Desire After Dark (10 page)

“He did it, didn't he? That thing with the yellow eyes?”

Battista nodded again.

“I guess he's going to stick around until there aren't any redheads left in town,” she remarked, hoping he would deny it.

“I will not let him hurt you.”

“What about Suzie Collins and Rhonda McGee? Can you defend them, too? And what about the women in nearby towns like Woods Hollow, and Pine Crest? There's bound to be some redheads in those places. And in all the other towns hereabouts. Can you protect them all?”

“I cannot save the world, Victoria.”

“Can't you make him stop?”

“There is only one way to stop him.”

“Can you do it?”

“I can try.”

“You told me you weren't a vampire hunter,” she said accusingly. “But you are, aren't you? Like Tom?”

“I am not.” Battista made a sound of disgust in his throat. “I had heard he was one of the best, but from what I saw tonight, I am surprised he has lived as long as he has.”

“He was trying to protect me.”

“He cannot protect you from a hospital bed,” Battista said gruffly, then added, in a softer tone, “I am all the protection you need.”

Vicki stared at him. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn he sounded a trifle jealous.

She was still toying with that surprising thought when Battista pulled into the driveway and killed the engine. He exited the car, then made a slow circle around the vehicle, reminding her of a wild animal testing the wind for danger.

She rolled down the window. “Is he here?”

“No.”

She wanted to ask him how he knew that with such certainty, but she was suddenly afraid of the answer.

Antonio opened the door for her and helped her out of the car. She hurried up the stairs, rummaging in her purse for her keys as she went. She was glad she had left lights burning on the porch and inside the house.

She was aware of Battista standing behind her as she unlocked the door, following her into the house, closing and locking the door behind them.

His presence filled the room as well as her senses. He smelled of cologne and musk and raw masculinity.

She dropped her keys and her handbag amidst the clutter on the coffee table, blew out a deep breath, and turned to face him. “Would you mind…Will you stay the night again?”

“If you wish.”

“Thanks.” She fidgeted with a lock of her hair. “I'll make up the couch for you.”

“No need. I will not sleep.”

“You didn't sleep the other night, either, did you?”

“Go to bed, my sweet one.”

“Yes, I think I will.” But she didn't move, and neither did he.

“You wish something?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. Good night.”

She started past him only to be stayed by the light touch of his hand on her shoulder. She could have walked on by. He wasn't holding her, but she stopped, her heart rate accelerating when she looked up and met his gaze.

Time slowed, could have ceased to exist for all she knew or cared. She was aware of nothing but the man standing beside her. His dark blue gaze melded with hers, igniting a flame that started deep within her and spread with all the rapidity of a wildfire fanned by a high wind.

Heart pounding, she looked at him, and waited.

He didn't make her wait too long.

He murmured to her softly in a language she didn't understand, then swept her into his arms and kissed her, a long searing kiss that burned away the memory of every other man she had ever known, until she knew only him, saw only him. Wanted only him.

He deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing her lips, sending flames along every nerve, igniting a need so primal, so volatile, she thought she might explode. She pressed her body to his, hating the layers of cloth that separated his flesh from hers. She had never reacted to a man's kisses like this before, never felt such an overwhelming need to touch and be touched. A distant part of her mind questioned her ill-conceived desire for a man she hardly knew, but she paid no heed. Nothing mattered now but his arms holding her close, his mouth on hers.

Battista groaned low in his throat. He had to stop this now, while he could, before his lust for blood overcame his desire for her sweet flesh. The two were closely interwoven, the one fueling the other. He knew he should let her go before it was too late, before his hunger overcame his good sense, before he succumbed to the need burning through him. He could scarcely remember the last time he had embraced a woman he had not regarded as prey. But this woman was more than mere sustenance. Her body fit his perfectly, her voice sang to his soul, her gaze warmed the cold dark places in his heart, shone like the sun in the depths of his hell-bound spirit.

He felt his fangs lengthen, his body tense as the hunger surged through him, a relentless thirst that would not long be denied.

Battista tore his mouth from hers. Turning his head away, he took several slow, deep breaths until he had regained control of the beast that dwelled within him.

“Antonio?” Vicki asked breathlessly. “Is something wrong?”

He took another deep breath before he replied, “No, my sweet.” Summoning every ounce of willpower he possessed, he put her away from him. “It has been a long night. You should get some sleep.”

