Books by Maggie Shayne (81 page)

"An oddity I still seek to solve, love." He closed the doors and took her hand. "Now, about the dancing. . ."

He led her back downstairs into the roomy parlor, thumbed a button and the piano sonata stopped abruptly. A moment later a minuet lilted from the speakers. Eric faced her, pointed one toe and bowed formally. Tamara laughed, picking up his thoughts. She dropped into a deep curtsy, imitating those she'd seen in movies. He took her hand and drew her to her feet.

"Look at me as we turn," he instructed moments later. "The eyes are as important to the dance as the feet."

She fixed her gaze to his, rather than keeping it on her bare toes peeping from beneath the hemline. She tried to imitate his pace as they circled one another.

"That's it." His voice was soft but his gaze intense as the flames in the hearth. "You're a quick study."

"I have an excellent teacher." She met him as he stepped forward, then retreated just as he did. "You must have danced with every beautiful girl in Paris."

His lips quirked upward. "Hardly. I always loathed this type of thing." He lifted her hand in his, high above their heads, placed his other hand on her buttocks and urged her to turn beneath their joined fingers. " Perhaps one needs the right partner."

"I know what you mean. I never liked dancing before, either, even in high school." She stopped abruptly.

"Now you've broken the rhythm. We shall have to begin again."

"No. I think it's my turn to be the teacher." She stepped away from him and hurried to the stereo, fiddling with buttons until she'd stopped the CD, and turned on the FM stereo. She scanned stations until she heard the familiar harmony of The Righteous Brothers on the oldies station. "Perfect." She went back to Eric, slipped her arms around his neck and pressed her body as close to his as the full skirted dress would allow. "This is the way my generation dances. . . when they find the right partner. Put your arms around my waist and hold me close." He did, and she settled her head on his shoulder and very slowly began to sway their bodies in time to "Unchained Melody."

"Your method does have its merits. Is this all there is to it? Certainly easily learned."

"Well, there are variations." To demonstrate, she turned her face toward him and nuzzled his neck with her lips. He moved his hands lower, cupping her buttocks and squeezing her to him. He lowered his head and nibbled her ear. "You're a quick study," she told him, repeating his compliment.

"I have an excellent teacher," he replied. He lifted his head slowly, moving his lips to her chin and then capturing her mouth with his. He kissed her deeply, leaving her breathless and warm inside. His hands at the small of her back, he bent over her and moved his tantalizing lips down the front of her throat to kiss her breasts.

She arched backward, her hands tangling in his hair. Her fingers nimbly loosened the ribbon and threaded in the thick jet waves. One of his hands came around her, to scoop a breast out of its satin confines and hold it to his mouth. He nicked his tongue over the nipple, already throbbing and hard, then closed his lips around it and suckled her roughly. She didn't realize he'd moved her until she felt her back pressed to a wall. She opened her eyes, forcing words despite the sighs of pleasure he was evoking. "Eric. . . what about. . . Roland. . ."

"He knows better than to interrupt." He had to stop what he was doing to speak, but he quickly returned to the business of driving her crazy with desire. When she strained against his mouth he responded by closing his teeth on her nipple. She shuddered with pleasure. He anchored her to the wall with his body and used his hands to gather the voluminous skirts upward in the front, no easy task. Nonetheless, he soon had them arranged high enough to allow his hands ample access to her naked thighs and the unclothed moistness between them.

His hand stilled when it found no scrap of nylon barring its way. She'd seen no need for panties, knowing instinctively where the night would lead. His fingers moved over her, opened her and slipped inside, stroking her to a fever pitch. When they finally moved away it was only to release his own barriers, and then his manhood, hot and solid, nudged against her thigh. His hands slipped down the backs of her legs, and he lifted her. He speared her with a single, unerring thrust, and Tamara's head fell backward as the air was forced from her lungs. That action put her breasts once again in reach of his mouth and he took advantage.

