Secret Life Of A Vampire (2 page)

The female officer climbed onto the coffee table and used her expandable baton to dislodge the bra. “There were women at this party?”

“I wouldn't call them real women.”

“Female impersonators?” She gave him a wry look as she waved the bra in the air.

He scowled at her. “It's not mine.”

She tossed the bra on the couch and stepped down to the floor. “What's in the bedroom?”

Jack squeezed his eyes shut as he bombarded her with all the psychic power he could muster. Do not go in there.

“Do not go in there,” Harvey repeated.

She shivered. “It's damned cold in here.” She slipped into the bedroom. “Oh my God!”

Jack groaned.

She stuck her head out the door. “Harvey. Harvey! Call for backup!” She went back inside.

Harvey shook his head. “Huh?” He gave Jack a questioning look. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“There's a body on the bed,” the woman called from the bedroom. “Female.”

“It's VANNA White,” Jack explained.

“Oh my gosh, she… she's not alive,” the female officer continued.

Harvey blinked. “You killed Vanna White? You bastard.” He reached for his transmitter.

You will not call for backup, Jack told him.

Harvey lowered his hand and resumed his deadpan face.

“She was never alive.” The female officer appeared in the doorway, holding the doll. “It's a sex toy.” She tossed it on the floor and gave Jack a look of utter disgust. “You sick pervert.”

“It's not mine,” he growled.

With a huff, she headed back into the bedroom.

This had gone far enough. Jack focused on Harvey. You will leave this place and go back to your car. You will forget you were ever here. You will forget me and everything you have seen here.

Harvey nodded, then slowly wandered down the hall.

Now to take care of the beautiful but strangely resistant female. Jack followed her into the bedroom. “Miss—”

She whirled around, and her eyes widened at the sight of his free hands. She immediately reached for her gun. “I thought you were cuffed.”

Jack stepped toward her. “There's no need to—”

She drew her weapon. “Stay back. Harvey! Where are you?”

Jack could hear her heart racing. “Relax. I only want to talk. And there's no need to yell for Harvey. He left.”

Her pulse jumped. “My partner wouldn't leave me alone. What did you do to him?”

“Nothing. He simply left.”

“I don't believe you.” She lifted her gun an inch, aiming at his head. “More police are on their way.”

“No, they're not. I didn't let Harvey call for backup.”

She gulped audibly. “You didn't let… Who are you?”

He opened his palms. “I will not harm you.”

“What did you do to Harvey?” she shouted.

“Nothing. He's on his way to the car. He knows I'm harmless.” Jack lifted his hands and moved closer. “Think about it, Miss… ?”

She stepped back. “Officer Boucher.”

She pronounced it the French way, like bouchey. It sounded pretty, coming from her, even though he knew it meant “butcher.”

“There was no crime committed here. And while it is true that my friends were too loud and messy, I'll clean everything up and pay for any damages. You have my word on that.”

She kept her gun pointed at him. “There's blood everywhere. A sure sign of violent crime. Just because I haven't found the body doesn't mean it didn't happen.”

“There is no body.”

She edged toward the bathroom. “I haven't finished checking everywhere yet.”

He sighed. “Don't go in there.”

She lifted her eyebrows. “Sounds like an invitation to me.” She reached behind her to ease open the door.

She glanced back and gasped at the sight of VANNA Black sprawled on the tile floor.

With vampire speed, Jack lunged forward and snatched the gun from her hand.

She gasped again. Her eyes grew wide. He could hear her heart racing dangerously fast.

Merda. Did she really think he would kill her? “Bellissima, you wound me.” He ejected the clip and handed it to her. “I would never hurt you.”

She stared at him, then at the bullets in her hand. Her heart still pounded, but he could hear it slowing down.

She glanced at VANNA Black. “Another sex toy? How many do you need?”

He gave her a wry look. “It's not mine.”

“Right.”

He concentrated all his efforts on one last attempt to take over her mind. She stumbled back, knocked off balance by the strength of his psychic power.

You will leave immediately and forget you were here. You will forget you ever met me. The reality of that last command pricked him with a twinge of regret. He almost wished his mind control would fail.

With a grimace, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “Ouch.”

He should be careful what he wished for.

She lowered her hand find gave him a confused look. “There's something really strange going on here.”

“Tell me about it.” In two hundred years, he'd never encountered this problem before.

“I thought I heard your voice—never mind.” She stepped back, eyeing him warily. “Who are you?”

“I am Giacomo. My English-speaking friends have called me Jack for so many years, that I think of myself that way when I'm speaking English. You may call me Jack.”

“I'm not your friend.” She shivered from the cold psychic waves surrounding her.

