Dead Sexy (15 page)

A few moments later, Santiago emerged from the motel office. He slid behind the wheel, handed her a keycard, and drove around to the west side of the building. Pulling up in front of room number 13, he switched off the ignition and got out of the car.

Regan muttered, "Thirteen, bad luck," as she opened the door and went inside, leaving Santiago to retrieve their luggage from the trunk.

It was a nice room, actually two rooms and a bathroom. The walls were papered in a slick green print, the bedspreads and curtains were off-white, the carpet was a dark shade of green. The bathroom had both a tub and a shower. The larger of the bedrooms had a Satellite Screen; the remote was on the table beside the bed. A robot coffeemaker stood in one corner, ready to brew a fresh pot; cups of various sizes sat on the tray atop the robot's head.

Regan blew out a sigh. She was going to spend the day in here, keeping watch over a vampire while he slept in the next room. And what if he woke up hungry? She lifted a hand to her throat. In her years as an investigator with the police department, she had seen her share of vampire kills. Some of the victims died smiling. Most had died in pain and terror. Whatever had possessed her to agree to make this journey with Joaquin Santiago? She should have asked Flynn to go with her, or gone alone. She slipped her hand into her pocket, her fingers caressing the cold, smooth barrel of her gun. She had carried the weapon since becoming a hunter but, thankfully, she had only had cause to use it a few times. Her parents were less than enthusiastic about their only daughter's choice of a career. She had lost a steady boyfriend when she refused to quit her job.

Startled, she whirled around, the gun in her hand, when Santiago stepped into the room. "Sorry," she muttered. "Guess I'm a little on edge."

He grunted softly as he dropped their bags on the floor. He shut the door and punched in the lock code. He couldn't blame her for being twitchy, what with a vampire sharing her quarters and a werewolf trying to kill her.

"I am going to take a quick shower." He pulled a change of clothes from his bag, then headed for the bathroom. "Do not answer the door for anyone."

"Who would be… oh, right."

"Just so," he said, and going into the bathroom, he shut the door.

Regan put her suitcase on the bed and rummaged around inside for her nightgown and robe. She should get some sleep, too, she thought, if they were going to be driving at night and resting during the day. As long as she was hanging around with a vampire, her days and nights were going to be topsyturvy.

She paused when the shower came on. Unable to help herself, she imagined Santiago standing under the spray, water sluicing through his long black hair, streaming over his smooth, copper-colored skin, dripping over his broad shoulders, cascading over his muscular chest, down his hard flat belly and…

"Quit that!" she admonished, but the image wouldn't go away. She took a deep breath when the shower went off. Thank goodness. Maybe now she could concentrate on what she was doing.

And maybe not. Her heart did a somersault when Santiago stepped out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of soft gray sweatpants. His upper torso was magnificent, taut and powerful. Had he always been that way, she wondered, or had he spent the last few hundred years pumping iron? He wasn't bulky. His muscles were corded and well-defined, hinting at the kind of strength she could only imagine.

He lifted one brow in wry amusement as she continued to stare at him. "Do you like what you see?"

"I've seen better," she retorted, embarrassed to be caught staring.

"Have you?"

She shook her head, unable to maintain the lie. "No."

"I thought not."

There it was again, she thought, that touch of smug masculine arrogance. Of course, in his case, it was well-deserved.

"If anyone comes to the door, wake me immediately."

"Will I be able to? Wake you?"

He nodded. "You understand that you are not to leave the room?"

"Yes."

"If you need anything, order it on the phone and be sure to ask for the name of the person who will be bringing it to you."

"All right." It was like being in a spy movie, she thought. All she needed was a password and a cyanide capsule. "What time do you, ah, get up?"

"An hour or so before sunset." He started toward the other bedroom, then paused and glanced over his shoulder. "If you need to wake me before then, speak before you approach the bed."

Her eyes widened, the question unspoken.

"It would not be wise for you to wake me without warning."

"Ah," she murmured. "I understand."

He smiled faintly, then, picking up his suitcase, he went into the small bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Regan stared at the door. She had seen sleeping vampires before. It was a creepy sight. They didn't breathe, they didn't move, and they had no heartbeat. Nor did they look like they were sleeping. They just looked dead. Did Santiago look like that? Or had the blood of the werewolf altered that, as well?

Thrusting all thought of Santiago and werewolves from her mind, she went into the bathroom and locked the door. Stepping into the shower stall, she switched on the controls and punched in the temperature of the water and the kind of bubbles she wanted, as well as the soap and shampoo she preferred. She took a long shower and then washed her hair. Later, after drying her hair, she pulled on her nightgown and went to bed.

She had certainly been sleeping in a lot of strange beds lately, she mused as she slipped under the covers and most of them were Santiago's. Taking a deep calming breath, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep. But sleep wouldn't come. Instead, she found herself thinking of Santiago, wondering again what he looked like when he was caught up in the Dark Sleep. Wondering if he slept in his sweats. Or in nothing at all…

Regan woke a little after three in the afternoon. She lay there, her thoughts drifting. She should have called her parents before she left home. She should have let the department know she was leaving town. She should have cancelled the Internet Daily News and asked her neighbor, Polly, to pick up her mail, but everything had happened so quickly. At least she was working again, though she had no idea how long this case would last, or if the department would keep her on once it was solved.

She glanced across the room to the closed bedroom door. Santiago wouldn't be rising for a while yet. She had plenty of time to make a few phone calls. Instead, she let her mind conjure images of Santiago the vampire. Of them all, she decided she favored the memory of the first time she had seen him, that night in You Bet Your Life Park. At the time, he had reminded her of the angel of death. It was still an apt description, she mused. But, coming a close second was the memory of the last time she had seen him, when he had been wearing nothing but a well-worn pair of gray sweatpants. He really had a magnificent build, all smooth tawny flesh and rippling muscle.

