Runaway Vampire (26 page)

“Alice Bonher.”

Mary glanced up to see that Jane was reading the name from the slip of paper the receptionist had given her.

Jane smiled crookedly. “That was my mother's maiden name. Small world, huh?” she commented with a smile as she took her seat.

Mary tilted her head slightly. “That
was
your mother's maiden name?”

“Yes. She died last week when her RV crashed and exploded.”

Mary blinked at the bald announcement, and then realizing she should respond, murmured, “I see.”

But she didn't see at all. Well, she did see a bit. Obviously Lucian or one of his men had done some mind-control nonsense and made everyone believe that she'd died in the RV crash, which was handy and even sensible. What she didn't understand was how her daughter could talk about her death with so little emotion. There was no grief, no sense of loss at all. She'd used the same tone Mary would have used to say she'd visited friends last week.

She frowned over that and was starting to grow upset when it occurred to her to wonder if this too wasn't Lu
cian's work. Could they have done something to Janie to make her accept the death more readily?

Mary glanced to her daughter, and seeing her questioning look, cleared her throat, and asked, “Was the funeral nice?”

“Oh, there was no funeral. There was no body. She burned up in the fire. They couldn't even separate her ashes from the ashes of the RV.” Jane sighed and then admitted, “We're considering buying a plot, putting up a tombstone and holding a funeral ceremony, but it will have to wait until I go to Winnipeg next month.”

“Next month?” Mary asked with dismay.

“Well, there was no sense rushing off to have it right away. We don't have a body, and the ceremony is only for myself and my brother and our families.”

“That's it?” Mary asked, appalled. “What about her friends? Surely they would want to attend?”

“Yes, but they all kind of abandoned her when Dad died. I think the other women were nervous of having a newly widowed woman around their husbands. Mom was a good-looking woman, young for her age and witty.”

“Oh,” Mary sat back and smiled slightly at the comment. She'd never really seen herself that way. It was nice to know her daughter did.

“It's probably better she died anyway.”

Mary blinked and stared at her with horror. “What? Why?”

“Because Dad was her whole life. She was terribly lonely when he died. I'd hate to think of her sitting
alone and miserable in some little apartment in Winnipeg with no friends or anything.”

Since that had been the future she'd foreseen for herself, Mary shouldn't have been upset at her daughter's envisioning it that way too, but she was. Scowling, she said with irritation, “Maybe she would have made new friends, or found a boyfriend.”

“No way,” Jane said emphatically, and then grimaced and said, “I have a friend whose mother did that. Started dating and acting ridiculous after her husband died. She wears clothes much too young for her: tight jeans and low-cut blouses.”

Mary glanced down at the jeans and T-shirt she'd chosen from the storage room. The jeans were a bit snug, and the neckline was a scoop. She tugged at the neckline to cover the bit of bra that was peaking over the top.

“And she's dating men ten and even twenty years younger than her. The woman's acting like a hormone riddled teenager instead of the grandmother she is.”

Mary bit her lip, an image of Dante rising in her mind. He didn't look a day over twenty-five. And hormone riddled was probably a good description of how they had both been acting even before he'd turned her.

“She's even buying condoms and having sex with these men,” Jane said with disgust. “At sixty! Can you imagine? I mean there comes a time when you just have to hang up your dancing shoes, you know?”

“Hmm.” Mary muttered and wondered when her daughter had become so prudish. People over sixty had every right to have sex, for heaven's sake. Hell, at least
they didn't have to worry about birth control . . . usually, she added grimly.

“My mom was much too sensible to go in for that nonsense.”

Mary squirmed in her seat.

“Jane? The Dresdens are here for their appointment.”

Mary jerked around in her seat to peer at the speaker, but the woman was already walking away. She stared after her silently, her mind suddenly racing as memories began flooding her thoughts.

“I'm sorry. I forgot about the Dresdens,” Jane said with a frown, glancing at the clock. “We could book an appointment for later. I have an opening in an hour.”

Mary stared at her silently, debating coming back later, but why bother? She couldn't tell her who she was. Jane wouldn't believe it. And she couldn't explain about nanos or immortals, and she couldn't turn her either. Really, she shouldn't have come here at all.

