Dead End Dating (31 page)

I was busy envisioning myself in a red Grace Kellyish top when Evie walked in. She wore a Rozae Nichols net cardigan with metallic beads and a silk jersey skirt—both last season but oh so cute anyway. Suede wedges and a leather cuff bracelet completed the ensemble.

Maybe things weren’t all that bad.

If Evie could look great in last season, so could I. There was more to life than money and a decent line of credit. Or so I desperately wanted to believe.

“I’ve got good news, bad news, and really bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Give me the good news.” What can I say? I’m the eternal optimist.

“Melissa called this morning and said she didn’t have much luck with either of the last two guys you set her up with, but that she’s willing to try again. So I did a little checking and came up with what I think will be the perfect match. They’re meeting”—she glanced at her watch—“right about now.”

Which meant she’d given up the infatuation with Francis. Definitely good.

“And the bad news?”

“Francis called and said Britney is sick and that he has to cancel tonight’s date.”

“He has a date tonight?”

“That’s the really bad news. She isn’t one of our clients. In fact, he met her Saturday night and she asked him out, along with a half-dozen other women.”

“Because they met him at the soiree, which he attended with me.”

She thought about the information and smiled. “That does make us responsible, doesn’t it? Then I guess today isn’t so bad, after all.” She disappeared out front and I reached for the two files she’d placed on my desk.

The first belonged to Melissa and the second to Jerry Dormfeld, also known as the Chili Dog Guy. I opened both files and placed them side by side. I read Chili Dog’s likes and dislikes when it came to the perfect woman before shifting my attention to Melissa’s profile.

Single. Never been married. No children. Family out of state. Waitress at a local restaurant.

Evie was definitely on to something. Melissa answered the guy’s wish list to a T. On paper, she was the perfect woman for him.

Or the perfect victim.

As soon as the thought struck, I pushed it back out. Or I tried to. But then my attention shifted back to the first file, and I could practically hear Ty’s voice reciting the kidnapper’s modus operandi (I’d finally tuned out Jerry and tuned in
CSI
).

His victims are all single. Never been married. No children. No immediate family. No real career.

On top of that, she was new to the city. She hadn’t had time to make many friends. She was new on the job. There would be no one to really miss her right away.

Until it was too late.

I should call Ty.

At the same time, what did I really have to tell him?

Just a hunch. A big one. But a hunch, nonetheless.

Chili’s profile read like a half-dozen others in my file. Even more, I hadn’t picked up one questionable thought racing through his mind when I’d met with him face-to-face. He was a guy. With a one-track brain. One that featured a chili dog. End of story.

Chances were he wasn’t the kidnapper at all and I was simply having a breakdown. I had been staked and had drunk Ty’s blood—all in less than a few hours. It only stood to reason that so much sensory overload in so short a time would send me over the deep end. Cripes, I was just a vampire. Not Wonder Woman.

I studied his folder again, and my gaze hooked on his previous address. A Chicago address.

My stomach hollowed out.

Hel-lo? Lots of New Yorkers are from Chicago.

I pressed the intercom and buzzed Evie anyway. “Where did you say Melissa was meeting her date tonight?”

“I didn’t, but I can take a look-see.” She paused and I heard her fingers tapping her keyboard. “Carmine’s. It’s that Italian place over on the Upper West Side. Great chicken parmesan and an impressive wine selection.”

“Give me the address.” I jotted down the information on a sticky pad. Grabbing both files and my purse, I pushed to my feet.

“By the way,” Evie started when I walked into the outer office, “Francis wanted you to call him when you get a free moment…” Her sentence trailed off as she noted my purse. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” I said as I headed for the door, my heart beating so fast I thought it would pop out of my chest.

At least nothing I could prove.

Yet.

I’d been dead wrong. Chili Dog wasn’t the kidnapper.

Nope. The ferocious-looking vampire standing next to him was the kidnapper.

I stood in the shadows of Melissa’s apartment building and watched as the feral-looking vamp stared deep into her eyes and willed her into a limp noodle. The smell of German chocolate cake floated across the distance and filled my nostrils.

Make that a feral-looking
born
vampire.

It had been an hour since I’d left the office and headed for Carmine’s, only to find that Melissa and her date had already left the restaurant. I’d tried her apartment first—the hunch thing again—only to find the place still locked up tight. The only sound that had come from inside had been the faint yapping of her dog, Daisy.

I’d taken that as a good sign.

If I were a mass murderer, I would definitely have silenced all that yipping first thing. Which meant they probably hadn’t gone back to her apartment. They’d gone somewhere else.

I’d been about to head for the address Chili Dog had listed when my super vamp senses had picked up a faint noise coming from the alley behind the building. I’d tiptoed into the shadows and felt my way along the cold brick until I’d reached the corner that led to the rear. I’d peeked around and hit pay dirt.

“I…” Melissa’s words faded into a choked gurgle as a glazed look came over her eyes.

She stared up at the six-foot-plus stranger who towered over her. He wore classic vamp: black slacks, black silk shirt, and Gucci loafers. He had dark hair that curled down around his shirt collar and smoky gray eyes. Overall, he was good-looking.

Or he would have been if I hadn’t sensed the violence that lurked just beneath the surface.

He didn’t just want her blood.

He wanted to drink from her, and then he wanted to watch her die.

Dread played up and down my spine as I watched Melissa melt in front of him. He caught her effortlessly, tossing her over his shoulder like a laundry bag. He was little more than a blur as he moved toward a black Rolls-Royce fully decked out with leather seats, expensive rims, and a DVD player. (What can I say? I notice these things.) He dumped her into the backseat of the idling car before turning back to Chili Dog.