She wondered if vampires dreamed when they were trapped in the Dark Sleep, or if it was truly like death. Would he know if she opened the door and peeked inside? Was he aware, on some subconscious level, of what went on around him, or was he really dead to the world?

She sat up when her stomach growled. Rising, she programmed the coffee robot, choosing something dark and rich with a faint hint of chocolate. In moments, the air was redolent with the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee. Carrying the cup with her, she went to the window and drew back the curtains. Dark gray clouds hung low in the sky. She saw a faint flash of lightning in the east and heard a distant rumble of thunder.

Her stomach growled again. Letting the curtain fall back into place, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the menu on the table. Picking up the desk phone, she called the restaurant across the street and ordered a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich, a double-thick chocolate shake, and an order of curly fries. Just before she hung up, she remembered to ask for the name of the person who would be delivering her order.

After getting dressed, Regan went into the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her teeth. She was combing her hair when someone knocked at the door.

"Who is it?" she called.

"Jerry, from the diner."

She grabbed her handbag. "How much do I owe you?"

"Sixteen credits for the meal and two for the delivery."

Regan shook her head. Two credits just to carry her order across the street. Prices were getting higher every day. She dug her wallet out of her handbag and found her credit card, then released the lock on the door and opened it a crack. A young man with a cowlick stood outside, a sack in one hand and her malt in the other.

Taking a step back, Regan opened the door. The young man handed her the sack and the malt, which Regan carried inside. Returning to the door, she handed the young man her credit card and signed the receipt.

Murmuring her thanks, she closed and double-locked the door.

Carrying the sack over to the bed, she grabbed the remote and switched on the Satellite Screen, surfing through the online guide until she found an old Reese Witherspoon romantic comedy that she had seen only ten or twelve times. With her back propped against the pillows, she opened the sack and ate her lunch, which turned out to be surprisingly good—or maybe she was just really hungry.

She was finishing the last of her malt when Santiago emerged from the other room. Tonight he wore black jeans, a dark green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black boots.

Regan glanced at her watch. It was only a little after five. "I didn't expect you up so soon."

He shrugged. "The sky is overcast."

"I thought it didn't matter anymore, whether the sun was up or not."

"I am not at my full strength when the sun is high in the sky. Once I succumb to the Dark Sleep, I usually sleep until sunset, though not always."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything.

"We will leave after I have…" He paused.

She knew he was trying to think of a tactful way to say he needed to hunt. She saved him the trouble. "I understand."

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he sat down in the chair across from hers.

"What's it like?" she asked. "Hunting for prey, I mean." Although she couldn't imagine such a thing, there was a good possibility that she would be hunting prey herself if she turned fanged and furry at the next full moon.

He regarded her through narrowed eyes for a moment. "I do not think I can explain it to you," he replied slowly. "There is nothing in the human experience with which you can compare it. The scent of fresh prey in your nostrils, the scent of fear when they realize they cannot escape, the rapid beat of their heart, the rich coppery taste of hot blood flowing over your tongue…" He stopped abruptly. "Forgive me, I did not meant to be so… descriptive."

She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Descriptive was right. "I thought you didn't kill anymore."

"The thrill of the chase is the same, only the manner of it has changed." Where he had once hunted his prey with single-minded intent, he now seduced them, oft times with flowers and sweet words. The latter lacked the rush of the former, but the results were the same and, in some ways, seduction was more satisfying.

His gaze slid over Regan, from the top of her blond head to the tips of her dainty toes. She would be sweet indeed, he mused. He would like to woo her and win her, then start at her feet and nibble his way up to her mouth, sampling all her feminine delights along the way.

From the sudden blush in her cheeks, he suspected she might be reading his mind.

He glanced at the window. The sun was down. It was time to go.

"I will not be gone long," he said. "Remember to keep the door locked."

She nodded. Though she tried not to show it, he could see the revulsion in her eyes.

That look stayed with him as he stalked the shadows. He had not given any regard to what others thought of him in hundreds of years. Why did this woman's opinion, from a woman he hardly knew, have the power to make him feel guilty for what he was about to do? He snorted softly. He had nothing to feel guilty about! He was a vampire. It wasn't a lifestyle he had sought, but he had made peace with what he had become and everything it involved years ago.

It didn't take long to find what he was searching for. Every town had a dive where people went to be alone and forget, or to seek companionship for the night, and this place was no different. He found the bar on the outskirts of town, a seedy-looking red brick tavern located at the end of a long dirt road. Cars were parked haphazardly in the lot. The sound of one of those someone-done-her-wrong songs poured from the open windows. A man and a woman stood in the shadows by the front door, their bodies so closely entwined it was impossible to tell where one began and the other left off. They didn't look up when he passed by.

The inside of the tavern was dimly lit. The air was pungent with cigarette smoke and sweat that no amount of cologne or perfume could mask. He wrinkled his nose as he made his way to the bar. There were times, like now, when having a preternatural sense of smell was a curse and not a blessing. Several couples were slow-dancing, if you could call it dancing. It was more like vertical foreplay.

Santiago took a seat near the end of the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. The allure of the vampire was no myth, and while he wasn't sure how it worked, he had only to sit there and wait. In a short time, three women gravitated toward him.

Santiago smiled inwardly. It was like choosing a fine wine for dinner, he mused. Should he have the blonde, the brunette, or the redhead? Or a taste of all three? In the end, he decided on the brunette, since the blonde reminded him of Regan and the redhead simply didn't appeal to him.

He smiled at them all, chatted with them for a few moments, and then asked the brunette to dance.

Smiling smugly at the other two, the brunette put her hand in his and let him lead her onto the dance floor.

"Do you come here often?" she asked as he drew her into his arms.