The Vampire Shrink(6)
Author: Lynda Hilburn

I didn't know why exactly, but I had the notion that my discomfort had something to do with the weird experience with Devereux the other night. Maybe the suggestion he'd given me about my third eye—as if there was any such thing—

had caused me to revisit yet another unwanted ability. I had the fleeting thought that it would be helpful to speak with Devereux about this new development—that maybe he'd have some advice. But then the part of me that was already dangling outside her comfort zone slammed the door on that idea. She wasn't fooled. She knew I only wanted to see him again. In fact, I couldn't stop thinking about him.

Somebody help me. Im possessed by a vampire wannabe.

I jumped off that train of thought, grabbed onto a piece of consensus reality and turned to Midnight. "Would you care to fill me in on what you and Ronald were talking about?"

She slumped down in her chair and crossed her arms on her chest. "I'm sorry I got mad. I'm really stressed out. I'm just so tired of everyone telling me that Bryce isn't good for me or that he's going to hurt me. They don't know him like I do. He would never hurt Emerald. He knows she's my friend. Besides, I think more than one vampire did that to her."

Back to the vampire fantasy. I made a mental note to ask her more about that later.

She relaxed her arms, sat up abruptly and turned toward me. "Then there was the thing with Dev. About you. He told me he came to see you, and he went on and on about how pretty you are, and how your eyes are so blue that they reminded him of the daytime sky he hasn't seen in over eight hundred years, and your dark hair this and your long legs that. Blah, blah, blah. I was so pissed that I went and spent the night with Bryce just because I needed someone to want me like Dev wants you."

I opened my mouth to speak, but then closed it because I didn't know what to say. It was normal for clients to transfer their feelings about their parents or some other significant childhood person onto me, but I'd never found myself in the middle of a love triangle before.

But, this wasn't the time or place to discuss those issues. Apparently, Devereux was clueless about the depth of Midnight's feelings for him. Or maybe he was simply a heartless bastard who didn't care. But in the midst of my annoyance at him for his insensitivity, there was a part of me that'd been pleased to hear Devereux thought I was pretty.

I was saved from having to figure out anything to say about it by the approach of a handsome, official-looking man dressed in brightly colored scrubs with a stethoscope around his neck, who I assumed was a doctor. He had shoulder-length, golden hair and dark brown eyes framed by wire-rim glasses, which gave him a professorial, academic look. One of my personal favorites. By this time Ronald had returned and the doctor addressed the three of us.

"Are you the ones who brought in the young woman with the neck wounds?"

We nodded.

"Are you family?"

We shook our heads.

Midnight explained that she'd left a message for Emer­ald's parents, telling them their daughter was in the hospital, but she wasn't expecting them to show up, because they'd given up on Emerald a long time ago.

"Doctor . . .?" I said, searching for a nametag.

He scooped me up with his soulful dark eyes. "Dr. Mitch­ell. Lee. And you are?"

Available.

"Dr. Knight. Kismet. I'm a psychologist. Can you tell us anything about what's wrong with Emerald? Can we see her?"

"We've stabilized her, but she's lost a lot of blood and she's receiving a transfusion now. This is an unusual case; the patient should be covered with blood to account for the excessive blood loss, but she isn't. And, it appears that she has older puncture wounds on her neck and chest in addi­tion to those we're treating today. We're running tests on the wounds to see what kind of animal caused them. Do you have any information about where she was when the attack occurred? Did you see anything?"

I glanced over at Midnight, sliding the questions into her lap. She shook her head. "I thought Emerald was staying home last night and I didn't get back 'til early this morning, so I don't know what happened. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for her," she whimpered, as tears ran down her cheeks.

I put my arm around her shoulders. "Dr. Mitchell, when will you get the results of the tests back? I'd like to know as soon as possible."

"Is the patient a client of yours?"

I started to say no, but then I remembered the lost, empty eyes of the vulnerable young woman we'd brought in, and I decided to lie. I wasn't sure how far professional courtesy was going to get me, and I wasn't willing to be another person who abandoned Emerald.

