They walked along a hallway that ran parallel to the stage and stood to one side to wait, their eyes on the dressing room doors.
A moment later Mac Brodie came around a corner. His face was scrubbed clean of stage makeup, and his golden hair was still slightly damp. He walked toward her. “Miss Gryffald, I’m delighted to see that you took me up on my invitation. And these lovely ladies must be your cousins, Sailor and Barrie.”
“Yes, Sailor, Barrie, please meet Mac Brodie. And of course you know Declan.”
“Of course,” Mac said, smiling and shaking Declan’s hand. Their eyes met and seemed to convey an unspoken message, which disturbed Rhiannon.
They knew something she didn’t. Exasperating! How could she work when everyone kept secrets from her?
“Nice to see you here. And, Barrie, Sailor—a pleasure,” Mac said. “So, what did you think?”
“I thought everyone was wonderful,” Sailor said. “Especially Drago.” She frowned slightly. “Do I know you?” she asked him.
“I hope you feel that you do—that’s the ultimate compliment for an actor,” Mac said.
“Really?” she asked.
“So I hear,” he said, and shrugged.
“One thing amazes me,” Sailor said, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I had no idea that Mr. Jackson was playing the role himself.”
“He’s a multitalented man,” Mac said. “Come on, I’m sure you want to tell him yourself how much you enjoyed the show. And he’ll be delighted to hear it. We’re having a bit of a celebration tonight, because things are coming together so well. You can meet everyone.”
He led them down the hall to a door marked Jack Hunter/Mac Brodie. Mac opened the door, and they entered.
The entire cast was there, everyone in civilian clothes. Hunter Jackson was seated in front of his dressing table, and the others were gathered around him. Champagne was flowing, and hors d’oeuvre trays covered every available surface. Hunter was laughing up at Audrey Fleur, the brunette playing Erika. Kate Delaney, the blonde who played Jeneka, was chatting with the actor who had portrayed the innkeeper. “Lucy,” real name Lena Ashbury, was chatting with the actress who had played the innkeeper’s wife. The buzz in the room didn’t stop when they entered; apparently this group was ready to party with any and all comers.
“I’ve got to talk to Hunter,” Sailor said, and walked over to the director.
Kate, bearing three glasses of champagne, walked over and welcomed them, then handed glasses to Rhiannon and Barrie, and then Declan. “Mac, you can grab your own champagne. And you must all be friends of Mac. Oh, wait! I know who you are,” she gushed to Declan. “I’ve seen your face in the paper. You’re Declan Wainwright, and you own the Snake Pit.”
“Guilty,” he said.
“Now I wish I was going to be in the movie,” Kate said, smiling.
She made a good vamp, Rhiannon thought. Vamp, in the old-school sense, not vampire. The woman was definitely human.
Declan introduced the women, and Kate continued playing hostess.
“So nice to meet you, Barrie, Rhiannon,” she said, and smiled, lifting her champagne glass, a slight knot of confusion tightening her brow as she asked Rhiannon, “Are you, um, with Mac?”
Mac, who had gone to get some champagne, slipped close to Rhiannon’s side. “Yes,” he said, before she could protest.
Rhiannon got the impression that Kate wasn’t pleased by his answer. She wondered if Mac had ever given the woman any reason to feel proprietary, then reminded herself that Elven had a talent for engaging people on a sensual level even without intending to. And when they did intend to... Well, they were extremely sexual beings, and the numbers of them that now populated L.A. bore witness to that fact.
“I’ve seen you before, too,” Kate said. “Somewhere.”
“Rhiannon sings at the Mystic Café,” Mac explained.
“I’ve never actually been in there,” Kate said. Then, having decided that Mac was interested in Rhiannon, so there was no point making a play for him, she turned to Declan. “Of course, I have been to the Snake Pit,” she enthused.
“I’m going to introduce Rhiannon to the rest of the cast,” Mac said to Declan as Barrie wandered off to check out the canapés. Once again Rhiannon had the uncomfortable feeling that the two men were sharing information she wasn’t privy to.
