be able to right the balance."
"Maybe you should forget the balance for once." Gil rolled up a wire clay cutter that had been unpacked by some customer. "Maybe you should---"
"Right," Jack interrupted, "and maybe you should meet with the real-estate agent this afternoon."
Gil dropped the clay cutter back into the bin, where it promptly unfolded itself. "It's not that simple."
"It is that simple."
"Jack, you don't understand---"
They'd been here before, over and over. "You're right, I don't."
Across the shop, Juma flipped through a magazine. Flick. Flick. Stiff, anxious posture. Listening hard.
"She's a scared kid," Jack said. "She's afraid her nasty old grandmother will come and take her away, and she doesn't know whether she can trust us or not."
"Of course she can trust us," Gil said, but he was still whispering, and probably intended to whisper all day.
"Why should she believe she can trust us?" Jack said. "Her parents haven't been much use to her, and her grandmother sounds like the archetypal witch. She's just a kid and she's all alone."
"For some reason," Gil hissed, "that doesn't reassure me one bit."
Jack left the shop, encasing himself in a light camouflage that rendered him nondescript and largely unnoticeable, and headed toward the clubs. A brisk breeze chased through the streets, past closed bars and open cafés and antique shops. The gift shop and salon in Blood and Velvet would open soon. Meanwhile, Violet Dupree's house was close by. So what if he was a fool? At least he knew it.
He slipped into camouflage as he approached the purple house. Rose's van was too conspicuous, but at least the black Mercedes was still here. With Tony Karaplis around, Rose should be safe enough. Tony owned the Greek and Italian restaurant not far from the Impractical Cat. A former bruiser and quite a ladies' man, so the gossip said. Generally well liked, but Jack doubted he was one of Violet's boyfriends. Violet seemed to favor buff young guys.
No movement showed in the front windows. Jack threw himself in rapid semicamo from a live oak to the cypresses lining the driveway, and from there over the locked gate into the back garden. Anyone glancing out the window would do no more than a double take.
A calico cat, preening itself on the flagstones, bolted across the yard when Jack landed inside the gate. Jack went from tree to bush to the larger-than-life statue of Violet's near-naked sister carrying a ball and chain, her hair flying in the wind. The statue's fangs were too big for her mouth, but the rest of her was appallingly alluring, even in cold stone. In the months since Jack first saw the statue, its surface had weathered to motley greens and grays, perfect for camouflage. He climbed the pedestal and wrapped himself around the statue from behind, his prick nestled against her buttocks and his arms beneath her breasts.
"Jack knows Titania?" Rose fought uselessly to control her fangs.
"Knows her?" Violet cried. "He's obsessed with her. She picked him up a year or so ago and dumped him after only a couple of days, and he's never gotten over it. He denies it, of course, but that's nonsense. Guys never get over a vamp." She cocked her head at Rose. "Ooh! You want Iachimo Tallis? Good heavens, why? Oh, the money. Darling, it's not worth it. There are plenty of other wealthy---"
Before Rose could spit out a denial, Tony said, "Hogwash, Vi. Plenty of people get over vamps."
"Nobody gets over me," Violet sputtered. "Name one guy, just one!" She stomped away, and Zelda and Tony exchanged a look.
"I am not ego-tripping," Violet said over her shoulder. From another room a second later, she called, "It's the truth!"
Tony cast his eyes heavenward. "I have parted company with many women on good terms. As for guys, Constantine dumped a vamp when he was just a kid, and if this Tallis dude has more brains than dick, he's long since over Titania. If not, he's unworthy of our Rose."
Our Rose.
Tears prickled, but Rose found her voice. "That would explain why he's so dead set against vamps. After Titania, how can he help but think we're animals?"
Violet returned, checkbook in hand, hackles up. "He said that to your face?" Suddenly, she giggled. "Not that he's far off. I feel like an animal a lot of the time. Almost always, to tell the truth."
"He didn't say it to my face. He didn't know I could hear him." Rose thought it through. At first, he'd been in shock---weak, trying to control himself, and finding it well-nigh impossible. No wonder he'd been sickened. Afterward..."He resisted my allure over and over again."
"Afraid of losing control," Tony said. "That matters a lot to some guys."
"More than vamp sex?" Violet said. "Impossible. It's because he knows it's the only way to get Titania back. If she finds out he's had another vamp, she'll never touch him again."
Tony pursed his lips. "And that's a problem?"
Violet flapped a hand. "Forget him, Rose. Seeing as he's filthy rich and Titania still dumped him, he must be a complete and total dud."
"No," Rose said irritably, "he's not a dud." Unless he wants Titania.
"Regardless," Violet said, "he's completely unreliable where Titania's concerned. If she crooks her little finger, he'll follow like the sheep he is."
"He's not a sheep." But if he wants Titania...
Violet sat on the couch and opened the checkbook. "Whatever. I can't be counted on to keep my temper if we speak another word about That Bitch." She stabbed her pen at Rose. "I should be offended you even thought I might not pay. But I'm not. I'm completely under control."
"Titania said you wouldn't pay," Rose said. "She told Miles you were working a scam. She said you would steal the dress, refuse to pay, and demand your down payment back."
Allure roiled around Violet. "That Bitch!"
Stiffly, Rose said, "I didn't believe her, but I guess an inkling of doubt still remained, so when you said you didn't want the gown, I blew up. I apologize."
Immediately, Violet subsided. "Sweet of you, darling, but completely unnecessary. Sit down, for heaven's sake, and let's not talk about That Bitch anymore."
Tony motioned to Zelda with his chin. "Coffee lesson. In the kitchen. Now."
Zelda scowled. "You already taught me how to make Turkish coffee. Greek, I mean. We can't leave these two alone."
"It would serve them both right if they clawed each other up a little. But they won't." He flicked Zelda's cheek. "Next thing you know, they'll be comparing notes about men."
Zelda made a face. "Before long, I'll be stuck doing that, too. With my mother. How sick is that?" She pointed a skinny finger at Rose before following him to the kitchen. "Keep your fangs where they belong, hear?"
"Yes, ma'am," Rose said, loving Zelda's defense of her mother, wishing she had a mother she cared to defend, wishing her own mother could have reprimanded her in just such a way. Violet was probably crazy, but they were family. Not that Rose really believed she was one of them. Family didn't happen just like that. But at least they were her kind. She took a seat at the other end of the sofa.
Jack. And Titania? No way in hell.
Brisk and cheerful now, Violet said, "You'll stay with us while you make a new costume. We have plenty of room. I'll give you a down payment, and we can get to work right away." The calico cat jumped onto her lap, purring. Violet caressed the cat, murmured endearments, and wrote a check for the balance due on the first gown. She appeared perfectly calm. "Let's assume the new gown will cost the same as the first. You can adjust your invoice later if it's more." She wrote another check for the same amount, and gave both to Rose.
Rose folded the checks and put them in her bag. The fabulous gown she had spent days on waited, beautiful but forlorn, to be taken down and packed away. All that work, and just for money. Although she was grateful for the payment, she needed to understand. "Violet, I have a question, but it may have to do with Titania. Will you promise not to explode?"
"No, darling, I never make promises I can't keep. Go on. Take a chance."
"You seemed a lot more stable over the Internet."
"Writing is so final." Violet kissed the cat's nose. "I think twice before hitting send."
Okay. "I'm happy to make another gown, but why can't you use this one?"
"Because Titania saw it." Violet clutched the calico cat to her chest.
"But you already knew that, so why have me bring it all the way here?"
"And let That Bitch get her hands on it?" The cat struggled in Violet's increasingly feverish grip. "Not a chance!" she spat. The cat spat back, and with an apologetic murmur Violet let it go.
Tony bellowed from the kitchen. "Violet, is this another of your damn fool feuds?"
"I didn't start it," Violet fluted. "Titania wants to one-up me for best costume at Mardi Gras. She's been coming to Bayou Gavotte more and more often. I don't know why she can't stay in New Orleans. She's on every krewe's invitation list. Luckily, my spies found out she'd wangled an invitation to the Bayou Gavotte ball as well."
"And unluckily, her spies found out I was making you a gown." Rose couldn't keep the bitterness under wraps.
Violet glowered. "Don't get me started. I don't know how she found out."
"She called and threatened me this morning." Rose tried to control her fangs but realized she didn't need to. She let the sharp tips show. "She said she'd know about it if I came over here."
Violet's own fangs slotted down. Her hands balled into fists. "She has people watching my house?"
"Maybe she was bullshitting me. No one tried to stop me. Did you tell anyone else I was making your gown?"
Violet narrowed her eyes. "No! I kept it a strict, strict secret!"
That didn't mean it didn't leak out. Violet's dressmaker had provided a dress dummy and measurements. Violet had shipped it via UPS. Rose and Violet had spoken on the phone. They'd exchanged e-mails. But Rose wasn't about to expose anyone else to Violet's ire, so she merely said, "I don't see why Titania would steal something that didn't even fit her. She's at least two sizes bigger than you, maybe three. She couldn't wear it herself, and she must have known you'd just have another one made."
"Spite," Violet said. "Pure spite."
"For spite, she'd go all the way to Chicago, sleep with an old man and tell him all sorts of lies, and then threaten me with both arrest and creative punishment? I find that hard to believe."
"She'd do anything to get the better of me!" Violet pronounced.
From the kitchen, Tony said, "See what your feuds do to innocent bystanders, Vi? Time to grow up, girl."
"I don't start them," Violet said, adding under her breath, "I know, I know, it takes two." She stuck her tongue out in the direction of the kitchen, sucked up her fangs, and closed her eyes. "Zelda, forget the coffee and light some candles. Rose, we need to meditate to get rid of our violent urges."
"No, we need to understand what's going on. When Miles first showed Titania the gown, she...she practically sneered at it. I could have sworn she wasn't thinking of taking it. She knew it wouldn't fit her. She talked about having something similar made for a Mardi Gras ball, but---"
"She's such a dummy. That dress isn't for the ball," Violet said scornfully, abandoning the meditation pose. "It's for the float in the parade." Rose's perplexity must have shown, for Violet added, "The Bayou Gavotte Mardi Gras parade. Oh, you're a Northerner. Is this your first time? You'll love watching the parade, and catching beads and coins and cups, but you must not, absolutely not, flash your boobs, no matter what people shout at you. We don't want a riot spoiling the parade."
"Um," Rose said, all at sea. "No problem."
"Now, let's forget about That Bitch," Violet said. "I have some fabulous ideas about the new gown. It has to be a replica of the gown of a genuine queen. I picked that one because of the serpent on the sleeve representing wisdom, which was totally appropriate to my character."
Tony guffawed. "Serpent of temptation, more like."
Violet assumed a catlike expression. "That, too. Anyway, Rose, we have a costume competition a week before Mardi Gras, and the people with the best costumes get to be Bayou Gavotte's Mardi Gras king and queen in the parade. This year I decided to have a genuinely queenly gown for the parade, but of course I'll wear something entirely different for the ball. Zelda, go get the kings and queens of England book and see if you can find that issue of Vogue about Marie Antoinette."
"Just a minute," Rose said. "There's more. Something changed when we got into a discussion about dancing. Usually I'm good with customers---you get all sorts, and you have to learn to be polite to idiots---but I could hardly keep my fangs in their slots when I was in the same room as Titania. Since I know more about dancing in costumes than Miles, he dragged me into the discussion." Her own words came back to her with a jolt. Oh, hell! She paused, seeking a way to put it. "Bottom line, we said she'd need a lot of practice if she wanted to dance in that sort of gown. For most modern dancing, it simply wouldn't work. The huge skirt makes it more regal and ceremonial."
Did I blurt out the wrong damn thing? Was this all my fault? Violet wasn't jumping on her in rage yet, but she might soon be.
"Titania stomped into the next room to make a call. Miles couldn't hear her, but of course I did. She told someone named Gino to steal it that night, so I decided to take it myself first."
"For which I am eternally grateful," Violet said. "Titania's all bent out of shape because even if she's invited to the ball, she can't be elected queen. She can't be in the parade at all! Only club owners are allowed to participate." Violet preened. "Now, no more of Titania."
Rose opened her mouth to speak. Family or no family, her fault or not, she had to finish this.
Violet put up a firm hand. "Nothing! Or I will---"
"Listen to me!" Rose stood. "She threatened me this morning, and I think she's on her way back here, and I don't know what she'll do next. I need to understand what's going on, and I think you do, too."
Violet scowled. "What can possibly be so important that you have to tell me now?"
"This," Rose said. "She told Gino, 'This year, I'm going to be the Bayou Gavotte queen!'"
This time, Tony had to hold Violet for a good ten minutes before she stopped struggling. "I'm calm!" she hissed. "I'm fine," she growled. "Let me go or I'll never let you squeeze me again!"
"That's supposed to be an inducement?" Tony didn't release her.
"You haven't moaned," Zelda said. "You always moan. That's your signal."
"She's too upset to get anywhere near orgasmic," Tony said. "Bad sign. Zelda, go find something dispensable." Zelda hurried into the kitchen, banging cupboard doors and clattering dishes, while Tony followed with the writhing Violet. Rose took up the rear.
Tony let Violet go, and Zelda offered her mother a chipped mixing bowl. "Break this."
Vi slumped. "I don't have the energy to break anything." A tear glistened at the corner of her eye.
"Scream, then." Zelda looked worried. "Let fly. Come on, Mom! This isn't like you."
Violet's eyes grew huge. "If she moves into my territory, I don't know what I'll do."
Even Tony seemed unnerved. "Now, now, Vi. Calm down."
"I may have to kill her," Violet whispered. She dropped into a kitchen chair.
"Mom!" Zelda set the bowl on the table. She and Tony exchanged dismayed glances.
Violet's eyes flicked this way and that. "I've never killed anyone before. I don't know if I can!"
"Of course you can't," Zelda said. "You disapprove of violence, remember?"
"We can't let her muscle her way into Bayou Gavotte. She's tormented me ever since we were in school, and now she'll ruin everything!" A muscle twitched below Violet's eye. "Maybe Constantine can kill her for me. Tony, do you think he would?"
"Jesus." Tony crossed his arms. "That boy has enough problems without his friends asking him to commit murder. You should be ashamed."
An emotion crossed Violet's face, but it didn't look much like shame.
"You're making something out of nothing," Tony said. "It's not easy to buy into one of the clubs, because nobody wants to sell. Does Titania have a ton of money?"
"I don't think so," Violet said. "She inherited some after her husbands died---actually, she probably murdered all three of them---but she gambles and she's a spendthrift, and she never does a lick of work. That's why I was so surprised when she dumped Iachimo Tallis. He has an endless amount of money. She should have been all over him, squeezing the life out like kudzu."
"So there's nothing to worry about. You need a drink." He left the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a bottle of Johnnie Walker. Violet raised haughty eyebrows, but Tony said, "You need to calm down, and I'm not wasting the Glenfiddich Thirty Year on a hissy fit." He filled a glass with ice, saying calmly, "Don't look now, but I think someone's snooping in the backyard."
Violet leaped to her feet, allure swirling.
"Shit, Violet," Tony said. "Will you never learn? Show Rose the statue. That's a decent excuse for looking at the yard."
They all trooped over to the window. On a pedestal in the garden stood a statue of a near-naked vampire. "That's my sister, Ophelia," Violet snarled. "Where is he? I don't see anyone!"
"Me, neither," Zelda said.
"No," Tony said, "but I heard him when I was getting the whiskey, and I saw the cat take off across the yard. Keep talking, Vi. It would help if you smiled."
Violet grimaced. "Ophelia's fangs aren't actually that big, but the sculptor worked from a photo where she was wearing fake fangs. That Bitch! If she sent someone to snoop, I'll...I'll..."
"Your sister's lovely," Rose managed, scanning the garden.
"He must be hiding someplace." Calmly, Tony dolloped Johnnie Walker over the ice.
"Maybe he went around the side of the house," Rose said, almost positive he hadn't.
"I would have heard him. More likely, he's waiting and hoping we'll get away from the window." Tony grinned. "And staying very, very still."
Damn straight. If that faint shimmer below the statue's breasts was Jack, what was he doing here?
Tony turned to Violet. "Did you hear about the Threshold?"
"I never want to hear about that disgusting place."
"Some guy got inside last night and took off with a girl who'd been sold to the club for a mutilation fuck scene."
Rose stared. "Someone was sold?"
Tony shrugged. "It's been known to happen. The dude also saved an underage kid who got caught trying to sneak in the back."
"Good for him," said Violet. "The clubs can dispense with 'Safe' and 'Sane'---even though I completely disagree with such stupidity---but 'Consensual' is an absolute! That place will ruin Bayou Gavotte's reputation."
"The thing is," Tony said, "not one person got a good look at the guy."
Go, Jack. Rose suppressed a smile.
"Similar thing happened a couple of months ago. One of the regulars drugged an underage girl and set up a private ritual, but before they even got the knives sharpened, the participants were flat on the floor and the chick was gone. Nobody saw who did it then, either."
"Good," Violet said. "Tony, go check the garden."
"No," Rose said before she could stop herself. Tony gave her a look. She gathered her wits and said, "If it's one of Titania's spies, we don't want her to know we're on to him."
Tony gave her another look. "That's one way to play it, if it's not too late. Move to the living room for now---it has curtains---and I'll sweep the house for bugs."
Tony stayed by the window, licking his fangs. Reluctantly, Rose went with the others.
What a stupid risk of exposure, not to mention a waste of time, all because he was hung up on Rose. Jack inched off the statue in deepest camo, snailed from shrub to shrub into and through the neighbor's yard, and didn't even downgrade to semicamo until he was half a block away.
He wasn't just hung up. He was worried about Rose. Not just worried, frightened for her, but if anyone could protect her from Titania, Tony Karaplis---who had smiled through Violet's window, revealing that he was yet another vampire---could. Which meant Rose didn't need him at all.
But he needed Rose. He needed to talk to her, to find out how Violet had communicated with her about the hotel, because the information leak had happened by way of Violet, whether she knew it or not. How had Titania found out Rose was making Violet a dress? Someone had penetrated either Violet's home or her work, or perhaps gotten the password to her e-mail account. He could ask the same questions of Violet, but Rose, he knew, would tell him the truth.
Meanwhile, he'd see what he could find on his own. The gift shop and salon at Blood and Velvet opened early in the day, so tourists could browse for costumes and indulge in inanities like fake fangs and bloodied hair. The club itself would be empty of all but cleaning crew.
He sidled into the gift shop, attracting so little notice that he camouflaged himself against the red velvet curtains framing the door to the club while two teenage girls stood only a foot away, digging through a tub of gaudy underwear.
"How about these?" the brunette asked her friend, holding up a couple of scraps of lavender fabric. "There's gotta be some magic about it."
"Guys don't care what color panties you wear," the blonde retorted. "They just want to take them off."
"See the label? 'Passion on Demand, by Violet Dupree.' Obviously, she knows something. Look how many guys are after her."
One of the saleswomen called, "Potty break!" to her coworker and came up to unlock the door into the club. She stopped next to the two girls and said, "Violet believes in taking the initiative when it comes to love." She flipped through the tub of underwear and found a set of three gold-embroidered thongs connected by a crimson ribbon. "These are my favorites: 'No guilt,' 'No hesitation,' and 'No holds barred.'"
The blonde looked dubious. "That seems awfully irresponsible to me."
"Not really," the saleswoman said. "See what it says on the elastic?"
The girls peered forward. " 'Know what you want and go for it,'" the brunette read. "I definitely know who I want."
"Perfect! Now's the time for some action."
The blonde rolled her eyes and held up a deep purple panty. "It reads a little differently on this one."
Know what you want? read the front panel; Go for it! graced the rear. Nobody could say Violet didn't have a sense of humor.
"No matter how much initiative you take," the saleswoman said, "sometimes guys need to have it spelled out." She opened the door to the club. "The ones in that basket are from the 'Irresistible' line. Those are on special, too."
Jack slithered in camo through the doorway. The saleswoman followed and pulled the door shut behind them. Oblivious, she headed for the restroom while Jack bypassed the elevators and took the stairs two at a time. Violet's office suite stretched across the front of the third floor, opposite the portrait studios at the back.
He exited the stairs at the end of the long hallway that traversed the club, expecting relative gloom and finding instead far too much light. The carpet cleaner's apparatus stood smack in the middle of the elevator vestibule halfway down the hall. The cleaner wouldn't stop Jack, but he might see him, since brightly lit, more or less barren hallways and walls were the devil to deep-camo against.
He held on to a light covering of camouflage, enough for anonymity, and moved quickly down the hall, ears alert for the carpet cleaner. As he entered the vestibule, he eased up and blended with the shiny, pseudo-Chinese wallpaper there. To one side were the elevators. To the other, one of the glass doors to Violet's suite stood ajar, the offices beyond them dim. A little way past the vestibule, the door of the first portrait studio was wide open. Bottles of carpet shampoo, a bucket, a hose...and faint movements from somewhere down that way.
Jack eased along the wall into Violet's suite and went straight to her office, thankful he'd spent time getting to know every club in town. He picked the locked door easily and slipped inside, dropping most of the camo and getting to work. No cameras and nothing on the phone, but two minutes later, bingo, he found the bug under the desk.
Leave it there? He chuckled to himself. Let Violet decide that one.
He left the office, locking the door behind him, and paused at the entrance to the suite. The carpet guy's stuff hadn't moved, so maybe he was doing prep or had gone onto the balcony off the portrait studio for a smoke. Jack moved quietly into the hall.
A whiff of cool air drifted from the portrait studio, and curiosity took over. The hall on this side of the building was wider and plastered with photographs of vamp wannabes in various stages of dress and undress. He flickered along the wall, more or less invisible, and peeked into the portrait studio. Nobody, not even behind the changing screen, but the dark curtains that covered the balcony doors stirred in a breeze from outdoors. No smell of tobacco...
Biff the thug pushed from behind the curtains, stuffing a Glock into his shoulder holster. Jack dodged back into the hall and deep-camoed fast against a medley of photos.
Biff hurried out of the studio, passed Jack without a glance, and went into Violet's suite. Jack waited long enough to see Biff pick the lock of Violet's office---she needed better security all around---and slipped back into the portrait studio. If Biff had gone to retrieve the bug, he'd know soon enough. He found the carpet guy on the balcony, alive but unconscious from a blow to the head. Jack hauled the guy back inside and went after Biff.
He emerged into the hallway, camoing as he went, just as Tony Karaplis stepped out of the elevators. Damn. Tony had definitely seen something this time. What the hell was going on? A secret for all these years, blown once, almost certainly blown again. Jack blended deep into camouflage and waited for Tony to make his move. Sure, he could take this guy on, but he was even more sure he didn't want to.
"Damn it, kid," Tony said. "Is that you?"
Huh?
"Because if you're playing games with me, I need to know right now."
Tony knew someone else who could camo. Constantine Dufray?
Tony shifted, his stance no longer merely annoyed. "All right," he growled. "Whoever you are, I don't much want to tangle with you, and you're better off not messing with me. How about you tell me why you were at Vi's place, and what you're doing here."
Jack considered his options. No, his only option: to get away, with enough camo to remain anonymous. He sidled along the photo-covered wall, and Tony's eyes, intent but unsure, followed him remarkably well. Damn. No telling how much of this tracking was smell and hearing, but he couldn't get past Tony to the stairs without a fight. Meantime, the carpet guy needed tending, and Biff was---
"Look out!" Jack flung himself out of camo and wrenched Biff's gun hand high. The shot meant for Tony hit the ceiling. Jack and Biff crashed together into the glass door. Jack twisted the gun away from Biff as Tony leaped forward, fangs full down. With a roar, Biff ripped free of Jack, slammed Tony into the carpet-cleaning machine, and sprinted down the hall toward the stairs.
Jack retrieved the gun and camoed his face into nondescript while he checked the magazine. He shoved the gun---quite a collection he was amassing---into his belt.
Tony stood, cussing and rubbing his shoulder. "Thanks."
"The carpet guy's in the portrait studio. He needs medical attention," Jack said. "There's a bug under Violet's desk, unless that dude just retrieved it." He took off after Biff.
After a couple of hours of unpacking and shelving little bottles of glaze and pottery paraphernalia, Juma began to feel like a cornered possum. Freezing in one place inevitably led to being found. The work was okay, but she didn't like the way Gil kept watching her. Any minute now he would accuse her of stealing something and call the cops. Not that he actually did anything to support this belief; the only people who came were the FedEx guy and an old dude who bought clay. Still, she didn't dare trust him, so she eavesdropped like crazy on every one of his calls.
He spent a lot of time on the phone. Many of his calls started out about pottery classes or supplies, but they ended up with what sounded like life advice. Gil had a beautiful voice. Really beautiful. Warm and comforting...and like all soothing voices, a complete and total fraud. She'd had enough. When he finally got off the phone for two seconds, she stomped right up to his desk and got in his face. "Stop staring at me. I'm not going to steal anything."
Gil did a decent double take. "I don't suspect you of stealing." He sounded so gentle and sincere she wanted to believe him, which was not only freaky but majorly dumb.
"Why else would you keep watching me? So, dude, how much do you pay? Because although I need money, I need study time even more, and this is seriously eating into my schoolwork." Pause. "Well, duh. Why am I even asking? You won't need to pay me once you've hustled me off to jail."
He actually appeared hurt. He was tall and solidly built, with a teddy-bear look about him that made you want to grin. Reproachfully, he said, "I won't send you to jail." Surprisingly, she almost believed him.
"Back to Grandma, then, which is worse. You were plotting something with Jack. Otherwise why all that whispering? You don't have laryngitis. You have a perfectly good, absolutely gorgeous voice."
"We weren't plotting," Gil said, and she wanted to believe him again, which was ridiculous. He got out his wallet and handed her a twenty. "That's for what you've done so far."
