“How did you know? I’m on my way to the Group offices to brief you.”
“About the bombing? I already—”
“What bombing?” Matt kept his information circumspect to thwart any listeners on his line. “A package involving Cici Maynard was just delivered to my room, compliments of Papa Moreau. It was a killer.”
“Get your ass over here—now. The car’s on its way to you. Call me when you’re en route.”
* * * *
Matt realized Rick’s level of agitation was off the scale when the elder vamp met him on the plaza, pacing angrily outside the magnificent building’s main entrance. Thrusting the video recording of his conversation with Moreau into Rick’s hands would only add fire to the already banked flames, but Matt couldn’t resist the drama of the statement. “We need privacy.”
Rick watched Maynard’s wife moaning in the coffin and shuddered. “I have two donors currently hitting the Glenlivet, ready to offer a little whiskey relief along with blood. I don’t know about you, but I need that right now.” Matt nodded.
Finally without onlookers, and having had a little time to process the day’s events, Matt turned to his friend, decision and finality suffusing his tone. “I’m going to find that bastard and eliminate him and the entire Moreau family, starting with Papa and working all the way back to Veronique.”
Rick considered him for a long moment. “I don’t think you’d get within a mile of Moreau. His protection is too good. No matter how covert your efforts, they’d spot you before you ever got near him. No, we only have one play here.”
Matt shot him a raised brow query.
“I’ll do it,” Rick decided. “With a team, of course, but it has to be me. You have to be the diversion.”
“What kind of diversion?”
“The loudest most flamboyant you can muster. Preferably involving Veronique.”
“I’m seeing this,” Matt agreed with a considering nod. “I make a splashy play for the princess while the dark knight sneaks up on the castle.”
“Exactly,” Rick agreed. “With some luck, he won’t see me coming.”
* * * *
Cat squirmed under him. The touch of his hands branded her with fire as he inched up from her knees to her thighs, his panting warm breaths searing against her sensitive skin. He parted her urgently, his tongue sweeping ahead of his long fingers to tease her saturated folds, and still she couldn’t move, immobilized by unseen hands holding her arms and ankles spread-eagled on the ridiculously huge bed.
Cat moaned in ecstasy, arched up to that pleasuring mouth, savoring the passion building within her. His tongue rimmed her opening, teeth and lips gently nibbled her throbbing clit. She teetered on the edge of orgasm. With the gasp of her next breath, she found herself beside her bed, feet chilled by the wooden floorboards, adrenalin surging as she fought to reorient herself.
Her attention was immediately drawn to the dark figure peering in her bedroom window from the fire escape. Stupidly, she’d later admit, she ran toward the window to get a better look at the intruder. In the dark of night, with only a partial street light and her dim Tiffany-style nightlight to illuminate his ebony face, there wasn’t much to see. Her reflexive scream of surprise alerted Georgia, and sent her Peeping Tom thundering down the fire escape as the nurse threw open her bedroom door.
That started the onslaught of events, as Cat would come to think of it, but the intruder threat wasn’t what captivated her attention. She was much more interested in the dream. How, she thought, could she dream of oral sex when prior to this moment, she had only been vaguely aware it existed? How could she have experienced bondage? How could she dream of luxuriating in her lover’s caress, her body readying itself for orgasm, when she was a virgin? Wasn’t she?
She had never known a man’s touch beyond a few kisses and less than passionate groping, right? Right? Unless, as she knew in her heart, felt in her body, the ephemeral memories she glimpsed were real, and not drug-induced hallucinations as her caregivers claimed.
Overwhelmed by frustration and frantic to find the man who haunted her dreams, Cat racked her brain for a way to verify her sexual experience. What could prove that? A medical exam? Would that identify her as a woman experienced with sex? When she broached the idea with Georgia, her nurse was surprised, maybe a little annoyed, and less than encouraging.
“I think we should focus on what’s really important tonight, Cathy,” she lectured firmly. “A man tried to break into your home. Do you see how off-center your thinking is, that you want to focus on a dream instead?”
