Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist) (23 page)

As Alan approached, Brown Hat must have realized his cover was blown and took off running across the hotel lobby. He moved pretty fast for such a bulky guy. I hoped nobody got in his way because he probably didn’t intend to stop.

Alan took off after him.

I’d already started running by the time Alan did, and we both tromped across the marble floor, luckily managing to avoid luggage carts and hotel guests.

Brown Hat hit the open automatic door just in time to glide through before it closed, and Alan and I had to pause a moment for it to activate again.

We burst out onto the sidewalk and looked both ways. There was no sign of the stalker—if that’s what he was.

My wool blazer was no match for the frigid temperature, much less Alan’s shirt.

“What should we do?” I asked. “Go get our coats and try to pick up his trail?”

“We?” Alan laughed and took my arm, pulling me back into the hotel. “Who’s the FBI guy here? You’ve been watching too many movies and TV shows. But for the record, I’m not a werewolf. The likelihood that I can sniff out the guy’s direction is pretty low, and with all these businesses he could’ve ducked into, I’d say we wouldn’t have much luck with that particular needle.”

We were the center of attention as we reentered the hotel.

“Let’s go and report the guy to security. I got a pretty good look at his face. At least they can be on the lookout for him.”

Turns out we didn’t have to go find security. Thanks to our dramatic run across the lobby, they found us.

After Alan showed his FBI credentials and we explained the situation, reminding them that I had asked to switch rooms due to the man following me, they cooperated and took a report. They assured us the man would be, and turned over to the police if he tried to enter again.

We went back to the restaurant, where the line was now much shorter, and got a table right away.

“Damn, it’s cold out there,” Alan said, rubbing his arms. “I have to admit it’s always exciting being around you. Something unusual always happens.”

He was talking about today and all the chaos a couple of months ago.

“Hey, it’s not my fault. I had nothing to do with that guy showing up—I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yeah,” he said, laughing, “that’s the story of your life.”

I looked at my watch as the waiter brought our coffee. “It’s almost time for the
Working with Nontraditional Clients
workshop.” I lowered my voice. “I’m sure they’re talking about humans, but I might pick up a few tips I can apply to my population.” I took a couple of sips of my coffee. “What are you going to do all day? Did you actually register for the conference?”

“No, I’m a party crasher. As I told you before, I have plenty to do to occupy my time. I still have to keep in touch with the team in San Francisco and check in with the locals here. Don’t worry about me. You just go ahead and attend the presentations, consult with your colleagues, and have a great day. I’ll see you back at your room this evening.”

Hmm. Back at my room this evening. Room. Bed. Alan. Well, why not? I didn’t appear to have any prior commitments anymore.

“Okay,” I said, and stood up to leave. “I’ll be finished at five.”

“Don’t I get a kiss good-bye?”

I scanned the nearby tables. “No kisses in public.”

“Isn’t perfection exhausting?”

He’s right. What the hell. …
I bent down, pressed my lips to his, and put some juice into it.

“Wow,” was all he said as I walked away.

My Inner Nerd was ecstatic by the time all the presentations for the day were finished. I took volumes of notes on my laptop—learning to type fast was one of the best things I’ve ever done—and had interesting discussions with colleagues between sessions. A few people mentioned my recent notoriety, but nobody said anything disrespectful. After expecting the worst—to be ridiculed or shunned—finding myself treated much the same as always at the conference, with maybe a little more positive attention, was a tremendous relief.

And either hotel security had done an efficient job or Brown Hat had lost interest, because there were no more sightings of the creepy guy today.

I rode the elevator up to my floor, feeling energized and tired all at the same time, and found Alan pacing frantically along the corridor outside my room. He jetted up the hallway when he saw me. Something big had happened.

“Kismet! You won’t believe it.” His grin literally stretched from ear to ear. Vibrating with excitement, he grabbed my hand, then dropped it, and raced up and down the hall again, mumbling to himself.

“What?” I trotted along behind him. Was there a break in the case? Had someone destroyed Lucifer? Was that what the excitement was about? He was obviously caught up in some kind of manic episode. “Alan!”

