Immortal Obsession (4 page)

“Or my father takes her for himself,” Solange snarled. “Kill them both, Gaétan.” She rubbed up against him like a cat rubbing up against its owner’s leg for affection.

Gabrielle was off the couch as well. “Christian would never harm her, you fool. He has such an exaggerated sense of right and wrong … trust me. She is safest with him and Michel.”

Solange rubbed up against Gaétan again. “Bring the one called Michel, the dark one back for me. I want to taste him.”

“Why don’t you send Philippe or one of your other lackeys?” Gabrielle asked, trying to control her anger.

“Exactly, my love. Why do you have to go?” Solange grinned from ear to ear as she wrapped her arms around his legs.

“Look what happened to Antoine!” He shrugged innocently. “I thought he could do the job and he was slaughtered.”

“Perhaps he just wants to protect the girl,” Étienne chimed in. “I cannot imagine Christian using her for his own gain.”

“We have no idea who he is anymore, Étienne. Who knows what he thinks these days.”

“If killing the girl means keeping the peace here, then you have my consent, but that is all, Gaétan.” Gabrielle waved a long finger at him. “Anything more I will view as a declaration of war, and I doubt either of us is up to it.”

“Thank you Gabrielle.”

“How much time do you need?” Gabrielle asked curtly.

“Give me six months.” He smiled into her dark eyes and took her hands. “I promise you I will return with her head.”

“I trust your word on this, Gaétan. No harm to Christian or Michel.”

For a moment, the walls dropped between them. The centuries of bloodshed and pain vanished, and he felt her as she must have been as a mortal woman, centuries before he had met her.
It is the blood
, he thought, still holding her hands.

“I thank you both for coming.” Gaétan escorted them to the door with a pang of regret when they were gone.

Her perfume lingered in the living room.

“Please come to bed, Gee.” Solange whispered, running her hand over his crotch. She wrapped herself around him. He could feel her need, her desperation as she tried to arouse him, but he was already gone, lost in the sights and smells of his new home, New York.

PART TWO

NEW YORK—SIX MONTHS LATER

Chapter Six

I
T BEGAN TO
snow just as Amanda left the museum for the night. She headed down the stately front steps and crossed Fifth towards Park Avenue. After returning a skirt she felt she could not afford, she decided to see if Detective Ross was in his office. It had been six months since her brother’s death and two months since she had heard from anyone at the NYPD. As she headed back toward the Central Park precinct, she studied the faces of the passersby out of habit, forever searching for the stranger who had saved her life.
I may never see him again, but I will never forget him
, she thought, dodging the sidewalk full of rush hour commuters.

The last six months of her life felt like a dream. After the attack, she had spent the weekend in St. Vincent’s hospital being treated for shock. Since then, she had continually relived the events in the park, trying to make sense of it all. Bethany Daniels, her best friend and roommate, professed to believe her descriptions of Ryan’s murderer—a madman with fangs and a knife—and the tall blond-haired man wielding a machete. She wondered if Bethany was simply humoring her. The road back to her normally sedate life had been rocky at best, and the disturbing memories of that night continually haunted her.

Her cell phone rang, interrupting her ruminations. Glancing at the incoming number, she smiled. It was Thomas, a night shift guard in the European Decorative Arts and Sculpture galleries. She had noticed him one night about five months ago. Whenever Amanda found herself working late on exhibitions, they always managed to run into each other and he would say hi. One night she was on break, sipping a cup of coffee in the cafeteria, when he happened to come in on his break, too. From then on, whenever she worked late, they somehow managed to end up in the cafeteria at the same time. He would join her while as she ate a quick dinner or had a drink, but his visits were always brief.

As they got to know each other, they scheduled their breaks together. It seemed as if he had the uncanny ability to know when she needed a break, usually inviting her for a cup of coffee in the museum cafeteria just when it felt like her eyes would fall out of her head and she could not type or read another word. Sometimes he would translate French texts for her, and although she insisted on buying him dinner, he always refused, telling her how glad he was just to help her out.

“How’s my favorite researcher?” A sultry male voice asked her.

“TGIF.” She smiled to herself as she crossed over Park Avenue and headed back toward Fifth.

“My God, Cole doesn’t have you guys working on the dinner dance yet?”

She dared not tell him that Cole Thierry, her boss, had scheduled their first staff meeting about the infamous April dinner dance that afternoon.

