Thoughts of Volnar reminded him of their recent conversation. With the hectic night, Roger had found little time to spare for considering Volnar’s news. Now, driving toward Severna Park, he pondered it. Would Sandor’s twin sister risk her own freedom to wreak vengeance on him? Did Claude know anything about her? Roger decided to question him as soon as he could talk halfway comfortably.
Roger had chosen the far end of a shopping mall lot for the rendezvous. Less likely to be monitored by police than a convenience store, less suspicious for a motorist to visit at night in midwinter than a public park. In his upscale vehicle he might pass for a very early commuter waiting to meet his car pool at the Park and Ride lot. Seven minutes after his arrival his contact drove up in an aged but well-polished blue sedan. The supplier, a stocky black man, handed over the frozen blood and accepted the payment with only a subdued grumble about being dragged out of bed to drive around in the snow. Obviously the roll of fifty-dollar bills made up for the inconvenience.
Roger waited for the other man’s car to vanish around a corner before he pulled out. His infrequent suppliers knew neither his name nor where he lived, a situation he intended to maintain. On the way home, he extended his thoughts to touch Britt’s mind. No change in the patient’s condition, Roger was glad to learn. God, he was tired. The smudge of gray lightening the eastern horizon invited him to sleep. No time for that, with Claude to consider.
As soon as he got home, Roger defrosted three of the six plastic bags in the microwave. Carefully squeezing out ice crystals and shaking the bags to homogenize the contents, he transferred two of them to pint beer mugs to finish heating. While stored blood lacked the vital spark of fluid from a living body, and quick thawing further diminished the quality, it was a good deal better than nothing. Ordinary people had to put up with the mediocrity of processed foods; why should vampires expect to be exempt? With a momentary flash of humor, he visualized restaurants serving blood—categorized by type and Rh factor, of course, guaranteed free of drugs or garlic, and maintained in thermal cups at precisely ninety-eight point six degrees.
In the bedroom Britt helped Claude sit up, braced with pillows. Only a tightening around the lips betrayed the pain this effort cost him. “Damn, I hate this. Takeout breakfast? Thanks.” He accepted one of the mugs from Roger and started gulping the contents.
“Slow down, you’ll make yourself ill.” When Claude obeyed, Roger sipped his own drink and said, “Do you feel able to talk? What exactly happened with Gillian?”
“Don’t, colleague,” said Britt.
Claude cut off her protest with a languid gesture. “No, it’s all right, I’m ready to talk. Not much to tell, actually. I saw her doubled over on the ground with a man—Greer, I assumed, from her earlier description of his van—holding onto her. Odor of garlic in the air. No doubt that’s how he rendered her helpless. I charged him, thinking to scare him into letting her go. I transformed. Instead of panicking and running for it, he panicked and shot me. I heard the car drive off, and that’s about it until you carried me in here.”
“I’m surprised you changed,” Roger said, “considering how cautious you people generally are about displaying that ability. Didn’t you think it might be dangerous?”
Claude grimaced. “Didn’t have much time to think, old man. One advantage—seeing me transformed, he couldn’t recognize me later. And how the hell was I supposed to know he had a gun? Not the most typical reaction to the impossible, to go blasting away at it.” He finished his drink.
Roger took the empty mug and handed it to Britt. “Could you refill this, colleague?”
On the way into the hall, she paused to say, “What about Gillian? If he shot you, having her in his hands is pretty frightening.”
“Oh, he wouldn’t harm her,” said Claude. “Prize specimen—wants to keep her intact. From what you told me, all he wants is an interview.”
“That’s all he wants now,” Roger said gloomily. “Too bad you couldn’t have noted the license number of the vehicle.”
“Of course I did. What do you take me for? Light green Chevrolet van, Virginia plates.” Claude recited the number. “Since he’s passing through, that may not be of much immediate help.” Roger noticed that he already spoke with less strain, now that the first unit of blood had fortified him.
A minute later, Britt appeared with the refilled mug. “Claude, how did Eloise react to your getting shot?”
