by Martha Woods
Cara glances at me knowingly, but she doesn’t refute the lie, for which I’m eternally grateful. My life may be pretty screwed up at the moment, but at least I have her.
Tommy grins at that. “Fun, huh? Now that’s the Amy I remember. You always were up for a good time.”
“Well, I had to grow up.” I laughed. “But I do still enjoy a good time once in a while. You know, when I’m not hanging out with dead people.” Okay, a bit morbid. But police humor tends to be pretty dark.
“You know what,” Cara interrupts. “You do enjoy a good time. Why don’t we go for drinks tomorrow night? We can start with cocktails and then head to a club. You up for it Tommy? You can even bring Julia.”
I want to kick her under the table, to get her to just stop talking. I do not want to go out with Tommy and his pretty new girlfriend right now. Not when my boss thinks I’m insane and my mind is filled with thoughts of blood sucking monsters. But I can’t convey that. Not now. It would be too obvious. Instead, I smile and nod encouragingly at Tommy.
“Sure, why not,” he says. “I don’t know if Julia will be able to make it, but I’ll ask her.”
“Great,” Cara says. “I’ll text around and get some more people involved. It’s going to be great to catch up with everyone.”
We make some more small talk until Tommy finally drains his coffee and stands up. “Great to catch up with you girls,” he says. “I should be heading back to work. See you both tomorrow night.”
“See you tomorrow.” Cara smiles.
“Bye,” I say.
I watch him walk away and whirl on Cara. “What the hell was that?” I demand.
“What was what?” Cara says. She seems genuinely puzzled.
“I would just appreciate you asking me if I wanted a night out with my ex-boyfriend before you invite him along.”
“Oh relax,” Cara says. “You two are still friends, aren’t you? There’ll be a bunch of us. You’ll barely have to talk to him if you don’t want to. Anyway, it is so obvious you’re over him.”
“Well, of course I’m over him. I was over him before the relationship even ended.”
“I know,” Cara agrees, “but you just confirmed it by having an actual conversation with him without saying anything stupid or embarrassing.”
I laugh. She’s right. Why should I care if Tommy and perfect Julia tag along?
“I thought a few drinks with the old crowd might cheer you up and take your mind off what happened, that’s all. I’m sorry. I can text Tommy and call it off if you want.”
“No, don’t,” I smile. “You’re right. I could do with a good night out. Let’s get drunk and dance. No mention of work.”
“It’s a date.” Cara grins.
* * *
I spend the rest of the day trying to come up with an excuse not to go out with Cara tomorrow. It’s not that I don’t want to spend time with her. I do. And I have a feeling that once I’m actually there, I’ll be glad of the company and the distraction. But it’s hard to imagine myself sipping cocktails and dancing with my friends given all that’s been going on with me.
Still, I can’t think of a good excuse not to go, and every time I try to brainstorm one, I end up sending myself on a guilt trip. You haven’t gone out with Cara in ages, I tell myself. She probably misses spending time with you, I reason. Do you want to lose your best friend over your stupid vampire obsession? That last question gives me the most pause. If I’m being honest, I’m scaring myself. Because I do believe in what I saw. And my instincts tell me this whole mess isn’t over yet. That my involvement in all of it will not end with being kicked off a case.
So, I’ll go. I’ll dress nice, slap on a little makeup, and dance with my best friend. Because who knows when Mister Muscles is going to waltz back into my life and suck my blood?
I take myself shopping in the afternoon, after Cara’s gone back to work and I’ve forced myself to stop agonizing over tomorrow’s friend date. Cara would be jealous if she knew I was shopping without her. She loves to shop. She is far from irresponsible with her money, but she has expensive tastes, and likes to treat herself once in a while. And she always says it’s more fun if she does so with a friend. In fact, those shopping dates usually result in the only going out clothes I own. Cara has great taste. I’ll admit that she’s talked me into more than a few pairs of heels. On my own, though, I’m not much of a shopper, but it’s something to do. Maybe I’ll find something cute to wear to the bar tomorrow.
