Okay, so it was a watered down explanation. Since her father was dead, she could truthfully say he wasn’t well. But she couldn’t tell Boudreau that Art had come to meet another witch for the legendary Eye of Bastet, rumored to have the power to revive the dead. He’d never go for that.
“Hmm. Try again, cher.” He studied her. One lean hand reached out and tucked her hair behind her left ear. His hand lingered near her cheek, then dropped back to his side. “What if I told you I know your brother’s here in town to meet a man named Sabin? And that this Sabin is very dangerous? Would you trust me then?”
Dori fought to breathe normally after feeling the touch of his fingers against her face. What was it about this man that drew her so? He was hard but compassionate, strong but gentle, brash and sexy.
Her body began to throb with need. She cleared her throat. “Art is in no danger from Sabin, Detective.”
“Stop calling me that,” he muttered, his deep voice raspy. He stared at her a moment, then asked, “How can you be sure he’s safe from Sabin?”
She stifled a sigh. He was like a terrier after a rat. “Because Sabin and my father were…are friends. Sabin wouldn’t hurt Art.” She looked around at the darkness. The shadows cast by statues and ironwork were gathering, almost like living things reaching out with withered, skeletal fingers.
She sidled a little closer to Boudreau and cursed herself for her love of horror movies. She’d rather not be having thoughts about vampires, ghouls, and zombies right now.
Apparently Boudreau caught her nervous glance, because he stepped forward and took her elbow gently in his strong hand. “This can wait ’til morning, ma petite. Let’s get outta here.”
“No!” She pulled away from him and stumbled against the rough stone of the defaced crypt. With a small cry, she jerked away from the power emanating from within those cold walls.
“That’s it.” Boudreau grabbed her arm less gently this time. “We’re leavin’, cher. We can come back in the mornin’. No argument, or I swear to God I will handcuff and carry you out of here.”
“Wait.” She resisted his tug on her arm, ignoring the flash of heat at the thought of being handcuffed by him. “Whose…whose crypt did you say this was?”
“Marie Laveau, the Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. She was the most powerful of all the voudouiennes. Legend has it that if you knock three times on her crypt, or make three Xs, she’ll grant your wish.”
“Then Emile Bernier’s crypt should be near.” She couldn’t leave now. That was where Art was supposed to meet Sabin. There might be a clue to his disappearance in that crypt. “Please, Jake, just a few more minutes. Help me find Bernier’s crypt. Please,” she pleaded again when he hesitated.
“Oh, very well. Just a few more minutes, though. Then we leave it ’til mornin’, oui?” He waited for her nod then preceded her to the next row of above ground resting sites.
City of the Dead. Dori shivered. That’s what most cemeteries in New Orleans were called, because many of the family crypts looked like miniature houses, complete with iron fences. She wasn’t sure why she was so frightened. It wasn’t as if she had no defense. Her amulet and the protection spell Aunt Clara had said over her should shield her from most evil. But there was something out there…something she couldn’t define, but it was heavy and dark, like an oily cloak of malice.
“Here it is.”
She jumped at the sound of Boudreau’s richly accented words. Jeez, she had to stop watching so many horror movies. With her amulet, blessed with a protection spell, there was nothing there that could harm her.
Maybe if she said it enough, like a mantra, she’d begin to really believe it.
She turned her flashlight to join the light from Boudreau’s, and read the inscription. “Emile Bernier, 1797 to 1852. Dead to life, but alive to eternity.”
Dori probed around the door with her fingers.
“What are you doin’, ma petite? We shouldn’t enter a crypt that isn’t family.” Boudreau grabbed her hand just as her fingers encountered a small latch at the inside molding of the door.
She heard his low exclamation and realized he was standing just behind her. His warm breath tickled her ear and his spicy cologne teased her nose. She wanted to do nothing more than turn around in his arms and give in to her desire to kiss him.
But not here, not now. She had to find Art.
“What now?” he asked.
“Now we go in.”
