Read Sunrise in a Garden of Love & Evil Online
Authors: Barbara Monajem
"They won't find out because of me."
"You're treading on thin ice," Constantine said. "What Ophelia wants is critical to your chances with her."
"Whether Ophelia lives is even more critical," Gideon retorted.
"You're a man of remarkable restraint, sport. You're holding off on Ophelia, and you haven't tried to deck me. Not that you'd succeed, but any red-blooded American boy would at least try. Or are you saving your blood for Ophelia? Don't worry, she won't drain you. Just a taste should satisfy her--as long as she gets laid."
"She's hardly talking to me," Gideon said. "She sealed this goddamn cut because she had no choice." Burton Tate passed the one-way glass in the direction of the patio. What was that in his shirt pocket?
"That's one way of putting it," Leopard snickered. He put his hands behind his head and leaned way back, grinning up at the ceiling.
Constantine said, "You've got a lot to learn, sport. You had her right where you wanted her and let her go."
"The patio at Tony's is not where I want her," Gideon said. "She ordered me to stay off her property. I have no alternative for the moment but to show restraint." He stood up. Burton Tate's arm, with its familiar dagger tattoo, hovered at the edge of the one-way glass. A hand reached out to pinch a waitress, and he came into the picture again. "It
is
a permanent marker," Gideon said.
"Burton Tate," Constantine said, and Leopard leaped out of the recliner. Burton headed back toward the restroom.
"That weasel." Leopard pushed the intercom button, but Constantine reached over and punched it off again.
"I'll take this one," Constantine said. "Unless..." He motioned to Gideon. "She's your woman, after all."
"Tempting," Gideon said smoothly, feeling no compunction to save Burton from Constantine's revenge. "But I got to rough up Willy Wyler yesterday. I'd better get on with the murder investigation."
"Plato works at the All-Nite," Leopard said.
Ten minutes later Gideon parked at the drugstore in the outparcel next to Albertsons supermarket. Five minutes after that he had an appointment with Plato Lavoie for half past midnight. Another two minutes, and he found the officer doing surveillance across from the photo shop slumped in his car, fast asleep.
Ophelia dragged herself out to Constantine's truck, intending a quick trip to the supermarket on the way home. No amount of talk or endlessly circling thoughts made any difference. It wasn't necessarily love--or so she'd attempted to convince Violet earlier. Haltingly, she'd tried to explain her feelings. "He's up front about what he wants. He doesn't take no for an answer." Which made absolutely no sense, considering that drove her crazy in any other guy.
Violet smirked. "I told you it was love."
"And he has a sense of humor, and he doesn't let me bullshit him, and--and I just
like
him a lot." An awful lot. "I want him to feel the same way."
"Love," Violet insisted. "You lucky girl."
Right. Love, liking--whatever it was, she couldn't explain to Vi why it would never work, so she drove morosely through town in the macho truck high up on its oversized wheels and wished, not for the first time, that she could have fallen in love with Constantine and gotten it over with. If anyone understood her predicament, Constantine did, but his methods were as unacceptable to her as Violet's take on sex.
Ophelia turned the truck into the strip mall that included Albertsons, grateful for the normality of shopping for food. Her eyes traveled automatically toward the print and photo shop, which would have closed hours ago.
Crap.
Artemisia hovered in front of the shop, surreptitiously trying the door. Dumb, because obviously the place was closed, and even dumber for other reasons. Gideon's sister shifted indecisively on the sidewalk, the breeze ruffling dark hair into her face. Then she scurried to the end of the strip and turned the corner toward the rear.
Damn. Ophelia wrenched the truck around, cut a wide swath past the cluster of cars next to the buildings and slipped between the far end of Albertsons and the bank next to it. She turned left behind the strip mall, careening by Dumpsters, vehicles, and debris. At the final turn at the end of the mall, she shut off her lights and inched forward, glad of the excellent night vision that formed part of her genetic heritage. Not that she needed it, for a wavering flashlight beam marked Art's progress up the metal staircase that led to the apartment above the shop.
Ophelia cut the motor, leaving the window open a few inches. "I won't be long," she told Gretchen. She climbed down from the cab and softly shut the door.