I kill time window shopping, and it is not until I notice the sun beginning to set that I realize how long I’ve been wandering around. I blink at my watch, startled. Then my body snaps out of its trance and my stomach starts to growl, my feet begin to complain from hours of trawling the mall aimlessly. I haven’t eaten lunch, or sat down to rest my feet this whole time. I look down at my empty hands. I haven’t even bought anything.
Snap out of it, Amy.
* * *
That night, I dream of bloodied women in dark alleyways, of men with viscous, snarling faces and rotting, pointed teeth. I dream that someone is clutching me in his arms, gripping me with impossible strength, his teeth sinking into my neck. Rick is there watching, shaking his head.
“Vampires, Amy?” he says, as the life begins to leave me. “Don’t you realize how that sounds?”
I wake up screaming.
Chapter 4
I jump out of the cab after paying the driver and groan inwardly when I see the huge line to get into the bar. I’m already twenty minutes late. Cara has texted me twice to check that I’m still coming. If she texts again I’ll end up turning around and going home.
I head towards the entrance to The Cosmopolitan. Named after its signature cocktail, the place also does amazing Italian food.
My feet are already starting to ache from the five-inch heels, but I like how they make me taller, and the way my legs look in them. I shiver slightly, rubbing my arms. The short black dress looks good enough that I don’t care if I freeze.
I make my way inside past the bar to find Cara’s table. It’s already pretty crowded, but I love the food here so much I don’t mind a wait.
I send Cara a “where are you?” text, but spot her soon after it’s sent. She’s towards the back, the whole crowd of our friends sitting around a large table. I walk over, dodging people left and right in the crowded restaurant.
“Hi,” I greet everyone as I arrive. The large round table is encircled three-quarters of the way around by red velvet seating, and the rest of the table is surrounded by tightly packed red velvet stools. Cara got a good turnout. I spot Tommy and Julia towards the end of the seat and throw them a quick grin. I’m not annoyed that she could make it. Not at all. Much. I have to stop thinking like that. It’s not like I want Tommy back. It’s the last thing I want. And I’m sure Julia’s a really nice girl. A really nice girl that just so happens to be younger and thinner than me.
I squeeze onto the end of the seat beside Cara, who looks stunning. Her red hair hangs in loose curls around her face, and her sparkly green dress matches her eyes.
“How’s it going?” I grin.
“Good,” she says. We shout slightly to be heard over the music. “I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”
“So you said in your two text messages,” I laugh. “Sorry. My cab was late.”
“Do you want a drink?” Cara asks.
“Yeah,” I answer. “I just wanted to say hello first.”
“Well, you’ve said it!”
She shouts the last part loudly enough for everyone to hear. It is met with whoops and whistles and a few raised glasses. It’s going to be a good night. I can feel it.
“I’ll be right back, I need to go to the ladies’ room quickly.” I excuse myself from the table, perhaps just buying myself a moment away from the awkwardness of having Tommy and Julia sitting right opposite me. I’ll get over it soon enough. But everyone’s got their insecurities, right?
I make my way to the lad
ies room, but just as I’m about the open the door, I hear a voice in my ear.
“Excuse me, miss,” the voice says.
I turn, a smile on my face. The smile vanishes when I saw who it is. I am standing looking directly into the face of the man from the alleyway. Not Mister Muscles. The other one. The one who left urgent bruises on my arms before disappearing into thin air.
With an audible swallow, I turn away from him. It can’t be him, I tell myself. It can’t be. But it is. I know it, and there is no point in lying to myself about it. I feel a rush of fear. Why is he here? Was he looking for me? Did he follow me here?
I don’t have any answers anymore. Seeing him makes me certain once again that I am not crazy, that I really did see those things in the alley. But that’s a small comfort, if any. Somehow, though, the man himself doesn’t make me feel afraid. He makes me feel a lot of things, but fear isn’t one of them. The fear comes from the thought that if I’m not coming unhinged, something equally frightening and even more impossible is happening, and I’m somehow mixed up in it.
