Desire After Dark (4 page)

Later, when she was snuggled under the covers in the big old four-poster bed that had belonged to her grandmother, it was hard to believe that there was anything to be afraid of. She had always felt safe within these walls. Sometimes she thought she could feel her grandmother's spirit nearby, watching out for her.

With that comforting thought in mind, Vicki closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, and in sleeping, began to dream.

She was walking through a dark wood. A brilliant silver moon hung low in the heavens, yet it did not penetrate the darkness beneath the trees. A voice warned her not to enter the woods but something deep within her compelled her to continue, and so she moved deeper and deeper into the forest. Deeper and deeper into the darkness. And then, far ahead, she saw a faint light that grew brighter as she moved toward it. As she drew closer, she saw that the light came from a single candle burning in the window of a small wooden cottage. The door opened of its own volition. She hesitated at the threshold, knowing that if she crossed it her life would be forever changed. And then she saw Battista. He was standing in front of an enormous fireplace. The flames rose behind him, casting eerie red and orange shadows on the walls and the floor, touching his long black hair with streaks of crimson. He held a goblet made of hammered gold in his hands. He offered it to her, but she backed away, afraid to look at the contents, afraid to look at him. Frightened now, she turned to leave, but the door was no longer open. She glanced over her shoulder, looking for another way out. But there was none. She looked at Battista, an appeal for help rising in her throat, but one look at his face told her he would not help her. Eyes burning like fire, he tossed the goblet aside and moved toward her. His long black duster flared behind him like some ominous shadow. She tried to run, but her legs refused to move. And then he was there, bending over her, his fangs bared. She cried out in fear as he lowered his head toward her neck, screamed in terror when she felt the sharp sting of his fangs at her throat…

 

Battista prowled the shadows around Victoria's house, his preternatural senses probing the night. He had no proof that Dimitri Falco was in the area, or even in the country, but there was obviously a vampire hunting in the area and some deep, preternatural instinct told him that it was either Falco or another like him.

There were two types of vampires in the world: those who had shed all of their humanity and those who clung to an illusion of their old life. The first type no longer considered themselves to be a part of the human race. Seeing themselves as superior beings, they preyed on humans the way any predator preyed on the weak and the helpless, killing without mercy. The second type held on to the illusion of their old life, their old ways. They took blood because there was no life without it, because the pain of abstaining was beyond bearing.

Dimitri Falco was the first type. Strong, powerful, arrogant. He had been made by Khira, who had been made by Alexi Kristov, an ancient vampire who had been one of the most powerful of their kind. Battista could hardly credit the fact that Khira had been destroyed. She had been defeated, not by another vampire, not by a hunter, but by a mortal woman. It was something worth remembering and only proved that no matter how old or how strong a vampire might be, they were all vulnerable. To the amusement of the Undead around the world, Edward Ramsey had been turned the night Khira was destroyed. The hunter had become the hunted.

Battista was about to find a place to settle down for the night when he heard Victoria scream.

He was in the house and at her bedside almost before the thought crossed his mind.

Vicki woke with the sound of her own cries ringing in her ears, screamed again as a dark shape materialized out of the shadows in a corner of her room.

“Do not be afraid,” admonished a deep voice. “It is only me.”

Hoping she was still dreaming, Vicki bolted upright, the blankets clutched to her chest. “What are you doing in my bedroom?”

“I heard you scream.”

She peered into the darkness. “You heard me? How?”

“I was outside.”

Her panic ratcheted up a notch. “What were you doing outside my house at this time of night?” With a hand that trembled, she turned on the lamp on her bedside table.

“Perhaps I was just passing by.”

“I don't believe you.”

He shrugged, as if it didn't matter whether she believed him or not.

“I think you'd better leave.”

“You screamed. What was it that frightened you? Did you see someone?”

She drew the covers up to her chin. “I had a bad dream, that's all.”
And you were in it
, she thought, but didn't say so out loud.