Another surprise, but she couldn't let herself be sidetracked. "Um, great, thank you, but I still need to know why all the whispering. And don't try bullshitting me. I heard you talking on the phone, laying it on thick about patience and understanding and how everything will be all right. Which is crap, of course, but you do a good snow job. It just won't work on me."
"It's not a snow job. If you'd rather study, feel free. There's a table in the storeroom."
"So I won't hear when you call the cops. Nope, you're stuck with me right here." She plunked herself on the floor with her backpack. "So. About the whispering. It can't have been just because Jack told you I'm a thief."
"He didn't tell me that." He didn't seem concerned. "Are you?"
"Not at the moment. Stop avoiding my question."
"Sure you want the answer?" He widened his eyes and whispered, "It's because I'm possessed."
Juma huffed. "The real reason, dude."
Gil shrugged. "That is the real reason." God, he had a voice. His deep, beautiful tones caressed Juma's brain. "I truly am possessed."
"If you say so." What the hell? This was insane. "Come on! There's no such thing as possession."
"Maybe, maybe not, but that's the only answer I have for you. My voice has a powerful effect on women. I whisper when I'd rather not have that effect."
Juma opened a book of twelfth-century French poetry Jack had loaned her, then closed it again. So what if this was nuts? It was also fun. "Possessed by what?"
"Take a guess." The phone rang. Gil took one look at the display and whispered, "Fuck." A pause, with a glance at Juma. "I beg your pardon." He glowered at the phone as if that would stop it from ringing.
"Aren't you going to answer it?" Juma said.
Gil shook his head, and the answering machine came on. "Gil? This is Jolene? The real-estate agent? About our appointment this afternoon? I have some wonderful homes lined up? What time should I come by? I'm looking forward to showing everything I have to you."
"Fuck," Gil whispered again.
"Sounds like it." Juma broke out laughing, but Gil didn't look amused. "Is she ugly or something? She's a major up-talker, but so what?"
"No, she's not ugly," Gil muttered. "She's quite attractive, but I'm not interested."
"You already have a girlfriend?"
Gil paused. Reddened. "No. And no, I'm not gay. I'm just not interested. Do your studying, will you?"
"Maybe you're possessed by an incubus," Juma said. "Except that incubuses aren't real. Neither are vampires or anything else interesting or cool. Grandma wouldn't even let me believe in Santa Claus."
Gil strode over to a counter at the far side of the shop, got a lump of clay from a plastic bag, and began punching and kneading as if he wanted to murder someone.
A half hour later, the phone rang again. Jolene had set up a bunch of home viewings and asked if Gil wanted to do lunch first. Gil cursed under his breath but didn't pick up the phone. He had made a slew of coils, and now was piling them atop one another with unbelievable speed and skill. Juma knew this wasn't easy. She'd about killed herself to get an A in art class at school.
She shut the poetry book; she was getting nowhere deciphering the Old French. "Why are you buying a house? Jack says you live behind the shop."
"It's for a safe house. We need a place for rescues to stay."
"So if you don't want to work with Jolene, why not cancel the appointment and get a male real-estate agent instead?"
"It's not that simple." He sounded miserable. Evidently, being possessed, although impossible, was no fun at all.
The phone rang again. "Hi, Gil? I've made reservations at the Impractical Cat?" Pause. "I'm really looking forward to seeing you?" Juma had to give Jolene points for persistence. "I'll pick you up at---"
"Oh, hell!" Gil slung a coil across the room, smashing a pottery rabbit to the floor. Juma leaped for the phone.
"Gil's line," she chirped. "I'm sorry, but Gil's not available for lunch. We'll meet you at your office at two. We're just dying to see everything you have to offer."
Gil gaped at her, crushing another coil in his hand.
"Who are you?" demanded Jolene, suddenly bitchy as all get-out.
"I'm Gil's intern. See you at two! B'bye!" Juma hung up in a hurry and turned to Gil. "She can't crawl all over you with me there, and if you let me do the talking, maybe she won't even want to. Compared to Grandma, Jolene will be a piece of cake."
After Tony left, Rose called the shop in Chicago to give Miles the good news, but he wasn't in yet. Then Violet called Constantine Dufray to demand that he kill Titania.
"Mom!" Zelda's small breasts quivered under her T-shirt, and her fangs were full down. "Tony said not to!"
"Tony was wrong." Violet stormed into the kitchen with Zelda behind her. "Constantine, she's trying to muscle her way into Bayou Gavotte. She'll ruin everything!"
"You woke me up for this?" Constantine's voice was drowsy and slow.
Zelda's eyes were huge, and blood drizzled down her lip from where she'd pierced it with a fang. "You're soliciting a murder!" she hissed. "On the phone!"
"Go back to bed," Constantine drawled.
Violet wasn't listening to either of them. "It'll be worse than before you and Lep took over. She'll break all the rules, and even the sissy clubs like Blood and Velvet will go bankrupt, because tourists won't come here anymore."
Constantine's yawn came through clearly. "Maybe when you wake up again, you'll make sense."
"Bayou Gavotte will be destroyed!" Violet cried. "It'll be all your fault!"
The line went dead. Violet shrieked and dialed again, but the call went straight to message. She threw her phone at the wall. "Why isn't he listening to me?"
"Mom, you're not thinking straight. Apart from Tony being right that it's bad for Constantine to kill people, what if there's a bug he didn't find?" Zelda licked the blood off her chin. "Not that I approve of murder, but Constantine is special. We need to take care of him, not endanger him." She gave Rose a suspicious look. "And you'd better keep your mouth shut, too."
"I lived with a mobster for years," Rose said. "I won't blab."
Violet glowered at Zelda and told her to get dressed for school. "Now that Rose is here, I don't need you to keep watch."
"No way," Zelda retorted. "I'm not letting you call Constantine again, and not only that, you can't design a costume without me. You have no sense of style. Just look at that nightgown you're wearing and the tacky underwear you sell in the club."
"People buy that underwear, darling," Violet protested. "It's one of our best sellers."
"Most of your customers are screwed up. And I don't mean to be rude, but judging by her clothes, Rose doesn't have a sense of style, either. The Elizabethan gown is amazing, but it was copied from a painting. If you want to design something from scratch, I'm going to be involved."
"I dress like this in the hope that no one will notice me," Rose said. "My underwear is another thing altogether."
"That's all very well, darling," Violet said, "but dressing cheaply never works. Neither does abstinence. We vamps have to embrace our natures, not suppress them."
"All very well for you," Zelda said morosely. "You've forgotten what it's like at school."
"Not at all," Violet said. The subject was then hashed and rehashed as, obviously, it had been many times before. They leafed through magazines. Rose sketched and Zelda fended off Violet's worst ideas, but Rose couldn't keep her mind off Miles.
And Jack. With Titania.
She called Miles again, but he still wasn't there. An hour later, she tried once more. "Miles hasn't shown up," said the intern, all by herself and sounding harassed. "Have you heard from him? Is he sick?"
"I think he had a late night," Rose said. "Let him know I have a check for him, and tell him to give me a call."
She forced her mind away from Miles and refused to think about Jack and Titania. "I'll need to shop for fabrics. We can order some things online, but others I want to see and feel." She settled herself at the desk in Violet's study and brought up a couple of Web sites on the computer. Zelda shoved a chair next to Rose's and devoured an array of lace trims.
Meanwhile, visions of Jack with Titania insinuated themselves into Rose's mind like slimy parasitic worms. Ick. Ick.
For lunch, Violet served them homemade vegetable soup. Then she lounged on a leopard-print daybed and made plans. "We'll get you a bodyguard, someone who can double as a lover. I know some clean, sexy guys who'd love to service a vamp. You can come to the club tonight and pick one."
"I don't want a bodyguard," Rose said. "I had a few of those when I was a mobster's mistress, and they were way more trouble than they were worth." They also hadn't kept Lou from being murdered.
"But you need one, darling. Titania's sure to want vengeance. She'll send her minions after you." Violet cocked her head to one side. "Maybe you can seduce some of them away from her. She'll be so irate! Has she figured out you're a vamp?"
"No, but I'm not interested in seducing anybody else's men, particularly not hers." She made herself concentrate on scrolling through trims.
"It's probably for the best," Violet said regretfully. "She'd lure them right back, and by then they might know our secrets. Oh! Why not seduce Iachimo?"
Rose took a deep breath and ordered her fangs to stay still. "He's too complicated. He has weird ideas about owing and not owing, and he hates himself for being affected by allure."
Violet snickered. "He's afraid of being dumped again. After Titania dropped him, he came to me, trying to make amends for something silly he did while he was under her power, and his chagrin was too, too obvious. Now he pretends to hate her, which only goes to show he's still obsessed. You'll be doing him an act of kindness by seducing him. Not only will Titania never take him back, she'll be furious when she finds out. Oh, this is an excellent idea!"
It's a terrible one. "Why would she care, if she doesn't want him herself?" Turning from the computer, Rose surrendered the mouse to Zelda.
"Because you're a vamp, darling, and you already foiled her once. She'll think she missed noticing something wonderful about Iachimo, apart from his money. Oh, this is such fun!" Violet wrinkled her nose. "He might get obsessed with you instead."
"I don't want a man who's in love or even lust with another woman."
"You're no fun." Violet pouted. "But it doesn't matter, because Constantine will kill Titania, and then you won't have any competition, because she'll be dead."
Rose gave up and focused again on the computer. "Let's start narrowing these trims down, and then we'll start calling stores in New Orleans."
By the time Jack got out of Blood and Velvet, Biff had vanished into the chaos of news vans, paparazzi, and rubber-neckers. Jack took a circuitous route home and went through the attic room onto the roof.
Several buildings away, Constantine lounged against the dormer wall of the Impractical Cat, talking to a woman who poked around in one of the potted plants situated between the tables in the rooftop garden. He glanced briefly in Jack's direction and turned back to the woman.
Tentatively, Jack opened his mind. Nothing, neither welcome nor threat. For what it was worth, he doubted Constantine would murder him with the plant lady looking on.
He ducked below the parapet and semicamoed against the bricks, then dropped over the edge to the roof next door. A few roofs up and down later, he dropped his camouflage and hauled himself, in full view, onto the parapet of the Impractical Cat. Constantine merely watched him. The woman, noticeably pregnant, brandished her trowel above a pot of pansies. A fountain with copper lilies bubbled behind them.
"Calm down, he's not a reporter," Constantine said. On the table next to him, a tray held a carafe and two white coffee cups. An acoustic guitar was propped below the dormer window.
Jack jumped onto the roof. Constantine straightened. "Tallis," he said, with the same creepy chuckle he'd had twenty-something years ago. He showed no emotion: no surprise, no pleasure, no chagrin such as Jack had sensed last night. No anger pulsing against Jack's brain. Bloody nothing.
"Dufray." Running on instinct and hope, Jack held out his hand.
Constantine slid his hand into Jack's in the smooth, light Navajo clasp and withdrew. "This is Ophelia, Violet Du-pree's sister."
Ophelia lowered the trowel. She had auburn hair and a very sweet, very vampish smile.
"Despite the weapon, she's much saner than Violet." Constantine pushed an intercom button in the wall. To Ophelia he said, "Jack lives in New Orleans, but when he's in Bayou Gavotte, he stays over that new little pottery shop. He owns the building."
So Constantine had been keeping track of him. Was this a positive?
"Poetic Options? Gil makes wonderful pots," Ophelia said. "I'd like to commission some planters." Her brow creased. "Is he all right? Vi says she vamped him last night, but I hope he doesn't expect it to develop into something permanent."
"Not at all." Jack couldn't help smiling. "He had no problem reading Violet."
Ophelia looked dubious but returned to messing with the pansies. A voice crackled on the intercom, and Constantine asked for more coffee and another cup. He sat at the table, and Jack took a chair opposite him.
"Tony Karaplis is on his way over." Constantine poured a coffee and pushed it across to Jack. "Why were you in Blood and Velvet?"
"I was looking for a bug. Trying to figure out who overheard a phone call the day before yesterday between me and Violet Dupree."
"Who shot at Tony?"
"His name's Biff. He tried to kill me yesterday."
Constantine's face hardened. That look worked better on an adult than on an eight-year-old kid, but Jack didn't like it any better than he had back then. Implacable, devoid of any emotion...No, it wasn't the same. The hatred ruling the eight-year-old had been replaced by something much more complicated, and the look Constantine gave Ophelia now was almost tender. "Sorry, babe. You about done?"
"Two minutes." Silence reigned except for the trickling of the fountain and the clink of cups on saucers. A dumbwaiter in the wall appeared with a fresh carafe and another cup. The coffee was excellent.
Jack, too, was more complicated than he'd been back then, especially since the fiasco with Titania, when he'd been smitten with such self-loathing he'd wanted to curl up and die. Meanwhile, the tabloids had blazed with scandal about Constantine and his druggie-actress wife, first her wild life and then her death. His own misery had opened him to Constantine's, and it had hurt like the devil, so he'd shut it off and kept it off. But maybe he shouldn't have. Maybe, instead of wallowing in his own hell, he should have sought out his old friend, who was doubtless in a far worse one. Rose would never ignore---no, abandon---a friend like that.
Ophelia brushed off her gardening gloves, packed up her tools, and kissed Constantine on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, sweetie." She nodded good-bye to Jack and went through a door around the side of the dormer.
"She's always been down on violence, but now that she's married a cop, she has conflict-of-interest problems, too." A silence. "Do you know why Biff tried to kill you?"
"No." Do you?
The telepathic link didn't work both ways. Constantine couldn't receive Jack's thoughts, and yet the flash in Constantine's eyes looked almost like pain. Cautiously, Jack opened his mind to see if Constantine was sending. Pain, indeed. Hell's own fury, more like.
He shut it out with a ripple of shame. He couldn't bear to let Constantine know of the moment he'd feared Constantine had sent Biff to kill him. Jesus God, especially not after last night, when countless people were blaming him for all those deaths and injuries at the concert. Indirectly they might be his fault, but he had not intended them. Of that, Jack was entirely sure.
Constantine gave him a look that would annihilate most people. "What do you want from me?" His voice was tight and hard. Malevolence reverberated all the way down Jack's spine. " 'Vending Revenge'?" Constantine quoted the title of one of his viler songs and stretched with a lazy agility in contrast to his eyes and voice. "Unnecessary. I have reasons of my own to kill Biff."
Shit, no. "I don't want him dead. I want to know why he shot me."
"You've always been too soft, Tallis. You want me to off someone else? Is that it?"
A thought of Titania dead, of Rose safe, crossed Jack's mind. He shook it away. "Damn it, Dufray---"
"This morning, Violet asked me to kill some vamp she doesn't like. You'll have to wait your turn."
Jesus Christ. "No, I want---"
Tony Karaplis appeared through the same door by which Ophelia had left. Constantine poured Tony a coffee. "You guessed it. Tallis was my friend back on the Rez."
I'm still your friend, damn it. How many other people have you told about me?
His annoyance must have shown, for Constantine said impatiently, "Tony won't tell anyone. He's kept my secrets since I was a kid."
"Thank you," Jack said ungratefully.
Constantine shot another vicious blast his way. When Jack didn't flinch, Tony blinked with surprise. "Told you," Constantine said, not letting up one iota. "You want---?"
Jack took a breath. He'd always stayed calm in the face of Constantine's rage, but he was beginning to be pissed off.
That's not an appropriate response. His mother's patience blew through his brain in all its exasperating sweetness. Look at it from the other person's point of view.
Impossible in this case, but his aggravation dissipated, and he managed to blurt the whole sentence this time. "I want to use Bayou Gavotte as a refuge for battered women."
Tony nodded in approval. Constantine just looked blank.
"That's what I do when I'm not running fundraisers for my old man. I rescue abused women, and sometimes children, too, but I want someplace tighter and safer than New Orleans and Baton Rouge. I need to know I have underworld support. That abusers won't be given a second chance if they show up here."
"Sure," Constantine said. "You've got it."
As easy as that? Tony twisted the ends of his moustache, looking amused and pleased, but Jack felt Constantine's hostility circling like a hawk waiting for its prey to break cover. No, this wasn't over. They drank their coffee while Jack explained his ideas for the accommodation of the rescues and the education of the kids. Tony seemed interested, Constantine not at all. He kept glancing toward the window, clenching and unclenching his hands.
"For God's sake, kid, pick up the damn guitar." Tony drained his coffee and left.
Constantine stilled his hands and kept his eyes on Jack. "You've been seen at the Threshold."
Damn. "Seen?"
Constantine's mouth quirked ever so slightly, and immediately Jack's heart warmed: the boy he had known back then---and yet, not. "No, not you, only the chaos you left behind more than once. Biff was supposed to be keeping an eye on things, but you've been a hell of a lot more useful. I know why you rescued those people, but why were you there in the first place?" Constantine's thought penetrated Jack's brain: Don't lie to me. A threat or a plea? Perhaps both.
"You know why. How could I be sure Bayou Gavotte was safe? You're not always here to scare the shit out of everyone."
Constantine again: Not enough.
Jack sighed. "And I didn't know what kind of person you'd become. Now go get the damn guitar."
"You still don't know." The rock star stood slowly, fetched his beloved guitar, and sat again, laying it softly, silently across his knee. He was the same boy, and yet...changed.
Jack said, "Jeez, man, I've missed you."
"Consider yourself fortunate. I've been a lousy person to know." Constantine's fingers curled around the neck of the guitar. "I still am."
Jack's childhood grievance reared up. "That may well be, but it was two fucking years before I knew you were still alive, shithead. Couldn't you have knocked just once to say hello?"
Constantine held the guitar close, his fingers motionless on the frets and strings. His voice chill, his eyes flat, he said, "No."
Rose tried Miles again a couple more times without success. Perhaps he had spent the day consoling himself in a museum or visiting his wife's grave. Late in the afternoon, Rose and Zelda were looking at fabrics on the Internet while Violet leafed through magazines, when a knock sounded on the front door.
Violet picked her way through the sketches and magazines that littered the floor. "Biff, honey," her voice fluted from the foyer. "What are you doing here?"
Biff? Here?
"I'm busy now," Violet added. "Come to the club later and have a drink. We'll talk, and who knows, maybe I'll change my mind."
Zelda rolled her eyes and returned to the fabrics. Biff must be a regular visitor.
"I need your help, Vi." Biff lowered his voice to a despairing croak. "I'm in such deep shit. I fucked up a job last night, and Constantine's livid."
Rose's fangs slotted down. "Oh, honey, no!" Violet cried. "What are you going to do?"
"If I don't find the guy we were after, there's no telling what Constantine might do to me." Their voices told Rose that Violet was taking Biff into the kitchen.
"Tell me all about it," Violet said. "Maybe I can help."
Rose bit her lip hard, drawing blood, and yanked the fang back out. She slung her handbag over her shoulder. "Zelda, take notes about what you like best. I'm going to run an errand or two while your mom's busy with her friend, but I'll be back."
"You're bleeding." Zelda stared as Rose licked the blood off her lip. "Something's wrong?"
"Damn fangs," Rose said with an unhappy laugh. "Always getting in the way."
But that wasn't all that was in the way. A Ferrari---must be Biff's---blocked her into the driveway. She almost gave in to terror. Constantine wanted Jack dead. Any moment now, Biff would tell Violet whom he was after, and she'd tell him where to find Jack, and Biff would go after him.
I've got two minutes' start and no vehicle. She ducked beside Biff's car and let all the air out of one of the front tires, stretching her hamstrings as she did so. Then she took off running.
The distance from Jack's, which had taken five minutes this morning, took maybe ten minutes at a run, dodging pedestrians and traffic and garnering stares all around. Damn. She swerved a block before the Impractical Cat, detoured an extra block around behind it, and headed toward Jack's from the opposite direction. She ducked into the alley, dashed across the courtyard, and took the stairs two at a time.
The door was unlocked. She charged inside. Where was he? The shower was on, the bathroom door ajar. She tossed her handbag onto the couch and lunged into the bathroom. "Jack," she said, her chest heaving. "Jack, you're in terrible danger. Those thugs---"
He was facing the wall under the shower, his head thrown back, rinsing off. Slowly, he turned.
She wrenched open the shower door. Gaped, catching her breath and losing it again. Swallowed, still panting from the run, or maybe because he looked so damn good. Oh, God, he was stunning in his nakedness. Water poured over his muscled shoulders and biceps, ran in rivulets through his chest hair, swirled across the flat delicious plane of his abs, looping his navel. His penis swelled as she stared. Her fangs slid happily down, and she pushed them hard into place, piercing her thumbs. Blood welled out and she licked it, quivering for what she really wanted and needed: Jack's blood. Jack's taste and smell and touch, right here, right now.
She couldn't be thinking about sex now. "Jack, you have to leave. Any minute they'll---"
Those hard eyes caught hers, traveled a tad lower and lingered on her mouth.
Rose's fangs bucked. Jack's aroma tantalized her nostrils. Her tongue curled in anticipation of the taste of his skin, his mouth, his blood.
Biff was going to kill him.
She stalked straight into the shower, grabbed his hand, and pulled. "Come on! There's no time to waste."
"Right." But he didn't budge, and his eyes were heavy now, roaming over her breasts as if he could see right through her clothes. Duh. Her nipples jutted against her wet T-shirt. She yanked it away from her breasts, wringing out the fabric.
"Jack, listen to me. You don't understand." She shook the water from her face, let go of her shirt, and tugged at him again. "Forget my boobs---"
Gently, he took hold of her T-shirt. Twisted it in his hand. Slowly, inexorably, pulled her under the shower. Water, warm and seductive, ran down her face, coaxing her tongue out to lap at it. He bared his teeth in something between a grimace and a smile. Sucked in his breath in a long, long hiss.
She had to talk sense into him. Into herself. She splayed her hands against his chest and pushed. "Jack---"
He growled. Why must she have this stupid effect on men?
"Jack, there's no time," she heard herself saying, but heat flashed through her groin, and she didn't try to stop him when he peeled the T-shirt up to expose her breasts. She really did have great underwear, but Jack's dark gaze was intent not on the lush rose satin but what it concealed. Desire fueled desire; a torrent of heat flooded her belly. Her lips ached for his kisses, her fangs for the rich taste of his blood. In a gesture made automatic through years of pleasuring Lou, she cupped her breasts like an offering.
Jack growled again: appreciation, anticipation, haste. He pulled her T-shirt over her head, snapped her bra open, and let it fall, consuming her with his eyes.
What had gotten into her? She'd never be able to stop him now. With a sob, she gave up on controlling her fangs. She pried off her shoes. "We can't do this now."
"We can." He rolled her sweatpants down, pulled off her socks. Licked his way up her belly and between her breasts. "And we will."
"You don't understand," Rose whimpered. "There's no time."
"That's the way I want it." He hooked his thumbs into her panties and pulled her against him, skin to hot, wet skin. He tugged on the thin elastic waistband, pulled the panties up hard against her crotch, and slid the fabric back and forth across the quivering flesh from her clit to her ass. Rose moaned.
"I like it hot." Jack breathed in her ear, and his tongue flicked in and out. He pushed her against the Italian tiles and licked a trail down her neck to her throat. "And hard." He ripped the narrow elastic and let her underwear fall. "And fast."
Okay, Rose thought, fast is good, and then I can talk sense into him. She reached for his penis.
"Not that fast." Jack took her breasts one after the other, a hungry suckling and biting, pain and pleasure at war. Rose dug her nails into his shoulders, and each time he raised his head to kiss and lick, she thrust her breasts once again, turn by turn, into his mouth, between his teeth, need and exquisite pleasure overwhelming the pain.
One hard hand ravished her hair while the other possessed her hip, then her belly, its weight sending a brief, heavy glory though her mound before he delved between her legs. Fingers, urgent and sure, slipped into her and out, in and out, spreading the slickness of her arousal up and around, lavishing it this side and that, torturing her into quivers of delight. He dipped inside her again and lingered on her clit, trailed up her belly. He freed her breast and tongued his own fingers, then ran them across her lips and came down for a harsh, demanding kiss.
Rose gripped his hair and responded with so much passion it hurt. Oh damn, she thought, this is not what I wanted, not at all---
He ended the kiss, and for a terrifying second their gazes locked. Rose groaned again and closed her eyes because she couldn't bear it: the pleasure, the wanting, the pain, the peril! Finish this. Get it done.
She raised a leg, locked in onto his hip, arched toward him. He gripped her ass and lifted her, and the tip of his penis nudged her opening...and stopped.
"Come on!" She reached for him again, but he shifted away from her seeking hand. "Hurry up!" she cried, grabbing his ass, pulling him to meet her.
His every muscle was rigid. What the hell was going on here? In anyone else, it would look like teasing, it would be fun, but---
She opened her eyes again. Jack's were shut tight, his teeth clenched, his face a battleground of agony.
"Forget it," Rose said furiously. "This wasn't my idea."
Jack pinned her to the wall and plunged inside her.
She cried out as he filled her, filled her full, filled her tight. She squeezed and savored that blessed fullness, wrapping her legs around him. Hard, he'd said. Hot. Fast. If he hated her afterward, hated himself, it didn't matter. If she hated herself, that didn't matter, either. She dug her nails into his back and thrust again and again, making every contraction, every movement count. He shuddered, one hand on her hip, the other gripping her ass, love and hate twisted together, hate and love. Stroke for stroke, they met one another and withdrew, fierce and frenzied, over and over again.
Her fangs ached as the pressure rose. Time to bring him. Rose sank one hand into his hair and tugged his head back. "Now," she breathed. She opened her eyes again.
Jack gasped and arched his neck for her, eyes shut, lifeblood open to her in abandon, and she almost died of sorrow and love. She sank her fangs into him, drinking his pleasure and his blood, and came hard, and hot, and fast, and Jack exploded inside her.
