Hunger (17 page)

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Authors: Karen E. Taylor

BOOK: Hunger
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“I don't know, do I?”
“You should, my love.” He reached over and began to toy with a strand of hair that had escaped the pins. His breath was warm in my ear and I suppressed my shudder. “What a revelation for you to make. It was wild and exotic and, if I may say so, extremely arousing. You aimed straight for me, didn't you? Romance, with the element of danger. I'm reminded of a vast sky, a wide field, and a certain young waitress . . .”
“I was not that young then, Max, and I'm certainly not now.” I spoke harshly, because, as usual, his presence and his words had a disquieting effect on me.
He continued on, undaunted. “Why did we never repeat the experience? We could now, you know. I closed the club tonight in honor of your show. We could go there now, we would have the whole place to ourselves. Deirdre, Deirdre come with me.” His voice was low and urgent and so persuasive that I felt myself weakening. I, too, remembered that night so many years ago with tenderness and passion. He felt my resistance subside and pulled me closer to him. And yet, as I looked into his shining eyes and felt his hands grasp at my bare shoulders, I remembered other nights spent in loneliness and despair, feelings that had been caused in part by him, feelings he had not eased. My mind turned to the time I had spent with Mitch and I drew strength from that remembrance.
“No, Max,” I said softly but sternly. “I will not go with you. It's too late for that.”
I pushed him away and he stared at me, breathing heavily. “It can never be too late for us. I want you. Come with me now.” His voice grew louder and we were attracting curious stares from the other guests.
“Damn you, Max. I said no.”
He wrapped his hand tightly around my arm. “It would be different this time, Deirdre. I wouldn't leave you. We could be together . . .”
He was interrupted by another hand laid roughly on his arm, prying his grasp away from me.
“I think she said no, Hunter. You can proceed at the risk of harassment charges. The choice is yours.”
Max gave a low laugh. “Ah, Detective Greer, I believe.” He gave Mitch a quick, contemptuous glance and then looked back at me. He said, whispering so that I only could hear, “I congratulate you. Such a quick worker. The bodies are scarcely cold and already you have a staunch supporter on the force. I see that my concern for your naivete was needless.” Once again his face became expressionless and inscrutable and his voice was pitched normally. “Forgive me, my dear, for my forcefulness. I'm afraid I may have had too much wine. Good night.”
He quickly kissed my cheek, nodded to Mitch and walked out the door. Mitch and I stood in a small circle of silence separated from the noise and laughter of the reception. “Thank you.” I spoke quietly so as not to break the spell and lifted my hand to caress his cheek. He pulled it to him and kissed the palm.
“I hate that son of a bitch.” His vehement comment was so out of place with his gentle gesture that I had to laugh. He looked at me questioningly.
“I could have handled him, but it would have been uglier and taken longer. Thank you again.” I linked my arm in his and led him to the refreshments. “Would you like a glass of wine?” I asked, taking one for myself. He helped himself to a glass and a small plate of
hors d'oeuvres.
“No dinner,” he confessed sheepishly. “You look wonderful.”
“Thank you. So do you.” He looked elegant and only slightly out of context in his tuxedo.
He shrugged. “I figured fancy dress was required, so I rented this. Unfortunately, I was held up and got here too late to see the show. How'd you do?”
“Fine, thank you. It seems to have been a success.” I smiled up at him warmly. I was so glad to see him that even this stilted conversation seemed wonderful. “I missed you, Mitch.”
He seemed distant, distracted. “What? Oh, I missed you too.” He looked around at the thinning crowd. “Look, I know I just got here, but it seems the party is breaking up. Could we go somewhere else?”
“I don't see why not. I want to have a talk with Gwen before we go, though. It should only take a few minutes.”
“Your secretary?”
“Yes, you remember her. You met her last week.”
“Yeah, I know her. She was on her way out when I came in. I said hello but she seemed to be in a hurry.”
I felt alarmed by this hasty departure. Gwen usually stayed until everyone had gone home. “Was she alone?”
He nodded. “She was when I saw her.”
“Good, then she will be safe.” He looked at me sharply but I offered no explanation. “Where would you like to go?”
“Anyplace other than here,” he stated flatly. “Although it's a waste of a rented tux, I'd like to have some privacy.” He looked deeply into my eyes and smiled for the first time this evening. I hoped that this signified an evening of more than conversation.
“Fine, I'll go get my coat. I won't be too long.”
By the time I reached the dressing areas, most of the models had gone. Only a few remained, removing their makeup. I was pleased to see that one of these was Janie. I congratulated her on her performance, then inquired after Gwen. “Did she tell you why she left in such a hurry?”
