Dark Obsession (11 page)

“You almost sent me to an early grave,” she admonished, and the cat meowed again. Erin bent and tentatively stroked the silky fur. The cat relaxed for
a moment under her ministrations, but suddenly the hair on its back stood on end as its head shot up. Then, before Erin could react, a razor-sharp claw shot out and scratched the back of her hand. Like an arrow, the cat flew past her and disappeared somewhere in the darkness beneath the stairs.

Erin cried out at the sharp sting on her hand, automatically lifting it to her mouth. Then her arm froze in midair as she heard a faint sound coming from the other side of the door. She stood dead still, listening to the whispers of movement, as if something—or someone—was stirring about inside.

Probably rats, she told herself, but a heavy sense of unease assailed her. Perhaps she wasn’t as ready to face the monsters as she’d thought.

Nursing her bleeding hand, Erin turned to flee, but someone stood at the top of the stairs, completely blocking her path.

CHAPTER SEVEN

H
e had the most uncanny ability to materialize from thin air, Erin thought fleetingly. To appear suddenly with the darkness.

“Erin?”

Her heart began to pound even harder at the sound of Slade’s voice. Slowly she mounted the stairs toward him. Through the glass door behind him, Erin saw that night had fallen in earnest since she’d come in, and once again she thought how very much a part of the night he seemed. The dark glasses, the leather coat, the grim expression—all created an air of mystery, of danger. Erin shivered again, just watching him, the memory of his kiss coming back to her. Along with the fact that he hadn’t called her in three days.

She brushed by him and bent to pick up her packages. The roses already looked a little droopy, she noticed absently.

“What were you doing down there?” Slade asked when she turned back to face him.

“I heard a noise,” Erin said.

“So you went to check it out?” His voice was grim, his expression even more dangerous. “And
what if it had been the murderer down there, waiting for you?”

“Don’t go down there, Erin. They’re waiting for you.”

She shrugged off Slade’s hand. “There was nothing waiting for me down there but a bad-tempered cat,” she said, lifting her hand up to inspect the scratch.

“Let me see that.” His hand shot out and captured hers. Beads of blood dotted the skin, but the sting of the scratch receded against the warmth of his touch. “You’d better put something on it,” he said, dropping her hand abruptly as if he, too, had felt the heat.

“I was just about to. Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?” He didn’t look pleased to see her, Erin thought. Behind his dark glasses, she knew he was frowning at her.

“Why are you dressed like that?”

Erin’s hand reflexively flew to her loosened hair. “Like…what?”

“Like your sister.”

“How would you know how Megan dressed?” Erin asked quickly. He didn’t say a word at first, merely stared at her, and then Erin realized that he’d seen Megan’s body after she’d died. Perhaps he didn’t want to remind her of that night. She turned and started up the stairway. “You’d be surprised how many people have mistaken me for her in the past few days.”

“Is that what you want?” He followed her up the stairs.

She glanced at him over her shoulder as she unlocked the door. “It can be useful.”

“In what way?”

“In tracing the last days of Megan’s life.” She turned to face him, her chin lifted in defiance. But his response took her totally off guard.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about. I think it’s time we started working together.”

Erin’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

“Then why haven’t you called me?” Erin hated the way her voice sounded. Her accusation sounded more personal than professional, and that was the last thing she wanted him to think. “Why haven’t you kept me informed?”

“That’s what I’m here to do now,” he said.

Erin turned and pushed open the door of the apartment, flipped on the light and set the roses down on the bar that separated the kitchen and living room. She closed the door behind her and carried the remaining packages into the hallway. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

Leaving her coat in the bedroom, she located Megan’s first-aid kit in the bathroom, then liberally dosed the scratch with antiseptic. As she was putting away the supplies, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Touching the loose curls at her shoulders, she
turned first one way and then the other. It really was amazing how different she looked with her hair down, how much she looked like Megan.

She studied her reflection in the mirror. The black rayon dress she wore swirled around her ankles, and the neckline left her throat and neck completely bare.

Yes, that’s better.