I decide then and there that I am going to hunt this man down right now and ask him all the questions I need answered. And if he thinks I’m crazy, so what? I don’t know him, and I don’t care what he thinks of me. Except I sort of do.
And if he does turn out to be some kind of psycho killer? Well, I am still a cop at heart, even if I am on leave. I can handle it. Plus, it’s not like he is going to try and off me in one of the most crowded bars in the city. And I am not even close to stupid enough to go off somewhere quiet with him.
The decision made, I turn around. He’s slipped away into the crowd, and I’m suddenly unsure if he even recognized me at all, or if he was just trying to slip past some woman in his path and that woman happened to be me. Even so, I scan the venue. It doesn’t take me long to spot him and my uncertainty disappears. He remembers me. He stands opposite me, only a few strides away, his back leaning casually against an ornamental column, smiling at me.
I cross the distance between us quickly, somehow feeling more powerful since I’m wearing my heels. “Who are you?” I demand.
“I believe we’ve already met. My name is Vincent,” he says simply. “And your name is Amy.”
My calm demeanor slips a little when he utters my name. The pause before it tells me he wants me to actually hear it. To understand that he knows who I am.
I clear my throat, determined not to show him how disconcerted I was am, how hypnotized I feel by those almost black eyes. And most importantly, I am determined not to let him see the shudder of desire that went through me when he said my name in his low, seductive voice.
There is something raw and masculine about him, even down to the way he smells. Musky and wild. Feral, almost.
“I know what you did to that woman,” I blurt out.
“Yes, it was lucky we both saw her fall, wasn’t it? She could have been there for quite some time, exposed and alone, otherwise.”
I barely hear his words. His voice is almost hypnotic, soothing. I shake my head slightly. What’s wrong with me? This man attacked a woman in front of me, and I’m fighting the urge to flirt with him.
When I look at him, I don’t see a monster or a serial killer. All I can see is him sweeping me up into his arms, kissing me, holding me close.
“Why did you disappear when the others came?” I ask. I choose my words carefully. I don’t want to say vanished. I want him to know I know, but I don’t want to say it out loud.
He shrugs with one shoulder, an easy, languid movement. “They would have thought I’d done something to her.”
It is a reasonable explanation, but I don’t buy it. Not for one second.
“I will find out the truth of all of this,” I vow.
He doesn’t respond. He just stares at me, his expression unchanging. I feel exposed, naked somehow under the intensity of his eyes. They fix onto mine and won’t let go, as if we are magnetized to each other’s gazes. I find myself afloat in a sea of darkness within those eyes. I remain silent for a moment, trying to find some composure.
“I’m going to prove that what you did to that woman wasn’t normal,” I say. It’s not the best choice of phrase, but it does have a certain ring of truth to it. It wasn’t normal. Not even close.
Again, Vincent doesn’t speak. He just watches me. There is a look of amusement on his face that almost makes me angry, but I just can’t seem to muster the emotion. There’s something false about the expression, though. His mouth curls up slightly, but those intense eyes never change, never show any trace of the amusement or of any other emotion. They barely blink, and they never once leave mine, not even for a second.
With a force of will I didn’t even know I had, I pull my eyes away from his, and the spell is broken. Of course, he hasn’t been hypnotizing me with his eyes. What am I thinking? He was probably just watching me intently, making sure I wasn’t going to flip out or something, and that unnerving appeal I felt towards him made it seem like he was transfixing me deliberately.
“Don’t think I’m letting this go,” I say.
“Maybe you should,” he responds.
Oh, he’s found his tongue then. I wish he would find mine. I blink the thought away. I am so annoyed at myself. When did I become this teenager trapped in an adult’s body who goes to pieces around anyone remotely good looking?
