“But she didn’t see the truck driver running over to investigate, so where does he figure into the equation?” Trick asked.
“Werewolves are unpredictable,” Nevada said, her expression serious, though her eyes were dancing with suppressed mirth.
“Werewolves?” Trick frowned at Faraday. “That’s your angle.”
“Haven’t made my final decision yet,” Faraday told him with a lazy grin. “Werewolves, shape-shifters, or vampires. One of the three. Which monster would sell more papers? That’s the question.”
“I vote for werewolves,” Nevada said. “Full moon, right? Seems obvious.”
“But werewolves don’t morph back and forth that fast. If the two men had gone all hairy by the light of the moon and attacked the waitress and/or the trucker, they wouldn’t have been able to resume human form that quickly.”
“You talk about this stuff as if it were real,” Trick said, reminded uncomfortably of his recent discussion with Marcello.
“It is…to my readers.” Faraday flashed him a quick smile.
Too quick? Too ingenuous? Trick studied the other man, trying to figure out what he was really after. Could he be in cahoots with the thugs chasing Nevada? Was she in danger from this cowboy?
Nevada scraped the last of the hot fudge from the bottom of her sundae dish. “So vampires then? Was there a significant blood loss associated with either death? The paper didn’t say.”
“I already asked that question of both the doctor who examined the bodies and my contact in the sheriff’s office,” Faraday said. “Nobody’s talking.”
“Then,” said Trick, “sounds like you can put whatever spin you want on the story and no one will dispute it.”
Faraday met his gaze, his expression unreadable. “Vampires it is then.”
FIVE
Trick had hardly said a word the whole way back to the mansion. “Are you angry with me?” Nevada asked as he parked the Jeep in its customary spot in front of the stables.
“Why?” He switched off the ignition, then turned to look at her, the expression on his face hard to define. “Should I be?”
“No.”
“Then I must not be.”
“Is it because I was with Ethan Faraday?”
“No law against having a sundae with a tabloid reporter.”
“You make him sound like a threat.” She unfastened her seatbelt and got out of the Jeep.
Trick climbed out on the driver’s side, reached into the back end for his cane, then shut the door. “I don’t know that Faraday’s a threat,” he said slowly, “but the thing is, you don’t know that he’s not. Hanging around with a nosy journalist doesn’t seem like the wisest course of action for someone with secrets.”
“Meaning me,” she said.
“Meaning you.”
She studied his face as they made their way to the back door. That scowl didn’t look like a worried scowl. In fact, it looked a lot like a jealous scowl. Laughter tickled at the back of her throat, but she clamped down on it. Former world-famous race-car driver Trick Granger getting dog-in-the-mangerish over Subject 111. Wouldn’t Dr. Appleton’s staff psychologists have a field day with that one?
Trick opened the door, nodding brusquely to indicate that she was to go ahead.
“Look, I didn’t trust him at first, either, but the truth is, Faraday has a one-track mind,” she said.
He closed the door, then swiveled around to face her. “That so?”
“The charm? The flirtatiousness? An intrinsic part of his personality, yes, but entirely superficial. He’s not after me. He’s after a story.”
“I seriously doubt that.” Marcello stood in the doorway to the dining room. “Mr. Faraday aroused my curiosity, so I Googled him. As far as I can tell, he has no connection to the Inquisitor or any other tabloid.”
“Then what—” Trick started.
“I did, however, discover that until two years ago, he was a deputy sheriff in Mammoth County near the Oregon border.”
“A deputy sheriff?” Trick echoed.
“He resigned after solving a case involving a biker gang accused of kidnapping and murder. Most of the gang vanished without a trace, but Faraday and another deputy did manage to take the head biker’s girlfriend into custody. The case never went to trial, though. The woman was struck by lightning as the deputies were escorting her to the squad car.”
“Bizarre,” Nevada said.