“What the hell is going on here?” Rhiannon demanded as they walked away, standing on tiptoe and whispering in his ear. She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder and was annoyed by the jolt of lightning that seemed to sweep through her as she touched him. Elven! She hated knowing he had that kind of power over her. She wanted to snatch her hand away, but he caught it, and Elven were strong. She couldn’t have pulled free without creating a scene.
He leaned down and whispered back, his lips close to her ear, “Not the time to ask.” His tone carried a warning.
“I want answers,” she said.
He told her softly, “Smile. Kiss my cheek. I’m trying to buy you entry around here as the woman I’m seeing. Go with it.”
She kissed his cheek. Her lips felt as if they were on fire.
Worse.
She felt hungry.
“Ah, the lovely Rhiannon,” Hunter said. “So—I said I wanted your opinion. What did you think?”
“I particularly loved the musical numbers,” she told him honestly.
“I thought you might,” he said. “And?”
“I like the twist at the end, too. I think you’re going to be a success on stage and on screen,” she told him. That was honest, too. A show didn’t have to be brilliant to make it big; it just needed the right ingredients. Hunter Jackson would see that this one did.
Rhiannon felt someone close behind her.
Vampire.
She turned. Audrey Fleur was standing there. She smiled at Rhiannon, then dipped her head in acknowledgment that Rhiannon was a Keeper.
“Hi,” Audrey said cheerfully.
“Hi, I’m Rhiannon—”
“Gryffald. I know. I just met your cousins. It’s great that you came to the show. Mac brought you, of course.”
“Yes, good old Mac,” Rhiannon said, and shot him a look to be sure he didn’t miss her meaning. “I didn’t know that you would be having a celebration.”
“I’m sure that’s why he brought you and your cousins tonight,” Audrey said. She clinked her champagne glass against Rhiannon’s. “This is our last night of previews. It’s a big deal for us. We’re crowing with delight—except for Mac. He acts like it’s just another day’s work for him.”
Mac shrugged. “I just know the game, Audrey. One day you’re hot, one day you’re not.” He smiled to take any sting out of the words. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I want to show Rhiannon around the theater.”
She smiled, far too aware of him slipping his arm through hers as he led her out of the dressing room and toward the back of the theater.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked him.
“First, to meet Joe Carrie. The playwright. He’s out onstage.”
“Shouldn’t he be at the party?”
“He should, but Joe’s a funny guy. Kind of quiet, not a big party animal.”
He took her hand and led her along a narrow passageway and out onto the stage. “Joe?” he called.
There was a man onstage, pad in hand, talking to several others about where to reset props for the next performance.
He was tall, dark and probably about forty-five.
When he turned to look at Rhiannon, she knew.
Vampire.
“Joe, meet Rhiannon Gryffald. Rhiannon, our playwright and stage manager, Joe Carrie.”
Joe Carrie immediately stopped what he was doing, a broad smile on his face. He came forward and shook Rhiannon’s hand enthusiastically. He looked around and lowered his voice. “Piers Gryffald’s daughter? Great to meet you. You’re the new Keeper for the Canyon vampires, aren’t you?”
“Yes, and it’s g
reat to meet you, as well,” she said.
“What did you think?” he asked anxiously. “Factually speaking, I mean. Bram Stoker didn’t have it so wrong, really. Most of all, did you have a good time tonight?”
“Yes, of course, I especially love the musical numbers,” she said.
He beamed. “Thank you!”
“Rhiannon’s a singer, so I thought you two should meet,” Mac said. “I’m going to show her around a bit more now, Joe.”
“Enjoy,” Joe said, still smiling.
“Where to now?” Rhiannon asked as Mac led her away.
“Outside,” he said.
She didn’t know why she felt such a sudden surge of dread.
Yes, she did. She knew she was going to hear more about the murders.
