Christian smiled to himself as he tossed another log on the fire. That had been a part of Josette’s charm. She was fearless, with no guile or shame. Had she betrayed him and taken Gaétan back as her lover, or had someone so close to him that he was like a brother fallen in love with her as well? He could not blame Michel if he had fallen in love with her, nor could he confront Josette. She had accepted them on their terms without sacrificing her own life. Like Amanda, who only wanted to understand them, Josette had never been afraid of the vampires she had taken as her lovers.
The front door clicked just before dawn. The French doors opened and closed silently as his best friend crept into the room. No human would have heard his approach. Christian had been sprawled out on the couch for hours, gazing into the fire and trying to imagine what was happening at the museum at that moment. Amanda’s kiss kept distracting him. Michel sat down in an overstuffed chair near the couch.
“I see you let her in this time.” Michel had smelled her as soon as he opened the front door. “How long before you chased her out?”
Christian rolled his eyes at his best friend, but he knew him better than anyone.
“What the hell are you wearing, Michel? Christ, you look like a satanic ostrich.”
Michel jumped up and twirled around to show off his short jacket and his black jeans with the pants legs cut horizontally.
He smiled devilishly. “It fits my persona, don’t you think?”
Christian begged him to sit down and gave him the details of his visit with Amanda. Michel listened intently, not surprised at her intuitiveness, and only rolled his eyes once when Christian described kissing her then making her leave him. Christian purposely waited until almost dawn to tell Michel that he found Gaétan at work in the museum and that he had executed their plan. He directed Michel to the mantle, where a terra cotta figurine sat crammed between his authentic collection of Ming vases.
Michel picked it up and closely studied the valuable sculpture as Christian reminded him that all they had to do was to wait, be patient, and let the mortals and their laws do the rest. He reminded Michel that he was keeping Amanda out of danger this way. As he retired for the night, he wondered if he wasn’t trying to convince himself. Perhaps he had too much faith in Ross and the mortal world. Gaétan’s presence scared Christian, although he would never admit that to Michel. Whether Gaétan meant to take Amanda back to Paris or he had fallen for her remained unclear to him.
He found it ironic that they had shared three of the same women. It was too bad there had been such hate between them. He wondered how Amanda felt about her friend, Thomas. Did she love him, or was he just a good lover? The difference was not lost on him as he turned on his side and stared at the machete he kept by his bedside.
As the sun rose, he could not help but dwell on Gaétan being able to walk around in the daylight while he could do nothing. He tried to imagine what the sun would feel like on his face, what it would be like to see the blue sky again, but the memories eluded him. If he took some of her blood, he could experience it, too, but at what price?
He would have to wait until nightfall to take part in the drama at the museum. His last thought as he drifted off was of Amanda, her beautiful eyes closed, anticipating his kiss. He tried not to feel too hopeful.
Once at home, Amanda took a long hot shower and then she crawled into bed. Lying in the darkness, Amanda thought about her conversation with Christian and how his kiss had made her feel. She wondered about the vampiress Gabrielle, and how incredible it must have been for her to have both Christian and Michel as her lovers. The fantasy aroused her but she was too tired to think much more about it.
She noticed the tiny green light flashing from her desk and jumped up. She had forgotten to check her cell phone voice mail. There were two messages. One was from Bethany, telling her there had been a change of venue for Jeff’s birthday celebration. At the insistence of one of Jeff’s friends, the after-dinner festivities were taking place at this weird club he had heard about, the Grey Wolf. Bethany did not sound thrilled, but commented that Amanda might be, especially if that rude guy was there. She meant Christian of course.
The second message was from Thomas and he definitely wanted to be counted in for the after-dinner party on Friday night.
Suppose Christian is at the Grey Wolf as well?
Amanda wondered whether she would be happy with Thomas if Christian had not come into her life. Perhaps, but meeting Christian had changed everything. She had found the man of her dreams and he was all that she wanted. There was no turning away from him no matter what he was.
Chapter Eighteen
ROSS CHECKED HIS watch again; it was only two in the morning but it felt like noon. He was so looking forward to having the next two days off he could not wait for his shift to end. Four more hours and he would be on his way home. He had promised Melinda they would go over to New Jersey and down to Atlantic City to do some serious gambling. Though it was premature, the detective began to put away the numerous files that littered his desk. The homeless would have to wait until next week.
He had just come back into his office from the records room when the alarm went off. His heard Briggs yelling as he ran down the hallway towards Ross, “Jesus Christ, it’s the Met.”
Ross grabbed his jacket and his gun, and ran down the hall. As the officers took off on foot toward Fifth Avenue, Ross shivered.
Son of a bitch, he really did it.
Gaétan and Lazarra had just sat down with their coffee when the code came over their walkie talkies. Gaétan froze, and Lazarra almost spilled his coffee all over the table, cursing at no one. Both guards had read and rehearsed for such an event, but at that moment they were paralyzed, unsure of what to do. Gaétan watched as Lazarra wiped up his coffee and tried not to panic himself. He knew museum protocol; there would be a lockdown and no one would be allowed to leave until security had cleared them.