Jack set Rose gently onto her feet. The aroma of sex unfurled between them. He inhaled deeply, unable to suppress a murmur of utter satisfaction. Rose's eyes were closed, a tiny smile quivering on her mouth.
He shouldn't look at her, and yet he couldn't help feasting on her flushed cheeks, on her parted lips with the tips of her fangs still showing. He pulled her under the shower. He didn't want to think about what he'd done.
He wanted to do it again. Do her again. He cupped the soft swells of her buttocks, teased her waist, let kisses fall on her throat. His prick stirred; he'd be ready again before long. Please, just once more before he started thinking.
"Jack!" Rose opened her eyes and stood away. "Thank you, that was great, I really needed it, but you have to go. Now."
Well, what had he expected? She didn't really want him. Didn't even like him, for that matter. She'd fucked him because he was naked and aroused. She'd needed sex and he'd delivered. He'd gone into the shower thinking about her, and when his fantasy had charged into the bathroom in solid, delectable flesh, he'd lost his wits.
He blew out a breath. "What's going on?"
She pulled him out of the shower and grabbed a towel. "Biff works for Constantine. I heard him talking to Violet. He's in big trouble because he messed up yesterday. Constantine's furious at him, and Biff sounded terrified. Violet's probably told him about you by now, told him where you live, and he'll be here any second." She dragged her fingers through her hair, tugging at the tangles. "I can't believe I forgot even for a second, but sex does that to me if it's really good. It's like I temporarily lose my mind."
It was that good?
"I let the air out of one of Biff's tires, but it won't take him long to put on the spare. You've got to get out of here right now."
"I don't think that's necessary," Jack said. Rose's breasts heaved as she spoke and jiggled as she moved.
"Stop staring at my boobs, you idiot!" She wrapped the towel around herself. As if he really were an idiot, not just an infatuated, lust-intoxicated, screwed-up male animal, she said, "Biff. Is. Coming." She paused and drew breath to holler, "To kill you!"
"I don't think so." Jack hoped he sounded soothing. "But even if he is, he won't find me now that I've been warned."
Rose stared. "You'll make yourself disappear. How convenient. I'm the one who should leave, then. I'm putting you in danger." She stomped into the living room and bent to unzip her suitcase.
Jack didn't even try to avert his eyes. He licked his lips. Already he was hardening again.
Rose extracted clothes from the suitcase. She threw him her towel and a look of disgust. "I can't believe I ran all the way over here to warn such a dumbass. I'm going back to Violet's, where people pay attention to what I say. You'll be much safer when I'm gone."
Jack got a hold of himself, sort of. He wrapped the towel around his waist. "Before you go, we need to talk."
Rose zipped the suitcase and picked up her clothes. Her ass quivered as she walked to the bedroom. So did her voice. "I've said what I came here for."
Jack followed. She tried to shut the door in his face, but he got in the way. "Rose, this is a lousy moment for a temper tantrum."
Rose swiveled to face him. "This is not a tantrum!" A tear rolled down her cheek. "Do you have any idea how scared I was the whole way over here? How scared I still am? And yet you act as if it's nothing that they might shoot you again." She turned away, stifling a small, forlorn sob.
Oh, hell. "Rose, I'm sorry. I'm an idiot and an inconsiderate jerk, anything you like, but please listen to me."
"No, damn it, you listen to me!" Rose stumbled as she yanked her underpants on. They were much more tasteful than the stuff sold in Blood and Velvet, but he preferred her without them. "I'm not going through this again. If you want to die, fine, but I'm not going to wait here for them to come and kill you."
"They won't come to kill me." Don't put on that bra.
"That's what Lou always said." She fastened the bra, but that didn't take his mind off her breasts. It merely gave him the opportunity to anticipate taking it off again. Rose shook out her sweatpants. "He said nobody would have the guts, but they did."
"Lou," Jack repeated, temporarily at a loss. "Your mobster boyfriend?"
"Yes." She pulled on the sweatpants.
"You loved him?"
Rose gave him a bleak look. "I was with him for over six years. I cared about him."
"Were you in love with him?" What a dumb question.
Apparently Rose thought so, too. "He was old enough to be my father. He was a criminal who killed people without batting an eye. But he took care of me, and we had some good times together." She turned away. "I don't know anything about love. Where's my shirt?"
"Oh, Rose." Jack wrapped himself around her from behind, pinning her arms at her sides. He buried his nose against her warm flesh and nuzzled the junction between her neck and shoulder. His prick nudged her ass. "You know everything about love."
"Sex is what you mean." Rose squirmed in his embrace. "I'll screw you again later if you're still alive."
This casual, almost indifferent offer didn't hold much appeal. Or much weight. Or much hope, but he didn't want to think about that. He just wanted to have her again. Right here, right now.
"Let me go," she said.
Jack tightened his arms around her. "Rose, you do everything because of love. You took the costume to save your boss's business. You saved my life and then got me out of a jam even after I treated you like scum. You cooperated with me to keep Juma safe, even though I was being a complete asshole. You did your damnedest to help Linda Dell. You were sweet to that poor fucked-up guy at the bookstore. You were loyal to Violet in the face of threats, and now you're here to save me again." He splayed a hand across her belly. "All this love, in spite of a mother who rejected you. You put me and my lousy relationship with my father and my petty rescues to shame."
Rose squirmed again, but he sensed her soft, smooth skin heating under his touch. Breathlessly she said, "You're idealizing me, Jack. Because I'm perfect for sex, you want me to be perfect in other ways."
You are perfect. For sex, for love, for everything.
He didn't want to think about that, either. His nasty voice piped up helpfully. She's right. You're deluding yourself. He ignored it and licked Rose's ear.
She trembled in response but kept on talking. "Everything I do has a selfish motive. I wanted to have sex with you from the moment I saw you. Who knows how I would have reacted if some other guy had been shot?"
"You would have helped him." Jack cupped her breast and rubbed his thumb across her nipple. Rose murmured her pleasure but tried to pull away. No. Jack abandoned her breast to tighten his arms again.
Rose hurried on. "Of course I don't want Miles to go bankrupt, and sure, I didn't want to disappoint Violet, but..." She shook her head impatiently. "I'm just as selfish as the next person, and none of this matters right now. You're in danger." She shoved hard with her elbows.
Jack hissed in pain and let go. His arm was bleeding again. With a sigh, Rose turned to lick the blood away. Jack took the reprieve to think fast. "Let's go into the secret room. Nobody knows about it, not even Gil. We'll be safe in there. Rose, we really need to talk."
She left off licking his arm long enough to glance at his now-tented towel. "Right," she said dryly, and flicked her tongue down his arm, then let it drop. "Fine, let's talk. You knew I wouldn't be in any danger at Violet's. She's a bit crazy, but her daughter's a great kid, and Tony Karaplis is wonderful. In fact, your coming along would have made things worse, since Violet is understandably upset with you." She folded her arms across her chest. "So, Mr. One Chance, No Lies. Why did you try to keep me here?"
"The truth," Rose demanded. She tightened her arms, trying to shut off the arousal. His erection was distracting her like crazy, not to mention the pheromones drifting out from his armpits and beckoning her toward him. "Get dressed, will you? We can't have sex again right now."
"I didn't try to keep you here. I suggested you wait until a reasonable time to visit Violet and then let me accompany you. I knew Stevie was back in town, so I assumed the same about Biff."
"There's no reason to suppose I couldn't deal with Stevie and Biff just fine on my own. There was no danger at all, and you know it."
"There was plenty of danger. There still is." He took a breath. "I don't want you falling afoul of Titania."
"Ah." Rose hoped she sounded light and aloof. "Why didn't you mention that this morning?" She tapped her foot; she couldn't help herself.
"I didn't want to frighten you. She doesn't attack Violet directly because Violet's support system is very strong, and Titania doesn't want to risk reprisals. As far as she knows, you have no support system at all. Does she know you're a vamp?"
"Not yet," Rose said. "I refuse to be afraid of her."
"If you want to survive, you'd better be afraid of her," Jack said. "You upset her plans, you laughed at her, and you had the gall to say she doesn't scare you. She won't be able to let that go. She'll be even worse when she finds out you're a vamp."
Rose scowled. "How do you know?"
"I just know," Jack said. Reluctantly, Rose let it pass. His affair with Titania was none of her business. The past was done and gone.
"She will stop at nothing to get back at you," Jack said. "You must stay out of her way."
"I can't just leave. She'd find me if I went back to Chicago. Besides, I refuse to desert Violet and Juma---where is Juma, by the way?" She unfolded her T-shirt.
"She's with Gil and a real-estate agent. Violet doesn't deserve any consideration. She got you into this mess. Don't put that on." He grabbed the T-shirt and dropped it on the floor. "I like looking at your breasts. Naked is best, but that's a very classy bra."
Rose tried to glare, but she couldn't prevent the tingle of desire in her belly. She halted it right there. "I didn't have to steal the dress for Violet. I chose to. You may find this hard to understand, but Violet and her daughter, and Tony Karaplis, too, are about as close as I'm ever likely to get to family." A new fear washed over her. "That is, if I haven't screwed up already by running over here. I don't want Biff to come to harm, but I couldn't let you be killed."
She struggled with a wave of sadness. "I hope Violet understands. Zelda might, but she's loyal to her mom---and I really love seeing that, don't get me wrong. I would have loved to be loyal to my mother." She bent to retrieve the T-shirt---anything rather than choking up. "And Tony's hugely comforting, just what I would have liked for a dad." Her voice trailed off. "I need them. I don't know what I'll do if they don't understand."
"If they don't, they're not worth your time." She barely suppressed a snarl. "That's all very well for you to say. You have a father, even if you don't get on with him. I don't even know who mine is. My stepdad was okay until I hit puberty, but then he started coming on to me. I don't blame him for being attracted---men don't seem to be able to control that---but eventually it got out of hand and I had to leave." She sniffed. "Your mother loves you and gives you t-teapots." A few traitorous tears escaped. "Mine says it's my fault my stepdad couldn't run for state senator, because his teenage stepdaughter left home to become a mobster's mistress."
"Your fault?" Jack clutched his head. "Unbelievable." "It's always my fault," Rose said glumly. "Violet may be crazy, but at least she won't shun me because I have fangs."
A spasm of pure misery crossed Jack's face. No camouflage, none at all. "Hell, Rose---"
"I'm sorry." Rose sniffled. "I didn't mean to upset you."
"Upset me? I insulted you. I should get on my knees and beg you to forgive me." He eyed her. "But I can think of far more enjoyable things to do on my knees." His dimple peeped out, and Rose gave a wet little chuckle.
He put an arm around her. "I'm not saying you should give up your new friends or even run away. I'm saying that until we find a way to control Titania, you should stay with me. I can protect you, and I can call on other resources as well."
She made a dismissive noise. "Money? Influence with the cops? That's sweet of you, but I'm used to taking care of myself." She pulled her T-shirt over her head. "You're not obliged to protect me."
"I want to." He'd never looked at her like this before. Those eyes seared all the way to her heart. What the hell was that? Concern? Love?
No. Love? That was crazy. A little kindness, some hot sex, and she was plummeting into love.
He sat beside her, leaning in to kiss her, but she turned away. "Violet wants me to stay at her place while I make her a new gown. I'll be safe there." She unlaced one of her spare sneakers. "I appreciate the thought, Jack, but as I said before, you don't owe me."
He grabbed her shoes and tossed them into the secret room. "It's nothing to do with owing you. That's a load of crap to do with my relationship with my father. I always hated his generosity to me when he was so unkind to my mother, and her patience with him made me feel I should hate him all the more. Like someone had to do the despising, so since she refused, it fell to me." He shrugged. "That didn't stop me from letting him pay for everything, so maybe I should be despised instead."
"No!" Rose cried. "Your parents' relationship was none of your business."
A smile flickered at the corner of his mouth. "Tell that to a seven-year-old. And yes, I know I'm not a kid anymore. I'm trying to shed the baggage."
She went after her shoes, and he followed. "The thing about vampires started when a vamp broke up my parents' marriage. It's a long story, but they're back together now." He paused. "Trust me, I have a thousand reasons to protect you. To take care of you."
He wanted to take care of her?
"If you pick up those shoes again, I will throw them out the window."
Instantly, her fangs slotted down. "You're trying to keep me here again. Why?"
He glanced at the tented towel around his waist. "I think at least one of the reasons is sufficiently obvious." He shut them into the secret room.
Okay, this she understood. Sex she could do. She sank willingly onto the mattress with him.
Late afternoon sunlight spilled through a vent at the end of the room, illuminating dust motes and Jack's face. His naked, uncamouflaged, beloved face. God, she had it bad. Softly, his fingers traced her features. Briefly, his lips touched hers. His hand rested on her shoulder.
"What exactly did Biff say to Violet?"
Rose tried to ignore the astonishing comfort of Jack's embrace. This was just sex. "Biff told Violet he'd messed up last night. He said Constantine was livid. He was terrified of what Constantine would do if he didn't find the guy they were after. Who else could it be but you?"
Lightly, Jack caressed her arm. "If Constantine wanted to kill me, he wouldn't send some two-bit thug. I don't know why Biff told Violet Constantine ordered the killing, but now that we know Biff's working at cross-purposes with the underworld---"
"What?"
Jack's hand slid down Rose's arm to her hip. His fingers took possession of her thigh. His thumb tantalized her groin. "After lurking in Violet's garden to check on you and almost getting caught, I went to Blood and Velvet to look for bugs. Supposedly, no one knew I would be at that hotel but Violet. She swore she hadn't told anyone."
He leaned in to kiss her again, an intoxicating kiss, heated but slow, lustful but tender. When Jack broke it, she drew reluctantly away. He shifted backward on the mattress and pulled her T-shirt over her head. He squeezed her waist gently and ran his fingers up her spine. Helplessly, she arched like a cat.
"I found a bug in Violet's office, and then Biff showed up. He'd gotten inside the club with the carpet cleaner and then knocked him out. If he was worried about what Constantine might do, why screw up even more by hurting an innocent bystander? Then he took a shot at Tony Karaplis---"
"Oh, no! Is Tony okay?"
"Tony's fine, but Biff got away. I assume he planted the bug." He unsnapped Rose's bra, easing it slowly off her breasts. His eyes devoured her with slow, languorous heat. His fingers trailed to her waist and folded down the sweatpants to toy with her navel. "Was he spying on Violet---for whatever reason---and accidentally heard her talking to me?"
Rose grabbed his hand before it went lower. She couldn't think about Biff or Violet with Jack working her into a haze of lust. "I think he wants to sleep with Violet, but he sounded seriously frightened."
"You know what I think?" Jack leaned forward and dipped his tongue in Rose's navel while his fingers slipped under her waistband.
"It's amazing you can think at all right now," Rose said irritably.
"I'm an amazing sort of guy," Jack replied. "I think Biff's afraid Constantine is angry enough to send him nightmares."
Rose shivered as he trailed his tongue along the path his fingers had taken. "You believe Constantine sends bad dreams? I thought that was just hype."
Jack frowned into the sunbeams. "What I believe is irrelevant. Constantine terrifies people with just a look. If they have nightmares after that, it's as likely to be their own fear screwing with them as anything Constantine does." He tipped her onto her back, lifted her hips, and pulled the sweatpants down. He crawled between her thighs and spread her nether lips with his thumbs. He took his time, getting an eyeful of her in the sunlight, a satisfied smile on his face. His thumb wandered over her clit.
Oh.
Rose got a grip on herself and squirmed away. "But you do believe it, don't you?"
Jack shrugged, and his fingers resumed their teasing exploration.
"Stop that. Just till I finish talking." She had to tell him what she knew. She couldn't let him go to the lion's den unprepared.
Jack laughed and withdrew a tantalizing inch.
Breathlessly, Rose said, "When I met him at a concert, Constantine offered to send a nightmare to my Neanderthal boyfriend because he was acting jealous. I figured he was joking, but maybe not. Maybe he can do...unusual things."
"Just don't expect Constantine to help you get rid of me." Jack's fingers explored again as he crawled up to kiss her breasts. "It won't work. I'm immune to Constantine's nightmares."
Slow, raunchy jazz started up someplace nearby. Languid, sexy music, encouraging Rose to sink into the rhythms of pleasure. She watched Jack through half-closed eyes as he tongued and suckled, suckled and tongued, one aching, quivering breast and the other, back and forth, while her clit throbbed its delight at his touch. Why would I ever want to get rid of you? She ran a hand up his muscled back, wound it into his hair, and shut her eyes, bathing her senses in pheromones and sweat, sex and passion. Her fangs, quiescent until now, slotted down.
She would tell him about Constantine as soon as they were done. "Kiss me." Love me. "Fuck me." Make love to me.
"Anything you want," Jack said huskily, and his mouth met hers.
In the living room, Rose's cell phone rang.
Rose broke the kiss. "I have to answer that."
"If it's important, they'll leave a message." Jack's fingers feathered her now-tender nipples as he drew her back into the kiss.
The phone rang again. "I won't be able to relax if I don't answer it." She rolled away from him.
"Don't be a slave to the phone." Jack shot out an arm to pull her back. He blew on her neck and she almost sank back into that delicious lust. "Be a slave to me."
The phone rang a third time. Rose yanked out of his arms and ran.
"Or me to you. Either way," Jack was saying, but Rose was already flipping open the phone.
A whisper, so faint even her vamp hearing barely caught it. "Rose."
She plugged her other ear to shut out the funky jazz. "Miles? Thank God. Did you get my message? I got a check from my customer, so everything's fine."
"Rose, help, but please..." His words were slurred, the last one a croak. "Only if..."
"Miles, what's wrong? What do you need me to do?"
"Dress." Then a squeak: "Don't---" The line went dead.
Rose punched the call-return button as Jack came up beside her. "What's going on?"
"It was Miles. Something's wrong."
Jack's face fell and his erection followed suit. He got that harsh look she recognized from before. "Rose, I don't think---"
The call was picked up midring. "Rose, how lovely of you to call."
Titania? Dizzily, Rose sucked in a breath. Was Titania still in Chicago? Or was Miles...
Oh, my God. Her heartbeat sped up and her knees wobbled. Jack put an arm around her and leaned close to listen.
"Miles is dying to see you again." Titania tittered. "Literally! Didn't I warn you about creative punishment?"
"That was supposed to be me, you slut, not Miles!"
Titania's laughter echoed across the airwaves, and a volcano of rage surged inside Rose. Jack squeezed her shoulder. Don't, he mouthed, shaking his head.
Rose's heart twisted, contorted, tore. Her fangs burned. Saliva gathered. I really am an animal. A slavering bitch. I'll kill her.
Jack put a finger to her lips, pressed it against a wet fang. Mouthed, Don't say anything.
"I'll get to your punishment later." Titania paused evilly and assumed that syrupy tone. "Or if you grovel enough, I might consider being merciful." Another calculated pause. "Sure, why not? I'm in a good mood. I won't bite Milesy-poo anymore. I'll tickle him instead!"
Miles's high-pitched laughter split the air. "Don't do it!" He erupted into horrific giggles and shrieks.
A car door slammed. "Gun it, Gino. I'm in a hurry. You know what I want, Rose. I'll be in Bayou Gavotte soon. I'll give you Miles when you give me the gown."
Rose opened her mouth, but not a word came out. She dug her fingers into Jack's arm. I'll kill her. I'll rip her to bits.
"The longer you take, the deader Miles will be."
Rose had to go save Miles. She had to go now. "All right, I'll---"
Jack snapped the phone shut. "No."
"Give me the phone. I have to call her back. I can't let Miles die!"
Jack tossed the phone onto the futon. "Bargaining with Titania will not work." He took a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice was rough. "I assume Violet told you I was involved with Titania for a short time." He paused again, and Rose nodded impatiently. He wanted to talk about this now? What about Miles?
He blew out a long breath. "I was an idiot not to see through her sweeter-than-sweet act right from the start, but it's been almost a year since then, and although she was bad before, she's become considerably worse. You thwarted and insulted her, and she'll never forgive you. Whatever threats she has made, she will carry out."
Rose dove for the phone. Jack landed on top of her and knocked it away from her scrabbling fingers. It skidded across the floor. She dug an elbow in his ribs, panting.
"She doesn't know I'm a vampire. I'm a match for her any day." She grunted and heaved him off.
He shoved her down again, wrapped both arms around her, and held tight. "Damn it, Rose, listen to me before you screw up instead of afterward, when it's too late."
She cringed. She'd already screwed up, right from the start. It was all her fault. Again. Outside, the jazz crumpled into discord and raucous oaths.
Jack eased his hold slightly. "Sorry, but you're better off hearing the truth. Physically, yes, you're a match for Titania, but she's cruel and will stop at nothing, and she has a bunch of goons at her beck and call."
"I'll seduce her goons away from her." Rose twisted in his grip, remembering but setting aside her failure with Biff. So what? She had to at least try.
"Rose." Jack growled low and soft. "This is getting old. I don't get off on restraint and bondage when they lead nowhere."
He wanted her to lighten up, but she couldn't. "He's going to die, and it's all my fault."
"Enough! You have one more chance to calm down, or---"
"I don't deserve any chances," Rose said. "Give up on me, please, and let me go!"
"Never."
Rose stilled.
"When you care about someone, you don't give up. My mother never gave up on my dad, and I'll never give up on you."
He loved her? No, he hadn't said that. He'd said he cared. Even if he did think he was in love---and that was a big if---it was only lust. He was besotted, bewitched, crazed.
"I'm not a good person to care about." She kicked and fought, to no avail. "It's all my fault again. It's always my fault. If I hadn't taken the gown, she wouldn't be torturing Miles, and Biff wouldn't have overheard you and tried to shoot you, and I wouldn't have screwed up Linda Dell's rescue, and now Constantine will kill Biff." Tears ran down her cheeks. "There's probably more. There's always more."
"Be reasonable, Rose. You're only responsible for your own actions, not theirs."
She wasn't listening. She couldn't. "There is more! If I hadn't mentioned the problems with dancing in bum rolls and French farthingales, she wouldn't have known the gown was for the parade, not the ball, and she wouldn't have wanted to steal it in the first place. Start to finish, it's all my fault." She twisted and heaved, but Jack wouldn't let go. "I am such a fuckup!"
"No," Jack said, "you're adorable." He held her against him, rocking her. "That's what I was going to say this morning, but I chickened out."
She stopped struggling. Nobody had ever rocked her before. Not even her mom, she was willing to bet.
He kissed her hair. "Forget the guilt crap and think. Did you try to warn Miles?"
She sniffled. "I told him right from the start that she wasn't a nice person, but that only made him mad. I didn't blame him."
"Of course not," Jack said dryly. He stood and helped her up.
She quivered, indignant now. "Because he'd pestered me for years about the thugs I went out with, and I never paid any attention. After I overheard her talking about stealing the gown, it was too late. He would never have believed me."
"So you did what you had to. You couldn't have known what Titania would do next."
"No, but..."
He shut them inside the secret room again. "Think about it this way. If you hadn't stolen the gown, we might never have met."
Oh.
"Not only that, we wouldn't have had the opportunity to rescue Juma."
True.
"Or to find out how well we work together." He nudged her onto the mattress. "Do you know how much I wished you were there in the club last night?"
The tiniest smile struggled to surface.
"At the best of times, it's not easy rescuing two people at once. I kept thinking, 'If only Rose were here to help.' We do make a good team. It just took me a few hours to realize I was being an ass."
Rose sighed and nestled against him, then surged up. "What about Miles? We have to help him!"
This time, he didn't pull her back down. "We can't do anything for him until they arrive in Bayou Gavotte."
"If I call her and tell her I'll get the gown, she'll stop tormenting him."
Jack's harsh eyes filled with something composed of misery, disgust, and despair. "Don't be naive. She's more likely to delight in breaking her word."
Rose lowered herself beside him again, propping herself on one hand, brushing his hair off his forehead with the other. What had that evil woman done to make Jack look like this?
"Maybe he called to warn you not to do what Titania says."
"But..." She took a deep breath. "It's possible, but I can't desert him."
His voice was ice and ashes. "No, but accept it, Rose: for the moment, we can do nothing for Miles. Don't look so stricken. He's an adult, responsible for his actions. He didn't have to let Titania seduce him."
"He couldn't help it. She's a vamp." He thought she seemed stricken? He looked as if he would gladly lie down and die.
"So why didn't he fall for you?"
"He did! Not at first, because his wife was alive, and he loved her. Then she died, and he was lonely. He started coming on to me, but I discouraged him big-time, which probably made him even more vulnerable to Titania." Her lip wobbled.
"For fuck's sake, Rose."
She forced her mouth to mimic a smile. "No, I don't think that's my fault. I can't screw the entire male population to protect them from evil vamps." But do I need to protect you?
He didn't smile back. "If Miles makes it here alive, we'll do our best to save him."
"You don't sound confident. Should we involve the cops?"
"Titania's gotten away with a lot of shit." He rolled onto his side, facing away from Rose. "Kidnapping is a crime, but he's a grown man, not a helpless kid. It would be her word against his, and if he's lost too much blood, there won't be any wounds to show what happened."
Was Jack cold? The apartment was warm; his skin was warm, too. He lay very still. Pale, silent...
"Not only that, she'd wangle her way out of jail in no time." He was going into camouflage. Before her very eyes, he faded against the geometric pattern on the sheets.
She knelt beside him. "Should we ask the underworld for help?"
"We have to." Jack shimmered faintly into view. "Historically, vamps are protected by the underworld, both here and in other countries. If vamps go bad, the underworld has to deal with it, because there's no one else." He faded again. "With their help, we'll do fine."
"Something's bothering you, isn't it? That's why you're going into---no, retreating into---camouflage. Like last night."
"Sorry," he said, visible, invisible, there, and then not. "Imagine how my poor mother felt when I kept disappearing on her as a small child. Fortunately, it wasn't entirely unexpected. My father can camo, although nowhere near as well as I can."
