Lover's Bite (20 page)

“He will.”

“Dream on, Columbo.”

He said nothing. Just studied her.

“Where are my friends? The ones you drugged back at that clinic from hell?”

“Still there, I imagine. Unless Reaper and Jack have found them by now. In which case Jack knows we have you, and we should be hearing from him soon.” He looked at his watch. “Or not. It's getting close to dawn. Ah, well. Maybe tonight.”

He got off the chair, standing up. “You sure you don't want to tell me where Reaper is? It would make things go a lot faster. You two could get out of here sooner.”

“I've got nothing pressing, pal. You're the one on borrowed time here, not me.”

He shrugged. “If you say so.” Then he turned to go. But as he reached the doorway, he turned and glanced at the vampire who lay in the bed. “By the way, that's not the half-insane fledgling in the bed over there. We left
her
behind, too.”

Topaz frowned. “Well then, who is it?”

He nodded toward the bed. “You can thank me later,” he said. “After all, you've been waiting a long time for this.” He stepped out of the bedroom and closed the door most of the way, leaving it open just enough for him to keep an eye on her.

Topaz's heart seemed to clench in her chest as she stared at the blanket-draped form in the bed. She began moving, chair and all, hitching it across the carpet in fits and starts, moving it to the side of the bed, then scooting it bit by bit, higher, toward the pillows. She saw her captor look in at her, then shrug and walk away.

And then she was staring at the face of the most beautiful woman who'd ever lived, and choking on tears as she whispered, “Mother?”

There was no answer.

For a long while Topaz sat beside the bed, staring down at the woman who lay there, unconscious. There was no mistaking the face that had been one of the most beloved ever to grace the silver screen. The face that had been on billboards and in tabloids the world over. The face of Mirabella DuFrane. Simply Mirabella to most. The way Elvis was just Elvis, Cher was just Cher, and Madonna…

To Topaz, though, she was more. To her, she was Mother.

The sculpted, delicate jaw, the high, accentuated cheekbones, the milky white skin. It was more porcelain now than bronze, as it had been in life. And more beautiful. Her mink-brown hair was held by a white headband that couldn't quite keep the careless curls from falling in soft waves around her face. Here and there it gleamed with deep shades of auburn. All natural, her hair had never been chemically touched. It was more like an elaborate headpiece made of satin ribbons than ordinary hair.

Topaz stared at her, and her entire body filled with emotion. It choked her so that she couldn't speak, held her so that she couldn't move, leaked out only through her eyes in the form of tears she'd been waiting far too long to shed. And those fell slowly, uncertainly, still hesitant. They rolled down her cheeks one by one, burning all the way.

“Mother,” she whispered again. Mirabella had abandoned her before she'd even been old enough to have uttered her first “mama,” so Topaz had grown up thinking of the glamorous starlet whose photographs littered her memory, and whose films filled a shelf in her mansion, formally, as “Mother.”

Yet looking at her now, it was difficult to think of her that way. She didn't appear any older than Topaz herself. Might even have been younger. Vampires didn't age once they were transformed. Topaz tried to count backwards, but the logical part of her mind wasn't functioning. Mirabella had been, she thought, twenty-seven when she'd been killed. Only, she hadn't been killed at all. She'd been made over, given the dark gift. By whom? Topaz wondered. And why?

Topaz had been twenty-five when she'd been turned, and she had been a vampiress for a decade now. So yes, technically, her mother was older. Two years older, by mortal calculations. And even after ten years undead, that fact seemed surreal to Topaz. It made her slightly queasy, slightly dizzy, because it flew in the face of the reality she had spent most of her life knowing.

There was no such thing as knowing, though. There was only believing. Convincing yourself of a fact because you believed it so strongly. Seeing it contradicted after that was like looking at the impossible. But there was no such thing as impossible, either, was there? There was only belief.

For so many years she'd believed her mother was dead, but now, here she was, undead and well, though drugged at the moment.

Emotion rose in her, and she pulled at the handcuffs until the chain snapped in two. Then she rose from the chair and moved closer to the bed. Battling tears, Topaz reached out a hand that trembled and let it hover for a moment above her mother's smooth cheek. She almost couldn't bring herself to touch the sleeping beauty. Almost couldn't bear to feel the proof that this was no illusion, no dream, but real.

And then she did. She lowered her hand, her jaw and spine so stiff they should have cracked. Her fingertips touched her mother's smooth, cool skin, then gently pushed back a long lock of wavy hair that felt like satin.

Thick-lashed eyes twitched, muscles tightening, then relaxing, and then her lashes fluttered a few times.

Topaz sucked in a breath and jerked her hand away in response. She sat back, her gaze riveted to the woman's face, as slowly, slowly, Mirabella's eyes came open. She blinked a few times, seeming to bring her vision into focus with an effort. One elegant hand rose unsteadily to the side of her head. And then her brows drew together, and she closed her eyes again.

“I've had this dream before.”

“Vampires don't dream,” Topaz whispered.

“Untrue. I dream. Only during those brief twilight moments just before the day sleep takes me, or just as I'm waking at sunset, but I dream.”

“Of me?” Topaz asked.

“Who else?”

Topaz sighed. “Do you even know who I am?”

The woman's eyes came open again. She studied Topaz, perhaps beginning to realize that this was no dream. “I've always known. I've watched over you for your entire life, Tanya.”

“Then you know how miserable I was. How unhappy. How utterly unloved.”

Mirabella pressed her palms to the mattress on either side of her and pushed herself up into a sitting position. “I know. I'm sorry.”

