“Yes. Quite,” he agreed, although his mind wasn’t on the painting.
Simon must have sensed it, for he said, “She must be special.”
Diego looked up and examined his keeper’s wizened countenance. The man had aged greatly in the past few weeks without the special bite Diego had been bestowing during the last century. Despite the aging and the death it would soon bring, peace filled Simon’s face.
The last time Diego had felt peace like that had been…last night in Ramona’s arms. After the sex, as he’d lain there, holding her and watching her sleep, he’d felt peace. Until she had turned in his arms and he’d noticed the small smudges along her thighs. His fingerprints marking her. Reminding him of her fragility.
Of her mortality.
“I need to go,” he said and finished wrapping the painting in the centuries-old canvas. He tucked the picture into the padded crate he had brought home from the gallery.
When he walked to the door, Simon called out to him, “Diego, it’s not all bad, you know.”
“What isn’t all bad?” he asked, confused by his keeper’s comment.
“The living beyond your time. When you have the right people with you, it’s not so bad.”
An aura of vitality swirled around Ramona when she rolled open the door to her apartment. In addition to that increased hum of energy, a becoming flush tinged her cheeks and her smile brightened her eyes.
When Diego stepped inside, she stood before him hesitantly, wiping her hands on the apron she wore. The sweet aroma of tomato sauce spiced the air, and he gave an appreciative sniff, as he expected a human date might.
“Smells good.” He laid a hand at her waist and drew her close. She met him for a kiss and after, with a smile on his face, he said, “Tastes better.”
Ramona shot him a tentative smile and slipped her hand into his. “I thought the least I could do was make dinner to thank you.”
He followed her to the kitchen table, where he held up the bundle of mail he’d picked up on his way in.
Ramona motioned to the island. “Just leave it there. I’ll look at it later.”
Seeing her busy at the stove, her back to him, he asked, “Can I help with anything?”
“Why don’t you open the wine.”
He did as she asked, then poured two glasses of merlot and took them over to her. With her free hand, she accepted a glass and raised it to his. “Salud, amor y pesetas.”
He smiled at her use of the Spanish toast, and sipped the wine. Full-bodied and earthy, the merlot was a welcome change on his palate from his usual beverage—blood. “Very nice,” he murmured. She shrugged. “I’m sure you’re used to a better vintage. And much fancier cuisine.”
“Without the company, even the finest meal would seem bland.”
Ramona chuckled. “Smooth, Diego. Does that work with all the women?”
Her comment awakened him to her ambivalence. “I sense you have an issue with my charm. Or is it about my wealth?”
She put the cover back on the sauce and faced him. “So you admit you are quite well-off?”
“Quite. Is that an issue?” he pressed as she walked past him to set the table.
He stepped around and grabbed hold of her hand. “You’re pushing me away today. Why?” But even as he asked the question, he realized that maybe it was for the best. They were just too different in ways that could never be harmonized.
Ramona looked down at their hands and twined her fingers through his as she said, “Last night…it was great. Duh, as if you didn’t already know that.”
He gave a playful shake of their hands. “Definitely amazing, but too fast. I really want to know more about you. Let things develop a little more slowly.”
“You can’t rush a fine wine,” she quipped. Though fearing what she might see, she risked a glance at him, and felt relieved at the caring she noted on his features. Would it turn to pity if he knew she didn’t have the time to let things develop more slowly? That she had to grab life and everything in it quickly, before it disappeared?
And yet she knew he was right. She’d known it even as they had satisfied each other last night. “So, tonight is about…”
“Getting to know each other.” He bent and kissed her, a soft, gentle kiss nothing like those from the night before.
When they broke apart, he smiled and said, “So how was your day?”
Guilt twisted in her belly, because everything she said now would be a lie. “I went back to sleep. Then I got up and did some work.”
She moved away from him, worried that he would pick up on her deception, and busied herself with serving dinner as he sat down at the table.
“How was your day?” she asked, eager to move the focus from herself.
Diego began an account of what he had done earlier. “I spoke to Richard Bridge from the auction house, and he provided me with the name of the appraiser.”
“And…?” Ramona brought the plates over and placed one before Diego.
After taking a forkful of pasta, he continued. “Knowing him as I do, I worried that he might not have taken adequate care about the provenance of the works, but the appraiser he hired had impressive credentials.”
“You were able to speak with the appraiser today?” she asked.
“He was more than eager to come see the painting I claimed to have.”
“Claimed to have?”
Diego paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. “El Greco. An oil from his days in Toledo.”
