Lover's Bite (3 page)

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely,” Reaper quoted softly.

“What do you think the CIA intends to do with you, if they ever do get you back?” Jack asked him. “What the hell do they want with you now that you're a vamp?”

“I was the best assassin they ever trained, Jack. Imagine how much better I'd be now that I'm a vampire. And they've already mucked up my mind to the point that they can control me by dropping a single word. You've seen the results of that.”

“They probably think of you as a valuable secret weapon,” Roxy whispered.

Jack lowered his head, unable to look any of them in the eye for a moment.

“They'll stop at nothing to get me back,” Reaper said. “And that includes kidnapping or even torturing any one of you. I can't have that on my conscience. I'd have to turn myself in if that happened. So do me a favor and take off, so I won't have to.”

That, too, was impossible to argue with, Jack realized. Reaper was good.

“I'm willing to go off on my own,” Ilyana said softly. “But I intend to continue the search for Gregor. If you like, I can contact you when I find him.”

Every eye in the van focused on her. She had only just joined them and had no reason to be so invested in their mission.

“Is it vengeance you seek?” Vixen asked.

Ilyana shot her a look.

Vixen seemed to shrink a bit more deeply into her long copper hair and began playing with the ends, as she tended to do when nervous. “I mean, he held and tortured me, too. But…honestly, for your own sake, it's better if you can look ahead, rather than behind you.”

“I don't want vengeance,” Ilyana said softly.

“Then why—”

“He has something of mine. That's as much as I'm going to say. I won't rest until I get it back. So if any of you want me to call you once I find him—and I
will
find him—then give me a means of reaching you before I leave.”

Topaz dipped into her pocket, scribbled a number on a scrap of paper and handed it to her. Roxy did the same.

“I intend to stick with you, Reaper,” Seth said from the backseat.

“Not this time.” Reaper quickly looked over at Roxy. “Or you, either. Come on, guys, cut me some slack here. Just for a little while. Scatter and wait. I'll call you back when things cool off. It won't be long.”

They all sighed. Topaz finally spoke. “I actually have some personal business to attend to. I'll be in California. Jack has my contact info.”

“Can you get me a copy, hon, before you go?” Roxy asked. “I'll make sure everyone else gets it, too.”

Topaz slanted him a look, and he returned a sheepish shrug. “They don't trust me any more than you do, I guess.”

“Can't say I blame them.”

“Here,” Roxy said, reaching past Reaper to open the glove compartment. “Why don't we all just jot down some info? A cell phone, a friend, an address, an e-mail, anything. As long as we each have one means of communication that we can commit to checking often and not changing.” As she spoke, she pulled out a small notepad and a couple of pens, and passed them around the van.

“If you know how to reach me, they'll still have reason to come after you,” Reaper said.

Jack shook his head. “They'd have no way of knowing we had your number. They could just as easily assume we do, even if we don't.”

Reaper hesitated, then sighed and nodded. “You're right. Okay, then.”

Everyone jotted and passed, until they all had copies of each other's info. Then, finally, Seth said, “Can I take the Mustang?”

“Yep,” Reaper said. “And Roxy will keep Shirley. She and I can drop the rest of you wherever you want. But let's get on it. I want us scattered to the winds before dawn. Okay?”

“Not exactly,” Jack said. And he shifted his gaze from Reaper to Briar, who sat beside him in silence. “I think Briar should stay with someone.”

“I can take care of myself,” she said softly.

“I know you can. No one said you couldn't. But, uh…well, you can't be trusted on your own, can you? Like the rest of us, you know the word that can be used to turn our friend Reaper here into a whirling dervish of death. Unlike the rest of us, we can't just have you running around all alone.”

She narrowed her eyes on him. “I could kill you as easily as looking at you.”

Jack actually felt his lips pull at the corners, though he didn't exactly smile. “There you are,” he whispered. “Where have you been, Briar?”

She crossed her arms over her chest, quickly covering the flash of anger with her new expression of bland disinterest. “You can assign me any babysitter you like. I'll stay until I want to leave. And when I want to leave, nothing's going to stop me.”

“She stays with me,” Reaper said.

Briar's studied expression showed a hint, a very brief hint, of panic.

T
he adobe-style mansion sprawled beneath the stars, with countless arches and a clay-red pottery roof, bright red doors and bright green trim. The front walkway was made of flagstones that had been in place so long they appeared to be part of the ground. The drive was paved and curved inward toward the house, then away from it, forming a giant, gentle S as it looped toward a massive garage that could easily house six vehicles. The apartment above the garage was larger than many people's houses.

Topaz stood beside the taxi, her back to the cab, her eyes on the house. The lawns rolled, the grass far from lush but rather spotty, with bare spots and red rock peering through. Cacti of every type filled the spaces in between, some of them flowering, some small and compact, while others stood with their arms raised above their heads like the stereotypical “reach for the sky” cacti in countless Western films.

