A Taste of Twilight

by Aubrey Ross

  Jessie glanced back at the young woman, bile rising into the back of her throat. Detective Fat-Ass was right. The female victim could be her younger sister, if she had a younger sister.

  Sloppy investigation and apathy, no wonder these crimes had gone unsolved.

  Dalton laid his hand on her shoulder. “It’s a stretch for me to be here. We really can’t justify you. We don’t want to compromise the investigation.”

  “Is there going to be an investigation?”

  “I’ll make sure of it. Take the rental back to our hotel and lock yourself in.”

  She stepped closer and lowered her voice, her eyes boring into his. “It’s escalating. The others felt much more random. This smacks of ritual.”

  “I know. Do you want an escort back to the hotel?”

  She shook her head. “Ride him hard. Pyrite has a six-day break. I don’t want there to be another one.”

  Dalton smiled. “Despite the sexual connotation, I’ll ride him hard.”

  Jessie nodded and slipped from the room. This is what they’d been hoping for. She despised the fact two people had to sacrifice their lives to bring them to this point, but no one in their right mind would brush this off as an unhappy coincidence.

  A crowd had gathered in front of the hotel. Uniformed officers were doing their best to keep the throng under control. Gauging by their outfits, many of the onlookers had migrated down the street from the Crimson Carousel. She could picture the headlines. Ritual Murderer Stalks Pyrite Fans.

  Knowing how quickly pandemonium took over a crime scene, Dalton had parked the rental car in a lot two blocks down from the hotel. She withdrew the keys from her pocket and looked under the car as she approached.

  “How many have there been?”

  She gasped, recognizing the deep male voice half a second before she turned around. No one had been following her. She was sure of it. “Where did you come from?”

  “Originally?” Rafe’s dark eyes shimmered in the moonlight.

  “I was watching to make sure no one was following me. How did you—never mind. What was your question?”

  “I wondered how many deaths there have been.”

  “This makes six and seven.”

  He tucked his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket and moved closer. “You don’t believe they’re suicides?”

  “What makes you ask?” She could barely complete a coherent thought when Rafe was near. All she could think about was touching him and being touched by him. This was so unlike her. Casual affairs had never been appealing, and after Dalton, she’d determined it was all or nothing. She’d find a man with whom she could spend the rest of her life or she wouldn’t bother sharing her body.

  So how did this arrogant rock star dismantle her determination without even trying?

  “You asked me if someone hated me enough to frame me for murder, not if I had heard of Pyrite fans taking their own lives.”

  She shivered, more from the disturbing thought than the cool night air. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. His body heat still warmed the leather and she was suddenly surrounded by his scent. Moonlight cast his chiseled features into high relief, accenting his eyes and the flash of his teeth.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?” Low and suspiciously polite, his voice caressed her.

  Story hounds would be out in force tonight. A restaurant was risky. He was Rafe Steele after all. “If I take you to my hotel, do you promise to behave?”

  “No.” A slow, sexy smile parted his lips. “But I promise to exhaust your curiosity before we misbehave.”

  She smiled. She couldn’t help it. He was incorrigible. “Fair enough. Just be warned. I can be very curious.”

  “And I get paid to misbehave.” He walked around the car and waited for her to trigger the locks. “How did you find out about the newest incident?”

  Settling in behind the wheel, she started the engine while Rafe fastened his seat belt. The party gave the band members alibis for tonight’s murder at least. On an instinctive level, she’d never believed they were involved. This felt like something directed at Pyrite, not perpetrated by them.

  “Still not sure if you can trust me?”

  “I know I can’t trust you, but I don’t think you’re a murderer.” She backed out of the parking space and drove across the lot. “Dalton is a cop. He used to be my partner. He asked the local detective to call him if they found a suicide victim during or after your show.”

  “Does the fact that Dalton predicted the crime help or hurt the case?”

  “It should help.” She tried to rid her mind of the female vic’s face, but the similarity to her own kept the image vivid. “There were other indications that this wasn’t a suicide.”

  “Why did you leave the police force?”

  “Long story.”

  “Or butt the hell out, whichever I prefer?”

  “Exactly.” She maneuvered the car with unconscious skill as she determined what to ask and how much to confide. “Are any of the band members married?”

  “Why?”

  “These crimes are making some sort of statement. They’re not random acts of violence. They’re premeditated, meticulously planned and executed.”

  “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Chad and Jason are happily involved in a long-term relationship. Phillip and I are not.”

  The woman with strawberry blonde hair flashed through Jessie’s memory. Did they realize they were involved with the same woman? Better leave well enough alone. “Do you have any rivals? Who managed Pyrite before Thane Burton?”

  “No rivals that I know of, and Thane has been our manager for thirty years. There are no skeletons in our financial closet.”

  “Pyrite has been together for thirty years?” She shot him a disbelieving glance. “How old are you?”

  He smiled and looked out the window. “Is Dalton your lover?”

  She glanced at his profile. He didn’t miss a beat. If she stepped off course, he casually followed. “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

  “Back to the couple in the hotel room. How do you know they attended our show?”