“I needed you. You abandoned me.” Topaz turned away from the bed and paced the room, unable to look at her mother as she asked the question, then awaited the answer she'd been seeking for so long. “Why?”

“Not by choice, my child. I swear that to you.”

Topaz didn't turn to look back at her mother. Quietly, with a voice gone cold, she asked again, “Why?”

Mirabella sighed. Topaz heard the movements of her body on the mattress as she slid around and got to her feet. She moved closer, coming up behind Topaz, lowering a hand to her shoulder. “I was having an affair with a married man.”

“Wayne Duncan?” Topaz asked.

“Yes. His wife…Lucia…she tried to kill me. Did kill me, for all intents and purposes. There was no way I could have survived the gunshot wounds she inflicted that night.”

“And yet, you didn't die?” Topaz asked.

“No. I didn't die. I had a friend, a vampiress. Her name is Sarafina. She is an ancestor of ours. Call her an aunt, it's as close as you'll ever come. She was there when it happened. And she managed to get to me in the hospital before I expired, and that's where she did it.”

Topaz said nothing.

“It's what happened,” her mother said. “Why do I get the feeling you don't believe me?”

“Because I have your letter. And I've talked to your manager, Rebecca Murphy. You were planning this. Oh, Rebecca thought you were going to commit suicide. She believes the shooter was a hit man you hired to do the job for you. But your letter to me is all the proof I need. You planned this. To fake your own death and leave your infant daughter behind as if she'd never even existed.”

Mirabella sighed, lowered her head, and turned away. And that, more than anything, gave Topaz the strength to turn around and face her again, even though she was only facing her mother's back. Then Mirabella turned again, as well, and met Topaz's eyes.

“It's true, Sarafina and I were planning it. But before we could carry out our plan, that bitch shot me. It was too late then.”

“And I was on my own. You might as well have tossed me into shark-filled waters and left me to sink, swim or be devoured, Mother. It amounted to the same thing.”

“I was going to make better arrangements for you. I didn't want you raised by uncaring, money-hungry—”

“Then why the hell didn't you?” Topaz shouted, not caring that the man in the next room was bound to hear. Her voice had taken on a gravelly quality, and the tears were choking her now.

“Why did you leave me alone? You could have taken me with you! There had to be a way!”

“Oh, baby…”

Mirabella moved closer, reaching out to touch Topaz's face, but Topaz jerked away before she could make contact. “No. Don't. Don't play the caring mother now, not after all this.”

Mirabella froze with her hand in midair and blinked rapidly, as if she, too, were close to tears. “You've become hard, Tanya. Cold.”

“You made sure I would. You left me not knowing who my father was. You left the courts in charge of deciding who would raise me. You left me in the care of a man who never wanted anything other than my money.”

“I know. I know, baby.”

“You didn't love me enough to stay, he didn't love me at all, and then I fell in love with a man I thought did. I really believed he loved me. But it turned out he was only using me, too.”

“Jack,” her mother whispered. “I know. I'm so sorry.”

Topaz's head came up swiftly. “How do you know his name?”

“I told you, I've been watching over you. And I know how deeply he hurt you, and I'm sorry.”

Topaz's heart ached in her chest at the very mention of Jack's name. “The stupidest thing of all is that I let him. I mean, just the fact that he refused to tell me he loved me for so long should have been enough to warn me off. But it wasn't. I held on, tried to make myself believe. And then, when he came back for more, I bought into it all over again.”

“And for good reason,” her mother said.

“No. It turns out he's been using me all over again. Working for these CIA idiots, planning to turn in one of my best friends, all for money. At least it's not my money this time, but I was a means to an end for him. Just as I've always been.”

Her mother was silent. Appearing to be deep in thought.

“What?” Topaz asked.

“I just…I don't believe that. I've seen him—from a distance, of course—but I've seen him. Seen the way he looks at you.”

“Yeah, well, he's the greatest actor since Olivier. But believe me, that's all it was. An act. Hell, he's the reason we're here with these assholes.”

Her mother frowned, and shot a quick look toward the nearly-closed bedroom door. “Where are we, exactly?”

“What do you remember?” Topaz asked her.

Mirabella pressed a hand to her head. It was a perfect hand. Smooth, silky. Manicured nails, though the polish was chipped. “Not much. I was in my house, and I heard something, so I went to the window to look. And then the window smashed inward, and there was something stabbing me in the stomach. I thought I'd been shot.”

“Tranquilizer dart,” Topaz guessed.

“Yes. I looked down and saw this thing sticking into me, and there was blood around it, staining my dress.” She looked down as she said it. The dress was a summery halter dress, floor-length, white, with a pattern of big green loops, reminiscent of the seventies. She had that white band around her hair, and white shoes that looked impossibly high, and yet she walked without a wobble.

Mirabella touched the single red stain in the front of her dress, confirming her own memory. Then she lifted her gaze and met Topaz's eyes again. “I passed out, I think. I don't remember anything else until I opened my eyes just now and saw you sitting beside my bed, and thought it was a dream.” She searched Topaz's face. “Tanya, what's going on?”

Topaz sighed. There was so much she wanted to say to her mother. So many things she wanted to ask her. But mostly, she wanted the starlet to convince her that she really had loved her daughter. That she really had been given no choice but to leave her behind. She wanted to be convinced.

But she wasn't. Not even a little bit. Her mother was just the first in a long line of people who were
supposed
to love her but had fallen far short. The first in a long line of those who had put their own needs ahead of hers, only to walk away when she needed them most.

Her mother had set the pattern that her entire life had followed. And Topaz wanted to hate her for it. Instead, she hated herself for being unable to.