Marcello nodded. “But what is even more bizarre, there were multiple reports of livestock mutilations in the region that summer. And at least three humans were attacked—a young man who was run down prior to having his throat ripped out and two women, only one of whom survived.”
Nevada frowned. “The young man had his throat ripped out, you say? Was there any mention of the women’s wounds?”
“Bite marks on their necks. Significant blood loss.”
“If I believed in vampires…” she started.
“Most people thought the attacks were the work of a pack of feral dogs. No one in Mammoth County put forth the vampire theory, although there was talk of chupacabras.”
“What are chupacabras?” Trick asked.
Nevada had been wondering that herself.
“Monsters from Central America,” Marcello explained with a self-satisfied smirk. “I Googled them, too. Chupacabras, also known as goat suckers, are believed to suck blood the way vampires do, only they are more likely to attack livestock than people.”
“So what do you think Faraday is really up to?” Trick asked.
“Either he’s after me,” Nevada said, “or he’s after the men who are chasing me.”
Trick frowned at the far wall. “If he were after you, you’d be in custody already. It’s your pursuers he’s tracking.”
“Why doesn’t that ease my mind?” Nevada wondered aloud.
Sarge Collier and Billy Branson had arranged to meet Daniel at a fast-food place on the outskirts of Sacramento just off I-5. Not the sort of place Daniel normally patronized, but that was actually a plus. Less chance of running into one of his colleagues or constituents.
The two hired thugs sat at a table overlooking the play area, deserted at this late hour. Both were chowing down on burgers and fries as if they’d hadn’t eaten in days. Feeling out of place in Armani—he should have thought to change into something more casual, damn it—Daniel made his way to Collier and Branson’s booth.
Collier glanced up at his approach and indicated with a jerk of his head that Branson was to move over to give Daniel room to sit down.
Branson obliged, and Daniel sat, careful not to brush his jacket sleeves across the grease and ketchup residue that marked Branson’s original position.
“Not eating?” Sarge dunked a handful of french fries in ketchup, then poked the entire mess in his mouth. For a few seconds, a blob of ketchup sm c ofnkeeared his lower lip like blood. Then his tongue snaked out to lap it up.
Daniel averted his eyes. “I already ate.”
“So did—” Billy aborted whatever he’d started to say, as if maybe Sarge had kicked him under the table.
Daniel glanced from one thug to the other, wondering if he was missing something. “I assume you didn’t drag me all the way down here just to tell me you’d disposed of my…problem.”
“Could have done that over the phone,” Sarge agreed, stuffing another handful of fries in his mouth.
“So,” Daniel said briskly, “what have you learned? Have you traced her whereabouts?”
“We think so, yes,” Sarge said.
Daniel felt a flutter of anticipation. “Where is she?”
“San Francisco,” Billy said.
“If our intel’s right,” Sarge added quickly.
“Makes sense,” Daniel said.
“We thought so,” Sarge agreed, “even though our witness couldn’t make a positive ID from the photo we showed him.”
“She could have changed her appearance,” Daniel said.
Sarge nodded a
greement. “Guy who owns the franchise on this place hired her last week, but she left after only two days. Told the boss she’d located family in the Bay Area and was going to go stay with them.”
“I’d like to talk to him,” Daniel said.
Sarge frowned. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
“Why not?” Daniel studied the other man’s face. “Damn it, don’t tell me you—”
“Couldn’t be helped,” Billy said. “The guy got suspicious, threatened to check us out with the local cops.”
“I hope you had sense enough to take care of the body this time,” Daniel snapped.
Sarge nodded. “Chained it to cinder blocks and dumped it in the river.”
Where chances were good the body would be sufficiently deteriorated before it was found—if it was found—to disguise the fact the man had had his throat torn out. “So why bring me here, if not to talk to the witness?”
“For the food,” Billy said. “Best burgers in town. If you don’t believe me, just check the sign outside.”
Daniel scowled.