"You're changing the subject," Rose said. "You don't want to talk about it, do you?"
A wavering in the air told her he was shaking his head. Tatters of camouflage shivered in and out of view.
"Fine. We won't." Maybe nonverbal communication would work better. Cuddling, caresses, silent companionship...solitude? "Do you want privacy? Should I leave?"
His whole being surged into sight. "No! God, no!" He flipped her onto her back, covering her, his lips swift and hard on hers. "I need you here, and not just for your safety." He rested his forehead on hers.
She shifted, accommodating his lean hips, his hard torso, his exceptionally hard erection. Huh. Well, okay. Guys usually found sex comforting. She took hold of his buttocks and squirmed languidly under him.
He didn't respond. Didn't move. Started to fade again.
"I'm in lousy shape, Rose. I need...I need..." Ah, he was layered in camouflage, so torn and unhappy.
She kissed him hard on the lips. "Take whatever you need. I am here for you." She knew how to be there for a guy. She'd done whatever Lou wanted and needed, always putting his desires before her own. She'd even given her best to the succession of mobsters who followed him, although she'd been getting damn sick of it. For Jack, though, she would do whatever it took. She nipped at his lip with her fangs, encircled him with allure to bond them, bind them tight. He shuddered. His erection throbbed against her, but still he didn't move.
She grasped his shoulders and nuzzled her way along his neck to his throat. "Any way you want me, I'm yours. Standing, sitting, lying down, on the bed, on the table, on the floor." She pierced his skin with the tip of one fang, and he let out a broken thread of a moan. "You on top, me on top, in front, behind, anywhere in between. Shouting obscenities or complete and total silence. Mirrors and toys and whipped cream if it turns you on, but I don't need any of that. I don't even have to bite you every time. Regular sex, a taste of blood now and then, and I'm fine."
She was babbling. So much for nonverbal communication.
Why wasn't he moving? He was steel hard, breathing heavily, wound spring tight. His eyes were closed, his lips parted in an agony of lust, his camouflage in rags. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. So why...?
She tried again. "About owing me, I apologize. I was wrong to let your quirks upset me. That's just another kind of violence." She couldn't help it---she kissed his cheek, the spot where his dimple lurked, ever so softly, with all her heart. "You can owe me all you want, and I'm fine with owing you. Keep a tally if it makes you happy. We can cut notches into the bedpost. Of course, we'll have to get a bed with posts first."
Finally, the twitch of a smile. Camouflage dissolved in tatters, faded in wisps, but still he didn't move. She fought for inspiration. "Do you think I'm being heartless, wanting sex while Miles---"
His ass cheeks bunched under her palms. "Oh, fuck, Rose, no!" With something between a sob and a moan, he pushed into her, hesitated, then rammed her, over and over.
She'd believed herself skilled at adapting to a lover's moods, to being whatever a man wanted, but this man made no sense at all. She gave up on thinking, gentling him instead, murmuring sweet words, stroking as he battered into her, and gradually his pace lost its frenetic rhythm. He kissed her, his eyes open, dark and sad. She smiled at him, and his dimples resurfaced as he smiled ruefully back. The fuck turned slick and hot, then languid and slow, tender and together. She sank her fangs into him, delivering the rush that made him come, and closed her eyes to savor the pumping of his heart and the rich tang of his blood.
When she could speak again, she retracted her fangs and licked her lips. "Just so you know, my first name is Temperance."
He laughed and laughed. Rose kissed him with a tenderness she could never before have imagined, snuggled next to him, and fell deeply, solidly asleep.
"Ouch!"
Immediately, she was wide awake. "Your arm again?"
Jack pressed the heel of his hand to his temple. "No. Constantine's here." He gave a brief shiver and stood. "Get dressed."
Her heartbeat ramped up. "Where? I don't hear anything. Surely I would have heard before you." Outside, darkness had closed in, but the jazz band still played. Was Constantine with them?
"In here." Jack rubbed his temple. "I heard him in here." She must have looked at him as if he were nuts, because he said, "In my head. He's telepathic. You've heard the stories. We have a sort of psychic link."
"You and Constantine?"
"Yes. Don't ask me to explain. I don't understand it; it just is." Jack opened the door to the bedroom, impatient now. He turned on the light by the bed. "He's been hurting for a long time. He kept sending me pain, and I shut him out because I was hurting too much myself. I was a lousy friend."
What was he talking about? "What if he's coming with Biff?" She gathered her clothes. "How do you know he's not in here already?"
"How could he be?" Jack was already in his jeans. He reached for an exquisite cream linen shirt. Damn, the man had lovely taste in clothes. And she shouldn't even notice such things right now.
"He does the camouflage thing." Rose yanked her sweatpants up. "Just like you."
Jack didn't react, so she rushed into an explanation. "He was camouflaged against a curtain at that concert, watching everyone, when I bumped into him. I wasn't going to tell you, because it's nobody's business but his, but since you're in danger from him---"
"I'm not in danger," Jack said predictably, working on the buttons of his shirt.
Rose fumbled with the fastenings of her bra. "I'd be able to hear him, smell him, if he were here. But you won't, and---" She gave a little scream of frustration at Jack's blank face and at the stupid bra. "You don't believe me, do you? I swear, he can camo."
"I believe you." Jack came around behind her and did up the bra. His hands were patient and his voice calm. Wasn't he the least bit afraid?
"I'm the one who taught him," Jack said. Rose stared, and he added, "We knew each other when we were kids."
"You could have told me this earlier," Rose began, but a footstep sounded above them. "He's on the roof. He's headed toward the door." Her fangs slotted down again and she glared at Jack, hands on hips. "I have to be sure you're safe."
Jack's dimples peeped out. "My heroine." He tucked in his shirt, fastened his belt, and went barefoot toward the stairs leading to the roof. Rose hurried beside him.
The door at the top opened slowly, revealing only a shimmer against a deep purple sky.
"Drop the invisible act, Dufray," Jack said. "We know you're there."
Jack waited at the foot of the stairs as Constantine shed his camouflage and trod lightly down.
"Yo, Tallis. Nice to meet you again, Rose."
Rose nodded warily, her fangs still down, T-shirt dangling from one hand, breasts lushly inviting in her lacy black bra. No wonder Constantine couldn't take his eyes off her.
"Sorry if I interrupted something." The musician didn't sound sorry at all. "Head hurt?"
"Yes, damn you," Jack said grumpily. "What's up?"
"The sky is falling, or so Vi believes, and she may be talking sense for once. I need you both at the Impractical Cat, right now."
Rose nodded, put her shirt on, and went into the bedroom. Jack followed.
She was already working on her socks and shoes. If her instant obedience to Constantine niggled at him, Jack let it pass. Constantine might look cool and collected, but the freshness of his anger roiled at the edges of Jack's mind. Jack kept it at bay and put on his socks.
Constantine followed them into the bedroom. "There's been an uproar at Vi's. I sent a couple of bodyguards to console her, but that won't bring back the gown Rose made."
"What happened?" Rose cried.
"Biff took the gown at gunpoint." Constantine made straight for the guitar on its stand. The jazz band outside struck up another lazy, almost dissonant tune. Constantine joined in with an elegant riff, then stilled the strings with a hand. "You still play classical?"
Jack's childhood guitar had been Constantine's first. He'd borrowed it, and it had disappeared with him. Not that Jack cared; his father's money meant possessions were easy to come by. Friends, not so much. "Now and then."
"Are Vi and Zelda okay?" demanded Rose.
Constantine launched into the riff again. "They're lucky to be alive, although Zelda swears Biff didn't mean to shoot. She lost her temper and he lost his cool. The bullet's stuck in the crown molding, and Vi's livid. She's convinced Titania wants to take over Bayou Gavotte."
"So this means Biff's involved with Titania." Rose made a face.
"Poor stupid bastard," said Jack.
"He tried to kill you!" Rose tugged on her second shoe, scowling. "You're not supposed to feel sorry for him."
"I'm sorry for anyone in Titania's clutches."
"He's in my clutches now," Constantine said. The riff didn't sound quite so elegant anymore.
"Now I feel sorry for him," Rose said. "But why would he want to kill you, Jack? You're not competing with him for Titania." She gave him a look. "Right?"
"Jesus, Rose! Of course not!"
She tied the second shoelace and stood. "If Biff's working for her, why didn't he steal the gown at the truck stop?" Her eyes widened. "What about Miles? Titania has the dress now. She has no reason to keep him alive."
"She didn't have any reason before." Jack stood as well.
"I'll kill her," Rose hissed.
"After what I've heard, she would be better off dead." Menace dripped from Constantine's fingers into his music. Again, he stilled the strings.
Rose knitted her brows at Constantine. "Now I'm feeling sorry for you."
Constantine's entire aspect lightened. "Sweet Rose, don't waste it on me." He turned to Jack. "Go through the patio and knock five times on the red door. Jabez will bring you upstairs. I'll go by the rooftops. I'm told jamming with a street band today would be a poor career move." Wistfully, he set the guitar down and left.
Rose grabbed her phone off the table, stuffed it in her bag, and followed Jack down the stairs. "It can't be good for him to kill people."
"It's not good for anybody," Jack replied.
The jazz band, a ragtag bunch of older guys, had taken over the cross street next to the Impractical Cat. Streetlights bathed the shifting group of listeners, augmented today by reporters and gawkers. An undercurrent of expectation, of fear and excitement and hope, simmered through the crowd, and a TV news van squatted in the loading zone like a malevolent toad. Rose shuddered.
Jack ushered her through a parking lot and across a patio with a scattering of tables, pots of pansies, and a fountain. The air had turned chilly---at least by Louisiana standards---and a busboy had stacked tables and chairs to one side to mop the flagstones. A smell of blood diluted with water tickled Rose's nostrils; someone must have cut himself out here. A medley of cooking aromas and a cacophony of voices drifted out from the restaurant.
Reaching it, Jack rapped softly on a red door near the restaurant entrance. Immediately a reporter surged toward them, but before he had a chance to thrust his microphone into their faces, the red door opened and a huge black dude came out. He snagged the reporter by the collar, motioned Jack and Rose indoors, set the reporter gently back on the flagstones, and slammed the door shut again. He bolted it and escorted them up a spiral staircase to the top of the building.
Even before Constantine appeared in the doorway above, the iron-rich smell of blood slammed into Rose. She leaped headlong past him into the dormer room. Biff lay curled on a polished wooden floor, moaning softly, a blood-soaked cloth clutched to his shoulder. A bloodstained bandanna encircled his brow. More blood matted the ends of his hair, soaked his T-shirt, and trickled down his torso.
Rose fell to her knees beside the blond man. "My God, who did this?" Fangs full down, she glared at Constantine and then at Jabez, who had locked the door behind them. A bodyguard---she remembered him from that concert ages ago.
"Do what you can for him," Constantine said coldly. "Then maybe we'll be able to find out."
Why had they left him on the floor? "Get me lukewarm water and a clean cloth, and put him on the couch with the injured side facing out. Gently, please," she added as Constantine and Jabez hefted the thug. "He's lost a lot of blood. He must be in terrible pain."
At the end of the room was a counter with a sink and an espresso machine. Jack filled a bowl with water and brought it over, along with a cloth napkin. Gingerly, Rose peeled the bloody cloth back, dabbing water to loosen it. Biff's eyes flickered open in recognition and fear. A solitary tear leaked from one eye.
"It's all right, Biff," she whispered. "I'll do my best to clean you up."
Her best wouldn't be great. His torn shoulder lay white where it should have been a rosy tan, a ripped and bled-out hunk of flesh. "He needs a doctor."
"After he talks." Constantine stood uncaring and unmoved.
Jack had masked himself in nondescript, but he said softly, "Just do your best for now."
Rose put a calming hand on Biff's torso and set to work, licking him clean, spitting into the ragged edges of the wound. She concentrated on Biff's shallow breathing as her tongue slithered over his skin. Constantine moved to the espresso machine. The aroma of coffee mingled with the smell of blood. Milk steamed, espresso dripped into cups.
Constantine picked up a guitar, and he and Jack went out onto the roof, closing the door behind them. Biff let out a throbbing breath and gasped it in again when the bodyguard ambled across the room and sat on the arm of the couch, his hand---he had gorgeous, lethal hands---within an inch of Biff's head.
This was too much like being back with the mob. Not that she'd ever had to lick anybody's wounds; Lou had been too possessive for that. She kept steadily to her task. From outdoors came the soft sound of Constantine's guitar.
Gradually the wound sealed, and Biff relaxed under her hand. Good. Rose sat up, stretching and sucking in her fangs, hoping the bodyguard wasn't the lascivious type. Apparently not. Either that or he was well trained, for he didn't move, or look, or speak. So, now for the other wound.
She was about to untie the bloody bandanna when her cell phone chimed to say she had a message. Cursing the capriciousness of cell phones that ignored random calls, she rummaged through her bag. She found the phone and dialed voice mail, thankful that at least she'd insisted on a phone that didn't require a password to pick up mail. The last thing she needed was to have to remember which password worked where.
"Iachimo, honey!" It was Titania's voice, the same obnoxious coo she used when vamping Miles. "It's been too long."
In the roof garden, Constantine lounged beside the fountain, fiddling with the tuning pegs of the guitar. "Don't like your woman licking all over that dude?"
Jack let go of his camouflage with a whoosh.
"I wasn't sure she'd go for it," Constantine continued. "She's reasonable for a vamp."
"Unlike me, she cares about everybody." Jack tossed back his espresso. It burned all the way down. "Apparently I have a rescue complex."
"She told you that?"
Jack nodded gloomily. Too bad that was the least of his problems.
"You? The original white knight? You were breaking up fights and comforting girls at eight years old." Constantine doubled up over the guitar with laughter. Jack was close to cracking a smile when Constantine wound down and said, "Thanks, Tallis."
Jack set the coffee cup on the lip of the fountain. "For what?"
"I haven't laughed so hard in months. Laughter's good for the soul." The musician ran his fingers lovingly across the strings, just like when he, too, was eight years old. After he'd touched a guitar, he'd been incomplete without one. "Whoops, I forgot. I don't have a soul---or only the evil remnants of one."
Jack rolled his eyes.
Constantine motioned with his chin toward the window of the office where Rose worked on Biff, and Jack answered his unspoken question. "Yeah. She went for the jugular, I'd say, and he swerved just in time."
His old friend's eyebrows twitched together. "Titania?"
"She told Rose she was on her way here, so it's possible...but why attack Biff? He got the damn dress for her." And he didn't merit Rose's tongue bathing his bloody, undeserving shoulder. Bastard. "She's taken Rose's employer, Miles, and of course Rose cares about him, too. She has no concept of what we're up against."
Constantine picked out a gentle ballad, but the emotions he emanated were anything but. He caught Jack's eyes and stilled the strings. "I've never met Titania."
Jack shook his head. "I've been keeping tabs on her for a while. She's evil incarnate."
"No, no, that's me. If she's trying to one-up me, I'd better get rid of her." A trickle of sweat ran down Constantine's brow. "You want me to? It might be simpler."
Jack sighed. "Unfortunately, we white knights can't connive at cold-blooded murder."
Constantine bent his head over the guitar. "It's all for the best, since I'm not sure I could follow through. Don't have the stomach for it lately."
A wave of affection for his old friend swept through Jack. He didn't speak.
"Don't tell anybody," Constantine said. "Wouldn't want to ruin my rep."
"I wouldn't dream of it." He glanced back in toward Rose. "Shouldn't she be done by now?"
"You've got it bad."
"Hell, yes," said Jack.
Rose gaped at the phone. It looked like hers, but...Jack must have gotten a new one today, and it was one just like hers. Her own phone was back in Jack's apartment, where it had spun across the floor. She sank shaking into a chair.
Titania's voice cooed on. "I'll be celebrating tonight in Bayou Gavotte. Remember how much you like celebrating with me?"
Rose bit down hard, but the pain of her fangs digging into her lip hardly registered. I'll kill the bitch. I'll kill the bitch. I'll kill...
"The two of us, hot and hard and fast, just the way you like it. Call me." Titania made vile kissing noises and hung up.
Allure and anger spiraled up from Rose's core. She dropped the phone before she could fling it across the room. Coherent thought dissolved into a tornado of rage. Foaming, slavering, ripping, kill, kill, kill...
"Vampire temper. Shit." That was Jabez, with a voice deep as night and deadly hands.
Rose didn't care. She leaped from the chair, snapped at him as he, too, rose, snarled like the animal she was. "Don't touch me." She shuddered at the violence in her voice and gnashed her fangs against her teeth. I'll kill the bitch. Kill...
The bodyguard was on his feet, then at the door, leaning out, saying something. Dimly, through the fire overwhelming her vision, Rose registered Biff's struggle to sit, to stand, his features dissolving into terror.
I have to get rid of this, and I have to get rid of it now.
She reined in hard on the rage and allure and gathered them into a tight, fiery ball. The fury burned and fought to escape. Jabez watched her, completely unfazed. Did he have any idea of the damage she could do? She couldn't hold it any longer, but there was nowhere to send it, nowhere to hurl...
"It's a unique experience." Constantine dabbled with a slow, sensual grind of notes. Of course the musician would have had a vamp---or several. "Only one," he clarified. His face darkened. He cursed and laid the guitar on a table. "You don't want to know."
No, nor did Jack care. He had enough problems of his own, and he wasn't about to explain something Constantine definitely wouldn't understand. The rush? Sure. The desperate flight, never. The resolution, the rigid control, the months of self-flagellation? Ha! All that crap, only to discover at the end that he wasn't free of the drug at all, only of the source. Another taste of sex with a vamp and he was lost again. Once an addict---
The door opened a crack. Jabez held out Jack's cell. "Your vamp's mighty pissed off. Listen to this message and be warned."
Jack put the phone to his ear and hit replay. "How the hell did Titania get my new number?" He closed his eyes. Hot and hard and fast was exactly what he'd said to Rose. She would never talk to him again.
The door flew open, and Jabez said placidly, "Allure attack. Stay outta the way."
Rose stumbled out the door on a wave of fury. Constantine's guitar flew up in the air, and all the strings broke in a series of discordant twangs. The guitar landed on a pot of pansies.
Rose sagged against the wall, took a deep, shuddery breath, and went back indoors. Constantine picked up the guitar, said, "Ophelia won't be too happy about these flowers," and followed.
Jack took up the rear. He had to fix this, but how?
Inside, Rose curled up on one of the chairs, shivering. Jabez remained cool as before, but Biff was sitting upright now, eyes wide, clearly in pain and terrified.
"I'm sorry." Rose didn't look angry; anguished, rather. "I lost control."
"Damn it," Constantine remarked. "I was about to scare the shit out of Biff, and you've already done it, Rose."
"I didn't mean to!" Her distress cut Jack to the heart. "I was about to tend the cut on his head when the phone chimed..." She clamped her teeth together and glanced fleetingly at Jack. A muscle fluttered by her lip. "If I talk about it, I'll explode again. Is your guitar broken? I'll replace it."
"The guitar's fine. You need to try Vi's water therapy," Constantine suggested, removing the broken strings one by one.
"I wanted to kill her," Rose continued. "I keep thinking I have my temper licked, but I'm getting worse." Again she gave a brief, unhappy glance at Jack.
He stared. She wanted to kill Titania? Not me?
"Don't take it so hard," Constantine said. "You controlled your allure till you got outdoors, so all you did was break a few strings. You should have seen Vi's sister Ophelia until this spring when she finally got hitched. She lost I don't know how many flowerpots to her temper." He wore that inscrutable tender look Jack had seen him give the vamp in question that morning. "All you need is guidance. You and Zelda can have lessons together. Vi pretends to lose it, but she's got allure control down to a science." The musician grinned. "Jabez, make her a cappuccino. Lots of chocolate and whipped cream." The bodyguard gave a deep, friendly laugh and went to the espresso machine.
Shakily, Rose stood. "I'd better tend to Biff's head."
"Leave that," Constantine said. "Violet and Zelda got a tad annoyed when he took the dress. The only weapons at hand were all those flowerpots on the porch. Biff's new Ferrari got bashed up even worse than his head."
Biff essayed a glare at Constantine, winced, and shut his eyes.
"Time to talk," the rocker commanded. "Vamp spit only deadens pain for a bit, so you'd better be quick. Who tore you open?"
Biff didn't open his eyes. "Titania."
Constantine nodded. "Figures."
"What do you mean?" Rose asked.
Constantine indicated an old scar, ragged but almost invisible, on his forearm. Then Biff's shoulder. "Looks like a vamp wound."
"He just stole my gown for her. Why would she attack him?"
Rose wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. Jack couldn't stand it anymore. He shucked his jacket and put it around her shoulders. Astonishingly, she accepted the offering. Nor did she shrink away when he perched on the arm of her chair. It made no sense at all.
Perhaps he could assuage one of her anxieties. "Was there a man with Titania, someone she brought from Chicago?"
"Old dude?" Biff asked.
"Yes!" Rose said. "Is he still alive?"
"Last I saw. Gino was babysitting him at my place. I don't think he was planning to kill him, but you never know with Gino."
Rose closed her eyes and leaned into Jack.
"Gino is real bad news," Biff said, adding hopefully, "Somebody needs to take him out."
Constantine broke in. "Let's have it from the start. Beginning yesterday, when you shot my friend Tallis."
Biff went paler, if that was possible. "If I'd known Tallis was a friend of yours, I wouldn't have done it. I'm not that stupid."
By the look on Constantine's face, Biff would find out later exactly how stupid he was.
"I screwed up right from the start. I shouldn't have called that dickhead Stevie to steal Tallis's Jeep, but he was nearby, so why wouldn't I use him? I shouldn't have had him drive the car so I could get a good shot, but how was I to know he would swerve at the last moment? I should have taken the dress while I had the chance, instead of helping Stevie find the mouthy teenager he'd lost. Except I didn't know about the dress, because Titania didn't tell me that was why she wanted Violet's place bugged, and the information I overheard Violet give Tallis didn't match the heap Rose was driving." He pouted like a kid. "I can't believe two amateurs got the better of me. I should have guessed Rose was helping Tallis. I should have known she couldn't fight Stevie off all by her lonesome. I should have figured she had Tallis waiting to take me down. If I'd got the dress yesterday, Titania would have been grateful."
Jack snorted, and Constantine looked even more saturnine than usual.
"Okay, maybe not grateful, but she would have fucked me good. Instead she's doing Stevie, her brand-new errand boy."
"Why did she attack you?" asked Constantine.
"She's off her frigging rocker. How was I supposed to know she changed her mind about the dress? Rose brought the dress to Violet, so Titania's pissed. She had her little plan to get it back, and I screwed it up. She wanted Rose to take the dress from Violet and grovel to save the old dude. That way, she'd get back at Violet and get to make Rose beg."
"And then kill her?" Jack prompted. Rose quivered under his hand but said nothing.
Biff nodded unhappily. "She calls me this morning, says to let her know if Rose shows up at Violet's place. Says Rose stole the dress for Violet, but it's really hers. Fine, but Tony Karaplis is at Vi's, and I'm not about to confront him. He's a vampire and a friend of yours." He looked imploringly at Constantine, but got no response.
"So, I go to Blood and Velvet first to get rid of the bug. How was I supposed to know Karaplis would show up there, too? Not to mention Tallis coming at me out of nowhere. So I sit tight for a while and go back to Vi's for the dress, figuring Dufray will back me up if Vi's been thieving. I get dinged up by Vi and her little girl, and I figure Titania will be even more grateful. Wounded soldier, you know." He scowled. "Fuckup from square one. Turns out it's really Violet's dress, Titania's the thief, and I'm a dumbass." Biff paused, but no one piped up to disagree.
"Meantime, she's taken over my apartment to mess around with Stevie. Says he's her long-lost honey and she can't get enough of him. So I wait. And I wait. She finishes him off and sends him away, all kissy-kissy, and invites me into my own damn bedroom to take a turn. Says she's gonna be queen of the whole damn town. Never gonna happen, but I'm not about to argue with a crazy woman." Constantine and Jack exchanged glances as Biff kept talking. "I give her the dress, and she pitches a hissy fit. Orders me---and I don't take orders from chicks, vampires or not---to kidnap Rose and make her watch while she drains the old guy dry."
"Oh, my God," Rose whispered.
Jack squeezed her shoulder, and Biff grimaced helplessly at Jack. "You know Titania. Bloats herself on blood. Pretends she's more like a vampire from some stupid book."
"What else?" Constantine prompted.
"Let me guess," Jack said. "As a reward, you'd get to torture Rose while Titania watched."
Biff cringed. "Listen, man, I---"
"And maybe rape her, too, before Titania---or Gino---finished her off?"
Biff let out a ghastly whimper. He turned beseechingly to Rose, who now looked positively ill. "He's trying to make me seem worse than I am. You know I wouldn't do that to you."
She straightened. "Of course you wouldn't. Why the hell did you get involved with her, anyway?" She glared at Jack. "The same goes for you." Fortunately, her question was rhetorical.
"Lucky she doesn't know you're a vamp, or she'd think up something worse." Biff paused, contemplating. "If that's possible. I told her, no way, it's against the underworld rules." He blenched. "I got principles, though it's no use telling her I don't hold with torture. And I am keeping an eye on the clubs, just like you said, Dufray. I got sidetracked is all."
Jack's eyes met Constantine's. The rocker said, "The mess she made of your shoulder looks like more than a hissy fit."
Biff slumped. "That weasel Stevie ratted me out about shooting you. I guess she was saving that bit of revenge for after the torture scenario was over, but when I nixed the idea, she lost it."
Jabez brought the cappuccino over to Rose, who took it gratefully.
Constantine wasn't done with Biff yet. "You didn't mean to damage Vi's house, and you don't approve of torture, but you'd shoot my friend Tallis in cold blood."
