The vampire’s smile returned.
Slow. Evil. Deadly.
With only a hint of fang.
As the human began to move his arms and legs like he wasn’t sure they were still attached, the male bent down and waited for consciousness to be fully resumed. Because, clearly, it was not enough to kill. You had to murder your victim only when they were aware you were taking their life—
Suddenly, all Mae could see was her brother. Rhoger was the one lying beneath the menace. Rhoger was the weaker of the two about to be struck. Rhoger was about to die—
“No!” she yelled. “Don’t hurt him!”
Given the shocked silence of the crowd, her voice carried throughout the parking garage’s level, and something about it—the pitch? the tone?—made the vampire jerk to attention. Then that terrifying face turned to her, and those horrible eyes narrowed.
Mae’s heart stopped.
“Please,” she said. “Don’t kill him—”
From out of nowhere, the human’s fist struck out with a flimsy punch that once again missed the mark of that prominent jaw.
Except then came the blood.
A trickle. A gush.
A geyser.
From the throat of the vampire.
Confused, Mae looked to the hand that had done the flimsy swipe—and something silver was glinting in the human’s grip. A knife.
As the red rain fell on the man’s throat and chest, five hundred pairs of shoes and high heels went on a bolt, the crowd racing for the stairwell. Meanwhile, the human seemed shocked at his success. As for the vampire? His expression still had not changed, but not because he was unaware of his mortal wound. He touched the second mouth that had been opened at the side of his throat and then brought his glossy fingers into his field of vision.
If anything, he was merely annoyed as he listed to one side. Fell to his knees. Propped a hand on the concrete to keep from totally collapsing. Meanwhile, clearly unsure whether he was free from danger or not, the human wriggled out from under and took off at a dead—natch—run.
Mae looked at the vampire. Then glanced at the stairwell, which was choked with bodies trying to get out of the parking garage, out of the neighborhood, out of the state.
“Shit,” she muttered as gurgles rose up from the male.
Do not get involved, she told herself. Your first and only concern is Rhoger.
Except she wanted to help. Hell, she felt responsible because she’d distracted the vampire—and that was the only reason the human had survived, the only reason why the male wasn’t going to.
But her brother needed her more than this violent stranger.
The male made a sound.
“I can’t help you,” she said in a cracked voice.
The male was struggling to speak, and as he coughed up blood, she looked around . . . and then went over to kneel down beside him. There was no 911 equivalent for vampires, and even if there were, he was losing blood too fast for any kind of ambulance—or even a healer who could dematerialize to him. Besides, who could she call?
Maybe the King’s Audience House number?
No. There were rules against fraternizing with humans, ones that she was very certain precluded underground-fighting in a sea of Homo sapiens and trying to kill members of that species in front of hundreds of those rats without tails. If she called the King’s people, both she and this vampire were going to be in huge trouble.
And Rhoger had to come first.
“Is there someone I can get for you—”
“Go,” he said between labored breaths. “You must leave me. Save yourself!”
His voice was very deep and really rough, and when she didn’t respond, his eyes focused on her with a glare that shot right through the back of her skull.
“For godsakes, female, take care of yourself.”
It was the very last thing she expected him to say, and when he repeated the strained words, Mae got to her feet and stumbled back. As she moved away, his hard stare tracked her, even if she wasn’t sure he was seeing her.
“Go,” he ordered in spite of the blood coming out the side of his neck. “Go!”
“I’m sorry—”
“Like I give a shit!”
Trembling from head to foot, Mae closed her eyes and tried to concentrate.
When she was finally able to dematerialize, the gurgling sounds of the dying vampire haunted her. But she had her own problems, and he was right. She had to take care of herself. Her brother was depending on her.
Besides, if you lived by the fight, you died by the fight.
It was a fact of fate, and not something someone like her could try to change.
How do you know we were supposed to be in Paris?”
As the triplex’s Mrs. presented the quite reasonable question to Balz, he found himself totally distracted by what she looked like under that ceiling light. Those breasts of hers were . . . tight-tipped because it was a little chilly . . . and that thin, ever-so-slightly-seethrough silk was almost better than completely naked.
Because it gave a male a job to do. Slowly. With his tongue.
While he made a short film of the two of them together in his head, the Mrs. started talking to him again, her mouth moving, her expression expectant but not alarmed. Courtesy of the images in Balz’s mind, however, all he heard was the Teri Hatcher line from that Seinfeld episode: They’re real and they’re spectacular.
“. . . you?”
“What?” Balz murmured. “I’m sorry, I was distracted.”
“Are you taking that.” The Mrs. pointed to the Cartier jewel case. “In your hand.”
“Yeah,” he said with a nod. “I am.”
“Oh.” Her expression grew remote. “My husband bought that necklace for me a year ago. For our anniversary.”
“You want me to snag something else, then?”
After a moment, she shook her head. “No. That’s fine.”
Balz smiled some more. “You think you’re dreaming, don’t you.”
