Rick winced, “The question now becomes, is Veronique wining and dining this guy for Papa or herself?”
“When have you ever known Ronnie to do something for anyone but herself? I’d bet money ole Alejandro has close dealings with Papa, probably running drugs through Papa’s coffee exports. Coffee’s a perfect way to disguise product from sniffer dogs.”
“Neither Dias nor Papa will want to give that up. It’s too profitable,” Rick mused. “And I’m sure Ronnie wouldn’t want to piss off Dias, either. She probably figures she’ll be on Papa’s black list, but she can wheedle her way around him. Daddy’s little girl and all that.”
“What else do you know about Dias?”
“He’s dangerous, ancient, originally from Spain. We’re still looking into him.”
“I’ll see what else I can find on the VampNet.”
“It’ll be interesting reading. Anyway, I see a trip to Colombia in your immediate future.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Rick stretched his muscles to ease their tension. “Now would be a good time to meet up and make nice with Ronnie, and get a look at Maynard’s plant. I’ll arrange a tour. A bonus would be diverting Papa’s attention to something other than his personal security. That would help me out.”
“And what will you be doing? Having dinner with Cat?”
“As a matter of fact, I’ll be in Haiti. Someone has to eliminate Papa’s threat to the Vampire Nation. Since a direct appeal to the responders would be tied up in politics and red tape for months, I guess I’ll have to take action and beg forgiveness after.”
“I’ll be done erasing my footprints here tonight. Jonesy can book me on the next flight to Colombia.”
“Have a great trip,” Rick encouraged.
“Love the sun and sand.” Matt snorted. “Listen, Rick, seriously, I want you to back away from Cat. Let’s give her some space to make her own way.”
“Dear boy, you may have chosen to abandon this beautiful woman ‘for her own good,’ but I have no such intensions. You want to give her up? Fine. There are plenty of willing suitors ready to take your place, me among them.”
“Don’t be an ass,” Matt warned.
“Oh no, you don’t get to drop your mess into my lap, and then dictate how I handle it. You want her, come and get her. I won’t challenge you. You don’t want her, you don’t get to make demands on the rest of us.”
“She needs a good normal life without vamps.”
“Oh, what? We’re the worst beings in the world, not fit to associate with mortals? You really hate yourself that much? Look, whatever, as far as I’m concerned, if you’ve tossed her back, the rest of us can bait our hooks with the tastiest worms in the can.”
“That’s rich coming from you. I thought you only wanted submissives.”
“What makes you think she’s not a submissive?” Rick countered.
“Rick, I swear to God, if you hurt her…”
“I’m not the one hurting her, Matt. You need to look in a mirror to accuse that man. Don’t worry too much. I’m dropping by her office today to say goodbye before I leave for Haiti. Is that far enough away for you?
Matt frowned. “This is a side of you I haven’t seen before. I don’t think I like it all that much.”
“Right back at ’cha, buddy.” The video phone went dead.
* * * *
Cat drew her running jacket closer about her as the October chill crept in with the setting sun. She should think about getting some pumpkins set out for the trick or treaters, she mused, wondering if kids in New York City actually did the trick or treat thing? She could dimly remember the ritual from when her grandmother was alive. Once she’d gone to boarding school, though, Halloween was just another day.
The early evening still brought out the wild life, Cat thought with amusement as birds, who’d deserted the place in the warmth of the day, pecked about the courtyard, drinking from the flowing fountain and vying with militant squirrels for the scraps she’d scattered. The people in the neighboring brownstone had a half-grown ginger kitten they allowed out at night. She shook her head at the stupidity of expecting a kitten to stay safe in Manhattan, even if he did have a park to roam instead of the street. The kitten stretched luxuriously in his fading sunbeam, and then wound his way over to her for some attention.
“You wanna come sit with me, little guy?” she questioned his bright upturned ginger and white face. The kitten let out a terse bruupp and leapt onto her warm lap, circling and kneading into her thighs, until he was satisfied with just the right spot. “I wish I had some treats for you,” she murmured, scratching behind his ears as he purred.