Suddenly, it all made sense. Jerry Dormfeld—if that was even his name, and I wasn’t placing any bets—was this guy’s minion. His servant. His lap dog.

That’s why I hadn’t been able to read anything in Jerry’s thoughts. Because he didn’t have any thoughts of his own. He existed solely for the purpose of doing his master’s bidding. He thought of only one thing: whatever it was his master planted in his mind. In this case, a great big hot dog with extra chili and double onions.

The minion went out and did his master’s bidding, answering ads and visiting dating services in search of women who fitted the profile, and then Super Vamp stepped in and abducted them.

And sucked them dry.

Super Vamp then watched his victims turn into vampires (a painful, agonizing process, from what I’ve been told) and left them to the daylight. The sun fried them to a crisp and turned them to dust.

Bye, bye, evidence.

No way,
a voice whispered.
You definitely shouldn’t have started watching
CSI.

At the same time, it added up. Born vampire. Missing women. No bodies.

And Melissa was about to be next.

I pulled out my cell phone and punched in Ty’s number.

“Hey,” his deep voice rumbled over the line. “I can’t pick up right now, so leave a message.”
Beeep.

“It’s me,” I whispered. “Help!” I told him as quickly and as quietly as I could what was happening and then I phoned Evie.

“Something’s wrong with Melissa’s date,” I said in a frantic whisper.

“Is he a loser?”

“Actually, he’s a murderer.”
The
murderer. “I need you to call this number and keep calling it until Ty Bonner answers.”

“The hottie bounty hunter?”

“Yes. Give him this license plate number and tell him I don’t know where they’re headed, but I’ll call as soon as I can with a location.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Call the police.”

“Shouldn’t I call them anyway?”

And have the whole lot of them get slaughtered
if
they managed to find Super Vamp? I wasn’t going to have
that
on my conscience.

Then again, if I didn’t call with a location, it would mean that I’d gotten slaughtered, too. Which would mean there was little chance I’d be sitting around in the future feeling guilty.

I shook away the thought. “There’s nothing to tell them right now. Just get in touch with Ty. I have to hang up.”

I ducked down behind a garbage can just as Super Vamp turned toward the cluster of shadows where I was hiding. He’d heard me. I knew it even before I sensed his presence moving closer.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I closed my eyes.

I focused my own thoughts on the first thing that came to mind—Britney. In a matter of seconds, I’d morphed into a clone of the obnoxious little cockerdoodle.

The garbage can flew out from in front of me and slammed into a nearby wall as Super Vamp tossed it aside. Piercing gray eyes stared down at me.

I wagged my tail and let loose a string of high-pitched barks.

“Annoying little shit,” he growled.

Okay, so I wasn’t Britney’s biggest fan, but I wouldn’t go that far.

I barked some more and even nipped at his ankles until he turned and strode back to the car. He disappeared into the front seat. The doors slammed shut, the motor revved, and the car rolled out of the alley, leaving me and Chili Dog staring after him.

Once the car disappeared, the minion turned and left the alley. His work was done for the night.

And mine had just begun.

I focused again and a heartbeat later I was standing there just as I’d been before, minus my Miu Miu boots. That was the thing about morphing, especially if you didn’t do it that often. There was a tendency to get rusty, which meant sometimes you got it right, and sometimes things got scattered in the crossover. A pair of shoes. A handbag. A cell phone.

I adjusted the notebook clutch under my arm, cell phone still tucked safely inside along with both folders, and tried to ignore the damp wetness beneath my bare feet. I knew my boots were probably somewhere nearby, maybe in the trash can that lay on its side on the ground, or a nearby pile of cardboard boxes, and I would have made a mad search for them if I’d had time.

But the clock was ticking for Melissa and so I fought down the urge and closed my eyes.

A little more concentration and the sound of beating wings filled my suddenly tiny ears. My vision grew even sharper, and I suddenly felt as light as a feather. My teeth grew smaller and pointier and very batlike. I could only hope as I took flight that I’d gotten the color right. Black in this instance. The pink definitely did not fit with low profile. I left the alley behind, spotted the car just as it pulled onto one of the main streets, and then I followed.

I
t wasn’t a boat shed.

It was a lavish two-story house in an upscale Jersey neighborhood lined with large brick homes and carefully manicured lawns. The car pulled into the driveway, and the garage door rumbled open. The Rolls disappeared inside, and the door closed again just as I landed behind a row of hedges and changed from sleek bat back into my usual self.

Minus my favorite Gucci bangle bracelet and the mini suede jacket I’d been wearing.

I fought back a wave of dread. What had I expected? Use it or lose it. That’s what Max always said. I hated when Max was right.

I forced myself to look on the bright side. I still had my purse and my cell phone and my health. What more could a single female vamp ask for?

I checked the number on the mailbox, punched it into my phone, and text-messaged it to Evie at the office. And Ty. I didn’t want to chance a phone call. Super Vamp had heard me once before, and I wasn’t about to take that chance again. The goal was to lay low, and, with any luck, the cavalry would arrive soon.

Not soon enough, I realized when I circled the house and found Melissa in one of the back bedrooms. She lay on a red satin coverlet, her body completely nude, her hands and feet handcuffed to the bedposts thanks to the vampire who leaned over her. The sharp scent of oil made my nostrils flare. I watched through the window as Super Vamp finished adjusting the last of her restraints and leaned back to survey his work. He checked one wrist and then the other before his gaze swiveled toward the windows that ran the entire length of the bedroom wall.

A wall that faced the east.

Good morning, sunshine!