Lover's Bite (7 page)

There's no such thing.

Excuse me, but you're looking at one.

She shook her head.
When you fall in love, Jack, you're not even going to know what hit you, much less be content with living alone any longer.

Ha!

She shrugged and gazed again at the man in the bed. Mid-thirties, brown hair, starting to show a little gray and some thinning in the center. He had a bit of a belly, too, expanding the blankets that covered him. Mortality sucked. She glanced at Jack.
So what's the plan?

He grinned at her, then walked over to the bed and crouched low. Bending close to the man's ear, he said, “Wake up, pal. We've got some talking to do.”

The man's eyes flew open wide, and he immediately sat up in the bed.

Jack slammed a palm into his chest, pushing him flat again. “You aren't to speak until I ask you to. I could kill you very easily, and way faster than you could get to the telephone.”

“Wh-what do you want? You want money? Jesus, take it, just don't—”

Jack gazed hard at the man, and Topaz knew he was exerting the power of his mind. The man's jaw clamped shut and his eyes went wider. Jack was preventing him from speaking as effectively as if he'd clapped a hand over his mouth.

“I
said
not to speak until I ask you to.” Then Jack smiled. “Oh, yes. That's right. We're not your garden-variety burglars. We're not even human. Now, there are two ways this can go. You can tell us what we want to know, and we'll leave here and you'll never see us again. Or you can be stubborn and make us torture it out of you. Either way, we'll get what we came for. Is that understood?”

Les strained to move his mouth.

Jack smiled. “Oh. Sorry. Go ahead, you can answer now.”

Les opened his mouth experimentally, then rubbed his jaw with one hand.

“Do you understand your options?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Good. This lovely lady has a few questions for you. You will answer them. And you will tell no one of this visit. Unless you want it repeated in a far less pleasant manner.”

Frowning, Les looked at Topaz. Then he looked again, his eyes straining.

“Who was your source for the Tanya DuFrane story that ran today?”

His eyes widened. “Holy shit. You—you're her, aren't you?”

“That is not the answer to my question, Mr…. Adams, is it?”

“You haven't aged,” he muttered. “That photo I ran of you was ten years old. I couldn't find any more recent ones—”

“There
aren't
any more recent ones.”

“But you haven't changed…except—”

“I'm paler, I know. I am
not,
Mr. Adams,
pink.
Now, will you tell me what I need to know?”

He shook his head. “No. I…I can't.”

Sighing, she looked at Jack. “Make him tell me, Jack.”

Nodding, Jack said, “I was getting hungry anyway.” Then he bared his fangs and jerked the man out of bed by the collar of his pajamas. Jack held him a foot above the floor.

The man's scream was pathetic and loud.

Jack gripped Les's chin and tipped his head back, moving closer to his throat.

“Don't! Don't. I'll tell you! It was Argent.”

Topaz blinked in shock. “Kimber Argent? The woman who owns Avalon?”

“No. Her husband, Albert. He recognized you as soon as he saw you.”

“We never met face-to-face,” she said.

“He's right next door in the apartment. Besides, he has cameras all over that place. He feeds me stories all the time. Makes more money for me than any other source. Hell, that villa of his is bugged till hell won't have it. There's video surveillance, too, but Argent says it's malfunctioning or something. Celebrities stay there all the time, and I get a ton of gossip on them from him.”

Topaz muttered, “I should have guessed. So who broke in there tonight? Was it you, looking for more dirt?”

“Someone broke in?” he asked, wide-eyed.

“Yes, someone broke in. Was it you?” she repeated, growing impatient.

“No!” He swung his gaze from her to Jack and back again, afraid, she thought, that they didn't believe him. “I wouldn't
need
to break in, Argent would let me in if I asked him. But I haven't asked. And I won't.” He was clearly terrified. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't know you were—whatever the hell you are. I'll fix it. I'll print a retraction, say it was all a mistake.”

“I'm afraid the damage has been done, Mr. Adams,” Jack said. He dropped the man back onto the bed. “You'll sleep now. You'll remember this as a bad dream, nothing more. And you won't run any more stories about Tanya DuFrane, no matter how tempting those stories might be.”