“He’s just jerking your chain,” Sarge said. “We got you down here to talk to Tara, the girl who works the counter. Thought she might be able to tell you more about your half sister, them working the late shift together and all.”
“Have you two lost your minds?” Daniel demanded. “I can’t get personally involved. I’m a public figure. Any hint of scan cy hur dal could ruin me.”
“Just trying to be helpful,” Sarge mumbled.
“If you want to be helpful, you’ll do the job I’m paying you to do. Go to San Francisco, locate Whitney, and eliminate her.”
Nevada couldn’t sleep. She tried to tell herself that she was worried about Faraday’s motives, but that wasn’t it. No, what her tired brain kept fixating on was Trick’s jealousy. Because the thing was, he wouldn’t feel any jealousy toward Ethan Faraday if he didn’t care about her…at least a little. Only was that a good thing or a bad thing? Nevada wasn’t sure. Of course, that didn’t mean her brain was about to give up its obsession, say, “Oh, hey, forget about it. Let’s get some sleep.” No, it just kept replaying that scene in the ice-cream parlor, analyzing and reanalyzing every word spoken, every facial expression, every nuance of body language. No doubt about it, if she wasn’t insane before, she was definitely insane now. Insane to the nth power.
Frustrated, she finally got up, dressed, and made her way back to the main house. If she couldn’t sleep, well then, she might as well work. Tackle something tedious and time-consuming. Something that would take her mind off Trick.
Gathering her cleaning supplies, she headed up to the library on the second floor. Earlier, she’d dusted the bottom five shelves, but she still had to clean the top two, a task she wasn’t looking forward to since it meant she had to work off a ladder. Not that she was afraid of heights. It was wobbly old ladders that worried her.
An hour and a half later, she was halfway along the top shelf, listening to the music on Marcello’s iPod, which she’d found abandoned on the kitchen counter and figured, hey, he wasn’t using it, so why not? And no, his taste wasn’t quite the same as hers, but even Aida and thirty-year-old Beach Boys hits were better than listening to the house creak in the wind.
Nevada was dusting her heart out and singing along to “Good Vibrations” when Trick said, “What the hell are you doing?” from right behind her. He startled her so badly that she not only lost her dust rag, she lost her grip on the ladder and would have done a belly flop onto the unforgiving hardwood floor if Trick hadn’t cushioned her fall. With his body. Not a conscious choice on his part. He just happened to be standing in the wrong place at the right time.
“Are you okay?” she asked, worried about his messed-up knee.
“Remind me again why I hired you,” he croaked, but she could tell from the glint of suppressed laughter in his eye that he wasn’t hurt. Of course, he’d lost his cane and gotten the wind knocked out of him, but Nevada figured he deserved it. After all, she wouldn’t have fallen on him if he hadn’t scared the daylights out of her. His fault, the whole thing.
But then, quite suddenly, her initial surprise gave way to a heightened awareness.
She was lying on top of Trick, she realized, in a very suggestive position, her breasts pressed firmly against his chest, her hips against his hips, her legs against his legs. Oddly, she didn’t feel at all embarrassed to find herself in such a cselhip compromising position. But she did find it a little arousing.
Okay, a lot arousing.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth, studying Trick’s face. His features might not be as classically handsome as his ancestor Silas’s, but she found him very attractive, very masculine. His lips curved in a faint smile, and that was all it took to push her over the line. Her skin tingled. Her nipples ached. She wanted…needed…
Gradually, Trick’s smile faded. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He drew a long shaky breath. Maybe he’d been hurt after all.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” she said, surprised when her voice emerged as a husky whisper.
He stared up at her, not saying a word, his taut expression sending unnerving little jolts of energy zinging through her.
“Trick?”
In lieu of a verbal response, he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her even closer.
She stiffened, but just for a second. Then her resistance dissolved. She dissolved. At least that’s the way it felt, as if her bones and muscles had suddenly melted.