She looked up at him, her eyes filled with confusion. He expected her to sleep, now?

He forced a smile. “Go to bed, my sweet one.”

Vicki stared at him a moment; then, with a nod, she left the room. That was the second time he had kissed her and then backed away. Was there something wrong with the way she kissed? But no, he had been as caught up in the moment as she. She couldn't have been mistaken about that.

She closed the bedroom door behind her, then stood there, trying to sort out her feelings. She knew very little about Mr. Antonio Battista. She had no idea where he came from, who he was, if he had family or friends, or what he did for a living. But one thing she did know: no other man had ever affected her the way he did, intrigued her the way he did, made her want him the way he did.

Tomorrow morning, she thought. Tomorrow morning she would find out more about the mysterious Mr. Battista.

He was gone in the morning. As she walked through the house, it was as though Antonio had never been there. Going into the kitchen, Vicki saw that he hadn't had so much as a cup of coffee to help him stay awake.

Frowning, she put some bread in the toaster and poured herself a cup of orange juice. He was an odd duck. He showed up at the diner every night and ordered food he didn't eat. She remembered asking him why he came to Ozzie's and his reply, something about it being her presence that drew him. It had been a flattering, romantic thing for him to say, even if it was a lot of poppycock.

Or was it?

Of course it was. She had known the man for less than two weeks. And shared two of the most potent, heady, amazing kisses she'd ever had.

After buttering her toast, she sat down at the table to eat, her mind trying to unravel the puzzle that was Antonio Battista.

She hadn't solved a thing when the phone rang.

It was Tom Duncan.

“Hi,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a damn fool. Can you come and pick me up?”

“Sure. What time?”

“Whenever you can get here.”

Vicki glanced at the clock. “Twenty minutes?”

“See you then.”

She hung up the receiver, finished her orange juice, and went into the bedroom to get dressed.

Duncan was sitting on the edge of the bed when she entered his room. He looked up, his expression sheepish when he saw her. “Hi.”

“Hi. You ready to go?”

“Yeah. The nurse went to get a wheelchair. I told her I could walk, but she said it was hospital policy, yadda yadda yadda.”

Vicki grinned. “How's your head?”

“It hurts.” He shook his head, then winced. “I can't believe I ran out after him like that. If anybody else had pulled a stupid stunt like that, I'd have given him a tongue-lashing he wouldn't soon forget.”

“Would it make you feel any better if I bawled you out?”

“You're too late.”

“Mr. Duncan? Are you ready to go?”

Vicki glanced over her shoulder to see a nurse standing in the doorway, a wheelchair behind her.

“Yeah.”

Duncan settled himself in the wheelchair, his expression sullen. Vicki followed the nurse down the hallway and out the front door to where Vicki had parked Duncan's Camaro.

She pulled his keys out of the pocket of her jeans. “Do you want to drive?” she asked, “or would you rather I did?”

“Maybe you should.”

“All right.” She unlocked the passenger-side door. “Are you staying at the hotel?”

He grunted an affirmative as he eased down on the seat and closed the door.

Vicki turned the key in the ignition, looked over her shoulder, and pulled away from the curb. The Camaro might be old and beat up, but it ran like a dream.

“So,” Duncan said, “tell me about Battista.”

“What do you want to know?”

“Where did you meet him?”

“At the diner.” She looked at Duncan and smiled. “It's where I meet everybody.”

He grunted. “Is he from around here?”

“I have no idea. I really don't know anything about him.”

“Yet he was prowling around your house late last night.”

“It's a good thing for you that he was!” Vicki retorted.

“You're mighty quick to jump to his defense, considering you don't know anything about him.”

She slid a glance in his direction. “What are you implying?”

“How do you know he didn't attack me?”

“Antonio? Why on earth would he do that?”

“He's new in town. I did some checking around. You told the police you saw him leave the diner with two of the murdered women. You do the math.”

“He doesn't have yellow eyes.”

“That could be a trick of the light, or he might wear contacts.”

“Yellow contacts?” she asked skeptically.

Duncan shrugged. “I've seen stranger things.”

“Are you suggesting that Antonio is a murderer who…” She forced the words past her lips. “Who kills women and drains them of their blood?” She stared at him in shock when he didn't answer. “You don't think he's a vampire? You do, don't you?” she demanded when he didn't deny it. She thought of Antonio's potent kisses and her reaction to them and shook her head vigorously. “That's impossible! He was at my house the same night as Falco.”

