Uncross My Heart

by Jennifer Colgan

  Julian had been brutally honest with her. When he no longer needed her, he’d be gone and she’d probably be grateful for his absence. That’s what kept her in bed, alone, behind the locked bedroom door until sunrise.

  At eight-thirty, bleary-eyed and yawning, she rose and cobbled together an outfit from her closet. An olive skirt and peach blouse with matching sandals fit her mood. Before she could decide on accessories, the sound of hammering drew her out of the locked bedroom.

  Julian stood next to the living room windows, shirtless. With all the shades still drawn, the room seemed tomblike, but enough ambient light filtered in to give her a good view of his perfect pectorals.

  Zoe forced herself not to drool and took stock of the unusual scene with what she hoped was clinical detachment. He’d pushed her coffee table and couch to the center of the room and currently seemed to be nailing her windows shut. “What the heck are you doing?”

  “Updating your security system.” He didn’t miss a beat, just dug another nail out of the front pocket of his Dockers and continued hammering.

  “Don’t I recall you saying something about a fire hazard? How can I get to my fire escape if you nail the windows shut? And where did you find those tools? They’re not mine.”

  “I found them in the basement. I’ll put them back when I’m finished. I’m not nailing the windows shut. I’m making stops in the sashes.”

  She crossed the room and peered over his shoulder—his masculinely sweaty shoulder. It appeared he was tacking small metal flaps to the window frames. He turned one of the flaps and opened the sash, which caught on the metal and held a few inches above the sill.

  “Newer windows have these built in. You push small metal flanges open and they act as secondary locks. This way no one can open the window all the way from the outside.”

  “If you put any more holes in the frames, my landlord will kill me.”

  “Better your landlord than a vampire. Oh, I also noticed you don’t have a chain lock or a bar on your door. If you pick them up at the hardware store, I’ll install them for you. And you may not want to sleep with a knife under your pillow, but a wooden stake would be a good idea. The garden shop on Smith will have them, and I can file one down to a sharp point.”

  “Should I stock up on garlic and holy water too?”

  His full on glare was devastatingly sexy to her sleep-deprived senses. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I’ll get right on that.” She whirled around and headed for the kitchen. Verbal sparring aside, it just would not do to have him skulking around armed with manly things like hammers and nails and wearing little but a sheen of honest sweat. She might not make it through another night locked in her room if he kept this up.

  With a tall glass of cold water in hand, she returned to find the living room empty. Relief faded quickly at the sound of running water from the shower.

  Good Lord. He was naked in her bathroom. How long could she be expected to stand this?

  “Um…Julian?” She called through the bathroom door while rolling the icy glass over her suddenly hot cheeks. “I’m going to the shop. The phone number is on the business card on the fridge if you need…anything.”

  His reply was muffled by the running water, but it seemed to be in the affirmative, so she grabbed her purse and left. If she’d stayed a moment longer, she had no doubt she wouldn’t have been able to fight the urge to join him under the hot spray.

  Once he heard the front door of Zoe’s apartment close, Julian shut off the shower and returned to staring at himself in the tiny mirror above the sink.

  Faced with the choice of following the gypsy girl into her kitchen and making a meal of her or hiding in the bathroom, he’d chosen the latter. Her blood would not sustain him. He had to keep reminding himself of that, even though the scent of her made his mouth water.

  Baring his teeth at his reflection, he poked at the flat edges of his incisors. His fangs had been so sharp that he could draw blood almost painlessly from his…well, he hated to use the term victims. Since he’d learned to finesse the classic vampire bite, he’d left those he fed on with nothing more than memories of a pleasant, sensual interlude and a slight sore spot above the jugular. Now he couldn’t even draw blood from his own thumb.

  No one would fear him in this weakened state. He growled at the face he hadn’t cared to look at for decades and realized he needed a shave.

  “Good lord.” Even the razor hanging in the medicine cabinet was pink. He’d make Lambert pay for this too, when he got his hands on him.

  Resigned, Julian soaped up his jaw and set to work making himself look more like a presentable human than a skulking vampire. The first time he nicked himself, his gaze riveted on the crimson drop beading on his chin.

  He missed the sweet, coppery flavor of it, the rush of power as it trickled down his throat. He swiped the drop away with his thumb and licked. Blood and soap mixed on his tongue producing a vile taste that once spit out left him still wanting and again embarrassed by his own desperation. How would he survive if this change was truly permanent? How could he possibly satisfy his hunger if he couldn’t taste her blood?

  Chapter Nine

  Officer Wells strolled into Dollars and Sense around ten A.M. while Zoe was on the phone with a tailor in Annapolis, discussing the difficulties of replacing twenty-seven pearl buttons on the back of a vintage wedding dress. It was a rare find that, fully restored, might draw costume collectors as well as her regular clientele to the shop.

  Her stomach dropped and her breath caught when she looked up from her notes into Wells’s periwinkle blue eyes.

  “L-Let me call you back. Thank you for your help.” She hung up and fisted her hands in her lap to keep them still. “Good morning, Officer. How can I help you?”