Trick raised his head and brushed his lips softly across hers in a delicate whisper of sensation.
Nevada found herself shivering, not with cold but with excitement, as his mouth captured hers in a kiss that tasted of whiskey and desire.
She knew she was playing with fire. She knew she should pull away, run away, but instead she kissed him back, long and hard and sweet. But it wasn’t enough, the kissing. Not even close.
Her skin burned. Did Trick feel it, too? Or was all this lovely searing warmth one-sided?
As if in answer to her unspoken question, he flipped her over on her back and pinned her to the floor with his body. “I want you,” he said, his voice rough, his hands gentle.
“I want you, too,” was what she intended to say, only her voice refused to cooperate. She opened her mouth, but no words emerged. Nothing but a sigh. So she wrapped her arms around his neck and let her kisses do the talking.
And for about thirty seconds, everything was steamy hot, just-about-to-burst-into-flames perfect. Then Trick ruined it all by pulling away.
“Wh-what’s wrong?” she stammered, wondering if she’d done something to turn him off.
“I’ve been drinking. My judgment’s skewed. I shouldn’t have started this. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said. “I’m not.”
“Not yet.”
“Not ever.” She stroked his cheek, ran her thumb across his lower lip. “Kiss me, Trick. Kiss me again. Please.”
He groaned. “Damn it, Nevada.”
“I want you.”
“No, you don’t.”
cht=.&r
“Yes”—she wrapped her arms around his neck and dragged him back down within kissing range—“I do. So kiss me. Love me.”
His blue eye looked black in the dim light of the table lamp. “You don’t know what you want.”
“Don’t I?” she said. “You’re not the only one who couldn’t sleep. Why do you think I was up here working in the middle of the night? Because I was restless. Because I couldn’t settle down. Why? Because of you. I’m attracted to you, Trick, but I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, not until I saw the way you glared at Ethan Faraday earlier. When you spotted us together in the ice-cream parlor, you were jealous, weren’t you?”
“No, I—”
“Yes,”—she nipped gently at his lower lip—“you were.”
“No, just concerned,” he said. “He’s a charmer, that Faraday. I don’t trust him.”
“Concerned? Okay, maybe a little. But jealous, too. Admit it. You want me.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It’s exactly that simple. You want me. I want you. What’s the problem?”
He frowned. “The problem is, I’ve had too much to drink and you’re sleep-deprived. What seems like a good idea now may not seem so terrific in the morning.”
“You talk too much,” she said, and pulling his mouth down within range again, she kissed him.
He didn’t resist, but he didn’t reciprocate, either.
Frustrated, she released him. “You’re really not going to do this, are you?”
He frowned. “I’m really not.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
He rolled off her and, using his cane for balance, shoved himself to his feet. “You deserve better.”
But, damn it, she wanted him.
Long after Trick had left the room, she just sat there, hugging her knees to her chest.
Nevada left the ladder and cleaning supplies where they were. She’d finish in the morning. After retrieving Marcello’s iPod from under one of the armchairs that flanked the fireplace, she returned it to the kitchen where she’d found it. Then she let herself out the back door.
The night air raised gooseflesh on her bare arms. Hugging herself, she made a beeline for the exterior stairway at the rear of the stables, but her steps slowed as she mounted the stairs.
Nevada paused uncertainly on the landing outside her apartment, her hand on the doorknob. She didn’t remember leaving a light on inside. In fact, she clearly remembered flipping the switch just before she’d pulled the door shut.
So why was the light on now? Who was in her apartment?
Her pursuers?
Shivering uncontrollably, as much from fear as the cold, she carefully eased her hand off the knob, planning to back away, to run to the house for help. But when she released the knob, the mechanism inside made a noise. Not a loud noise, the tiniest of clicks, but it seemed to thunder in her ears—even louder than the deafening thrum of her racing heartbeat.
Run.
An owl hooted in a nearby tree and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Wicked is the night Page 7