“Hey, it just started snowing, it’s so beautiful.” There was something about the snow that hypnotized her, although it reminded her of her father’s death on a March day over a decade ago.

“I’ll take another look at that book on Monday night. I stopped by, but you were gone already.”

Amanda had found an old French volume under some papers on her desk. It was not the first time she had inexplicably discovered a book on her desk that was useful to her current research project. Whenever she showed one of these books to Thomas, he would close his eyes and hold the book to his forehead as if he could magically discern its contents. Then she would hand him a pair of gloves and he would open it carefully, his long thin hands gently turning each page as if he were caressing a lover. No one in her department could figure out where the volumes came from, and they disappeared just a mysteriously, as if the lender knew when she was finished with them.

Working together had brought Amanda and Thomas together professionally, and she had felt an instant attraction between them, but she was keeping her distance. They had an easy rapport, but she had been distracted, not sleeping well, and lost inside herself.
Is it me
, she thought, approaching the precinct.
Am I just too fragile and distracted, or is it that I keep holding out for him?

“Thanks again, Thomas.”

“Any plans tonight?”

She was so tired of having none, yet too honest to lie to him. “No, just thought I would take it easy. Maybe I’ll rent a movie.”

“Listen, Amanda,” he said with a sigh, “I would love to take you out sometime. I haven’t pushed … I figured you needed time.”

She slowed down as she turned onto 84
^th
Street.

“Is it that obvious?” She felt tears well up. “I guess it would be naïve of me to think you hadn’t heard the gossip about my brother’s murder. Everyone talks, I know, but it’s …” She took a deep breath.

“It’s not something I talk much about.”

“I don’t want to upset you—”

“No, it’s just so … It feels like a bad dream that I keep hoping to wake up from, but I don’t—”

“I’m sorry for bringing it up, Amanda. The last thing I want to do is push you away from me.”

She felt her knees buckle as his voice, with just a trace of a French accent, caressed her.

“It’s not you, Thomas,” she said with a sigh. “I’m just so distracted.”

“I don’t want to lose your friendship mon cherie.”

“You won’t, Thomas. It’s just … There’s so much about my brother’s murder that’s unresolved for me, and I can’t seem to focus on much else. Call me obsessed.”

“Even the obsessed need to go out dancing.”

It had been so long since she had been on a date with anyone.

Even before Ryan’s murder, she had rebuffed an intern in the legal department. Maybe if she went out and got her mind off her brother and the mysterious stranger, she might have a good time.
Why can’t I stop thinking about him?
She stared up at the street lamps and watched the falling snow, illuminated by the city lights.

“Amanda, are you there?”

She desperately needed to feel wanted, desirable. The stern face of the blond stranger loomed in her mind’s eye. Then she thought about Thomas, with his bright brown eyes and dimpled cheeks. When he smiled, his face lit up.
What harm could come of one date?

“I’m here, Thomas,” she whispered into the phone.

“There’s a dance club over on First Avenue and 54th called Zero Hour. Why not meet me there tomorrow night for a drink. Say eleven? I happen to have the night off.”

Silence.

“I’ll tell you what. I’ll be there if you decide to come. Otherwise, no hard feelings and I’ll see you next week.”

“Thanks, Thomas. I’ll think about it.”

“Have a good weekend.”

Thomas had a habit of never saying good-bye when they spoke. She stood at the doors of the Central Park precinct, not sure whether coming here had been a good idea.
Just go home, Amanda. Watch a movie and go out with Thomas tomorrow night. Try to have a normal life.

With her hand on the door of the historic building, she turned to go home and then thought better of it.

I have to know the truth.

“Can I help you?” Quipped a burly police office seated at a counter behind a Plexi-glass window.

“Yes, Detective Ross, please.”

“Is he expecting you?” Officer Rizzo asked, getting up. Amanda stared into steely blue eyes surrounded by a fleshy face.

“He was handling the investigation of my brother’s murder last July.”

“Lady, we got lots of murders here. What’s the name?” “Perretti. Amanda Perretti. My brother’s name was Ryan.” Without being asked, she held up her picture ID from the Met.

She watched him pick up a black phone. She checked her watch: seven o’clock on a Friday night. It was doubtful he was in, but something had compelled her to stop by.

“Come on in.” The glass door clicked open and Amanda entered the busy front desk area of the station. “Follow me.”