He cocked his head to one side, his dark gaze intent upon her face, almost as if he was trying to read her mind. Fortunately, that was impossible.

“It must have been rather a frightening nightmare,” he remarked. “To have you screaming so.”

He looked like the stuff of nightmares, she thought, with his stark good looks and dark penetrating gaze. Add to that the fact that he wore a black shirt and pants beneath a long black duster and he was dressed for the part as well.

Her heart skipped a beat as he took a step toward the bed. She glanced wildly at the door, but Battista blocked that escape. Her gaze darted to the window, but that way out held dangers of its own, since her bedroom was on the second floor.

“Victoria, do not be afraid. I mean you no harm.”

She wanted to believe him, but something in his tone, the heated look in his eyes, warned her that she would be wise to be afraid, though she had no idea what good that would do her. She had no defense against him. He was bigger than she was and certainly stronger.

She shook her head as he drew closer, her hand reaching for the crucifix she wore on a silver chain. Battista came to an abrupt halt as a ray of moonlight filtered through the window, its light seeming to illuminate the cross at her throat until it burned with a silver fire all its own.

“I did not mean to frighten you,” he said, his gaze locked on the crucifix.

“You didn't.” It was a lie, and a bold one.

He inclined his head. “May your faith keep you safe this night,” he murmured.

And then, to her surprise, he turned and vanished out the window.

In the morning, Vicki was certain she had imagined it all, or that it had been just another dream. Surely she had only imagined that Antonio Battista had been lurking in the shadowy corner of her bedroom last night. And only in a dream could he simply vanish out the window like Count Dracula!

Thinking of Dracula reminded her of her nightmare and she lifted a hand to her throat, then laughed self-consciously. Did she really expect to find two little puncture wounds in the side of her neck?

A wave of sweet relief left her feeling weak when her exploring fingers found nothing out of the ordinary. She must be losing her mind, she thought, dreaming of vampires, imagining Antonio in her room in the middle of the night, expecting to find bites in her neck.

The nightmare troubled her all that day, though she wasn't sure why. She had never believed in visions, didn't believe that dreams could foretell the future, didn't believe in paranormal creatures lurking in the night, so why did this particular dream continue to haunt her?

She left for work a little before six. In spite of the fact that it was a lovely, warm evening, she decided not to walk.

She was getting into the car when she felt a sudden coldness sweep over her. Pausing, she glanced around. There was no wind, no hint of a breeze, but the coldness persisted. It took her a moment to realize that the cold wasn't caused by anything physical; it was more like a sense of evil surrounding her, a sense of impending doom.

Like the feeling she'd had the first time she had seen Antonio Battista.

With a shiver, she got into the car and quickly closed and locked the door.

She felt better when she reached the diner. She nodded at Bobbie Sue, then went into the back room. She stashed her handbag in her locker, pulled on a clean apron, and grabbed a fresh pad and a pencil.

She stopped in the kitchen to say hello to Gus, then went out to start her shift.

The diner was busier than usual for a Thursday night, though the atmosphere was still somewhat subdued. Ned and Arnie sat at one of the tables by the front door where they could keep an eye on everyone who came into the diner. Ned was reading the sports pages, Arnie was working the crossword puzzle. Maddy Malone was sharing a table with Rex and judging from the looks on their faces, there was more going on than just dinner. Vicki grinned inwardly. It was about time. The two had been dancing around each other for over a year. In addition to the regulars, there were several people she hadn't seen at Ozzie's before.

“Hey, Vicki.”

Hearing Ned's voice, she went to see what he wanted.

“Has that guy been in here again?” he asked.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, he came in after you left on Tuesday night. He knew you'd been here.”

Ned grunted softly. “Did he say anything that struck you as suspicious?”

“No.”

“I don't suppose he told you where he's staying?” Arnie asked. “We've checked the hotel and he's not staying there, or anywhere else in town as far as we can tell.”

“I don't know. He didn't say.”

“You be careful, Vicki,” Ned said, his voice and expression sober. “There was another killing last night.”