She locked her legs around his body, her arms around his neck, and she rode him like an untamed stallion. He drove into her, his hands clutching her buttocks like a vise and pulling her downward with every upward thrust. In minutes he trembled, and she hovered near a violent release. His teeth on her breasts clamped tighter, and rather than pain she felt intense pleasure. That other kind of climax enticed her nearer. Her entire body vibrated, her every nerve ending tensed at the two places where they were joined. Closer and closer he drove her, until she writhed with need.

Even when the spasms began, she craved more. "Please," she moaned, he fingers raking through his hair. It was all the encouragement he needed. She felt the prick at the tip of her breast, and then the unbearable tingling as he sucked harder. With his first greedy swallows she exploded in sensation, both climaxes rocking her at once. Her entire body shook with pleasure, even as she realized he'd stiffened, plunged himself into her one last time and groaned long and low against her heated skin.

As if his knees had weakened he sank slowly to the floor, taking her with him. He brought her down on top of him, still not withdrawing from her. He released her breast and cradled her to his chest, rocking her slowly. "My God, woman," he whispered into her hair. "You take me higher than I knew was possible. You thrill me to the marrow. Have I told you how very much I love you?"

"Yes, silently. But I won't mind if you tell me again."

His lips caressed her skin, just above her temple. "More than my own existence, Tamara. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. I would die for you."

She licked her lips. "Would you meet with Daniel?"

He hesitated, and she felt the tightening of his jaw. "It will not change anything."

"I think it will." She lifted her upper body slightly, and regarded his face. "It would mean so much to me."

He cupped her head to pull her down to him again, buried his face in her hair and inhaled its scent. "If it is so important to you, I will do it. When you return to St Claire at dawn, tell him I'll come just after nightfall."

She found his hands with hers, and laced her fingers through his. "Thank you, Eric. It will make a difference. You'll see." She lifted her head and pressed her lips to his. "But I'll call him. I don't want to leave at dawn."

She felt his body stiffen and knew he'd argue the point. "Eric, they'll only keep Curtis overnight. What if he comes back here while you rest?"

"No doubt you'd like to meet him at the door with claws extended, my tigress. But I'll not have you in harm's way to protect me. What kind of man do you take me for?"

"You'd be defenseless if he found you during the day."

"Tamara, the workmen will be here at first light, and the repairs completed by noon. They will be under instructions to notify police of any intruders, and to arm the new security system before they leave. No one will disturb my rest."

"I'll leave when they do, then."

His eyes flashed impatience. "You will leave at dawn."

She shook her head from side to side. "I won't go."

"I won't have a woman taking my place in battle."

The harshness in his voice brought burning tears springing to her eyes. "I'm not just a woman. I am the woman who loves you, Eric. I'd sooner peel every inch of flesh from Curt with my nails and teeth than to let him near you during the day." A sob rose in her throat, but she fought it down. "You don't know how I felt when I realized he was in here today.. that he might have already murdered you. My God, if I lost you now, I couldn't go on."

The hands that came back to her shoulders and nape were gentle, not angry. "And you do not know, my love, how I felt when I woke to find you had been beaten while I lay only a short distance away, helpless to defend you. How could I bear it if I woke to find you murdered in my own home?"

"But that would never happen. Curt couldn't really hurt me. He only acted so crazy because he cares so much."

Eric's long fingers caught her chin and turned her slightly, so his eyes could scan the bruise. "And I suppose this is a token of his undying esteem."

"He was in a rage. He regretted it as soon as he realized what he'd done."

"No doubt he'd regret killing you the instant the deed was done, as well."

"But he wouldn't—"

"My love, you trust too freely, and too deeply. As much as I hate being forced to do so, I can see I must give you an ultimatum. You will leave here at dawn, or I will not meet with St Claire. And before you agree, with the intent of stealing back here as I rest, you should be aware that I will sense your presence. I know when you are near, my love." His voice softened, and he touched the skin of her cheek with his fingertips.