Yes. We just started working together." I should know something by tomorrow morning. I could call you when the results come in, if you want." He smiled and tilted his head to the side.

Was this guy flirting with me? I must have crossed into some twilight zone, because this kind of stuff just didn't hap­pen to me.

First the vampire wannabe gave me Jello knees, and now the handsome doctor was smiling at me in a most inviting manner. I'd bet the combination of the smile and the head-tilt thing always worked for him. I could definitely verify its effectiveness.

"I would appreciate that." Slightly flustered, I finally man­aged to pull out one of my business cards and handed it to him. "Just leave a message any time and I'll call you right back."

If one of my almost-clients hadn't been lying in the hospi­tal, missing several pints of blood, I might have been tempted to pull my own smile and head-tilt out of the garage and take it for a test spin. But under the circumstances, I just put my professional face back on and behaved myself.

"The patient isn't going to be able to have any visitors today, so it would be best if you returned in the morning," he explained, stepping back into his official persona. "Don't worry. We'll take good care of her." He winked at me, smiled, and walked away.

Well. That's it. I've definitely entered a parallel universe.

Ronald went to fetch the van and Midnight retreated in search of a restroom. I sat back down in one of the uncom­fortable chairs, closed my eyes and circled my head around, stretching out the tight muscles in my neck. After a few sec­onds, I sensed someone behind me and turned to investigate.

Wow. I've died and gone to hunk heaven.

A tall, absurdly attractive man was inching toward me, madly scribbling into a notebook, totally oblivious to the fact that I was staring at him. He must have sensed he'd reached my chair because he started talking, eyes still on his writing.

"Dr. Knight? I'm Special Agent Stevens," he said, finally making eye contact. "I didn't mean to sneak up on you. Seems I really can't walk and do anything else at the same time. I couldn't help but overhear the conversation you had with the doctor. The victim of the attack is your client?'

"Special Agent Stevens? You don't look like a special agent." I noticed he was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt. "Who do you work for?" Who knew the hospital was where they kept all the great looking men?

"Sorry. I'd just gotten home and changed clothes when I picked up the call that there'd been another attack." He pulled out his identification from his back pocket and handed it to me.

Federal Bureau of Investigation, Special Agent Alan Ste­vens. I shifted my eyes from the photo to his face and back again. The picture didn't do him justice. It didn't even begin to convey the intelligence and depth in his sapphire eyes or the golden highlights in his dark hair. Well, now.

I handed the ID back to him. "Why would the FBI be interested in an animal attack in Denver?"

He paused and studied me as if he was trying to figure out if I was serious or not. "This wasn't an animal attack. I've been tracking these cases all over the country. The local po­lice are involved, too. So, is Emerald Addison your client?"

"You know I can't confirm or deny that." Shit He'd ob­viously heard me confirm it to the doctor.

"That pesky confidentiality thing, eh?" He smirked, making excellent eye contact.

I got distracted by his face for a moment. He has wonderful eyes. Depending on how he moves his head, sometimes they're blue and sometimes purple. Like the ocean at twilight Snap out of it, Kismet

"Uh, what cases have you been tracking? What does Emerald's situation have to do with those?'" It was definitely time to change the topic.

He smiled. "Oh, so you won't answer my questions, yet I'm supposed to answer yours? I don't think so. But I'd like your contact information, just in case I think of some ques­tions you can answer. Could I have one of those business cards you gave to the doctor?"

I wonder how it would feel to run my fingers through all that gor­geous hair

Making sure that thought was not written on my face, I gave him one of my cards, and he fished in his wallet for one of his. "Here's my card. If you think of anything that might help me find whoever did this to your client, you can call me. Day or night."

I nodded, feeling like a hormonal 13-year-old. "Thanks, I will."