“She slept through it, thank Providence. They’ve got her heavily sedated. Postponing the inevitable—I don’t look forward to telling her about this tomorrow.”
Britt took the chair next to the bed, while Roger leaned against the dresser slowly drinking from his mug. “I agree that Greer won’t harm Gillian unnecessarily,” he said. “But I don’t have much hope that he’ll simply let her go when he’s finished interrogating her.”
“She may very well escape,” said Claude, “or he may contact you when he discovers that as a child, she can’t satisfy his greed for the esoteric. Either way, I’m sure she’s safe for the time being.”
“Much as I hate to admit it,” said Roger, “I don’t see that we can do anything about it today.”
Britt scanned Claude, displaying an avid interest in his rate of healing that Roger could hardly blame. “Think it’s safe for him to sleep yet?”
“I’d say so. Claude?”
Claude gave the empty mug back to Britt. “I should wake normally at sunset.”
Roger examined his aura, which had brightened measurably in the past fifteen minutes. Yet the effects of the massive energy drain he’d suffered couldn’t have passed away so quickly. “I don’t like leaving you alone.”
“Maybe I should stay with him,” Britt said.
“I don’t like to ask that.”
“You aren’t, I’m offering. And doesn’t it make sense? I can do more for him than you can.”
True, Britt’s mere presence would offer Claude strength. “Yes, there’s something in that. But it’s unfortunate that you’ll miss your last appointments before we shut down for the holidays.”
“I’ll call in and order them cancelled.” Roger could have given their receptionist that direction, but he agreed with Britt that there was no point in flaunting their off-duty association at the office. “I’m sure the patients won’t object, and I won’t in the least mind an early vacation from my Thursday ten o’clock session. Thirty-year-old playboy—I wouldn’t mind him coming on to me, that’s textbook normal, but he acts as if I should be flattered. Half the time I feel like laughing in his face, and the other half I want to strangle him.”
Claude smiled weakly at this image. “I daresay you could do it. Thank you for giving up your day for me, ma belle-soeur.”
“No problem. Lie down and stop trying to talk.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
She followed Roger to his bedroom. “Will you go check on Sigmund for me? Refill his dry food, and open a can for him.”
He stopped her from reciting any more of the familiar routine. “Yes, I know. And I’ll call the hospital to find out when Eloise will be released. You should be resting as much as possible. I’ll stay out of your way.”
“What are you talking about? I assumed you were going to work as usual. No reason for both of us to stay here,” said Britt.
He suppressed a sigh. He should have expected this contrary attitude. “I don’t want to leave you alone. Claude is certainly no protection.”
“I don’t expect to need protection.” Impatience cut through the fatigue in her voice. “Greer, or Camille if she’s nearby, is just as likely to contact you at your office as at home. In the middle of the day, maybe more so. Besides, I thought you didn’t want to advertise our relationship. How will it look if we both take the day off at a moment’s notice?”
Aware that he couldn’t shake her determination without a tiring argument, and struck by an unpleasant image of Camille looking for him at the office and deciding to victimize Marcia, the receptionist, Ro
ger gave in. “You can give me a telepathic call if anything happens—and see that you do, instantly.”
“Of course, I’m not stupid. It’s okay for me to sleep a while, isn’t it? I don’t think I can hold out much longer.” Britt sat on Roger’s bed watching him choose a fresh suit and accessories.
“Yes. In fact, it might help if you’d lie down with Claude.”
Her eyebrows arched in mild surprise. “That’s a switch.”
“Don’t be too hard on my instinctive possessiveness, colleague. He’s obviously no threat to you, and more than likely, he’ll remain unconscious until I get home anyway.” He undressed, hanging up items or dropping them in the hamper as necessary. No matter how harried he might be, tidiness came naturally to him.
“All right, will do.”
“And if Gillian, by some chance, does escape from Greer and telephones for help, the answering machine will be on.”
Britt drooped back onto the pillow. “Oh, Lord, I hope she does.”