"Art!" she hissed. Gideon's sister sobbed, and the flashlight beam flew erratically across the dirty pavement. "It's me, Ophelia. Put that light out!"
Art ignored the command or maybe didn't hear it, and the flashlight beam swept back and forth like a goddamn beacon until Ophelia, leaping up the stairs in a fury, grabbed it and switched it off.
"Are you insane? What if the murderer comes back to ransack the store? Not only that, I'll bet a hundred to one Gideon has the shop under surveillance. Do you want to get arrested? Let's go!"
"I have to get inside," Art squeaked. "I know there's a way from the apartment. I've seen the stairs in the shop. I'm wearing latex gloves so I won't leave prints." She picked her way obstinately upward in the dark.
"Why do you have to get in there?" Ophelia scowled at her friend's back and followed. "Don't tell me. It's not just nude art poses. What is it, porn?"
"Of course not! I would never, ever..." Her voice quavered and sank.
They reached the platform outside the apartment and Ophelia shoved herself ruthlessly between Art and the door. "Tell me the truth."
"It's not intentionally porn!" protested Art. "I didn't know my picture was being taken!"
"Spit it out, Art."
"It was in the women's locker room at the art school. There must have been a camera in one of the cubes, and oh God, this is so embarrassing, but I took my clothes off and I was looking at myself in the mirror, posing, trying it on, getting my nerve up, which was dumb, since I knew from friends in art school how boring posing nude really is. But anyway, he
sent
me one of the pics, and I'm bending over, totally exposed, with this sassy expression on my face. Nobody will believe I didn't do it on purpose, and the other pictures may be worse! I went out with Constantine tonight to make Dar jealous, and I could tell Dar was totally shocked, and I just know he'll never want me if he finds out about the pics!"
"For cripes sake, Art--Shh!" Ophelia raised an urgent hand. Vampire hearing came in handy, too. "Good thing I know a little about B and E." She wrenched out her key ring and inserted a picklock into the keyhole. "Turn the handle when I say."
In fifteen seconds flat, they were inside the apartment with the door locked behind them. Art whispered, "That was so cool! Where did you learn to pick locks?"
"Tony taught me." Ophelia surveyed the messy living room, steered Art around a couch and across a sheepskin rug, pressed the flashlight into her palm, and indicated the kitchen, dimly lit by the streetlights in the parking lot below. "Take this and go through that doorway into the kitchen. Do
not
turn the flashlight on. There's enough light in there from outside."
"There's hardly any light at all! How can I search if I can't see?"
"You're not going to search," Ophelia said. "Leave that to your brother. There's someone outside. We have to get out of here."
Art spoke in a panicked whisper. "I can't let Gideon see those pictures!"
"They may be embarrassing, but they're not worth risking your life over. Go hide behind the kitchen door." She heard Gretchen bark and then howl pitifully, and wondered if every damn cop in the city knew Gideon's dog. On the other hand, the prowler might not be a vigilant cop.
"It might be the murderer!" Art cried. "What are we going to do?"
"You're going to wait in the kitchen.
I'm
going to get us out of here."
Gretchen barked again, howled, and barked some more.
"If he gets past me, go down the inside stairs and through the shop, and run for help." Ophelia turned Art bodily toward the kitchen and pushed. "Move!"
Ophelia crept back to the door and positioned herself. A light flashed briefly below and went out. She heard unhurried footsteps and noted that Gretchen, after a last few sharp whines, was now silent. She waited some more, and a hand tried the door handle, then a key or a pick slipped into the lock. She focused and prepared herself. Sometimes, being a freak was all you had going for you.
The door opened wide. Her fangs gleamed with their own lurid light as her foot flashed forward, but Gideon sidestepped and launched himself at her--laughing now, goddamn it, laughing at her--and she went down under him, down, down, onto the sheepskin rug. Then he was kissing her, hot and hard and demanding, searing her mouth with his tongue, scraping it across her fangs, drawing his own blood, and Ophelia moaned as she tasted him, digging her nails into his shoulders, twining her legs around him and arching closer. The kiss went on and on and Ophelia flew with it, forgetting everything but what she needed from this man, breathing in his strength and his scent and his flavor and his goddamned sense of humor. His tongue plunged again for her fangs as his hands took her everywhere, rough and perfect, assessing her breasts, fondling her waist, slipping under her shorts in an unerringly intimate caress.
