by Lilly Gayle
“So, why don’t you like her?”
His eyes widened a fraction before he schooled his expression. “What makes you think I don’t?”
“You wouldn’t make a good poker player either, Delaroche. Your eyes give you away every time.”
“But I was a spy during the French Revolution,” he said, a note of incredulity in his voice.
Seriously? His lips might lie but his eyes were a dead giveaway. “You’re kidding.”
“I fought with the Marquis de Lafayette here in America and in France.”
“You fought in the American Revolution—with Lafayette?” Well, at least that was something they had in common. He’d been a soldier too—over two hundred years ago.
“That’s how I met Vincent. During the war. After Cornwallis’s surrender, I returned to France and posed as a supporter of our king to gather information for the Marquis. But the radical Jacobin’s didn’t want moderate change. And evidently, I wasn’t good at subterfuge,” he added with a self-deprecating smile. “A Jacobin spy learned I was plotting against them.”
“Is that how you died?” Not a typical interview question, but her world had unexpectedly taken on the surreal atmosphere of a cult video game.
“I never technically died. After the Jacobin slit my throat, Vincent arrived. Before I took my last breath, he took what remained of my blood and fed me his. To save me,” he added when he seemed to notice her horrified expression.
“He made you a vampire!” The bastard turned his own friend. And Gerard was defending him.
His jaw bunched and a muscle jumped in his cheek. “Don’t judge what you can’t understand.”
If she’d had Vincent’s abilities, would she have let Andrew die? Would she have chosen an immortal mother over no mother at all? Her righteous indignation fizzled and died.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t judge. So, help me out here, Frenchie.”
“Frenchie?” His lip curled. “Merde! I’d rather you call me vampire.”
“Okay, Vampire,” she said, half smiling. “How can you so easily forgive Vincent for making you what you are, but you dislike Sonia for relishing her nature?” Was there something between Sonia and Gerard?
Unexpected jealousy burned like acid in her stomach.
“I don’t dislike her,” he said as if carefully weighing his words. “I just don’t understand her. She goes to great lengths to keep our existence a secret from mortals and yet she flaunts her nature as if being vampire was a privilege instead of a curse.” He ground his teeth. “Her wardrobe is designed to draw attention and she hangs out in Fang Clubs, drinking the blood of willing donors who believe she’s a pretender rather than the real deal. She’s a security risk.”
Revulsion made her nauseous. “She turns her donors into vampires?”
Gerard waved a hand as if shooing a fly. “Of course not. Drinking mortal blood doesn’t convert them. Blood must be exchanged before conversion occurs. The way Vincent exchanged his blood with mine. It’s a bit like the AIDS virus that way.”
Was Sonia willingly spreading the disease?
“Is she dangerous?” Duh. The woman was a vampire. Of course she was dangerous.
“She definitely has the potential. Not all vampires are as sweet and loveable as me,” he said with a sexy smile before his expression turned serious. “Some are deadly.”
“I’m a cop. Remember? I’m used to dealing with scumbags.” But not scumbags with supernatural abilities.
He met her gaze, staring intently, as if trying to decide whether or not to share some deep dark secret. But seriously, what could be deeper or darker than what she already knew? The cat was out of the bag…or rather…the vampire was out of the coffin. She might not be completely sane, but she could no longer deny the truth. Vampires were real.
The silence stretched. So did her taut nerves. She bit her lip, nervously twisting her fingers together. Besides being inhumanly fast and practically indestructible, vampires lived in almost total obscurity. And they had the power to manipulate witnesses and make evidence disappear. Hadn’t Gerard done that very thing?
He cleared his throat, as if he’d reached a decision. “For the most part, vampires don’t pose a threat to civilized society. We’re no different than the mortals we once were. Some are good. Some aren’t. We’re just trying to survive eternity the best we can without losing our sanity.”
“Mortals don’t survive off the blood of others,” she said, stating the obvious.
