Paris After Dark (3 page)

If Gabriel had an ulterior motive for helping her, Rachel couldn’t see what it could be. She didn’t have money, the only thing stolen was her necklace, and they hadn’t been able to find the body. Despite all that, she couldn’t stop the gnawing at her gut that told her she was missing something vital.

Gabriel popped his head in the door and smiled. The unease she’d felt seconds ago melted under that grin, morphing into something far more dangerous. Rachel didn’t have time for romantic liaisons. She needed to find the psycho who’d attacked her and get Paul’s necklace back. She felt naked without its protection, without its comfort.

* * *

The taxi drove off with Rachel slumped in the back seat. Gabriel reached into his pocket for his phone and called his partner. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Hurry up or there won’t be anything left to do,” he said.

Gabriel found his partner, Claude Russo, off Rue Balard leaning over the body of a blonde-haired woman. Her throat had been ripped out like the other victims they’d found over the past few months, leaving only tendon and bone behind. She wore a long black skirt and a purple shirt with a multi-coloured scarf thrown over her shoulders. Her grey eyes were open, frozen with fright.

He glanced around and saw a sign for Parc Andre. The location was nowhere near Boulevard Raspail where Rachel had been attacked, so it was doubtful there was a connection.

“What took you so long?” Claude asked, laying out a tarp next to the body. A jug nearby contained a mixture of bleach and water.

“It’s been a hell of a night,” Gabriel said.

“Do tell.” Claude rolled the body onto the tarp. He reached for the jug and began to spray the area where the body had been lying.

“I ran into this crazy American woman down in the catacombs.”

Claude shook his head. “When will they learn it’s not smart to sneak in there after dark?”

“That’s just it, she wasn’t down there stealing bones or exploring. She claimed to have witnessed a murder over by Cimetière du Montparnasse. She was chasing her attacker, when I found her.”

“Drinking makes you see things that aren’t there,” Claude said.

“I’d have thought so, too if it wasn’t for the fact she’d been bitten by one of the
sanguis.”

Claude’s shoulders stiffened. “Then I suppose it’s exceedingly lucky for her that she didn’t catch him.”

“Yes, it is.” Fear trickled down Gabriel’s spine at the thought of Rachel fighting a
sanguis.
She was lucky she’d survived the initial attack. And even more fortunate he’d come upon her before round two.

“Come help me roll her.” Claude indicated to the body.

Gabriel walked over and grabbed the edge of the tarp and slowly covered the woman, then rolled her up tight. “What do you think?” he asked.

“I think you had it pegged right. The woman is obviously crazy. Who’s to say she was even bitten by one of us. Could’ve been a dog.” His laugh came out as a congested snort.

Gabriel looked at him. “No, it was definitely a
sanguis
bite. I didn’t believe her at first, but the hospital confirmed it.”

Claude frowned. “So you found the body?”

He paused. “That’s the weird part. There wasn’t one. I mean I saw blood. Smelled it everywhere, but the bulk of it was coming from Rachel.”

Claude arched a brow. “Her name is Rachel. Just how well did you get to know this woman?”

Gabriel tensed at the underlying implication in Claude’s tone. “Not well.”

“But you’d like to, eh,
ami
?” he asked.

“She needed help, so I helped her.” Gabriel looked away. He wasn’t sure how he felt about Rachel. She brought out a protective side of him Gabriel thought he’d lost long ago.

“How does she taste? Good?” Claude asked.

Gabriel shifted impatiently on his feet. “I wouldn’t know.”

“You didn’t bite her?” he asked, sounding surprised. “It’s always important to know how she tastes before you make her a regular donor.”

Gabriel glared. “She’s not going to be a donor. Rachel’s already been through enough between the bite and her necklace being stolen. Damn fool is determined to get it back. It obviously has sentimental meaning.”

“Is that so?” Claude murmured. “It doesn’t really matter what she wants. It’s not like she’ll be able to find the guy when even the Trackers haven’t succeeded. And they’ve been hunting him far longer.”

“Did I mention she’s a New York City homicide detective?”

Claude’s head whipped around. “No, you left that part out.”