Cat crossed her arms over her chest in annoyance of her own and glared. “I have an alarm system. He may have been looking, but the chances of him actually getting into the house are remote.”
“Just the fact that he was looking—”
“Georgia!” Cat’s voice held a hard edge. “The police and security firm will take care of the Peeping Tom. I’m telling you, I’m dreaming about things I shouldn’t even know, and always about the same man…Matt. I want a gynecological exam. Maybe that will give me some answers.”
A glimmer of fear shone in Georgia’s amber eyes for a fraction of a second before she looked away, her calm, competent persona back in place. “I understand your interest in this mystery, Cathy,” Georgia soothed. “And, yes, an internal exam can verify that a woman’s hymen has been ruptured, but nowadays, that’s not evidence of lost virginity. Many women are born without a hymen, and so many girls participate in vigorous sports, they break theirs in completely non-sexual ways and never know it. We’re not living in the Dark Ages, you know.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Cat grumbled in agreement. “It just felt so real, and how else would I know all that?”
Georgia shrugged. “The subconscious mind is powerful. If you’ve read a steamy novel, or seen a racy movie, well, the mind extrapolates…”
“Oh.” Cat conceded reluctantly. “Yeah, that’s true. You could be right. Or, at least, there’s no concrete proof that you’re not.”
“Exactly, now I’ve checked the window. It’s secure. Would you like me to stay with you for the rest of the night?”
“No.” Cat settled herself back under her covers, shivering slightly, more from the effects of the dream than the early morning chill. She just wanted to be alone to think. “I’ll be fine. Sorry, I disturbed you.”
“Don’t be silly. I’m leaving your door open from now on. I’ll be in the living room until morning.”
Cat closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her. She could almost see him—almost, but not quite. Tall, dark. She couldn’t see his eyes, but an inner knowledge told her they were beautiful, and arresting. Matt. His name was Matt, and he was a vampire. Well, that was where the story broke down, wasn’t it? A vampire? Honestly, Catherine, what are you thinking? There’s no such thing. Maybe he’s a vampire who rides a unicorn and lives in Oz!
She had actually gone so far as to look vampires up on the Internet, earning Rick’s amused teasing and her own embarrassment. All she’d found there were fictional accounts of sparkly beings or fanged monsters with animalistic claws. Neither account fit with the Matt she knew -- or thought she knew.
Cat sighed. Everyone here had such valid explanations for her fancifulness and dreams. Surely, their explanations were substance and hers shadow? So, why was that realization so devastating?
Most of her waking hours were spent longing for the love of a phantom, haunted by memories of a Prince Charming no more real than the fairy tale character. Tears of mourning choked Cat’s throat and flooded her eyes. She could almost wish the dreams would stop, she suffered so afterward, but she didn’t think she’d be able to bear it if they actually did and she was forced to live without her mystery man.
* * * *
Cat sat in the human resources office of Consort Publishing the following morning, wide-eyed and nearly speechless as Rick, Daphne Wise, the human resources director, and Giles Paquet, from security, outlined the threat against her. One mo
re complication to make her life totally outrageous. Giles passed her five-by-eight, black and white glossies of sinister-looking men watching her building.
Cat was disconcerted. “What makes you think this threat is against me? Other people live in my building. At least ten others. Maybe these men are watching one of them?” She shuffled through the glossy prints again.
“Don’t you think the man on your fire escape last night is enough proof?” Rick lectured tolerantly. “Georgia spotted these other lurkers, thought they might be a threat and reported them to Mr. Paquet.”
“It turns out she was right to be concerned,” Giles picked up. “This is a credible threat, Ms. Temple.”
“You’re crazy. Why in the world would anyone want to hurt me? I’m nobody,” Cat shook her head, arms crossed over her chest.
Cat caught the look Rick and Giles exchanged with irritation. What was going on here?
“We believe it’s related to the auto accident,” Giles continued unblinking.
“What?” She turned her bewildered gaze to Rick.