To her surprise, he didn’t argue, merely squeezed her hand and then let it go. He drew his gun out of its holster and thumbed off the safety. “You stay behind me.”
Flashlight in one hand, gun hand balanced on his outstretched wrist, Boudreau walked slowly into the crypt. A cement stand that was thigh high was central to the small room, with its ornate coffin resting on top. Dori stayed away from the casket and kept behind him, flashing her own light around to look into the corners of the crypt.
After looking for a couple of minutes, she let out a sigh. “Nothing,” she whispered. “There’s nothing here.”
“I don’t know what you expected to find, ma petite. It’s only an old grave.” He holstered his gun and stepped up to her. Sliding the flashlight under his arm, he cradled her face in his hands. He pressed a kiss against her forehead. Her flashlight, still tilted upward, showed his face, so near to hers, covered with concern. “It’s late, an’ we’re both tired. If you want, we’ll come back again tomorrow an’ look things over when we can see better. Okay?”
She nodded. Looking up into his shadowed face, she gave in to her longing and drew his face down to hers. His face was rough and scratchy under her palms. The touch of his mouth against her lips was all she remembered and more, and not nearly enough.
“Mon Dieu,” he breathed when their lips parted. “You mus’ be tired, to kiss me like that.”
She rubbed her forehead against his shoulder. Resting her cheek against the warmth of his chest, she closed her eyes. “What has me so tired is fighting what I feel for you.”
His chest rose against her and held for a moment, and then released. His breath puffed against the top of her head. “One thin’ I will say for you, mon amie, is that you tell the truth.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Mais oui, you tell the truth.”
She bit her lip at his words. She hadn’t outright lied to him. She hadn’t. But with his strict code of honor, he might not see the difference between not volunteering the truth and telling a lie. She hoped he would.
Dori sighed against his chest. There were so many things between them, so many differences. Were they destined to be driven apart before they were ever together?
He turned her in to the cradle of his arm and urged her toward the open door of the crypt. “So, we agree to stop fightin’ this attraction, yes? And we’ll go get some sleep—maybe—and come back tomorrow.” He tightened his arm around her briefly. “I have to admit, I’m intrigued with the hidden latch on this door. I’d like to get a better look at it in daylight.”
Dori started to agree just as the door slammed shut. She screamed and grabbed Boudreau.
He clamped one hand over his ear. “Merde, cher. You got a scream that’ll wake the dead.”
“Don’t say that!” She smacked him on the arm and kept her flashlight focused on the door. “Well?” she asked as his lean fingers scrambled to find a handle or knob of some sort.
“Damn! There’s nothin’ here on this side.” He glanced back at her, his face angles and planes in the light and shadows created by the flashlight.
“Most of the time those on the inside have no desire to leave.”
Dori whirled toward the new voice and backed up against Boudreau, aware he’d once again drawn his gun. Into the light stepped a tall man, powerfully built, dressed in black turtleneck and slacks.
Sabin.
“It’s okay, Jake,” Dori whispered in relief. “It’s Sabin.”
Boudreau stopped her when she would have moved away from him. “Stay put, ma p
etite.”
“I told you, it’s all right.”
“Non. What is your business here tonight, Sabin?”
The other man shrugged and leaned one shoulder against the rough wall of the crypt. “The same as you, I imagine. I’m trying to find Arthur.”
“B…but he was supposed to meet you here, two nights ago.” Dori gripped her fingers together against the growing fear. Her instincts had been right—Art was in terrible trouble.
“As I’ve told you, he never showed. I’ve come back the last two nights, thinking that perhaps he was merely delayed.” He frowned and waved a hand toward Boudreau, still holding the pistol pointed at him with a steady hand. “That will not protect you against me, mon ami. I am immune to your bullets.”
Boudreau snorted. “You tellin’ me you’re some sort of Superman, homme?”
Sabin smiled, teeth glinting in the dim light of the wavering flashlights. “No.”
Getting her first clear glimpse of the other witch, Dori felt cold, then hot. She stumbled back even as Sabin moved more fully into the beam of their combined flashlights. His canine teeth were long and pointed; his eyes glittered with a silver hue.