“I won't. I promise. I—”

“Sleep.”
Jack said the word firmly, with a piercing gaze, and the man sank back onto his pillows. His eyes fell closed. “It was a bad dream,” Jack whispered, leaning closer. “It was nothing but a nightmare. We were never here.”

Topaz touched his arm. “You could have used that same technique to get him to talk in the first place, you know.”

“Of course I know. But scaring the hell out of him was much more fun. Besides, he had it coming. Bottom-feeding slug.”

She didn't entirely disagree with him, she thought as they walked out of the man's house.

 

“Where are you taking me?” she asked as Jack drove through the rapidly fading night. “This isn't the way back to Avalon Mansion.”

“It's almost dawn. Surely you don't want to spend the day there.”

“That was the plan.”

He sent her a look of disbelief. “We're completely defenseless when we sleep. You have no idea who broke in there, and they could come back.”

“What for? They already searched the place and took what they wanted.”

Jack drew a breath. “Unless what they wanted was you.”

“Don't be melodramatic.”

“I'm not. Topaz, consider what you're doing here. You're trying to unmask a killer, a person who has spent the past thirty-six years believing he got away with murder. You don't think that tabloid story made him nervous? You don't think he's still capable of killing to protect himself?”

She didn't answer, only lowered her head.

“You know I'm right,” Jack insisted.

“Maybe.” She sighed. “So where are you taking me, then?”

“My place. It's not much, but it'll have to do. We'll have time tomorrow night to make alternate arrangements. Right after I have a
conversation
with Mr. Argent.”

“All right.”

She didn't think he required her consent at this point, but she gave it. It was odd how it felt almost as if he were trying to protect her. It would be easy to believe that—too easy. So she refused. There had to be something in this for Jack. In the end, there always was.

At least she knew for sure now that he hadn't been the one selling information on her to the tabloids.

Jack pulled the car into an empty parking area off the side of the road. They got out, and he locked it up, pocketed the keys and said, “This way.”

“Oh, Lord. We're not sleeping in the woods, are we? You didn't find a cave or a hollow tree or something equally putrid, did you?”

He looked at her briefly and kept on walking, up a hill, across a tree-dotted field, into the woods and then out of them again. The sky was beginning to fade to a lighter shade of gray. Sunrise wasn't far off.

Then she saw the cemetery and stopped in her tracks. He kept right on walking through, right up to the biggest crypt in the entire place. It was huge, ornate, made of gray stone, and came complete with a gargoyle guarding its roof.

“You have
got
to be kidding me.”

“Do I?” He opened the heavy door and looked back at her. “It's quite cozy inside. Come on now, you don't have time to be fussy.”

“I'm
not
being fussy, but for God's sake, Jack, could you have come up with anything more clichéd?”

“Nope. I tried, but this was the best I could do. Come on. We don't have all day. Or all night.”

Shaking her head in disgust, she walked inside. He closed the door behind her, but it didn't matter; she could see perfectly well in the darkness. There were blankets and pillows spread over a bier, a lantern on the floor, and his backpack leaning in one corner alongside a cooler with the Red Cross's logo on the front.

“Sustenance?” she asked, nodding at it.

“Help yourself. Unless…well, if you want you could, um…” He tipped his head back a bit and ran his forefinger over his jugular. “Eat me.”

“In your dreams, Jack.”

“Sometimes, yes.”

She punched him in the shoulder and moved toward the cooler to take what she needed from inside. “Any bodies in here?” she asked.

“Nothing recent. I think the newest has been here fifty years.”

“That's a relief, at least. No decomposing corpses to sleep with.” She finished the blood and returned the empty plastic bag to the cooler, to be disposed of later. Then she stretched her arms over her head as the lethargy began to creep in. She reached for a blanket, tugged it from the bier.

Jack gripped the corner and pulled it from her hands. “It's safe to sleep with me, Topaz. We'll both be dead to the world in a few minutes. There's no time for me to seduce you, even if I was planning to break our deal—which I'm not, by the way.”

“So sue me for not trusting you.”

“You're not fooling either of us. It's yourself you don't trust.”