“I’ve seen her type. She’s not going to let this go.” Gabriel slipped a plastic tie around one end of the tarp. “I have to try to find the necklace for her. The sooner she leaves Paris, the better. We don’t need a credible witness running around screaming about
vampyres.”

“She actually used the ‘v’ word?” His disgust over the use of the derogatory term was evident.

Gabriel lifted the woman’s feet as Claude tied the other end of the tarp. “Yes, but she thinks he’s a fake, assumes he’s had cosmetic dentistry. Thank God for goths and movies.”

“Oui.”
Claude snorted, then wheezed.

“Are you all right?” Gabriel asked.

“I accidentally inhaled some of the bleach fumes when I was mixing tonight’s batch of cleaners.” They lifted the body into Claude’s van. “Hopefully the Trackers will catch the killer soon.”

“It would certainly make our job easier,” Gabriel said. “Let’s hurry. I want to drop by Luxembourg Parc to make sure Rachel’s OK before reporting the incident to the Sang High Council.”

Claude’s attention sharpened. “Sounds like you’re developing a bit of a soft spot for this mortal.”

Gabriel avoided his partner’s knowing gaze.
“Sanguis
don’t have soft spots, remember? They’re ripped out at rebirth.”

Claude’s green eyes narrowed. “Whatever you say, my friend.”

Rachel could see the woman clearly. She wore a blue sweatsuit and a black cap. Her long red ponytail bobbed as she set off at a brisk pace on her jog. The sun had faded, leaving streaks of purple and grey behind. Her pale skin looked nearly translucent despite the blood pumping beneath and it gave off a faint musky aroma. Rachel could see the veins networking through her neck. They were a blue relief against the alabaster. She was so hungry, so very thirsty. Rachel licked her cracked lips, but nothing but the woman’s blood could quench her burning need. She had to catch her, stop her, taste her.

Suddenly Rachel was moving. Slowly at first, then gaining speed. The distance between her and the woman closed rapidly. The bushes beside her blurred as she raced to catch her. One hand reached out for the woman’s red ponytail, while the other sealed her mouth. There was a flash of teeth, then a muffled scream as she sank fangs into the woman’s throat. Desire – thick, rich, and tantalizing – flooded Rachel. She wanted more, needed more. Her body craved completion.

Gaze riveted, Rachel watched blood drip down the woman’s throat and her mouth began to water. The woman slumped. Rachel could hear the sound of the redhead’s heart thump erratically in her chest. One thump, then three in quick succession. Then there were no more. The silence was broken by a loud menacing growl.

Rachel jerked awake and looked around. The TV was on low and her suitcase was poking out of the closet where she’d left it. Her stomach rumbled and she fell back onto the bed.

The dream had been so real. She could almost taste the blood in her mouth. Another wave of desire scorched her. Her stomach growled again. Rachel swallowed hard and tossed the covers off, then sprinted to the bathroom. She barely made it to the toilet before she threw up.

When nothing else would come up, Rachel gripped the sink and pulled herself to her feet. How could she feel anything but revulsion at the thought of drinking someone’s blood? It had to be her subconscious working overtime. She was simply reliving the trauma of last night … even though this woman wasn’t wearing a long black skirt and a purple shirt like the first victim.

Rachel turned on the tap and splashed water on her face. It did little to remove the haze her mind was shrouded in. She needed a shower then maybe she’d be able to face the day. Rachel carefully unwound the dressing on her arm. The bite stank and oozed thick green pus. If the doctor hadn’t said that would happen, she would be worried that it was infected. She dropped the dirty bandages into the trash and turned on the shower.

It didn’t take long to strip out of her clothes. Rachel stepped under the spray and immediately jumped back as the water peppered her body. She could feel every drop pierce her flesh. She looked down half expecting to see blood. There wasn’t any, but her skin was abnormally red where the water had touched.

“You’re just bruised from the fight,” Rachel told herself as she made her way back under the spray. It didn’t get any better. If anything, the sensation was worse.

She stayed in the shower just long enough to wash her hair and rinse off. She’d never been hypersensitive before. Hell, maybe it was the water pressure in Paris, Rachel thought as she turned off the tap.