Sand crept up to the very edges of the lawn, invading every time a breeze came up. Beyond the villa, ocean waves filled the night with their song, a chorus of harmonic whispers, growing louder, more insistent, but never becoming shouts. Not even when the waves broke and tumbled over the sand, then retreated in the closest sound there could be to silence.
Shuuuuushhhhhhh.
And then there was the fragrance those waves left in their wake—freshly laundered sunshine, brine and the sea.

Her mother had died here, Topaz thought. Right here, while that massive ocean looked on, never missing a step in its endless soft shoe.

For a moment Topaz stood there, staring at Avalon's front door, and then suddenly she was swept back in time, her imagination fed by the DVD she'd finally viewed. Why now, after all these years? Why? Why was she suddenly so driven to know everything about her mother when she'd deliberately avoided any of the stories and tales, the gossip and legends, the conspiracy theories and police reports, up until now?

But it didn't really matter why. It was here.
She
was here. And she had to know everything.

In her mind's eye, it all played out again, this time with even more detail, supplied by some inner knowing, perhaps, or maybe she was making it all up.

The stunning superstar, Mirabella, smiling, waving, laughing as she stepped out the door—that door, right there. It was red and wooden and arched at the top. She walked toward the road, moving so gracefully that she seemed to float over the flagstone walkway. She'd been wearing heels. Four-inch-high chunky heels with platforms underneath the front—very seventies. Strappy on top, open toes. Her toenails had been done, too—a minty green shade that matched one of the colors in that long dress, along with the color of her fingernails, her designer bag and her eyeshadow. Thick black liner, pale, pale shadow. Frosted lipstick. Big hair.

And yet she was gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. Her beauty had been so real, so deep, so natural, that it suffused every hint of mod she'd tried to use to enhance it. Most women would look back at that period and wonder what they'd been thinking. Mirabella might have, too, but it wouldn't have mattered. She was just as beautiful in a dress the same pattern as the
Scooby-Doo
Mystery Van as she would have been completely naked. Her eyes were too powerful to be disguised by heavy makeup. She was Mirabella, no last name needed, at the time or now. Everyone knew who she was.

The black limo pulled up closer, and the driver got out to open the door. A throng of paparazzi snapped shots from a distance, but they were kept from getting too close by the discreet bodyguards, posted at intervals a few yards away from the starlet.

And then the shots rang out. Three of them.

The beautiful actress's flawless smile froze on her lips even as it fled from her eyes. Topaz could see this part so clearly. She'd memorized the expressions as they had crossed her mother's face, one behind the other. She wasn't sure if she was glad someone had been filming or not. Part of her thought she might have been able to visualize every nuance even without the film.

Trembling, Mirabella looked down to where her hands had flown to her body, then drew her palms away slowly to see the blood that coated them. Shivering, Topaz found her own hands echoing the same motions, her own eyes looking downward, her own mind slightly surprised that there was no blood on her hands.

Mirabella's gaze lifted, her eyes calling out for help in stunned silence. Pleading for help from someone,
anyone.
And then her knees just folded, and she sank to the ground like a flower that had been cut. Her thick black lashes lowered like velvet curtains on the world's most vibrant stage. Her eyes fell closed, and she took her final bow.

Topaz stood there, staring down at the flagstone walkway, straining her senses. Was this the very spot, then? It was close. As close as she could make out from the footage that had been taken that night.

She sank to her knees, pressing her palms to the cool stone, as if by some fluke she would still be able to feel some trace of her mother's energy. Her life force. Even her blood. Was that it there, discoloring the stones? Or was that nothing but a pattern in the rock?

The sound of a motor jerked her attention back to the present, and she rose, blinking away hot tears and turning just in time to see the taxi rolling out of sight, kicking up a cloud of dust in its wake. Her suitcases were stacked, none-too-neatly, on the curb.

She'd handed the guy two twenties for a twenty-five-dollar fare. She guessed he thought the rest was his tip. And it would have been deserved, if he'd carried the cases to the door for her. Bastard.

Anger was good. She could be furious over fifteen bucks and no service, and distract herself from the real feelings trying to overwhelm her. Feelings of grief and sadness, a sense of loss, for the mother she'd never known and never really mourned. Was it long-overdue pain? Or was she indulging in self-pity? Or maybe just diving headlong into anything, no matter how painful, that would remove her attention from Jack Heart?

Didn't matter. She was here; she was doing this.

Squaring her shoulders, Topaz marched up the walkway to the front door and reached out to ring the bell. But in the wire flower basket beside the door, an envelope caught her eye—probably because it had her name on it—stopping her hand in midair.

She tugged the envelope out of the basket and opened it, and a key spilled out into her palm. There was a note besides, scrawled on Avalon Mansion stationery, with the address and phone number at the top.

Topaz sighed. “Great. I thought they'd at least be here to say hi and schlep the freaking bags up to my room.”

“Could be you were a bit too convincing when you told them you wanted to be left alone, hmm?”