  The hairs on the back of her neck bristled. How had he known they were a couple? She’d only told him there were two victims. Detective Fat-Ass had given specific orders that no information be released until the parents were notified.

  “You know I’m clairvoyant,” he said, still gazing out the window. “Even now their image is clear within your mind.”

  Jessie nodded even though he wasn’t looking at her. They were almost to her hotel. Tension knotted her stomach and her grip on the steering wheel tightened. She’d take him to the hotel bar. He was too unpredictable to take to her room. Hell, her reactions to him were too unpredictable.

  “Are we almost there?” He echoed her thoughts.

  “Yes, but I just thought of something. How will you get to your hotel when we’ve finished talking?” If he expected to spend the night, he was deluded.

  “I’ll call my driver. It’s not a problem.” He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, his gentle touch catching her by surprise. “Why are you so uneasy? You weren’t afraid when we got in the car.”

  Fear didn’t automatically make a person weak. Jessie had learned to listen to her instincts a long time ago. Rafe was dangerous. Even if he wasn’t involved in the murders, he was dangerous. His sexy nonchalance just didn’t add up with the shrewd intelligence gleaming in his eyes.

  “I don’t know you and I think it’s unwise for a woman to be completely alone with a man she doesn’t know. Any man.”

  “Were you victimized by a man? Is that what made you so untrusting?”

  She pulled into the hotel’s parking lot and pulled her keys out of the ignition. “This isn’t a personal affront. I just prefer that our conversation take place in the hotel lounge.”

  “Jessica.” He waited until she loo
ked at him to continue. “I would never hurt you.”

  “I don’t know that for sure.” She opened her car door before adding, “If you knew me at all, you’d know I prefer Jessie.”

  Chapter Three

  Rafe got out of the car and folded his arms on the roof as he scanned the parking lot. They appeared to be alone. Good. It was better if no one saw them disappear. He’d wanted to calmly explain what was going on and then transport with Jessica to his fortress in upstate New York. Her stubborn streak was forcing his hand.

  “I know which diminutive you prefer, Jessica. I think it’s ridiculous for someone so beautiful to be called by such a masculine name.”

  She turned around, as he knew she would, and marched back to him. “Being a female cop was a pain in the ass. Any physical appeal I might possess was and will always be an unwelcome complication. I don’t appreciate your condescension and I won’t answer to Jessica. My name is Jessie.”

  “If you insist.” He shrugged and held out his hand. “You’re wearing my jacket.”

  Her jaw dropped for an instant before she snapped it shut. “If I won’t answer to Jessica, you won’t answer my questions?”

  “I’m not a cop, you asked me here, and you’re a beautiful woman whether you’re willing to acknowledge the fact or not.”

  She sighed and swung his jacket from her shoulders. “Call me whatever you like, but you’re not coming up to my room.”

  “Fair enough, Jessie.” She held out his jacket and he grabbed her wrist, reeling her in until she was flush with his body. “We’ll go to mine.” He wrapped his arms around her and constructed a detailed image within his mind. Home. Take us home.

  She shoved against his chest then cried out and wrapped her arms around him as they catapulted into the sky. Warm and soft, she felt wonderful clinging to him. He focused on their destination and soared. Cool air caressed his skin and whipped his hair across his face. Sight wasn’t necessary to guide their course, so he buried his face in her hair and held her close.

  Faelon claimed he knew Antonelli was meant for him the first time he kissed her. He’d described it as an elemental stirring, an instinctive knowing that he’d found his mate. Rafe had thought it romantic drivel until he kissed Jessica. Her spirit fascinated him. He sensed her nobility, but more than anything, she felt right in his arms.

  “This isn’t real, it isn’t real. You’re dreaming. People can’t fly.”

  Her disbelieving whisper made him smile. Headstrong and self-assured, Jessica was trying to rationalize away the experience even as they sped through the night. And, unfortunately for her, the surprises had just begun. He’d wanted to ease her into this, to offer her analytical mind information and allow her senses to confirm the undeniable truths. Natalie had thrown down the gauntlet. Whether Jessica was ready or not, the competition had begun.

  “We’re almost there, sweetheart. Try to relax. Landings can be tricky.”

  Visualizing his bedroom, he finalized their destination. He tightened his arms around her, pressing her trembling body against his chest, his groin, his thighs. She might have been more at ease if they materialized in his living room, but his bed would offer a softer landing.

  She cried out when they penetrated the roof. The upper story passed in a blur as her cry escalated to a scream. He twisted, landing on his big four-poster bed, Jessie sprawled on top of him.

  She stared into his eyes, her features contorted with fear and disbelief. “What… Where… Oh my god!” She scrambled away from him and scooted off the bed. Her breasts heaved with each frantic breath and she braced her hands against her knees. “What are you?”

  Rafe sat, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I intended to break this to you gently, but you remembered some date rape seminar you’d attended and—”

  “I gave the seminars and there’s nothing amusing about date rape! Women have far less control than men, but there are certain things we can do to decrease our chances of being victimized.” Her practiced speech ended and she was faced with the reality of her situation. “I…we were…flying.”

  “I had to bring you somewhere safe. My house is surrounded by shields. As long as you stay here, they can’t reach you.”