“No,” she said finally, getting to her feet. “I think I've changed my mind.”

“Oh,” Jane frowned slightly, but stood as well. “If you're sure?”

“Yes,” Mary said solemnly. “My condolences on your loss.”

“Thank you,” Jane murmured, but an odd look came over her face as she watched her slide out from between the desk and the chair, and Mary turned quickly away, afraid she actually might recognize her after all.

That anxiety plaguing her, Mary walked quickly out of her daughter's office and slam bang right into a wide chest.

“Sorry,” Mary muttered, glancing up, then froze as she recognized Lucian Argeneau. Staring at him wide-eyed, she swallowed guiltily. “I didn't—”

“I know,” Lucian said simply, then stepped to the side and gestured for her to lead the way. When she started walking, he immediately fell into step beside her.

“Thank you,” he said as they walked toward the exit.

Mary paused and glanced at him with surprise, and then asked warily, “For what?”

Stepping in front of her, he bowed his head and said softly, “For not making me wipe your daughter's memory, and crush Dante's heart by having to kill you.”

Mary stiffened, then pushed past him and strode out onto the sidewalk, aware that he was on her heels. Her mind was suddenly buzzing, first with questions, and then with answers. The Eaton Center was in downtown Toronto. The Enforcer House was outside Toronto. It had been a hell of a drive to get here, and she'd been surprised they'd bothered when there were so many malls closer to the house. Now she thought she understood.

“You picked the mall,” she guessed grimly.

“Yes,” Lucian admitted.

“You somehow knew where my daughter works and picked this mall because it was nearby.”

“Yes.”

“You did it deliberately, to test me,” she said bitterly.

“Yes.”

Mary stopped abruptly and scowled at him. “That was a cheap trick.”

“Yes,” he said again, completely unapologetic.

She glowered at him briefly, and then bowed her head and muttered, “I'm sorry I failed your test.”

“You did not fail. You did not tell her,” he pointed out.

Mary let her breath out on a sigh, and then lifted her head. Eyeing him curiously, she asked, “Would you really have killed me had I told her?”

“Yes.”

Mary nodded slowly and then turned to start walking again, but after several steps she commented, “It must be hard.”

“What?” he asked with mild interest, keeping pace with her.

“Being the asshole that gets stuck with the shit jobs to protect his people,” she said solemnly and noted that he inclined his head as if to acknowledge that he was that asshole.

“Someone has to do it,” he said simply.

“And that someone is you.”

“Yes.”

Mary merely nodded. There was really nothing else to do or say.

They entered the Eaton Center through the same doors she'd exited from earlier, and moved at a quick clip toward the food court. They were still a good distance away, though, when Mary heard someone call her name. Slowing, she glanced around, and then paused as she saw Dante rushing toward them.

“Are you all right?” he asked, taking her by the upper arms as he reached them. His gaze slid over her as if looking for gaping wounds.

Managing a smile, Mary nodded her head. “Yes, of course. I'm fine,” she whispered, and then leaned up to kiss him gently on the cheek.

“Where were you?” Dante asked as she lowered back to stand flat on her feet again. “I checked the store where we left you, but you were not there and then I looked everywhere for you, but—”

“She got lost.” Lucian interrupted him blandly.

“Oh.” Dante stared at Lucian for a moment, and then shifted his gaze to Mary, and she knew he didn't believe Lucian, but all he said was, “I was worried.”

“Yes, yes,” Lucian said impatiently. “She was lost, you were worried, now she is found and all is well. Now, go on and kiss her so we can get out of this blasted mall.”

Mary tipped her head up to Dante and grinned. “You heard the man. Kiss me.”

Dante chuckled softly and then lowered his head to do just that. But it was no, hi-I'm-happy-to-see-you buss, it was a full on, God-I-am-SO-happy-to-see-you-and-just-wish-you-were-naked-and-spread-eagled-on-the-floor smackeroo.

