The Vampire Shrink (27 page)

“Almost. I'll get them.” I pointed. “Why don't you go into the living room and have a seat. Just give me a few minutes.”

I returned to my bedroom, peeled off my comfortable pink robe, put on fresh underwear, and stood in front of the closet, trying to decide what would be appropriate dress for a police interview. I rifled through my professional clothes and debated whether a skirt or pants would be better. Then I stopped and shook my head. Who was I trying to impress? The cops had seen me covered in blood and gore and smelling like an outhouse. I pulled one of my new sweat suits off the hanger and slipped it on.

It occurred to me to run a brush through my hair, but it had already dried in long curls and sometimes it was better to leave well enough alone; otherwise all the curl would turn into frizz.

I listened for a few seconds and couldn't hear the shower running in the bathroom, so I approached the door and knocked lightly. “Alan?”

“Yeah. Come on in.”

He sat naked on the edge of the bathtub, in the pose of that famous statue
The Thinker
.

Something about the incongruity of the situation made me laugh out loud.

He snorted. “I'm glad someone thinks anything about this day is funny.”

I walked over, knelt down in front of him, and took his face in my hands. “I'm sorry we got interrupted before. It was wonderful. You were wonderful. I'm upset you had to finish without me.”

He grinned. “You might not have been in the bathroom with me, but—trust me—you were there.”

I shifted forward and kissed his warm lips. “Can I have a rain check?”

“You have a standing invitation.” He pulled me in for another kiss. “I hate to change such a titillating subject, but I assume the locals have come to collect your clothes. Before I got back into the shower, I went through the pockets, retrieved everything, and tucked your filthy duds into that yellow bag there.” He pointed and shook his head. “Unfortunately, I should've been more careful when I was enthusiastically tearing off my clothes to join you in the tub, because my brand-new Fruit of the Looms wound up getting tossed on top of a really nasty chunk of something on your jeans, and they're trashed. There's probably nothing on my clothes that the lab won't get from yours, and I'd really prefer to keep the locals out of our personal business—it would only raise questions neither of us wants to answer. When the officers leave I'll use your washing machine, if you don't mind. Otherwise I won't have any clothes to put on.”

A tantalizing visual formed in my brain. “Wow. That raises all sorts of interesting possibilities. A stranded naked man in my house, at my mercy. Who said dreams don't come true?” I laughed. “My appliances are at your disposal. It's the least I can do.” I waggled my eyebrows at him.

“It might be the least you can do, but it isn't all you can do …”

I grinned at him. “We'll have to talk about that later. I'd better get back downstairs.” I kissed him again, retrieved the sack, and closed the door.

The detectives stood when I entered the room, and I handed over the yellow bag. It resembled one of those biohazard containers from a disaster movie—an eye-searing slap of color. All it needed was a skull and crossbones.

“Why don't I make us some coffee? Come on into the kitchen while I grind the beans.”

They accepted my offer and followed me into the kitchen. A few minutes later, a woman from the forensics team joined us, and we all drank while the detectives asked me the same questions they'd asked earlier. I had little to add to my original statement, and in less than a half hour I was showing them out.

I walked them to the door and paused with my hand on the knob. “Thank you for being so kind to me today and for coming over here to pick up the clothing.”

“Just doing our job. Your Mr. Devereux can be very persuasive.”

Huh?

“My Mr. Devereux?”

The detectives stole a quick glance at each other. “Yes. It was at his request that the chief bent the rules for you. They seem to have an …
unusual
relationship. Mr. Devereux is a very influential man. By the way, you've got quite a bit of company out there. You might want to—”

I opened the door and was immediately overwhelmed by voices screaming questions, bright lights shining in my eyes, and cameras thrust in my face. Even knowing I'd be the focus of attention, however briefly, hadn't prepared me for the reality of finding my front lawn filled with aggressive strangers who were competing to record my moment of infamy.

The street in front of my town house was lined with police cars, as well as television news vans. Neighbors I hadn't had the chance to meet yet filled the perimeter.

And I really can't believe I left my door unlocked and forgot the media would be arriving. Something is definitely wrong with my brain.

The detectives took charge of the situation and strode down the path, reminding all the reporters that they were trespassing on private property.

I closed the door and pressed my weight against it. I'd learned my lesson. This time I made sure all the locks were securely engaged and the alarm was on. I didn't want any more private experiences thwarted by unexpected company.

After giving the detectives a couple of minutes to disperse the crowd, I peeked through the slightly raised slat of a blind and saw several uniformed police officers herding the reporters back toward the street. I hoped the media would lose interest in me before Monday, because I had a full client schedule and I wasn't willing for my life to get any more out of control. Besides, what was I supposed to tell them? I had no idea what happened to me, and I couldn't break confidentiality.

I cringed as I thought about Nancy's reaction to my situation. If she thought my writing a book about vampires was bad, I could only imagine how she was dealing with this insanity. I'd call her as soon as possible.

And what was that about Devereux? A relationship with the police chief? The thought of him reminded me of the violent scene I'd witnessed in the basement of the Crypt. It also reminded me of my overwhelming desire to crawl into his lap. Both those memories felt like they'd happened in another life. I didn't know whether to be disgusted with myself for letting my raging hormones get me into so much trouble or be grateful that my long dry spell with men might be over.