  “What are you talking about? Who can’t reach me?”

  “Jessie.” He took her hands between his. Her fingers were ice cold. “I do have enemies. I thought our last run-in had ended their irrational need to best me, but apparently I was wrong.”

  She licked her lips and drew her hands out of his grasp. “How does killing your fans best you?” Her gaze darted about the room, taking in the massive tester bed and the marble-top dressers. “This is your house?”

  “Would you like something to drink? This could take a while.”

  Jessie glanced from the bed to Rafe and shivered. Her skin still tingled and the faint humming hadn’t left her ears. He flew her to his house to protect her. Her muddled brain slowly began to function. Flew! He wrapped his arms around her and…

  “What are you?” she asked again.

  “We’ll get to that. You need to relax and listen. Where will you be most comfortable?”

  “I suspect what you’re going to tell me isn’t going to make me comfortable anywhere.”

  He smiled, pushing his hair off his forehead. “I suspect you’re right.” He took her hand and led her from the bedroom. “Etoro and I were friends a very long time ago. We had a falling-out and our friendship turned to rivalry.”

  They stepped out into a massive living room. Vaulted ceilings accented the railed gallery, extending along two walls. Doors opened off the gallery, but Jessie could only guess at the purpose for the rooms. An informal eating area was situated in one corner of the main floor, with a gourmet kitchen accessible through a wide archway.

  “Nice house,” she muttered. “Where are we?”

  “Upstate New York, not far from Saratoga Springs.”

  She wasn’t sure exactly where that was, but the detail seemed unimportant given the means by which they’d arrived. “So, you believe Etoro is killing your fans?”

  “Etoro and Natalie. They allied against me long ago.”

  “They want to vote you off the island?” He just stared at her, so she shook her head. “Never mind. What makes you so certain it was them and how am I involved?”

  “I believe the others were bait to draw you into the—situation. You are the object of the competition.”

  “Competition?” Connecting the word with seven brutal murders made Jessie’s stomach lurch. She pulled out one of the dinette chairs and sat. “What makes you think it’s them?”

  He opened the refrigerator and looked at her over his shoulder. “Soda, wine or beer?”

  “Could I talk you out of a cup of coffee? My head is pounding.”

  “Of course. Will coffee take care of your headache? I might be able to scrounge up an aspirin or Tylenol.”

  “Let’s start with the coffee.” He ground coffee beans and filled the coffeemaker with water as she looked around the immaculate house. “You don’t spend much time here, do you?”

  “Why do you ask?” While the coffee brewed, he retrieved a mug from one of the cupboards.

  “It just doesn’t look lived in. More like a show home.”

  “I bought the place seven years ago and I’ve probably slept here twelve times. I have an apartment in Manhattan, but I spend the majority of my time in hotels or at the band house.”

  “The band house?”

  “We bought a house in Falls Church not far from the Carousel. We go there to work on new material and hide from publicity hounds.”

  “I can’t believe Pyrite has been together for thirty years.”

  He filled the mug with coffee and brought it to her. “We weren’t always Pyrite, but the members have been mostly the same…for a long time. Do you take anything in that?” He nodded toward her steaming mug.

  She shook her head and he sat down across the table from her. “This smells wonderful.”
After taking a careful sip, she met his gaze. “Back to Etoro and Natalie.”

  “In the basement of the Carousel, I sensed Natalie. She’s stronger telepathically than Etoro.”

  “The psychic bug.” It all seemed surreal. Telepaths, vendettas and people who could fly. How could she take any of it seriously?

  She swallowed hard. She was sitting at Rafe’s kitchen table in upstate New York. How could she not take it seriously? “Natalie was using Dalton to spy on you?”

  “Basically.”

  “Is Dalton in danger?” She set down her mug and tucked her hair behind her ears.

  “They delivered the message, so they should have no further use for your friend.”

  “What message? I still don’t understand.”

  He averted his gaze and folded his hands on the tabletop. “I don’t know how to explain this to you without just saying it.” He fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable with what he needed to reveal.

  “Just say it.” Tension banded her chest and she retrieved the mug, needing something to do with her hands. Cocky Rafe Steele was squirming like a guilty schoolboy. This couldn’t be good.

  “I’m a vampire.” He turned his face back toward hers as golden light ignited in the depths of his dark gaze.

  She slammed the mug down and stood so abruptly her chair toppled. “Bullshit.” Even as she muttered the word evidence flooded her mind. His clairvoyance, the grace with which he moved—for fuck’s sake, he could fly!

  Other images rushed in as her mind continued to reject the obvious conclusion. Dalton marching across the Green Room like a robot. Her most recent vision replayed. Bellita writhed as two entities swirled around her naked body. Gold, like Rafe’s eyes, the mist encircled Bellita’s wrists.

  “They slit their wrists to conceal the bite marks.” She shuddered. “You’re all vampires.”

  He stood as well and rounded the table, his eyes dark again. “Etoro and I were court musicians in Ferrara, Italy.”

  “Court musicians?” She took a step backward for every step he advanced. Her self-defense course didn’t anticipate the existence of vampires. How the hell was she supposed to protect herself from this?