Unbidden, a scene leapt into her mind—walking with Matt along a stretch of beach. Laddie, a little Sheltie, he used to carry treats for him. Hi… He’s not bothering us.
Everyone in New York had been kind, more than helpful. Rick wouldn’t lie to her, would he? And yet, Cat couldn’t shake the conviction everyone was lying. How could her memories of Matt be hallucinations or dreams? How was that possible? All right, they were disjointed memories, but she felt them, tasted them, saw them in her mind’s eye, and they were evoked by everything from scents to music to stray scraps of conversation. Her dreams of him were vivid, and rather than diminishing with time, they were growing stronger, leaving her without rest at night and exhausted during the day. The entire issue was coming to a head soon, she knew it, could feel it, and now…
She had to get back to Los Angeles. Somewhere, there was a beach with a Sheltie named Laddie. Her enthusiasm flagged a little when she realized there were probably dozens of beaches with Shelties name Laddie, but she had to go back. She had to try. Cat wouldn’t stop until she either found proof of her time with Matt, or proved to her own satisfaction he was a figment of her imagination.
The kitten’s purring grew softer and softer as he settled against her to sleep. Cat caressed him absently as she plotted.
* * * *
Cat thought the unseasonably cool weather the next morning worked out great! She layered clothes enough to have an outfit and a spare when she got to Los Angeles. Blessing her oversized Dooney and Bourke shopper, she crammed it full of needed underwear, cosmetics and an extra pair of shoes. It was the bag she always carried, so her bodyguards wouldn’t look twice at it.
They needed to be history, anyway. She spoke with Giles and tried to politely decline their escort, but he’d countered that Rick was still out of town, and until he returned, their orders were to stay with her. No one had lurked around the brownstone for weeks. It was time for her to become an independent woman again, and she meant it to happen today.
The Coffee, Tea and Tarot Bakery was one of Cat’s favorite spots for a breakfast snack, so it didn’t surprise her guards when she swung in there on her way to work. With rolled eyes, they nonetheless waited patiently for her as she purchased her abbreviated breakfast of a cronut, coffee light and clairvoyant advice.
When she had time to spare, Cat often sat with the Romani woman, who had leant her heritage and Tarot-reading talents to the bakery’s name. Lyuba, fifty-something with kohl-outlined black eyes and dark hair down to her waist, looked unfailingly exotic in her flowing skirts and gold embroidered head scarves. She’d been a welcome confidant in a world where every other person Cat knew was associated with Rick Hiatt in some way. It was great to talk with someone outside his influence, and though she felt like an absolute traitor for thinking it, she was glad to escape his long reach.
Lyuba’s limpid-eyed gaze searched Cat’s as it always did, delving straight into her soul. “You have come to a decision, no?”
“I have come to a decision, yes, I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said, that I’d had an old life, and now I’m moving forward into a new one?”
“This is so.” The woman nodded wisely and withdrew from her pocket a deck of Tarot cards wrapped in satin. She shuffled the cards idly as she spoke. “Pick a card, draga mea, let’s read what your guides see for
you today.”
Cat centered herself, blew out a soft breath and engaged in the harmless ritual. She was startled to see the card she withdrew. Death, a skeleton riding a white horse, looked back at her.
“Don’t be alarmed.” Lyuba smiled. “Death doesn’t mean physical death—usually. It means transformation, rebirth, change.”
“Ah.” Cat nodded. “I guess that fits.”
“It does, indeed. There’s more. The card is reversed. You see here?” Lyuba swept her hand over the ancient divination tool. “Reversal of the card means though you’re on the verge of major change, you’re resisting. Hanging on to the past will only cause you more pain. You must resolve the issues from your past which are tying you down. Only then can you soar.”
“As it turns out, I’m about to do just that, Lyuba, if you’ll help me? You see those men out there?” Cat nodded discretely to her bodyguards. “They’re following me, intruding on my privacy, and they won’t leave! Will you help me get away?”