She wanted desperately to get away from him. Maybe it was because he had way too much of the legendary Elven charm, and she was afraid that when he told her bad news she was going to curl up against him in the hope that he could somehow make all the bad stuff go away.
“You coming back?” Bobby asked when they reached the door.
“We’ll be back before the party breaks up, I promise,” Mac assured him.
“Where are we going?” she asked again as he practically dragged her toward the rear of the parking lot—and the lake beyond. She was going to be strong, she decided. Strong as befit the Keeper he didn’t think she had the capability of being. And he needed to know that she was strong, as well. “You do realize that I have the ability to wrench someone’s head off if I need to, right?”
He paused at that. She didn’t think he’d meant to be rough—Elven were just over endowed with strength as well as charm. She found herself being spun around to face him and read incredulity in his eyes.
“You think I intended to hurt you?” he demanded. “Why, you...brat! I’m trying to help you, you little idiot. This is your jurisdiction—you should have stopped this!”
“This? You mean the murders? Yes, this is my jurisdiction—and has been for a whole week, which means the killer started working before I even got here, not to mention that he chose victims who wouldn’t be missed and was careful to hide his crimes. And you know what else? If you knew what was going on, you could have called me. You know, picked up a phone, introduced yourself and explained that there was a matter that required my attention. And what’s it to you, anyway? You’re an Elven. Do you know who one of the victims is or something? Have you lost a friend, a fellow actor...what? Don’t you dare get mad and put me down when you have me running around in circles for simple information!”
“First off, Miss Gryffald, I don’t have any information on who the dead might be. And I didn’t call you because we’d never met, and it was more important that you see the play, because I think the play and the murders are related, and that’s why I’m even in the damned thing.”
“What do you mean that’s why you’re in the damned thing?” Rhiannon demanded.
“I’m not an actor, Rhiannon. I’m a cop. My name is Brodie McKay, not Mac Brodie. I’m working undercover, and before my captain gets impatient with the fact that I haven’t discovered a damned thing yet and brings in more cops who aren’t part of the Other community, I could really use some help—from the vampire Keeper.”
Rhiannon stared back at him, feeling like a fool.
He was a cop.
Working undercover.
He could have told her that earlier. Or that hairy bastard of a medical examiner might have mentioned it. They were withholding information as if she didn’t matter—and then getting mad when she didn’t perform up to their standards.
She straightened her shoulders and smoothed down her wounded pride, dredging up her strength and determination. “Thank you for the information,” she said, then stared at him for a long moment, shaking her head. “You’re Elven, so why don’t you just read minds until you find the connection?”
“Whoever is doing this knows how to be careful. It’s almost impossible to get into the subconscious, and so far all I’m getting is people running lines and bitching because so-and-so has a bigger part. Most or maybe all of it is legit. If the killer is here, I’m being blocked,” he told her. “I need the killer to slip up—and having the vampire Keeper actually involved just might provoke that.”
“Well, the vampire Keeper might have been involved already if the cop had seen fit to tell her what was going on,” she retorted.
Then she turned and started heading back to the theater, moving with as much dignity as she could manage.
“Hey!”
She didn’t want to halt her perfect exit, but she did. Turning around sharply, she asked, “What?”
“I didn’t bring you out here for a tryst. I thought you might like to see where the last victim was discovered,” he told her, sounding weary.
“Is that going to help us at all?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not the vampire Keeper,” he replied.
She walked back to him. At that moment she hated the crystalline hypnotic power of his eyes, eyes that so often seemed to mock her.
“No. It won’t help me—certainly not at this point. If there was something to be discovered there, either the crime scene investigation unit or you would have found it by now. On the other hand, hearing the truth from everyone rather than being taunted will help a hell of a lot. If you don’t have anything solid for me, excuse me. I’m going to go home and sort out the lies and omissions from the truth. Somehow I don’t feel that I’m going to get any assistance with that from the people who should be helping me. Good night, Mac—or whoever the hell you really are.”
