Dead End Dating (8 page)

“But you think they’re dead?”

“A traditional kidnapper isn’t really interested in his victim. He’s after something else. Money. Power. Both. The victim is merely a tool. Used to bargain for what the kidnapper really wants. But this guy’s made no attempt to contact the authorities. He just keeps snatching more women and covering his trail.”

I swallowed the sudden lump in my throat. “You really think he’s
killing
them?”

He nodded. “I can feel it.” Because he was a vampire and his senses were heightened. “After he gets what he wants.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t know. I just know I have to find him.”

“How do you know he’s here in Manhattan?” I did a mental search for any snippet of news I’d heard regarding a missing person. I made it my business to avoid news, snippets or otherwise, and so the search lasted all of two seconds. “Has there been a kidnapping here?”

“Not yet. They started in Los Angeles. Then they moved to Houston. Then Chicago. It only makes sense that New York would be next on his list.” When I didn’t look all that enlightened, he added, “New York is one of the top four most heavily populated cities.”

“The other three being Houston, L.A., and Chicago.”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

“I still don’t understand why you’re here. If he’s placing ads in singles’ magazines, shouldn’t you be down the street at
The Village Voice
?”

“His victim total is growing, which means he’s drawing more attention. He might try to change his MO a little, to throw off the authorities. But he can’t change it too much. He uses the ads as a screening process, to pinpoint the exact type of woman he wants. He’ll still need the screening process.”

“So he might try a dating service?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just keep your eyes open. He’ll likely be looking for someone who fits the profile I mentioned. The kidnapper himself is very precise and methodical. The feds are looking for someone employed in some sort of tech field. I agree with them on that, but rather than a job, I think he’s independently wealthy and the tech stuff is just a hobby.”

“Why?”

“Not many people can pick up and relocate after a few months. Plus, he pays with cash because there’s no paperwork trail anywhere.”

“Rich and smart.” Sounded like the wish list of every female in Manhattan.

“And psychotic. I don’t know how he’s subduing them—probably drugging them—but I do know he uses handcuffs. The police would argue that with me. There’s no hard evidence. But he’s using them, all right.”

“How do you know?”

“I can smell them.”

“I’ve smelled a lot of things over the centuries, but I can honestly say I’ve never smelled handcuffs.”

He winked. “A virgin. I like that.”

My heart gave a loud
ka-thunk.

Made,
I reminded myself.

He pulled a business card from his pocket and slid it across the desktop. “I’m contacting all the dating services in the area, as well as the singles magazines. Call me if anyone suspicious comes in.”

“Shouldn’t I just call the police?” Preferably an ugly, pimply-faced rookie who wouldn’t wear a Stetson and smile at me as if he wanted nothing more than to lay me down and peel off my designer clothes.

He shook his head. “He hasn’t made a move here. Hell, he might not, and I could be way off base.”

“But you don’t think so.”

“I think it’s just a matter of time until someone else turns up missing.” He pushed to his feet. “Until then, the police aren’t going to chase shadows. That’s my job.”

The view as Ty walked out of my office was one of the best I’d had in a long time. Tight tush. Strong thighs. Broad back.
Come to mama!

Not that I was seriously interested. Hel
lo
? I
was
a realist. I knew he was off limits. Boy, did I ever. Still, there was nothing wrong with watching.

The door closed, and disappointment washed over me. His card burned into my palm as I filed it away in my purse and gathered up my things. I had my first meeting with Francis in less than an hour, and I didn’t want to be late. I needed to know what I was really up against. Mount Everest or the Great Plains?

I was about to find out.

There were moments in every vamp’s life—even an optimistic, outgoing, fashionista like
moi
—when you asked yourself, “What’s the friggin’ point?” The world seems totally clueless, humans even more so, and forever is a
really
long time.

I found myself having one of these as I stood in a modest brownstone in the heart of Brooklyn and stared at Francis.

A very naked Francis.

Forget getting a life. My newfound protégé needed to get a pair of boxer briefs with built-in crotch support. Pronto.

“Um, Francis. Don’t take this the wrong way, but WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”

He glanced behind him at the bathroom he’d just exited, and back to me. “You, uh, told me to undress.”

“Yes, and I handed you a pair of underwear to change into.”

“I thought that was one of those girdle thingies that women wear.”

“Why would I give you a girdle?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, and his Mr. Happy bobbed. “I’ve never had a makeover before. Maybe you’re going to use it to tone down my thighs.”

“They have Thighmasters for that.”

“What about tummy control? Maybe I need tummy control.”

“The only control you need is about five inches lower. Do you mind?”

“What?” He glanced down. “Oh.” Heat fired his cheeks, and he cupped both hands over his privates before turning and making a run back to the bathroom.

I punched in several notes on my BlackBerry until Francis appeared, package tastefully tucked into the pair of Calvins I’d picked up on my way over.

“Okay, so why is it I have to stand here in my skivvies?” he asked.

“First off, they’re not called skivvies. No one calls them that anymore. Second, I need to know what we’re up against.” I circled him, noting his arms and chest. A semi-broad chest, as a matter of fact, with nice pecs. “Not bad.”

“What?” His gaze swiveled to mine as if he couldn’t quite believe his ears any more than I could believe my eyes.

“I said, your physique isn’t too bad. You actually have muscle definition.”
Thank you, thank you, thank you.

“I do?”

“Of course, it’s all sort of pasty white, except when you blush, but the pastiness can be overcome by your powerful aura, which will make you intriguing and magnetic even if you do look like an extra from
Night of the Living Dead.
”

“I have an aura?”