After his shower, he came out of the attached bathroom to find Britt tucked into the queen-size bed. The clothes folded on the chair demonstrated that she was naked under the covers. One of many traits he valued in her, she shared his ingrained habit of neatness. She drowsily held out her arms to him.
“God, don’t tempt me, or I’ll never get out of this room.” Nevertheless, he did sit on the bed and give her a tentative embrace.
“You can do better than that,” she murmured into his neck.
“Not if I plan to see patients today.”
“On second thought, maybe you should stay home. You look exhausted.”
“No, that’s one reason I shouldn’t. Claude will be draining energy from you, and I don’t want to add to the stress.” He resolutely untwined her arms from around his neck and stood up. “One thing—before you join him in there, please put something on.”
“I thought you’d given up being jealous,” she teased. “Idiot, of course I will. Now, go feed my cat.”
“Certainly.” The sooner he got moving, the less likely he would succumb to Britt’s allure and forget the whole thing. “By the way, be sure you don’t forget to eat, too.”
“I won’t. Worrywart.” She sat up, arms wrapped around her knees, to watch him leave.
Driving across the bridge into Annapolis, he hoped he was successfully concealing the worry that most plagued him, leaving her alone while two different enemies potentially lurked in wait to descend upon his home.
WHEN ROGER CALLED the hospital at mid-morning to check on Eloise’s release, he discovered that the resident on duty wanted her to stay an extra night because of her inexplicably low blood count. Switched through to Eloise herself, Roger found her in a foul mood over the delay.
“I don’t need to be monitored, and I feel all right. Physically, at least. I want out of here! Can’t you come over and do something? Convince them to let me go?”
“That probably wouldn’t be wise.” Roger leaned back in his swivel desk chair and flipped open the file on his next scheduled patient. “I understand they have you set up for another transfusion, which strikes me as a good idea.”
“I don’t like that either. It takes forever, lying there staring at the ceiling, and the last one left me feeling woozy.”
“Shall I come by and see you on my noon break? Anything you’d like me to bring?”
“No, there’s no reason for you to drive at that time of day if you don’t have to. I’ll probably spend the afternoon napping anyway.” Her apathetic tone worried him. She hadn’t even asked about Britt.
“Then we’ll visit you this evening, and tomorrow morning we’ll take you home. Home to my place, if you like, instead of the hotel.”
“That would be nice,” she said dejectedly. “I tried to reach Claude, but he’s asleep. I didn’t mean to hurt him, honestly. And I know he didn’t wimp out on purpose. But I can’t seem to feel it.”
“Give it time,” said Roger, wishing they were face to face so he could use his psychic influence to loosen the knot of her misery. “You can talk to him tonight.” This didn’t seem the right moment to hit her with Claude’s injury and Gillian’s abduction.
Eloise’s condition preyed on his mind throughout the afternoon, except when he shunted the problem aside while interacting with patients. He’d had decades of practice at such compartmentalizing. A couple of people commented on the icy streets. After the night’s flurries had blown over, the bright sun had melted the top layer of snow just enough to refreeze when the temperature dropped in the afternoon. Roger’s last session of the day called in to cancel on account of the hazardous roads. He was unsurprised—she was a mild agoraphobic who regularly seized upon any excuse to skip appointments—and, on the whole, grateful for the chance to get home early. Even if that meant driving while the sun was still above the horizon.
After wishing the receptionist an advance Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, he packed his briefcase full of case notes and income tax records and started for home. Awareness of Britt waiting there for him lifted his spirits. They’d agreed living together full-time would be unwise, but an occasional interlude like this could be a great pleasure. Despite a severely wounded visitor and a host of other troubles lurking on the sidelines.
Roger popped a Handel cassette, in deference to the season, into the car’s tape deck and hummed along with it. He’d checked on Britt several times during the day. She’d slept until about one. Since then, she’d occupied herself with light housecleaning—though he’d urged her not to bother—and the ordeal of a pile of Navy Tricare forms she’d brought from work the previous day. Her telepathic grumbling had made him smile in spite of his worries; he, too, would prefer the most intransigent case of schizophrenia over insurance claim documents.