She blinked away the stupid urge to cry. One tear spilled over despite her efforts, and he leaned up to catch it with his lips. "Do you truly wish to spend what remains of this night bickering?"

She shook her head, unable to sustain her anger. He only wanted to protect her, just as she wanted to protect him. She understood his motivations all too well. She lowered her head until her pliant lips had settled over his coaxing ones, and she tasted the salt of her own tear.

* * * * *

Eric stood in the doorway long after she'd driven out of sight, heedless of the growing light in the eastern sky. "Stand gaping like that another five minutes and you will be there permanently, my love struck friend." Roland came around Eric, shoved the heavy door closed and eyed the broken lock. "I suppose your men will arrive within the hour to repair that?"

Eric nodded mutely.

"For God's sake, man, snap out of it!"

Eric started, glanced at Roland and grinned foolishly. "Isn't she something?"

Roland rolled his eyes ceiling ward, and shoved a glass into Eric's hand. "You're whiter than alabaster. You haven't been feeding properly. The few sips you allow yourself are no doubt sweet, Eric, but not enough to sustain you."

Eric scowled at Roland's rather crude observation, but realized he was right. He felt weak and light-headed. He drained the glass, and moved to the bar to refill it.

"Tell me," Roland said slowly. "Has anything been decided?"

"Such as?" Eric sipped and waited.

"You know precisely what I refer to, Eric. The decision to be made. Has our lady voiced an opinion?"

"You cannot think I'm considering passing my curse on to her."

Roland sighed hard. "When did you begin seeing immortality as a curse?"

"That is what it is." Eric slammed the glass down on the polished hardwood surface. "It's been unending hell for me."

"And what kind of hell has it been these past days, Eric?" Eric didn't answer that, knowing Roland had a valid point. "I thought to save your life two centuries ago in Paris, not curse it. Eric, I live in solitude because it is the only way for me. I had my chance at happiness centuries ago, and lost it. I don't expect another. But you... you are throwing yours away."

Eric bowed his head and pressed his fingertips to his eyes. "I don't know if I could do it to her." He heard Roland's sigh and raised his head. "I have made one decision, though. I've agreed to meet with St. Claire."

"You can't be serious."

"Quite serious. It means a great deal to Tamara that St Claire be reassured of her safety. She seems to think I can accomplish that by talking with the man. I have my doubts, of course, but—"

"The only thing to be accomplished by such a meeting is your destruction. Think about it, Eric. Wittingly or not, Tamara has lured you into the spider's web, just as St Claire planned from the start. Once in, there will be no escape."

Eric stood silent, contemplating Roland's words. The idea that the whole meeting scheme might be a trap had niggled at him since Tamara had first broached the subject. Of course, he knew she was no part of it. And if it was a trap, what better way to show Tamara the true nature of those she trusted? Providing, of course, he was able to escape.

Reading his thoughts, Roland bristled. "And suppose you prove this valuable point to the girl, and lose you own life in the process?"

"I won't. I can't, for Tamara's sake. Without me she'd be as she was before. At their mercy."

Roland grimaced. "At the moment, my friend, I fear it is you who are at hers."

Eric smiled. "I can think of no place I'd rather be."

As the sky glowed with the rising sun, Tamara peered into Daniel's bedroom. He lay atop the covers, fully dressed, snoring loudly. A half-empty bottle was on its side, on the floor near the bed. The cover wasn't screwed on tightly. Moisture dotted the neck and a few drops of whiskey dampened the worn carpet. A glass lay toppled in an amber puddle on the bedside stand.

She frowned as she moved silently into the room, picked up the bottle and the glass, and retreated again. What was driving him to drink himself in oblivion every night? In all the years she'd known him she'd never seen Daniel drink more than a glass or two at a time. She'd never seen him drunk. She returned with a handful of tissues and mopped up the spills, then dropped a comforter over Daniel and tiptoed away. Something seemed to be eating at Daniel-something more than just the knowledge that she was spending her nights with his lifelong enemy.

