Dead Perfect (15 page)

He had been writing for several hours when her knock came at the door.

“Come on in,” he called.

She opened the door and peeked inside. “Am I interrupting?”

“Yes, but it’s a welcome one. I was just about to quit for the night.”

“Good. There’s a movie on TV I’ve been wanting to see. Do you want to watch it with me?”

“Sure.” He saved his work and switched off his computer, then followed her into the living room.

She curled up on the sofa and he sat beside her, scarcely aware of the story being enacted on the screen. His whole being was centered on the woman beside him, each breath she took, each movement she made, each beat of her heart, the way the lamplight shone in her hair, the curve of her cheek, the smooth line of her neck, the pulse that beat in the hollow of her throat. She laughed at something on the screen and the sound wrapped around his heart like a mother’s love surrounds her child.

He had it bad, he thought ruefully. After more than five hundred years, he was hopelessly, helplessly, in love.

As though feeling his scrutiny, she turned to face him, and he was lost. In five hundred years, he had never wanted a woman as badly as he wanted the fragile creature sitting beside him. He wanted to hold her, protect her, shower her with his love. He intended to do whatever necessary to make her happy. He would grant her anything she wanted, anything she needed, if she would only stay with him as long as she lived. In exchange, he would give her his blood as needed. With him, she would want for nothing.

“Ronan?”

“Hmm?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m Little Red Riding Hood and you’re the Big Bad Wolf.”

“Perhaps because I’d like to devour you.”

She blinked at him, her expression making it obvious that she didn’t know if he was kidding her or not.

“You must know I want you,” he said quietly.

Her eyes grew wide. “Y…yes.”

“And you want me.”

She nodded.

“Tell me what you want.”

Shannah licked her lips, then shook her head. She didn’t know what she wanted.

When he was holding her, kissing her, she was certain she wanted him to take her to bed and make love to her all night long. But now, with his dark gaze holding hers, she wasn’t sure. She didn’t think he would hurt her. Quite the opposite. She was sure he would be a gentle lover, tender and thoughtful, but…she knew it was wrong. It went against everything she had been taught while growing up, both by her parents and her church. And yet, it didn’t seem fair. She was dying and, right or wrong, she didn’t want to die a virgin. Still, did she want to die with the sin of fornication on her conscience?

“Shannah?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.” Why didn’t he just sweep her into his arms and seduce her? Kiss her until all thought of right or wrong was forgotten? Coward, she thought. If he seduced her, she could secretly revel in his touch and still tell herself it wasn’t her fault…

She looked into his eyes, those deep dark eyes that seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe, and knew if she stayed another minute, she would be lost.

“I think I’ll go get something to drink,” she said, scrambling off the sofa. “Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head, his expression telling her clearly that he was well aware of what she was doing, and why.

“I think I’ll go write for another hour or two,” he said. “Will you be all right?”

Blinking back her tears, she went into the kitchen, wondering if he was sorry he had asked her to stay.

Shannah woke to the sound of someone leaning on the doorbell. Rolling over, she stared blearily at the clock on the bedside table. It was a little after ten a.m. Who could possibly be coming to call at this hour? Or any hour? She didn’t have any friends in North Canyon Creek, and as far as she knew, Ronan never had visitors. Deciding it was probably a solicitor of some kind, she closed her eyes and pulled the covers over her head. Whoever it was, they could come back later.

The doorbell rang again, louder and more insistent.

Shannah pounded on her pillow. Why didn’t they go away? Grabbing her robe, she pulled it on as she padded down the stairs to the front door.

“Who is it?” she called irritably.

“Jim Hewitt.”

Suddenly wide awake, Shannah stared at the door as if it was a snake that might bite her. Hewitt! What on earth was he doing here? “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you, Miss Black.”

“So talk.”

“It’s important, Eva. It’s about Ronan.”

Shannah felt her heart skip a beat. “What about him?”

“This isn’t something I can discuss out here on the front porch.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not in the habit of inviting strangers into the house.”

She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard him swear.

“There’s a coffee shop in town,” he said. “The Pot Pourri. Do you know it?”

“Yes.” It was the coffee shop where she used to spend her evenings, the one where she had been the first time she saw Ronan walking down the street.

“I’ll meet you there in, what, half an hour?”

“How did you get through the gate?”

“Does it matter?”

She wondered if Hewitt had climbed over the back wall, the way she had. She would have to tell Ronan his security fence wasn’t as safe as he thought.

“Miss Black?”

“Yes, all right, I’ll be there.”

Going upstairs, she dressed quickly, brushed her hair and her teeth, grabbed her handbag and the keys to Ronan’s car, and headed for town, determined to find out how Jim Hewitt knew where she lived, and why he had followed her to North Canyon Creek.

Shannah entered the Pot Pourri a little over thirty minutes later. Jim Hewitt was sitting at a booth near the door. He wore a white shirt open at the throat and a brown sports jacket. He rose when he saw her.