“Oh, please, you're not all that hard to resist.” She let go of the blanket, and then, to prove her point, she peeled off her clothes, stripping down to her bra and matching panties, and climbed into the makeshift bed. It was surprisingly soft, and she realized he'd equipped it with an air mattress. “Nice touch.”

Smiling to himself, Jack peeled off his clothes, as well, and got in beside her, wearing only his boxer-briefs. He pulled the covers over them both, but he was careful not to touch her. There was a mere inch of space between them, and he rolled onto his side, facing her, so close she could feel his breath on her cheek.

“You can kiss me good-night if you want to,” he said.

“Why on earth would I want to?”

He shrugged. “To thank me for my help. To show some gratitude that I'm trying to keep you safe. To—”

“To shut you up?” She rolled onto her side, facing him, and pressed her lips to his. It was a peck. It was brief, and firm, but when she pulled back, she could still feel those lips under hers. He had the softest lips. He always had. Her heart softened a little, and she leaned in again. This time she pressed her mouth gently against his, pulling back when he parted his lips and began moving them in that way he had that always drove her wild.

She could still taste him.

“Sleep well, Topaz,” he whispered.

“No choice about that.” Thank God, she thought. Because if there were, she knew she wouldn't sleep at all. Not with him this close. Not with every night they'd ever spent wrapped around each other replaying in her mind.

She felt the sun's energy rising, and with a rush of gratitude, she let her eyes fall closed.

W
hen her eyes fluttered open at sunset, Topaz stretched and rolled onto her side. Someone was there—a familiar someone—and, still half-asleep, she nuzzled his lips with her own. His hands buried themselves in her hair, and his mouth captured hers. A mouth she knew, one she relished, one she loved kissing. And so she did. Her lips parted, her arms wound around him, and the kiss heated and grew until they were trying to devour each other.

And then, suddenly, she pulled free and lay there gasping, panting, hungering—and wide awake.

“Don't stop,” Jack murmured. “Baby, don't stop. Not now.” He reached for her.

She held up a hand, palm facing his chest. “You promised you wouldn't touch me, Jack.”

“And I haven't.”

“What do you call trying to swallow my tongue just now, then?”

“You started it.”

“I did not.”

“You kissed me first, Topaz.” He got off the bier and pushed both hands through his hair, heaving a sigh. “Hell, woman, I'm only human.”

“No, you're not.”

“You know what I meant.”

Reluctantly, she nodded, unable to meet his eyes, knowing he would see the naked hunger glowing from her own.

“Topaz, come on. We both want to. You know it's the truth.”

“Forget it.”

“You can't deny what just happened. It's freaking explosive, what's between us.”

“So's dynamite. Doesn't mean I'm going to put a stick down my pants and light the fuse.” She shook her head hard, trying to drive her insistence into her own mind as much as his. “You broke my heart, Jack. I'd be stupid to give you a chance to do it again.”

“So keep your heart out of it. You hate my guts now. It shouldn't be too hard. Let's just have sex.”

She shot him a look, then got up. Without another word, she located her clothes and put them on.

“Fine,” he said. “Deny it. Delay it. But it's gonna happen. Sooner or later, it's bound to happen, Topaz, and I think you know that every bit as well as I do and want it just as badly as I do. It's inevitable.”

“Not if you leave.”

“I'm not leaving.”

She finished dressing, then snatched his clothes up and handed them to him. “Get dressed, will you?”

“Can't resist me without my clothes on, right?”

“I want to get back to the mansion. Take a shower, get some fresh clothes, do my hair and makeup.”

“And what do you have planned for
after
midnight?”

“Very funny. I want to start talking to the men who were in that file. The ones the police thought looked good for my mother's murder.”

“And your landlord?”

“I haven't decided what to do about him yet. If we tip him off that we know about the bugs in the house, he's liable to throw us out, or, worse, let us stay and find some other method of eavesdropping.”

“I hadn't thought of that.”

“Let's just find the bugs and watch what we say until we do.”

Jack nodded. “Actually, I have a few errands to run while you're primping. I'll see if I can find us a sweeping device, so we don't miss any.”

Topaz frowned at him. “Where would you find something like that in the middle of the night?”