Gaétan had almost none of Ryan’s blood left. Though he was older and needed little to survive, he still craved hunting and killing mortals. Taking their blood was almost secondary to killing them for sport. The kill had even more appeal for him. He checked his watch: 3:05 AM. Hopefully he could stay calm for the next few hours while he was questioned.
He thought he felt something close by just before he and Lazarra had gotten into the elevator; one of his own kind, perhaps? He had found recently that he was losing his ability to sense or smell the presence of another vampire. Had Solange finally followed him to New York to seek her revenge on him like a scorned lover, or had Christian discovered his real identity? Scarier to him than this reality was his reaction to it. He kept telling himself he would slaughter Amanda when the time came and replenish his diminishing supply of blood.
He was meeting her on Friday night. Perhaps then he would make his move and take her back to Paris as he had originally planned, yet the world of the Parisian vampires seemed so far away and no longer a part of his life. It was all so confusing and Gaétan was no longer sure of his destiny. He quickly followed Lazarra upstairs to the Great Hall for further instructions.
“Hello,” Amanda murmured into her cell phone. It was 5:30 AM.
“Amanda, its Cole, sorry to have to wake you up like this but there’s been a break in at the Met.”
It took her a moment to realize it was her boss calling her. “What?”
She rolled over and tried to clear her head.
“There’s been a robbery Amanda. I’m on my way over there right now.”
“When? Oh my God.” She reached over to turn on the light on her end table. It was hard to think in the darkness.
“All I know is that our galleries have been robbed,” he replied, his voice holding just a hint of disbelief.
“What was taken?” Amanda stared down at the floral pattern in her pajamas, trying to make sense of it.
“I don’t have any details.” Cole sounded stunned. “All I know is that the alarm went off and two museum guards responded. The call
went right to the Central Park precinct. I am on my way over there now.”
Amanda’s thoughts were racing as she lay back down. Who would dare try to steal anything from one of the most prestigious and revered, not to mention well-protected, art institutions in the world? The Met had one of the most advanced security systems on the market. She impulsively flipped on the news, wondering if the story had gone public, but found nothing.
When she realized she was not going to fall asleep again, Amanda decided to check her e-mails. She had just turned on her computer when the phone rang again.
“Hi, it’s me. You need to come over right away.”
“How bad is it, Cole?”
“All I have been told is that it was as neat as a pin.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Amanda tried to get a read on the situation from Cole’s voice.
“The police need to question our department. They’ll let you in at the 84th Street entrance and then direct you where to go, okay?”
As she turned on the hot water, she thought about Thomas. He was working the night shift. He had to know about it. She debated calling him, but then stopped herself. She imagined he would be questioned, too, along with all the guards on shift. After taking a record-breaking five-minute shower, Amanda threw on a pair of brown woolen pants and a white cotton sweater. She quickly dried her hair and applied lipstick and eye shadow. She thought that the face in the mirror looked older and more guarded than the woman she remembered staring back at her last summer.
After squirting on her favorite perfume and putting on a pair of silver earrings, she grabbed her purse and her coat. The number Six train heading uptown was already crowded, but she managed to find a seat. The sun was already up when she came out of the subway onto Lexington and 86th. She called Bethany as she walked towards the museum, and left a detailed message about the events there. She also expressed her disbelief that the party plans had been changed, but said that she would speak to Thomas.
He is only three blocks away, she thought, heading down Fifth Avenue. Does he sleep in a coffin? I can’t believe he lives right here. He has always been so close. She flashed her ID and passed through the security booth before stopping to glance at her watch: 6:30 AM. It already felt like a long day.
She was directed to the first bank of elevators. The operator nodded hello and then pressed the button for the fourth floor: conference room 4B. She nodded back. It was too early to make small talk. Although being questioned was standard procedure in an investigation like this one, she still had a large knot in her stomach.
I guess I’ll find out now, she thought, knocking gingerly on the light wooden door with the gold letters 4B emblazoned on the front. It opened quickly. Bob Hart, the museum’s head of security, stood in the doorway.
He looks tired, she thought as she entered the room, blinded by the white lights.
They were baffled. No matter how many times the security department replayed the tapes the same image appeared on the screen; a flicker of brilliant light and then the smashed case. Numerous small screens covered the walls of the small, dark security office, but Bob Hart, Detective Burt Ross, Sergeant William Briggs, and Jean Paul Rènard, Director of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, stood staring at one screen in particular.
At 03:00 hours nothing was amiss and the case was intact. Then a blinding flash of light and a muffled sound like a hand hitting cardboard. The time: 03:01 hours. Bob Hart had already begun to question all guards on the night shift. Once the alarm had gone off and the police had arrived no one had was allowed to leave until they had been cleared by the NYPD.
“It’s like a phantom was there.” Sergeant Briggs kept commenting, scratching his head.
Or a vampire, Ross thought, as he watched the tape over and over.