This time she completed her exit, relieved to see that Sailor and Barrie were already at the car. She unlocked it and slammed her way in.
Barrie might have questioned her mood, but Sailor was still going on and on about the play.
Rhiannon turned up the radio, but Sailor didn’t notice. With the cacophony rising in her ears, Rhiannon drove as quickly as she safely could, fighting the urge to scream the whole way home.
* * *
Once she was home, Rhiannon headed up to bed, thoughts about the night swirling through her head. Brodie McKay was absolutely the most annoying man she had ever met.
He could have just told her right away that he was a cop. No—she had to meet him while he was pulling a ridiculous stunt in front of her place of work.
Her pillow took the brunt of her anger as she curled into bed, but her mind continued to race. Aggravated, she tossed and turned for hours. Then, somehow, she drifted into sleep.
Somewhere in her mind, darkness turned to a soft swirling silver mist, and in that mist, he was walking toward her.
He was shirtless. She groaned, longing to touch the sleek and shimmering contours of his well-muscled chest. He walked fluidly, a small smile curving his lips as he approached her. He was coming to taunt her, of course, to make a comment about her lack of prowess as a Keeper, to tell her...
But he didn’t speak. When he stopped directly in front of her, she could feel the heat that emanated from him, could feel his breath.
He was Elven.
Perfect face, beautiful and yet masculine, with strong cheekbones and a stronger jaw, a full mouth, and those eyes of his...eyes that read her mind, delved into her soul.
Still without speaking, he lifted a hand and cupped her face, and she knew that when he looked into her eyes, he could tell that she was waiting, longing, for him to do more.
And then his lips touched hers. She could feel the sense of power and passion that lay beneath his gentle touch. Her arms lifted without conscious thought on her part and wound around his neck. The kiss deepened; it was simmering and liquid, and ignited a fire inside her.
And then he touched her, truly touched her.
His hands slid over her flesh, and their clothing was magically gone. She ran her fingers down the hard length of his back and over his buttocks as she felt him crushing her to him. The silver mist formed a bed, and they fe
ll back on it together. He broke the kiss and straddled her, and his eyes continued to hold hers as he lowered himself again, capturing her mouth. His hands were amazing...Elven hands. They caressed her midriff, teased her breasts.
She arched toward him, trying to deepen the kiss, but he pulled away. Then his lips moved to her collarbone and her breasts, then lower still. She could barely breathe as he teased her in every imaginable and intimate way, until she was whispering his name, then crying it aloud as she threaded her fingers into his golden Elven hair and drew him back to her. At last they were making love, and she was twisting and writhing in awe and wonder, the world nothing but the heat and fire of the man in the silver mist....
She cried out.
And woke herself from her dream.
She realized she was lying alone in her bed and groaned out loud, humiliated—and desperately glad that she lived alone and that Merlin was far too polite to have glanced into her bedroom. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment—even though she was by herself.
She threw her pillow across the room.
“I hate Elven!” she announced to the empty air. “Hate them, hate them, hate them!”
She shuddered and glanced at the clock on her bedside table. 5:00 a.m.
What the hell. She rose, strode into the bathroom and took a very cold shower.
Chapter 5
Back at the station house, Brodie handed a copy of the full audition list for Vampire Rampage to Adam Lansky, one of the department’s research techs.
The younger man looked at the size of it and then looked up at him. “And you want me to...?”
“I want you to track down the people on that list and make sure they’re alive and well,” Brodie told him.
Adam was the best at searching through the internet for clues, and he had figured out how to access almost every database imaginable. If there was a code, Adam could crack it. Brodie had long ago decided it was best if he didn’t always know how Adam got his information.
“I don’t even know who our victims are,” Brodie told him. “Maybe this will help.”
Adam frowned. “You think the dead men are actors who didn’t make the cut? Maybe I haven’t lived in L.A. long enough, but wouldn’t a rejected actor want to kill an actor who did get into the play, not vice-versa?”
Keeper of the Night (The Keepers: L.A.) Page 7