“I’m telling you that I am a vampire. The undead in this City of the Dead.”
Boudreau offered a pithy but quite heartfelt response.
Jake sat in the backseat of Sabin’s Mercedes and closely watched the route the vampire took to his house. If things turned bad, he wanted to make sure he could get Dori out. Glancing at the front seat, where she sat talking quietly with Sabin, he grimaced. If she wanted to leave.
He hadn’t wanted her to go with Sabin. She’d been resolute. He’d stubbornly insisted that if she was going, he was going. And so here he sat in the backseat of a car being driven by a vampire.
Merde.
Jake’s main talent seemed to be getting in to more trouble than he could easily get out of. From the moment he’d seen Sabin’s glowing eyes and sharp teeth, he’d known he’d done it again. Acted the Laurel to his own Hardy. It’s a fine mess you’ve gotten me in to this time.
He would have preferred that Dori sit in the back with him, but she’d said she had things to talk over with Sabin. So he sat in the back with his hand under his jacket, on his gun, ready to pull it from the holster if he needed to.
This was his first time meeting a vampire, and he wasn’t sure what to expect. All things considered, he thought he was handling himself rather well. The fact that Dori seemed so at ease with the creature…well, that was something he and Dori would have a little chat about.
The powerful car turned onto a narrow roadway that wound through large oak trees with ghostly shrouds of Spanish moss hanging from their branches. The sprawling main house came in view, and his eyebrows rose. The large structure looked to be at least ten thousand square feet, brick and glass with a three car garage on the east side.
Being a vampire obviously had some perks.
“Did you have hurricane damage?” he asked, his curiosity roused by the pristine condition of the grounds and the main structure. Of course, with the house and car he assumed Sabin had money to burn and could have had any damage repaired early on.
“I have wards around the grounds to protect the house from harm. They keep unwelcome intruders out and protect against nature’s fury as well.” Sabin pushed a button above the rearview mirror and one of the garage doors slid open. He pulled the car neatly into the garage and parked next to a metallic black Porsche Boxster convertible.
“What the hell are wards?” Jake climbed out of the Mercedes and tried to keep from drooling over the sports car. Next to the Porsche sat a black on chrome Harley Fat Boy. Seduced by the big boy toys, he took his hand off his gun and ran it up and over the fender of the Boxster. A snort of laughter from Sabin drew his attention.
The vampire stared at him with amused speculation in his now normal-looking deep blue eyes. “Do you have adult-onset ADD, Detective?” he asked, very clearly poking fun at Jake’s sudden lack of interest in finding out about wards in light of the expensive machinery sitting all around him. “Want to try her out?” Sabin added, nodding toward the Harley.
“You serious?” Jake walked over to the motorcycle and ran his hand over the leather seat. “She’s a real beaut.”
He heard Dori huff.
“What is it about men,” she asked, her voice tart but still sensuous enough to tug at his loins, “that makes them lose focus whenever they see a motorcycle?”
“Testosterone,” both men responded together. Jake saw Sabin’s lips quirk and figured that was about as close to a smile as the vampire ever got. The surrealism of talking about motorcycles with a vampire wasn’t lost on him.
“Well, we don’t have time for you to try her out.” Dori opened the door to the main house. “We have work to do.” She paused, looking at Sabin. “Well? It’s your house.”
Sabin shrugged. “She’s right, mon ami. Perhaps another time.” He motioned toward the door and waited for Jake to precede him through the opening.
“I may hold you to it,” Jake murmured.
“Any time. Just through there.” Sabin pointed toward a large, elegant room. Dori walked in first and went directly to the tall window to the left, fingering the brocade curtain, staring out into the night.
At a glance, Jake took in his surroundings. The opulent room was dominated by leather and dark wood furniture. Scatterings of rich plum and gold velvet accented the more somber colors. It appeared as if the doorway through which he’d just come was the only entrance to—or exit from—the room.
