Chapter 5
Cat awakened in the mid-morning with a new sense of purpose. Where the hell did Matt Brenner come from? If she intended to be a crime novelist, which involved detective-level research, surely she could find one man? She started at their only common contact—the university.
“Student information is restricted,” the disinterested registrar’s clerk said.
“Well, what if it’s an emergency?” Cat wheedled.
The older woman fastened her with a skeptical stare. “Is it an emergency?”
“No.”
She’d been raised by nuns. Lying was nearly impossible for her. With a sigh, she turned away from the counter, slinking from the woman’s derision.
A gawky young man in a mismatched shirt and tie followed Cat out of the office. “Hey, I, um, couldn’t help overhearing your problem.” Admiration and interest were evident in his earnest face. “There’s a way to get that guy’s information, you know.”
Hope surged. “There is? How?”
“Go to the library. Behind the computer banks are the stacks. Look for big blue binders containing the class rosters. They have the names and contact info on every student in every class. You have to look closely. All the information is run together. I guess they think we’re too stupid to notice they are addresses and phone numbers, but that’s where you’ll find his info. What’d he do to you, anyway?”
Cat looked up at him with a wry grin. “He gave me a flash of epic proportions. Thanks a million!” She punctuated her gratitude with a quick, hard kiss to his cheek, leaving him startled, but delighted.
“Hey, any time!” he called after her. “If you need anything, ask for me. My name’s Troy.”
* * * *
In the library, Cat took the time to see what she could find online about Matthew Brenner. Birth certificate, military service—service in World War I? Can’t be. Property ownership, tax records, newspaper articles, all contained his name. None of the confusing mish-mash of dates made sense. How could he have a military record from 1914 and own a condominium in this decade? Was he a suffix? Jr, III, IV? She needed answers, and the source would have to be Matt himself.
“This can’t be right,” Cat murmured as she pulled open the etched glass door to a 1920s condominium building that still held a majestic spot on the Miracle Mile.
She was immediately struck with a blast of nearly frigid air from the overworked air conditioner. Gold veined black marble played in swirling patterns across the floor and marched up the walls. A dignified concierge stopped sorting mail behind the heavily carved walnut reception desk and looked up inquiringly at her approach.
“I need to see Mr. Brenner, please. I’m not sure what unit he’s in.”
The concierge looked down his considerable nose at her. “I’m sorry, miss. Access to Mr. Brenner’s unit is restricted.”
“Oh…uh…” She pulled a book from the backpack at her side. “Well, he accidentally left his textbook on his desk, and I…”
“If you would care to leave the item with me, I’ll see that Mr. Brenner receives it.”
“You will? Um…well…I owe him some money too, so…”
The man slid a pad of embossed stationery her way along with a pen. “Why don’t you write a note with your name and number? I’m sure Mr. Brenner will be happy to call you about money.”
Cat stifled a frustrated retort and bit her lip. “Yeah, I’m sure.” She jotted her name and number on the pad and then turned briskly on her heel without another word.
“Oh, miss.” He stopped her before she reached the door. “I could give you the name and location of Mr. Brenner’s office, if that would help.” He nodded toward the street. “It’s not far from here on Wilshire.”
“You could? Oh, thank you!” She smiled and danced back to the desk.
* * * *
Cat entered the tasteful and expensively decorated private offices of Consort Group International where the glare of the winter sun was nothing but a dim memory. She was surprised to be shown to Matt’s office with so little fanfare since his name was on the wall as a partner. A pretty receptionist looked up from her desk as Cat walked through the door to a suite of offices, specifying Human Resources, Security and Property Oversight. She was directed toward his private office.
Cat looked around in awe. Not since Disneyland had she stepped into a more themed environment. From the lettering on the door, to the heavy mahogany and leather furnishings and the Jean Harlow look-alike at the desk reserved for Matt’s assistant, the place screamed 1920s elegance.
“Wha’cha need, doll?” the platinum-blonde behind the desk asked brightly, startling Cat.
She would have expected someone with a little more sophistication in such a swank setting. “What?” Cat struggled with the time warp.
The woman looked her up and down. “You sellin’ something?”
“No. I…uh…I need to see Matt Brenner.”
“Oh, sorry, doll. He’s never in this early. You lookin’ for a job? I can leave a message for you. Here.” She slid another pad and pen toward Cat. “Leave your—”
“Name and phone number, I know.” She had a stare-down with the sultry platinum-blonde and finally relented. “Okay, fine! Here!” She jotted her name and number almost illegibly in her frustration.
The secretary squinted at the pad and crooked a brow. “I’ll give it to him. Don’t know if he’ll be able to read it.”
“Just tell him to call, please.”
* * * *
Cat ordered a fancy cup of coffee, all she could afford, as she stared determinedly at the metal-webbed door guarding the garage entrance to Matt’s condo building. She glanced at the clock above the serving counter, ignoring the aggravated glances of the barista, who’d watched her monopolize his table for the past hour. Five fifteen. People should be coming home from work soon, and, if he really was a vampire, Matt should be getting up. How did he manage to run a multi-national corporation at night? Maybe he had “people” for daylight hours. She laid fifty cents on the table for the persnickety server and then headed across the street to put her plan into action.