His lips slid away from hers and his tongue stroked her ear. "Let's make a deal," he whispered, spreading her slick juices, poising his fingers to do more. "A better kind of B and E. You break and enter me, and I enter you."
She chuckled and nipped at his throat, lapped up a drop of blood, and sealed the cut. Damn. "Gideon..."
"Ophelia. Sweetheart."
His breath came fast and hard. His heart hammered against hers, and a huge regret rose in her throat. She forced her hands between their bodies and pushed. "Not now, Gideon."
"Yes," he replied, licking hotly at her lips. "Here. Now."
He didn't know Art was there. "No." She pushed again.
Gideon's groan pierced her heart. "Ophelia, please--"
"We can't." She pushed again. "Your--"
From below came a crash and the sound of shattering glass.
Gideon was off her and asking questions in impressive time. "Where are the inside stairs?"
"Next to the kitchen." Ophelia took off through the doorway to show him the path and slammed to a halt as a sharp aroma hit her nostrils. "Wait a second."
"Why?" Gideon whisked a towel off the counter and went for the door to the stairs.
"There's something...Don't go diving down those stairs!"
Gideon opened the door, and the odors of stale blood and death assailed them both. A woman lay sprawled on the staircase, head toward the bottom, arms flung wide. "Shit. Stay here." He flashed his penlight on and off and crept noiselessly down, pausing only long enough to be sure the woman was dead before he disappeared, gun drawn, into the photo shop.
Ophelia turned. "Art. Come on. Time for you to go home."
"That was
Gideon
?"
"Playing games with me," Ophelia said.
Good games. Damn.
"You two were breathing mighty heavily for a game." Art appeared from behind the door. "Are you going to sleep with him?"
"It looks like it." She shook her head. "Art, this is serious. There's a body on the stairs."
Art gasped. "What if the murderer's down there? What if Gideon--?"
"Gideon's a cop," Ophelia said coldly, but her breath was catching in her throat and her heart thudding way too fast. "It's his job." She grabbed Art's hand. "First we get you out of here, then I'll go make sure he's all right."
In the truck, Art clung to Gretchen. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God."
Ophelia asked sharply, "Where's your car? You need to go home. I'll call you as soon as I know what's going on."
"The next row." Art pointed. "The old Toyota, but I'm not going anywhere until I know Gideon's okay. Do you know who the dead person was?"
"No." Ophelia pulled forward into a space a few cars away from Art's. "Stay here with Gretchen. I'll be right back." She jogged across to Albertsons and along the strip to the photo shop, letting out a long breath of relief as she heard Gideon's voice. He opened the door to the shop, saying, "Thanks, Lep," clicked his phone shut, and without missing a beat asked her in a harsh tone she had never heard before, "How did you know about the body on the stairs?"
He didn't look the same, either. He looked pissed off. He looked like a very angry cop.
Ophelia stared at him. "I smelled it. My sense of smell is very acute."
"Especially when it comes to blood, I'm sure." His voice made her wince. "What were you doing in the apartment?"
Ophelia's fangs begin to shift. She swallowed and strove to keep her own voice low and calm. "Andrea's and Art's pictures might be in there."
"There's nothing in there. Not in the store or in the apartment. No films, no prints, no CDs. The computers are gone, too."
He radiated such icy fury that Ophelia had to struggle to control her fangs. "Who made that noise downstairs?" she asked.
"One of the blackmail victims, doing the same stupid thing as you. You had no business messing with a possible crime scene and you know it."
Ophelia's chest heaved and her fangs bucked. "You weren't so unhappy about me being there a few minutes ago."
"I fucked up," Gideon said. "This whole case is a fuck-up. Two people dead now. If I could have got a positive ID and a search warrant earlier...And then the man on surveillance falls asleep!" He flapped a dismissive hand. "It probably would have been too late anyway. The girl's been dead for hours. You don't happen to know who she is, too?"