Silence. Biff finally muttered, "That was different."
"In what way?"
After a long, long pause, Biff let out his breath. "All right, all right. I shot Tallis because I was sick of Titania yapping about him. Iachimo this, Iachimo that, I need to have him back, I'll fucking die without him."
Die without him? Rose snickered at the image of a vulnerable and desperate Titania. Jabez seemed to think it was funny, too. Hardly a flicker crossed Constantine's face.
Jack blew out a breath. "Jesus."
"Maybe she regretted dumping him, but Titania didn't have to turn him into a freaking Romeo," Biff continued. To Jack, he added, "Nothing against you personally, man."
Constantine left his post at the wall to look out the broken window. A helicopter whap-whapped overhead; more media knew where he had holed up.
Rose took another lick of foam and a sip of the dark-roasted coffee underneath, trying her best not to worry about Miles. She watched Jack trade another of those indecipherable glances with Constantine. What were they planning? Something was going on behind her back right in front of her.
The rocker spoke to Jabez. "Priority is finding the old dude." Then he picked up his guitar, slung the strap around his neck, and went to the door.
"What about me?" Biff asked.
Constantine turned and gave him a long, cold stare. Biff went dead white and started to shake.
Rose spoke up. "Don't hurt him anymore. He's been through enough."
Constantine didn't look her way. To Jabez he said, "Get him downstairs and find somebody to drop him at the hospital." Without another word, the rocker walked out.
After a moment, Rose and Jack followed. "Do you think Constantine's really going to hurt him?" she asked quietly. "Or send him bad dreams?"
"I don't know," Jack said. "It's his business, not mine." Rose didn't find his indifference the least bit comforting.
"What if they don't find Miles at Biff's? And what will they do with Titania and Gino? I don't suppose Constantine has many people to spare right now, what with the media hounding him."
"No, but he can't afford to let people like Titania and Gino hang around in Bayou Gavotte."
They went down the stairs, through the red door, onto the patio, and out to the street. Surrounded by bodyguards, Constantine had joined the funky band. The jubilant musicians struck up one of his tunes. The crowd chanted and reporters tried vainly to press through the melee, but the citizens of Bayou Gavotte protected their own. Constantine's spectacular singing voice rose above the hubbub.
Jack steered Rose toward the gate to the warehouse, suggesting, "For the purposes of vigilante justice, I think he'd prefer to catch Titania in the act." He paused. "Not that act."
Rose didn't laugh. "Is he going to set a trap?"
"I assume so."
And you'll be involved.
"I don't like this," Rose said. "I want to know what's going on. I want this to be over."
"So do I," Jack replied.
They slipped quickly through the dark warehouse, frightening a rat or two into the deepest shadows. Sometime during the last hour, a periwinkle minivan had appeared in the courtyard and was parked behind the Porsche. They moved past it and into the apartment. Jack picked a little manila envelope up off the floor and tossed it on the futon. He shut the door behind them and leaned against it, clearly perplexed. Something had been eating at him.
"Rose, I don't understand. After hearing that message, why aren't you furious with me?"
"With you? Why? You didn't call Titania; she called you." Mentally, she bestowed a succession of vile names upon the bitch. She tossed her bag on the futon and retrieved her phone. No calls. None from Titania, from Miles, or from anyone else. She put it in her bag.
"I used the same damn words with you."
"The sex talk?" She lifted a shoulder. "You probably used it on other women, too, if you thought it would turn them on. So what?"
"You're incredible," Jack said gruffly. He pulled her close and kissed her hard. Then he kissed her again. This time it was long and steamy, and Rose melted into him, tempted to let go, to just feel good for a while.
She pulled away. "However, the thought of you and Titania together makes me ill."
Jack's mouth twisted. "It was a few days of madness a long time ago. Forget it."
When you're radiating uneasiness? That was never going to happen. She said, "That's impossible right now. And rescuing Miles is only part of the problem. What are you and Constantine planning to do?"
"I don't know."
Jack was messing with his camo, trying to retreat again. Trying to hide. She wouldn't let him. "I saw you and Constantine," she accused. "You must be cooking something up."
"Sure," he agreed. "But we haven't had a chance to talk. I'm not telepathic, and I only receive impressions from him, not full-blown plans. He wondered what I thought about Biff's story, which I believe is basically true, but it's his word against Titania's."
"Look what she did to him!"
"Vamp bites are a dicey issue, even in the underworld. It's impossible to determine...intent." He sounded too calm and practical. "Regardless, you won't be involved. It's way too dangerous."
She scoffed. "And it's not dangerous for you?"
"I'm used to rescuing people."
"You wanted me there the other night. You agreed we make a good team."
"We do, but I won't be able to concentrate on rescuing Miles while Titania has her sights on you. And judging by today, you won't be able to control your temper with her. The last thing we want is a knock-down, drag-out vamp fight."
Rose swallowed a retort.
Jack looked into her eyes. "Why don't you go to Violet's place until this is over? Maybe she can give you her water torture or whatever it is."
"It sure sounds like torture." Waiting and doing nothing while Jack went into danger? This was her fight, too. "Are you going to call Titania back?"
Behind the camouflage, she detected the slightest quivering. "I may have no choice. It depends on where she is, who she has with her, and what resources Constantine can muster. If using me as bait will get her where we want her, that's what we'll do."
"I don't like that idea," Rose argued. He was hers to protect and defend. Hadn't they made a connection earlier when they'd made love? He obviously cared about her, just as she cared about him. They could think up a better plan.
He went into the bedroom, threw himself down on the bed, and closed his eyes. "Let's not talk about it."
Damn it, he was fading away again.
He should have known she wouldn't take his decree lying down. If he had any sense at all, he wouldn't be lying down right now, either. But it was too late to rethink that. She was getting pissed off again, which only went to show she needed to stay somewhere safe.
Her allure gathered, caressing, lassoing, enveloping him. He was hard in an instant, stifling a moan, loving it, longing for the pleasure and oblivion she offered. Demanded. Forced. No! He had to stay in control. This was everything he'd sworn would never happen again. Even if it was Rose.
She got onto the bed and straddled him. Her fangs slotted down. "Jack, I need to know what I'm up against."
"Up against?" He gasped the words in desperate mockery. "Me, obviously."
"Something's bothering you. A lot." She rubbed herself against his engorged flesh through the layers of their clothing.
Bothering me? Yes. You. He shuddered, dragging his mind away from his throbbing prick. He should focus on his camouflage. God, it was bloody impossible with her grinding against him. But he couldn't afford impossible. He had to fight this; he had to win. Even if this was Rose...No. He must not give in. He had to prove this to himself.
"Stop it." He lifted her and set her abruptly at the edge of the bed, then turned away. "It's nothing to do with you." Please. "It's my problem, not yours." Though he didn't want to explain.
Rose climbed right back on top, riding his hip. "It is my problem," she said. She rubbed herself against him, blew on his throat, and nipped his shoulder.
He shuddered again, but despair gave him strength. He made himself go still. Made himself fade...
She shucked her T-shirt. "It's my problem because you struggle to resist me. It's my problem because you go through some weird internal agony when you should be letting go and enjoying yourself with me. I want you, and I want you badly---and I like it that way."
Her voice sucked at him, and her words made sense. But she didn't understand. He couldn't let himself think, either; he could only hold tight. Tight. He wouldn't give in to the allure, to the power of their attraction and his addiction. He couldn't afford to lose control ever again. He would prevail because he had no choice.
"That's what makes it so good," Rose cajoled, sweet and insistent, honey and musk, nectar and wine.
No, letting go meant helplessness, exposure, peril. Losing control brought failure and death.
"Why not let yourself enjoy wanting me?" she coaxed.
"Shit," Jack said, and it was almost a sob, but he would not succumb. He armored himself in camouflage, wreathed himself in nothingness, blended, faded, sighed...Why must she keep on talking? Her voice, rational and kind, seductively calm, lulled him like the drug she was. The drug he had to avoid. Didn't he?
"It can't be because I'm a vamp," she went on. "It's one thing to panic when you've been wounded and don't know whether I'm trustworthy. It's another entirely to misjudge a whole group of people because a few of them are rotten. You know you're safe with me, Jack, but you're still acting weird. Why?"
Desperately, he whispered, "I can't explain." He didn't want to explain.
The nasty voice chimed in. You'll lose her.
No, please, the rest of him begged. He was almost invisible, almost there.
She whammed him with allure, tugged him onto his back again. He was losing control, wavering again into view. She unbuttoned his shirt and ran hungry eyes over his naked torso. Oh God, oh God...He struggled to camouflage his chest, conceal his arms. Conceal his guilt.
"Why not?" she repeated. She straddled him again and slid her hands up his half-visible chest. Her voice was beginning to sound desperate. "Come on. I can feel your arousal. I can smell it. What's wrong with you?"
What was wrong with him? He grabbed her wandering hands. His own hands were invisible---even he couldn't see them---and his voice emerged thickly now, blurred. He was winning. He was.
Losing, corrected the nasty voice. Losing Rose.
A massive shudder racked him. "Rose. Stop this. Please." She had to give him some time.
"No." She ground herself against him. "You're being an ass. Tell me what's bothering you, goddamn it." She flooded him with allure, whammed, slammed, bammed him again. He gritted his teeth and erected a wall against the battery of seduction, barricaded himself against the assault of desire.
Idiot, said one voice. Jerk. You're not being rational.
Oh, but I am, insisted another. Willpower, safety, control.
She took off her bra and flung it across the room. She rubbed her breasts against his naked, invisible chest.
No. He held himself rigid and unmoving beneath her, his whole body as stiff as his prick. "Stop it. Now." His voice, grating with contained emotion, with controlled desire, with victory at last, withered as he dissolved completely from sight.
"Leave. Me. Be."
When Jolene finally returned them to her agency office well after sunset, Juma already had her seat belt off and her backpack over her shoulder. She was sick and tired of looking at houses, and she'd jabbered herself hoarse trying to keep the woman's attention.
She had bagged the front seat, pissing Jolene off right from the start, and they'd almost run off the road more than once because the agent was ogling poor Gil. Jack's friend had said little from the back, but Jolene quivered visibly whenever he spoke. Juma had done a little quivering of her own, which was sort of fun, but she knew better than to let it get to her.
The real-estate agent didn't shut off the car. Instead, she smiled at Gil and said brightly, "I've got an idea? We'll drop Juma at the library to do homework, and go have a drink. We have a lot to discuss."
"Oh, no, you don't." Juma had had enough, and so had Gil. "Don't waste your time. He's not going to sleep with you or anyone else while he has me." That shut the bitch up. Belately, however, Juma realized Gil might take her seriously. She turned to wink reassuringly at him. That was when she saw the pink Lincoln in front of the shoe store at the other end of the strip mall.
"Traitor!" she shrieked. "I can't believe I trusted you!" Cramming her poetry book into her pocket, she jumped out the other side of the car.
She took off running as a dog yapped---oh, crap, not Poopsie!---and yapped again. The door of the shoe store opened, and Grandma, in velvet sweats to match her pink hair, stalked out. Poopsie scrabbled at the half-open window of the Lincoln and yapped harder than ever. Grandma waved her cane and screeched, "Juma!"
No way, no way in hell she's getting me back. But there was nowhere to go, no houses or yards, just commercial buildings, and far down the empty road, another mall. Some woods rose up a long way off across an open field. No cover anywhere. Even in the dark of evening, she'd be easy to find.
Grandma's hysterical quavers---such bullshit---receded behind her, along with the dog's whimper as Grandma shut him up. There was the sound of a car door opening, and of Jolene's startled questions. Gil's frazzled but still gorgeous voice came next, "Thank you, I really must run," followed by more exclamations. Grandma's now strident bellow ensued, and the slamming of a car door.
Knowing her grandmother wouldn't give chase on foot, Juma scurried up a driveway and behind a clump of warehouses. Maybe one was still open; she could duck inside a back door and come out through the front once Gil and Grandma both drove away. But after tugging at one door and then another, she found them both locked.
A Dumpster? Too obvious. There seemed no good place to hide. It was chilly and horribly dark all around. In the whole area only one lonely light shone, above another locked door.
A gap at the bottom of a loading-dock door beckoned, seemingly her only hope. She climbed onto the dock and pushed her backpack under the door, then lay on her back on the cold concrete to squish sideways through the opening. Her tie caught on a metal snag. She wrenched it away, ripping the orange fabric. Oh, well, Rose didn't like that one as much. She'd refused to wear the one Rose had given her because she was mad at Rose for leaving, but now she wished desperately that Rose were around, because Rose wouldn't betray her.
Who was she kidding? Everyone betrayed her.
Juma wriggled farther into the gap, squishing her breasts, and turned her head frantically to the side just as Gil's SUV rounded the corner and its headlamps caught her like a mesmerized deer. Gil cut the lights and jumped out.
"That lady with the pink hair was your grandma?"
"Gil," Juma sobbed, "please go. Please don't make me go back to her. She'll lock me up again and burn my books, and I don't think I can bear it anymore." She squeezed farther into the warehouse, and the door creaked heavily, ominously above. "Just go. Please just go."
"You can't stay here. Your grandma's ordering the real-estate people around and calling the cops." Jack's partner stuck his shoulder under the door and heaved it up a couple of inches. "This is the first place they'll look for you. Come on, let's go."
"You didn't know she would be there?" Juma accused. She slipped out, clinging to her backpack. "This real-estate crap wasn't just to keep me busy until she showed up? You swear?"
"Of course it wasn't, of course I swear, now get in the car and let's go!" Gil picked her up bodily, dumped her into the backseat of the SUV, and stuffed the backpack in behind her.
"My book!" Juma shrieked, and Gil swooped down to pick up the book of poems, which had fallen to the pavement. He tossed it in, slammed the door, and got into the driver's seat.
Juma couldn't stop herself. She leaned forward and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek. "Thank you!"
Gil shrank away, letting go of the seat belt so that it whicked back into its slot. "You meant what you said to Jolene?" He goggled at her.
Oh, crap. "About you being with me?" Juma shook her head. "Of course not. I was saving you from a fate worse than death---and it worked, right? Totally freaked the woman out."
Gil didn't move.
"That was just a thank-you kiss," Juma promised. "Let's go."
Grim faced, Gil put his seat belt on. "This is why I don't like runaways. How old are you?"
"Eight---" No. "Sixteen."
"Just what I needed. The age for statutory rape in Louisiana is seventeen."
Juma was close to having a fit. "Gil, I don't want to sleep with you! You're old enough to be my father, for God's sake. Anyway, sex is boring. I'm not interested. At all." She punched him hard on the shoulder. "Grandma will get me if we stay here. Now, go."
Gil took off without headlights and hit the road just as the pink Lincoln turned out of the real-estate parking lot. Juma ducked down.
Gil put the pedal to the metal and sped like a lunatic toward town, but Grandma followed them even more crazily through two red lights while talking on her cell phone. She jumped the Lincoln onto the wrong side of the road when Gil made a sudden turn, and Juma cheered as horns blared behind them. Gil stomped on the gas again, and finally lost their pursuer in a maze of neighborhoods before heading into downtown Bayou Gavotte.
"We're not likely to see her down here," Juma said. She huddled low in the car, peering at the neon signs and busy streets of the club district as it began to stir for the evening. "Grandma disapproves of clubs, because that's where my dad got started on drugs. What should we do now?"
"Talk to Jack," Gil said. He pulled out his cell phone. But Jack didn't answer, so he left an urgent message before confessing, "In New Orleans, I would have had someplace safe for you. Here nothing's been set up."
"Jack's apartment?" Juma suggested. Not a superappealing idea, but what else was there?
"Too close to my place. Your grandma's almost certainly got my license number, probably my name, too, from Jolene, and the cops can get that anyway. It'll have to be Violet. I can't think of anything else."
He turned off the main drag, took a few more corners, and drove slowly down a residential street lined with massive live oaks and huge Victorian houses. "It should be down here, by what I've heard."
"You don't even know where she lives?" Juma asked.
"Behind Blood and Velvet. In a purple house."
"It should be near the end of this block, then. Keep going, keep going...Oh, no!" She ducked as low as she could and still see out the window. "Gil, if this is another trap---"
They were passing the big purple Victorian just as a cop descended the walk, clipping his radio back on his belt. Juma stared, frozen, as the cop glanced up, sharpened his stance, and ran for his vehicle.
Gil cursed, rounded the corner, and doused his lights again. He headed fast down the dimly lit alley between Violet's street and the clubs. "I won't be able to outrun him. We're downtown, the traffic's heavy, and he can get backup in no time. Your only chance is to run and hide." As Juma crammed the book of poems into her pocket and put her backpack over her shoulders, Gil handed his cell phone over the seat. "Downtown is pretty safe at night. Find someplace warm to wait. Keep calling Jack. Tell him what happened." He passed her his wallet. "Take some money in case you need to go eat."
Trembling now, Juma opened the wallet. Only a twenty. "That's all you have."
"Take it," Gil said. "And the charger, too, just in case you need it. In the glove box." Far behind them, the cop's brights and flashers appeared, approaching at terrifying speed. Gil forced the SUV even faster down the gravel of the alley.
Juma scrounged for the charger. "Got it. But they'll catch you."
"Better me than you. See the bend up ahead? Just past there I'll stop. You jump out on the left, shut the door, and get out of sight. His lights will be pointing right as he enters the turn, so any cover should do. I'll gun it and get the cop to follow me. Take off that orange tie, because it'll reflect everything. That suit jacket's too unusual, makes you easy to spot. Ready to go?"
Juma tore off the orange tie. "Grandma will say you kidnapped me. She did that once before to some guy who gave me a ride."
Gil shrugged. "They can't arrest me for kidnapping if you're not in the car."
"Grandma will make sure they arrest you. She'll say I'm underage and that you had sex with me, and Jolene will back her up. Oh, Gil, I've never even had sex! I just pretend for the hell of it. I'm so sorry!"
"I'll be fine." They whipped round the curve. The alley ended in a crowded street only fifty yards ahead. There wouldn't be another chance. "Ready? See the bushes by the corner?"
"You'll be stuck in a cell, or the underworld might kill you. Gil, please!"
He skidded to a stop and roared, "Go!"
Juma jumped out, slammed the door, and dove past a line of bushes at the edge of the alley. Gil plunged the SUV into the middle of moving traffic and blaring horns, and two seconds later the cop flew by, wild with lights and sirens. Juma huddled behind the bushes, safe for the moment in the dark.
Rose climbed off her invisible ex-lover and walked away. She heard him move but didn't turn. She listened to his intake of breath, followed by a sharp exhalation. Relief, she supposed. Relief.
Surprisingly, she wasn't angry. She'd never been rejected like this before, but she felt astonishingly calm. A new experience; chalk it up. Obviously, she'd misjudged their connection. Outside, the music had faded and the crowd was dispersing. Constantine must have gone indoors again.
In the living room, she shucked her sweatpants and underwear. Jack might or might not be watching, but obviously it didn't matter. He didn't want her anymore. Judging by the way he'd dismissed her while he had a raging hard-on, he must be completely disgusted with her. He should be, she supposed. She'd totally invaded his privacy. She'd thought herself a nurturer, a person who set aside her own needs for others. A woman who understood a man's desires and fulfilled them. Instead, she'd tried to force him to have sex. It turned out she really was violent at heart. Jack had taught her a lot about herself, most of it unsavory. No wonder he hated vamps.
She unzipped her suitcase and rummaged for something special. Clothing that impressed. Not to impress Jack, though. Jack was history. During the last hour he'd come to some decision she didn't understand. So, why did her hands shake as she dug through her underwear?
Whatever. She'd had setbacks before. Not this particular kind, but she could handle anything. She donned a new bra and undies, a delicate tea-rose shade, her special shade, and tall green leather boots.
She didn't need to turn to know he stood in the doorway. Did he think she would steal his precious Magic Flute teapot as she left? No, she was being petty. This was unlike her, shameful even. She wondered whether he was invisible at the moment, but she didn't turn to look. She didn't want to see the expression on his face.
She unpacked her favorite dress, constructed of the homemade fabric that had garnered her several contest wins and a spread in Quilting Arts, and stuffed the sweats and shoes into her suitcase. Since he wasn't talking, she'd get this thing moving. "Call me a cab, please. Fortunately, Violet invited me to stay at her place. I'm sure she'll welcome Juma as well, if your friend still isn't available."
"I forgot a rescue."
"What?" Rose put her arms into a slip of the same lighthearted shade and let it slither over her breasts and drape gently onto her hips. It left her thighs bare. Guys loved her thighs.
"I forgot a goddamned rescue, Rose." There was a hitch in his voice. "I was expecting a call. I knew it could come at any time, and I was worried about the woman...but I got so wrapped up in sex with Titania that I forgot to check my phone and the rescue died."
Rose heard the words, but she was too intent on not caring about him to really listen. She shook out her dress, a confection of wool and silk fibers held together with wandering lines of stitching, with swirls and knots of silver thread. She always felt gorgeous wearing the dress.
By the sound of his voice, Jack felt awful. What was he---?
It finally sank in. He'd just told her a rescue had died. What would that mean for a man who lived his life accounting for everything as Jack did? "You mean, you didn't hear the phone?" She risked a glance at him, suddenly appalled. He looked like shit. "You heard it and ignored it?"
"No. Though for all I know, I might have ignored it if I had heard. Titania can...can be very charming if she chooses, and once she'd caught me, I was blind and deaf to everything but the sex. Even amongst my dad's vampire girlfriends, I'd never met a woman with such...But that doesn't excuse me." He blew out a breath.
Rose's dress had large round buttons down the front, covered in the same fabulous fabric. She put it on, letting it float down over her slip and settle luxuriously into place. Jack's eyes slid over her, and she supposed he must have noticed her outfit, but he said nothing. Why should he? So what if everyone in the whole damned world complimented her on this dress? She'd lost him 100 percent. She should have too much pride to crave his attention. Even worse, she should be ashamed to dwell on herself when he was so obviously overset. He looked simply awful, far too distraught over a death that must have happened a year ago, judging by what Violet had said about his time with Titania. It wasn't directly his fault. She yearned to hug and comfort him.
But he wouldn't want that. He was disgusted with her, even if he was explaining himself. She had to leave because her calm was dispelling rapidly, fading like his chest had under her hands. She put an olive cotton wrap over her dress and tied it in front. "Would you please call the cab?"
He just stood there.
She couldn't afford tender feelings, but she could give practical advice, right? "I'm sorry your rescue died, but it's not your fault if you didn't hear your phone. Maybe it just didn't ring. That happens with cell phones. Titania's call today didn't ring, either. It went straight to message." That sounded reasonable and down-to-earth. She scrounged for something else. "Are all your rescues so last-minute? It seems mighty inefficient." Damn. That was practically a dis.
Maybe he was already so miserable it didn't matter, because he didn't appear to take it amiss. "Most of them run more smoothly. The last-minute rescues are unusual."
"Cindy was one of those, right? One of the successful ones. Maybe you should dwell on those instead." That was good advice. The kind she gave herself.
"I can't ignore my fuckups," Jack said. "I didn't hear my phone because someone---I assume one of Titania's friends---put it in silent mode."
"What?" Rose made a face while she zipped up the suitcase. "Why?"
"Because I was stupid enough to say I was expecting an important call and might have to leave the party early. Titania must have signaled to one of them to silence the phone."
No wonder he'd been upset. And yet..."That's horrible, but how does it make the rescue's death your fault?"
"I should have noticed that it upset Titania if even a fraction of my attention went to someone else. That she couldn't tolerate that I might consider leaving. I'd already begun to wonder what I'd gotten myself in for. I wasn't thinking straight because..." Pause. "No, I wasn't thinking at all."
Rose made a dismissive noise. He really needed to get over the accounting thing if he was ever going to be happy. With someone else. "Nobody's perfect. You would have answered the call if you'd heard the phone ring." She slung her handbag over her shoulder. "Now, how about you give me the cab company's number and I'll call it myself." She got out her cell.
Jack's voice was pure anguish. "I forgot, Rose. I know sometimes calls don't get through, but even if the phone didn't ring, I should have remembered to check for messages and to call Gil. I forgot everything." He paused. "And this was after I learned she'd conned me into stealing some earrings from Violet's car. It was after I'd been to a couple of parties where she'd shown her cruel and malicious side. Still I'd come back for more, because I couldn't resist the sex."
He really did feel responsible. Rose's hands itched to pull him close. Her arms ached to hold him, to rock him as he had rocked her earlier today. Her mouth quivered as she stifled words of love and solace. She schooled her expression to disinterested patience. "Okay, so maybe it was partly your fault, but it's over, and it doesn't matter anymore. Believe me, I know. I may have gotten hysterical a few times today, but if I let everything I thought was my fault get to me, I would have killed myself long since. Like you said, you win some, you lose some. Let it go."
"It's not that simple," Jack said. "I can't afford---"
"You can't afford to let one bad experience screw up your whole life," Rose snapped. Just as she refused to let one rejection destroy her. She opened her phone and scrolled for Vi's number. "Maybe Vi will send me a cab."
At last, Jack was back in the present. "You don't need a cab. Take the minivan out there." He picked up the little envelope he'd retrieved from the floor and extracted the keys. He held them out.
Rose shook her head. "No, it's not worth the bother of bringing it back."
"I don't want it back. It's yours to keep."
What the hell? Rage spiraled, and her fangs bucked. She'd felt sorry for him. She'd wanted to encourage and reassure him, and he'd slapped her in the face. Even though he didn't love her, she'd thought they'd felt something together, something different. But it had just been sex. Sex he didn't even want to repeat. Shock and misery ravaged her, curling her fingers into claws. But oh, no. She wouldn't lose it this time. Jack had just proven he was like every other guy, if he was a little better about maintaining reciprocity.