“The accident left you in a coma, but it killed your driver and a passenger in the other car. I told you before the Consort Group driver was impaired.”
Cat nodded.
“As it turns out, the driver of the other car was also at fault, and he’s a powerful mob boss. The Feds would love to nail him for his passenger’s death. They haven’t been able to put him away on any other charges. This would do it.”
“Well, okay,” Cat frowned, “but I don’t even remember the accident. Why would they target me?”
Rick smiled. “We know that, but the Marino crime family doesn’t. Until we can convince them you’re unable to aid in Marino’s prosecution, you’ll need protection.” He took her hand in appeal, “Cathy, will you trust us to know what’s best for you in this situation?”
“Jeez, Rick, I just got out from under the thumb of a squad of nurses!” She turned to face Giles. “Now, I need bodyguards following me around? What do the police say about all this?”
Giles sat back in his chair. “My men will do their best to give you as much privacy and freedom as possible, Miss Temple. And the police, well, under the circumstances, the Marinos may be more accepting of our point of view if we handle this privately. The police will only make them more paranoid.”
“Please, trust us,” Rick encouraged again, and Cat fancied his charming smile had probably gotten him his way with women since he was in the cradle.
“I believe Mr. Hiatt and Mr. Paquet have only your best interests at heart, Cathy,” Ms. Wise added. “You’ll be safe when you’re here at the Consort offices, but why not let the security team make sure you’re safe in your off hours? You wouldn’t want someone else injured because they were caught in the crossfire, would you?”
That did the trick. “No. Of course not,” Cat turned beseechingly to Rick. “May I still, you know, walk around the Village and grocery shop and…” Her eyes filled with tears. “I need to be able to walk and…and sightsee, and…” She swallowed hard. “It helps me cope, Rick. I need to keep busy!”
Rick nodded, looking sympathetic, but adamant. “Shop, go out to lunch, see friends, visit museums, go see a show. Just know when you do, two bodyguards will be with you. Who knows? Maybe you’ll all become friends?” Cat glanced at him with a look leaving no doubt about that remote possibility. “I’m just saying you’re a friendly girl, Cathy. This doesn’t have to be torture.”
* * * *
Cat prowled restlessly through what, by New York City standards, was her spacious two-bedroom apartment which included a private park ringed on all sides by the surrounding brownstones. It was a shame, given the unprecedented amount of space and courtyard privileges she enjoyed, she should feel trapped. She peeked out the living room windows fronting the street.
There was her protector, keeping watch on her building from across the street. His partner was stationed in the courtyard bordering the park, unobtrusively monitoring the back.
She’d planned to meet with Father Mayfield that evening at the Catholic Center up the street, but her bodyguards discouraged it, so she’d finally canceled. And really, she was going to confess to a priest that she’d had a torrid affair with a vampire nobody else remembered? Yeah, that was sure to get her locked up in the loony bin. Even if he believed her and who would? He would tell her what priests always told people—pray, have faith. Hadn’t she already done that? She’d prayed and cried and begged for God’s help until she was exhausted. All that greeted her efforts was resounding silence.
With a forlorn sigh, Cat wandered into the kitchen to check her soufflé. She flipped on the oven light—it was almost ready—and then stared in awestruck fascination. A soufflé. She, Cat Temple, made a soufflé. Not only that, she didn’t even think about it, didn’t consult a cookbook. She was so preoccupied by her thoughts of the elusive Matt she automatically whipped up an elaborate dish. There was only one problem—she’d never cooked one in her life. At least not that she remembered. So, she’d emerged from a coma with the sudden ability to cook?
The confection fell into something resembling a quiche when she snatched it prematurely from the oven, but Cat didn’t care. She stared at it for awed seconds before breaking into sobs of frustration.
Chapter 18
To ensure the most concrete evidence of their time together was permanently erased, Matt inspected the remodel of the Malibu beach house. Walls were torn down and rearranged. The kitchen redesign included the latest upscale appliances and a new island. The master bedroom was enlarged, eliminating the previous third bedroom/playroom. With the writing of a single check, and the admonition that time was of the essence and money was no object, the beach house went from California contemporary to Mediterranean modern within a month.