She wrapped a towel around her hair and body, then ran a hand over the fogged mirror. At first glance, she didn’t see herself. Rachel swiped her hand again, then caught a glimpse of her face. It was faint, but she could at least make out her features. Parisian steam was obviously tougher than New York bathroom steam. She looked up at the ceiling. They really should put fans in these places.

Rachel put on her make-up the best she could, then got dressed and bound her wound. She wanted to revisit the side street where she’d been attacked. Maybe the killer had dropped something she could use to locate him. She had a far better chance of finding proof in the daylight than she did at night. He wouldn’t be the first perp stupid enough to leave a cell phone or a business card behind.

She glanced at the clock to see if there was enough time to grab breakfast first. It was six. She’d gone to bed at four in the morning. Rachel had never felt this rested after so little sleep. She turned the volume up on the television and flipped it to the English-language channel. The evening news had just begun. She looked back at the clock. It couldn’t be. Rachel walked over to the phone and called the front desk.

“Hello, could you please tell me what time it is?” she asked.

“But of course, madam. It is six o’ clock,” the woman said politely.

“In the evening?”

“
Oui
, madam.”

“Thank you.” Rachel’s legs were trembling as she slowly hung up the phone. She ran a hand through her hair. “Pull yourself together,” she muttered.

Rachel walked over to the window and threw back the curtain. So much for finding proof in the daylight. She stared at the Jardin du Luxembourg across the street. The park’s gates were closed for the night. She was about to shut the drapes when she noticed movement near the sidewalk.

The shadows surrounding the park shifted and a man appeared. Rachel watched in horror as he grinned, flashing glaring white fangs. He held up his hand and let something drop. Light from the street light caught the silver chain dangling from his fingertips. It swayed gently back and forth like a pendulum. Rachel could see it clearly. It was her St Michael medal – Paul’s St Michael medal. The bastard was taunting her with it, daring her to come and get it. How did he find her?

“Son of a bitch!” she growled, grabbing her coat as she headed out the door.

Rachel reached the front of the hotel within a minute and glanced up and down the street. There was no one around. She picked a direction and ran up the road. He had to be here somewhere. He wouldn’t go to all this trouble, and then hide.

She scanned the cafes, but didn’t spot him. He couldn’t have gone far. Rachel had left the hotel room the second she’d seen him. At most, he’d be a block ahead of her. She was looking down a side street, trying to decide whether to head in another direction, when she collided with a hard, unyielding male chest. Strong arms enveloped her. Rachel took a deep breath to scream and caught a familiar scent. She looked up and all thoughts of fleeing disappeared as she fell into Gabriel Dumont’s blue eyes.

Gabriel continued to hold her, enjoying the feel of soft womanly curves in his hands. He longed to pull her closer, taste her full lips, answer the need he could see burning in her eyes. Rachel recovered before he could act on those impulses.

She grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked. “Did you see him?”

“See who?” He looked around, but didn’t immediately spot anyone. Gabriel inhaled, catching the familiar fragrance of her floral shampoo. He forced his senses to move on. There were
sanguis
about, but none nearby.

“The killer. He was here.” She craned her neck to scan the street.

Something fluttered dangerously in Gabriel’s chest. “What do you mean he was here?” The calm in his voice belied the building rage scorching his veins.

Rachel released him. “I just saw him outside my hotel. He had my necklace. Held it up so I could see it. The son-of-a bitch all but dared me to come and get it.”

Her skin tone had faded to milk, emphasizing the dark circles under her eyes.

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Rachel snapped. “I can tell by your expression that you don’t believe me.”

There was no deception that Gabriel could sense in her speech. Rachel believed every word coming out of her mouth. She’d obviously seen something that shook her up, but could it really be her attacker?

“How did he find me?” she asked quietly. If it wasn’t for the fine tension thrumming through her body, he would’ve believed the calm she projected.

“No idea,” Gabriel said. “Are you sure it was him?”

“Positive.” A muscle in Rachel’s jaw began to tic. “You’re the only one who knows where I’m staying.”

Gabriel flinched, his temper pricked by her insinuation. “Are you accusing me of something?”

Rachel stepped closer. Waves of heat emanated from her tiny body as she peered up at him. “No one else knew where I was staying.”