For the Bite of It (14 page)

“Reeder.”

How could one word uttered in a surly tone have the power to make his heart leap? Vince breathed deep trying to quell his traitorous organ.

“Hello, who’s there?”

“John, it’s me.” Silence. Okay, so maybe John didn’t recognize his voice. Yet. “Vince.”

“Yeah, what do you want?”

Vince loathed the flatness creeping into John’s tone.

“So you got your killer. I saw it in the paper. Good work.”

“Yeah, well…doing my job.” Nothing, just the sound of two men breathing. “So why the call, do you need something?”

Yes! I need you to stop being an idiot. I need you to drive like the wind so you can feel my arms around you.

Except he didn’t say any of that.

“There is something I’m curious about.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Why haven’t you called? I thought you would have told me you solved the case?”

Vince heard a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line. He continued, determined to get it out of his system. “Don’t you think I’m owed that much?” The words were barely out before he realized he had screwed up.

“I don’t owe you a damn thing. Just because…because…hell.”

Vince waited for the ball to drop, picturing John running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Listen. I realize you may have read more into…into what…happened the other night.”

Rage colored by hurt unfurled inside Vince. Slow to anger, once it started, it was all downhill from there.

“You can’t even fucking say it, can you? I sucked your cock.”

“Jesus, man! What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“I’m being honest. Calling a spade a spade. What’s your excuse?”

“What happened was a mistake. I’m sorry. But it doesn’t give you the right to expect favors. And it damn well doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”

That was that.

Suddenly the fight fizzled out of him again. All Vince wanted to do was to get off the phone, hole up somewhere, and nurse his aching heart. He wondered if John understood victory was his.

“I’m sorry too. Sorry you can’t acknowledge the truth. Sorry you’re making us both miss out.” He swallowed the ball lodged in his throat, and released from his heart the wisps of impossible dreams—John and he arguing the merits of their favorite wine, laughing, cuddling, sailing the Caribbean together on their private yacht.

“Have a great time on that sailing vacation. Goodbye.”

He shut the phone with a deliberate click and handed it back to Angelo.

“You heard. I don’t want to talk about it.” Vince held up a hand. “Don’t follow me.” He stumbled as he reached for the door that was a million miles away. He needed air and something to numb the savage pain tearing him apart.

Vince soothed himself by baking an apple pie, a custard tart, and several loaves of Irish soda bread. He stared at the containers on the granite countertop in his kitchen with a grimace. His neighbors would have a feast again.

A light shift in his perspective as if a cloud passed before his eyes warned him that Angelo was teleporting in.

Ignoring his friend, he eased the last loaf onto some silver foil, then dropped it into a box with the bakery logo. He might as well get some free publicity for the shop when he gifted people down the street with free goodies.

“I need to talk to you.” Angelo’s quiet and normal tone got his attention. No fooling around, no fancy accent.

“I’m listening.” He stuck the empty baking pan into his over-sized dishwasher.

“You’re not going to like this.”

Vince tossed the pre-packaged detergent in, slammed the door shut and turned on the machine.

“Well, I haven’t liked a lot of what you’ve said over the years. Don’t let that stop you.”

“Vinny, I’m serious.”

Vince finished wiping his hands on a towel and faced Angelo.

“The Council of Lords has asked to meet with you.”

Vince rolled his neck back as he exhaled.
Dio.
What now?

“Why?”

“Well, technically, two of them want to talk to you.” Angelo broke off a piece of soda bread and munched. “Damn, you’re a good cook.”

“Leave that alone. Which two?”

“The Vice-Lord.” Angelo dusted his hand against his pants. “And your sister.”

Vince couldn’t have stopped the traitorous leap of his heart, not for all the gold in the world. He hadn’t seen or heard from her after that brief visit two days ago.

“Serafina,” he said, tasting the loneliness, the loss of his family. “Where do they want to meet?”

“At your cabin.”

“And how do they expect me to get there? Denied my powers, I am at the mercy of the airline’s schedule.”

“I have permission to transport you there.”

Vincent untied his apron. “Lead the way,
amico
.