He averted his eyes to begin dressing. Or maybe that was just the excuse he wanted to use. “I have no idea.”

She had a feeling it was a lie.

 

What he wanted from her, Jack decided, was forgiveness. Okay, sex would be good, too, but forgiveness was tops. He'd been racking his brain to figure out what had drawn him here to her, made him feel as compelled to help her find her mother's murderer as he would have been to protect one of the Chosen. It wasn't love, certainly. He didn't believe in love. Love was a con man's most powerful tool, but it wasn't real. His reason for being here wasn't physical attraction, either—or at least it wasn't
only
that. It was something more, and it had been bugging him that he didn't know what.

Now, as he stood in a nearly empty parking garage, waiting for his contact to show up, he thought he'd figured it out. What he was feeling was guilt, plain and simple. And no wonder it had taken him so long to identify it. It wasn't something he'd ever felt before. But he felt it over her. If he'd known that all her life she'd been plagued by people who claimed to love her while coveting her money, he would never have chosen her as a mark.

How to convince her of that was the big question. He was going to give her back the money. He had intended to all along, deep down, and he realized that now. It was why he'd been unable to spend a nickel of it, why he'd carried it with him in cash ever since he'd been with her. So that he could return it intact. But he couldn't just hand her back the money—not yet, or she would realize he'd had it all along, and that wasn't likely to earn him the absolution he needed from her. Besides, if she got the money back now, she might send him packing, and he didn't want that to happen, either. Not while she could be in danger.

His feelings about Topaz were enough to drive him insane. Trying to figure them out and understand them was even worse.

Headlights cut into his thoughts, and he ducked back into the shadows and waited. The Lincoln stopped, and CIA Special Agent Frank Magnarelli got out, leaving his door open. His patent leather shoes tapped on the concrete floor, then stopped. It was Jack's first face-to-face contact with the agent in charge of tracking down and capturing Reaper—former agent Raphael Rivera, that was. Up to now, they'd only talked by phone. Magnarelli had a face like rough pavement, a graying brush cut and a scar on his chin. He lit a cigarette, took three consecutive puffs, then dropped it and crushed it under his heel.

Nodding at the agreed-upon signal, Jack stepped out into the light.

“What have you got for me?” Magnarelli asked.

Jack looked him up and down. He was a tall, well-built man with ice-cold eyes and an attitude to match. “Depends. What have you got for me?”

“I gave you everything we had on the DuFrane case already.”

“Don't even think I'm naive enough to believe that. I know you have more. And I'll get to all of it eventually. But for right now, I want to know who fathered DuFrane's little girl. Tanya, wasn't it?”

Those cold gray eyes darkened with suspicion. “Why are you so into this shit, Heart?”

Jack only shrugged, but Magnarelli lifted his brows. “You're helping her, aren't you? That tabloid bit about her being back from the dead to seek vengeance is the truth. Is Tanya DuFrane a…one of
you?
”

“That's not the information we agreed to trade. And it's none of your business. Find out who fathered her, and I'll tell you what I have for you.”

“Well, shit, it's not like I know off the top of my head. I'll find out, assuming it's even possible.”

“You're the CIA. Anything's possible. But I'll settle for your promise to look into it, and a small parting gift.”

Magnarelli shifted his feet, looking frustrated. “I'll look into it.”

“And the gift?” Jack asked.

“Quit playing games, Heart, and just tell me what kind of
gift
you have in mind.”

Jack grinned. Magnarelli was afraid he was going to demand a little sip from his veins. He didn't know that by reading the agent's mind—this particular CIA operative was a master at blocking his thoughts. Jack had discovered that in the time he'd been talking with the man. That was probably why they sent him when it came to dealing with the undead. But it didn't take mind reading to know what the fellow was thinking. Jack just loved messing with the guy.

“I need a sweeping device,” he said at length.

Magnarelli's brows, steel-gray like his hair and eyes, arched, forming deep creases in his forehead. “Why?”

“Again, none of your business. You have one on you?”

Magnarelli sighed and lowered his head briefly. Then he turned, aimed his key ring at the Lincoln and started toward it. The trunk opened, and he leaned in and rummaged around. A moment later he came back with the device, handed it to Jack and quickly explained how to use it.

