A Taste of Love and Evil

by Barbara Monajem

  “Oh, for God’s sake.” The vamp rummaged in her suitcase for a ratty blue bandanna. “This should do temporarily.” She fastened the bandanna around his arm with a safety pin. “Have some doughnuts and coffee. There’s enough for both of us.” She zipped the suitcase shut. “Where did you move your Jeep to?”

  No doughnuts, no coffee, who the hell were those guys, and…“My Jeep?”

  “It’s not where you parked it last night.” The girl ripped open the packet of doughnuts and bit into one.

  Jack cursed and went to the window. The spot where he’d parked the Jeep was empty.

  “Maybe they knew it was yours and took it.” The girl scowled at the remnant of doughnut in her hand. “The cops are gone. I hope the thugs don’t come back.” She washed the doughnut down with coffee and set the cup on the table. “You can have the rest.” She took her handbag and a change of clothes and went into the bathroom. A second later the shower came on.

  Jack sat on the chair and tried to think. Any number of people might want him dead, but usually they didn’t know who he was, much less where to find him. The ability to fade into the nondescript—and even into the woodwork—meant most of his rescues ran smoothly, and the abusers never found out where their women had gone. But someone had figured him out, someone with muscle and guns. This he could handle, once he got away from here; it might even be fun. But a little blood loss was no excuse for losing control, and as for being forced out of camouflage by a vampire…disastrous.

  He crammed down the other doughnut and was halfway through the Snickers bar before he recollected himself and laid the rest on the table. He swallowed the warmish coffee as well. It doesn’t matter. She offered it; I left her half the Snickers, even Stephen. He reached into his back pocket and drew out his wallet, cradling it in his left hand while he pulled out a five with his right.

  But with the money on the table and that small balance restored, his options looked no better. Stuck in some Podunk Mississippi town, weakened by a gunshot wound, and pursued by thugs with weapons and transport, he didn’t stand much of a chance. If he holed up in the hotel, they’d find him. If he tried to leave, they’d catch him. His cell phone in its pocket on the backpack had been destroyed by the bullet. The woman’s cell lay on the table next to the half-eaten Snickers, but he didn’t know a soul less than three hours away, and long before anyone got here, those thugs might be back.

  Which left the vamp.

  But if she found out too much about him, if she blabbed to her noxious vampire friends…

  The girl’s cell vibrated. He read the display: CORKRAN COSTUMES. The phone vibrated again. Normally he wouldn’t answer someone else’s phone, but in this case it might be justified. For his own protection, he needed to know more about her.

  He flipped it open. A panicked male voice battered his eardrum. “Rose, the Elizabethan gown has been stolen! You’re the only one who can save this account!”

  Jack infused sleepy disinterest into his voice. “Rose’s line. May I help you?”

  “Who is this? Where’s Rose?”

  “I’m Jack. Rose is unavailable at the moment.” As he spoke, the shower stopped, and he interrupted the groans and curses at the other end. “Ah, I hear her coming. Who shall I say is calling?”

  “Tell her it’s Miles. It’s an emergency.”

  Jack glanced at the elaborate bodice with the beaded serpent on its sleeve hanging in full view on the luggage cart, the skirt he’d camouflaged against pinned below it and the embroidered cloak on the chair next to his, and he gave thanks for a well-rounded education. A secret for a secret. Fair’s fair. An even exchange. One way or another, they would drive a bargain.

  He knocked on the bathroom door.

  Rose dressed in shorts and a fresh tank top and wound the towel around her head. She opened the bathroom door, glowering, and encountered that dark, intent pair of eyes. The shower had helped her recover her poise. She seldom met with horror and disgust when a guy realized what she was, but it still threw her for a loop twelve years after sprouting her fangs. Frustrating, since she should be past that by now.

  The eyes held hers for a long second. “Someone named Miles. He seems upset.”

  Instead of fantasizing, while jogging, about men who didn’t exist, Rose should have been rehearsing the lies she was about to tell her former employer. She took the phone and a deep breath and launched into an offensive. “Don’t you dare start on my private life, Miles. It’s none of your business.”