A coldness swept through Vicki. She had been with Antonio last night. Did that mean he was innocent? Or that he had walked her home and then committed another murder? “Who was it?”

“No one from around here,” Arnie said. “According to her driver's license, she lived in Nashville. We're trying to locate her next of kin. You make sure and have Gus walk you out to your car until we catch this guy.”

“Was she…?” She couldn't bring herself to ask if she had been drained of blood.

“Yeah, same M.O.” Arnie's gaze moved over her. “Be careful, Vicki. This guy only targets young single women with red hair and green eyes.”

She nodded, the knot of fear in her stomach growing tighter.

“Be sure and keep your car doors locked,” Ned said.

“And be sure to lock up at home, too,” Arnie warned. “Don't open the door for anyone you don't know.”

Vicki nodded. “Don't worry, I'll be careful.”

The next two hours passed quickly and it wasn't until about eight-thirty that things slowed down. Vicki used the lull to refill the salt and pepper shakers and the sugar bowls, then she went into the kitchen for a cup of coffee.

When she returned to the dining area, Antonio was sitting at his usual booth in the back. Was he the murderer? But no, she thought, he, too, had warned her to keep her doors locked and to refuse entry to anyone she didn't know. But then, maybe that was just to throw her off the scent. Still, if he'd wanted to kill her, he'd had plenty of opportunity the night before.

He smiled as she approached the booth.

“The police are still looking for you.”

“Indeed?”

“There's been another murder.”

He swore under his breath. “Was it someone you knew?”

“No.” She started to offer him a menu, then hesitated. “I don't suppose you need this?”

“No.”

She tilted her head to one side. “Why do you come here every night?”

“You asked me that before,” he reminded her with a faint grin. “Do you remember what I said?”

A faint flush climbed up her neck and into her cheeks. “You said it was to see me, but that's ridiculous. We don't even know each other.”

“I know you.” His voice was as dark as midnight, as deep as eternity.

She had to swallow before she could find her voice again. “Shall I bring you anything?”

“No need.”

She laughed softly. “I'm beginning to think you're some kind of eccentric character who likes to sit in diners and leave big tips.”

“You have found me out, Victoria Cavendish.” He glanced past her. “I think the chef is trying to get your attention.”

“What? Oh, I'd better go.” She turned to wave at Gus. When she looked back to where Antonio had been sitting, she saw a twenty dollar bill under the water glass, but he was gone.

Vicki frowned. How had he gotten past her without her noticing? She had only glanced away for a few seconds.

It was near closing time when another stranger entered the diner. He was a big man. Not just tall, but big, and built like a pro football player. He wore a pair of gray trousers and a white sports shirt open at the throat. But it wasn't his size that caused her to notice him. There was something about him besides his size, something in the way his gaze moved over everyone in the place. She had the feeling he didn't miss a thing.

Pasting a smile on her face, she offered him a menu. “Can I bring you a cup of coffee?”

“Black, thanks.” He wore his dark brown hair short. His eyes, also brown, were wary and old beyond his years. His hands were big and capable looking. A heavy gold cross on a thick gold chain hung from his neck. Turning away from the table, she found herself wondering what he did for a living. Something that required a lot of strength, she guessed.

She returned with his coffee a few moments later. “So, what can I get you?”

“Steak and fries.”

She jotted it down on her pad. “How would you like your steak?”

“Well done.”

“Can I get you a salad to go with that?”

“No, thanks.”

“Gotcha.” She smiled at him again, a real smile this time, because he looked like he could use one. He smiled back and she realized that he wasn't bad looking.

“You've got pretty hair,” he remarked. “Is it natural?”

She nodded, a sudden jolt of fear coursing through her. The murderer liked women with red hair.

“I'd better turn your order in,” she said, and hurried away from the table.

What should she do? Should she call Ned and Arnie? Maybe she was overreacting. Lots of men had remarked on the color of her hair. But there was a killer on the loose now, a killer whose victims had all been women with red hair and green eyes.