But he's a vampire.

I decided all that was too much to deal with, and I'd think about it later. Yeah. Me and Scarlett O'Hara. I might get tossed out of the Psychologists' Club for saying this, but a little denial never hurt anyone.

When in shock, keep busy.

“Hey,” I stood at the bottom of the stairs, “they're gone. You can come down now. There's coffee.”

I returned to the kitchen to forage for snacks to serve with the coffee, and then picked up the phone to check messages. I had no personal messages on my home phone, but when I dialed my business voice mail, a synthetic voice from the phone company notified me that my message queue was full and I'd need to delete some before I could receive any more.

The first few messages played, and I saved them if they were from clients or potential clients. I deleted the ones from media outlets, and then heard the sweetly sensual voice of Vaughan the chiropractor saying something about our dinner date tonight.

“Kismet? This is Vaughan. About our date tonight. I heard your story on the news this morning—I hope you're okay. It sounded like a miserable experience. What a terrible thing. Anyway, I'm sure you want time to yourself, so we can postpone our dinner. Would you mind giving me a call later when you can, just so I can be sure you're safe and well? I'll talk to you soon.”

Shit!

I'd totally forgotten about Vaughan. It felt like weeks since I'd made the date—back when there were no men on the horizon, before Devereux did whatever he'd done to me—and now I couldn't even imagine keeping it. I didn't feel remotely like the same person anymore. I wrote a note on the whiteboard on my kitchen wall to remind myself to call him.

I heard the sound of bare feet padding into the kitchen and turned, expecting to find a luscious naked man, and instead burst out laughing. Alan had rooted around in my closet and found an old pair of torn pink sweatpants that rode up to his midcalf and fit him like a second skin, and a very small, tight T-shirt that said “Woman Power!” Even though he should've looked ludicrous, it was all I could do to keep myself from leaping on him and finishing what we'd started earlier.

He apparently enjoyed my reaction and strutted around in a circle so I could see all sides of the spectacular presentation.

“I didn't want to put on anything that I might stretch out and ruin, and I figured you probably weren't too attached to these. Besides,” he said, laughing, “I look great in pink, and it takes a real man to be able to say that.”

“I think you probably look great in anything.”
Not to mention in nothing.

“Thank you.” He gave a slow blink and sauntered over, his face serious. “I believe you mean that.”

The close proximity of his body and the sudden shift in intensity surprised me, and I felt myself melting into a puddle on the floor. I leaned against the counter and cleared my throat. “Of course I do.”

We stared at each other for a moment; then I forced my gaze away. As delicious as it would have been to return to my bedroom and spend the rest of the evening exploring each other's erogenous zones, the shock and confusion of the morning had worn off and fatigue was setting in. It was time to face all the realities I didn't want to think about.

My stomach growled. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

He grinned.

“For food, I mean?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Shall we have something delivered? What'll it be? Pizza? Chinese? Mexican? Lady's choice.”

“How will the delivery person get through that horde of reporters out there?”

“I'll call in and request a police escort to the front door,” he said.

We negotiated the food, and I went into the living room to collapse on the couch while Alan performed the phone duties.

“I'm going to put my filthy clothes in the washing machine; then we need to talk,” he said. “Something traumatic happened to you last night. Obviously you didn't disappear of your own volition, and I want to hear every detail you can remember, no matter how inconsequential.” He hesitated for a few seconds. “And I have something to tell you.”

The tone of his voice indicated I wasn't going to like his news, so, being my usual impatient self, I abandoned the couch and followed him into the laundry room.

“What do you have to tell me?”

“Hold on a minute.”

I drummed my fingers on the counter while he loaded the washer. “Hurry up.”

He shook his head and grinned. “Such a control freak. Come on, let's go back into the living room.” He grabbed my hand, pulled me to the couch, and we sat.

I didn't say out loud that I thought we had control-freak characteristics in common. Instead, I sighed impatiently. “So? You're starting to make me nervous. Did something bad happen? I mean, something in addition to what happened to me?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “Something bad happened. Do you remember the call I got last night at the club? The one about another body being found?”

“I remember.”

“The body they found was Emerald Addison's.”

All the air leaked out of me like a punctured balloon, and I sagged back into the couch cushions, speechless.

“I'm sorry.” He patted my hand. “This must be hard to hear. She was your client.”

I still didn't correct him. “What happened to her?”

“She was found in the alley behind an apartment building in Capitol Hill. The report said she had a friend living there named Eric Weiss. Her body was drained of blood, same as the others. It was a vampire attack, although the locals aren't seriously considering that angle.”

I stared at the wall in silence. Poor little Emerald. I wished she really had been my client so I'd have more memories of her than just our brief trip to the hospital. I wondered if Midnight and Ronald had been notified and how they were coping. If they'd heard about my situation, they were probably worried about me, too.

I jumped up and hurried to my desk, intending to search for my briefcase and my current client files.

Alan stood, looking alarmed. “What's happening? What're you doing?”

“I've got to call a couple of my clients, friends of Emerald's—you saw them with me at the hospital. They must be feeling terrible.”

I sat at my desk, located their phone numbers, called, and got their answering machines. I left messages giving them my cell phone number and asking them to return the call, no matter what time they got my message. I had to do something to help, and I hoped someone would give me a clue as to what that might be.