She forced the troubling thought out of her mind, determined to concentrate only on the good things to come. Tonight Daniel and Eric would meet. She had no doubt they'd become friends, in time. And Curtis would see reason. He may have lost his head for a time, but he was intelligent. He'd recognize the truth when it was staring him in the face.

The future loomed up before her for a moment as she soaked in a steamy, scented bath. Like a giant black hole, with a question mark at its center, it hovered in her mind. She ignored it. She had all she could deal with at the moment, just trying to keep the present running on an even keel. She'd worry about her future later, when things settled down.

Her plan was to bathe, put on fresh clothes and drive back to Eric's to see if the workers had arrived as he'd promised. With the brilliant sun, glinting blindingly off the snow outside, came physical and emotional exhaustion. She fell asleep in the bath, quite against her will, and for once she didn't sleep soundly. Her dreams were troubled and her sleep fitful. She saw herself old, with white hair and a face deeply lined. Then the dream shifted and she saw a cold stone marker with her name engraved on its face. She saw Eric, bent double with grief, standing beside it, surrounded by bitter cold on a bleak wintry night.

She woke with a start, and realized the now-cold water around her body might have aided in the seeming vividness of the dream. Still, she couldn't shake the lingering images. "It doesn't have to be that way," she said aloud, and firmly. And she knew she was right. Eric had explained to her what it meant to be what he called Chosen. She could be transformed. She could be with him forever. The thought rocked through her, leaving her shaken like a leaf in a storm. She could become what he was.

She pressed a palm to her forehead, and shook herself. Later. She'd consider all of this later. It was more than she could process right now. She toweled herself vigorously, to rub the cold water's chill from her goose-bumped flesh, and dressed quickly. A glance at the clock near her bed chased every other thought from her mind. Noon! By now Curt could have.

She took the stairs two at a time, shocked into immobility when she reached the bottom and saw Curt, comfortable in an over staffed chair, sipping coffee. Daniel, now awake and sitting with Curt, rose, and she felt his bloodshot gaze move over her still-damp hair and hastily donned clothing.

His gaze stopped at her bruised face, and he spun around to glare at Curtis. "You did that to her?"

He looked at the floor. "You don't know how bad I feel, Tammy. I'm sorry—more sorry for hurting you than I've ever been for anything in my life. I was out of my head yesterday. I— Can you ever forgive me?"

She stepped down from the lowest stair and moved cautiously toward him, scanning his face. She saw nothing but sincere remorse there. He met her gaze and his own seemed to beg for understanding. "I'm still afraid for you," he told her. "I'm afraid for all of us, but—"

"I know you're afraid, Curtis, but there's no reason to be. If Eric had meant to hurt you, he'd have done it by now. Don't you see that? In all the months you two have harassed him, he's never lifted a hand against either of you."

Daniel cleared his throat and came closer to the two of them, forming a circle that seemed intimate. She noticed he'd shaven and taken pains to dress well, in a spotless white shirt and knife-edged trousers, brown leather belt and polished shoes, a dark blue tie held down with a gold clip. Did he want to keep his excessive drinking a secret, then? How could he think she'd not know?

"I have to admit," he began, "it's damn tough for me to consider that I might have been wrong all this time, after the lengths I've gone to." She saw him swallow convulsively and blink fast before he went on. "As scientists, Curtis, we have to consider every possibility. Because of that, and because I love Tamara, I'm going to give the man the benefit of the doubt."

"I can't believe you're going to meet with him, Daniel," Curtis blurted, shaking his head. "But I suppose if you've made up your mind—"

"Has he agreed, Tam?" Daniel interjected.

She nodded, glancing apprehensively toward Curtis.

"Tonight? Here, and not long after dark? He agreed to all of it? I'm not about to meet him anywhere else, even with all your assurances."

"I didn't have to tell him your preference to meet here." She spoke defensively, before she could stop herself. "He suggested that himself."