She wouldn't cry; she'd learned how to play the cool, collected whore. Even Lou, who'd been good to her, had made it clear that business was business. When she'd come to really care for him, he'd been amused. She put her nose in the air. "Payment for services rendered? Sure, why not?" She took the keys. "I've done better in the past, but I guess I didn't do enough to merit the Porsche."
His face darkened. He put his back to the door. "It's nothing to do with payment, and you know it. You want the Porsche? It's yours."
"If that's not payment, then what is it?" The tips of her fangs popped out. "Get out of my way." She shivered at the déjà vu, but this would not end in a hot, no-holds-barred kiss.
"Not until we settle this."
How dared he? "It's already settled. You don't want me anymore, but you feel guilty so you're paying me off. Which is fine with me, of course, but why let it bother you? I'm used to callous men who only want sex. You're lucky I'm not like Titania. At least only one vamp is out for your blood." She snickered. "Ooh, bad joke."
He winced.
And then it hit her. Thunked her straight in the gut. "She didn't dump you, did she?"
He didn't answer, but he didn't need to.
"Vampires almost always do the dumping, but in this case, you dumped her. And you let people believe she dumped you, whether from consideration---which is totally wasted on that slut---or self-preservation."
Jack sighed. "Some of both, I guess."
"She doesn't really want you back," Rose suddenly realized. "Judging by everything you and Vi have said about her, Titania would never put up with being dumped. She wants you dead. That's why she was so furious at Biff. She wants to kill you herself."
Safe Juma might be, but she knew it was only for a moment or two. For that random cop on some other errand to notice Gil's SUV and come tearing after it, Grandma must have already raised a huge stink.
No way she could risk going to Violet's place. Like any other adult, Violet was in cahoots with the cops. Juma shucked the suit jacket---Gil was right about that---and the paisley tie as well, and delved into the large compartment of her backpack for the only other long-sleeved item she had, a short jacket of beaded pink silk. She rolled the first jacket, stuffed it in the backpack along with the ties, and crept out from behind the bushes.
Cautiously she made her way to the street, which was now jammed with traffic. To the right, a block or so down, the blue flashers of a cop car told her where Gil was trapped. Juma went left and slipped into the early-evening crowds. Clubs were beginning to open, but they would never let her in. She moved uneasily down the sidewalk, trying to match her pace to others, hoping for a group of girls her own age to trail behind. She wandered into a clothing shop behind a couple, pawed through a rack of designer jeans, and tried calling Jack. No answer, but as his message came on, the saleslady showed up, glowering the way salespeople always do at hesitant, furtive teens. Juma scowled back, clapped the phone shut, and left the store.
She made the rounds of a souvenir shop and scuttled past a club and a bar. Next came a funky little Cajun restaurant. She steered past a busboy stacking the empty tables and chairs of the outdoor area, closed now as the evening chill set in, and hovered by the doorway, pretending to read the menu.
What warned her of danger she didn't know, but just as she opened the phone to call Jack again, something made her look around. Across the street, Stevie came out of a sex shop with a voluptuous woman dressed in purple, with long, wild black hair. The woman talked on a cell phone while Stevie ogled her cleavage. He probably couldn't tear his eyes away, but just in case, Juma ducked into the restaurant ahead of the busboy with his stack of chairs. She shot a glance back out the door. The woman shut her cell, and she and Stevie went back into the shop. Ick.
Juma chose a table near the rear of the half-full restaurant, partly concealed by an urn draped in fake ivy, with a view of the front door. The busboy folded the table umbrellas, came back inside for a chain, and secured the umbrellas to the wall outside. Juma scanned the menu without really looking. The busboy hovered by the sidewalk, speaking to a group of gesturing passersby.
The waiter, a jaded-looking old dude, showed up. Juma ordered a bowl of gumbo and took a trip to the restroom to try Jack again, but Gil's battery was at NO CHARGE, and before she could look up Jack's number to try again from another phone, the cell died right before her eyes.
She returned to her table. She couldn't go back to Jack's for fear of being caught. She couldn't try other friends in town for the same reason. Her only hope was Rose, but what good was Rose against Grandma?
The busboy returned wide-eyed and hurried into the kitchen. Outside, the whap-whap of a helicopter mingled with the sounds of traffic. A reporter with a microphone and a notebook scurried by in a suit and pumps, with a TV cameraman loping behind her.
When Juma's waiter arrived with the gumbo she asked him, "What's going on out there?"
He shrugged. "Nothing blown up into something, knowing the media. Maybe they got sick of hovering over the Impractical Cat, harassing Dufray. There oughta be a law."
"What did the busboy find out?" Juma tried to look innocently eager. "He came in a minute ago looking like he was bursting with juicy news. And a TV reporter just went by!"
"You don't want to know," the waiter said in a fatherly voice.
"Yes, I do. I'm not a baby."
"As far as I'm concerned, you are," the waiter replied. "I've had about enough of kids coming here for dirty stories about what goes on in the Threshold."
Huh? "What's eating you, mister? I'm not interested in any stupid club. I'm just wondering what's going on out there. I'll see it on the news anyway, so what's your problem?"
He sighed. "Something about a guy kidnapping kids to be sex slaves."
"Oh, no!" Juma half rose from her seat, got a hold of herself, and sat back down. What could she do?
"Don't have a cow, kiddo. They caught the guy."
I know! But if she ran out there and gave herself up, it wouldn't get Gil out of jail. Once Grandma got her claws into someone, it took lawyers and money and endless time to get free. Juma would be locked in her room again, maybe for weeks, and meanwhile, Gil, as a suspected sex offender, might be beaten up or even killed in jail. And in Bayou Gavotte, the underworld might get him first.
"But what if he didn't do it?" She realized she was wailing. Get a grip, Juma.
The waiter gave her a look. "You're a strange one, taking the bad guy's side."
Juma improvised in a hurry. "I'm a teenager. I'm always being wrongfully accused, so you bet I side with the underdog." Okay, this was working. Steer the guy away from your screwup. "You know the nondiscrimination signs in schools? It says they don't discriminate because of age. Bullshit. If you're a kid, you're scum." Just to make sure, she added, "Not that I'm for seeing true pedophiles go free."
The waiter chuckled and left her to her food.
She was halfway through her gumbo when she heard the tapping. After a jolt of fear, she told herself not to be stupid and took another spoonful. The waiter, who had just passed Juma in the direction of the kitchen, said in a wooden voice, "Mrs. Loveday, what a pleasant surprise. Long time, no see."
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Juma choked on the soup. Her heartbeat ramped up. Impossible. There were plenty of Lovedays in the world.
Tap. Grandma never came to Bayou Gavotte. Tap, tap. For sure, nobody here knew her. Even if they did, she wouldn't come in through the back door.
"Give me a table by the window," Grandma said, as if she were the queen and the waiter were dirt. "My granddaughter's been kidnapped by a sex slaver. The police are taking their goddamn time looking into things. They have no consideration for a terrified, grieving old woman!"
The waiter, like every other adult, would buy this sob story, just like they bought the cane, which she didn't need at all, except to clout Juma with now and then.
Grandma continued, "I snagged one of those reporters that are milling in the streets. They listened to me."
Juma slunk down in her chair behind the urn as her grandmother clacked past on her nasty rhinestone-studded heels, tapping her cane ominously with every step, carrying a huge pink tote out of which poked a sharp, black nose. Poopsie! Crap! Grabbing her backpack, Juma took off at warp speed down the restroom hall to the sound of Poopsie's frenzied barking and the waiter's protests.
"Mrs. Loveday, I'm sorry about your granddaughter, but health rules prohibit pets inside the restaurant." Poopsie was cut off in midyap, and, by the sound of it, ducked whimpering into the basket.
"Have some sympathy, you boor!" Grandma shouted. "What pet? You're imagining things. Get me a wet cappuccino and make it snappy."
Juma found the back door and pushed it open. She hurried into a small, empty yard lit by a solitary yellow bulb. On one side was a brick wall, on the other a rickety wooden fence covered with ivy. A Dumpster sat just beyond. She stumbled over the lid of a trash can, righted herself, and crept carefully to the end of the yard. Peering up and down the alley, Juma saw there was no way she could go left; that would bring her back to the melee on the street. The alley yawned long, dark, and unwelcoming to the right. The yard next door was in darkness, except for a thin streak of light from a partly open back door.
The helicopter whap-whapped closer again, its searchlight heading straight for the alley. Juma ran at a crouch into the next yard and squeezed down between the fence and the Dumpster, covering the pink of her jacket with her backpack, pulling a mass of ivy over her head. The helicopter didn't linger, but she would never make it down that entire alley in shiny pink clothing. She stood, dug out her suit jacket, and had it half on when a floodlight came on in the restaurant yard.
Grandma! She ducked, but not fast enough. But it wasn't Grandma, just the waiter, looking mighty pissed.
Oh, crap, she hadn't paid for her food. She scrounged in the pocket of her jeans for Gil's twenty. "I'm sorry," she said, leaning over the fence. "I forgot about paying. Keep the change." When the waiter took the money but didn't leave, she added, "Thanks for the meal and the great service. I've got to go."
"You're Mrs. Loveday's granddaughter, aren't you?"
Juma's chest tightened. She squeaked, "What are you talking about?"
"No other reason I can see why you'd take off the minute she walked in. You had money to pay me, so that can't be it. The dog recognized you, right?"
"Look, mister..."
"I'm not saying she's a sweet old lady or anything, in fact she's one hell of a bitch, but she really is worried about you, kid. She even shed a tear or two just now. Better come inside and set her mind at rest."
"Never." Juma yanked the suit jacket on. "I hope she cries until she shrivels up and dies. You know what? I'd rather die than be locked up by Grandma again. Put that in your pipe and smoke it." She put the backpack on and all at once figured out where she was: in the yard of the Threshold, with an open door inviting her and no security guard in sight. "Don't believe me?" she taunted, passing the Dumpster and heading for the door. "Just watch."
"Hey!" The guy went ballistic. "Don't go in there! That's the last place you wanna go, kid. I won't tell your grandma you're here."
But Juma didn't dare believe him. Maybe she'd met a few good adults, but she had no reason to believe this was one of them. She marched firmly toward a fate worse than death. Anything was better than Grandma.
Rose looked pissed off---and also sexy as hell, which was killing him. "She wants to do the job herself, just like with me," she said. "She wants to take revenge on you herself."
Jack couldn't lie, so he temporized. "Maybe. Forewarned is forearmed, however, and---"
Rose muttered something that sounded like idiotic male. "You should have told me. Does Constantine know?"
"He may have figured it out---and it has nothing to do with you." This was getting old. Not only that, his mind had stuck several sentences back, when his prick had decided to join the party again. Why couldn't he just stay in control? He put on his best soothing voice. "I care about you. I'm trying to protect you, Rose. I'm trying to keep you out of---"
"I can protect myself!" she raged. "I've taken care of myself all my life, and I don't intend to start depending on someone else. Not only that, this is my fight as much as yours, and I refuse to pander to your rescue complex when you don't even want me anymore."
"What are you talking about? You're the one who's all tarted up to find another guy." Why else would she be dressed up like that? He felt like an idiot, standing with two sets of car keys in his hands and a burgeoning hard-on.
Rose's fangs slotted full down. "Tarted up? I'll show you tarted up!"
His eyes followed her chest as it rose and fell. Her nipples hardened through the fabric, and for a distracted but hopeful second he thought she might jump him. But no. He didn't want that, remember? Not now. He couldn't afford it right now.
She shook her head, partially retracting the fangs. "No, if you can't tell the difference, it's not my problem. And I don't know where you got the stupid idea I'm looking for another guy."
"I don't know where you got the stupid idea I don't want you anymore."
"You just refused to sleep with me, in spite of being very turned on. Isn't it obvious?"
He shook his head. "That wasn't about you. It was---"
"About you." She rolled her eyes. "Right."
Perfect. He didn't want to explain all this. Yet he had no choice. "You deserve the truth. It was about Titania. That phone call brought it all back to me..." He trailed off.
Seeing her face, he braced himself for a blast of allure. It didn't come. The tips of her fangs gleamed, but her voice was placid. "Earlier, you swore you weren't interested in Titania anymore. Wasn't that the truth?"
"Of course!"
She raised supercilious eyebrows. "And yet you just refused me because of her? It doesn't add up, Jack. And to find out that you were thinking about her while you were with me..." She cocked her head. "You must be way more twisted than I thought."
He far preferred the furious Rose to this coldly amused one. "I was---"
His cell phone rang, so he tossed the keys onto the futon and extracted it from his pocket. Unbelievable. As if he hadn't already dreaded this call. In fact, he'd hoped to initiate it himself, to rehearse it in his head first. Now he had to handle it in front of Rose.
He opened the phone. "Titania." He hoped he sounded as pissed off as he felt.
"Iachimo, darling!" Titania cooed. "You finally answered my call. What a charming surprise!"
"Who the hell gave you my new number?" he snarled.
Rose draped herself across the futon. She gave him a sultry look and mouthed, Iachimo, darling.
Meanwhile, Titania tittered in his ear. "Wouldn't you like to know."
Not really. He shouldn't look at Rose. Long legs, lush thighs...He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had no clue how to play this phone call, and with Rose distracting him...
"It's been sooooo long," Titania whined.
The instant he opened his eyes, Rose batted her lashes at him. So long, she mouthed, and made a crude gesture. You're sooooo long. With her acute vampire hearing, she was picking up Titania's every word.
Jack choked back a laugh. Into the phone he said, "You are one hell of a persistent woman."
Titania purred. "I always get what I want in the end."
Rose gripped her ass and mouthed, Ooh, that smarts!
Jack sputtered and used the joke. "In the end? Most women don't like that much."
Silence over the airwaves, and then a repulsive gurgle of laughter. "Now, this is the Iachimo I remember. The Iachimo who likes to get down and dirty. The Iachimo whose gorgeous big dick I've been missing for so long."
Rose snorted. Jack glanced at her. Did this mean his dick wasn't gorgeous or wasn't big? She'd seemed to enjoy it plenty earlier, but it wasn't making much of a showing now. At the sound of Titania's voice, it had shrunk so rapidly it was practically cringing. Maybe his dick had finally reconnected with his brain.
"I've been busy," he said. "Luckily for you, I'm in Bayou Gavotte tonight, but not for long. I have things to do, places to be, so..."
"I don't need long." Titania laughed. "And neither do you. I'll be at the Threshold." She hung up.
Rose surged up from the futon. "Let's get going."
"You need to stay here. Constantine will come with me to the Threshold."
"With both of us," Rose corrected.
Jack cast his eyes toward heaven and shook his head. Why was she so intent on putting herself in danger?
She grabbed the keys to the minivan; clearly, she'd made up her mind. "Fine. I'll see you there." But as she opened the door, her phone rang.
So much for security and keeping out underage kids. Juma walked unhindered into the brightly lit rear vestibule of the Threshold.
Since the guard might return any minute, she hurried up the corridor toward the music and the inviting dimness ahead. She'd mingle with the crowd, pass unnoticed for a while, and then leave. She followed the music to the dance hall and hovered by the wall, but even with the low light and flickering strobes, she felt curious eyes upon her. Hungry eyes. Although maybe that was just her imagination. Either way, this place seriously gave her the creeps.
She looked ridiculously young without makeup, so she found a restroom---the weirdest she'd ever seen, with naked people all over the walls in lewd poses and gross sex magazines in a rack. There were handcuffs and vibrators hanging in the cubicles, and a coiled whip on the wall. She rolled her eyes, wishing she had someone to laugh with about this bizarre place, and applied eye makeup and lipstick. She didn't have a driver's license---Grandma wouldn't allow it---so at least they couldn't prove she wasn't eighteen.
She pulled the door open just as a toilet flushed in the men's room across the hall. Hurriedly she pushed it shut, leaving only a crack to peek through. The door of the men's banged open and Stevie came out. Crap! Wasn't he on a date with the woman in purple? He turned left down the corridor toward the back of the club.
Juma slipped out of the restroom and softly closed the door behind her, following at a safe distance. Stevie perched on the chair at the back door and lit a cigarette. She wouldn't be able to get out that way anytime soon. She couldn't leave by the front, either, where she would certainly be noticed. And she couldn't stay hidden forever.
She went looking for a phone. The intermediate area of the club had a funky smell, which she didn't like one bit. She tiptoed back down the corridor and tried a few doors: storerooms for toilet paper and cleaning supplies, costumes and props, and a kitchen, but none of these had telephones. A long dim hallway branched off the corridor. Flickering sconces along the wall showed swords and knives, scimitars and spears hanging there, and even a medieval-looking poleax. She put her ear to each door before trying the handle. Sensual music came from behind one; from the last one, just as she touched the handle, a low, creepy moan. She jumped back, shaking.
Hurriedly, she retraced her steps along the hallway, too creeped out to listen at any more doors, but then she lucked out: halfway back was a door marked OFFICE. This time, the handle turned smoothly, opening on a silent room lit only by a standing lamp. She let out a relieved breath and locked the door behind her. At the front stood a row of filing cabinets and a shelf full of books about either accounting or sex. Rose would laugh at that strange juxtaposition. A folding door at the end of the room might lead to a closet. And by the window, a desk, with---finally!---a phone.
She'd been told to call Jack, but she'd already decided against it; she'd blown her one chance with him by coming in here. Rose would understand, however, and Rose could also tell Jack about Gil's plight. Juma rummaged in her backpack for Rose's card.
Rose flipped her phone open, turning away from Jack's idiotic protests. It was Juma.
"Rose? Thank God. I'm at the Threshold, and I need help."
"You're at the Threshold?" Rose put her phone on speaker for Jack's benefit. She wasn't trying to keep secrets. Jack shook his head and ran a hand over his face.
"I'm fine, but they arrested Gil. Someone has to get him out of jail." Her voice filled with suspicion. "You're on speaker. Who's there?"
"Just Jack and me."
Jack raised his voice. "Who arrested Gil, and why?"
"Grandma told the cops he's a white slaver. She said he kidnapped me. She did this before to a guy who gave me a ride, and it cost him a fortune to get free. Please, please go to the cop shop and save Gil. They'll treat him like a child abuser, and maybe the underworld will kill him, and really he's an angel!"
"I'll get right on it." Jack closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then flipped open his phone and dialed. While he waited for an answer, he asked Juma, "How did you get in the Threshold?"
"I was in the restaurant next door and Grandma came in, so I ran out and into the back of the Threshold before she saw me. Stevie's guarding the door, but he was in the restroom when I got here. I know it's a horrible place, but she'll never look for me here. I'm in an office halfway down a hall near the back, and there's nobody around. I'll be fine. Just take care of Gil, please."
"Will do," Jack said. Then, when his call went through: "Violet? This is Iachimo Tallis. I need your help."
Rose gaped. Jack was asking a favor? Violet must have been just as surprised, for there was a brief pause at the other end of the line, and then: "I refuse to negotiate with Titania for anything, no matter whose life is at stake." Another pause. "Is Rose with you? Is she all right?"
"She is and she's fine," Jack said. "I need you to go to the police station and rescue Gil." He explained the situation.
"Who? I've never heard of her. She what?" Violet cried. "How dare she even suggest such a thing about darling Gil!" Indignant huff. "I'll take care of it. Whatever That Bitch may think, I'm the Queen of Bayou Gavotte."
Jack hung up, muttering, "Maybe that wasn't such a good idea."
"It was an excellent idea. You asked for a favor, and you didn't mention a thing about owing." Rose leaned across and gave him a big kiss on the cheek. "Taken care of," she told Juma, who'd probably only heard bits. "He'll be out in no time, and I'll be right there to get you."
"Good," Juma replied. "This place sucks. It smells really weird, and---whoa!"
"What?"
"Your gown. The Elizabethan one. What's it doing in the closet here?"
"It was stolen," Rose said. "Thank you for finding it. Now, sit tight. I'm coming right away."
Jack braced himself for another argument as Rose closed her phone and said, "I've got to go get her."
"Titania must be there already. And Gino, because she wouldn't cart the gown around by herself. It's not safe for you."
"It's not safe for anybody. Miles may be there, too, and what if someone finds Juma and tries to use her for a...a mutilation scene?"
Jack grimaced. "They won't start that kind of show until later. I'll get her out of there, I swear. I'll get Miles out, too, but it's too dangerous for you."
"I will not be left out, Jack!"
"Rose." Stubborn chick. "I value you highly as a rescue partner, but---What the hell is that noise?"
It sounded like Constantine, but his singing was punctuated by hoots and howls. Jack stuffed Stevie's gun in his belt and went through the secret room and up the stairs to the roof. Rose followed close behind.
"What's the matter with him?" she asked. Constantine leaped around the roof garden of the Impractical Cat, singing into a mike, which explained the appalling volume. He yowled about love and revenge, whooped and threw white porcelain coffee cups, hollered and sailed saucers off into thin air.
"He's lost it," Jack muttered. "Too much stress, I guess. I'd better go---" No. If he left Rose here, she'd go straight to the Threshold without him.
That annoyingly persistent helicopter was returning. Constantine stopped caterwauling, laid his mike on a table, and picked up something else: a rifle.
The helicopter ticked closer, searchlights whirling. Lazily, Constantine tested the sights. He leaned back, taking a long, calculated look at the helicopter hovering overhead. Fuck. He'd gone out of his mind.
"I have to go stop him," Jack said.
"Oh, my God. If he shoots that helicopter, anything could happen. You could all go up in flames!" Rose's eyes were wide and frightened in the darkness. Frightened for others, maybe even afraid for him.
Why couldn't she just be afraid for herself? "And if you go to the Threshold," Jack said, "you could be tortured and bled."
"I have to go," Rose said. "And so do you." She flung her arms around him, clinging tight. "I love you, Jack, but it doesn't matter that you don't love me. Just come through this safely. Please."
She loved him?
She released her hold and made as if to turn away, but he took her face between his hands and kissed her hard. "Of course I love you. Just be careful, damn it. Stay away from the front part of the club, because there's where Titania will be. Her idea of a party is a huge crowd fawning all over her. She has no reason to go anywhere near that office at the back. Get Juma out and take her to Violet's. I'll take care of Dufray and then go rescue Miles."
It was too dark to see her clearly, but he could feel that mulish look on her face.
"I've spirited people away from her clutches before," he said. Too often, they'd gone right back, but that wasn't his problem. "Don't worry, I can do it again."
He squeezed her arms, giving her rapid directions to the office at the Threshold, and let go, sliding rapidly into semicamo and leaping over the parapet to the roof next door. He shinnied up the drainpipe on the wall of the adjacent building. Two more rooftops to go. The helicopter had retreated to a safe distance. Constantine had laid the rifle on the table and was contemplating a handgun. Fat lot of use he was turning out to be.
Across another roof, down the drainpipe on the other side, then into total camo and a crawl as the searchlight ticked over his head. Up the ladder, over a parapet to the roof next to the Impractical Cat.
Oh, hell. Constantine was aiming the handgun at his own stupid head.
Bullshit. Constantine wouldn't kill himself. He was way too gifted, way too strong, way too...screwed up.
Jack would not let his friend die. He bellowed, "Don't be an asshole, Dufray! I need your help tonight."
Miraculously, Constantine heard him over the beating of the copter blades. The rocker threw up his hands, tossed a few more plates around, gathered up the weapons, and sang his way to the door. A blast of loud voices from inside joined the cacophony without. Who the hell was in there? Why hadn't they tried to stop him?
Constantine went through the door and closed it behind him. The copter hovered for a moment, then ticked slowly away.
Jack reached the roof garden a minute later and went straight indoors. Constantine lounged on the sofa in the dark, eyes closed, while three radio stations and a TV news station blasted him for singing with that street band. They blamed him as usual for the poisoning of his wife, and said the deaths at his concert were his fault, too. Far worse was the barrage of sick horror bombarding Jack from Constantine's mind.
Jack shut it out, then one by one turned the lights on and TV and radios off. "Those deaths weren't your fault." The guns lay on the table beside Constantine.
Constantine didn't open his eyes. "How do you know? You've tasted the power of my godforsaken mind." He let his head fall back. "Before you start lecturing me, you might as well know the rifle's jammed---I was trying to fix it when those assholes came along in their chopper---and the handgun isn't even loaded. I don't have the guts to kill myself." He sounded disgusted.
Christ. The three of them could have a pity party later. If he got Rose out of that hellhole in one piece.
"Get off your ass and stop feeling sorry for yourself, Du-fray. We're going to the Threshold to save some lives."
Juma froze at a familiar voice bitching in the hall. Totally freaking, she stuffed the catalog of sex toys back on the shelf, ripped Gil's phone and its charger out of the wall, and dashed toward the closet. Good thing she'd locked the office door. It gave her the extra second she needed to shut herself inside before the door banged open and Grandma stalked in, Stevie behind her.
She handled darkness pretty well---she'd had practice---but the peephole in the closet door was a new twist for Juma. What was Grandma doing in a club with peepholes in the doors? What was she doing in a club at all?
"You're an incompetent boor." Grandma poked her cane at Stevie. "If you've dragged me all the way here for nothing, I'll have you fired. You had the goddamned tracker. How did you manage to lose her?"
"I told you," Stevie said. "She was kidnapped."
Juma muffled a snort. A lame excuse, even for Stevie.
"Bullshit." Grandma dumped Poopsie's tote on the floor beside the desk and sat down. She still gripped the cane. "I saw her with my own eyes only a few miles from here. She ran away when I hollered at her and went off in an SUV with a white slaver. They found him, but Juma's still missing."
"Maybe she escaped." Stevie shook a cigarette from his pack.
"That wouldn't surprise me. She's a pain in the ass, but she's got plenty of guts."
Juma knew Grandma far too well to get all toasty about this.
"Unlike her wimp of a father."