Taking a deep breath, she walked toward him. As she neared the curved booth, she saw that he wasn’t alone.

Carl Overstreet nodded at her. “Hey, Miss Black. It’s good to see you again.”

She nodded at the newspaperman, then sat down. Hewitt slid in beside her, sandwiching her in between the two men. She didn’t like it. It made her feel trapped. And more than a little uneasy. She assured herself there was nothing to worry about. It was broad daylight. They were in a public place. The café was crowded, and there was a cop sitting at the counter.

She glanced from one man to the other. “So, what’s this all about?”

“How long have you known Ronan?” Hewitt asked.

“A few months, not that it’s any of your business.”

“How well do you know him?”

She shrugged. “As well as you can know anyone in a couple of months.” She glanced from Hewitt to Overstreet. “Either tell me what this is about, or I’m leaving.”

“What does he do during the day?” Overstreet asked.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?” She looked at Hewitt. “Get out of my way. I’m leaving.”

“Please,” Hewitt said, “this is important.”

As tempted as she was to tell him to go to hell, her curiosity won out. “Go on.”

“Have you ever seen him in the middle of the afternoon?” Hewitt asked.

Feeling suddenly cold, she stared at Hewitt. “No.”

“Have you ever seen him eat?”

“No,” she said, and then frowned. “I mean, I did, once,” she said, remembering her mother’s apple pie and Ronan’s reaction to it.

“You actually saw him eat something?”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“It made him sick. He said he was allergic to it.”

“Allergic!” Hewitt slammed his hand on the table. “That’s a good one. Do you know why he doesn’t eat?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

Carl Overstreet leaned forward. “What do you know about vampires?”

The chill in Shannah’s blood turned to ice. “Only that they don’t exist, except in books and movies.”

Now Hewitt leaned forward, his expression intense. “What if I told you they do exist?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.”

“He’s one of them.”

She stared at Hewitt, and then she laughed. “No, he isn’t. I’ve seen him during the day.”

“Yeah?” Overstreet said. “What time?”

“I don’t know. I guess it was around five or six, but the sun was still up, so he can’t be a vampire.”

“Older vampires can rise before sundown.”

Shannah stared at Hewitt. Ronan, a vampire? Had she been right all along?

“What does all this have to do with me?”

“I want to know where he takes his rest,” Hewitt said.

“I want to interview him for my magazine,” Overstreet said.

Shannah looked at the two men, and then she burst out laughing. “You’re crazy,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Both of you. I don’t know where he sleeps, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. And as for doing an interview, I can assure you that he won’t.”

“Listen,” Hewitt said, “as long as you stay with him, your life is in danger. Do you understand that?”

“Believe me, I’m perfectly safe there.”

“What can I say to convince you?” Hewitt asked.

“Nothing. He’s not a vampire and I’m not in any danger. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going home.”

Hewitt reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a business card. “Call my cell phone if you change your mind,” he said, handing her the card. “I don’t know what he’s told you, but I can assure you that he is a vampire. A very old vampire. I’d hate for you to be his next victim.”

Shannah slipped the card into the pocket of her jeans, then looked pointedly at Hewitt, who slid out of the booth so that she could leave.

She didn’t look back, but she could feel both of the men watching her as she left the café. She thought about what Hewitt and Overstreet had said as she drove home. What if they were right? What if Ronan was a vampire? Was she in danger?

She shook the thought away. If he had wanted to do her harm, he’d had plenty of opportunity. She had been at Ronan’s mercy since the day she met him. If he was a vampire, he could have taken her blood or killed her at any time. Instead, he had taken her in and cared for her.

She frowned. Why had he done that? He hadn’t known anything about her at the time.

Pulling into the driveway, she parked the car in front of the house, then sat there for a moment, one finger tapping nervously on the steering wheel. What should she do now? Go inside and pretend nothing unusual had happened today? Confront him? Pack up and leave? But she had no place to stay, now that she had given up her apartment, no place to go except home to her parents. Home. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe that had always been the answer.

Why did Jim Hewitt want to know where Ronan slept? The answer popped into her mind immediately. Thinking him to be a vampire, Hewitt and Overstreet undoubtedly wanted to destroy him, and after reading Ronan’s books, she knew that such a thing was best done in the middle of the day, when the sun was high in the sky and the vampire was trapped in sleep, helpless to defend himself.

Did Ronan sleep in a coffin?

Was it somewhere in the house?

Exiting the car, she went up the steps and into the house, careful to lock the door behind her in case Hewitt and Overstreet decided to show up again. Unlike vampires, who had to have an invitation to enter a person’s home, Hewitt and Overstreet could burst in uninvited and unannounced. She remembered the night Ronan had shown up at her apartment. He had knocked on the door, demanding that she let him in. She had expected him to storm inside when she unlocked the door, but he had stood in the hallway and asked if he could come inside.

She shook her head, not knowing what to think, what to believe. She had come to his house looking for a vampire, not really believing that she would find one. But what if she had?