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything, ma’am. Your case file came up again, and I was assigned to come out and have a look. It seems the owner of the building has filed a report on the break-in for insurance purposes, so I have to fill out some paperwork.”

  Zoe sighed. Of course she hadn’t considered how her landlord would react to finding his back door deadbolt destroyed and his cinderblock wall cracked. He’d definitely raise the rent over this. “Of course. How can I help?”

  “Can you show me the damages?”

  “Sure.” She hopped off her stool and led Wells into the back. “I’m sorry, we took the—I took the police tape down when I came by yesterday to check the place out.”

  Wells hummed while he peered at the broken locks. “Anything missing?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “They just broke down the door and left?”

  “And they smashed the top of the display case.”

  “So you were present when the break-in occurred?”

  “I was in the basement. I heard the noise and I ran. There’s a connecting door downstairs. I went through it, and I hid…in the dark…alone.”

  “I see. Smart move. A lot of people would have come upstairs and probably gotten themselves killed trying to defend the place. I tell people all the time, never engage a criminal if you don’t have to. Don’t be a hero to save a couple of twenties in the cash drawer.”

  Zoe nodded, trying to appear solemn. “Absolutely. I’m a runner and hider from way back. I’m a huge advocate of running away from trouble. I avoid trouble at all costs.”

  “Are you nervous, ma’am?” Wells gave her a clinical stare. He seemed to be able to look right through her to the hidden knowledge that she was in fact harboring a missing businessman in her shower. She imagined guilt blossoming all over her face.

  “Me? No…I mean, I hope my landlord doesn’t break my lease because of this.”

  “Have any trouble before?”

  “No. My shop has never been robbed or vandalized. Somebody soaped my front window last Halloween, but that’s it.”

  Wells nodded. “They must have come through here with a battering ram. This door was locked, you say?”

  “Yes,
sir.”

  “Seems like a lot of trouble to go through and then not steal anything.”

  “Yep.”

  “Well, I don’t want to get in your way, ma’am, so if you have things to do, I’ll just look around here a little longer and be on my way.”

  “Sure.” Zoe swung around and glanced at the spike embedded in the opposite wall. Would Wells notice the miniscule scrap of paper that still clung to the metal and wonder what had been torn down? She couldn’t just stand around oozing guilt, so she hurried back to the front of the shop where thankfully, some customers were perusing the baby clothes.

  Shortly afterward, Wells left with a polite goodbye, and when the store was empty again, Zoe took a moment to rest her head in her hands. “I could never be a criminal. I’d fold under interrogation,” she muttered. As if in response, the phone rang, and she jumped at the sound.

  It was Julian. “Where do you keep the white truffle oil?”

  She squinted at the receiver. “I keep it at the gourmet food shop along with all the other ridiculously expensive spices I can’t afford.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I know I’ll regret asking, but what do you need it for?”

  “Emeril is making white cheddar quiche, and it looked good, so I thought I’d—”

  “You’re cooking? Up until two days ago, you didn’t even eat.”

  “I’m hungry, and I’m trying to make the best of a bad situation.” He sounded pouty, and for a moment, Zoe sympathized.

  “I understand that, but maybe white cheddar quiche is setting your goals a little high for the day. Why don’t you try something simple like mac and cheese? I’ve got a box in the pantry. It’s comfort food that doesn’t require maxing out my credit card to prepare.”

  “I hate being cut off from everything. I could have you bathing in white truffle oil if I could access my accounts without tipping off Lambert.”

  “Or the police for that matter. They were here asking questions and—bathing in white truffle oil?” Why did that prospect turn her on? No time for slippery fantasies right now. “Never mind. Shut off Emeril, please. I’ll bring home something nice for dinner, okay?”

  “Mac and cheese, you say?”

  She had to admit, his enthusiasm for eating was contagious. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  “I’ll have it ready when you get here.”

  She doubted that, but it was a sweet gesture, so she’d keep her fingers crossed that he didn’t destroy her kitchen in the process.

  The phone rang again only moments after she hung up. “It’s on the third shelf from the bottom, next to the spaghetti sauce,” she said through an indulgent grin.

  “Where’s Julian?” Hester Oakes’s voice floated over the line. She sounded annoyed and testy, and in response, Zoe’s long-buried wicked streak rose unbidden to the surface.

  “He was in the shower when I left this morning. Why don’t you try the number on the back of the card I gave you?” Her voice dripped syrup, and later she’d probably hate herself for being catty, but right now it felt good. Why did the gorgeous witch bring out the worst in her?

  “I tried, but the line was busy. I need to speak to him right away.”

  “He was just on the phone with me. Call him back. I’m sure you’ll get through now.”

  Hester merely hung up. Left with no outlet for her frustrations, Zoe glared at the phone. “I guess that ‘witch’ is spelled with a capital B, after all.”

  Relief swept through Julian when he saw Hester’s number on the caller ID. He might miss out on white cheddar quiche, but that would be a small price to pay for getting his fangs back. “Can you reverse the spell?” he asked in lieu of a greeting.

  “It’s so nice to talk to you too, Julian. I suppose you’re keeping the bed warm for that Kewpie doll girlfriend of yours.”