Her own fork clattered to her plate. “El Greco?” she squeaked, well aware of the price a painting by that master would bring.
Diego sensed her surprise and discomfort. She was already hung up about the differences in their financial situations, so to calm her concerns, he lied. “I had access to the painting, and I must say that Williams, the appraiser, did exactly what I would expect a competent appraiser to do.”
“He authenticated the painting just like that?” She snapped her fingers for emphasis.
“Actually, no. He made notes of several details, including the fact that it wasn’t in its original frame. He indicated he wanted to do some additional analysis, much as he should, since the work was one previously uncataloged anywhere.”
“An El Greco that no one has seen before? How unusual. But if the provenance was in order—”
“I told Mr. Williams I needed help with the provenance.”
Silence followed his statement. After a long pause, Ramona said, “You asked him to help you fake the paperwork?”
He shrugged. “Not in so many words, but yes, I guess that’s what I was implying.”
When he hesitated, Ramona urged him on with a wave of her hand. “And he said—?”
“Good day and here’s my bill. I believed him. So we’re back to square one, because it doesn’t seem as if the auction house or the appraiser was in on whatever switch happened.”
Ramona peered into her wineglass and swirled the contents around before stating, “You said yesterday that you wouldn’t put it past your friend to not care about the authenticity.”
“But I also know that Richard’s the kind of man who can’t help bragging. If he had pulled off something like this, he couldn’t keep from letting me know.” At his words Ramona slumped in her chair, some of her earlier
animation gone. Diego laid a hand on her shoulder and said, “We’ll figure this out.”
She nodded, sipped her wine and motioned to his half-eaten plate. “Did you like it?”
He had. Normally he ate human food only to keep up appearances, and didn’t much care how it tasted. But the sauce had been particularly good and the small amount of garlic had barely registered with his vamp physique.
“It’s very good,” he said, and in an effort to please her, he ate some more.
Ramona tackled her own plate, her appetite surprisingly good today. Maybe it had been the earlier transfusion that her physician, Melissa Danvers, had insisted on after her poor lab results. The transfusion had given Ramona more energy than she’d had in weeks. She wanted to make the most of how she felt today….
Including making the most of the time she was spending with Diego, since based on the lab results, her time might be growing short.
Because she didn’t want to keep on discussing her problems with van Winter, she turned the conversation toward the painting she had started earlier that afternoon—an oil of the sketch she had made of Diego the night before. It would take some time for her to really do it justice.
Time she would fight for, she decided. The painting had become about something more. About hanging on long enough to explore the emotion growing in her heart. Maybe even about hoping that she would get better and be able to grow old with this man who intrigued her so.
When they finished the meal, she started clearing the table and rinsing plates for the dishwasher when Diego said, “Let me do it. That’s the least I can do to help.”
She wanted to argue that he had done quite a lot to help her already, but she saw the earnest look on his face. Maybe a little touch of the common man’s world was a novelty to him, she thought. She suspected that Diego rarely did dishes.
With a nod, she left him to the cleaning up, taking a seat at the kitchen table and finishing her wine as she observed him. Contrary to what she might have thought, he was quite proficient—and a totally arresting sight as he stood at her sink.
He had dressed casually tonight, but that did nothing to take away from his inherent grace and elegance. The stylish jeans he wore hung loosely on his lean hips and long legs, but the simple black knit Henley hugged every muscle in his chest and arms.
Heat rose up in her as she remembered those arms around her. The press of his chest as he’d held her.
She finished her wine and poured another little bit from the bottle. While a glass a day helped with her low iron count, anything more was out of the question with all the medications she was taking. As she sipped that final portion, she noted the mail Diego had dropped on the island earlier.
Glass in hand, she walked over and undid the rubber band the postman had slipped around the bundle. She tossed aside the usual junk mail and bills, but paused as she got to the big white envelope that had been wrapped around the other mail. Placing her glass of wine down, she opened it and peered inside.
Photos? she wondered, reaching in and removing them.
As she saw what they were, she gasped in shock.
Chapter 11
D iego had just placed the last plate in the dishwasher when he heard Ramona’s stunned gasp. Turning, he noted that all color had fled from her face and that her hands shook as she picked up some papers from the island. He went to her and gently guided her to a chair since she didn’t look very steady.
He took from her what he realized were photos. The first image gave him no cause for alarm. Just a mundane multistory brick building on some nicely kept grounds. The next photo troubled him more. An older woman with a strong resemblance to Ramona sat in a chair, staring blankly out through sliding glass doors. Beside her, a young candy striper read from a magazine.
“Your mother?”