Erin paused as the voice fluttered through her mind. She turned, glancing around the room. “Megan?” The only sound was a soft rustle as the curtains at the window stirred slightly in the breeze.

Slade was standing at the mantel, gazing at the pictures of Erin and Megan when Erin came back into the living room. His head turned toward her, and she knew he was watching her intently as she crossed the room, carrying the vase she’d found in Megan’s room. He held one of the pictures in his hand. It was the one of Erin and Megan and their mother.

“When was this taken?” he asked.

Erin resisted the urge to reach out and snatch the picture from his hand. It was too revealing. She hadn’t yet learned to hide her fear. “I was eight and Megan was four,” she said. “It was taken two days before our mother…disappeared.”

“She was very beautiful,” he said, watching her.

“Yes, she was.”

“You look like her.”

She was surprised by the compliment. Her heart
fluttered inside her chest. “I hope that’s where the resemblance ends,” she tried to say lightly.

“I’m sure of it.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. He returned the picture to the mantel, but before his hand moved away, Erin saw one of his long, thin fingers stroke her image in the photo. It was an oddly compassionate gesture, and the effect on Erin was immediate.

She turned and walked quickly away from him, her heart thumping against her chest. Better not get too close, she advised herself. Better not want his compassion.

Her hands were trembling slightly as she picked up the roses and walked around the bar to the kitchen, arranging the flowers in a vase. Slade walked across the room and stood on the other side of the bar, watching her. “Roses don’t suit you,” he said flatly.

Erin glanced up. “They were Megan’s favorite. In fact, one of the things I learned today was that she bought roses the day she died.” Erin’s voice faltered. She busied herself, putting water in the vase until she was sure she had her emotions under control. Then she walked over and set the vase in the center of the dining room table, at the end of the bar, replacing the wilted ones.

“What else did you learn?”

“I learned that she always dressed in black, at least toward the end. That seems to tie in with her obsession with…vampires,” Erin said hesitantly.

The room grew silent. Erin stared down at the roses. “I know you think I’m crazy,” she said. “I know you don’t believe in vampires.”

“And you do?”

“I…think Megan did. I think that’s why she went to the club Racine told us about. I think we should go there, too, Nick.”

His reaction was immediate. His expression darkened. “I’ll take care of that place. I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

“But you said it was time we worked together. You want me to tell you everything I learn, but you don’t want to give me anything in return, is that it?”

“I’m willing to share information with you,” Slade said. “I’m just not willing to risk your life.”

He stared her down until Erin was forced to look away. “Tell me what you came here to tell me,” she said a little testily.

Slade gazed around the apartment as if feeling the chill of memories, sensing the ghosts from Erin’s past. “Not here,” he said. “Let’s grab a bite to eat somewhere.”

“Aren’t you on duty?”

“This is business,” he said.

Business not pleasure, Erin thought, feeling unaccountably disappointed. He couldn’t have made himself clearer. “I’ll get my coat and we can go then.”

He took her to a small restaurant only a few blocks away from the apartment. Rubinoff’s Deli was the
kind of neighborhood eatery that New York was famous for. Bells over the door tinkled melodiously as Slade and Erin stepped inside, and the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread, accompanied by the more pungent scent of garlic, permeated the air. Red-and-white-checked tablecloths adorned the half-dozen tables near the rear and candles flickering in fat red jars chased away the gloomy twilight and gave the place a homey, intimate atmosphere.

Behind a long glass counter, a heavyset man with thick black hair salted with gray stirred a huge, steaming pot of soup. His swarthy face, red and glistening from the hot stove, lit up when he spotted Slade. “Nicholas! I don’t believe my eyes! Where’ve you been hiding all this time?” He wiped his beefy hands on the white apron slung around his neck as he hurried around the counter to clap Slade on the back. “You been working too hard, eh, Nicholas?”

“You know how it is,” Slade responded noncommittally, steering Erin past the overflowing shelves of bottled delicacies toward a secluded booth in the back.

