La Vida Vampire

Home > Mystery > La Vida Vampire > Page 14
La Vida Vampire Page 14

by Nancy Haddock


  I felt my eyes widen.

  “The Daytona victim’s neck was broken, too,” Saber added.

  “Bu-but it’s hard to break a neck, isn’t it?”

  “How would you know?” Saber asked.

  “Mostly TV.”

  “CSI?” March scoffed.

  “Bones,” I answered, remembering a specific episode of the series. “You have to be a ninja or a special forces guy—or drop someone on their head or something.”

  “Or have vampire strength?” Saber taunted.

  “For your information,” I snarled, “I don’t use my vampire strength, and the only thing I ever purposely broke was a cooking bowl of my mother’s. I was three.”

  “Uh-huh,” Saber drawled. “Let’s get back to Gorman. You told us yesterday afternoon that you would file an assault complaint if you knew his name.”

  His snide tone fired my temper. “No, I said I could have, as in having grounds to do it. Besides, since when is filing an assault complaint equal to setting a guy up for murder?” I snapped my fingers. “Oh, I know. It’s not.”

  “We also found paint cans in the Dumpster,” March said, watching me closely.

  I sat straighter. “The kind of paint on my truck?”

  “That hasn’t been ascertained yet.”

  “I did not vandalize my own truck,” I said through gritted teeth. “I just had her repainted and detailed, and it wasn’t cheap. And you,” I added, pointing at Saber, “told me last night you didn’t believe I’d done it. Why would you change your mind?”

  Saber gave me a long look. “You have plenty of money. A small fortune, judging by the balance in your bank accounts. You could get that truck fixed ten times over and not feel the pinch.”

  “Except that I happen to have even more sense than I do money. I take care of my things. I save for the long afterlife I plan to enjoy.”

  I didn’t know what fixing my SSR would cost but consoled myself thinking that it could’ve been worse. It could’ve been bombed and set to go off with me in it. Or with people going in and out of the bank parking lot. Yep, it could’ve been much worse.

  “Who knows what kind a vehicle you drive?” March asked.

  I answered slowly, thinking. “Let’s see, Maggie, Neil, the paint and body shop guys. The bridge club ladies.”

  “Janie? Mick?” Saber prompted.

  “Yes, I’m pretty sure they know.”

  “What about Holland?” March asked.

  “Not unless he saw me driving it.” I looked at Saber. “You haven’t located him yet?”

  “The only Holland Peters we’ve found,” March answered, “died five years ago in Tulsa.”

  My jaw dropped again. “Why would he give me a false name?”

  “I don’t know,” March said, “but we need a description.”

  I gave as accurate a description of Gomer (so not Holland Peters) as I could—right down to a small mole on the left side of his jaw. I hadn’t remembered that until I pictured him in detail.

  I also remembered why fishing had rung a faint bell. While Gomer had hung at the back of Tuesday’s tour with Stony, I’d eavesdropped every little while. Not that you could call it a conversation, but I overheard Stony say something about trips to deep-sea fish. Specific times or places I didn’t hear, but Gomer would’ve. Who else could have heard the exchange? And, big, huge, this-one’s-for-all-the-money question, who would kill Yolette, implicate me, and frame Stony?

  “Ms. Marinelli,” March said, rather loudly since he was right next to me.

  “Yes, what?”

  “I understand your roommate and her boyfriend left for the weekend.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you’ve not rented a car?”

  “What, are you offering a loaner?”

  He rolled his eyes, the first true flash of humor I’d seen from him today.

  “I’m offering a deal. I can’t hold Mr. Gorman. No matter what else he has or hasn’t done, we don’t believe his threats against you are idle. In fact, he admitted hearing about the murder and coming back early specifically to hunt you down. For your safety, I’ve requested that Special Investigator Saber stay with you for the time being.”

  “Oh, but I’m calling a girlfriend to stay with me.”

  “Janie Freeman?”

  I nodded.

  March shook his head. “It won’t do. Ms. Freeman is a witness, and she won’t be any help protecting you if the need arises.”