“Of course, draga,” Lyuba agreed immediately. “You must go into the back as if you’re visiting the ladies’ room, no? There are steps leading down to the cellar where our flour is poured. In there, another set of stairs leads to the back alley. Take it to Fifth Avenue and be on your way. I’ll delay your friends.”
Cat caught Lyuba’s hand and squeezed it with gratitude and affection. “I owe you!” She grabbed her over-stuffed purse, and then headed for the stairs.
Fifteen minutes later, Cat was on her way to Philadelphia on a Penn Station train. From there she’d catch a flight to Los Angeles.
* * * *
Lyuba turned expectantly to the two massive bodyguards hulking over her. It’d taken them five minutes longer than she’d thought it would to come looking for Cat.
“Where is she?” the first demanded.
“Who?”
“The girl you were talking to a few minutes ago. Where is she?”
Lyuba shrugged indifferently, and with a secret smile, turned back to stocking her pastry display. The second guard stalked down the hall to the ladies’ room and pounded on the door. She heard his heavy footsteps descending the stairs to the basement.
“Goddammit!” His bellow exploded from below her.
Lyuba raised a brow at the guard before her. “Do you want a pastry, or a Tarot reading?” she inquired pleasantly.
“No, thanks.”
“In that case, I am afraid you’ll have to leave. There is no loitering posted here.” She pointed at the sign. “It is a rule.”
“She’s in the wind,” his partner shouted into a cell phone as he marched back up the hallway. “Who the fuck knows? Wherever she’s going, she doesn’t want to be found.”
Chapter 19
As he walked down the aisle to his first-class seat, Matt twisted his neck, trying in vain to release pent-up tension. He automatically filtered out the smell of stale air recirculating through the cabin and the wail of a baby in the economy seats. He hated the crush of humanity on a commercial flight, but sadly, Rick had the company jet.
It chafed to know Rick was fighting their battle with Moreau. Matt should be the one to end his reign of terror. He should be the one getting vengeance for Cat. Still, what the hell did it matter? Dead was dead. The important thing was Moreau would no longer be a threat to them. If the bastard hadn’t played God with all their lives, he, Cat and Rick could have moved on with a little grace instead of the absolute cluster fuck it became.
One thing Matt could say for a long flight, first class gave a guy plenty of time for research. He studied every resource on Alejandro Dias, the Cali Cartel and the Lust for Life Resort, including the VampNet. He had a tour arranged at Maynard’s plant the day after his arrival, but with luck, he’d be able to do a little reconnoitering before heading inside under his own identity.
Though Dias was considered a bad guy in the mortal world, vamps were much more sanguine about his activities. Mortal drugs had no adverse effects on vampires, aside from a nice party high delivered by donors, so they didn’t care about human addiction, or the deaths resulting from illegal activity. It was a mortal problem. The advent of Humanité changed all that. Several hundred undead became dependent on Veronique’s drug, which would be of keen interest to men like Dias, who already thrived on exploiting weakness. No wonder the drug lord was sniffing around Veronique. So, what was her part in it?
Was she looking to make a deal with Dias behind Papa’s back? Knowing Ronnie, that seemed likely. If it was true, Matt expected to see Humanité back on the market in short order.
He withdrew the small vial he still carried in his breast pocket, the one that had contained his last dose of Humanité. It’d taken him to heaven and hell. It had also allowed him a semblance of a human life with Cat, and though she’d been lost to him for weeks, he couldn’t escape the longing for what had been.
Knowing it was purely symbolic, Matt opened the vial and peered into the emptiness. As empty as their hopes, as stark as the life he lived without her. For all his feigned enthusiasm for Cat’s “new life,” the truth was, he missed her like he’d miss a severed limb. Though he lived an unnaturally long time without her, he hadn’t known joy until he met her, and now, he felt as desolate as nuclear winter with an absent sun.
