The Vampire Shrink(21)
Author: Lynda Hilburn

A tantalizing visual formed in my brain. "Wow. That raises all sorts of interesting possibilities. A stranded na**d man in my house, at my mercy. And who said dreams don't come true?" I laughed. "Certainly. My appliances are at your disposal. It's the least I can do." I waggled my eyebrows at him.

"Well, it might be the least you can do, but it isn't all you can do . . ."

I smiled at him, "We'll have to talk about that later. I'd better get back down there." I kissed him again, picked up the bag and closed the door.

The detectives stood when I entered the room and I handed over the yellow bag. It resembled one of those biohazard con­tainers from a disaster movie; an eye-searing slap of color. All it needed was a skull and crossbones.

I offered to make coffee and invited them to follow me into the kitchen, so we could continue talking while I ground the beans. A few minutes later a woman from the forensics team joined us and we all drank coffee while the detectives asked me the same questions they'd asked earlier. I had little to add to my original statement, and in less than a half-hour I was showing them out.

I walked them to the door and paused with my hand on the knob. "'Thank you for being so kind to me today and for coming over here to pick up the clothing."

"Just doing our job. Your Mr. Devereux can be very persuasive.

"My Mr. Devereux?"

The detectives stole a quick glance at each other. "Yes. It was at his request the Chief bent the rules for you. They seem to have an unusual relationship. Mr. Devereux is a very influential man. By the way, you've got quite a bit of com­pany out there. You might want to . . ."

I opened the door and was immediately overwhelmed by voices screaming questions, bright lights shining in my eyes and cameras in my face. Even knowing I'd be the focus of attention, however briefly, hadn't prepared me for the reality of finding my front lawn filled with aggressive strangers who were competing to record my smallest utterance.

The detectives took charge of the situation, strode through the door and reminded all the reporters that they were tres­passing on private property. I closed the door and pressed my weight against it.

I'd learned my lesson. This time I made sure all the locks on the door were securely engaged and the alarm was on. I didn't want any more juicy experiences thwarted by unex­pected company.

After giving the detectives a couple of minutes to dis­perse the crowd, I peeked through the slightly raised slat of a mini-blind, and saw several uniform police officers holding the reporters back near the street. I hoped the media would lose interest in me before Monday because I had a full client schedule and I wasn't willing for things to get any more out of control.

And what was that about Devereux? A relationship with the police chief? Thinking of him reminded me of the violent scene I'd witnessed in the basement of The Crypt. It also reminded me of my overwhelming desire to crawl into his lap. Both those things seemed like they'd happened in another life. I didn't know whether to be disgusted with myself for let­ting my raging hormones get me into so much trouble, or be grateful that my long dry spell with men might be over.

But, what if he really is a vampire?

I decided all of it was too much to deal with and I'd think about it later. Yeah. Me and Scarlett O'Hara. I might get tossed out of the Psychologists Club for saying this, but a little denial never hurt anyone.

"Hey," I yelled up the stairs. "They're gone. You can come down now. There's coffee."

I went into the kitchen to forage for snacks to go with the coffee and then picked up the phone to check messages. A synthetic-voice from the phone company notified me that my message queue was full and I'd need to delete some before I could receive anymore. I didn't know how many the system held, but I'd apparently exceeded the limit.

I listened to the first few seconds of several messages, sav­ing them if they were from clients or potential clients, deleting them if they were media calls, and then heard the sweetly sensual voice of Vaughan the chiropractor saying something about our dinner date tonight.

Shit!

I'd totally forgotten about Vaughan. It seemed like weeks since I'd made the date—back when there were no men on the horizon—and now I couldn't even imagine keeping it. I didn't feel remotely like the same person anymore. But as I listened further, he went on to say that he'd seen my story on the morning news and hoped I was okay, and of course, our date was off, but would I please call him and let him know I was alive and well. Very sweet. I wrote a note on the white­board on my kitchen wall, reminding myself to call him.

I heard the sound of bare feet padding into the kitchen and turned, expecting to find a luscious na**d man, and in­stead burst out laughing. Alan had rooted around in my closet and found an old pair of torn, pink sweat pants that rode up to his mid-calf and fit him like a second skin, and a very small, tight T-shirt that said "Woman Power!" Even though he should have looked ludicrous, it was all I could do to keep myself from leaping on him and finishing what we'd started earlier.

He smiled at my reaction, and strutted around in a circle so I could see all sides of the spectacular presentation.

"I didn't want to put on anything that I might stretch out and ruin, and I figured you probably weren't too attached to these. Besides, I look great in pink."

" I think you probably look great in anything.'' Not to men­tion in nothing.

He gave a slow blink and sauntered over, his face very serious. "Thank you. I believe you mean that."

The close proximity of his body and the sudden shift in intensity surprised me, and I felt myself melting into a puddle on the floor. I leaned against the counter and cleared my throat. "Of course I do."

We stared at each other for a moment, then I forced my eyes away. As delicious as it would have been to return to my bedroom and spend the rest of the afternoon exploring each other's erogenous zones, the shock and confusion of the morning had worn off and fatigue was setting in. And it was time to face all the things I didn't want to think about.

My stomach growled. "Are you as hungry as I am?"

He smiled. "For food, I mean?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I am. Shall we have something delivered? What'll it be? Pizza? Chinese? Mexican? Lady's choice."

"How will the delivery person get through that horde of reporters out there?"

"I'll call in and request a police escort to the front door," he said.

We negotiated the food and I went into the living room to collapse on the couch while Alan performed the phone duties.