“Mon Dieu! You think we choose this life?” His voice sounded hollow, his eyes so miserable she wanted to bite back the words—no pun intended. But she could no more unsay them than she could un-fire the bullet lodged in his chest.
Her voice softened. “You can choose whether or not to take a life.”
“Did you choose to kill in Iraq?”
Even though there was no judgment in his voice or eyes, she flinched, as horrific images of blood and death flashed through her mind. “It was kill or be killed. But you admitted vampires can survive without killing. You drink stored blood. Sonia takes from willing donors without killing. So, if a vampire kills, it’s a choice. Not survival.”
His shoulders sagged as if burdened by a heavy weight. “Being immortal takes a toll on the soul. Eventually, some lose touch with the last vestige of humanity. Once that happens, some vampires relieve the tedium of living by blending into the most violent of mortal societies, posing as drug dealers and mob bosses. Still, other vampires cling to their mortal roots, watching over their—descendants—protecting them—directing their lives.”
His gaze turned serious, penetrating, as if trying to gage her thoughts without reading them. “I think the vampire outside your door tonight has been watching over you. Perhaps he’s your ancestor.”
Fear settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach. For years, she’d sensed something unseen in the dark, something waiting. Watching. She’d blamed her tour in Iraq for the paranoia. But what if she was wrong? What if something watched at night?
She shivered.
Yep. Definitely time to up the meds. Even with the beer kicker, the valium just wasn’t cutting it.
“There’re no vampires hanging from my family tree. Before you flashed those wicked fangs, I didn’t even believe in vampires. I thought I made Nicolas up to cope with my friend, Andrew’s death.” But buried memories from her past were rising up to haunt her days as well as her nights. The nightmares she’d suffered for years were more than just dreams. They were memories—memories she’d desperately tried to suppress.
“How did Andrew die?” His compassionate tone drew her in, encouraging her to confess her darkest secrets.
A tremor shook her. Her pulse pounded, heavy and hard against her ribs.
“He was murdered. I was with him when—” Her voice cracked. Swallowing past a near-overwhelming lump of emotion, she added, “It was easier to let the Polizei, the MP’s, my commander, and the army doctors convince me we’d been attacked by a drug-crazed Gypsy. It made a hell of a lot more sense than the truth.”
He held her gaze. “And what’s the truth? Tell me about Germany. And Nicolas.”
She wanted to rebel. To push him away. But it would be such a relief to unburden the guilt she’d shouldered since coming home. To tell someone about Iraq and that night in Germany—someone who wouldn’t think she was crazy.
A tear escaped. She brushed it aside and held a fist to the painful ache in her chest. “Andrew and I were both specialists with the 615th MP Company stationed in Grafenwoehr. Then our unit was deployed to the Ninewah Province in Iraq. We were supposed to return to Germany after twelve months, but our tour was extended as part of the ‘stop-loss’ program. Most of us handled the extension well.” Everyone except Sergeant Morrison.
Morrison had never been what Amber considered an exemplary field officer, but after his wife filed for divorce, he lost control. And her respect. His way of dealing with stress was to alternately revile or hit on women and verbally abus
e his soldiers.
“One night, our squad was called to protect an Iraqi police station from insurgents. I was in one of three Humvees sent out to reinforce the station. I usually drove, but that night, I manned the exposed 50-caliber machine gun.” And she’d killed at least two Iraqis. Maybe more. Their deaths did not sit well on her conscience.
Her nails dug into her palms. She took a deep breath, grinding her back teeth. Her jaw ached. Gerard watched her closely, his gaze inviting her to continue. She exhaled, forcing her shoulders to relax.
“Every convoy going into that part of Baghdad had been attacked. It wasn’t a question of whether we’d get hit but when. And I had a bad feeling about our mission from the moment we got the call. Tensions were running high and nerves were already frayed when the first mortar struck. We couldn’t even move because two of the Humvees were disabled.” The fear came back as real and fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Images flashed through her mind. Her pulse raced as she nervously bounced her heel on the floor.