We locked eyes for a few seconds and then he shifted his gaze back down to the notebook, began writing furiously again, and shuffled back a few feet toward the nurses' station. Mid­night, who had been standing off to the side, listening to the exchange, joined me and reported that Ronald and the van were out front. We were just going out the door when Special Agent Stevens suddenly reappeared and grabbed my arm.

"Oh, by the way, doc. Watch out for the vampires."

Chapter Five

By the time we left the hospital, the mountain skyline shimmered in the midst of a breathtaking color and light show. Brilliant shades of red, orange, blue, and purple swirled around and through each other, muting into pinks, peaches, and lavenders as shafts of sunlight streamed through open­ings in the kaleidoscope of colors. And off to the east, faint points of light floating in an indigo void sparkled as the sun retreated behind the towering peaks in the west. Nothing's as magical as a Rocky Mountain sunset.

We were all exhausted and the ride back to my office was a silent one. It appeared my companions had buried the hatchet, because Ronald offered to take Midnight home, and she accepted. Before they left I rescheduled Ronald's ap­pointment and thanked him for being such a big help. He seemed ill at ease with my expression of appreciation, but gave me a tentative smile. I looked forward to finding out if I could help alleviate the sadness I saw behind his warm tawny eyes.

I wrestled with myself about whether I should go up to my office and work for a while or head home to a glass of wine and a hot bath. Guilt won the match and I rode the ele­vator upstairs, daydreaming about sinking into an aromatic,bubble-filled tub.

I was gratified to find several voice mail messages from prospective clients, and I sat at my desk for the next hour re­turning calls and answering emails.

I had just decided to pack it in for the evening, when my office door opened and two of the whitest men I'd ever seen walked in. I don't mean just pale, like the British actors on the BBC. Chalk white. Unlike the makeup that Midnight used to adorn herself, the tone of their complexions hadn't come from a tube. Suffice it to say they weren't sun worshippers.

One of the men was tall, dark-haired, and handsome and the other, short, odd-looking, and muscle-bound.

Startled, I asked, "Can I help you?"

How did they get in? Pm positive I locked those doors.

No response.

They ambled into the office and circled around, prowling through the couches and chairs in the middle of the room, their eyes fixed on me.

The smaller of the two came and sat on the corner of my desk and leered at me. He smiled a closed-mouth smile and reached out a tattooed hand to touch my hair. He was wearing a sleeveless T-shirt that showed exaggerated biceps and triceps rippling across his upper arms. His hair was that artificial color of burgundy that was so popular with the Goths, and it flowed down his upper body like stringy octo­pus arms. His eyes were so light blue they were almost white. He reminded me of a demented, miniature muscle man. A nightmare come to life.

These guys made my stomach hurt. It wasn't only that they'd invaded my privacy, or that they appeared dangerous, or even that they could assault me at any moment. It was something else. Some basic, preverbal fear that caused the hairs on my arms to stand up and the warning system in my head to fire a red alert. I kept having the odd, less-than-comforting intuition that death was in the room, and my usually manageable radar was picking up so much fear­ful information that it plunged into overload and threatened to shut down.

I glanced over at the phone on the far corner of my desk and began sliding my hand in that direction.

The tall man stepped around behind me and put his hands underneath my jaw, pulling my head back. He bent down, brought his mouth next to my ear and whispered, in a very sensuous voice, "I've heard so much about you, I thought it was time we were formally introduced." He grabbed the hand moving toward the phone.

"Who are you? What do you want?" I tried not to sound as worried as I felt.

His hand trailed across the hair at the back of my head as he moved to sit directly in front of me on my desk, which caused his legs to be jammed into the space under the desk with mine.

I instinctively reacted, making an unsuccessful attempt to push away. He bent in close, his hands straddling my chair, effectively blocking any move on my part. I was glad I'd worn a pantsuit instead of a skirt, because I wanted as many layers between us as possible.

He lowered his mouth to within an inch of mine, and I twisted my head to the side, shifting away from his hot, unpleasantly sweet breath. He grabbed my chin between his