  He turned off the tape recorder and closed the file with my name on it. “You need to be guarded.”

  “What you mean is, I’m still a suspect.”

  He inclined his head. “Take it as you like. Either Saber stays with you or you can be a guest of the county.”

  I didn’t know if he could make that threat stick, but I do know when not to push my luck.

  Afterlife is full of challenges. I was stuck with Saber, but I’d deal with his surly attitude. I’d hunker down in my room and have as little as possible to do with him.

  No chance for my libido to go haywire.

  Much.

  In the parking lot on the way to his SUV, Saber told me he’d already checked out of his hotel and would take me straight to the penthouse. As we settled into his Vue, I glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. Seven o’clock. Good. Traffic might have thinned by now, which meant less time stuck only touching distance away from the man. And, if he’d cooperate, I’d still make dance class. I’d like to be in control of something again.

  “I don’t suppose,” he said as we cut off U.S. 1 to take the downtown route, “you have food in the fridge.”

  “Probably not. Maggie eats out and makes sandwiches a lot.” I stole a glance at his profile. “You could go eat while I’m taking my salsa class.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “No problem. The class is taught in a restaurant. You like Spanish food?”

  We stopped at the light where A1A cut over to Vilano Beach, like the twentieth car in line. So much for traffic thinning.

  Saber edged his aviator shades down his nose and looked over the rims at me. “You’re not even going to try to make this assignment easy, are you?”

  I shrugged. “Where’s the hardship in eating out?”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “You’re the one who agreed to play jailer.”

  “Bodyguard.”

  “Whatever. You could’ve pulled rank on March and refused.”

  “I figured,” he said as the light turned and the cars in front of us accelerated, “you’d rather have me around over going to jail or being with a complete stranger.”

  “I’ve got news for you, Saber. You’re strange enough.”

  “There’s the pot calling the kettle black.”

  I crossed my arms over the seat belt strap. “I’m not the least bit strange. I’m just trying to have a normal afterlife.”

  “You’re a vampire. There’s nothing normal about it. Vampires don’t take dance lessons. They don’t play bridge. They don’t, for God’s sake, surf.”

  Everybody’s a critic. I ground my teeth as he braked again. Now we were tenth in line. “What’s your point, Saber?”

  “You’re not mortal, Francesca,” he said, his eyes again hidden behind the aviator shades. “Stop trying to blend.”

  His use of my given name slowed my tongue for one second before I lit into him.

  “I am not trying to blend. I’ve never hidden what I am. Hell, I have to be registered like a stinking sex offender,” I fumed. “As for dancing, playing bridge, and surfing, maybe I’m ahead of my time. Maybe I want something more out of life than hanging out in nightclubs and being all woo-woo vampiric.”

  “Maybe you’re afraid of being what you are.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve been out in the world since when?”

  “Last August. So what?”

  “How many times have you intentio
nally used your vampire speed?”

  “Once.”

  “And your vampire strength?”

  “Twice on stuck jar lids.”

  “And what other powers do you use?”

  “None.”

  “Wrong. You walk in the sun.”

  I snorted. “That’s not a power. It’s just a—”

  “Do all the other vampires walk in the sun?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I haven’t known any in centuries.”

  “Day-walking is a power. Your vampire senses are a power, and you have at least a half-dozen others you haven’t tapped. You’re a vampire. Be who you are.”

  I balled up a fist to smack him, but checked the impulse as the line of cars moved again. I was being me, and I didn’t care what Saber thought. He was less than nothing to me. A man I wouldn’t have met if it hadn’t been for Yolette’s murder. Sure he was wrong, but why argue with a mule?

  Well fine. Saber didn’t get me, and I didn’t get him. That would just make it easier to ignore him altogether. Ignore the way his tanned hands gripped the steering wheel. Ignore the way his thigh muscles bunched when he hit the brake. Ignore the virility that rolled off him, and remember that he was just a temporary annoyance.

  Finally we arrived home, Saber taking Maggie’s parking space. I hopped out before he turned off the engine and headed around the corner to the building entrance.