Juma stuck out her tongue.
Poopsie poked her head out of the basket and sniffed, little black nose twitching. She whimpered. Oh, shit.
Juma tiptoed behind the Elizabethan gown. The closet went back a ways---it was really a long, narrow room filled with junk---but she couldn't risk tripping over something and making noise. She set the cell phone's volume to low and dialed Rose.
There came the whack of Grandma's cane connecting with Poopsie's nose, and Juma cringed. "Shut up, or I'll feed you to a pit bull. Stevie, put that cigarette away. I'm allergic to smoke."
Rose picked up. "Juma?"
"My grandma's here!" Juma spoke lower than a whisper. "Come quickly, please!"
Amazingly, Rose heard. "I'm on my way."
Juma let out a breath of pure relief and shut the phone. She crept forward and put her eye to the peephole again.
"Go watch the back door," Grandma was saying. "There's supposed to be someone on guard at all times." Poopsie whined. And whined again.
"Not anymore." Stevie put the cigarette to his lips. "They changed the rule about minors."
"The underworld? Impossible!" She tapped Poopsie's nose. The dog yelped and subsided but wouldn't stay down for long. You had to be tough to survive with Grandma.
"Not the underworld." Stevie scrounged in his pockets for a lighter. "The club."
"Don't be stupid. Those vigilantes are a goddamned nuisance, but they're the law here and they'll never budge on that one."
"That's why the club's changing it on their own." The cigarette bobbed up and down as Stevie spoke. Poopsie poked her head out of the bag again. She sniffed and wriggled and sniffed some more. Juma held still and willed the dog not to find her.
"You don't know what you're talking about," Grandma said. "It's one thing to sneak virgins in from time to time. Group deflowering is a prime attraction for the elite crowd. It's another entirely to leave the door wide open for hordes of underage kids. We'll get caught, and the underworld will shut us down."
We? Juma stared wide-eyed through the peephole.
Stevie found his lighter. "Underage kids are worth a fortune. From now on, we let them sneak in and keep the ones that look best."
"What? I won't let a bunch of fools ruin my investment." Grandma went pink with rage. Her face almost matched her hair. She didn't get this pissed off even when she found a poetry book under Juma's mattress! She jabbed Stevie with the cane. "This is my goddamn club, and I make the rules. Go man the door or you're fired!"
Stevie backed out of reach, lit his cigarette, and took a long, long drag. Juma's head whirled. Her grandmother owned the most dangerous club in all Bayou Gavotte? Un-fucking-believable. She'd always wondered how Grandma made so much money out of that dingy hairdressing shop. Well, duh. She didn't. She made it here. She also approved of preying on virgins. Juma didn't even want to think about that.
Grandma banged the desk drawers open and shut. "I need to make some calls. Why isn't there a pen in this godawful mess? Why are you still here? Put out that cigarette and go!" Stevie lounged against the filing cabinet. "Don't order me around, old lady. I don't work for you anymore."
What had gotten into Stevie? He never disobeyed Grandma, and he definitely never sassed her. She had enough on him to send him up the river for life, or if she didn't, she'd find something, and people would believe every word she said.
Poopsie got her front paws clear. Grandma scowled at Stevie. "Damn right you don't. You can't keep hold of one runaway teenager, and now you've dragged me to Bayou Gavotte for nothing."
Stevie grinned and took another drag. "It's not for nothing."
Footsteps clacked in the hall. The door opened, and the voluptuous woman in purple came in. "Stevie, darling, I need you to...Well, well! What a charming surprise!"
The pink drained from Grandma's cheeks. "Mary Lou?"
"Mommy, darling!" the woman said. "It's been so long."
Mommy?
Dizziness assailed Juma. Unless Grandma had two daughters named Mary Lou, this woman was...her mother. The mother who had died of an overdose when Juma was a baby. The one Grandma refused to talk about. The one even Dad said they were better off without.
But she had died. Not in Destrierville, but in New Orleans. Juma had seen the newspaper clipping. On the other hand, Grandma was just crazy enough to pretend someone she didn't like was dead. It didn't take a genius to read the hatred on Grandma's face.
Juma pulled herself together. She tried without much success to recall the few faded photos Dad possessed. She peered through the peephole, shaken, fascinated, appalled at this stunning woman with the killer smile.
She was like a drug, Dad had said once. Believe me, chemicals are safer. That, far more than Grandma's rages, had put the kibosh on Juma's fantasies of a loving mother, but the sick feeling in her gut told her those dreams had only been suppressed. She was trembling, which was totally stupid. She didn't even know this woman! Nor did she care about her one way or the other. She took a deep breath to calm herself. And another.
Crap. Poopsie had been watching Mary Lou with silent wariness, but now her ears pricked up and her nose twitched in the direction of the closet. Juma froze, trying to take comfort in thoughts of her father. Useless druggie or not, he loved her.
"Mary Lou, what the hell are you doing in my club?" spat Grandma. She always spewed droplets when she got majorly pissed off. Poopsie wiggled and squirmed, her claws scrabbling against the canvas of the bag
"Having a party," Mary Lou purred. "New Orleans is such a bore these days. And my name is Titania."
Grandma gave a cackle of derisive laughter. "Still fantasizing about being queen of the perverts?"
"It's not a fantasy." Titania licked her scarlet lips. "Starting tonight, I'm Queen of Bayou Gavotte."
Grandma snorted. "Go have your goddamn party someplace else, Mary Lou. I told you never to come near me again. That includes my club, and you know it."
"But Mo-om! What about motherly love? Stevie loves me. Don't you, baby?"
"Always, Titania." Stevie gazed at her rapturously. "Ever since kindergarten."
"Don't you miss me, Mom? Stevie missed me. Didn't you, honey?"
"Hell, yeah. Ever since you went away to that fancy New Orleans school. Later, I heard you were dead." Stevie sounded close to tears.
The sick feeling clutched Juma again. Back in the day, had Dad gaped at this creepy woman like that? Actually, Titania did suit her better as a name, although it was a bit of an insult to the queen of the fairies.
"I pay you good money to stay the hell away," Grandma snarled, and added in a taunting voice, "Mary Lou."
"Not enough. And my name is Titania," she repeated. She held up a white hand with immaculate bloodred nails. However ghastly she might be, her mom knew how to pick a manicurist. If it was her mother. Juma wasn't quite ready to believe the impossible.
"You're getting old, Mom," the woman said. "I don't suppose you're planning to leave me the club when you die?"
Grandma huffed. "You're already dead to me." Pause. "Mary Lou."
"It's Titania." Pause. "Poor Stevie was deprived of fabulous sex for years, and it's all because of you. Are you mad about that, Stevie?"
"Hell yes, Mar---Titania." He blenched under her instantaneous glare. "Real, real mad."
"Mom needs to be punished for what she did to you." She leered at Grandma. "I saw my lovely little obit in the Destrierville paper. Who did you threaten to get that done?"
"The editor." Grandma snickered, proud as always when she'd pulled something nasty. "In exchange for not starting a rumor that he fondled his daughter's friends at her birthday party."
"Good old Mom," Titania said. "I must have inherited my twisted imagination from you. I put it to better use, though. We're planning some fun tonight, aren't we, Stevie?"
"Sure are, Titania." Stevie's tongue was all but hanging out. Gross.
Titania perched on a corner of the desk, stretching lazily. In her tight purple dress with boobs busting out all over, and a metal-studded belt with a dagger in a sheath, she reminded Juma of a comic-book baddie. "The thing is, Mom, what will I do for money after you're gone?"
Grandma gripped her cane. "You can go to hell for all I care."
Titania snickered. "Sure you want me there with you?" When Stevie giggled, spewing a long stream of smoke, she whirled. "Put that thing out. I'm allergic."
Stevie obeyed. "Sorry, Titania. I didn't know." He ducked his head, abject and slavish. He'd always been a dodo, but this was so weird.
The pink in Grandma's cheeks morphed to crimson, clashing horribly with her hair. "Stevie, your ass is going straight to jail. As for you, Mary Lou, get the hell out of my club or I'll call the cops." She shrieked at the scrabbling dog. "Stop it!" Poopsie stilled for about one millisecond.
Titania blew a kiss at Stevie. "Mom and I need some alone time. Do the rounds of the club. See if any babes in arms have found their way inside. We need to make up for the money we lost on the one that escaped last night."
Stevie chuckled. "My pleasure, Titania." He left, shutting the door behind him.
"Who the hell do you think you are, ordering my employee around?" Grandma hissed.
"Shut up, old lady," Titania said.
Grandma's crimson morphed to purple, and Poopsie wiggled, squirmed, and whined fit to bust. Grandma whacked the dog hard, then gave in and unzipped the bag. She always did, because unlike Juma, Poopsie had no pride. "Go! Git!" Poopsie leaped out and made straight for the closet door. She snuffled and sniffed and pricked up her ears.
Juma stopped breathing.
"So, who will you leave the club to?" Titania said. "My sweet, innocent little daughter?"
"Juma's not little, and she's not sweet."
The awful truth settled heavily in Juma's gut.
"But she's innocent? If you believe that, she's pulled the wool over your eyes. She is my daughter, after all. How old is she, thirteen?"
Stupidly, this hurt. Her own frigging mother didn't know how old she was.
Grandma didn't bother enlightening her. "She's not coming near this godforsaken town. She's going to be a hairdresser and run my salon."
Juma stopped just short of leaping out to deny this. A mother who expected her to have sex at thirteen was way too skewed to care about her college plans. Unlike Rose, who deserved an apology.
Poopsie barked. And barked, and barked again. Juma clasped her hands and prayed for Rose.
"Shut up, dog." Grandma narrowed her eyes at Titania. "When I die, Juma gets everything."
Titania sighed. "Actually, I already knew that. The girl in your lawyer's office showed me your will."
Grandma's claws clenched. "You bribed her?"
"No, I threatened her. Threats are free." Titania laughed like fingernails on a blackboard.
Juma stifled a shudder, but Grandma just glared. "I'll have the bitch fired."
Titania lifted a languid shoulder. "Whatever. I'll get what I want in the end. I saw how the lawyer looked at me."
"I'll get another lawyer and another will." Pause. "Mary Lou."
"It's Titania." Pause. "I have better things to do than threaten lame-ass girls and fuck limp-dick, stick-up-the-butt old fools. I spent last week doing that." Her eyes glimmered with malice. "Payback tonight."
Juma couldn't prevent the shudder this time. Poopsie panted happily in response.
I don't need company now. Please don't betray me.
Poopsie pawed the closet door. "Yap!"
Titania licked her lips. She poked out her tongue. "I can already taste it. I am going to have such a party."
Grandma picked up the phone. "Not here, you're not." Pause. "Mary Lou."
Titania grabbed the phone and slammed it down. Grandma reared back. Titania got right in her face. Grandma didn't budge.
"Yes, here. You're signing the club over to me tonight." Titania straightened again and put her hands on her hips. "Or else."
"Or else what?" Grandma scoffed. "Mary Lou."
"It's Titania. Or else you'll never see your precious Juma again."
Grandma's color faded. "You kidnapped her?"
Juma began to feel dizzy. This was too crazy. She pressed a hand to the wall for support.
Titania opened the filing cabinet. "I've had the papers drawn up. Just sign on the dotted line." She slapped a file onto the desk.
"Yap. Yap, yap!"
"I don't believe you," Grandma said. "I saw Juma an hour ago. She was running away from me, and if you kidnapped her, she wouldn't run back to you."
"Maybe she loves her mommy," Titania said. "Maybe she's dying for a little fun."
"Yap, yap!" Frenzied paws scratched and scrabbled at the closet door.
Slowly, Grandma's head turned, and understanding dawned in her eyes. "She's in there. Poopsie knows. She smells her." Grandma snorted. "Some kidnapper you are."
"Some imagination you have," Titania jeered. "It's not Juma she smells."
"Then who is it?"
"A corpse," Titania said.
Juma shrieked and flung open the closet door.
The streets were clogged with vehicles. Rose parked the minivan several streets from the club, which was situated a long, long block from Blood and Velvet. She ran through the congested town. Speculation about Constantine bounced from mouth to mouth, and a bar TV gleefully announced a threatened suicide attempt---horrible news, but better than a helicopter crash. But if it was true, Jack might have to stay with his friend. As she jogged on a corner, waiting for a chance to dash across the street, she heard an older man tell a kid, "He'd be better off dead."
"You're an asshole," Rose snarled. "He needs kindness and consideration. He may be screwed up, but he's a good guy at heart." The kid threw her a grateful look before she took off again.
She hurried through the crowds, passed the Threshold, counted the buildings to the corner, and dove down the alley at the end of the block to find the back entrance. The Threshold was easy to find, its rear entrance wide open and the nearby sign clearly visible.
Someone was emptying trash in the yard of the restaurant next door. "Sure you want to go in there?" said a tired male voice. "No guard again, the bastards. They let the kids think they're sneaking in, but it's a trap. That place stinks." Literally, as Juma had said. The odors of sex and fear sent acrid claws into the Bayou Gavotte night. The Dumpster put up no competition at all.
"I'll be fine," Rose said, but the guy had come over to the fence, and he looked so worried that she let down her fangs and smiled at him. She brushed her fangs regularly, so they glowed softly in the dark. He couldn't miss them. "I can take care of myself."
"Oh." He swallowed. "I guess you can." Sighing, he retrieved a trash-can lid from beside the fence and returned to work.
Rose retracted her fangs and entered the Threshold. Really, she didn't need Jack. Her task shouldn't be difficult. Long hallway on the right, door halfway down. Straight there, get Juma, drop her at Vi's. Damn, unless Vi was still at the cop shop. Well, she'd deal with that problem if and when. Maybe Zelda was at home. Maybe the suicide attempt was just more media blather. Maybe Jack was already on the way to save Miles. If so, Rose had to return and make sure Titania didn't get her claws into Jack.
The back door was unmanned, and the hallways were empty. Raunchy dance music issued from somewhere at the front of the club. Rose turned into the right-hand hall and hissed. The ripe aroma of blood overlaid the stench of sex and fear. Her fangs shot down. The walls were hung with weapons, gleaming in the light from sconces. Scimitars and swords, knives and daggers, a barbaric-looking poleax...Moans sounded from behind closed doors. Farther down, whimpers. At the far end, a despairing scream. Compelled, Rose headed to the end of the hall. A woman was weeping, begging for her life behind the last door.
Rose's fists clenched, and her fangs slotted down. Juma would have to wait.
"The Threshold?" Constantine opened his eyes, yawning, and sat up. "Sure, why not? Suits my mood perfectly. Judging by what's been going on there lately, somebody needs punishing." He punched one fist into his other hand. His bored, cynical front had vanished. Now he positively quivered with something---excitement, rage, maybe even bloodlust.
Jack didn't care what it was, as long as he got a move on. "Hurry up and put on your damn shoes." Rose didn't have much of a head start, but she could be up to anything.
Constantine reached under the table for a pair of grubby sneakers. "Maybe while you're saving lives, I'll get to kill someone." He pulled on one shoe and tied it. "After all, what does one more murder matter? If I off Titania, Vi will be pleased with me, and I like disposing of bodies." He pulled on the other sneaker.
Oh, for fuck's sake. Jack headed for the door.
Constantine tied the other shoelace. "In the dead of night, I tip them over the bridge at Manchac." He stood, raising his hands in a graceful flipping motion. "Sploosh!"
"Stop talking garbage and let's go!"
They took the rooftops and a roundabout route via the alleys. Constantine wasn't great at camouflage---what he practiced was more like illusion---but with the help of darkness, they evaded the press and approached the Threshold from the rear.
They had just reached the backyard of the Cajun restaurant next door when Constantine's cell rang. "It's Ophelia." As they approached the Threshold, he stopped. "Say what? Where's Tony?"
Now Jack was doing the quivering, but with impatience. "I'm going in."
Constantine raised a hand. "Why did he pick tonight of all nights to go to New Orleans? All right, all right. I'll take care of it." He clapped the phone shut. "Seems Vi pitched a hissy fit at the cop shop because they arrested your potter friend and wouldn't let him go on her say-so. The chief was freaking out that the media would accuse him of corruption, so he tried to restrain her. He should know better. Nobody squeezes Vi except Tony and me." He sounded almost cheerful. "I'll go handle it and be right back. Don't want to miss my chance to kill someone."
"Meet you inside," Jack said. The back door yawned wide open, the corridor bright and bare. Jack plunged into the Threshold to find Rose.
"There's a dead person in here?" Juma squeaked. Titania laughed. "He might only be almost dead."
Poopsie leaped at Juma, frantic with joy. Juma scooped her up and held her close. She was trembling so hard she could hardly stand.
Titania smiled. "I knew leaving the door unmanned would pay off." She glanced at Grandma, who had gone whiter than dead, and her eyes widened. "No, you aren't..."
"Yes." Juma's voice was shaking, too. She cradled Poopsie's warm little body and tried not to burst into tears. "I'm Juma. Your daughter. And I'm not thirteen! Don't you even remember when you had me?"
Titania's voice was smooth and amused. "So you're my little Juma."
"I'm not your anything." Juma rounded on Grandma. "Why did you lie to me? Why did you tell me she was dead?"
Grandma's voice shook a little, too, and her papery skin seemed thin and frail. "I was trying to protect you. What a waste of time. You're a selfish, stubborn slut like her." Was that a tear in her eye? Not likely.
"I need to be protected from you, Grandma! You own a really gross club! They torture people here! They sneak in underage virgins and force them to have sex!"
"You weren't supposed to know about the club." She pouted like a kid. "I'm making money for you, Juma. For your future."
Poopsie licked Juma's chin. She kissed the dog but pushed the sweet little face aside. "It's...it's like blood money, Grandma. It's disgusting, and what does it have to do with me not going to college?"
"Listen to me." A muscle beside her grandmother's eye twitched. "Your whore of a mother started running around at goddamn fourteen."
"Thirteen." Titania was still smiling.
"Shut up! I paid a fortune to send her to an exclusive school in New Orleans to get her whipped into shape. I even let her call herself Titania, and what did she do?"
"Slept with the teachers," Titania said. "I got all As."
"I get all As without sleeping with anybody," Juma shot back.
Something unpleasant flared in Titania's eyes. Juma stuck out her chin, and suddenly Titania laughed. "Little bitch. You're just like me."
"I am not like you," Juma said. "Or like Grandma. I'm a scholar, and I think sex and hairdressing are both majorly dumb." This wasn't strictly true; she didn't mind doing hair.
"Shut your mouth!" Grandma whacked the table with her cane. "I sent your mother to Hellebore University. She picked up your idiotic father and got pregnant. You're just like him, reading nonstop and spouting poetry, and what did his so-called education prepare him for? To take drugs and become an unemployable bum. I don't deserve this. You have the worst of both your parents, and no matter how much I try to protect you, nothing works."
"Locking me up doesn't protect me."
Titania blinked. "She locks you up?"
Juma rounded on the evil woman in purple. "All the time, and she took custody away from Dad, and she made me quit school, and she burns my books." Juma took a breath. She couldn't afford to cry, not now, not in front of this...this mother. "I don't want to become a hairdresser, and I don't want to own this stupid club. You can have it, for all I care. All I want is to go to school."
"You heard the girl." Titania flipped the file folder open. "She doesn't even want it. Sign the club over to me."
Grandma stood, one freckled hand on her cane and the other on the phone, craning forward like a scrawny pink vulture. "Never. I wash my hands of both of you. I'll change my will tomorrow. Now get out of my club or I'm calling the cops." Pause. "Mary Lou."
This time Titania grabbed the phone and threw it across the room. She sashayed over to Juma and put an arm around her. Juma cringed and tried to squirm away. Titania's claws dug into her shoulder. "Stay still." Poopsie growled. "Put the dog down."
"I don't want to put her down!"
Titania grabbed Poopsie by the ears. A knife appeared in front of Juma's nose. "Or else I'll slit her throat."
Fangs down, Rose made for the room at the end of the hall, but before she got there, the door opened. A burly man with a crew cut came out, yawning. He smelled of blood. Her fangs went crazy. She fought them back into place.
He looked her up and down with cold appreciation. "Well, well. Who might you be, tall girl?"
Automatically, Rose said, "Depends on who you are." Her heart plunged to her boots, but she knew better than to turn away. Avoidance wouldn't work. This guy wasn't dumb like Stevie, and not an ounce of principle shone out of those pale, merciless eyes. Hysterical sobs came from the room he had just left.
"I'm Gino." His eyes left her to roam the array of weapons on the wall. Good thing, because Rose's heart, and her courage with it, dropped right through the floor. Biff was right: this dude was bad, bad news.
"What's your name, tall girl?"
"Temperance." She mustered some bravado---there was nothing else to muster---and gave him the once-over. "I suppose you're another of Titania's minions."
Gino took a carving knife from its bracket and ran his thumb along the blade. He gave her a slow, menacing stare. "I'm nobody's minion."
Rose smiled at him and let her fangs show. "Prove it." She should probably loop him with allure, but he was too vile.
Gino's lips curled in a terrifying smile. "Well, well," he said again. "Another vamp."
"Biff didn't have the guts," Rose said. It was all she could do to ignore that desperate weeping. "He was scared of what Titania would do if she caught him with another vamp."
Gino chuckled, returning his attention to the weapons. He took down a stiletto and caressed it lovingly. "Titania doesn't own me."
"Help!" shrieked Gino's victim, who had stopped sobbing long enough to hear them talking. "He's going to kill me!"
Gino laughed again, a low, evil rumble. "Sounds like somebody needs me to finish her off." He sharpened one blade against the other with a sinister hiss. He gave Rose a long, challenging look, as if daring her to protest.
Haughtily, she raised her eyebrows and stared right back.
"Give me five minutes," he said finally, "and we'll have some fun."
Rose couldn't stand by while he murdered the woman. Surely this couldn't be normal, even for this club. Jack wouldn't risk bringing battered women to such a town. Cold down to her toes, she sauntered away from him down the hall, trailing a pathetic strand of allure, thinking and thinking hard. "Five whole minutes? Forget it."
He was right behind her, still holding the stiletto. He slid the flat of the blade across her cheek. "Where are you going, vamp?"
She sidestepped, pointing ahead, high on the wall. "To get that humongous ax."
He lowered the dagger, sounding surprised. "What for?"
She shot a glare over her shoulder. "Maybe I'll do the finishing off. Thirty seconds max. And then maybe I'll finish Titania off, too."
He grinned, shaking his head, and gave a growl that sounded horrifyingly pleased. "I gotta see this."
Rose reached for the poleax and snarled. "Fuck. It's too high up."
Gino snickered. "And I thought Titania was bloodthirsty. I like you, tall girl. There are too many goody-goody vamps around these days."
"I want what I want when I want it." She grabbed a sword and prodded the end of the ax. Come on, come on, come on...
With a snicker, Gino took the sword away, replaced it on the wall and removed a much wider one in a flat-ended scabbard. "Women. All cunt, no brains." He turned to the wall, and Rose dove into her purse for her gun.
She'd done this before: shot a guy in the arm. But that wouldn't stop Gino. She took careful aim at his thigh.
Too careful; Gino must have sensed her purpose, for he whirled, swinging the poleax. Rose ducked, stumbling back as she pulled the trigger. The poleax swung past her head and smashed into the wall. Gino staggered, eyes wide, and then he toppled forward, knocking the gun from her hand. He landed with a thud that shook the floor. Rose sagged against the wall. She'd seen violent death during her years with Lou, but had never had to kill a man herself.
Thank God this one thoroughly deserved it.
"Help!" the victim screamed.
Rose blew out a breath, grabbed a knife from the wall, and went into the back room. The woman, a heartbreakingly young brunette, was tied spread-eagled on a bed, her dress soaked with bloodstains where Gino had cut stripes into her back and butt. Aghast, Rose went for the girl's bonds.
"Thank you, thank you! I can't believe I thought he was a nice guy!"
"What the hell is going on out here?"
Titania. Oh, shit. She must have heard the gunshot and Gino's fall.
"He's dead, but you're not out of danger yet," Rose told the brunette as she slashed the last of the ropes. "That's his girlfriend. Fortunately, she wants to kill me, so maybe she'll ignore you. I'll keep her busy, but take this knife just in case. Walk straight down the hallway and get the hell out of the club." She led the woman into the hall.
Titania stood in the doorway to the office, wearing a truly awful skintight purple dress with a studded leather stomacher. She held a dagger between her teeth, and one of her red claws gripped Juma's hair. The girl's cheeks were streaked with tears, but she stood motionless. The brunette froze with a strangled whimper.
And at the opposite end of the hall, a flicker of a cream shirt told Rose that Jack was there.
Thank God for that.
Titania removed the dagger from her mouth and jabbed it in Rose's direction, then rested it casually near Juma's throat. "Come to beg forgiveness?"
Damn. Why hadn't she retrieved her gun? Rose clamped down on the frantic bucking of her fangs and took a deep breath. What were this vamp's buttons? If she could manage to push them, to direct her attention away from Juma until Jack came to help...
"In your dreams." Rose took the cringing brunette by the arm, hauled her past Gino's body, and shoved her none too gently toward the far end of the hall. "Go!" she ordered, and then faced Titania. "You may be able to scare helpless women and children, but not me."
A spasm crossed Titania's face, quickly suppressed. "We'll see about that. What's my Gino doing on the floor?"
Rose donned an amused expression. "Who?" She glanced past Titania into the office. An old lady with pink hair lay on the floor, and a toy poodle cowered behind Juma. Rose spied the Elizabethan gown on the dress dummy in an open closet, but no sign of Miles.
Titania giggled. "Gino doesn't look too good. He looks...dead. I've seen a lot of dead people, so I know."
Juma shuddered.
"Did you kill him?" Titania asked in a conversational tone. "I didn't think you had it in you."