Daniel nodded, while Curtis let his head fall backward, and stared at the ceiling. Blowing a sigh, he brought his gaze level again. "Okay, if this is unavoidable, then I want to be here."

"No!" Tamara barked the word so loudly both men jumped. She forced her voice lower. "After yesterday, Curt, I don't want you anywhere near him."

Curt blinked at her, his eyes going round with apparent pain. "You don't trust me?" He searched her face for a long moment, then sighed again. "I don't suppose I can blame you, but. . ." He let his gaze move toward Daniel, but his words were addressed to Tamara. "I hope to God you're right about Marquand."

"I am," she told him. "I know I am." She glanced toward the door, recalling her hurry to leave. She still wanted to check on the repairs at Eric's even though it now seemed Curt had come to his senses. "I have to go out for a while."

Curt caught her arm as she turned. "You haven't said you forgive me for being such an idiot yesterday." His gaze touched her bruise, then hopped back to her eyes. "I feel sick to my stomach when I think of what I did."

She closed her eyes slowly. She wanted no more anger and hard feelings. She wanted nothing bad to interfere with her happiness. "It's been a tense week, Curt. I knew you didn't mean it. I forgave you almost as soon as it was over."

"You're one in a million, Tam."

She hurried away, glad to be alone behind the wheel of her Bug and headed toward Eric's house.

She found two pickup trucks and a van lining the roadside. Young, muscular men worked in shirt sleeves, despite the snow on the ground. She pulled her car to a stop behind the van, and settled into the seat more comfortably. She wasn't planning to leave here until she knew the place was secure. Despite Eric's threat, she knew he wouldn't stay angry with her.

Twice during her vigil she felt her eyelids drooping, and forced them wider. She got out and walked in the biting winter air to stay awake. The crews didn't pack up to leave until well after four-thirty. In an hour the sun would begin to fade, and Eric would wake. Still she waited until the last man had left, gratified to see him look suspiciously at her car before he drove away. She was certain he'd jotted the plate number. Eric had said they were dependable. He was right. Then she pulled away, too. She wanted to have time to change into something pretty and perhaps do something new with her hair before Eric arrived for his talk with St. Claire.

She knew something was wrong with her first glimpse of Daniel's frowning face. "What is it?" She hurried toward him, not even shedding her jacket or stomping the clinging snow from her boots. "Tell me. What's happened?"

"I'm sure it's nothing. Tam. I don't want you to get worried until we know for su—"

"Tell me!"

Daniel looked at the floor. "Kathy Bryant called about an hour ago."

"Kathy B—" Tamara's throat went dry, and her stomach felt as if a fist had been driven into it. "It's Jamey, isn't it?"

Daniel nodded. "The school officials claim he left at the normal time, but. . . he never made it home."

"Jamey? He's missing?"

* * * * *

Jamey sat very still, because it hurt when he tried to move. His arms were pulled tightly behind him, and tied there. A blindfold covered his eyes and there was some kind of tape over his mouth. It felt like duct tape, but he couldn't be sure.

He'd left school to walk home just as he always did, cutting through the vacant lot behind the drugstore. Someone had grabbed him from behind. A damp cloth had been held over his nose and mouth and Jamey had known it was chloroform. He hadn't recognized the smell or anything, but he'd seen enough movies to know that's what they hold to your nose and mouth when they grab you from behind. Never fails. Chloroform. It stank, too. He'd felt himself falling into a black pit.

Now he was here, although he had no idea where here was. He couldn't see, and he could barely move. He assumed he was inside, because of the flat, hard surface he sat on and the one at his back. A floor and a wall, he guessed. He was in an old kind of place, because he could smell the old, musty odors. Inside or not, though, it was cold. Breezes wafted through now and then and he felt no kind of warmth at all. He was glad he'd zipped his coat and pulled on his hat when he'd left school. He sure couldn't have done it now. He couldn't do much of anything now.

