Dead End Dating (7 page)

“Impressive,” he said once we walked inside. His gaze scanned the interior of my office while I flipped on a few extra lamps on the way to my desk. “You must be doing pretty well for yourself.”

I swallowed and forced aside each and every lewd, lustful thought wreaking havoc in my brain (or at least most of them). “Actually, it’s my credit card that’s doing all the work right now, but I intend to take over just as soon as business picks up.” Rounding my desk, I sank into my chair, set my purse on the floor, and eyed him. “So why all the James Bond stuff? Why didn’t you just call and make an appointment like everyone else instead of following me around?”

“You’re a vampire.”

“And?”

“You’re a matchmaker.”

“And?”

“The two don’t go together.” He eyed the plaque on my wall that read
LOVE MAKES THE WORLD GO ’ROUND
. “Vampires don’t believe in love.”

“True, but they do believe in procreation. Born vampires, I mean. Nowadays, a lot of vamps are too busy making the big bucks to have much time for a social life. They need a screening process. Someone to point them in the right direction. That’s where I come in. I match humans as well.” At least, I would once I managed to land a few human clients. “But born vamps are my specialty.”

“You’ve definitely got your work cut out for you.”

His comment reminded me of Francis and I realized that since Ty had been following me, he’d undoubtedly witnessed the whole subway episode. “For your information, Francis has tons of potential. It’s just a matter of packaging it a little better, that’s all.”

“You’ll have to work on more than his package. The guy isn’t much of a chick magnet. At least not when it comes to luring female vampires. He isn’t the least bit ruthless.”

“He is, too.” Or he could be. With a little roughing up.

“Maybe as the Italian grandmother. But as himself?” He shook his head and nailed me with his fierce blue gaze.

My breath caught, and my vampire heart went into stutter mode.

Maybe
nailed
wasn’t the right word to be thinking of when it came to Ty Bonner. Nix
pierced.
Or
speared.
Or
shish-kababbed.
Or any other verb that made me think sex.

“I still don’t get why you’ve been following me.”

“I had to make sure you were legitimate and that you weren’t using this hook-up service as a front for fresh meat.”

“Fresh meat” referred to humans, and I knew he was alluding to the black market that offered humans to vampires who still hadn’t come into the twenty-first century and learned to drink their dinner out of a bottle like the rest of us. There were a few—very few—who didn’t just feed off their victim’s blood. They fed off their fear, as well, and so popping the cork on a bottle of gourmet or calling up the nearest takeout service wasn’t nearly enough to sate their hunger.

Every race had its bad apples, and ours was no different. But knowing it and having it pointed out were two very different things.

“I provide a service, plain and simple.”

“I know that now after watching you for the past few days.” He gave me a strange look before shaking his head. “You’re definitely not a flesh peddler. Not vicious enough.”

A tiny thrill went through me when he picked up my paperweight and trailed a finger over the engraved
LIL
, the
i
dotted with a tiny heart. I stiffened.

“Maybe I knew you were watching me and I’m just a really good actress.” Okay, so I’m not vicious. I am a bitch at times, but that’s as close as I get to the dark side. Still, I felt hard-pressed to defend myself. As much as I moan and groan about certain aspects of my existence, I’m proud of my heritage.

My sudden call to arms certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Ty Bonner seemed almost disappointed.

“I can be as ruthless and as bloodthirsty as any vamp. That’s why I keep this dagger on my desk.” I fingered the silver weapon.

He didn’t seem the least bit impressed.

“Bloodthirsty, I’ll buy. You
are
a vampire. Ruthless?” He shook his head. “Hardly.”

“I am so ruthless.” I pointed the silver blade at him to prove my point. “I could send you to bounty hunter heaven with just the flick of my wrist.”

“Heaven is the last place I’m headed, sugar.” He grinned. “Besides, that’s not a dagger. It’s a letter opener.”

“It could be a dagger. If used with enough force.”

He shrugged and nodded. “But you wouldn’t use it. You couldn’t.” He shook his head as if he still couldn’t quite believe it. “You’re
nice.
”

My heart did the flip thing again. Dammit. “I am
not
nice.”

“You’re cotton-candy nice.” He sniffed. “You even smell cotton-candy nice.”

“That doesn’t mean I
am.
”

“You brought coffee to your assistant. Your
human
assistant. That’s like giving your horse a glass of Merlot.”

“Maybe I spiked it with arsenic.”

He didn’t look the least bit convinced. “You’re offering free dating profiles.”

“That has nothing to do with being nice. It’s completely self-motivated. I’m trying to build my business.”

“You gave five bucks to the homeless man on the corner.”

He had a point.

I set down the dagger/letter opener and folded my hands to keep them from trembling.

Okay,
so I folded them to keep from reaching out and tracing the scar on his cheek. What can I say? I’m fascinated with scars. Born vamps don’t have them. If we are injured in any way, a full day of sleep rejuvenates us and makes us whole again. Talk about beauty sleep. Anyhow, a few zzz’s worked the same for made vamps as well. Once they were turned, that is. But before then, they were as vulnerable as any human.

The phone chose that moment to ring, and I snatched it up, eager for a distraction. “Dead End Dating. Where true happiness is just a profile away.” I know, I know. It was a lame motto. But the Golden Arches weren’t built in a day.

“Lilliana Marchette,” my mother snapped. “I’ve been trying to reach you for
ages.
Don’t you remember your own mother’s phone number?”

“I’m sorry.” I raised my voice a few octaves and did my best Evie imitation. “I’m afraid Lil’s, um, not in right now. This is her receptionist/personal assistant.”

“Excuse me?”

“Evie. My name’s Evie Dalton.”