Rose raised her eyebrows. "He swung that ax at me, so I had no choice. Is he yours? He didn't act like it. He came on to me at first."
Titania hooted. "You thought that was a come-on? That's what he does to all his victims. He lures them, tortures them, and carves them up. Not very original, but he tastes best after a kill." Another giggle. "He wouldn't really come on to a nothing like you when he belongs to me."
"That's not what he said. He said, 'Titania doesn't own me.'"
Another spasm, not so quickly hidden, and the tips of Titania's fangs appeared. The dagger dropped a little. But the way the woman waved it, the way she held Juma, exposing her throat, Rose wouldn't risk making a grab. Brandish it at me, damn you. Then there might be a chance.
"He didn't like being called your minion. Not one bit."
Unfortunately, that didn't bother Titania. "Just talk. They all play macho, but none of them can resist me."
Behind her in the office, the pink-haired old lady grunted and clacked her teeth together, muttering under her breath. Titania's eyes flickered to the side and back to Rose. "I promised him some fun before I finished you off, but now that he's dead...I guess I'll have all the fun myself." She licked her dagger and smiled.
Rose rolled her eyes. The villainess act was getting old, even if Titania was as evil as anyone she'd ever known. "There are plenty of bigger weapons hanging in the hall, if you want to get into a pissing contest. Why not get down to business? You know why I'm here."
"To grovel, as you will find out once I'm done with these two." Titania backed into the office, yanking Juma with her. The girl stumbled, stepping on the dog. It yipped and skittered away. Instantly, the dagger was at Juma's throat. "Shut the damn dog up, or I'll do it for you!"
"If you'd only let go of me, I could hold her," Juma began, but Titania snarled and yanked again. "Hush, Poopsie," Juma whispered. "Hush."
Fury swirled inside Rose, and allure simmered and hissed, but she crammed it down, desperately fighting her fangs. The secret that she was a vampire was the one advantage she still possessed. She followed Titania into the office. Where the hell was Jack? She couldn't hear his footsteps, but the dance music might be muffling them. Or maybe he was getting Gino's victim to a safe spot. Had he not noticed Titania's knife and her grip on Juma?
Titania motioned with the dagger. "See your dress over there in the closet? Another of my 'minions' got it for me. I warned you not to side with Violet." She scowled. "I want to kill her."
"Violet feels much the same about you," Rose replied.
Titania grinned. "One of these days I'll get her on her own. Or that daughter of hers. For now...Oh, today's been a good day for death. The Grim Reaper adores me."
Did that mean Miles was dead? With a mighty struggle, Rose kept her cool, but not well enough.
"Wondering about Milesy-poo, are you?"
"Sure." Rose realized she had clenched her fists. "If he's dead, I will kill you."
Titania snorted. "With what?"
True, Rose had left her gun under Gino, but in any case she couldn't have used it while Titania held a dagger to Juma's throat. Nor would Jack be able to use his. "You haven't seen me when I'm pissed off." Rose's voice shook with the effort to hold back. She must have let slip some allure, for the dog peeked out from behind Juma, its dark eyes fixed on her. Damn. "Don't you dare bite me," she told it.
Titania gave a whoop of laughter. "You're scared of a puny little dog? When I bite you, you'll be dead."
Behind them, the old lady began to crawl. Titania glanced to the side. "Get back on the floor, Mom, or else." She yanked Juma's hair. The girl's eyes filled with tears.
"Fuck off, Mary Lou." The old lady didn't even turn her head.
"For God's sake, Grandma," Juma cried. "Why can't you call my mother Titania? It suits her a lot better."
Rose gaped from one to the other in astonishment. Titania was Juma's mom?
"Hear the girl?" Titania didn't loosen her grip. "She knows I'm destined to be Queen of Bayou Gavotte."
"Over my dead body, Mary Lou."
"Fine with me. I'll be happy to bleed you dry once I'm done with the kid. I'll even write a phony little obit, like you did for me."
"Fuck off." Grunt. "Mary Lou."
Titania's nostrils flared. "Last chance, Mom." She put the dagger to Juma's throat. Juma stood still as stone, tears frozen on pale cheeks, terror drowning her eyes.
Where the hell was Jack? Rose needed him now.
"Do your fucking worst. I'm calling the cops." The old lady crawled toward a big pink tote.
Oh my God, oh my God. Rose braced herself to rip Titania to bits. Could she do it before Titania hurt Juma?
"My, my," said a voice in the hall. "Where Titania goes, death follows close behind." Jack appeared in the doorway, cool and casual in his cream linen shirt. "What happened? He wasn't looooong enough for you?"
"Well, hel-lo." Titania smiled, and even Rose felt the force of that killer vampire smile.
Jack staggered a little, staring. "Took a while to find you." He paused, his eyes slightly glazed. "It's been almost a year, but you're still..."
Titania laughed. "Irresistible?" Allure surged from her, a tidal wave of uncontrollable lust.
Jack lurched, hesitated, and took a step forward.
"Ah," he breathed. "Titania." He drifted into the room on a string of allure.
"Her name is Mary Lou," said Grandma, doggedly crawling across the floor.
Titania flinched, and her fingers whitened around the dagger hovering at Juma's throat. Rose's heart twisted. How could Jack just stand there staring at the bitch? Why hadn't he used his camouflage?
"She'll always be Titania to me," Jack said idiotically.
Titania shot out another blast of allure. "So, Iachimo, darling. You finally came."
"Not yet," Jack said. "Soon, I hope." His fingers twitched as if he could hardly hold himself back. Rose fought revulsion. How could he even think about sex while Juma was in such peril? It was heartbreakingly obvious: Titania's allure was just too strong---way stronger than her own, which he'd fought off without even a crisis to motivate him. Maybe he really did care for Titania, deep down. He must, if she deprived him of willpower and values in one fell swoop.
No. Rose refused to believe it. Jack was too good for that.
Titania chuckled, and he floated closer, flicking an unhappy glance Rose's way. He damn well should look guilty, the bastard. Murderous rage welled up in Rose. Once Juma was safe, Titania was dead.
Titania's eyes widened, going from Jack to Rose and back. "You've been fucking that little slut."
He shrugged. "It didn't help me forget you."
Rose's heart squeezed, but she couldn't let the hurt distract her. She would deal with the pain later. Saving Juma was what mattered now.
Jack sighed. "Neither did any of the other women I slept with over the past year."
Titania snorted. "Of course not. There's no one like me."
"Too true. I tried to stay away, but in the end...I just couldn't." His voice conveyed utter resignation.
It couldn't get any worse. Evil wasn't supposed to triumph over love.
So Rose wouldn't let it. She stopped fighting the anger and the allure. She held them close but let them build. Somehow she would handle the situation with or without Jack's help. She scowled at Titania, letting herself look as pissed off as she felt.
Titania laughed again, tilting her chin disdainfully toward Jack. "This is what he's like when he's really turned on. He's completely in my power. All he can think about is doing it with me."
"He's a disgusting, two-timing lump of horse excrement," Rose said.
Titania giggled. "Are your feelings hurt? I suppose you think that weird dress makes you look good, too, but you're just as much of a nothing as always."
"Your opinion means less than nothing to me," Rose said, but her eyes ticked unhappily to Jack and away again.
The indifference of Jack's return glance told her one thing: he was using his camouflage after all. But to hide his true intentions from Titania, or his shame from Rose?
For God's sake, what did his stupid feelings matter? Juma was white with terror, straining to stay still. Any moment she might lose it. Titania might lose it. A standoff could only last so long.
"Stop looking at her!" Titania smacked Jack with more allure, dragging his eyes to hers once again.
"You're the one who mentioned the dress," he said mildly. "There's no need to dis poor Rose. You're already holding all the cards here."
Titania grinned. "I always do. We're going to have some fun tonight. Just like we used to."
His bland expression morphed into a grimace. "I'm not into performing before an audience. Can we send all these uninteresting people away?"
Titania pouted. "I'm enjoying myself. You're supposed to make my evening, not spoil it."
"Oh, I will make it." He slithered toward her, the miserable snake. "I'll give you exactly what you need."
Rose couldn't bear it. "Please, Jack." Her voice caught. "Don't do this to yourself."
"Don't you get it?" Titania said. "I'm the one who's doing it. He's helpless. My love slave."
"It's just sex," Rose pleaded.
The corners of Jack's mouth curled up. His dimples peeked out, and suddenly she knew. They were still a team.
He said, "I like sex a lot," and prowled closer to Titania. "The mind-blowing kind where nothing else matters at all."
Not. True. Rose counted on that, gathering her allure, looping it into a ball of rage. Waiting for her opportunity. Hoping Jack was lying.
The old lady crawled past the pink tote and grasped a cane, which must have fallen to the floor. "It's my damn club," she muttered. "And my damn money. Not one red cent, Mary Lou."
Titania's fangs popped down. "My fucking name is Titania." She smiled at Jack, licking her lips. "I would love to get rid of every last one of them, but my mother has to sign the club over to me first. Maybe you can convince her, Iachimo."
Jack shrugged again. "Why not just forge her signature?"
"That's an idea," Titania said, and the point of her dagger dropped an inch. Juma twitched backward. Not enough.
Jack waited, cool and relaxed. How could he be so nonchalant? God, he had better be acting. Come on, come on!
Titania pouted again. "No. I have to force her. I have to win."
Rose hissed, and the dog peeked out from behind Juma. It bent a fierce little gaze on Rose and growled low in its throat. Rose's fists clenched; her bosom heaved and her jaw twitched with the effort to hold back. Juma whimpered, and the dog trotted forward, its growl reaching a crescendo.
"Ooh, Poopsie doesn't like you, either. Bitch fight!" Titania jerked Juma's head. "Sic your dog on her. That might be fun to watch."
Rose backed away, flicking her eyes from side to side, from the old lady to Juma and Titania, hard at Jack, and again to the dog.
Titania shrieked with laughter, but the dagger was still too close to Juma's throat. The dog went ballistic and sprang at Rose. She shrieked and let go of the allure. It ripped down the room, and the window burst outward with an earsplitting crash.
Titania turned, gaping; the grasp on both her knife and Juma's hair slackened. Jack made his move and knocked the blade away. Rose launched herself forward and tore the girl free. Titania thrashed in Jack's grip, her fangs slotting down as comprehension dawned. Rage welled up in her eyes.
"She's a vampire! Iachimo, I'll kill you."
"Get them out of here," Jack grunted. Titania was strong, like every vampire, but Jack handled her.
Rose scooped up the snarling dog and hurriedly passed it to Juma. "Wait by the door. I'll get your grandma." The old lady had risen to her feet. She moved slowly forward, leaning heavily on the cane.
"Grandma doesn't matter," Juma said. "There's a dead man in the closet." Her eyes were on her mother and Jack. They dilated with horror.
"Miles is in there?" Rose cried. "He's dead?"
"He might only be almost dead." Juma spoke as if in a dream. "My mother's a vampire."
"There's nothing wrong with being a vampire." Rose's voice shook. "It's what you do with what you've got that counts." She pushed Juma through the door. The crazy grandmother kept walking, tapping her cane on the floor.
Titania let loose a spate of curses and a devastating blast of allure more powerful than anything Rose had ever felt. Jack stumbled under its force, and Titania wrenched free, scrambling for her knife. Rose whirled in the doorway, let out a banshee howl, and went after her, mouth agape, fangs full down.
Jack dove between them, kicked the knife away, and wrenched Titania hard out of Rose's path. "Rose! Stay back!"
"Monster!" Grandma swung her cane hard at Titania's head. It connected with a vicious crack, and Jack ducked. Titania toppled backward onto him, dazed. They thudded together to the floor. The old lady twisted her cane in two. In one hand she now held a dagger, in the other a wooden stake. "Devil's spawn! I told you to stay away!"
"Jack! Look out!" Rose sprang forward. Jack shot out from under Titania just as Juma's grandma rammed the dagger into the evil vampire's heart.
"This time, you really will be dead," the pink-haired old lady said. "And I'll make damn good and sure of it." She wrenched the dagger free and plunged the wooden stake into its place.
Everyone gaped, frozen.
After a moment, the old woman stood, still clutching the bloody dagger and glaring around the room. "Don't blame me. It's not my fault I bore a monster. I did my best by her, but this was the only way."
Ten seconds later, Constantine walked through the door. Everyone was still frozen in place, staring at each other and at the limp form of Titania. "Did I miss my chance?" He half grinned at Jack, glanced down at Titania, and shook his head. "I guess I did."
The group paralysis broke.
Rose plunged into the closet, seeking Miles. He lay unconscious and deathly still, but Jabez arrived promptly in a private ambulance. While he hooked Rose's old boss up to an IV, Jack and Constantine stowed Titania's body in a compartment under the ambulance floor. Jabez loaded Miles into the ambulance and drove away. Constantine, looking quite cheerful, promised to suitably dispose of Titania's remains later that night.
"I'll hand Gino over to the cops," he said. "Looks like he may be a serial killer they've been looking for in New Orleans. They'll be relieved to know he's gone."
He next directed Jack and Juma's grandma to the police station to withdraw the charges against Gil. Grandma seemed oddly willing to obey. Maybe it was because of Constantine's glare, maybe because they'd all witnessed her killing her daughter. "They didn't even need me," Constantine told them. "Gil talked Vi down. Totally unheard of."
"He's got a voice," Jack said on his way out the door.
Rose watched him leave. They had exchanged only a few words.
"You okay?" she'd asked him.
"Yeah. You?"
"Uh-huh." It was hard to tell whether there was much more to say.
Leaving the club, Rose took the girl and the toy poodle down the alley to Violet's house. It seemed the best place to go. "You'll like Violet's daughter, Zelda," she said. "Unless you can't handle being friends with a vampire."
"I apologize," Juma said. She'd been casting sidelong glances at Rose. "I've always thought vampires would be cool, but I was really, really surprised to see your fangs, and my mother was so horrible. I guess I should be glad I didn't know her." The dog growled in Juma's arms. "What's gotten into Poopsie?"
"Dogs don't like me," Rose admitted. "Either they're afraid or they attack me. Do you want to talk about your mother?"
"No," Juma said with loathing. "Not for at least a year or two. Are dogs scared of all vampires?"
"No, apparently that's just me. And no, the wooden stake wasn't necessary, either. Knives and regular bullets kill us, just as they do anyone else...if you're wondering. Do you want to talk about your grandmother?"
"No," Juma repeated. "Don't you dare give me a lecture about how she meant it all for the best."
"I wouldn't dream of it. I won't even try to convince you she thought she meant well."
At Violet's front walk, Rose and Juma stood in silence. Rose wiped a solitary tear from the girl's cheek. She said, "I'd give you a hug, but Poopsie would freak out." Still, she put an arm around her and squeezed. "I'm here for you, sweetie. For always."
"Thanks." Juma didn't sound like she believed it, but given time, perhaps she would. She clasped the dog close. "This is so weird. How does somebody become a vampire?"
"It's genetic," Rose said. "And yes, that means you may carry the gene. It's rare, though, and vamps try not to let a lot of people know. There's just too much prejudice and misunderstanding."
"Especially when they go wacko, like my mom," Juma said. "It's going to take some getting used to, but at least I get to go back to school."
Jack walked Juma's grandmother through the chilly night to the police station. "The murder of your daughter will be covered up by the underworld on one condition: Juma gets to live where and with whom she chooses---with her father, with a friend, or with Rose---and you'll foot the bill for her schooling right through her PhD."
"You can't hold me to that," Grandma growled. She seemed to have regained a bit of the feistiness she'd lost in the presence of Constantine. "You and the goddamned underworld are already guilty as accessories. You won't turn me in."
"No, but the underworld can and will shut down your club. In fact, if there are any more rule infractions, they'll shut it down anyway. They intend to keep Bayou Gavotte safe."
"I'm not responsible for the rule breaking," Grandma quavered.
Jack made a rude noise.
"Oh, all right." Grandma sounded neither grateful nor contrite. "You can tell your precious underworld that I'll take care of Stevie. He and Mary Lou were all set to ruin everything. He's going to wish he was dead, too." She clacked her teeth together ruminatively. "At least Juma isn't a vampire. I still don't know how that happened. I'm not, and Mary Lou's father wasn't."
"Maybe it's a recessive gene," Jack said.
Not that he knew or cared as long as he had his very own vamp at home. Would she be waiting?
Rose left Juma at Violet's, retrieved the minivan, and drove to the hospital to see Miles, who was still unconscious.
"He's lost a lot of blood, but he should be okay," said the doctor, a tired-looking old guy. He didn't question how Miles had lost that blood. "Come visit him in the morning."
He seemed unsurprised when she enquired after Biff. "He'll live to be a fool another day." Rose's expression must have shown her chagrin, for the doctor patted her kindly on the shoulder and said, "This sort of stuff doesn't happen often. I've been around a long, long time---and most vampires are okay."
Juma and Zelda had taken to one another immediately, which left Rose free to go wherever she wished, she supposed. Her suitcases were at Jack's, so she didn't have much choice. Not that she didn't want to see him---she did---but declarations of love under stress weren't to be counted on. Maybe not even in other situations.
At the door, she hesitated at the sounds of both the TV and Jack's voice.
"Disappeared, huh? I can't say I blame him." Pause. "No, not yet, but her stuff is still here, so maybe I'll get a chance to persuade her to stay."
Ah. It seemed he still wanted her for sex, though that might not be enough for her anymore. She knocked on the door.
"All right, man. Tomorrow." Jack opened the door, flipping his phone shut as he did. Seeing her, he said, "Stevie, the last loose end, is nowhere to be found. Running from Grandma's wrath, I guess."
Rose didn't care what happened to Stevie.
Jack had folded the futon up into a couch. A beer can sat on the coffee table. He'd been watching football recaps on ESPN.
"Considering the circumstances," she said, "I think we managed that rescue pretty well. Juma's fine, and Miles is recovering."
Jack nodded, his harsh eyes anxious and softer than usual. He seemed awkward, as if he were trying to camouflage his feelings but couldn't. "When did you know?"
"When did I know what?"
He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. "That I wasn't so distracted by...That I was going to try to save Juma." His pride was hurt, she figured. He felt bad that he'd been affected by Titania at all.
She tried to sound absolutely certain. "I always knew. Saving people is your life."
His eyes bored into her, and for once she found it difficult to meet them.
Oh, all right. "I just wasn't sure whether you would succeed." Enough said. "Is Constantine all right? He looked pretty cheerful, but I hear he tried to kill himself."
"Nah," Jack said. "He might have a death wish, but I don't think he's ever going to do it to himself. He was just being an asshole, messing with the media. And you're right, I think that scene with Titania perked him up." His eyebrows drew together. "You didn't think I would succeed."
She shrugged. "She had powerful allure." And Rose didn't want to discuss it. She wanted to forget it. "You decided not to try complete camouflage. You just walked right in."
"The situation was urgent. She could have blown at any moment."
He had been in control all along; that brought a surge of relief along with a joy rivaling anything Rose had ever felt. "You used just enough camouflage to conceal your intentions. Smart. I hoped you were in control, but it wasn't until I saw your dimples that I was sure."
"My dimples?" He grinned, and her heart melted into a puddle of besotted love.
"I adore your dimples," she said, running her finger across the left one. "When they show, it's the real you. No camouflage at all."
"Oh, Rose, I---" His smile faded. "Sit down." She did, and he lowered himself beside her on the couch, not touching her. "You deserve the whole truth. You're right, I couldn't let her allure stop me from trying to save Juma, but nevertheless, it did affect me."
"Duh," Rose said. "That was obvious. I wanted to kill her for it."
"Her, but not me?"
She rolled her eyes. Did he not understand? "I was pissed off, but I love you, remember? She's the one who wanted to kill you. She wanted to kill everyone. I was so furious I thought I would explode, thinking that you and she...But I controlled my anger. I found a way to use that allure." Pause. "It was a risk, but it felt like the right one."
"Yeah," Jack said. Silently, they both contemplated the catastrophe that might have been.
"So, we did work together in the end," she ventured.
Jack nodded unenthusiastically. She leaned across and kissed him, and he responded hungrily. It went on and on. A good sign, right?
Maybe not. She pulled away, biting her lip, wondering what was eating him. Maybe he wasn't as sure about things as he wanted to be. As sure as she wanted him to be. As she needed him to be. Had their declarations of love just been induced by the moment? His expression told her nothing.
She didn't intend to push it. She'd done enough pushing today.
He leaned back against the couch, picked up the remote, and started flipping channels. It felt very homey. Rose could get used to that part. She pulled off her boots and put her feet up on the coffee table, crossing her ankles. Jack was a very controlled man. In many ways, that was a good thing.
"It's an amazing dress," he said. "And as a bonus, it shows off your gorgeous legs."
"I like my legs," she replied. "They're good, long, girly legs, with or without my allure. They have nothing to do with my being a vamp."
"You're just good all over." Jack turned off the TV and tossed down the remote. He looked her in the eyes. "I'm not going to beat myself up over this, I swear, but I need to say it: I handled my so-called vampsex addiction ass-backward. After I dropped Titania, I decided the best way to make sure nothing like that happened again was to build up my self-control. She kept inviting me to parties, and I went camouflaged to the larger ones, where she wouldn't be likely to pick up one extra person's breathing or scent. I needed to see if I could maintain my camo even when she was flinging her allure around." He shrugged. "I managed okay, and at the same time I ended up seeing the worst side of her. I rescued a few people from her clutches, too, so I can't say it was useless, but...when it came right down to it, all my learned self-control did in the end was hurt your feelings." A long, drawn-out sigh, followed by a longer hesitation. "I completely screwed up."
"That sucks," Rose said, wondering where he was headed.
"Yep," Jack said. "You've been giving me clues to the truth for two whole days now, but I didn't see them until Titania was vamping me like crazy, and all I could think was that she reminded me of porn."
Rose sputtered. "Porn?"
"Sure. It arouses you, but it's not real. Like you said, it's just sex." He smiled faintly. " 'Just sex' feels good while you're doing it, but afterward...it doesn't mean anything."
Rose might have protested. She'd tried like hell to make 'just sex' not mean anything with quite a few guys, but most of the time it had---meant something to her at least. With Jack, sex meant a lot, far more than ever before. Still, she knew from long experience that this just-sex construct was a guy thing, so she held her peace.
"Like Miles," he continued, "who didn't come on to you until after his wife was dead. He must have found you attractive, but he loved his wife. That made you relatively easy to resist. And like Biff, who didn't take you up on your offer, much as he wanted to, because he was committed, at least for the short term, to Titania."
Maybe he was just scared, Rose thought, but she didn't say so.
"And did Walt the trucker come on to you? Not at all, and when he had his wallet out, he showed me pictures of his wife and kids."
Jack was right, more or less. Guys in solid relationships didn't usually come on to vamps. But what was he getting at?
"Even my father," Jack said. "My mother's love and patience eventually paid off. They became good friends over the years, and gradually he lost interest in the vamps, because they were just sex." He paused. "He even told me so once, in those very words. But I couldn't separate the two. I was pretty ticked at him still."
Deep inside, Rose began to smile. She finally saw where he was going.
Jack spread his hands. "It's obvious, isn't it? I noticed Titania---who wouldn't?---but even if we hadn't been in a life-and-death situation, and even if I didn't already know better, I wasn't interested. Not really. And my protection didn't come from something learned, but something inside."
Rose sighed happily and waited for what she knew would come next.
"You're so much more than just sex, Rose," Jack said. "You're you, and I love you, and if I'd really understood what would protect me, I would have wanted to lose control with you earlier. I would want to lose control with you again and again." He took her face between his hands and kissed her, first hard, then tenderly.
He did love her. He really did.
"Well," he said, "I know now. I intend to lose control, and I want to be with you forever." He grinned, dimples and all. "I think you owe me that."
It took her a second to figure it out. "You just made a joke?" She gave him a little shove. "About owing?" He grinned wider. God, he was cute.
She got him into bed pretty quickly after that. For once, she did everything she'd ever wanted, and he seemed to love it. He didn't try to control anything, and he surprised her with his creativity. The situation was a first.
Near dawn they lay twined together, sleepy after talking for hours about everything from Shakespeare to the Super Bowl and making slow, sweet love. Thinking about Juma---they had agreed to take her in, if that was what she wanted---Jack asked, "Do you suppose we'll have vampire children?"
A touch of uneasiness seeped into Rose's drowsy brain. "Maybe." Would he mind? She really wanted kids, vampires or not.
He grinned down at her, dimples and all. "What if we produce camouflaging vamps? Imagine that!"
"I am, and they'll be positively dangerous! We'll have to bring them up really well, so they grow up to be the good kind."
"We'll do fine," he said. "Remember, we're a perfect team."
She laughed and snuggled close. They were a perfect team. Whatever they did together would work out well, because they had love, and love was more powerful than evil.
As always, thanks to my husband and daughters. Special mention goes to Sheila Connolly for slogging through the first draft and pointing out how many, many threads I needed to tie together, and to Shamsi Monajem for reading and commenting on variations of the same story over and over again. Thanks also to the many friends, critiquers, and contest judges who were so helpful with the opening chapters.
Thanks go to Dee Deringer Piquette and Christine Merrill for sharing their expertise on costume construction, and to Kathy Payne for brainstorming university names. Much appreciation goes to Dale Rollerson of Australia for inspiring Rose's gorgeous homemade-fabric dress, and to Drew Reeves of the Atlanta Shakespeare Tavern for his splendid rendering of Iachimo in Cymbeline. Jack's mother impulsively named her son Iachimo because of a performance she just couldn't forget.
And thanks of course to my editor, Chris Keeslar, for being almost always right.
Other Love Spell books by Barbara Monajem:
SUNRISE IN A GARDEN OF LOVE & EVIL
LOVE SPELL®
September 2010
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Copyright © 2010 by Barbara Monajem
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