Vamparazzi (40 page)

Lopez cleared his throat. “Yes, officer?”

“We put the vampire guy in his car and sent him home. Four bikers and a guy in a suit are all asking for Miss Diamond.” The cop concluded, “And we're ready to take her home as soon as you're done with her, detective.” Perhaps realizing how that sounded, in the circumstances, he added, “Er, I mean, as soon as you're done talking with her.”

“Thank you. We're almost done now. I mean, we're almost done talking. Well, I mean . . .” Lopez said in defeat, “Jesus, go away, would you?”

“Yes, detective.”

The cop disappeared around the corner. Lopez took a deep breath. Then another. The wind blew this way again, and I caught a whiff of sewage.

I hadn't noticed the smell at
all
when he was sucking my blood. I hadn't noticed
anything
but the way he . . .

And
then
when he . . . Well, I doubted I would have noticed a nearby rocket launch at that point.

“You're really
not
the altar boy you pretend to be, are you?” I said on a puff of mingled embarrassment, surprise, and lingering arousal.

He laughed a little, obviously embarrassed, too. Then he asked, “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” I said.

“So . . . I guess that's blood play, huh?”

I felt my face flush. “I guess so.”

“I, uh . . .” He looked away, still a little self-conscious. “I think I get it now.”

“Uh-huh.” With my good hand, I fiddled with my hair. “It's, uh . . . Yeah.”

“I mean . . .” He took another breath, then met my gaze again. Shedding his self-consciousness now, he said with candid directness, “I liked that.”

“You
are
a dark horse,” I said.

He smiled. “Only in the right company.” Then he added, “But, God, I really don't think I could . . . you know ...
cut
you to play around like that.”

“Good to know.” I looked down at my throbbing hand.

“Oh! Here. I think you need this.”

Without coming any closer, he extended his arm to offer me the folded cotton bandana. Also without getting any closer, I accepted it with thanks, being careful not to let our fingers touch when I took it from him.

Still feeling self-conscious, I started to laugh. “Oh, God, do I have to take back everything I just said to Daemon a little while ago about how disgusting I thought this sort of thing was?”

“Nah, don't give that guy any ideas.” He brushed his hair out of his eyes.

“I was wrong,” I said ruefully. “There's definitely . . . something about it.”

I didn't say it aloud. And I wasn't going to.

“Yeah,” he said. “There is.”

My nightmares still haunted me. As did the waking memory of how close Lopez had come to dying—
twice
—because of me. Sure, I might have been quivering pre-orgasmically in the middle of a public street a minute ago, but that was unexpected (to say the least), and it certainly didn't mean I had changed my mind about what was right. Or what I could live with.

“Be honest with yourself, Esther,” the killer had said to me that night, having left Lopez to die alone in the dark. “Would he be lying in agonized paralysis awaiting his death now if not for
you?
”

I couldn't live with
that
.

Pressing the folded bandana to my injured hand and trying to stifle the blood flow, I forced myself to pull my thoughts together. “What did you want to ask me?”

“Huh?” He seemed startled by the question.

“Didn't you want to ask me something?”

He looked at me like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Lopez?” I prodded.

“Well . . . yeah, I do want to ask you something.”

In the silence that followed, I recalled that during sexual arousal, a man's blood flowed
away
from his brain. I was wondering just how long it would take
this
man's brain to start functioning again, when he spoke.

“I'm wondering . . .”

“Yes?” I said encouragingly.

He let out his breath slowly. “Am I being punished?”

“What?”

“It feels like I'm being punished.”

I stared at him in blank bemusement.

Confronted by my bewildered silence, he said, “I wasn't going to bring this up. I swear. Well, not until we had the killer in custody, anyhow. I didn't want to make things awkward.” He made a gesture indicating the two of us. “Between you and me. Or
for
you, with me,” he added quickly. “I wanted you—I
still
want you—to feel comfortable calling me if anything weird happens or you see anyone suspicious. I don't want you to hesitate to ask for my help because of ... personal things.”

“I didn't need help tonight,” I reassured him. “Everything was—”

“No, I don't mean that. I mean . . .” He stopped, regrouped, and started over. “After what just happened . . .” His vague gesture indicated our brief bout of vampire sex. “I know I'm the one who started it, but you didn't seem like you were ... just being polite.”

I felt my face flush again. “No. I wasn't being polite.” I couldn't imagine the circumstances in which I would passionately bite a man's neck, while he sucked my blood, in order to be
polite
to him. It occurred to me ask, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you when I, uh . . . ?” I gestured awkwardly to his neck.

“I'm fine. But since we just got, um, pretty personal, and you seemed to be . . . into it . . .”

“Go on.”

“Am I being punished because I dumped you? Is that why you wouldn't even talk to me after that night in Harlem?”

“Dumped me?” I repeated, a little miffed. “I thought you gave me up.”

“I did.” He shrugged. “But you felt dumped. You told me so. And then, later, when I wanted to talk . . .”

“Oh. I see.” I shook my head. “No, you're not being punished for dumping me.”

“You're sure?”

“Yes. I don't play games, Lopez. Not like that.”

“I know. I didn't mean you were playing games. I meant . . ” He made a frustrated sound. “I don't know. Women are hard to figure out. You, especially. So I had to ask. Because this
feels
like punishment.”

“I'm not punishing you.” In an attempt to prove it to him, I asked, “What did you want to talk about? If you say it now, I'll listen.”

“I didn't have a speech ready, Esther. I thought, you know, we'd
both
talk. And then . . .”