Matt waited for Rick’s assistant to put his call through on video conference. Rick’s face appeared on Matt’s phone. “It took you long enough. How does it look? Will we make our money back?”
“And then some,” Matt moved the phone’s live feed around the living room. “It’s a showcase. They’ll be loading the new furniture in tomorrow, and your winter renters will follow next week, for twice what you charged before.”
“Good. At least something positive has come out of this mess.”
“How…” Matt swallowed hard. “How’s Cat? No repercussions after Papa Moreau’s late night visitor?”
“No. Now that the ‘nurses’ are gone, Cat has a security team, but otherwise she’s on her own. She goes to work, shops, goes to church, lives. Moreau probably believes whatever threat she posed is over.”
“Hmm. Well, I wouldn’t trust that yet. Keep the team on her. So, how about friends or fun or dates? Is she lonely?”
“That’s a hell of a question coming from you. You could be with her, you know, keeping her entertained and happy. We could all be in Los Angeles, for that matter, instead of this claustrophobic skyscraper hell.”
“Rick.” Matt heaved a sonorous sigh. “I’m no good for her. In fact, I think you should back away from her, too.”
“Giving me orders now, are you?” Rick’s expression went dark. “Guess again, Matt. This girl has lost everything. If you think I’m going to leave her without her only friend—”
“Cut the crap, old man!” Matt interrupted irritably. “She went to school there for a semester. I’m sure she formed friendships during that time.” He leaned against the picture window that overlooked the Pacific, surveying the ocean with irritable, unseeing eyes. “She has that childhood friend in Brooklyn, right? There’s no reason for her to be lonely. The longer you hang around, the more opportunity for memories to resurface. Come back to Los Angeles or check out Haiti, or hell, go to the moon, I don’t care. Just leave her alone.”
“Listen, fuckwit, you worry about your own activities, let me worry about mine. I’m sending you an email picture and a report from Paquet. I’ve had the responders working their little keyboards to the bone to find a connection be
tween Maynard and…”
Matt opened the email and his breath hitched as he studied the picture. “This looks like Veronique.”
“Not just looks like. It is,” Rick confirmed. “Giles got a bead on her. It seems our Ronnie’s been spending time at Lust for Life, the vamp resort in Baranquilla, Colombia. Locale sound familiar?”
“Colombia, as in where Maynard Pharmaceuticals had a plant?”
“Yes, it was bombed, but oddly, the bomb was placed in an innocuous location. That plant is still running. It could be a coincidence, of course.” Rick’s tone was suspicious.
“Neither of us believes in coincidence. You think Veronique’s in bed with Maynard?”
Rick shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t get the sense Maynard knows anything about vamps or Humanité. My guess is his plant is simply convenient. The locals working there have a little action going on the side, but that’s strictly speculation at this point. We need to further explore the connection.”
Matt skimmed the info on the Lust for Life Resort. “I don’t get the big draw. Why would vamps want to hang out at a resort in that much heat and sun?”
“One big reason—Alejandro Dias, major player in the Cali drug cartel, is the owner of Lust for Life. He keeps a huge stable of donors he likes to fuck up on coke or meth or opium, and feed to his guests. Big high.”
“Ah, I get it. A new kind of opium den? Vamp style?”
“Yeah, exactly.”
“Could be unrelated to Humanité or Maynard, but Veronique’s no dummy. Hooking up with a cartel for distribution would be great for business, wouldn’t it?”
“That was my thought. For a while, Humanité was cutting into Dias’ business in a big way. He’d want a piece of that action, and isn’t it ironic that Veronique is the creator? If the two joined forces…”
Matt was thoughtful. “Well, if it cut into Dias’ profits, wouldn’t it also cut into Papa’s? Is that the real reason he’s so opposed to the production of Humanité?”
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