Shannah glanced at the clock. It was only eleven-thirty. Ronan never made an appearance this early in the day.

She stood in the middle of the floor, wondering if she was making a mistake by staying. Was she being foolish, like those silly girls in horror movies who went into the basement when there was a monster in the house?

Was there a monster in this house? Wise or foolish, she couldn’t leave until she knew the truth, heard it from Ronan’s own lips.

Too nervous to sit still, too agitated to go back to bed, Shannah found a cloth and a bottle of furniture polish and began to dust. Moving from room to room, she told herself she was just trying to pass the hours until dusk, but she checked each room carefully, rapping on the walls, checking inside closets and cupboards, looking for hidden doors or passages, running her hands over books and door frames and wall sconces in hopes of finding a lever that would lead to some hidden hideaway, but to no avail.

Moving upstairs, she made a similar search of all the empty rooms, again with no success. Going into the bedroom where she slept, she checked the walls and the closet, looked behind the furniture and the doors, exploring every nook and cranny, but she didn’t find anything. No hidden doors or passageways, nothing the least bit suspicious.

Discouraged but relieved, she went downstairs and fixed herself a glass of iced tea, grabbed her sunglasses and a magazine, and went outside to sit in the sun.

Leaning back in the chaise lounge, her eyes closed, she murmured, “Ronan, where are you?” and almost spilled tea in her lap when his image leaped into her mind.

He was lying in a sleek black coffin in a dark room. She wondered briefly how she could see anything at all when there was no light in the room, but she could see him clearly. His eyes were closed, his arms folded across his chest. He wore a black T-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. His feet were bare. A distant part of her mind found that incredibly endearing.

Gasping, she opened her eyes and the image vanished.

It was true, she thought, he really was a vampire.

She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to decide what to do. One minute she was certain that she should not only leave his house but leave the state as fast as possible, the next she was remembering the soul-stirring passion of his kisses, the fervor in his voice when he said he needed her. He made her feel whole, complete. Loved.

When the sun began to set, she went into the house intending to fix something to eat, only to find she had no appetite.

She was sitting on the sofa, still trying to decide what she should do, when he entered the room.

She looked at him through narrowed eyes, as if seeing him for the first time. He didn’t look like a vampire. He looked like a perfectly normal, healthy male in his late twenties or early thirties.

He smiled as he walked toward her. There was no hint of fang in his smile, though his teeth were remarkably straight and white.

“I was hoping to find you in bed and kiss you awake.” His voice was deep, filled with the promise of dark delights.

She forced a smile, suddenly unable to speak for the cold knot of fear that sat in her belly like a block of ice.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

She shook her head, her heart pounding as he sat down on the sofa beside her, making her acutely aware of how big he was. His shoulders were broad, his arms long and well-muscled, his hands large and strong.

“Something’s troubling you,” he said. “You might as well tell me what it is.”

“Jim Hewitt and Carl Overstreet came to see me today.”

His eyes narrowed; one hand clenched into a tight fist. “Indeed?”

“All this time, I thought Hewitt was following me, but I was wrong. It’s you he’s after, isn’t it?”

“Why would he be after me?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure that you do.”

“What did he tell you?”

“He said…” She took a deep breath. Her last, perhaps? “He said that you’re a vampire.”

She waited for him to laugh, waited for him to deny it, to say something, anything, to prove that Hewitt was out of his mind. Instead, he simply stared at her for several taut moments during which time she could scarcely breathe.

“You came looking for one of the Undead,” he said at last. “What are you going to do, now that you’ve found one?”

His words struck her like a blast of icy wind, leaving her momentarily numb. She knew, in that moment, that she had never truly believed he was a vampire. Even when she had come knocking on his door, she hadn’t really believed he was a vampire. Now, looking back, she realized that, due to her illness, she hadn’t been thinking clearly. Still, it was strange that she had felt so much better since coming to stay with him. But if he was a vampire, why hadn’t he drained her dry, or made her what he was?

“I…I don’t believe you.” She couldn’t believe it. It was simply too frightening to contemplate, too bizarre to be real.

“It’s true nonetheless.”

She lifted a trembling hand to her neck. “Why haven’t you bitten me, then? Isn’t that what vampires do?”

He nodded, his gaze never leaving her face.

Her eyes grew wide. “Have you…did you bite me?” Her eyes grew wider still. “Am I going to turn into a vampire?”

“No, Shannah. But I have tasted your blood, and given you mine.”

She stared at him in stunned disbelief. And then shook her head. “No! I don’t believe you! I’d never forget something so…so vile.”

“You would, if I didn’t want you to remember.”

“So, now you’re a hypnotist as well as a vampire?”

He didn’t say anything, just continued to watch her, like a hungry wolf watching a lamb.

She frowned, her thoughts chasing themselves like mice in a maze. Her mind cleared suddenly, as if someone had lifted a veil from her memories. It was true. He had given her his blood on several occasions. “That’s why I feel better, isn’t it?”

He nodded again, his gaze still on her face.