"I'm going to put these filthy clothes in the washing ma­chine, then we need to talk. Something traumatic happened to you last night. Obviously, you didn't disappear of your own volition and I want to hear every detail. No matter how inconsequential." He hesitated for a few seconds. "And I have something to tell you."

The tone of his voice indicated I wasn't going to like his news, so, being my usual impatient self, I dragged myself off the couch and followed him into the laundry room.

"What do you have to tell me?"

"Hold on a minute."

I drummed my fingers on the counter while he loaded the washer.

He shook his head and smiled. "'Such a control freak. Come on. Let's go back into the living room."

He grabbed my hand, pulled me to the couch and we sat.

I didn't say out loud that I thought we had control freak characteristics in common.

I sighed impatiently.

"So? You're starting to make me nervous. Did some­thing bad happen? I mean something in addition to what happened to me?"

He nodded. "Yes. Something bad happened. Do you remember the call I got last night at the club? The one where I was told there was another body?"

"Yes, I remember."

"The body they found was Emerald Addison's."

All the air leaked out of me like a punctured balloon and I sagged back into the couch cushions, speechless.

Alan patted my hand. "I'm sorry. This must be hard to hear. She was your client."

I didn't correct him. "What happened to her?"

"She was found in the alley behind an apartment build­ing in Capitol Hill. The report said she had a friend living there named Eric Weiss. Her body was drained of blood, same as the others. It was a vampire attack, although the lo­cals aren't seriously considering that angle."

I sat silently, staring at the wall.

Poor little Emerald. I wished she really had been my cli­ent so I'd have more memories of her than just our brief trip to the hospital. I wondered if Midnight and Ronald had been notified and how they were coping. And if they'd heard about my situation, they were probably worried about me, too.

I jumped up and strode to my desk, searching for my briefcase and my current client files.

Alan stood. "What's happening? What're you doing?"

"I've got to call a couple of my clients, friends of Emerald's. You saw them with me at the hospital. They must be feeling terrible."

I sat down at my desk, located the phone numbers for both of them, called, and got their answering machines. I left messages giving them my home phone number, and asked them to return the call, no matter what time they got my message. I had to do something to help, and I hoped some­one would give me a clue as to what that might be.

Alan walked around behind my chair and rubbed my shoulders. "Do you want to talk about Emerald, or are you ready to tell me what happened to you last night?"

"Both, I think."

He swiveled my chair around until I was facing him, took my hands, guided me up from the chair and back over to the couch.

I studied him, searching for answers in his eyes.

"You said Emerald was killed by vampires. Do you re­ally believe that? Are you telling me the truth? There really are vampires?"

He nodded. "'Yes, I'm telling you the truth. Nothing in my background, education, or training prepared me to believe vampires really exist, but that's what I discovered. Beyond any reasonable doubt. And, for some reason I don't understand yet, more of the mindless, demented vampires are showing up in Denver."

None of that made any sense to me.

"Why is this happening all of a sudden? Has Denver had other murders in the past where the victims were drained of blood?"

"According to my research, there have been sporadic deaths attributed to massive blood loss, but they were few and far between. It makes sense, because there’ve always been vampires, and some of them would have been the type who needed to kill. The death toll only became significant over the last few months."

He picked up our coffee mugs, refilled them in the kitch­en and brought them back. The pink sweatpants were almost glued to his skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. The view, coming and going, made me smile, but then I remem­bered what we were talking about.

"Why Emerald?"

He shrugged. "That, I don't know. But I can promise you, I'll find out. So, tell me. What happened to you last night?"

He stretched out his long, pink-encased legs and crossed his ankles on the coffee table, and I curled up, my legs tucked underneath me, at the end of the couch.

"Well, after I saw you in the club and we split up to find Tom . . . Hey, that reminds me. You lied to me. You said you were going to help me search for him and then I saw you charge through the doorway to the basement. How am I supposed to trust you if you lie to me? And how do I know you're not lying about other stuff?"

He studied the carpet and shook his head. "Spank me. I've been bad." He shifted his eyes, gazing up at me from under his unfairly long eyelashes, and grinned. "I'm sorry I lied to you. But you need to know this about me: I'm dedicated to my work, and it wasn't even in the realm of possibility that I'd go off searching for Tom instead of finding out what was happening with the vampires downstairs. It's part of the job description of being the kind of obsessive-compulsive I am."

I frowned at him, but had to admit to myself that I did understand what he was saying. Having a curious mind has gotten me into more sticky situations than I could count.

"What was going on with the vampires downstairs? Why were they fighting? From what I saw, it was going to be a blood bath. Talk about Night of the Living Dead."

He scooted excitedly to the edge of the cushion, eager to share.

"By the time I got there, things had started to wind down and the interlopers were gone. From what I could gather, there are vampires who are challenging Devereux's rule of the coven. Bryce, the one we talked about before, is deter­mined to take Devereux down. It seems very personal to him. The two of them definitely have unfinished business. He and his followers threatened the club manager, knowing it would piss Devereux off, and the fun began. The room was one unholy mess after the combat ended."

I grimaced. "Yeah. I saw some of the body fluids oozing out from the doorway."

He nodded. "Vampire bodies heal very quickly, so even the worst injuries repaired themselves within minutes. If it hadn't been for the blood everywhere, you wouldn't have known a vampire war was being waged."

"What did you do? Just run in and start swinging? Do you have a death wish?"

He laughed. "No. I'm adventurous. I'm courageous. I'm relentless. But I'm not stupid. Plus, I'd found out from my vampire source Ian—Deep Fang—you know, like the Water­gate informer, that when a vamp loses blood, the first thing he does is seek a donor. I didn't want to be anyone's dinner, so I kept my distance until Devereux was alone in the room."