With a trembling bob of her head, Ramona explained. “After van Winter’s first threat, I moved her to a different nursing home.”
From Ramona’s reaction, Diego guessed these photos were from the new location.
Careful not to handle them any more than was necessary, he slipped them back into the envelope. “I have a friend who can help us.”
“Van Winter warned me—”
“She’s with the FBI. She can be trusted.” He stroked Ramona’s back with a soothing gesture, but the tension in her muscles remained.
“Why would she want to help me?” Ramona faced him, determination etched into her features as if to say that no matter what, she could take care of herself.
He cradled her cheek. “Because she’s my friend and because I care about you.”
FBI agents clearly didn’t keep regular hours, Ramona thought as she and Diego entered the club where they had agreed to meet his friends. Still nervous about expanding the circle of people aware of van Winter’s actions and her own involvement in the fraud, she nevertheless knew she had to trust others if she was going to protect her mother. More than anything, that was the one thing that concerned her.
That and making sure Diego stayed safe, as well, she thought when they walked through the crowded club barely an hour later.
As they approached the bar, the neon sign for the Lair gleamed bright red, spewing light onto the customers and seeming to spill blood onto the gleaming stainless surface. It reminded her of her one visit to the morgue, part of a tough-love session at juvie. The administrators had figured it best to show the detainees where they might end up if they didn’t mend their ways.
Well, she had changed her path in life, but still found herself with an express ticket to the same destination.
“You okay?” Diego asked, leaning toward her to combat the noise from the rock band loudly playing onstage.
“Fine,” she said, although a knot had formed in her stomach after they had left her apartment for this rendezvous.
Evidently spotting his friends, Diego waved to a man and woman seated at the bar.
The man was starkly handsome, with dark hair and a goatee that framed a mouth that should be declared illegal. As his eyes roved over Ramona, assessing, she realized how dark and fathomless they appeared, until the slim woman next to him laid a hand on his thigh. Life filled him with that touch, somehow lessening the severity of his appearance.
Ramona examined the woman, the FBI agent. For a chauvinistic moment she wondered how such a small person could possibly stop one of van Winter’s steroid-amplified goons, but as their gazes locked from across the distance, Ramona discerned the woman was not to be taken lightly. Steely determination filled her otherwise tired-looking face.
When the two of them stopped before the couple, the woman rose. “Let’s go to the office, where it’ll be more private.”
Without waiting, she walked off, and the threesome followed her, weaving through the crowd and up some narrow stairs.
The staircase was so tight and airless that Ramona experienced a moment of claustrophobia before reaching a more spacious hallway on the next floor. From there, it was just a few short steps to the office, a nice-size room filled with touches of old-world charm totally at odds with the shlocky vampire-themed space below.
Once inside, the petite woman turned and finally introduced herself. “Special Agent Diana Reyes,” she said, and offered her hand.
Ramona shook it.
“Ramona Escobar.”
Diana’s companion spoke next. “Ryder Latimer. I own this place.”
Which made her wonder why he was trustworthy with her mother’s life. But if Diego had faith in him, Ramona would honor that confidence. “Thank you for agreeing to help me.”
“Any friend of Diego’s is our friend, as well,” Ryder said, although his tone seemed to be dubious of the “friendship” claim. Quite frankly, he was spot on. She and Diego weren’t just friends. Of course, they weren’t lovers, either, in the true sense of the word.
They had had sex. Where that put them on the relationship scale she didn’t know.
Diego coughed uncomfortably as if warning Ryder to go no further with that statement. Instead, he took command, motioning that they should all sit down on the couch and chairs at one side of Ryder’s office. After, he filled in Diana and Ryder on all that had happened, and the information he had been able to get earlier that day.
Diana listened patiently, her green, catlike eyes shifting from Ramona to Diego, clearly assessing everything. Her skin was pale despite its slightly olive cast, or maybe it appeared pale because of her dark, nearly seal-black hair, closely cropped at the nape, but longer up top. Her serviceable white shirt coupled with the dark suit seemed to indicate that she had come straight from work. As Ramona took a closer look, she noted the edge of a black leather shoulder strap when Diana leaned forward and braced her elbows on her knees. A quick peek confirmed a telltale bulge near her left armpit.
The woman was lethally armed, and not just physically, Ramona decided. She had a competent but dangerous air about her, warning that she was not to be messed with. Her questions confirmed that impression.
“So there’s no one who can corroborate the threats?” she asked, leaning back into the wing chair stationed across from where Diego and Ramona sat on the couch.
Desire Calls Page 13