Amanda had returned to her desk around eleven AM, just in time to check her voice mail messages before being summoned to Cole’s office down the hall. She sat down in a faux Louis XVI chair, the only other piece of furniture in his tiny office beside a large wooden desk and shelves of books.
The questioning had been grueling and Amanda felt mentally exhausted. No matter how many times she went over her daily schedule, after a while she even began to second guess herself. She knew she had nothing to hide. She tried to imagine what had been stolen. It felt like a dream. Staring up at one of Cole’s photographs of the Latin Quarter in Paris she imagined walking there with Christian on a beautiful summer night.
“Amanda, are you alright?” Cole’s voice broke her reverie and brought her back to the present.
“I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Being questioned like that is exhausting. Even if you know you’re innocent, you begin to doubt yourself.”
“Bob just called me. There are no prints, nothing on camera, just a vitrine with an eight-inch hole in it,” Cole explained, shaking his head unable to share with her what had been stolen.
“The police will find something.” She noticed how tired he looked. “What about the Louvre, are they still sending the desk?”
Their department was mounting an exhibition to open in a few weeks which included a rare writing desk owned by Marie Antoinette.
“Jean Paul has been on the phone with them himself all morning. I suppose they could rescind.”
Cole was the most serious man she had ever known. At first she had thought it was their age difference, but as she got to know him better, she realized that Cole Thierry was just born old. She considered it a personal triumph if she got him to laugh. Though she did not consider herself the most lighthearted person, she felt like a standup comedian compared to him.
“I can’t believe it’s time to think about that dinner dance again.” Amanda tried to distract him.
“I know.” He rolled his eyes and picked up a stack of papers. “I’d better try to get some work done here.”
Just then Bob Hart appeared in the doorway.
“Sorry to interrupt, Cole. Could I speak to you for a minute?”
Amanda headed back to her office to try and get some work done. It was hard to stay focused, so she gave up after an hour. She restacked the books in the “to read” pile on her floor, and then sat back to relax just as her cell phone rang. It was Bethany.
“Holy shit, Amanda. What’s going on over there?”
“I really can’t say much about it, but there was a robbery.”
They spoke briefly and Amanda promised to call her later and was again interrupted by her office phone.
“Amanda Perretti.” She answered curtly.
“Did they put you under the hot lights and sweat a confession out of you?” Thomas asked in his heaviest French accent.
“Oh yeah, but I think I passed with flying colors. How about you?”
“I think I passed. How is the infamous curator handling all this?”
“Oh, you know Cole, grace under pressure as always. He tries not to show it, but he’s really upset. He can’t help but take it personally.”
“Is the Louvre still sending the desk?”
“I don’t know.”
“Hey, are we still on for Friday night?”
“There’s been a slight change in plans. One of Jeff’s friends convinced him to go to this club in the West Village called the Grey Wolf, or something like that.” She feigned playing dumb to cover up her guilt. She was the world’s worse liar, but she could manage it better over the phone.
When she heard nothing, she thought he might have hung up or perhaps they had been disconnected.
“Thomas, are you still there?”
Amanda held on to her cell phone and listened to the silence.
Chapter Nineteen
ROSS WAS DYING for a fresh cup of coffee. He had been cocooned in the museum all day, interviewing any staff connected to the department, including security and maintenance personnel. It was now six in the evening. He was back in his office at the precinct trying to sort through his notes and regroup from the day. In the men’s room he splashed some cold
water on his face, shaken over the deception he felt a part of.
He had left a message for Christian explaining that he had interviewed a Thomas Bretagne and he wondered if this was the vampire they were looking for then placed a call to Melinda to let her know their weekend in Atlantic City was probably off. Ross thought about getting some dinner when Briggs stopped in. A boy’s body had been found on the shores of the loch and he was on his way to check it out.
Homicide had identified one David Hensen from Montclair, New Jersey. The boy had been drained of all blood, which matched the same MO as all the other homeless victims, only this kid was a college student. Ross went to the precinct door and wondered if more snow was in the forecast. He hated winter and anything to do with it and vowed every year to move to Florida. He imagined himself walking a beat in South Beach or Ft. Lauderdale.
By the time he finished all his paperwork and checked in with Briggs it was midnight, Thursday morning. He had read the preliminary report on Mr. Hensen, studied the photographs and decided to call it a night. There was nothing more to be done. Ross said goodnight to Briggs and headed home, east on the 85th street transverse. He loved to walk and tonight, despite the cold he needed to clear his head and suck down a few cigarettes on his way home. An occasional jogger passed, bundled up against the winter chill, but otherwise he was alone. He lit a cigarette and began to sort through the clues from the murder at the loch. It had to be the same perpetrator, who was offing the homeless.
Yeah, the total blood loss would point to a vampire, Ross. Call a spade a spade.
He was still spooked over this Thomas Bretagne. Was he the vampire Christian was hunting for? He instinctively moved to his right to let a jogger pass then flicked his cigarette butt.
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