  He’d never pegged Hester for the jealous type. Her looks got her any man she wanted and, while that had included Julian himself on occasion, he’d never entertained a moment’s thought that she played favorites. “The last thing I will ever need, my dear, is a girlfriend.”

  “Whatever. Julian, I’m calling to warn you. Lambert is tightening his net. He wants you completely isolated from anyone who might try to help you.”

  “I know. One of his lackeys accosted Zoe last night and tried to warn her away from me.”

  After a pregnant pause, Hester’s sultry voice became stiff and businesslike. “I don’t think you’re safe in Baltimore. Rumor is, he may alert the authorities to your whereabouts.”

  “I haven’t committed a crime. There’s nothing they can do to me except question me.”

  “Perhaps, but without your vampire abilities, you won’t be able to manipulate anyone’s perceptions. If they start digging into your background—”

  “You may be right. It’s better that I avoid any publicity until I’ve taken care of Lambert and I have access to all my resources again.”

  “What you need is a secure hiding place. Why don’t you come and stay here? No one knows you in Ocean City. Plus, you’ll have the place to yourself. I’m going to see the Draconus, and I’ll be gone for a couple of days.”

  He had to admit, the prospect had merit, and if nothing else, the décor of Hester’s place didn’t give him indigestion. “Do you have to involve Drac?”

  “I don’t see any other choice. I can’t find a suitable reversal spell in any of my books and, since I have no idea how Lambert made this potion you’re talking about, I can’t risk experimenting. The Draconus may be your only hope.”

  Julian sighed. Certainly the head of the Witch’s Council would know how to help him, but it almost wasn’t worth the accompanying drama. Drac never did anything quietly or with an ounce of subtlety. His official rituals often lasted days and involved embarrassingly complex recitations of ancient incantations in dead languages, colorful puffs of smoke and dancing skyclad around bonfires. “At least tell him I refuse to prance around naked in the woods. I might be human, but I still have some dignity.”

  “Which is more important to you, your dignity or your fangs?”

  Julian muttered under his breath, but relented. “All right. Do what you have to. Lambert is expecting a weakling human to show up on Saturday and fall into his trap. I want to be able to surprise him.”

  “So then you’ll stay here? Don’t forget Lambert isn’t your only enemy. He may not even be the biggest threat.”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll come. Where do you keep your spare key?”

  Her response was that smoky, sexy laugh of hers. Julian wondered why it didn’t affect him in the usual way. “No key. The door responds to a password, and I think you’ll remember what it is, if you recall the last time you spent the night under my roof.”

  He did.

  “I’ll be there this evening.”

  Her voice took on a sober tone once again. “Don’t worry, Julian. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you defeat Lambert.”

  He wanted to thank her for that, but the words sounded hollow in his mind. Instead, he bid her goodbye and hung up, wondering what it was she might demand for a reward once she’d accomplished this small miracle for him.

  Zoe struggled through the door of her apartment at half-past five, balancing her mail, her purse and a pepperoni-and-mushroom pizza in one hand and her cell phone in the other. Her landlord’s voice echoed and crackled over a bad connection while she attempted to put everything down without dropping it. “No, the insurance agent never called,” Zoe said, stifling a sigh. “But the police did come to inspect the damage and fill out the paperwork.”

  Mr. Haverston’s loud complaints were directed at the insurance agent, but they were disconcerting, nevertheless. Zoe cringed. “Well, when you hear from him, you can call me any time, and I’ll meet him at the shop. Okay…I will. Yes, the alarm still seems to be working…okay. Bye, Mister—” Zoe sighed when he hung up and plopped herself down on the couch.

  She had only a moment to contemplate her complete emotional and physical e
xhaustion when a duffle bag landed in her lap. Julian stood over her, looking stern and determined.

  “I’ve been calling you.”

  “I’ve been on the phone with my landlord. He’s having a cow about the deductible. Do you know how much fire doors cost?”

  He dismissed her response with a wave. “Never mind that. I took the liberty of packing for you. We’re leaving for Ocean City.”

  He took the liberty? Somehow she’d hoped that if liberties were taken, they would not involve stuffing her clothing in a duffle bag. He’s been in my underwear drawer? She gulped. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course.”

  “Wait a minute. Did Hester find a cure?”

  “Not yet, but it’s becoming too dangerous for me—perhaps for both of us—to stay here.”

  “I’m not going to be forced out of my own home. I live here.”

  Julian gave the décor a disparaging sidelong glance. “Sad but true. Nevertheless, we’re both in more danger than we know. Hester has offered to let us stay at her place, which is magically protected.”

  “Oh, that sounds cozy, but—”

  Julian retrieved the duffle bag from her lap with one hand and tugged her up from the couch with the other. “She won’t be there. Come on. We should go now before it’s completely dark.”

  Zoe slipped her wrist from his grasp. “Hold on. For how long? I have to work tomorrow.” Her mind raced around her apartment and all the way back to the shop. The back door wouldn’t lock, her landlord was one step away from DEFCON 5 and if she didn’t open in the morning, she wouldn’t sell anything, wouldn’t earn anything and wouldn’t be paying her rent any time soon.