Ophelia jammed the fangs up with her thumbs and tried to be civil. "She might be the girl who works there afternoons."
"Did you touch anything in the apartment? Anything at all?"
"Apart from you?" Ophelia gave up and let her goddamn fangs slot down. "I'm not the one who was ready to spill my DNA all over a possible crime scene, mister."
Gideon's voice grated. "Like I said, I fucked up. I can't afford that. It won't happen again. I suppose I should thank you for bringing me to my senses." The ugly, bitter words lashed at her, and then it got worse. "Get the hell away, Ophelia. Go home."
Ophelia clenched her fists and snarled at him, fangs full down and gleaming. "Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?" She shot a wave of allure at him so strong he reeled.
But he immediately collected himself. Disgust flooded his face, and he stood his ground, his voice calm and flat. "Go home, Ms. Beliveau. Lep's sending Jabez to keep an eye on your place tonight."
"Lep doesn't have to--"
"You're in way too much trouble to call the shots. By rights you should be under arrest like that poor sucker I found searching the shop. Now get out of here before my crime-scene crew arrives." He flipped open his phone and walked back inside the shop.
Ophelia strode across the parking lot to Constantine's truck. No way was she going home just because some asshole cop said to. "Your stupid brother's doing just fine," she told Art as she ripped open the door--and then, horror of horrors, her chin began to tremble.
"Hey," Art began, "he's not stupid." And then she gaped at the tears in Ophelia's eyes. "What did my rotten brother do?"
"If
I'm
stupid, he's even stupider
,
" Ophelia heaved. She swiped at the tears with the back of her hand and dug in her pocket. Only a grubby dollar bill. "Can you loan me ten bucks? I need to do some shopping and I don't have my wallet."
"Of course." Art got her pocketbook from the Toyota. "My brother called you stupid?"
"It doesn't matter," Ophelia said, wishing she'd had the presence of mind to keep her mouth shut. She took the ten Art held out. "I'll pay you back tomorrow. You'd better go home now. Don't you have school in the morning?"
Art hurried along next to her. "What made him say such an awful thing? That's not like him at all! I mean,
really
not like him."
Ophelia shrugged. "Whatever. I don't care. I hope I never see him again." She stormed into the supermarket.
Art followed her to the produce section and cringed when she tossed apples into a bag. "You're bruising them. Calm down! Why did he say that?"
"Because I went into the apartment when I knew it might be a crime scene." Ophelia knotted the plastic bag around her fist and swung the apples menacingly back and forth.
"You're scaring me, Ophelia." Art grabbed at the apples and Ophelia blew out a long breath. Gently, Art took the bag away.
"Sorry." Ophelia picked up a loaf of whole-wheat bread with quivering hands. "This is what happens when a vamp gets pissed off. I'm the mild-tempered version. You saw what Violet's like."
"But you went into the apartment because of me! That's so unfair of him."
"Like I said, it doesn't matter." Ophelia led the way down the next aisle for a jar of peanut butter. "That's all I need for now. Let's go."
"Didn't you tell him it was because of me?" Art cried. "You didn't! That's not right. It was my fault, not yours!"
"Let him think what he likes. I never want to see him again, so why get him pissed off at you, too?"
Art shifted from one foot to the other and bit her lip through the wait at the register. "No," she said the instant they hit the cool night air. "We can't leave it like that."
Ophelia opened the door of the truck and tossed her groceries onto the seat. "Yes, we can. He doesn't want to see me either, so it doesn't matter what he thinks of me. In fact, you can take Gretchen with you right now. That way he'll never have to darken my door again."
"Oh, come on, Ophelia." Tears glistened in Art's eyes. "Of course he wants to see you. He's just stressed about this murder case. His job's important to him. He wants to do it right."
"Fine, let's give him a woman he can talk to." Ophelia opened the passenger door. "Out, Gretchen. You're going with Art. She'll take you back to Gideon tomorrow."
Gretchen didn't move.
"Dumb dog." Ophelia whacked her on the butt. "Get down."
Gretchen still didn't move.
"Oh, for cripes sake. You call her, Art."
"Nope." Art gave a tremulous smile. "She never listens to me."