“Perfect,” Jack said. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by giving me something in return. Something I can
use
this time, Jack. That first bit, about Rivera heading north from Savannah was almost useless. By the time we got to the location you gave us, he'd been gone a day and a half already.”

Jack shrugged. “I'm doing the best I can. Maybe this one will pan out for you.” He tried to inject sincerity into his tone but wasn't sure he was successful. He dipped into his jeans pocket and extracted a slip of paper. “I know for a fact he was here.”

Magnarelli glanced at the note. “Virginia Beach, huh? And you say he
was
there. How long ago?” He was still squinting at the paper in the dim glow of the parking garage, as if it might have more to tell him if he just looked closely enough.

“As recently as twenty-four hours,” Jack said. “It's the best I can do.”

“The best you could do, Heart, would have been to give it to me twenty-four hours ago. When
you
got it.”

“I
didn't
get it until tonight,” Jack lied. “And I couldn't get away sooner without arousing suspicion.” He tried again to look sincere. “Look, I'm doing the best I can here. And you're getting information you wouldn't have had otherwise, so I don't see why you should be complaining.” He shook his head, turning away in manufactured frustration and taking long strides toward his car. “Fuck this. I'm working my ass off here, but it's never good enough for you assholes. I'm outta here. Find yourself another—”

“Hold on, hold on now.” Magnarelli's shoes came tapping after him. Everything about him had changed: his tone, his walk. Even the granite face seemed to have softened. All phony as hell, Jack knew, but so was every word that passed between the two of them. “This intel is fine,” the agent said, like he was talking to a ten-year-old who'd just failed a spelling test. “I just wish it was fresher, but it's good. You keep it up, okay?”

Jack stopped walking, his lips curving into a slow smile, which he doused before he turned. “I really am doing my best here, Frank.”

“I know you are. In fact, here.” The agent tugged an envelope from his inside coat pocket. “A little bonus. You call me when you have anything else—the
minute
you have anything else, if it's humanly, er, if it's possible.”

“You have my word on it,” Jack said. And he didn't even cross his fingers behind his back.

Conning the CIA was the biggest game he'd ever run. And probably the most risky, because they were the best con men on the planet themselves. Then again, he'd always loved a challenge.

 

“Well, that didn't take long,” Topaz said when Jack returned to the house. She wished it had taken just a bit longer. She was still in a satin bathrobe, with a towel on her head.

“I told you it wouldn't.” He tugged the sweeping device from his pocket and held it up, carefully cupping it in his hand to block it from any video cameras, since they were undoubtedly working just fine. The thing was, a vampire's image wouldn't show up on tape, but the device might, unless he kept all its bits in direct contact with himself. “And I got what we needed.”

“You know how to use it?”

“It came with a free demonstration. Why don't you finish getting ready and I'll, uh…sweep up.”

She nodded, turned to head for the stairs, then paused and faced him again. “Are you going to tell me what your mysterious
errands
entailed?”

“No.”

The bluntness of his answer made her blink in surprise. And then it made her wonder. “Are you seducing some wealthy, needy woman out of her life's savings, Jack?”

He frowned and leaned slightly forward, as if trying to see her more closely. “Is that a hint of jealousy I detect, Topaz?”

“In your dreams. I just can't bear the thought of some other woman going through what I did.”

He moved closer, lifting his hands as if to stroke them down her outer arms, but then he paused, obviously remembering their deal. Instead of touching her, he looked directly into her eyes and said, “It's not another woman.”

She hated the relief that surged through her with so much force that it left her knees weak. Hated it. But couldn't deny it.

“You're not going to tell me what it is, are you?”

“No.”

“Is it legal?”

“Utterly.”

When he said that, the dimple in his chin appeared, along with the twinkle in his eye that had melted her heart so many times. She wanted to throw herself into his arms with everything in her, as he held her gaze steadily and his smile slowly died. Some unseen force crackled between them. She felt herself leaning toward him, being pulled, and it startled her so much that she turned and bolted up the stairs, down the hall and into the master suite. She surged through it into the bathroom and closed the door hard, as if shutting out Lucifer himself.