“Actually, no. Not yet. That’s something that we will have to work on. Along with the blushing. Look, Francis, I know all of this is blowing your mind. I mean, standing here with a really hot girl in nothing but your undies, but you’re a vamp, for heaven’s sake.”

“What did you just say?”

“Hell,” I blurted. “I meant for hell’s sake. Now, a vamp should act like a vamp.” I came this close to touching his arm, and his cheeks fired a vivid red. “That means plenty of eye contact without getting embarrassed.”

“But I’m not good at eye contact.”

“Then get good. Just take the bull by the horns and stare directly into my eyes.” I moved in closer, caught his stare, and refused to let go.

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m just looking at you.”

“It makes me uncomfortable.”

“But it shouldn’t.” I stopped when we were nose to nose. “You should
like
this.”

“It’s making me dizzy.”

“Tough it out. Use your mind. Most of being a hottie is mental.”

“I don’t know—”

“Lose the uncertainty.”

“I’m really not sure—”

“And the doubt.”

“Maybe I’m not really cut out for this.” Francis voiced the one thought that had been niggling away in my own head since I’d handed him my card in the subway. “Maybe I’m a lost cause.”

If I hadn’t known better—namely that vampires didn’t cry—I would have sworn I saw tears swimming in the depths of his light blue eyes.

Then again, this was
Francis.

I handed him a tissue and patted his shoulder. “There, there. You can do it.”
I
could do it. Sure, it was Mount Everest. But what the hey? I had hiking boots. Gucci, as a matter of fact. I could go the distance.

“You really think so?”

“Sure, I do.” Sort of. “We’ll just take one thing at a time. First off, appearance. You’re in pretty decent shape physically; you just hide it behind slouchy clothes. Which means, we pull out the credit cards and hit the stores.” I smiled, despite my doubt, because I
am
the expert, therefore it’s my job to be calm and reassuring.

Besides, if there was one thing I liked even more than hooking up lost causes, it was shopping.

With a capital
S.

W
hile most people would have seen the Friday meeting with Ty Bonner (hot
and
off-limits—talk about a double disaster whammy) as reason enough to spend the rest of the weekend in bed, moaning about my pathetic life, I wasn’t getting down in the dumps. The hour I’d spent with Francis had lifted my spirits and given me hope, and so I’d been anxious to crawl out of bed Saturday evening.

Since DED was closed (it was the weekend), I left my apartment and headed over to Fifth Avenue for my six-thirty tan-brushing appointment with Dirkst. An appointment, I might add, that I’d had to make a month in advance because, hey, we’re talking
Dirkst.
A veritable genius with a spray gun.

“What do you mean I don’t have any sessions left? I stared at the blonde who stood behind the counter wearing a mini white tank top, white capri pants, and a golden tan to
die
for.

“I mean, you don’t have any sessions left.” She held up the gold gift card The Ninas had given me for my birthday last year. “As in zero. Zip.
Nada.
”

“The gift card is for a full year. Twelve months. My birthday was in February. It’s only been eight months. That means I should have at least four months left.”

“The gift card was for twelve months or twelve sessions. Whichever comes first.” Her irritated expression faded into a huge smile, and I knew she was shifting into sales-pitch mode. As if I’d be remotely interested now.

“We’re offering a special package,” Miss Sales Pitch went on. “Twelve visits for eight hundred dollars.”

My preternatural brain multiplied at the speed of light. “That’s a two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar savings.” I smiled. What can I say? I
love
a sale.

“Will you be putting that on your credit card?”

“I…” My Visa had exactly five dollars and twenty-eight cents open, which I was still holding on to in case of an emergency. “I, um, don’t think so.”

“Check?”

“I’m not really a check person.”

“Cash?” Delight glittered in her eyes, and I shook my head.

“IOU,” I told her. “I was hoping you could float me today and I’ll pay for the special at my next appointment.”
You will float me. You’ll be glad to float me. And you’ll even throw in a free massage because I’m such a great customer.

I focused every ounce of vamp energy into the silent command. I felt my hands tremble ever so slightly (which indicated
mucho
concentration). My body hummed with otherworldly vamp energy. While my persuasive talents hadn’t done much with Francis and one might be inclined to think I’m not all that, I really am.

The clerk merely blinked. Annoyance creased her forehead. She looked as if she had a fly buzzing around her and she was
this close
to whacking it.

“I’m afraid we don’t run tabs.”
Whack.
“It’s pay as you go or purchase a package.”
Whack. Whack.

“I intend to. As soon as possible. Which just so happens isn’t this exact moment. That’s why I need you to make an exception. Just this once.”

You will make an exception,
I silently commanded.
You want to. It would be your ultimate pleasure to give me anything I ask.

She leveled a stare at me. “That’ll be eighty-five dollars for today’s session, plus a thirty percent tip.”

So much for the whole vamp-mind-control thing.

In this specific instance, that is.

While I don’t exactly have my own personal stash of mortal minions, I could if I wanted. It’s just that there are certain criteria to successfully bend the masses to my will. See, here’s the deal: We vamps can transfix with our stares and mesmerize with our charisma, as long as the human we’re trying to seduce is a member of the opposite sex. Meaning, I can totally wow a guy with a few powerful thoughts and a little batting of my baby blues. And, of course, flashing a little cleavage (or even a lot) never hurts. But my effort is totally wasted on a woman.

We born vamps are, at our very essence, extremely sexual creatures. We’re conceived via sex. We stop aging when we lose our virginity. Women vamps feed on males while male vamps feed on females (or we used to before civilized society provided an alternative bottled means to the whole dining experience). We even procreate. Our very nature centers around our appeal to the opposite sex.