The Mrs. smiled back. “I would be terrified otherwise.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“But you’re a thief, aren’t you?”
“Thieves steal objects.” He tapped the jewel case. “We don’t hurt people.”
“Oh, that’s good.” Her eyes drifted to his mouth. And then continued down across his chest. His abs. They lingered on his hips . . . like she was wondering exactly what was behind his fly and how well he could use it. “That’s really good. Yes.”
“Tell me something, is your husband here?” Balz murmured as he felt his body stir in places that had been woefully underutilized of late.
“No. He’s in Idaho.”
Balz blinked. “Idaho? Is that why you didn’t go to France?”
“Idaho is more important. Even though it’s our anniversary tonight.”
“I can’t fathom that math.”
“He has a company that’s headquartered there. It’s a manufacturing firm. They need a lot of space, and the land value is very reasonable. He has his own plane and they have a runway for him.” Abruptly, her eyes lowered. “But business is not why he’s really going there.”
“Why’s he going?”
“He has . . . a friend. In Idaho.”
“What kind of friend.” When she didn’t elaborate, Balz muttered, “That man is a fool.”
Those pretty dark eyes returned to his own and her hands, graceful and worried, went to the bodice of her nightgown. “Do you think?”
“Think what. That he’s missing out, not being with you? Fuck yeah—” Balz put his free hand forward. “’Scuse my French.”
As the Mrs. blushed faintly and looked down again, it was beyond sad that this beautiful woman needed reassurance from a thief. Then again, who better to ascertain value?
“So he’s in Idaho.” Never had Balz liked a state more. “How nice, especially this time of year.”
The Mrs. lifted her eyes. “Oh, no, the weather is awful in the early spring.”
“I disagree. I think the weather is perfect for him.” May the bastard get frostbite on his pecker. “Just like things are better for you here in Caldwell. Much, much . . . better.”
After a moment, she nodded slowly. “It is very nice here. This time of year.”
Funny, he reflected, how two strangers could ask and answer things using words that had fuck all to do with what they were really talking about.
“And I think you’re wrong,” Balz said as he popped the lid on the necklace box. “If your husband bought this for you for your anniversary, you should definitely keep it.”
Her eyes went to the jewelry case. In a hard tone, she muttered, “It’s insured. So he’ll get his money back. He always gets his money back.”
“Still, there should be a sentimental attachment to it.” He freed the collar of diamonds from its velvet nest with his pinkie and tossed the case over his shoulder. “Something to make you smile when you wear it.”
“You think so?” she asked.
Balz nodded. “I know so. And I’ll prove it to you.”
“Will you?”
“Yes.” He walked over to her. “Right now.”
The scent of her arousal totally got him going. But like his erection needed help considering her body?
Balz unclipped the clasp and then he turned the diamonds around so they faced front and reached across the electric air between them.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“I’m putting your husband’s necklace around your neck.” He lowered his lips right next to her ear as he refastened the clasp. “So I can fuck you with it on.”
Her gasp was erotic as hell. “Why . . . why . . . why would you do that?”
Balz eased back. Her heart rate was flickering at her jugular, and as she breathed fast, the silk of her nightgown moved up and down over her nipples. Fuck, he was hungry all of a sudden. Ravenous.
“It takes more than just diamonds to make a woman feel beautiful.” He trailed a fingertip over the skin at the base of her throat, following the necklace’s contours. “It’s something that husband of yours should remember. And since he doesn’t care, I’m going to give you all kinds of memories to go with these cold, icy stones.”
“But I thought you’re stealing this.” She put her hand up and touched him as he touched her. “I thought you were—”
“Let’s just focus on you for a little while.”
Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the hollow between her collarbones. Then he moved to her sternum, nestling in between her breasts. As she let out a sigh, he felt her fingers dive into his hair, and that was when he moved to where he had wanted to be from the moment he’d seen her.
Balz extended his tongue and licked at one of her nipples, moistening the silk. Inching back, he took a moment to admire his handiwork, the fine barrier disappeared, the nightgown clinging to her delicious flesh. When he blew across her breast, she shivered and her scent got louder in his nose.
“Oh, God, do that again,” she breathed.
“My pleasure, Mrs.”
With that, he scooped her up into his arms . . . and carried her to her stupid-ass husband’s bed.
• • •
Seven floors below, homicide detective Erika Saunders stepped off the elevator and looked left and right. She knew where she was going, but it was an old habit. You always checked both ways before you crossed the street. Or entered a hallway.
Or headed down the aisle.
She really should have minded that last one.
The Commodore was urban luxury living at its finest—or at least that tagline was part of its newly registered trademark. And from what she’d seen, from the concierge service at the front desk to the views of the bridges over the Hudson to what she’d heard the condos were like, everything had been freshly renovated to the standards of the very best co-ops on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. The place even had a fitness facility and a swimming pool now, and the hotel corporation that had bought it a year ago was talking about add-ons like a gourmet restaurant, a spa, and a yoga studio.