Pulling into his parking space, he allowed himself a moment of envy for Claude, sharing a bed—however innocently—with Britt this morning. Sleeping with a vampire, literally dead to the world, was no fun for the human partner. For the nonhuman beneficiary himself (or herself), though, contact with that warm, vital presence bestowed the deepest and most invigorating rest. Roger felt sorry for most of his compatriots, who could never bring themselves to trust an ephemeral that far.
Britt met him at the door without offering a welcome-home kiss. She knew he preferred to do without such indulgences when they didn’t have time or privacy to do it right. “Not a peep out of the phone all day. I halfway expected Greer to call, given that he’s probably not getting any satisfaction out of Gillian.”
“What about Claude?” Roger said, hanging up his coat.
“He just woke up.”
“This early?” They headed for the stairs. “What is he doing?”
Britt smiled. “Trying to charge in all directions at once. I ordered him to stay horizontal until you’ve examined him. I don’t feel I have the proper training to prescribe for this case.”
“What makes you think I do?”
“I was about to warm some dinner for him when you got here.”
“Fine, exactly what I would have suggested.” Roger went up to see Claude, leaving Britt to defrost dinner.
Claude half reclined, both pillows rolled to support his head and shoulders. “That partner of yours is a flaming tyrant. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
“I don’t consider you qualified to make that judgment. How do you feel?” Roger pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down.
“Rotten,” said Claude cheerfully. “But not half so bad as I would’ve otherwise. Thanks—to both of you.”
“Don’t thank me. If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.”
“Good point. Maybe I’ll take it out of your hide later. Seriously, old man, I’m sorry I botched it with Gillian.”
“We’ll discuss that after a while.” Roger scanned Claude’s aura, which had shed most of the murkiness of the previous night. The slow, steady heartbeat was equally encouraging. When he ran his fingers lightly over the wound
, Claude winced. “Prepare yourself. I have to change the dressing.” As soon as Claude’s eyes glazed over in a light self-induced trance, Roger peeled off the bandage. As he’d expected, the entry wound appeared to have been healing for at least a week. Another day or two, and no mark would be visible. Clearly, however, Claude was still paying for the extreme energy drain he’d suffered.
Having replaced the dressing, Roger lightly tapped Claude’s wrist. Claude’s eyes focused on him. “Do you need to get up?”
“Not now. And if I did, I’d rather lie here and suffer than ask Britt.”
Roger had expected the negative answer. In the normal daylight dormancy, a vampire’s kidneys virtually shut down along with other metabolic functions. “Then ask me, when necessary. I won’t have you keeling over and risking a concussion or a fracture.”
“Come on, Rodge, you exaggerate the danger. I’m practically recovered. By the way, when you visit Eloise tonight, would you please tell her that? She doesn’t believe me.”
Britt stepped into the room, carrying a pair of mugs on a tray. “Goodness, I wonder why? So she’s speaking to you?”
Claude’s expression darkened. “Only on a superficial level. Like talking on the blasted telephone—she won’t let me inside. But she’s upset about what happened, and I need you to convince her I’m fine.”
“Lie, you mean,” said Roger.
Claude summoned up a smile. “Right. Knew I could count on you.” He chose a mug from the tray Britt set on the nightstand. “She said they’re releasing her tomorrow. By then I should be on my feet.”
Britt, curling up in an armchair across the room, looked skeptical. “You think so, colleague?”
“I don’t have much basis for comparison. It’s possible.” Roger picked up the other mug and drank a few swallows of the warm blood before changing the subject. “Claude, have you ever met Neil Sandor’s twin sister?”
“Camille? Certainement.”
“Why the blazes haven’t you ever mentioned her?”
Claude seemed mildly surprised by the angry response. “Why should I? The subject never happened to come up. I hardly know the woman. Haven’t seen her in years.”
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