“Yeah, I know how it is,” Mr. Rubinoff agreed as he followed on their heels. His gaze frankly appraised Erin as she slid onto the red vinyl booth. “Mama was just saying the other day how much she still misses seeing you. ‘Remember how Nicholas used to come by after school when he was a boy, Papa?’ she said.” His dark, warm gaze included Erin in the conversation.
“‘Every day, three-thirty, just like clockwork, Nicholas and Simone would come waltzing through that door.”’

Slade’s mouth tightened. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, a long time ago,” Mr. Rubinoff agreed, his smile dimming. “Before you started hiding behind those dark glasses, eh? Before you too busy for your old friends.”

“That’s not how it is,” Slade said, and Erin was amazed at how defensive he sounded. She’d never seen him like this. So…human. “Things change,” he muttered.

“Things change,” Mr. Rubinoff echoed. “Now Simone’s gone and you done moved away.” A look of profound sadness passed over the old man’s face, making Erin wonder who Simone was. Why had her name evoked such strong reactions from both men?

Mr. Rubinoff’s gaze rested on Erin again, and some of the warmth returned to his eyes. “The past is past, though, eh? It’s been eight years. Time to move on. The important thing is that you’ve brought another pretty girl to see me today.”

The way Mr. Rubinoff was looking at her, beaming first at her and then Slade, made Erin’s face heat with color. She knew that Slade was looking at her, too, and that made her heart beat even faster.

“This is Erin,” Slade said. “Erin Ramsey. She and
I are here to discuss a case I’m working on,” he added pointedly.

Mr. Rubinoff took the hint. “Fine,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I bring you two plates of Stroganoff and a bottle of my best Romanian wine to enjoy while you talk.”

“I take it you and Mr. Rubinoff are old friends,” Erin said after the old man had hurried off.

Slade shrugged. “My mother used to work here before she remarried and moved south. She and I lived in a little apartment over the restaurant. The Rubinoffs were like my grandparents. They took an interest in everything I did.”

Erin wanted to ask him about the girl Mr. Rubinoff had mentioned, but something held her back. Slade’s hands were resting on the table, and he was gazing down at them in a way that made Erin wonder if he was the one now being haunted by ghosts. “What about your father?” she asked, instead.

“He was killed when I was just a kid,” Slade said. “He was a cop.”

Somehow that information surprised Erin. He seemed like such a loner to her. It was difficult to think of him having a family, a mother who had remarried and a dead father in whose footsteps he’d followed.

Nick’s just a man, Erin thought. And, like everyone else, he’d been hurt. Perhaps that explained why she’d been so drawn to him from the first, why the kinship
between them seemed even stronger tonight. It wasn’t just the physical attraction, Erin admitted reluctantly. It was deeper than that. More profound. And much more dangerous.

She felt Nick’s eyes on her again, and she averted her gaze.

Mr. Rubinoff came back with steaming plates and, with a flourish, poured the wine, then waited patiently while Erin sampled them both. “Delicious,” she said, and meant it. The food and wine were just what she’d needed, she realized, not to mention the comfortable atmosphere of the deli.

She began to relax. The apartment, with all its memories, seemed a long way away from this cheerful place, and she was grateful to Nick for bringing her here, for letting her share in this warmth. For a while, they ate in silence. But then, when they were both finished, Erin knew she couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. She toyed with her wineglass as she gazed at him across the flickering candle. “What have you found out, Nick?”

He hesitated, then said, “Two bodies were found in an alley down by the river a few nights ago.”

Erin’s hand jerked, upsetting her wine. Slade’s hand shot out and righted the glass, and for a moment, their fingers brushed. Erin fought the urge to cling to his hand. The warmth from the food and wine suddenly left her. The comfort of the deli fled. “Who were they?”

“The young woman has been identified as Christina Harris. The other one was an old man. A John Doe.”

“What’s the connection with Megan?” Erin asked anxiously. “I assume there is one. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

Slade’s mouth tightened. “There were marks on both their necks. Puncture wounds.”

Erin felt her breath desert her. “And…the blood…?” She couldn’t even finish the question. Slade nodded briefly, and then they both fell silent.

Erin’s head reeled. She felt sickened by what she’d heard. She couldn’t stand to think that Megan had been killed by such a cold-blooded monster. The thought that her sister might even have known him, loved him—