She whirled, stunned.
No one
crept up on a vampire. Well, not usually. She'd been distracted. And now she was…gaping like an air-starved goldfish. She clapped her jaw shut.

“You
did
tell them you wanted to be left alone, didn't you, Topaz?” Jack asked from the sidewalk.

She tried to answer, then settled for nodding instead, as she fought to suck in some air, clear her throat, control the stupid, stupid,
stupid
impulse to run back down that walkway to him and throw her arms around his neck.

“Surprised to see me?”

“Surprised. Dismayed. Irritated.” Good, good. She was speaking. Real words. And not welcoming ones, even. Great.

“And a little bit glad?” He was standing right beside the massive pile of luggage. Before she could answer, he scooped up half of it and strode up the walkway. “If nothing more, at least be glad there's someone to carry your bags.”

She didn't move. Just stood there, with the key in one hand, the note and envelope in the other. There was a car behind him on the curb, one she'd been too absorbed in her own thoughts to hear pulling up. A Porsche Carrera, naturally. Only the best for Jack. She wondered a little bitterly who he'd scammed it from. Another rich female, too in love with him to listen to her own common sense? “Why are you here?”

“Because I, apparently, know you better than your hosts do. Enough to know that your ‘I want to be left alone' bullshit was just that. Bullshit.” He grunted and shifted the bags a little. “Unlock the door, will you? These are heavy, even for a vampire. What did you pack, anyway? A metric ton of your native soil?”

“So amusing.” Frowning, she inserted the key, turned it and swung the door open. Jack stepped inside, setting the bags on the floor.

She walked in behind him and looked around the place. Had it been this way when her mother was here? Or had the decor changed? She imagined it had. Now it was nice, but modern. Prints by Mexican artists lined the walls, colorful and vibrant scenes of the ocean, of palm trees and sunsets. Brightly striped throw rugs and runners with tassels at the ends covered the hardwood floors. Horsehair vases with Navajo patterns, and Kokopelli dancing and playing the pipes, stood everywhere she looked. Jewel-toned walls surrounded her; bright green, burgundy, yellow.

Jack cleared his throat, probably because she wasn't paying him a lick of attention.

She glanced at him, then at the bags. “They're going to have to go upstairs sooner or later,” she said.

“I realize that. I just assumed you hadn't picked out a room yet. Have you?”

“No.”

“Well, once you do, I'll take the bags the rest of the way.” He turned to head outside for the ones he'd left at the curb.

“You won't be here that long,” she muttered.

He didn't give any indication as to whether he heard her. He just marched on, grabbed the remaining bags and brought them inside. Then he stacked them by the door, closed it and stood there staring at her. “Well?”

“You're not staying here.”

He shrugged. “I have a place.”

The way he said it, with a “you're not the boss of me” tone, convinced her that he had absolutely nowhere else to go, even though his words claimed otherwise.

“That's bull. You didn't have time to make other arrangements.”

“How do you know what I had time to do?”

“Because I only just arrived myself.”

“Yeah, but you took longer getting here.”

“I had to go home first. Pack some things.” She tried not to sound too defensive.

“I flew in immediately. I've been in town two nights already. And I've had time to do plenty.”

She hated it when he contradicted her and managed to be right about it. “Why did you follow me?”

“Technically, I didn't. I got here first. Besides, I didn't have to follow you. I knew where you were going. You told me, remember?”

She lifted her brows, clearly surprised. “Not so you could follow me.”

“Oh sure. Tell me there wasn't some part of you secretly hoping I'd show up, and sweep you into my arms and kiss you until you gave it up to me. Come on, Topaz, you know it crossed your mind.” He put his hands on her shoulders and stared intently at her mouth, then jerked her just a little bit closer as he lowered his head.

She could almost taste him and, God, right then she wanted to, more than she wanted to wake up again at sundown. But she had her pride. She ducked his kiss and turned away from him, so he wouldn't see the naked hunger in her eyes. “If it did cross my mind, Jack, it was always preceded by the image of you handing me the rest of my money and telling me how sorry you were for taking it, and for using me and for hurting me.” She shrugged. “One ain't gonna happen without the other, bud.”

He lowered his head. She felt the motion rather than saw it.

“So have you got my money?” She felt a little stronger now. Strong enough to turn and face him again.

Without lifting it, he shook his head.

“I didn't think so. So I guess that means goodbye.”

“No problem. I told you, I've got a place.”

“And you still haven't told me why you're here.”

Sighing, he reached into his long coat, which he didn't need, as the night was warm and vampires didn't feel the cold the way mortals did, anyway. They noticed it, but it wasn't uncomfortable for them. Jack's coat, long and dark, was more fashion accessory than necessity. And he looked hot in it, damn him. He pulled a manila envelope from somewhere within that sexy coat and tossed it onto a marble stand just inside the door. “I know why
you're
here, Topaz.”

She jerked her head up, her gaze darting from that envelope to his eyes. “How?”