Except think. He'd been thinking a lot since he had come around and found himself here. Mostly what he thought about was who had grabbed him. He'd felt a clear sense of recognition flash through his mind the second the guy-and he was sure it had been a guy—had grabbed him. He'd been on the brink of total recall when the chloroform had got to him. If he'd had just a few more seconds.

But maybe it would come to him later. Right now his main concerns were two—his empty stomach, and the dropping temperature.

* * * * *

Tamara listened, numb with worry, as Daniel related the details of Jamey's disappearance. He'd left school to walk home at three-thirty. His mother had been over his route, as had the police, and found nothing. His friends had been questioned, but nothing of any use was learned.

She knew she should remain where she was and wait for Eric. He could meet Daniel when he arrived, and then she'd explain what had happened and ask him to finish the talk another time. He'd help her find Jamey. Rationally she knew that would be the wisest course of action. But her emotions wouldn't allow it. Despite Kathy Bryant's lack of panic when Tamara phoned her, she felt it building within her own mind. Kathy had the assurances of the police, who saw this type of thing all the time, that Jamey would turn up safe and sound within a few hours. But Tamara had her own, sickening intuition that something was terribly wrong. When she closed her eyes and tried to focus on Jamey she felt nothing but coldness and fear. She had to find him, and she couldn't wait. He was cold, afraid and alone, and. . . .

"I can see you want to go, Tam," Daniel said, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

She shook her head. "I can't. Eric will be here before long, and I know how nervous you are."

He shook his head. "To tell you the truth, I was thinking it might be better for the two of us to have a private talk. You go on, go see to the boy. I'll explain to Marquand when he gets here."

She hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Go on," he repeated.

She hugged his neck. "Thank you, Daniel." She pressed her trembling lips to his leathery cheek. "I love you, you know."

She whirled from him and rushed to her car, then changed her mind and took his, knowing he wouldn't object. It would be faster.

She got the same story when she talked to Kathy face to-face. The poor woman seemed to grow more concerned each time she glanced at the clock. Her confidence in the official prediction that Jamey was perfectly all right must be fading, Tamara thought.

Tamara ignored the gathering darkness, knowing Eric would soon meet with Daniel, and probably come looking for her as soon as he was told the reason for her absence. She wasn't worried about his ability to find her. He'd know where she was without thinking twice. She wished her psychic link to Jamey was that strong. If she could just close her eyes and know. She shook her head. She couldn't, so why waste time wishing? She spent some time in his bedroom, going through things to see if there was a note or some clue. . . knowing all the while there wouldn't be. He hadn't left of his own accord. Her link was strong enough to tell her that much.

She had Kathy draw her a map of his usual route home, and she went to the school, parked the car and walked it, all of her mind honed for a hint of him. The police had been over the path he would've taken, and found nothing. Kathy had, as well, but Tamara felt certain she would find something they'd missed. . . and she did.

Something made her pause when she began to walk along the sidewalk past the drugstore. She stopped, lifted her head and waited. Her gaze turned of its own accord to the lot behind the store, a weedy, garbage-strewn mess that any parent would forbid her child to cross. Just as Kathy had probably forbidden Jamey. Yet she detected a meandering path amid the snowy brown weeds, broken bottles and litter. From her bag she pulled the flashlight she'd asked Kathy to lend her, and checked the hand-drawn map. To cross the lot would save several minutes of his walk home. She folded the map and pocketed it, aimed the beam and moved along the barely discernible path. Little snow had managed to accumulate here, and the wind that whipped through constantly rearranged what there was.

Bits of paper and rubbish swirled across her path as she moved behind the flashlight's beam. Crumpled newspaper pages skittered, and a flat sheet of notepaper glided past. She sought footprints but saw none and knew that if there'd been any the wind would have obliterated them by now. Pastel bits of tissue blew past, and then a tumbling bit of white that looked like cloth. She frowned and followed its progress with the light. Not cloth. Gauze. A wadded square of gauze.