He stepped toward her. “What is your full name?”

She stared at him, her eyes wide, as if she were completely entranced, but he knew she wasn't. He couldn't breach her mind. He had no idea what she was thinking.

A noise in the hallway drew his attention. He peered into the living room just as two paramedics rolled a gurney inside.

He shot a wave of psychic power at them. You will leave the hotel, go back to your ambulance, and have no memory of ever being here. Go now.

The two men turned and rolled the gurney down the hall.

“How did you do that?” Officer Boucher whispered.

He turned toward her. “I know none of this makes sense to you, but you must believe me. No one was harmed tonight. Nothing bad happened here.”

She frowned. “What about the guy on the floor?”

“He's sick. I'll take care of him. You didn't find any wounds on him, did you?”

“No. But there's so much blood.”

“I'll make sure it's all cleaned up.” He offered her the empty gun. “Please go, Officer Boucher.”

She accepted the weapon. “I—I don't feel right about this. I can't just act like nothing happened.”

“There's nothing you can do but go. I'm sorry.”

She stood there, chewing her lip and frowning. “This isn't right.”

“Your partner is outside waiting for you. Good-bye, Miss Boucher.”

She wandered toward the door and glanced at Laszlo. “You'll be okay?”

He waved good-bye. “I'll be all right. Thank you.”

She paused at the door to give Jack a pointed look. “This isn't over. We have unfinished business, Jack.” She strode down the hall.

A part of him, a very old and lonely part of him, hoped she was right.

“Wait!” Lara Boucher ran after the paramedics as they rolled their gurney into an elevator. She caught up with them just as the doors slid shut. She could have stopped the elevator doors, but she froze when she saw their faces. They had the same zombielike expressions that she'd seen on Harvey.

A shudder shot down her spine. It must be a residual effect from the icy cold hotel room she'd just left.

Who was she kidding? She was totally freaked out.

She punched the down button for another elevator and jammed the clip back into her automatic pistol. Coward. If she had any guts at all, she'd march back to that room and take the mysterious Jack in for questioning.

Another shudder racked her body as she recalled the moment he'd taken her weapon. It had been scary enough when he'd ambled calmly into the bedroom with no cuffs on to announce that Harvey had abandoned her and no backup was on the way. But when he'd grabbed her weapon, she'd thought for a second that her life was over. And if that wasn't terrifying enough, she'd thought she'd heard his voice in her head, although she couldn't make out the words.

She glanced down the hall. Should she go back for him? The man was dangerous. Strangely compelling, but at the same time frightening. Confusing, unworldly. And incredibly handsome.

She jumped when a dinging noise announced the next elevator. She hurried inside and pushed the lobby button. Coward. You're running away.

What else could she do? Harvey had left her. And Jack had disarmed her so easily. He would simply do it again.

She snapped her sidearm back into the holster. She had a strange feeling Jack had been in control of the situation all along. He could have killed her, but instead, he'd seemed insulted that she'd thought him capable of it.

After the elevator doors opened, she dashed into the lobby and spotted the paramedics leaving the hotel. She rushed through the revolving door and met them as they were loading the gurney into the back of the ambulance.

“Hey, guys. What's going on?”

One of the paramedics gave her a blank look. “Hello, Officer. We're on call tonight.”

“You were called here, to the Plaza hotel.”

The paramedic shut the back doors on the ambulance. “We've never been to the Plaza.”

Lara's mouth fell open. Didn't they know where they were?

The paramedic climbed into the driver's seat. “Good night, Officer.”

She inhaled sharply as the ambulance drove away.

What had Jack done to them? Did he have some sort of strange power over people's minds? Her skin prickled as if a thousand eyes were focused on her in tike dark. Keep it together. You're not losing it. Unfortunately, she knew too well how fragile a person's brain could be.

She spotted the patrol car parked by the curb and jogged over to it.

Harvey frowned at her as she climbed into the front passenger seat. “Where have you been? I've been waiting forever.”

“I was in the hotel.” She buckled her seat belt. “With you.”

He snorted. “I've never been in a hotel with you. I'm a married man.”

“I didn't mean—”

“If that's some kind of joke, it's not funny.” He turned on the ignition and pulled out onto Fifth Avenue.

“Harvey, I have the utmost respect for you and your marriage.” And absolutely no attraction to you. “You don't remember the Plaza asking us to check on some guests who were too rowdy?”

“Hotel security would take care of that.”

“Normally, yes. But when someone reported an alleged sword fight going on, they called us.”

He laughed. “A sword fight in a hotel room? You need to cut back on the caffeine.”

“You don't remember the guy with the sex toys?”