Two reasons he would go. One, his sister. Two, no vampire ignored a Council order. Even a vampire in exile.

He closed his eyes, willed his body to relax as Angelo transported Vince to his cabin in the Italian Alps. His feet hit solid ground and he opened his eyes, looking straight ahead until he regained his equilibrium. He found himself in the large living area of his lodge, the gleaming wood furniture, the rugs on the wall, all achingly familiar. The only thing missing was the roaring fire he usually lit when he was home.

Seconds later, he experienced that peculiar shift in his perspective and two vampires appeared in the room. He barely noticed the other, all his attention focused on his sister. She waited a couple of seconds to get her balance then came forward with her characteristic feminine glide.

“Vince,” she said, her arms outstretched.

He stepped into them enveloping her in a bear hug.
Dio,
he missed her. It had been easier to brush aside the memories of his family before, but since her visit, they were all back in Technicolor. All too soon, she moved away to stand beside the other vampire. Distancing herself from him, she was once again a representative of the Council.

He bowed to the two Council Lords. “My Lords.”

“Vincent Esposito,” Lord Salvo said. “It has been a while.”

He winced hearing his exiled name from a Council Lord. “Yes, it has been some time. I understand you wanted to see me.”

Serafina nodded, but Salvo explained. “You have probably heard that those exiled have been dissatisfied for some time.”

Actually, he hadn’t paid all that much attention.

“They are joined by rebellious subjects who wish to change the rules.”

He nodded. Not all the Council rules were ironclad.

“I realize that some of our dictates are not viewed as liberal,” Salvo said, reminding Vince he was one of the more open-minded Lords. “Your treatment, for example. I always suspected there was more to it than we all knew.” His eyes flicked between Vince and Angelo. “More than either you or your friend here was telling us.”

Vince sucked in a slow breath. He would not react and give Salvo any more reason to probe into the affair. Hoping Angelo kept his mouth shut, Vince prepared to deflect the attention. “Lord Salvo,” he said in a deliberate mocking tone. “I have to agree with you that my exile is not what I would have chosen. But, I am what I am. I make no denial about my nature.”

Most of all he hated the defeated look in his sister’s eyes, more than Salvo’s regretful expression. What had they come expecting? That he would confess to not committing the crime? There was too much at stake, especially after seeing the child his brother had helped create.

He shrugged. “I have a business to run and I am sure you are both busy. What may I do for you?”

“Consider this Heir Lord Vincent,” Serafina said, the deliberate emphasis on his title not escaping him. Even Salvo stiffened, throwing a hard glance at his fellow Lord. “The Lord Council needs someone to monitor those on the outside. Diffuse any talk of rebellion. Help us keep peace. We are here to ask if you will take on that role.” She held up a hand as Vince started to speak. “The
Jurisdictio
will come around to accepting you playing an active role with the clan again. We will make them agree.”

Vince walked over to the fireplace and drummed his fingers on the stone mantel. “I will have to think about this. And I’ll need the information you have about those on the outside. Have there been problems?” Since his exile, he hadn’t bothered to keep up with news of his world, but Salvo mentioned rebellion. Interesting.

Salvo nodded. “Ah, yes, there is restlessness among some of the exiles.”

Vince crossed his arms, shaking his head. “That’s understandable. The Council’s laws can sometimes be harsher than the crime.”

Salvo took a step forward but Serafina put her hand on his arm and stopped him. “Yes, that is true,” she cut in. “Lord Salvo, please continue.”

“Angelo has permission to share with you the Council’s information regarding this issue.” Salvo cleared his throat. “I am glad you will consider our proposal. Tell him when you are ready to give us your decision. Remember this, when someone wants something from you, you are in a position of power. In a position to
negotiate
. If it were me, I might ask for things that had been taken away from me.” He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I will leave you now so you can bid your sister farewell in private.”

The air darkened as it swirled around Vince, then the Lord vanished.

Serafina glided over to Vince. “I would like to visit your bakery one day,” she murmured as Vince hugged her. “I miss you.”