  “Don’t even think of locking me out,” he called as he pulled the strap of a black nylon duffel bag over his shoulder and strode after me.

  “Then hurry it up. I need to change for class.”

  “Funny,” he said as we both stepped through the door, “I don’t remember saying I’d take you to this class.”

  I stopped and turned on him. “Saber, you keep pointing out that I am a vampire, a fact I’m well aware of, thank you. How hard would it be for me to throw you into next year?”

  He stepped close enough to be almost toe-to-toe. “You might be able to pull that off, but I am armed. With silver ammo.”

  I snorted. “Apparently my speed can trump your silver bullets, so let’s get something straight. Barring danger to others or myself, I’ll do what I want when I want. You don’t want to drive me to class? I’ll get there on my own.”

  “And if I tell you there is danger at any time?”

  “If I don’t think you’re lying, I’ll defer to you. We clear?”

  He shrugged, but I took that as a yes and marched off toward the elevators. I punched in the code, not bothering to hide it from him, and we rode up in silence. Once in the penthouse, I told him to drop his stuff in the living room. No way was I letting him step a foot in Maggie’s room without asking her first. Yikes! She was going to have a cow when I told her Saber was staying after all.

  I checked messages, and sure enough Maggie had called. I snagged the extension and dialed the number on the way to my room. No answer, but voice mail clicked on, and I left a brief, highly edited message saying Saber was with me, I was going to dance class, and I’d call her when I returned.

  I chucked my clothes and stepped in the shower for ten minutes. The steaming water eased my stress less than I hoped because it triggered memories of that erotic dream. Damn the timing. I gave myself a stern lecture that my libido and Saber didn’t mix as I dried off and donned the red bra and panties I’d broken down and bought myself for Valentine’s Day.

  I applied a little more makeup, rearranged my ponytail, and slipped into one of the few dressy outfits I own: a filmy red, pink, and green hibiscus-patterned skirt and a red scoop-neck blouse with short sleeves. Red was a power color, right? Well, I was going all out tonight. I dug my red pumps with the two-inch heels out of the closet and was ready.

  Back in the living room, Saber sat parked in front of the TV watching ESPN. Did his eyes flick to me as I came in? Who cared? I was ignoring him, right? I crossed to the table where I’d tossed my purse, pulled out a credit card, a twenty dollar bill, and my key.

  “I’m ready,” I said and headed for the door.

  Saber pushed the Off button on the remote, stood slowly, and turned to me. In the time it took him to look me over from head to toe to head again, I could’ve changed clothes another three times. Maybe I should’ve changed, because I didn’t want to like the way his cobalt blue eyes gleamed. In appreciation, I thought, until he opened his mouth.

  “Is this a fancy restaurant you’re dragging me to?”

  I rolled my eyes. “This is a tourist town, Saber. Nothing is that fancy except the Casa Monica Hotel.”

  “Then why are you—” He flipped a hand at me. “—dressed up? You have a boyfriend we don’t know about?”

  “I wish,” I muttered. “Can we go already?”

  TWELVE

  Café Cascada was usually packed on a Friday night, the multiple fountains with their mini-waterfalls a tinkling background music to dining. Tonight, it seemed quieter, the lighting seemed dimmer, more intimate.

  Danielle, part-time hostess, part-time dance instructor, greeted us before Saber and I got all the way in the door. Looking gorgeous in her full, iridescent blue skirt and off-white peasant blouse, her flame-colored hair loose around her shoulders, she beamed at us.

  “Francesca, you brought a dance partner tonight. How delightful!”

  “No, no, Danielle,” I denied, “he’s just here to eat.”

  “Not to dance?” She gave Saber a blatantly feminine appraisal—one I wished I could pull off—and stepped closer to him. “What a shame. You look like you can move.”

  He waggled his brows. “I can.”

  I restrained myself from doing an eye roll.

  “He’s hungry, Danielle. For food. He hasn’t eaten all day.” I shoved Saber toward a table—which was rather like shoving my truck—but I got him to a table for two.

  “Go ahead, Saber,” I said, motioning to the chair. “Sit, eat, have some wine. The class won’t last too long.”