“Lord save me from new life mates,” Lucian muttered with disgust and then cursed as Weird Al Yankovich's “Tacky” began to play somewhere nearby. For some reason that made Dante laugh, Mary noted, as he broke their kiss. She peered at him with bewilderment for a moment, and then realizing that Lucian was moving away, called, “Lucian?”

Pausing, he swung back, a phone in his hand.

“What?” he asked tersely as “Tacky” continued to play.

“The man you want in Venezuela is Dr. Dressler,” she announced, her response just as terse.

Dante went still beside her. “What?”

Mary turned back to him and grimaced apologetically. “I overheard someone mention the name Dresden while I was . . .” She hesitated, not really wanting to explain what she'd done right there in the shopping mall, then shook her head and said, “It doesn't matter. The point is hearing the name Dresden made me remember the name Dressler.”

She wasn't surprised at their blank expressions and explained, “In the van, the men were talking about how pleased Dr.
Dressler
was going to be to have a new turn to experiment on.” Mary turned back to Lucian to add, “So I'm guessing that this Dressler is who you should be looking for in Venezuela.”

Lucian's mouth tightened. Punching numbers in his phone, he turned away, snapping, “Let's go.”

“Rude man,” Mary muttered, glowering after him.

“I love you.”

Mary swung back to stare at Dante.

“What?” she asked weakly.

“I love you,” he repeated, and then rushed on, “Mary, I know you will think it is too soon for me to say that, but it really is not. You are beautiful, and I do not mean in looks, although you are beautiful in that way too,” Dante added quickly. “But the beauty I speak of is in here.” He covered the general vicinity of her heart
with his hand. “You have so much heart and you are so brave and strong and you do not take shit from anyone. You are my perfect woman, and I love you.”

Mary opened her mouth to tell him that she loved him too, and blurted, “I went to see my daughter.”

Dante raised his eyebrows, cleared his throat, and said, “I see.”

Mary grimaced, knowing those weren't the words he wanted to hear, but she went on. “The bank where she works is very close by and when I realized that . . . I just had to see her,” she said apologetically. “I wanted to tell her everything and I almost did, but . . .”

“But?” he queried quietly.

“But then her memory would be wiped and I can't turn her anyway, so I didn't.”

Dante nodded, and then rested his forehead on hers and said, “When I saw you were alive and well, I knew you must not have said anything to your daughter, but thank you for telling me.”

Mary pulled back to frown at him. “You knew?”

“I suspected,” he corrected. “After Lucian disappeared and Francis mentioned that two of the new hunters had followed us into town and he'd seen them loitering outside the store . . .” His mouth tightened. “I recalled reading in one of the reports that your daughter worked at a bank near here and immediately rushed back to the store to find you, but—”

“There are reports on me?” Mary squawked, interrupting him.

“Yes,” he admitted, but simply continued, “And when I got to the store and you were gone, I feared you
had slipped away to see your daughter and that Lucian had followed. I was calling Mortimer to ask him for the name of the bank when I spotted you and Lucian entering the mall.”

Hands tightening reflexively, he said, “I am sorry you could not say anything to your daughter, Mary. And I am sorry you have lost everything because of me.”

“I haven't lost everything,” Mary said quickly trying to ease his obvious guilt. She then grimaced, and said, “Well, okay, I've lost a lot, but it's not your fault, and I have gained a lot too.”

“Still—” he began unhappily.

“Dante,” she interrupted softly. “I was in my twilight years. I maybe would have lived another couple decades as a mortal, and that would have been probably in some one-bedroom apartment with my kids and grandkids too far away or just too busy to visit. I would have been the lonely old cat lady, who sat around watching jeopardy. Only with a dog,” she added wryly, then smiled and said, “Now, I have a whole new life. I'm healthy and strong.” She shook her head. “The strength is amazing. Every year that I aged I seemed to lose more strength and there were more tasks I couldn't perform. Now there is nothing I am not strong enough to do.” Mary smiled. “You gave me my life back, Dante, and you have given me your love. You've given me everything,” she said solemnly, and then smiled crookedly and said, “Besides, I can keep track of the kids and grandkids. They're all big on Facebook and that Twitter business. I'll be able to follow their lives. I'll just miss the yearly visits,” she added wryly.