  The only good thing about the last few days—starting when a vampire calling herself Titania had arrived from New Orleans and seduced Miles—was that he had reverted abruptly to his role of father figure with regard to Rose. This should have been a relief, as his moves on her since his wife’s death had been a huge nuisance. Too bad that Titania, the first vamp Rose had met in years and only the second in her entire life, had turned out to be a thief.

  Miles obliged with the familiar babble about settling down with a decent man. “Who is this Jack fellow? You never mentioned him before. Have you finally found someone suitable?”

  “What are you talking about? I don’t know anybody called Jack.”

  “He sounds somewhat educated,” Miles said. “Nothing like the scum you tend to prefer. Where did he go to school?”

  The guy with the eyes pointed to himself, his mouth twitching. All of a sudden the vamp hater had a sense of humor? “Is that his name? How should I know about his education? He’s just some random man staying at this hotel.”

  “A man you don’t even know?” Miles groaned. “That’s even more dangerous than the lowlifes you usually date!”

  Miles yammered on, and Rose let him, wishing she’d gotten the Elizabethan costume bagged up so it wouldn’t stare her in the face when she lied. She turned away from both the gown and the eavesdropper. She didn’t want to lie, but her throat blocked up at the thought of telling Miles the truth. He’d be furious. He wouldn’t accept her explanation, and he definitely wouldn’t understand. With Titania there vamping him, he wouldn’t even want to.

  “I told Titania about your boyfriends,” Miles said, “and she’s very worried about you.” He dropped his voice. “She says a vampire can defend herself with her fangs, but an ordinary girl like you is at risk with that kind of man.”

  Luckily, Miles had never seen Rose’s fangs; he would have whispered the news to every customer who came through the door. Fortunately, Titania hadn’t caught on, either. She hadn’t even bothered to lower her voice in the next room when she was calling someone named Gino to arrange the proposed theft. A normal person wouldn’t have heard her, but a vamp would. And had.

  I did the right thing, Rose told herself. Now that the dress Titania coveted was gone, she would dump Miles. He’d take it badly, and Rose couldn’t bring herself to make it worse. Not now. Not yet. Once the dress was delivered and paid for, she’d have good news to balance the bad.

  A weight lifted off her. “Get to the point, Miles. You’re not calling at seven a.m. to lecture me about my sex life.”

  Miles got his lines as anticipated, rant and all. Rose’s voice trembled from anxiety rather than shock, and her responses were right, if the delivery was appalling. “Oh, my God,” she said weakly, and “Miles, that’s terrible,” and “Who could have done it?” Meanwhile, Jack watched and listened, and it shouldn’t have mattered that she was lying, but somehow it did.

  “I need you here right away,” Miles said. “Where are you?”

  “It doesn’t matter where I am.” Oh, for God’s sake. “I’m in Mississippi, heading south.”

  “If you turn around right now, you’ll be here in time to start another dress tonight.”

  “I’m not coming back to Chicago.” Squawk. “Calm down. I can make another dress just as easily down here. I’ve got some of my own supplies, and I can get the rest in New Orleans.” Double squawk. “Stop fussing. I’ll make the dress and deliver it on time.”

  Rose heard a grunt behind her. J
ack had picked the worst possible moment to change his shirt. “You could have asked for help,” she said, gathering up the hem of the stained T-shirt with her free hand. He stiffened briefly before relaxing and letting her pull it over his head. “Nothing, Miles. I was talking to Jack.”

  Jack, who had well-defined pecs and a taut abdomen. She sighed.

  “What if you can’t find what you need in New Orleans?” Miles fussed. “We can’t afford to screw up this job.”

  Rose shook out the silk shirt—a designer label, not cheap—that Jack had unearthed from the remnants of his backpack. “It’ll be fine, Miles,” she said, and then some evil prompter messed with her boss and he got his next line all wrong.

  “If you won’t come back, I’ll bring you the supplies.”