“And then we'd try dating again, and everything would be different this time? Because things went so
well
between us when we saw each other in summer?”

There was a long silence.

I finally asked, “Was that the talk, then? Did we just have it?”

“I think so.”

“How did it go?”

“Oh, it was a lot like talking to myself for the past couple of months.”

Another silence.

“So we're okay now?” I asked.

“Yeah, I guess we are.” He sounded perplexed.

My heart and body were screaming about how much they had missed him, demanding to be heard. But I kept my head in command of things this time, and I reminded my unruly organs that the two very worst experiences of my entire life were the two times that this man was targeted with death because of me.

And the second attempt had come
so
close.

Much, much too close.

Lopez saw the shiver I couldn't control. “Are you cold?”

“A little.” I pulled my jacket more tightly around me; but I was shivering because of my memories of a stormy night in August, not because of the November wind.

“Come on.” He nodded in the direction of the people who were waiting for us. “The cops will take you home.”

We walked back that way together, keeping a sensible distance between us now. As soon as I saw Thack, pacing impatiently with his hands in his pockets while he waited for me, it hit me.

“The first victim,” I said suddenly to Lopez, stopping in my tracks. “I mean, the remains that were found underground which you think might be this killer's first victim.”

“Yeah?”

“Male or female?”

“Male,” he replied. “Why?”

“Have you identified him?”

“No.”

“When was he killed?”

Looking at me with mingled interest and suspicion now—a familiar combination in his attitude to me—he said, “Probably mid-August.”

I went still. “A little less than three months ago.”

He nodded, studying my expression. “Now tell me why you're asking about this.”

I took a steadying breath, my heart thudding. “I think the victim might be a Lithuanian named Benas Novicki.”

“How do
you
know who the victim might be?” he demanded.

“Benas Novicki was kind of an acquaintance of Thack's distant—
very
distant—relatives in Vilnius.” I nodded toward my agent, who was making exasperated gestures at me, indicating that he was more than ready to blow this popsicle stand. “Benas disappeared about three months ago in New York.”

Lopez was frowning. “That's not a name I've seen in any missing persons reports that have been cross-referenced with the murder case.”

“Nobody reported him missing.”

“Why not?”

“I guess they weren't that close,” I tried.

“Esther.”

“Okay. Here it is.” I knew this wouldn't go over well, but I might as well just tell him. “Benas was a vampire hunter. Before he disappeared, he was hot on the trail of a vampire he'd been pursuing for a while.”

“Okay,” Lopez said wearily, “I obviously inhaled
way
too much methane gas in the tunnels earlier tonight. In fact, I think we can safely say that
all
of my behavior since I arrived here has been pointing to that conclusion. And
now
, I could swear I just heard you say that the first victim was a vampire hunter. Probably I should go seek treatment.”

“There's no need to be sarcastic,” I said. “Look at it this way—”

“A vampire hunter?
Esther.
” His facial expression suggested that our very brief chat tonight about our relationship had been right on the money.

“Look,
he
thought of himself as a vampire hunter,” I said patiently. “Which means that if he knew about a killer who exsanguinated his victims . . .”

There was a pause.

“Oh,
Jesus.
Point taken.” Lopez nodded, his expression turning somber. “He'd have gone after him, and that's how he wound up dead.”

“Now that you have a name, can you identify the remains?” I asked.

“Maybe. If so, it'll take time, though. There's definitely not enough of him left for a visual ID.”

I wondered if Lithuanian vampire hunters still used crossbows. “Were there any personal possessions found with the remains?”

“No, nothing.” Lopez brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Benas told someone he was on the trail of a killer?”

“Yes. Someone back in Lithuania.”

“If he was right about that, it might mean he wasn't the first victim,” Lopez mused. “He's just the first one we know about.”

“Oh! Of course.” After a moment, I asked, “You've been over the case file for Adele Olson by now. Was she killed by the same person as the other victims?”

“In my opinion, yes. Branson is . . .” Lopez made a waggling gesture with his hand. “Starting to lean my way. His partner, though, is stuck on good old Danny Ravinsky for Angeline's murder. And, by the way, just
how
stupid is that guy? He didn't give the cops his real name in a
murder
investigation?”

“Don't even get me started,” I said.

I assumed Branson's partner was the woman detective who had questioned Daemon. Her theory of the case was wrong, but I found it easy to understand how several hours of interviewing Daemon made her desperate to see him behind bars.

“Have I got the, uh, vampire hunter's name right? Benas Novicki?” When I nodded, Lopez said, “Okay, I'm going to look into it.”

“Good.” I waved to Thack to indicate I was ready to leave.

He opened his arms to the heavens, as if to say,
Finally!

“Oh, wait, one more thing,” Lopez said as Thack headed this way. “I remember what I was going to ask you. Have you had that door sealed?”

“What?” I said blankly.

“The door I showed you, leading into the tunnel system.”

“Oh!
Damn.
” I covered my eyes with my good hand.

“I gather that means no?”

“We're going now, right?” Thack asked. “I'm
so
ready to leave.”

“I forgot,” I said to Lopez.

“How could you forget? I thought it was pretty memorable, Esther.”

“A lot happened right after that!” I said defensively. “And a lot
keeps
happening.”

Thack said, “Esther,
please.
”

“Oh, who dragged me here in the first place?” I snapped at Thack.

“Who got me involved in this?” he snapped back.

“In what?” Lopez asked.

“
Nothing,
” we said in unison.