Harvey gave her a dubious look. “You're crazy. Our last call was a drunken brawl in Times Square.”

Her skin chilled. “I'm not crazy.” It did happen. Just because Harvey and the paramedics couldn't remember it, that didn't mean it hadn't happened. Somehow Jack had erased their memories. What manner of man could do that?

At least he hadn't screwed with her head like he had the others. Or had he? Was she remembering something that hadn't even happened?

Oh God, not again. She'd already spent six months of her life in utter confusion, unable to tell reality from dreams. After the car accident, reality had seemed fuzzy, and her dreams had seemed real.

She had to know. She had to go back and face Jack.

Two blocks ahead of them, a car swerved onto Fifth Avenue. It skidded across two lanes, sliding dangerously close to a yellow cab before speeding away.

Harvey eased on the accelerator. “What do you think? Drunk driver?”

“Or stolen vehicle.” Lara grabbed the radio mike to call the dispatcher. “I need a ten-fourteen.” She read the license plate number as they continued to follow.

The radio crackled. “That's a ten-seventeen.” The dispatcher reported the vehicle was not stolen.

“Roger,” she answered. “Looks like a DWI.”

“Let's get him.” Harvey hit the lights and siren.

Lara's nerves tensed. You never knew how people would react. Luckily, the driver cooperated, and twenty minutes later, they were hauling his drunken ass into headquarters.

As the sun rose, Lara finished her paperwork for the night. She double-checked the log Harvey had kept. No reference of them ever going to the Plaza. She drummed her pen on the desk, debating what to do. If she included the Plaza incident in her report, then her supervisor, Captain O'Brian, would question why it didn't appear in the log or in Harvey's report. She'd never get promoted to detective if they started doubting her grip on reality.

She strode to the water cooler and took a long drink. Maybe she should visit a neurologist and see if it was possible to have a relapse.

Dammit, no! She crushed the paper cup in her hand and tossed it in the trash. She'd fought too hard to overcome her head injury. That was six years ago, and she was over it. She hadn't dreamed this up. For one thing, she could remember everything about Jack. All sorts of details.

Thick, black hair brushed back from his wide brow. The ends curled slightly where they touched his shirt collar. And that black silk shirt—it had clung to him, clearly outlining his broad shoulders and rock-hard abs. He was as gorgeous as any model she'd ever seen in a magazine.

And his voice had intrigued her. Soft and melodious, with an Italian accent, but also crisp and polite, as if he'd learned English from the British. The dual accents hinted at a man who would be complex. Fascinating, even. He was both Jack and Giacomo. Bellissima, he had called her.

She closed her eyes and mentally roamed up his body from his expensive Italian leather shoes. Long legs. Narrow hips. Trim waist. Broad shoulders with a lovely curve to his neck that made her want to nestle her face into the crook. Strong jaw with a shade of dark whiskers, just enough to make her want to touch. Expressive mouth. She'd found herself using his mouth to gauge his reactions. One corner of his mouth would curl up when he was amused. His lips would part when he was surprised, then press together when he was annoyed.

And his eyes—they were a warm, golden brown that radiated both intelligence and courage. He'd watched her every move with an intensity that bordered on… hunger.

“Hey, don't fall asleep standing up.”

She jerked her eyes open to find Captain O'Brian regarding her curiously. “Sorry. It was a long night.”

“It takes a while to adjust to the graveyard shift, but you're doing fine. Finish up and go home, Boucher.”

“Yes, Captain.” She hurried back to her desk to finish her report without the incident at the Plaza. But it had happened. Jack might look like a dream, but he was real.

She usually changed into civilian clothes before taking the train back to her apartment in Brooklyn. After a long night of dealing with drunk and disorderly people, she just wanted to fade into the crowd unnoticed. But this morning, she kept her uniform on and took the subway back to the Plaza hotel.

“I need information on Room 1412,” she told the registration clerk.

“Just a moment.” The young man typed on his keyboard. “That's one of our Edwardian suites. Would you like to reserve it?”

“It's already occupied. I want to check on it.”

He frowned at his computer screen. “That suite is vacant at the moment.”

“Well, maybe they checked out, but they were there last night. They had a wild party. Hotel security called the police.”

He gave her a confused look. “I don't know what to tell you, Officer. According to our records, that room was vacant last night.”

Lara swallowed hard. How far had Jack gone to erase his steps? “Is the night manager here? I'd like to speak to him. And hotel security, too.”

The story remained the same. The night manager had no record of Suite 1412 being occupied. Lara asked him to check on any room reserved by a man named Giacomo, but no such name emerged in their files.

Hotel security was even worse. They got all huffy when she claimed they had called the police. They could handle matters on their own, thank you very much. And there hadn't been any wild parties the night before.