“This is Jacqueline Marchette. Lilliana’s mother.”

“You don’t say? It’s such an honor to finally speak with you. Lil has said some wonderful things about you.”

My mother hesitated as if she wasn’t buying it. “She has?”

“Of course! I’m so sorry that you missed her, but I’m sure she’ll be happy to call you back as soon as she gets in.”

That did it. No way would
I
use the word happy when referring to calling my mother back.

“Tell her to call me as soon as possible. It’s imperative that I speak with her right away.”

“Will do. And let me just say what a gorgeous daughter you have.”

“Why, um, thank you.”

“I mean it. She’s positively stunning.”

“She’s always been a beauty.”

“And brilliant.”

“Well, she
does
take after my side of the family.”

“Obviously. Take care now and it was wonderful talking with you.” I ignored a rush of guilt, slid the phone into its cradle, and glanced up to see Ty eyeing me. “I couldn’t tell her I was too busy to talk to her. That would just hurt her feelings.”

“I would have been glad to step out while you took the call.”

“Now you tell me.” I tried to look annoyed as I leaned back in my desk chair and motioned him into the seat opposite me. “So what do a bunch of kidnappings have to do with me?”

“Nothing.” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Yet.”

“S
o you work for a bail bond company?” I eyed Ty.

While I didn’t watch much television, I did find time—in between pedicures—to read. I
lived
for Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum novels.

“Once in a while.” He shrugged. “For the most part, I work for myself. The feds pay big bucks when you bring in one of their Most Wanted.”

I noted the stainless steel TAG Heuer that circled his wrist. The closest I’d ever come to a real bounty hunter was a dog catcher I’d met via my youngest brother Jack (he’d dated her and she’d worshipped him—duh). She’d worn a white jumpsuit and smelled like flea powder. She’d also worn a slobber-proof Timex. “You must be good at what you do.”

He shrugged. “I get by.”

I had the brief thought that I should reconsider my chosen profession and seriously think about tracking down a few bad guys myself. Not that I would know where to start. But I could learn from, say, Ty. He’d be the lead badass bounty hunter, and I could be his sidekick. Together we could mete out justice to bad guys the world over. He could teach me the ropes. And then maybe use a few on me.

“Handcuffs.”

“Excuse me?”

“He doesn’t tie up his victims with a rope. He handcuffs them. The kidnappings started in Los Angeles,” he went on before I could point out the fact that he’d just read my thoughts.

Because no friggin’ way could he read my thoughts.

Vamps couldn’t read other vamp thoughts. They could project thoughts and if the recipient vamp had an open mind, then they could do a little silent communicating. But to read another’s thoughts…

They just couldn’t. Could they?

Yes. No.

Or maybe this was an isolated incident. Maybe for some insane reason, he could read
my
thoughts. Just me.

And this would be because?

I don’t know. Maybe we were cosmically linked. Maybe we were completely and totally in sync with each other. Maybe we were soul mates.

And maybe I was just a major drama queen, a sappy romantic, and desperately horny. The three obviously didn’t mix.

I clung to the last thought and focused on the words flowing from his mouth.

“The local authorities didn’t think much about it when the first victim turned up missing.”

“So you’re from Los Angeles?” You try focusing with so much man candy just an arm’s length away.

“Texas. She was a single twenty-something who’d answered an ad from a local singles paper,” he went on. “She went out to meet her date on a Friday night and never came home. She wasn’t reported missing until the following Wednesday when her landlord went by to collect the rent. He thought she’d skipped out on him, but when he opened the apartment and found all of her stuff inside, he started to wonder.”

“I’ve got family in Louisiana. Whenever I visit my cousin Charlene, we usually pop on over to Texas—Austin specifically—and see what’s up on Sixth Street.”

“Good for you.” He nodded. “Then he called a nearby restaurant where she waited tables. When they said she hadn’t shown up for work or called in, he phoned the cops and—”

“Where exactly in Texas are you from?”

He stared at me long and hard. “Skull Creek. It’s a little hole in the wall north of San Antonio.”

“Skull Creek. I can’t say as I’ve heard of it.”

“You and most everyone else. Look, can we talk about the kidnappings?”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

“I’m talking about them. You’re talking about me.”

“No, I’m not. I was asking, not talking. Big difference. Besides, I don’t like talking to strangers. You’ve been following me, which means you already know quite a bit about me. I know nothing about you except that you’re a bounty hunter vampire from Texas.”

“Okay, fine. What do you want to know?”

Everything. The minute the thought struck, I drop-kicked it back out. The more I knew, the more I wanted to know. Which was crazy, because I already knew enough.

Made vampire.

And the fat lady sings…

I fought back my curiosity and concentrated on the matter at hand. “So what did the cops say when the landlord called them?”

“People go missing all the time in a city that size, and so no one thought too much about it. But by the time the third woman turned up missing, the cops started to see a pattern. The second woman was around the same age, single, no immediate family. She worked as a gofer at an investment company. Number three was early thirties, single, no immediate family. She answered phones for an ad agency. All three fit the same profile: young, attractive, single, and lonely. They’d all answered ads in local singles magazines. And all three disappeared the night they were supposed to meet the men from the ads.”

“Did they answer different ads or was it the same ad? In the same newspaper?”

“Different ads. Different papers. But the feds think it was the same guy who placed all three ads, even though they can’t prove it.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think. I know. The same man placed the various ads. The same man who met with each of the women handcuffed them and killed them.”

“Wait a second. You said the women were missing, not dead.”

“As of right now, the feds are after a serial kidnapper. No bodies have been found, and so the authorities have to assume there’s a small chance that the victims are still alive.”