“My mother.” He sped down the corridor again, and I followed. A door opened, and an elderly woman poked her head out, watched Alan for a few seconds, then quickly closed and locked the door.

“Your mother? What about her?”
His mother?

He returned to my door, pointed to his phone, then leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor. Looking stunned now instead of excited, he sat with his knees drawn up, his arms wrapped around them. With a groan, he rested his forehead on his arms, all the mania suddenly gone. His adrenaline high had exhausted itself, and he crashed. I wondered how long he’d been pacing before I got there.

“Oh my God, Alan!” I knelt next to him and pushed a lock of hair back from his forehead. “What?”

He raised his head. “My mother—”

“Yeah, your mother. You said. Please tell me what’s happened.” What the hell could it be? His eyes were filled with sadness, his expression a lost child’s.

His mother? The woman he suspected was a vampire and who’d abandoned him?

I put my arm around him. “Tell me. What about her?” Had he learned something so awful that his mind had snapped?

He held out his cell phone. “She left me a message just a few minutes ago. I was on another call so it went to voice mail. Let me put it on speaker—”

“Wait, Alan. Let’s go inside.” Listening to a private personal message out in the hotel hallway wasn’t a good idea under any circumstances, but who knew what his long-lost mother might disclose? If it was even her. He wasn’t thinking clearly. I rose and hooked my hand under his arm, drawing him up and into my room.

I led him over to the couch in the sitting area and he plopped down bonelessly, hope and fear dancing on his face. Setting my briefcase on the bed, I peeled off my blazer, then pulled a chair over from the office area in the other corner and sat in front of him.

He pressed a couple of buttons on his phone, and a woman’s voice came from the speaker. He locked eyes with me.

“Alan, my sweet son. It’s Ollie. Your mother. I need your help. Colin and I live in New York, and I know you’re here, too. I’ve kept track of you all these years. Please. Something’s happened. … Call me back. You have my number in your phone now. I’m waiting to hear from you.”

He replayed the message again, the muscles in his face slack, as if all the blood had been sucked out and he’d deflated. When the voice stopped the second time he sank into the couch cushions and let his head fall back, his neck no longer able to hold its weight.

I sat with him in silence and waited for him to give any subtle signal that he was ready to talk about the call. A few minutes later he blinked repeatedly, swallowed, and raised his head.

“Do you think that was really your mother?” I asked, hoping the message hadn’t been a hoax perpetrated by some horrible person.

He tried to speak, and his voice cracked.

I went to the small refrigerator, collected a couple of bottles of water, and brought them over. I handed one to him.

He drank, then cleared his throat. “Thanks. Yeah, that was her—I recognize her voice. She sounds exactly the same as I remember. And only those closest to her knew I called her Ollie.”

“Ollie?”

“Her name is Olivia, and she hated being called Ollie, so as a kid, of course I teased her when I found out, and I started using it once in a while, just to press her buttons. It was a special thing between us, because she never let anyone else call her that.”

“Have you contacted her yet?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been hoping for this my whole adult life, and now that she’s contacted me, I’m suddenly afraid.”

“What are you afraid of?”

He stared off for a moment before looking down at the floor. “I convinced myself that she didn’t want to leave me. That she’d been taken against her will. What if that isn’t true? What if she chose to walk away?” He drank more water. “That would mean she never loved me, and the stories I told myself were lies.” He looked at me. “If I was wrong, that changes everything and I don’t know who I am.”

I leaned in and laid a hand on his knee. “No matter what, you’ll still be the same amazing man you’ve always been.”

“Yeah,” he said on a sharp laugh. “Some amazing man. Fixated on his mother. Tell me, Doctor—am I a prime psychological specimen, or what?”

“You’re human, Alan. And more honest than most.”

“She said she needs my help. What could that possibly mean?”

“Only one way to find out.”

“Right. And
he’s
with her.”

“Colin? Is that the same man—?”

“The one who turned her.”

“She sounded scared. Said something’s happened.”

“Shit.” He bolted off the couch and walked a groove into the carpet, finally kicking the leg of a chair in frustration. “She did sound scared. I have to call her.”