Janie thought for a moment then answered. “I think she was upset about something you had said, and something, someone, I think she said his name was Max, had told her. She said she needed to get away and do some serious thinking. I reminded her of our party later on, but she said she couldn't come.”
“Did she leave with anyone?”
“No, I don't think so. She said that the crowd was bothering her and she wanted to be alone. She didn't seem herself, though. We're all a little worried about her.” She looked at me for reassurance.
“I'm sure she'll be fine, Janie. She's been having some trouble with Nick, you know.” She nodded in agreement. “Thank you. And have a good time at the party tonight.”
“Would you like to come, Miss Griffin? You'd be welcome.” She looked at me slyly. “After all, we're going to send you the bill.”
I smiled at her. “No, I don't think this time. I have other plans, but thank you.” With a final goodbye I walked out of the room.
I found Mitch at the food table filling another plate. “Sorry I took so long, Mitch, but I see you made good use of the time.”
“These are really good, you should have some.”
I laughed at his suggestion. “No, thank you, I have to watch what I eat.” I reached for his free hand and held it. “Would you like to go now, or maybe you'd rather stay here and eat?”
He looked intently at the plate and then at me as if deciding between us. “No,” he said in his deliberate fashion giving me the slow smile that made my pulse race. “On second thought, these aren't all that good.” Setting the plate back on the table, he took my cape from my arm and wrapped it around my shoulders. “Come on.”
As we came through the hotel door, the limo driver jumped out and opened the door. Mitch looked at me in surprise.
“Well,” I said, “if you would rather drive, we could send him back.”
“Actually, I had to walk here tonight, that's one of the reasons why I came so late. My car is in the shop. I saw the limo when I came in so I assumed it belonged to someone rich and famous.”
I gave him a contented smile. “I am, at least for now. Get in.”
As we got settled, the driver turned around inquiringly and I glanced over at Mitch. “Would you like to drive around for a while?”
He shook his head. “We should, I guess. I mean, here I am, dressed for the part, with a woman like you, in a car like this, but . . .”
“I'm entirely in your hands, Detective,” I teased as I curled up next to him. “Whatever you'd like is fine with me.”
“I'll remember that,” he replied with a suggestive smile, then leaned forward and gave the driver his address.
Chapter 12
W
e didn't speak much on the ride to Mitch's apartment. I sat quietly next to him, enjoying his presence. He rested his chin on my head and caressed my arm. We arrived all too soon.
After opening the door, the driver asked whether he should wait. “No, thank you,” Mitch said. “I'll get her home from here.” I nodded my head in agreement and he drove away.
We mounted the stairs to his apartment in silence. “Here we are,” he said lamely as he opened the door and escorted me within.
“So we are.” I surveyed the apartment; it was actually neater than the last time I had visited. The bookshelves were dusted and there were tread marks on the carpet left behind from a recent vacuuming. “Were you expecting company? Everything is so clean.”
“I was expecting you,” he said bluntly.
“Oh.” I went to look at the books. “You seem to be pretty sure of me.” I tried to make it sound casual, offhand, but failed.
“Why do you have to be so defensive? I only meant that I was hoping you would come.” He looked away angrily.
“I'm sorry, Mitch. It has been a hell of a week and I am more than a little on edge.”
“I know,” he answered. “I'm a bit jumpy myself.”
I gave him a shy smile. “Then why don't we start over? Your apartment looks very nice. Thank you for inviting me.”
“My pleasure. Can I get you something. Some wine, maybe, or a cup of coffee?”
“Wine, please.”
He went to the kitchen and I followed him. I watched him uncork a bottle and pour two glasses, noticing that his hands were shaking. “Did you say that you hadn't had any dinner?”
“It doesn't matter. I'll survive.” He handed me my glass and looked at me. “Would you mind if I changed my clothes? I feel a little overdressed.”
“Why would I mind? And while you're changing I will fix you something to eat.”
“You?”
I smiled at his surprise. “Yes, me. I do know how to cook, you know.”
“How could anyone who looks as good as you do in that dress know how to cook?” He still looked doubtful. “And why would you want to?”
“I like to cook,” I confessed, laughing, “and, what's more, I learned how from some of the best short–order cooks in the country. I may be a little rusty, but I think I can still scramble a few eggs without poisoning you. Go get changed.” I half-pushed him out of the kitchen and he laughed and left.