  Rose’s heartbeat ramped up. She dropped the shirt on Jack’s lap and paced the length of the room and back. “No, Miles. No. You don’t need to come down here. You can’t leave the shop. You have other commissions to take care of.” How could everything be going so wrong? “Tell you what. I’ll go to Bayou Gavotte. It’s not far from New Orleans. The customer lives there, and you can FedEx whatever I need.” Pause. “No, I don’t have an address in Bayou Gavotte. I will by tonight. No, it won’t be too late—”

  “Rose.” Jack held out a business card. “Use this address.” Rose waited, ignoring Miles’s yammer, trying to read those stark, unfriendly eyes. Jack stared coolly back. He said, “But since I’ve lost my Jeep, you’ll have to take me there.”

  Rose scanned the card. Poetic Options—whatever that meant—and an address and cell number. Convenient, even providential, that Jack lived in Bayou Gavotte—and providential for him, no doubt, that she was headed that way. So, why not?

  There were plenty of reasons why not. He didn’t like vamps, he might well be a criminal, and he was being pursued by murderous thugs. But a much bigger why, in the shape of dear, deluded Miles, hung over Rose’s head.

  She smiled. “What could be better?”

  That smile would have knocked any other man off his feet, but Jack steeled himself and got the expected result: Rose turned up her nose and swiveled away. No point wasting a smile, as Titania, the biggest screwup of Jack’s entire life, would have said. He might need Rose’s help, but no way, Jack decided, no way would Rose catch him weakened and off guard again.

  He listened as she fought to reassure the hysterical guy in Chicago.

  Chicago. Damn. Rose was from Chicago. The woman he was supposed to be meeting—covertly escorting, rather—came from Chicago. Rose was a vampire, and so was Violet Dupree, the woman who had sent him here. Could Violet have set him up? Sent him here to be shot? That made no sense. Violet had no reason to want him dead. On the other hand, no one but Violet had known he’d be here. But if she had set him up, why send a woman for him to escort if he wouldn’t be alive to do it?

  He tuned in to Rose’s anxious voice again. “Miles, it’ll be fine. Jack’s just a regular guy. Sort of nondescript.”

  Nondescript though Jack might seem—and he strove to keep it that way—Rose had jammed the phone between her ear and shoulder and was proffering help once again. He almost wished he’d been wearing his Rolex or driving the Porsche. Then all this helpfulness would make more sense.

  She held out the shirt and slid it carefully up his injured arm and around his back so he could put the other arm through. She even did up the buttons. With her breasts right under his nose and her clean scent assailing him, he could already feel himself being sucked in. What blood he had left needed to stay in his brain, not plunge to his groin. Jack stood hurriedly and moved away from her.

  “Miles,” she said as if she had heard Jack’s thoughts, “this is the deal. If you come here, I won’t remake the gown. Send the supplies to Jack’s, and I will.”

  Jack reached the window and immediately backed away. “Damn.”

  Rose clapped the phone shut and stowed it in her handbag. “The thugs are back?” She moved quickly now, fetching shampoo and toothbrush from the bathroom, dropping odds and ends into the smaller of her two suitcases.

  Jack peered through the crack between the curtains. “One of them, at least. He’s talking to some girl in an SUV.”

  “Maybe she’ll keep him busy and we can slip away.”

  “Not with you showing all that skin and your van parked just down from the SUV.” Immediately, he wished he hadn’t mentioned her vehicle; now she knew he’d been aware of her last night.

  Rose shrugged. “Guys notice me regardless of what I wear.”

  “What typical conceit,” Jack muttered. With his good arm, he slung the larger suitcase onto the luggage cart.

  Rose dumped her tackle box next to it. “It’s nothing to do with conceit. Do you think I want jerks like you coming on to me?” She clasped the reddish gold mantle around a coat hanger and hung it next to the Elizabethan gown.

  “I didn’t come on to you.” Jack put the other suitcase at the opposite end of the cart. “Why else would you wear a tank top and skimpy shorts in January?”

  “It’s warm out.” Rose checked the closet and under the dust ruffle, hanging her handbag on a hook above the suitcase. “It’ll be hot in the van.”

  “It’s not even fifty degrees out there,” Jack scoffed.

  “It’s twenty below in Chicago. Fifty is warm.” Rose began to unzip a huge canvas garment bag, then furrowed her brow at Jack. “You’ll have to do your chameleon act again. Are you well enough yet? Blending like that must take a lot of concentration.”