“Yes. You do.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, took out his cell phone, and stared at it.

“Do you want some privacy?” I asked.

“No—I could just go to my own room if I did. I’d rather have you here. Okay.” He found his mother’s number and pushed the buttons to call her and to put her on speaker.

After two rings, a woman answered. “Alan?”

“Mom? Is it really you?”

“Oh, Alan,” she said. It sounded like she was crying. “You have no idea how I’ve missed you. How terrible it’s been to have to watch you from the sidelines.” She sobbed more loudly now, not even trying to hold back the tears.

“Why did you leave, Mom? What happened to you?” Alan had fully regressed to his eight-year-old self.

“I can’t talk about it on the phone, honey. Can I come and see you? I didn’t want to just show up without asking. After all, you’re probably pretty upset with me.”

“Upset? You think I’m
upset
? Try out of my mind with worry and fear. Broken-hearted. Lost.”

She sniffled for a few seconds. “I know. I’ll try to explain. Can I come?”

He looked at me, wanting—advice? Support? No idea.

“Yes. You can come. When—?”

She appeared in the room. My stomach clenched, and a mild tremor of fear rumbled through me.

There was no question now about whether or not she’d become a vampire. Being able to move through time and space was a big tip-off. Not to mention the flare-up of my temporarily more intense vampire sensing system.

Alan dropped the phone.

He’d told me his mother was great-looking. That was an understatement. She must have been in her late twenties when she became a vampire, because she looked younger than both Alan and me. Only about five feet four inches tall, she was lean, with curves in all the right places. Her waist-length hair was a rich shade of brown, like Alan’s, and it was obvious where he’d gotten his purple-blue eyes. She was wearing a long black dress and matching cape.

After a slight hesitation on his part, they leaped into each other’s arms and held on tightly, both crying.

When they finally pulled apart, Alan stared at her as if he thought she would disappear if he looked away.

“Let’s sit down, Mom.” Alan pointed to the couch.

“Just a minute, sweetie,” she said as she turned in my direction, holding out her hand. “I’m Olivia, Alan’s mother. It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for caring about my son.”

I took the hand she offered. “I’m Kismet Knight.”

“Yes, I know. I really have stayed close to my son, and I’m aware that you’re important to him.”

“Mom!” Alan said the word like an embarrassed teenager.

“He’s important to me, too,” I said.

“Yes, he is.” She walked over to the couch and sat.

Feeling like a third wheel, I went to the refrigerator to see what I could find. I held up bottles of beer and wine for Alan to see. “Would you like anything?”

“Should I offer Olivia something?” I mumbled under my breath as I turned back to the refrigerator. “How good a hostess should I actually be?”

“No thanks,” he said.

Olivia laughed and addressed me. “I have very good hearing, Kismet. No veins are necessary. I’m fine.”

I felt my cheeks warm. “Well, that’s good.”

Talking to yourself, Kismet? Not a good sign.

I poured the small bottle of white wine into a glass, carried it over to the bed, and sat. I’d been practicing the hum, so the fear I was picking up from Olivia had remained manageable.

“It’s been a while since I laughed. That felt good,” Olivia said, turning to face Alan. “But this is a terrible time for me. Colin is missing. I’m sure another of his violent business partners has taken him.” She reached over to the side table and plucked a tissue out of the box.

“Colin? This is about Colin?” Alan said, anger coloring his voice.

Olivia sat up straighter and raised her chin. “You don’t know him, Alan. You were a child when the three of us spent time together. He’s a fine man. Perhaps he behaves foolishly sometimes, but he’s basically good. He took care of me after the attack.”

“Attack?” Alan jumped to his feet. “Are you saying he hurt you, and you stayed with him anyway?”

Olivia tugged on his arm until he sat. “No, Colin would never hurt me. He’s been trying to protect me the same way he protected you.”

“What are you talking about?” Alan jerked to attention and clenched his fists, barely able to keep his rage in check. “He didn’t do shit for me. He took my mother away. He turned you into a vampire and left me an orphan.”