Ophelia grabbed Gretchen by the collar and tugged. The dog growled and showed her teeth, and Ophelia jumped back. "What's wrong with her? Doesn't she like you?"
Art giggled. "She likes me okay, but I guess she likes you better. I guess you'll have to keep her. I guess you'll have to see my brother again, whether you like it or not." She grinned at Gretchen and the dog grinned right back.
"Oh, shit," Ophelia said despairingly, and Art flung her arms around her and hugged her hard. "You don't understand," Ophelia cried. "This thing between Gideon and me would never have worked. In the first place, he doesn't really like fangs. In the second place--"
"He found out you're a vamp?"
"Yes, but that doesn't matter. There are a zillion reasons why it'll never work."
Art hugged Ophelia again and clambered into her little car. "You may be right, because it's your relationship, not mine, but I do know that when you're exhausted and angry is the worst time to make important decisions. Go home and get some sleep. We can talk again tomorrow."
Ophelia watched Art drive off and turned to Gretchen. "Obnoxious," she said. "That's what you are, dog." She trundled the truck slowly across the parking lot and onto the main drag, filled with a sudden longing for home--and also, now that she was alone and could admit it to herself, for Gideon.
Gretchen sighed and laid her head on Ophelia's thigh.
"You understand, don't you? You love him, too."
Gretchen licked Ophelia's knee.
"You get to go back to him, though," said Ophelia. "I don't." Tears choked her throat. "You didn't see the expression on his face. Just my luck, I finally fall for someone and he resists my allure because he hates fangs"--Gretchen stuck her muzzle next to Ophelia's butt--"and dumps me back on Lep. I should be relieved. He won't snoop into my life anymore."
On the country road toward home, Ophelia let the big macho truck have its way. A cop pulled her over, so she turned up the allure and sent him away dazed and blissful. "At least I've still got it," she told Gretchen as they drove off.
The dog snorted and scratched behind her ear.
"Not that it's much use, if the one man I want is immune."
Gretchen gave a cavernous yawn.
"For a minute there he really
did
seem to like them," Ophelia continued pitifully. "Guys usually just wait to be bitten. Gideon drew his own blood. And it was so damn good!"
But it hurt too much to think about Gideon's tongue and his blood and his capable hands, so she focused hard on reality instead. "I guess he was so turned on that he didn't realize until afterwards that the whole thing made him sick." Gretchen faced the window, eyes closed, evidently bored with the gig as confidant.
"Too bad," Ophelia said. "You had your chance to get away."
As she turned into her driveway, Ophelia braked and rolled down the passenger-side window to greet a bodyguard she might need but surely didn't want. Just like old times.
"Evening, Ophelia." The soft, low voice came from the big sycamore off to the right. Leopard's bodyguard was darker than the night, and so quiet and still that even she could barely see him.
"Thanks for coming, Jabez."
"My pleasure," the man said. "Some kid's waiting on your porch."
Gideon left the crew at the crime scene for his appointment, still in a cold rage directed mostly at himself. His desire for Ophelia simmered in some corner of his gut, stowed until the investigation was over and he could quell it properly. An appointment at the house directly across from hers didn't help, but since he would have to pass her place every day going home for the rest of his life, he might as well start getting used to it.
Her house was dark except for the porch light, and her driveway was empty, but a deserted pickup a quarter mile earlier told him Jabez was already in position. Nobody ever saw Jabez unless he wanted to be seen. Gideon dropped a hand in silent acknowledgment and gave thanks, not for the first time, for the Bayou Gavotte underworld. Separately, neither the cops nor the underworld could keep a handle on things. But with the underworld taking care of transgressions in the clubs and the cops handling the rest, they kept their kinky little tourist town safe. The murder rate for innocent people was at an astounding low.
Except for today. Not the blackmailer--better for everyone he was out of the way--but that poor girl in the staircase. Shit.
But it's not my fault,
he reminded himself. Yet his own appalling behavior was eating holes in his brain. Which he couldn't afford during a murder investigation.
When this is over,
he told himself,
I will regain my sanity. Maybe I will even recover that tiny bit of instinct that got me laid now and then. It won't get me Ophelia, but...
Oh, hell. What was the goddamn use?