“They could be the same man,” Duncan remarked, his voice thoughtful.

Vicki shook her head again. “Antonio doesn't have blond hair.”

“Vampires can change their appearance.”

“But they were both here at the same time,” she reminded him. “Antonio chased Falco away and saved your life.”

“I didn't see who hit me. It could have been Battista.”

“Then why did he pretend to save you? It doesn't make any sense.”

“You're right.” Duncan rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. The hit on the head must have affected his thinking. If Battista were the killer, Vicki would be dead by now, Tom thought, and so would he. Unless Battista was playing some sort of insane game, but that didn't make sense, either. All of the vampire's kills had been quick and clean. He had stalked his prey, taken their blood and a lock of hair, and vanished.

But what if Falco had changed his M.O.? What if he was looking for a diversion from his usual method of killing? Thinking himself smarter than any mere mortal, the vampire could have decided to change the rules, make things a little more exciting…

Tom scrubbed his hands over his face. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Now, with his head throbbing, he couldn't think straight, couldn't shake off the feeling that he had seen Battista somewhere before.

He opened his eyes when Vicki switched off the engine. She glanced at the hotel, then looked over at him. “Are you going to be all right here?”

“Sure.”

“If you need anything, call me. I'll be home most of the day.”

“I will, thanks.” He frowned when she handed him the keys. “How are you going to get home?”

“I can walk. It's not that far.”

“Are you sure? I can drive you, if you want.”

“No, I can use the exercise. Take care of yourself.”

On the sidewalk, she waved good-bye to Tom, then started down the street. She waved at old Mrs. Kent, who was sweeping the walkway in front of her son's florist shop, smiled at Toby Benjamin, who was mowing the grass in front of the library. Ordinary people doing ordinary things.

She paused in front of every shop to look at the displays. She told herself she was window-shopping, but she was really hoping to run across Antonio. She had quite a few questions she wanted to ask him, like what he was doing in town and where he came from, and what he did for a living, and why he never seemed to eat or drink anything and why she only saw him at night….

Vicki frowned, annoyed with Tom for planting the ridiculous notion that Antonio might be a vampire in her mind. Antonio was no more a vampire than she was!

Crossing the street, she paused to look in the window of Cliff's Department Store, thinking it was time she bought herself some new jeans and sweatshirts, and maybe a dress or two, like the pretty green and white dress in the window.

Her mind made up, she went inside. There was nothing like shopping to take a woman's mind off her troubles.

Half an hour later, she emerged from the store carrying two large shopping bags. Inside were three pairs of jeans, two sweaters, two sweatshirts, a long black wool skirt, the green and white dress, a pair of black heels, and a matching handbag.

She hadn't bought any new clothes in, well, in forever. She told herself that the fact that she was doing so now had nothing whatsoever to do with Antonio Battista, though she had to admit she couldn't wait for him to see her in the other new dress she had bought, a slinky black jersey with a low back and a come-hither slit up one side. Of course, she had no idea when she'd have an excuse to wear such a thing but, as her mother always said, it was a smart girl who was prepared for any occasion.

She was about to turn down Fifth Street toward home when Mrs. Heath waved at her. Smiling, Vicki crossed the street.

“Good morning, Mrs. Heath,” Vicki said. “Isn't it a lovely day?”

“Yes, indeed.” Mrs. Heath turned the hose on her flower bed. “How was your date with your young man?”

“It was very nice. And you know what? He is related to the Thomas Duncan that you knew.”

“You must be careful, dear. I'm sure your Mr. Duncan told you there's a vampire in town. I don't want him to get you.”

“The man with yellow eyes,” Vicki said.

“Yes, I should have told you before, but I didn't want to frighten you.” Mrs. Heath made a tsking sound. “That was foolish of me.”

“How do you know about him?”

“Why, he's the one who tried to kill me all those years ago,” Mrs. Heath said, her voice as calm as if they were discussing the color of her daisies. She patted her hair. “It's white now, but it used to be as red as yours.”

Vicki stared at Mrs. Heath, unable to believe she could talk about it so calmly.

“Are you all right, dear?” the older woman asked. “You look a little pale.”

Vicki shook her head, certain she would never be all right again.