“There was this sergeant from Wisconsin,” she said, recalling Morrison’s glassy-eyed stare. “He cowered when he should have taken command. He ducked behind a Humvee and just kept screaming for us to stay down. Then another soldier, Hodges, ordered us to lay down cover fire until our sharpshooter could get into position. Morrison went ballistic. He ordered Hodges to rush the sniper—without waiting for confirmation on the sniper’s location. Hodges died. Then Morrison ordered another man to charge. The sniper got him too. I wanted the sniper to get Morrison. I didn’t want him dead. Just injured so someone else could take command. Then Morrison told Andrew to rush the sniper. Andrew refused. He said we should follow Hodges’ plan and give the sharpshooter time to find the target. Morrison pulled his revolver and stood. The sniper got him before he could shoot Andrew.”
Bile burned the back of her throat. Her vision blurred.
Gerard loomed closer, his big warm body giving her comfort and strength. Knowing he listened without judgment made it difficult to continue. She swallowed, forcing the words from a throat gone dry.
“Afterwards, no one talked about that night. It was like we’d made a silent pact. Morrison was awarded the Purple Heart posthumously. But once we were back in Germany, I started having nightmares. When I ran into Andrew, he said he was having trouble sleeping too. He felt as guilty as I did.”
She blinked to clear an embedded image of Morrison from her mind—his head snapping back before jerking forward, his eyes widening as the sniper’s bullet found its mark, piercing his forehead below his helmet. The back of his head exploded, spraying blood and gray matter onto the Humvee. His body twitched as if jolted by a thousand volts of electricity. A single crimson ribbon trickled from the wound, rolling over the bridge of his nose to pool in the corner of his left eye just before his knees buckled and he dropped to the sand.
Amber covered her mouth with cold, numb fingers. The image refused to fade.
She took a deep breath, bringing her emotions under control before dropping her hand to her lap. “Andrew and I started talking. Then we started dating.”
Gerard’s expression changed. Amber wasn’t sure what emotion flashed behind those eyes because he quickly masked it. “Were you in love with him?”
Pain and loss tugged at her heart. God, she missed him. His friendship. His understanding. He’d been a friend with benefits. But love?
“No,” she said honestly. “I cared for him deeply. We shared a traumatic experience that bound us in ways a husband and wife never connect, but we were dysfunctional. It wouldn’t have lasted even if he’d lived. But we did date. We went to Nuremberg one night and visited the St. Rochus Cemetery. We were attacked. I know now it was a vampire. It—killed Andrew. And I—froze. But Nicolas saved me.” Just like when she was little. She swallowed the painful memory, unable to deal with it.
“Don’t blame yourself, chérie” Gerard leaned closer; his eyes filled with understanding and something deeper. Something far more dangerous. “The vampire who attacked your friend entranced you. He would have killed you too if Nicolas hadn’t shown up. The question is why? His arrival couldn’t have been a coincidence. ”
His compassion drew her in, tempting her to relax her guard, but she needed to put some distance between them. He was a vampire—a potential killer. And she was a cop.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”
Chapter 6
Gerard stayed away from Amber the following evening, giving her time to deal with her newfound knowledge—knowledge he hated dumping on her. Knowledge she’d need to find Tina’s killer. He spent the next night wrestling with his conscience, wondering if he shouldn’t erase all memories of the truth from her mind and continue the search for Weldon without her.
Vincent was more concerned with keeping Megan safe than in justice or revenge. Sonia had given up the search all together. She’d already returned to her frivolous life of clubs and meaningless sex without a second thought. Gerard wanted revenge. Another mark on his soul.
Weldon had gotten away with his inhuman experiments. He would not get away with murder—even if Gerard had to enlist the help of a mortal detective.
Determination led him back to Amber’s door. He knocked, waiting impatiently as she stared through the peephole at him for what seemed like hours rather than seconds.
“You were supposed to be a nightmare,” she said when she flung open the door. Her brown hair was unbound. It hung in soft waves about her shoulders. Her sleeveless red tank showed a hint of cleavage, her denim shorts a half-mile of tan, smooth legs.