She insisted on seeing the room for herself, so they reluctantly gave her a key. On the fourteenth floor, she opened the door slowly and let it swing open. She inhaled, expecting to encounter the odor of whiskey.

It was gone. But the strong smell of disinfectant and cleansers filled the room. She walked in and looked to the left where the man had lain on the carpet, covered in blood. He was gone. The carpet was clean.

She wandered through the room, eyeing the upholstery and carpet. No stains. Her gaze shifted to the wall. No blood splatter. She moved closer. Either she was off her rocker, or someone had done a phenomenal cleaning job.

He had said he would clean it up.

She touched the wall. It looked so fresh. Had they repainted it? Too bad she couldn't get a CSI team in here. There was no way Captain O'Brian would okay that, not when hotel management insisted the room had been empty.

She strode into the bedroom. The satin comforter was spotless. How had Jack managed that? She peered into the bathroom. No sex doll. She scanned the mosaic floor and white marble vanity for any sign of blood. The twenty-four-carat-gold faucets gleamed. The towels were neatly folded. No one would ever believe this room had been occupied.

She strode toward the door to let herself out. Somehow, Jack had tampered with the memories of all the hotel staff. Had he bothered with the guests?

She knocked on the next door down the hall. A droopy-eyed, yawning couple told her that everything had been quiet the night before, then slammed the door in her face. If it had been quiet, why were they so sleepy?

Well, that was easy. They could have been up all night making love. Lara sighed. Just because she was going without didn't mean other people were.

Close to the elevator, a man in a business suit emerged from his room, carrying a briefcase.

“Sir.” She jogged to catch up with him.

“Yes?” He gave her that wary look so many people give the cops, like they know they've done something wrong and they're hoping she doesn't know.

She gave him a friendly smile to put him at ease. “I wanted to ask you about last night. Did you hear anything out of the ordinary?”

“You mean the damned bagpipes? Some idiot was playing them at three in the morning.”

Lara's heart lurched up her throat. She wasn't crazy! And Jack had missed someone. “Yes, exactly. Do you remember anything else?”

“Just that I couldn't sleep. I finally went out to a bar to get a drink.”

And that was how Jack had missed him. “Thank you.”

“Well, I just hope my presentation today doesn't suck,” he grumbled as he lumbered toward the elevator.

Jack was real. But how could she find him? She glanced at the local newspaper in front of the door. “Sir?” she called after the businessman. “Do you mind if I take this paper?”

“Be my guest.” He stepped into an elevator.

Lara picked up the paper and turned to the section on wedding announcements. It had been a bachelor party with bagpipes and claymores. Chances were good that the groom was Scottish.

Today was Saturday, so there were plenty of weddings listed. MacPherson, Ferguson, and MacPhie. Three weddings with Scottish-sounding grooms.

Lara took a deep breath. She was about to become a wedding crasher.

Lara rushed up the stone steps as fast as her high-heeled red sandals would allow. After three months on the beat, she wasn't used to dressing up. She stopped before the carved wooden doors and mentally braced herself.

She could do this. She'd crashed the MacPherson wedding with no one realizing it. Of course, that had been a huge affair. The Ferguson wedding had been scarier. With only fifty people in attendance, she'd been painfully aware of the curious looks cast her way. She'd slipped away as soon as possible, leaving behind one of the three wedding presents she'd purchased that afternoon.

She adjusted the bodice on her red cocktail dress. Maybe she shouldn't have worn red. Or this low neckline. It was bound to draw attention. But this was a late wedding, starting at nine p.m., so she assumed it would be more formal that the afternoon weddings she'd attended. The red dress was the fanciest one she owned. The only fancy dress she owned. After leaving home, she'd sworn never ever to wear a full-length formal gown again.

Too bad she had to lug this canvas tote bag with her. Her uniform and weapon were inside, since she'd have to leave soon for work. Her shift started at ten, but she'd make it on time. It would only take a few minutes to see if Jack was here. She believed he was real, but she'd feel a lot better if she could verify that in person. And she wanted to know how he had managed to erase his tracks at the hotel. He was an intriguing mystery, with his ability to control minds. So naturally, as a wannabe detective, she just had to investigate him. The fact that he was also gorgeous and incredibly sexy didn't factor into it.

Yeah, right. She shouldn't lie to herself in church.

She pulled open the heavy wooden door and slipped inside the vestibule. Rows of red glass votives flickered, casting a warm glow against the stone walls. Her stiletto heels wobbled on the uneven pavement as she moved quietly toward the nave. Two saintly statues flanked the entrance, frowning at her for sneaking in uninvited.