I found a towel and wrapped it around my waist as a makeshift apron. Opening his refrigerator, I saw what I needed and started. In spite of my comments to the contrary, I had not cooked in an ordinary kitchen for more years than I wanted to count. In fact, I thought, the last time was probably shortly after the change.
The domestic tasks were strangely comforting. Beating the eggs, warming the skillet, setting a place at the table, all these brought back memories of happier times. For once I was not saddened by these thoughts but smiled contentedly and began to sing, softly at first, and then more confidently.
“Into the ward of the clean, whitewashed halls, where the dead slept and the dying lay, wounded by bayonet, saber and ball, somebody's darling was borne one day.”
Mitch walked in just as I reached the chorus “. . .
Somebody's darling, somebody's pride, who'll tell his mother where her boy died.”
“Sounds good,” he said appreciatively, smiling at me from the kitchen entrance. “No, don't stop, keep singing, please. It's good to hear that old song again. I haven't thought of it or even heard it for years. You know, my mother would sing it to me at bedtime, she told me that her grandmother sang it to her. But I'm sort of surprised that you know it.”
“Oh,” I said offhandedly. “I know a lot of songs.”
“Then keep on singing.”
“I couldn't, not now.” I felt myself blushing. “Besides, your dinner is done.” I gestured at the table. “Sit down.”
I served him and after he shook salt and pepper on the eggs, he began to eat immediately and hungrily. With his second forkful he seemed to recover his manners. “Aren't you having anything?”
I lifted my glass of wine and took a sip.
“No, not that. Aren't you going to eat? I don't think I've seen you eat anything since that night we had dinner. Are you on a diet or something?”
“Yes,” I smiled, enjoying my secret joke. “A very controlled diet. And I'm afraid eggs aren't on it. But I'll take one bite if it makes you happy.”
“It would.”
I turned around and got myself a fork from the drawer, then reached over and took a small bit from his plate and put it in my mouth. I chewed it and swallowed, trying not to gag. It caught in my throat and I began to choke. Mitch jumped up immediately, gave me a large thump on the back, stepped back and gave me an appraising glance. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I said, trying to laugh. “Too much pepper.”
“Sorry,” he said, sitting back down. “I like it that way.”
I finished my wine to wash the egg taste out of my mouth and refilled my glass. He looked up at me, with a question in his eyes, but his mouth was full and he shook his head. At that moment the phone rang, and I jumped. He motioned for me to get it.
“Hello?” The young man on the phone sounded confused, as if he had the wrong number. “Is, ah, Mitchell Greer there?”
“Yes, he is. Hold on a moment.” I held the phone out to him with a smile, hoping that this would interrupt his chain of thought on my seeming inability to swallow even the simplest piece of food. “It's for you.”
“No kidding.” He wiped his mouth and took the receiver from me.
“Hello?” His face brightened. “Hi, Chris. Where are you calling from? Why didn't you reverse the charges?” He listened for a moment. “You're in town again? You were just here last weekend. I hope you're not neglecting your studies.”
I could hear the caller's youthful laugh and voice quite clearly. “I hope I didn't interrupt anything, Dad. I didn't know you had company.”
“No, no, you didn't interrupt. We, or well, I was just having some dinner. Hold on a second.” He held his hand over the receiver. “It's my son, Chris,” he said. “Would you like to meet him?”
“Yes, that would be nice; he's in town?”
He nodded and went back to the phone. “Why don't you come on up?” He smiled at me and took my hand. “There's someone here I'd like you to meet.”
I would have recognized Chris as Mitch's son immediately. They had the same nose, the same eyes with the same appraising manner. He shook my hand warmly then gave his father a sly wink. “You're right as usual, Dad.”
“Right about what?”
Mitch looked embarrassed and gave Chris a sharp look. “Excuse him, Deirdre, he's a bit of a smart ass.” But he smiled when he said it; Chris went to him and they exchanged a brief but forceful hug. “I can only guess that his studies haven't reached the part about confidentiality.” Mitch gave him a playful push away and Chris smiled at me.
“Nope, they ain't teached me that yet. Besides,” and he turned to Mitch again, “I don't think Deirdre would mind knowing that you described her to me in minute detail. I thought he was exaggerating, but now that I've seen you myself . . .” He rolled his eyes and I laughed at him.
“Cut it out, kid, I'm old enough to be your mother.”
“I doubt it,” he said, looked at me again and dropped his joking manner. “But you're dressed to go out. I didn't mean to spoil your evening.”
“We
were
out,” Mitch informed him. “We had just come in.”
“Then let's go out again. What would you like to do, Deirdre?”
I shrugged. “Whatever you'd like. What would you two do, if I weren't around?”