  Only when I’m confronted with a half-naked vamp. “I’m fine,” gritted Jack.

  “Everybody will be looking at me any way.” Rose zipped up the garment bag again. “The dress and mantle will be better camouflage than this bag, right?”

  There was no alternative, so he clutched his torn backpack and squished himself between the suitcases. “You’ve seen the chameleon thing before.”

  “Only once—and no, he wasn’t trying to hide from me.” She ate the rest of the Snickers bar in two quick bites. “What’s this five on the table?”

  “Payment for breakfast,” Jack said, blending, swathing himself in camouflage.

  She huffed and left the money where it was.

  “Not everybody’s terrified of vampires,” she said, holding the door open and shoving the cart through. “Some people actually like them.”

  Jack clamped down on a retort, wondering if he really heard bitterness and uncertainty in her voice. She had called him a jerk, and with good reason. His manners were deserting him at every turn.

  From across the hall, the chambermaid asked, “Were you talking to me, ma’am?” Jack shut down everything he could and blended even more.

  “No, just my invisible friend,” Rose said. “There’s a five in my room for you.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” said the maid. “Everybody else left so fast they forgot to tip me.”

  “Thank my invisible friend,” called Rose, already halfway down the hall.

  In the elevator, she said conversationally, “I once dressed as a nun for a Halloween party, and the guys still swarmed over me like wasps on a jam jar.”

  Jack said nothing.

  “When I flaunt it, a lot of them are intimidated. Those who aren’t, I get rid of however I can.” Rose paused. “Not that I care whether you believe me.”

  That’s a lie, Jack realized, surprised again. He held himself still as she checked out of the hotel, narrowing his eyes to slits, but he could still see her long, bare legs, and her heady aroma harassed his nostrils almost beyond bearing.

  She’s just sulking, he told himself, because I’m not all over her. That must be it.

  Chapter Two

  Rose hurried the luggage cart through the parking lot. It was only a few hours’ drive to Bayou Gavotte. Unfortunately, she couldn’t wash her hands of this grumpy vamp hater until tomorrow, because of the supplies Miles was sending. She didn’t need them, but she couldn’t purposely waste Miles’s money any more
than she could have sat back and let Titania steal the Elizabethan gown. Once the costume was delivered to Violet Dupree and paid for, she’d explain to Miles and return the unneeded supplies.

  Not surprisingly, most of the hotel guests had cleared out in a hurry. No silver Cadillacs, thank God. Only an old Chevy pickup, a shiny white Lincoln, and the thug with the ponytail propped against a black SUV, smoking a cigarette and staring at the sky. Inside the SUV, a girl slumped against the window frame and sulked.

  “You’re a stinking sadist, Stevie,” she griped through the open window. “That’s all I have to say.” She wiggled her fingers at Rose, who gave her a tight little smile in return.

  “Does that mean you’ll shut up now, Juma?” Stevie blew three lazy smoke rings.

  “The least you could do is listen to my side of the story, but you’re like every other grown-up in the whole stupid world. Nobody gives a crap about me,” Juma said.

  “Watch your language, girl. Your grandma won’t want to hear you were cussing. Or that you were hitting on me. I might not tell her that one if you shut the fuck up.”

  “You wouldn’t tell her that!” Juma shrieked. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “No telling what I might do if I get pissed off,” Stevie said, his eyes now on Rose. She kept her head down and tried to suck up all her allure and bury it somewhere deep inside. Not that it had ever worked before, and this man, by the look of him, wouldn’t be easily intimidated. I’m an idiot, she thought. This guy would notice anyone showing skin. Why had she let Jack get to her?

  “Well, well.” Stevie handed Juma the cigarette.

  Juma cursed and tossed the cigarette after him. Rose pushed the cart quickly around the far side of her van and slid open the side door.

  Stevie was right behind her. “Little lady like you needs a strong man to help with those heavy bags.”

  Rose slapped at his paw, which was already reaching for the larger suitcase. “Thanks, but I’m not little and I don’t need your help.”

  He had a hard, country-boy face and a firm, stocky body. He grinned and grabbed the suitcase. “Sure you do.”