He held her close as her arms tightened around him, and the familiar slide of her waist-length hair brushed against his hands. The scent of her sandalwood perfume brought an ache to his throat. He swallowed hard. “I miss you, Sera. And yes, if you come as
mia sorella maggiore
, I will welcome you.”

“If I come again, I come as your older sister,” she promised. Then she too was gone, leaving Vince poking at the dead ashes in the fireplace. Rather like old regrets, they cast a grey pallor over things.

John grumbled as he snapped his phone shut. Julie had reminded him that he had to pick up the cupcake order for Johnny’s party. Fine by him, he wanted to see Vincent and interrogate the hell out of him. How had that damn baker known about his sailing trip? The travel brochure was in a locked drawer of his office desk. No one had the key and he certainly hadn’t told anyone his plans. He didn’t reveal his personal life to his co-workers. Not even Free.

Then there was other weird stuff. How did Vincent know John didn’t kiss men? He’d only mentioned it in the dream.

He should have trusted his cop instinct when he’d first meant Vincent. He hadn’t trusted him then, nor did he trust him now.

Besides, he had bigger problems. Once Julie confronted him with being gay, the dam holding his secrets began to crack. She didn’t let up, going on and on for him to be honest about his sexuality. Not that he was ready to admit to the world that he liked men. Yet, thoughts of Vincent kept buzzing in his mind at the most inopportune times. Those soft lips on his mouth made him shiver, and other places that mouth had touched. He savored the memory of the sweet taste of Vincent’s skin, and the aching heat generated from the tight clench of their bodies. Besides that tempting body, he also liked the intelligence sparkling in those lively eyes. They both loved the water, and he’d bet Vincent would take to sailing as if he’d done it all his life.

Shit. He adjusted the bulge in his pants. His cock twitched with every memory.

Vincent sparked his passions but he was wrong in so many ways. What they had shared was an amazing night together, but only one night.

Julie had no clue when it came to their parents. They would never accept his homosexuality.

Never accept he liked to kiss men.

Never accept he liked to fuck men.

Never.

John parked his car in front of the bakery and stared out the window, not ready to face Vincent. Maybe Greg would be behind the counter but he was already running late, meaning with his shitty luck, it would most likely be Vincent.

Suck it up, Reeder.

He had come to get answers to Vincent’s secrets.

Vincent had a way of keeping him off kilter, as if he jumped out of a plane, air whooshing in his ears, his heart in his throat, his palms sweaty.

Putting on his cop face, he strode up to the bakery door. Shit. Locked.

He rapped on the glass and thought back to the last time he’d been here. A shiver rode his spine and radiated across his shoulders.

Vincent flung open the door, didn’t say a word as he strode back into the kitchen.

Well, hello to you, too. Giving me the silent treatment, are you?

John trailed behind him into the kitchen. Large beaters sat on a long rectangle wood table. An oven was built into one wall, and the aroma of cupcakes made John’s mouth water. Cooling racks rose from floor to ceiling. He stepped up to one large silver bowl filled with chocolate icing.

He went to stick his finger into the large bowl.

“You’re late,” Vincent said in a clipped voice, his glare daring him to scoop out the icing.

He pulled back his hand. “I had to finish a report.”

Vincent looked tired, his mouth somber, stubble shadowing his face. His silver-blue eyes were dull and John missed the sparkle. He stepped back from the pain in Vincent’s tight-lipped expression.

He wanted to yell at Vincent to take it like a man.

No. No, he didn’t.

What he wanted was to wrap his arms around him and soothe away the hurt. A protective need so strong it punched him in the stomach. Jesus, he hated seeing Vincent in pain. He clenched his hands by his side to keep from reaching for him.

Vincent’s voice carried a chill. “Where’s Julie?”

“Busy setting up for the party.”

Vincent pointed to a pink box. “That’s her order. It’s paid for.”

John walked over and opened the lid. There were four rows of football and baseball shaped cupcakes. The cupcakes were clever and John smiled despite wanting to remain indifferent. “These are great. The boys will love them.”

Vincent grunted in reply. John sighed. He really was trying here.