A string of Mercedes, Lexuses and Porsches rolled through before Cat could secret herself behind a huge Cadillac SUV and sneak into the garage. She followed a smartly suited woman into the locked elevator, trying hard to look as though she belonged. She would have to trust unit 1001 would be on the tenth floor, probably the penthouse. When the door slid open, the plush green carpet led into a richly decorated hallway with three massive heavily carved walnut doors, but no unit numbers. Which one should she approach? She gnawed her lip in indecision, and finally resolved to knock until she got an answer.
* * * *
Matt leaned against the cool wood of the door, feeling her warmth penetrate it. He inhaled. Honeysuckle and lavender, mixed with vibrant young woman. He knew, without consulting the security monitor, it was Cat. He’d never forget her scent. He smiled sadly to himself. Along with the delicacy of her pheromones, he detected frustration, confusion and uncertainty, none of which he’d be able to relieve.
Intensity of feeling welled up inside him, his longing so acute he’d willingly walk through that door to get to her. Why? Why her? He’d been tempted by hundreds, maybe thousands, of beautiful human women in his long life. Most of them wanted him. Some were more beautiful, feature for feature, than Cat, but no one had ever affected him the way she did. He was desperate. Afraid she’d find him. Afraid she wouldn’t.
He knew what Rick would recommend. Fuck her, bite her, turn her. That was what vampires did. Not Matt. He remembered only too well the devastation he felt over his own unwelcome turning. He’d never do that to another soul. He’d never been a sire. Had never wanted to, even with a willing participant.
He sensed Cat’s pain and resignation as she looked up at the camera guarding his door one last time before she turned, shoulders slumped with defeat, and headed back into the elevator. She couldn’t know the fate he protected her from. Even t
hough it was decades ago now, he vividly recalled the night Veronique changed his life forever, and in the process changed her own.
* * * *
Los Angeles, July, 1922
Matt had stood in the sultry July night, naked and vulnerable, surrounded by murmuring vampires and confronted with Richard’s tart sympathy. Richard had tossed him a trench coat from the front seat of the Duesenberg, and while Matt donned it, the older vamp had engaged in a quiet but intense conversation with some grim-faced vamps in blue uniforms.
In front of his appalled eyes, two of them grabbed Veronique’s paralyzed arms while another insured the silver stake through her heart was secure and effectively immobilized her. They lifted her supine onto a stretcher and then loaded her into what appeared to be an ambulance.
“W…Where are they taking her?” Matt stammered when he could find his voice.
“To trial…”
* * * *
Matt found the lengths to which vampires went in a duplication of mortal courts impressive. If he hadn’t known better, he would have been sure they sat in a California superior courtroom, save for the immediacy of the trial. This court played for keeps, and Veronique’s sentence was more than a slap on the wrist, even by vampire standards.
The judge, seated upon his bench intoned Veronique’s fate. “In as much as rehabilitation has not reformed your behavior, it is the decision of this court that you be staked for a period of not less than one hundred and fifty years. If, after that time, there should be a reoccurrence of the crime of siring without consent, the penalty will be termination.”
Veronique sat un-staked but head bowed as the judgment was made. Matt almost felt sorry for her…almost. After all, she hadn’t killed him, after a fashion. He did continue to exist, but in some ways an existence as a monster was worse than death.
“Richard Hiatt…” the judge continued.
“My lord?” Richard stood and answered brightly.
“I have here a petition for protection, giving you legal authority to mentor one Matthew Brenner?”
Matt rose slowly to his feet and stared at the man beside him in slack-jawed surprise.
“Yes, my lord,” Richard confirmed. “The incarceration of Miss Moreau has left Mr. Benner an orphaned fledgling. In an effort to protect him from becoming feral, I beg the court to allow me to mentor him until he reaches vampiric majority.”
“Your paperwork is in order.” The judge pursed his lips and studied Matt. “It’s a generous offer.” He spoke to Matt as if speaking to a child. “Do you agree to Mr. Hiatt’s mentorship, young man?”
Richard turned toward Matt with a smile. “Say yes or face certain death,” he urged pleasantly.
“Uh…yes?”
“That’s a yes?” the judge questioned dourly.
“Yes,” Matt said more firmly, realizing he needed help in this strange parahuman world. “Yes, sir. I’m grateful for the help.”
* * * *
Matt sat awed that first sunrise when Richard’s chauffeur pulled the Duesenberg up to the mansion’s shaded doorway. The curbside delivery allowed them to step from the luxury of the car into the comfort of a truly spectacular house without encountering sunbeams. Matt stared agog at the luxury around him.
“Who are you? Rockefeller?”
Richard shrugged. “I’ve lived a few centuries, and I’ve accumulated a few toys.”
“I guess so.”
“I advise a glass of champagne before the purging begins,” Richard said light-heartedly.
“Purging?”
“Yesss.” Richard drew the word out slowly, glancing at his watch. “It’s been approximately seven hours since you were turned. Within this next hour, your body should purge itself of everything human. That means bodily waste, I’m afraid. We’ll get you settled in a loo straightaway.”