Mon Dieu! Unwanted heat rushed to his groin, hardening him instantly.
He cleared his throat and tried to look at her eyes instead of those high, firm breasts. “Sorry to disappoint.”
She harrumphed. “Not as sorry as I am.” Then a smile touched her lips. “So, I guess I should invite you in. Huh?”
“We really do need to discuss the case.”
She arched shapely brows. “Great. This is just what I needed after a stressful day of evading my partner’s questions and trying to think of ways to investigate without mentioning vampires.”
Doubts and second thoughts plagued him. Was it fair to drag her into his dark world? Fair to come between her and her partner?
“Maybe this was a mistake,” he said turning to leave. She touched his arm. Heat shot straight to his groin. Again.
“You’re here now. And I do have a lot more questions.”
She held open the door, inviting him inside. Whether instinct, the need for revenge, or inappropriate lust led him, he wasn’t sure. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
Knowing he’d surely live to regret it, he crossed the threshold. Amber closed the door and turned toward the living room. He followed, watching the swing of her hips until she dropped down onto the sofa and curled her feet under her bottom.
With a resigned sigh, he sat beside her, angling his body toward hers. “I came here tonight to ask for your help. I shouldn’t have. Tina died because of her association with vampires. I don’t want the same thing happening to you.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s my job to investigate crimes and search for the truth—even if the evidence points to vampires,” she added with a reticent smile.
Her fear was obvious, but Gerard sensed she wouldn’t let it prevent her from doing her job. Backing down didn’t seem part of her nature.
“You could be in real danger—danger you can’t handle with that gun of yours.”
“I’m a big girl,” she said, trying to sound tough. Gerard smelled her fear as keenly as he smelled the clean, floral scent of her shampoo.
The woman was too damn stubborn for her own good.
Frustration tightened his jaw. “Night before last, a vampire was outside your door. It could happen again when I’m not here to protect you.”
“I can protect myself,” she said with determination. “Besides, I thought you said Nicolas was watching over me.
If that’s not the case, then why was he here? What kind of threat does he pose?”
Aside from taking her blood? Gerard wasn’t sure. But the vampire he’d sensed didn’t seem as interested in Amber as in checking out Gerard. Not that Gerard had seen him or gotten a good whiff of his scent. It was just a mental impression from the faint imprint the vampire had left behind.
Amber had survived a vampire attack before. If Nicolas was still keeping tabs on her, he might have watched outside her door to ensure Gerard wasn’t a threat. Then again, Gerard had no way of knowing it was Nicolas.
“I said I thought you were his descendent,” he said, closely watching her reactions. “You’re the one who said his name was Nicolas. I never saw him. For all I know, the vampire who attacked you in Germany found out you were investigating our kind and came back to finish the job.”
Fear flashed behind her eyes. She quickly masked it and stiffened her spine. “Seems I’m in danger whether I work with you or not. So, I guess I have to work with you. It’s not like I can share this information with my partner.”
Excluding her partner obviously bothered her. And for some reason, that bothered Gerard.
“Don’t do me any favors,” he grumbled. “Tina kept me at arm’s length but at least she trusted me.” And damn it, he wanted Amber’s trust too.
He could have manipulated her thoughts the way Vincent manipulated her partner’s. One mental push had convinced Detective Sheridan to leave Megan alone. That shit probably wouldn’t work on Amber—at least not for long. She’d had her thoughts scrambled before. The memories were returning, but Amber was fighting them—just as she’d fought Gerard when he invaded her mind to look for evidence.
She looked thoughtful and just a bit suspicious. “If Tina trusted you, why would she avoid you? Was she afraid of you because you’re a vampire?”
“No,” he grumbled. “She was afraid for her child.”
A flush stained Amber’s cheeks, but her apparent embarrassment didn’t stop her from slipping into detective mode. “Then why did she go to work for vampires? Why get involved if she feared for her daughter?”