He went over to Dori and put his arm around her. “Come on, cher, sit down. You’re gonna worry a hole in that thing.” He guided her to the sofa and sat beside her, studying her pale face. She’d never been this upset over Art’s disappearing acts before. Something was very wrong this time.
Well, something was very wrong besides the fact that a vampire was somehow involved.
“I’ll be right back,” Sabin said. “I’ll have Grady prepare something light for an evening snack.” He looked at Jake. “Unless, of course, you need something more filling?”
Jake narrowed his eyes at the other man’s tone. There seemed to be an underlying cynicism. Maybe the vampire just didn’t like cops. But his stomach was empty; he wasn’t going to turn down the offer of food. “Somethin’ light is fine.”
Sabin gave a slight nod and left the room. Jake waited until the vampire’s footsteps faded, then he looked at Dori. It was time he got some answers. Starting with how she came to be linked to Sabin.
Chapter Three
Dori glanced at him and then at the large set of windows that overlooked the front yard. She shrugged and offered, “Don’t look at me. I have no idea who Grady is.”
“That wasn’t what I was gonna ask.” Jake shifted his weight and faced her more fully. “How is it you know Sabin?”
She twined a strand of hair around her finger. “I told you. He and Art are friends.” She looked down at her other hand, plucking at a small tear in her jeans.
He tilted his head. She wouldn’t look at him, which was interesting. It told him one of two things: either she was lying, or she wasn’t giving him the entire story. It didn’t matter either way. He’d learn the truth.
“I think there’s more to it than that, cher.” Jake used his best cop face, staring her down.
She looked unimpressed. Raising one eyebrow, she crossed her arms. Her earlier nervousness seemed gone. But he noticed that her foot started swinging. She wasn’t as calm as she wanted him to think she was.
What was she trying to hide?
He leaned forward and cupped her cheek in his palm, turning her face toward him. “Talk to me, Dori. Tell me what’s really goin’ on.”
Just then Sabin came back into the room, an elderly man bearing a silver-covered tray behind him. The vampire stopped just inside the room while Jake lingered over Dori. It might be juvenile, but he wanted Sabin to see that Dori belonged with him. Sabin looked
at him with a raised brow, telling him he’d got the message.
Jake gave him a slow smile and sat back, keeping his arm along the back of the couch behind Dori.
The gray-haired man placed the tray on the glass coffee table in front of Jake and Dori.
“Thank you, Grady,” Sabin murmured. The older man inclined his head and left the room with a sedate, steady pace.
Jake leaned forward and removed the cover of the tray. There was a selection of sandwiches and some vegetables. He bypassed the celery and carrots and picked up half a sandwich. Ignoring the amused look the vampire shot his way, Jake lifted the upper slice of bread and checked out the ingredients.
Brown mustard, tomatoes, lettuce and thinly sliced roast beef. Taking a big bite, he settled back onto the sofa and watched Sabin pace in front of a fireplace that was tall enough for an adult to stand in.
Yep, definite perks to being a vampire. Had a lot of time to accumulate wealth, for one thing. He’d never been in a house before that had a fireplace that was over six feet tall and nearly as wide.
Dori picked up a few stalks of celery and crunched off a piece of one. Jake’s lips quirked. Her munching was timed to Sabin’s pacing, though he doubted she was aware of it. He took another bite of his sandwich, enjoying the way the flavor of the beef was brought out by the spicy brown mustard and sweet tomatoes.
The vampire’s long strides took him to the window, where he paused for a moment and stared into the inky night. He turned and paced back toward the fireplace, and Jake saw that Sabin’s teeth had lengthened again, protruding over his lower lip. That feeling of surrealism came over Jake again, wrapping around him like a thick woolen blanket, muffling his senses.
“If you’re right and others think that Arthur has the Eye, then I fear that Ra’Ziel reached your brother before he could meet with me, Endora. If that is so, then there is only one reason.” Sabin stopped and looked at Dori, his face strained, his dark blue eyes sparking with anger and distress.
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