“Great,” Matt murmured disheartened.
“There, there. Think of it as a brief bout with sprue. You’ll be completely right again within a few hours when all the unnecessary material is out of your system.”
Matt looked at him suspiciously. He had a dim memory of his mother referring to a violent stomach malady as sprue. “You mean I’ll be vomiting and having—”
“Dear boy!” Richard raised a hand. “No need to go into graphic detail. We all know what I mean. Ramon,” Richard beckoned his young major domo. “Tell the donors to be ready to service Mr. Brenner any time he asks in the next day or two.”
“Very good, sir,” Ramon agreed with a bow. “Before you head upstairs, Mr. Brenner should call this number.” He handed a paper to Matt. “The court bailiff has rung several times.”
Richard gestured Matt to the phone while Ramon left to make arrangements.
On the phone, Matt had vamped uncontrollably, nearly crumpling the heavy receiver as he spoke. “What can they do to nab her?” He snarled. He’d chuffed out a breath and humanized. “Call me when you know.”
Matt had looked from the phone into Richard’s inquiring stare. “Veronique’s on the lam.”
* * * *
Los Angeles, Present Day
That was the last anyone in North America saw or heard from Veronique Moreau. Even after all this time, a gnawing nervousness churned Matt’s gut whenever he thought of her. So, no, vampirism wasn’t something he’d inflict on any mortal, certainly not Cat. The only way to protect her, despite his inexplicable attraction to her, was to stay completely away from her, and that’s exactly what he intended to do.
Moonrise found Matt on the phone with his assistant. “Sorry to get you on the I-5 late, Jonesy.”
“That’s okay, boss. I was waitin’ for my nails to dry. What’s the word?”
“I’m taking a breeze. I need to cancel some meetings, but you have the appointment book.”
“It’s that big?”
“Ice my appointments for tonight and tomorrow, will you?”
“Gotcha, but…”
“You can leave after that. Tomorrow, have Giles take over security. Marlin and Justin can handle personnel and maintenance. I’ll be gone until…” he thought for a moment. “June.”
“Hey, uh, does this mean I’m out of a job?”
“No, you’ve still got a job, kid. I need someone to take care of the office.” He grinned at her delighted shriek.
“What do I tell folks about why you left?”
Matt frowned. “Do I have to give a reason?”
“Only if you wanna stay in business, see? I mean, boss, people get real annoyed without an explanation.”
“Well, okay, I don’t care what you tell ’em. Just don’t tell anyone where I’m going or when I’ll be back.”
“You got it. Where are you going?”
“See you in June.” He disconnected the call.
More calls followed to the cabin caretaker, his Red Cross contact and the building super. He’d see Rick in person in the morning. Leaving without a goodbye would really piss off his partner. Besides, they owned the cabin jointly, and he’d need the ski plane.
* * * *
Veronique Moreau pulled off her Armani shades and watched avidly, if uneasily, as her crew guided her yacht, Escape, toward her berth at the California Yacht Club. The boat was both ironically and accurately named. A yacht had been her escape from capture since 1922, and though she was on her sixth generation of Escape, the strategy still worked. She never lingered in any port longer than necessary, she banked on scores of lonely sailors available to parlay their lives for her beauty.
For companionship, Ronnie had family, or at least, her first cousin, Elise. She and Elise had dallied their way around the port cities of the world several times in the past decades, although they avoided the coast of the western States. Now, there was a bigger, more legitimate reason to risk capture in Los Angeles.
When she and Elise concocted the idea which would take them beyond the dreams of avarice, it was a lark, and they had been simple partiers. Now, it was so much more. A venture begun for kicks became a deal pursued fo
r a fortune’s sake. Their designer drug attracted the crème de la crème of Euro-trash vamps, who couldn’t get enough of the stuff, and circulated the code word for their scores to their American cousins.
The chance to feel human, to expose their immortality-numbed senses to the blood rush of adrenaline was a hot commodity that would inevitably draw Veronique before the judgment of the tight-assed Vampire High Council. That would mean scrutiny and the revelation of her arrest warrant in the United States. The Council was already iffy on whether her little moneymaker posed a danger to the Vampire Nation. She couldn’t risk re-capture, so Matt Brenner and his charge of siring without consent would have to be dealt with.
Then the nay-sayers would kiss off. Once she and Elise were done, there would be no more kowtowing to her family for money; no more acceding to the will of the vampire High Council. The money from this endeavor would make her so powerful, no one would dare touch her again, especially if she won the forgiveness of that ingrate, Matt Brenner. Then, the world would be hers.
* * * *
Rick snarled only slightly when Matt barged into the meeting with the Taiwanese delegation. What the hell difference did it make? He and Matt owned it all, anyway. It wasn’t as if they wouldn’t wait for him.
“Yes, your highness.” Rick sneered when they were alone in his private office. “How may I serve you?”
Matt snorted and self-consciously rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry to interrupt your meeting.” He ducked his head. “I’m going to the cabin for a while. I told Jonesy to expect me back in June—”
Blood Rising Page 5