That’s not entirely fair, though. Vincent isn’t just good looking, he’s more than that. There’s just something about him. Something I can’t put my finger on. Something intriguing and mysterious and downright hot.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It’s like my cop brain and my primal brain are at war. I try to bring myself back into focus. I’m not sure what to make of his response. Is it a thinly veiled threat? It sure sounds like one, but the sincerity in his voice and the sympathetic frown make me think otherwise. Maybe it’s more of a warning. That if I don’t leave this case alone, I’ll only send myself crazier. Except that’s crazy, because Vincent doesn’t know about any of that. Or does he? I find I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he knew everything that had happened since he disappeared out of that alley.
He’s right of course. Not about the crazy – let’s face it, I’m already there. He’s right that I should drop it. If Rick finds out I’m still sniffing around this case, or any other for that matter, I’ll be suspended. Maybe even fired.
I should really text Rick, let him know Vincent is here. But something stops me. It’s partly a pride thing. He didn’t believe me last time, so why should I put myself in that position again? But it’s more than that. Vincent is something different, and I don’t want Tommy, Cara or even Rick getting in the way of how this thing will play out.
Vincent has gone back to staring intensely at me. It’s unnerving and fantastic at the same time. It worries me a little how much of an effect he is having on me. I always thought I was above these instant attraction things, but this is different. I’m scared that if Vincent whispered I should go jump off a cliff, I would.
And something in his slightly arrogant stance tells me he knows it too.
I know I’ll get nothing else out of him now. And the longer I stand here, the greater his effect on me; the more I feel his pull. I’m not even sure how long I’ve been speaking to him, or how long I’ve been playing this mental tug of war with myself. Without another word, I turn and walk away from Vincent, heading back to my friends.
I don’t need to glance back to know he is watching me walk away. I can still feel those eyes boring into me, as though they can read my very soul. I want to look back; I want to see his face one more time, but I don’t. I won’t give in to this. I won’t. And somehow, I know I have far from seen the last of Vincent.
I plop back into my seat beside Cara.
“About time,” she laughs. “Didn’t he even offer to buy you another drink?”
I look down at a full Cosmopolitan. I don’t even remember ordering it; it must have been Cara wanting to get my night
started. I drain the liquid. It tastes good and strong. Perfect.
“I’ll go and order another round,” Tommy announces, standing. “Same again, everyone?” Tommy signals the waiter.
He doesn’t seem the least bit fazed that I’ve been talking to a handsome stranger. Well, why would he?
I realize Cara is still waiting for me to answer her. “We were just chatting,” I say. “Why would he offer to buy me a drink?”
Cara snorts laughter. “Sure you were,” she says. “You were talking to him for a while. Come on, spill.”
A while? That can’t be right. I sneak a glance at my watch.
My thoughts are interrupted by Tanya, a girl from Cara’s office. “Damn girl, you did well there,” she says with an appreciative nod. “Did you give him your number?”
I nod mutely. I didn’t, of course, but if I say that, they’ll want to know why, and I am nowhere near ready to get into all of that. Saying yes is the easy way out. Plus, I can’t help but think that if Vincent wanted to call me, he wouldn’t need me to have given him my number. He would just know it.
Tanya and Cara are laughing and discussing where Vincent and I might go for our first date. It feels so surreal, but how can I stop it? I laugh along.
“If he called me, I don’t think I’d even bother with the date.” Tanya laughs. “I’d invite him to my place for dinner, and we would get right on to dessert the second he rang the doorbell.”
At least I’m not totally crazy. He is incredibly hot. Maybe that’s all my weird response to him was. But surely I shouldn’t rule out the fact that I’m almost certain he’s a serial killer.
A huge tray with our drinks arrives. Everyone has cocktails, and a round of tequila shots. I am saved from further questioning as everyone starts passing around salt and handing out lime wedges.
I’m not a huge fan of tequila, but right now, I need to get drunk and forget all of this. Forget Vincent, Damon, and the events of the last few days. I lick the salt and throw back the shot, then suck on the lime, grimacing. With a laugh, I take a gulp of my cocktail to wash away the taste.