When his order came up, Vicki took Bobbie Sue aside. “Remember that favor you owe me? Well, take this order to table four and finish my shift, will you, and we'll call it square.”

“Sure, girlfriend. Something wrong?”

“No.” Vicki thrust the tray into Bobbie Sue's hands. “I'll see you tomorrow night.”

Going into the back room, Vicki grabbed her coat, then opened the kitchen door. “Gus, I'm going home.”

“You sick?”

“No. Bobbie Sue's going to cover for me for until closing. I'll see you tomorrow night.”

“You sure everything's okay?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.

“I'm sure. Night, Gus.”

“G'night, kid.”

Slipping into her coat, Vicki ducked out the back door into the parking lot.

She was about to get into her car when a tingling down her spine warned her that she was no longer alone.

“You should park out front,” a deep voice remarked. “Under a light.”

She whirled around, her mind racing. Her keys. She could use them for a weapon if she had to. Or she could just scream. Someone in the diner would surely hear her. She wished that she had remembered to take Arnie's advice and asked Gus to walk her out to her car.

“No need to cause a scene,” the man said. “I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”

It was the man from the diner. She clutched her keys tightly in one hand. “Questions about what?”

“My name is Tom Duncan. I'm looking for someone. A man about five foot ten. Looks to be in his late thirties. Blond hair. Yellow eyes.”

“Yellow eyes?”

“Have you seen him?”

“No. And believe me, I'd remember someone with yellow eyes. Are you a cop?”

“No.”

“Why are you looking for this guy?”

“It's personal.”

“Well, I haven't seen him. Good night, Mr. Duncan.”

“Good night, ma'am. You'd best be more careful in the future. Try to park under a light, and keep your doors…”

“Yes, I know. Keep my doors locked and don't invite any strangers into the house.”

The man's gaze grew sharp. “Who told you that?”

“Practically everybody. You, the police…an acquaintance of mine.”

“Have any strangers approached you?”

“Just you. Like I said, it's not likely I'd forget someone with yellow eyes.”

“What's the name of this acquaintance? Is it someone you've just met?”

For a man who claimed he wasn't a cop, he sure sounded like one. “Yes, his name is…” She paused, suddenly reluctant to give out Antonio Battista's name. She didn't know this man. Of course, she didn't really know Antonio, either. “I'm sorry, Mr. Duncan, I don't think I should give out that information.”

“It might be very important, Vicki.”

“How did you know my name?”

He gestured at her uniform.

Of course, she thought, feeling foolish, it was on her name tag. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I'm a bounty hunter.”

“A bounty hunter!” she repeated skeptically. “Didn't they die out along with the cowboy and the buffalo?”

“No, ma'am. We're still doing our job.”

“So, you're looking for Yellow Eyes to collect a bounty? What did he do?”

“He's wanted for murder.”

“Murder! Is he the one who killed Sharlene and the others?”

“It's very likely. Are you sure you haven't seen him?”

She nodded, overcome by a wave of relief. Antonio wasn't the killer.

“Thank you for your help, Vicki. If you see him, run like hell.” He scribbled something on the back of a card and handed it to her. “That's my cell phone. Call me if you need me.”

She tucked the card into her skirt pocket. She could feel him watching her as she slid behind the wheel. She locked her door, switched on the engine, turned on the lights.

She glanced out the rearview mirror as she drove out of the parking lot. He was still standing there, watching her, his hands jammed into his pants pockets.

She shook her head. First Antonio, then the murders, and now this bounty hunter looking for some guy with yellow eyes. If she didn't know better, she'd think she was in the middle of a nightmare that refused to end.

She drove home faster than she should have and felt an overwhelming sense of relief when she pulled into the driveway. She stopped in front of the garage and stared at the door. Call her a coward, but there was no way she was driving into that dark garage tonight.

Shutting off the engine, she took the key from the ignition. She was about to open the car door when she happened to glance up at the front porch.