  Danielle, who had followed, pulled the chair out for him, something I’d never see her do for other guests. He rewarded her by aiming a dazzling smile over his shoulder. At me he smirked.

  I escaped—okay, flounced—through the arched doorway into a slightly smaller room ringed with dining tables for two and four. The middle of the floor was left open for dancing, but it looked to be a tiny group compared to most Fridays.

  The Franklins, a middle-aged couple, sipped their usual sangrias. Two blonde women I didn’t recognize, who couldn’t have been much over twenty, sported tight jeans and tighter sweaters. They drank something dark from clear glasses—rum and cola, I thought, though the rich aromas of the restaurant almost overrode the smell of the liquor.

  When the salsa music started, Danielle made her entrance in a swirl of skirts. We reviewed the steps, spending more time on review because this was the blondes’ first class, and because a few diners who had finished joined the fun.

  After fifteen or twenty minutes, we began dancing in earnest, and I lost myself and all sense of time in the music and movement and energy of the dance. Mr. Franklin gamely took turns partnering the three of us singles, but we didn’t mind practicing the steps on our own. We laughed, swayed our hips, and twirled to the driving rhythm. I was having a blast, until I twirled smack into Saber.

  I knew I hit him hard enough to send him reeling. He didn’t. Instead, I bounced off his body, and he reached out to steady me, his hands on my upper arms. My mostly bare upper arms that now crawled with goose bumps.

  I reached for my hair as if to straighten my ponytail, and his hands fell away, but his mischievous grin stayed put.

  “Finished with dinner already?” I asked, a little more breathless than I wanted to sound.

  “Decided to catch the floor show,” he said, “up close and personal.”

  I blinked. His looks, which had struck me as vaguely Latino the first time I saw him, now seemed more so. Even his startling cobalt blue eyes spoke of Latin passion and seemed to challenge me. I felt suddenly hot, the salsa
music thrummed in my body, and a nanosecond later, he stepped into me. He gripped my waist and hand, and moved to the rhythm.

  Body memory is a wonderful thing. It lets you move in ways you know by instinct—or by practice—while your brain is screaming “Oh. My. God.”

  My brain screamed that and more, but I didn’t break free of Saber. I didn’t want to. I simply let myself follow his lead, even when he changed the dance from salsa to merengue.

  I went from hot to flash point when he plastered us pelvis-to-pelvis and rocked to the driving beat. His blatantly sensual gaze held me in thrall. The brush of our bodies made me forget to breathe, but I met him step for timeless step. When I was nothing but molten cells, he dipped me so low, my hair brushed the floor. I didn’t even realize he held my leg behind the knee until applause started and he caressed the bare skin up my thigh as he helped me stand again.

  “Wonderful, wonderful,” Danielle exclaimed from behind me.

  I scrambled out of Saber’s arms and turned, breathing harder than I thought was possible for me. At my back, Saber didn’t sound the slightest bit winded.

  “Really,” Danielle continued, “I’ve never seen the merengue danced with such passion. You two could win a competition.”

  Saber gave her a little bow. “Thanks for letting me horn in on your class, Danielle.”

  She grinned broadly and patted his arm. “Anytime, honey.”

  She dismissed class and reminded us that she wouldn’t be teaching next week. The Franklins looked disappointed, the coeds, crushed. They shot drooling gazes at Saber.

  “Ready to go home?” he asked, taking my elbow to escort me from the restaurant.

  Home with Saber? After an intimate dance that made my erotic dreams look like patty-cake? Ay-yi-yi. He might be my jailer, but there was no way I was ready to be completely alone with him right now. What could we do with the rest of the night?

  Oh, wait! Wal-Mart. Nothing remotely erotic about Wal-Mart, right? Not much erotic about Target or Kmart or a dozen other stores, either, but Wal-Mart was open 24-7!

  Now if I could just get him to take me there.

  “Don’t tell me a manly man like you can’t be seen at Wal-Mart. Heck, Saber, nobody in town knows you.”

 

‹ Prev