She followed him down a narrow, dimly lit hallway, past a row of empty desks. He stopped at the last door on the right.
Will he remember me?
she wondered, taking a deep breath. Though they had spoken on the phone numerous times, she had met Ross only twice. Once when he questioned her in the hospital, and once in a coffee shop near her apartment. Rizzo knocked gently and opened the door for her. She slipped through the door into the office. The first thing that struck her was the darkness. Ross was sitting at his desk, feet up, sprinkled in long shadows cast from the desk lamp. She followed his legs down to his feet toward the shadows.
Someone else is here
, she sensed, shutting the door behind her.
He’s not alone.

“Ms. Perretti—” He swung his legs off the desk, coming towards her. He looked comfortable in a pair of black jeans, and a T-shirt His hair was short and gelled. He looked less like a police officer and more like a GQ model. He came around the desk and extended his hand as if he were trying to prevent her from coming any farther into the room.

“Hi, Detective. I wasn’t sure if you would remember me.” She shook his hand. “I took a chance you might be in.” She scanned the room, thinking it odd that he would sit in almost total darkness. It was such a contrast to the outer precinct, with its glaring fluorescent lights. She walked slowly toward him, eyeing the chair right in front of his desk.

“If this is a bad time, I can come back. I just got off work and I was wondering if there was anything new with my brother Ryan’s murder …”

Something caught her eye as the shadows parted, as if releasing him reluctantly. He was taller than she remembered, probably 6’4” and reed thin, with dark, piercing eyes. Amanda clutched her purse as if the reality of his presence would knock her over. His wavy blonde hair flowed to his waist over a dark leather coat.

“Hello.” He nodded, his deep voice holding her spellbound.

Amanda felt the floor shift and her body flush as she stared into his bottomless eyes. Thoughts filled her head, random, disconnected images of Paris, the French Revolution and lots of blood.

“Ms. Perretti, this is Christian.”

“Hi.” She thought she replied then realized she was holding her breath. She was transfixed, unable to look away, still not certain if he were a hallucination. A rush of adrenaline surged through her as his gaze hit something ethereal. It felt as though he could see into her soul.

“She works at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.” Ross muttered hesitantly.

”Did you ever catch Lucien?” Amanda could not help but ask, riveted to his face, glad of the darkness.
It’s really him.

“Excuse me?” He whispered, his dark eyes darting nervously. His accent was French and thick.

“I remember you in the tunnel.”

Amanda thought it took courage to say it aloud, not caring if either of them thought she was crazy.

“I doubt our paths have crossed.” He smiled, quickly glancing at Ross. “You have business with the detective. I’d better go.”

“You were brave, taking his head and saving my life.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mademoiselle,” he whispered.

“Ms. Perretti, please sit down. Let me take your coat,” Detective Ross interrupted, gesturing toward a chair for her. Amanda could not move; she stood rooted to the spot.

“I have been looking for you for the past six months.” The image of a large gray wolf running across a snow-covered landscape suddenly floated into her head. “No one believed me, but here you are. Detective, this is the man—”

“I must be going, Amanda.”

Ross gestured toward the chair in front of his desk. “What can I do for you, Ms. Perretti?”

Christian forced a smile and strode toward the door in one graceful movement, his great coat flowing behind him. He was gone before she noticed the office door open and close.

“Wait.” She called after him and ran down the hallway toward the front desk, but paused when she realized he was not in front of her. There was no way he could have left the building that fast. She turned and headed back down the hallway toward Ross’s office. Maybe there was another exit.

Nothing.
Where did he go?

Still wearing her coat, she reentered the detective’s office to find Ross sitting behind his desk. Out of breath, she finally sat down.

“I know what I saw and I swear he was the man in the tunnel. He had some kind of knife and he …” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Please just tell me his last name, give me his address or a phone number.”

“The best I can do is to give him your phone number. Whether he contacts you is his business.” Ross shrugged. “Amanda, we have pursued all the leads, but we have nothing right now. There were no witnesses to corroborate your story. You were lying on the grass outside the tunnel, away from the murder scene. We can’t explain how you got there.”

“You don’t understand. I need to speak to him.” She leaned forward in her chair. “Please, Detective, he’s the key. The only thing that has kept me going is the thought that he’s out there.”

“Ryan’s killer will be found.” Ross sat back in his chair.

“He was a homeless drug addict. He can’t be your priority. Please, Detective.”