Mitch laughed. “We usually hit the pool hall for a few games and beers. Not exactly your cup of tea.”
“Oh, really? And how would you know about that?” I teased Mitch lightly. “Pool and beer sound good to me.”
Chris looked at me in shock. “In that dress? There'd be a full-fledged riot.”
“No, of course not. But I could change, if we made a stop first.”
Mitch looked doubtful. “If you really want to . . .”
“I do,” I insisted. “It's been a while since I've played, but I don't imagine the game has changed.”
 
“Shall I rack them up again, Chris?” I finished my beer and smiled over at him.
He shook his head and looked at Mitch, who gave a disgusted snort. “Not bloody likely, Deirdre. You've already skunked us six games to nothing. I have a reputation to keep up here.”
“Dad really hates to lose.” Chris seemed to be enjoying himself.
“You get out of here, rat, and get us another beer.” Mitch laughed as Chris left the pool room. He moved toward me and put an arm around my waist.
“I am so sorry, Detective, have I ruined your macho image forever?”
“Are you kidding? The fact that you're the best looking woman to ever enter this place has made my name legend.”
“Be honest,” I laughed. “I'm practically the only woman to ever come here.” I looked over at the rest of the patrons with a small grimace; they were a pretty rough crew, the pool hall was not in the best area of town.
“You're probably right.” He looked around, the crowd that had gathered while we played had dispersed, and while most went into the bar, some were still loitering by the doorway. Mitch lowered his voice so that I was the only one who could hear him. “Still I wish you had worn something a little less, well, tempting.” I had dressed in my black leather jeans and an oversized sweatshirt that kept falling down over one shoulder. “Not that you don't look great, you understand. I know most of these guys and they're usually a decent lot, but every once in a while they get a little rowdy. In a place like this, someone like you can be a time bomb.”
“But I'm with you, and I can take care of myself.”
“I guess so.” He gave me a sharp look as I pulled at the neckline of my shirt. “Where's your bruise?”
“Bruise?” I couldn't remember at first. “Oh, that. It's gone,” I said lightly. “I'm a quick healer.”
“I still don't remember you having that earlier in the evening. I can't believe I would have missed it.”
“Damn it, Mitch, it was dark and you were otherwise preoccupied. Next time, maybe you should take inventory beforehand.” I smiled at him invitingly. “Assuming, of course, that you want a next time.”
“Are you crazy?” He pulled me to him and held me tightly. “It's all I've been able to think about this week.” He lifted me off the floor and kissed me. I locked my arms around his neck, enjoying the feel of his body pressed to mine. When the kiss was done, I sighed and nestled into his shoulder, my head deliberately turned away from his neck. I wanted him so desperately, not just his body, but his blood. I wondered what it would be like to take a willing victim, not someone I had stalked and hunted, but someone who wanted to give themselves totally to me.
The tingling in my gums signaled the extension of my canines and I gave a sharp intake of breath. At the same time, there was a muffled cough at the door; Mitch let me down abruptly and spun around. Chris stood there, three bottles of beer in his grasp and a wide grin on his face. He looked so much like a younger version of Mitch that I smiled back despite my embarrassment.
“Beers?” he said, holding them out like an offering to the gods.
Mitch laughed. “Carry them into the bar, son, I think we've had enough pool for one night.”
We sat down at a small table toward the back of the room. We talked for a while about Chris' studies, but I was distracted by an oddly familiar figure sitting on the other end of the bar. He kept staring at us, at me in particular. Suddenly, I placed him with a sickening twist of my stomach; it was the man I fed on in the alley two weeks ago. Mitch had his back to him, and Chris was too involved in detailing his expectations of the law boards, so neither of them noticed. I glanced at my watch, yawned conspicuously and quickly finished my beer. Sensing my impatience, Mitch looked over at me.
“Would you like to go now?”
I nodded. “It has been a long day and I'm very tired. So if you don't mind . . .”
“Fine, but I need to make one phone call before we leave. I'll be back in a minute.”
After Mitch left, Chris stood up. “It's been really nice to meet you, Deirdre.” He reached out, shook my hand and gave me the Greer smile. “But I get the feeling that you two would like to be alone for a while. And I know Dad well enough to know that he wouldn't tell me to leave even if he wanted me to. So I'll do the decent thing and quit cutting-in on his time.” He looked at me intently then smiled again. “I'm probably way out of line for saying this, but I hope you stick around for a while. I haven't seen him this relaxed for years. You're good for him, I can tell,” he flushed slightly, “but don't you dare tell him I said so.”

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