Matt acknowledged again what he’d known from the moment their paths crossed. A relationship with him was the worst possible choice for Cat. Even if he were able to score a human lifetime’s worth of Humanité, they’d never be able to have children. It was possible that though he appeared human, he wouldn’t age, and she’d be left to deal with the insecurity of aging in front of a man who never left his twenties. It made no difference to him, he was in love with her, no matter the age, but how would she feel about that? Would she, in desperation, ask to be turned? That would not only rob her of her mortal life, but potentially her eternal one as well. He wouldn’t allow himself to be the instrument of her damnation.
Abruptly, he wished for the certainty of a priest, the certainty of someone who believed he knew the answers to all the eternal questions. It was something he and Cat would have to work through together, if they were given the chance, if Veronique resumed the manufacture of Humanité.
Despite all the risks and pitfalls, it was sure as hell worth buddying up to Ronnie to find out. There was only one way he knew to get Veronique’s attention. It was too shameful to contemplate and too effective to ignore. He was going to have to rock out with his cock out and hope Dias didn’t mind sharing. Jesus, but they were all playing a dangerous game.
* * * *
Rick held a lightly fragranced Irish linen handkerchief up to his nose and mouth as he exited the airport at Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Bejesus, he hadn’t been in this shit hole since he’d dealt with some French pirates in the 1730s, but as far as he could tell, nothing much improved. Cars and trucks replaced horses and wagons, the streets were paved after a fashion, but the people still lived in an unacceptable level of squalor. This part of the city had been further compromised by the tragedy of the 2010 earthquake, from which most of Haiti still had not recovered. If landowners like Moreau and his ilk had their way, the rich would continue to get richer, and the poor would starve.
He cursed Georgia when a neon green pickup truck pulled before him at the curb, and a jovial black man announced himself to be, “Wester, your driver and tour guide.” Not that Georgia hadn’t warned him about the odd taxis.
Rick sighed and warily eyed the smoking truck. “Will that thing make it to the hotel?”
“Oui, monsieur,” Wester replied with a crooked, toothy grin. “She’ll take you anywhere you wish to go.”
“Uh-huh. I’m meeting some landowners there, Wester,” Rick told him with slightly more optimism as he climbed onto the dust-covered front seat. He watched with horror as his Hermes luggage was thrown into the truck bed as if it were bales of hay.
“Très bien, monsieur,” Wester nodded. You may count on my discretion in this matter.”
“
Ordinarily, I’d welcome discretion.” Rick smiled. “Today, I have reasons for wanting news spread that I’m here and about to become the largest coffee grower in the country. Do you have family and friends who gossip?” He pulled several hundreds from his wallet and fanned them before the astonished man.
“Oui, of course, monsieur,” Wester agreed, and then hesitated. “You realize you are inviting trouble? Toughs and thugs hired by your competition will come after you if you announce yourself so publicly. And you,” his smiling eyes were sorrowful, “do not look like a fighter.”
Rick gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I might surprise you, and I’ll risk it. You just spread the word.”
“As you wish, monsieur.”
* * * *
Cat was unexpectedly annoyed by the Los Angeles heat. It was October and cool, verging on cold at night in New York, but it was downright hot in Los Angeles. Even the layered clothing she’d brought from the east was too much, and she stripped down to a cami and slacks as she waited for the agent to bring her rental car around. She’d lived in Los Angeles the greater part of four years, and yet the town felt foreign, pixilated, as though she could prick her finger on this version of reality.
Not knowing where else to start, Cat drove to the familiar, and then pulled up outside the apartment building she’d called home for so long. It looked startlingly faded and distorted compared to the structure she remembered. It had only been a handful of weeks since she’d seen it. How could it have changed so alarmingly, or was it she who had changed?
Did loving the mysterious Matt transform her that much? Where was he? How could he love her and leave her in such hell? Were they just afraid to tell her he was dead? Do vampires die? And the ultimate question, was he really a vampire?
Cat wanted to scream with frustration. The elusive answers dogged her every unguarded moment of her life. If she didn’t find some concrete evidence one way or the other within the next few days, she intended to check herself into the nearest psychiatric hospital and beg for drugs.
Blood Rising Page 23