Lover's Bite. Maggie Shayne
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tried to answer, then settled for nodding instead, as she fought to suck in some air, clear her throat, control the stupid, stupid, stupid impulse to run back down that walkway to him and throw her arms around his neck.
“Surprised to see me?”
“Surprised. Dismayed. Irritated.” Good, good. She was speaking. Real words. And not welcoming ones, even. Great.
“And a little bit glad?” He was standing right beside the massive pile of luggage. Before she could answer, he scooped up half of it and strode up the walkway. “If nothing more, at least be glad there’s someone to carry your bags.”
She didn’t move. Just stood there, with the key in one hand, the note and envelope in the other. There was a car behind him on the curb, one she’d been too absorbed in her own thoughts to hear pulling up. A Porsche Carrera, naturally. Only the best for Jack. She wondered a little bitterly who he’d scammed it from. Another rich female, too in love with him to listen to her own common sense? “Why are you here?”
“Because I, apparently, know you better than your hosts do. Enough to know that your ‘I want to be left alone’ bullshit was just that. Bullshit.” He grunted and shifted the bags a little. “Unlock the door, will you? These are heavy, even for a vampire. What did you pack, anyway? A metric ton of your native soil?”
“So amusing.” Frowning, she inserted the key, turned it and swung the door open. Jack stepped inside, setting the bags on the floor.
She walked in behind him and looked around the place. Had it been this way when her mother was here? Or had the decor changed? She imagined it had. Now it was nice, but modern. Prints by Mexican artists lined the walls, colorful and vibrant scenes of the ocean, of palm trees and sunsets. Brightly striped throw rugs and runners with tassels at the ends covered the hardwood floors. Horsehair vases with Navajo patterns, and Kokopelli dancing and playing the pipes, stood everywhere she looked. Jewel-toned walls surrounded her; bright green, burgundy, yellow.
Jack cleared his throat, probably because she wasn’t paying him a lick of attention.
She glanced at him, then at the bags. “They’re going to have to go upstairs sooner or later,” she said.
“I realize that. I just assumed you hadn’t picked out a room yet. Have you?”
“No.”
“Well, once you do, I’ll take the bags the rest of the way.” He turned to head outside for the ones he’d left at the curb.
“You won’t be here that long,” she muttered.
He didn’t give any indication as to whether he heard her. He just marched on, grabbed the remaining bags and brought them inside. Then he stacked them by the door, closed it and stood there staring at her. “Well?”
“You’re not staying here.”
He shrugged. “I have a place.”
The way he said it, with a “you’re not the boss of me” tone, convinced her that he had absolutely nowhere else to go, even though his words claimed otherwise.
“That’s bull. You didn’t have time to make other arrangements.”
“How do you know what I had time to do?”
“Because I only just arrived myself.”
“Yeah, but you took longer getting here.”
“I had to go home first. Pack some things.” She tried not to sound too defensive.
“I flew in immediately. I’ve been in town two nights already. And I’ve had time to do plenty.”
She hated it when he contradicted her and managed to be right about it. “Why did you follow me?”
“Technically, I didn’t. I got here first. Besides, I didn’t have to follow you. I knew where you were going. You told me, remember?”
She lifted her brows, clearly surprised. “Not so you could follow me.”
“Oh sure. Tell me there wasn’t some part of you secretly hoping I’d show up, and sweep you into my arms and kiss you until you gave it up to me. Come on, Topaz, you know it crossed your mind.” He put his hands on her shoulders and stared intently at her mouth, then jerked her just a little bit closer as he lowered his head.
She could almost taste him and, God, right then she wanted to, more than she wanted to wake up again at sundown. But she had her pride. She ducked his kiss and turned away from him, so he wouldn’t see the naked hunger in her eyes. “If it did cross my mind, Jack, it was always preceded by the image of you handing me the rest of my money and telling me how sorry you were for taking it, and for using me and for hurting me.” She shrugged. “One ain’t gonna happen without the other, bud.”
He lowered his head. She felt the motion rather than saw it.
“So have you got my money?” She felt a little stronger now. Strong enough to turn and face him again.
Without lifting it, he shook his head.
“I didn’t think so. So I guess that means goodbye.”
“No problem. I told you, I’ve got a place.”
“And you still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
Sighing, he reached into his long coat, which he didn’t need, as the night was warm and vampires didn’t feel the cold the way mortals did, anyway. They noticed it, but it wasn’t uncomfortable for them. Jack’s coat, long and dark, was more fashion accessory than necessity. And he looked hot in it, damn him. He pulled a manila envelope from somewhere within that sexy coat and tossed it onto a marble stand just inside the door. “I know why you’re here, Topaz.”
She jerked her head up, her gaze darting from that envelope to his eyes. “How?”
“Hell, woman, get it through your head that I know you better than anyone ever has. You look enough like her that I’m surprised it’s not obvious to everyone. Or maybe I’m the only man who can see the real you. Tanya.”
His words hurt. Probably because they were lies—beautiful lies, lies she’d wished some man would make true one day. But none ever had, nor ever would. Particularly not him. “Don’t ever call me that.”
“It’s who you are, deep down.”
“It’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time now.”
He sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter how I know. I know, that’s all. So I made a call to an…acquaintance of mine who’s connected. I got some inside info for you. And I don’t like what it implies.”
“I don’t care what you like,” she lied. She was burning with curiosity. She wanted to open that envelope and pore over its contents right this second. She wanted to thank him. She wanted to kiss him.
“Digging into your mother’s murder could be dangerous.”
She frowned hard, but before she could decide which of the dozens of questions to fire at him first, he was out the door. “Lock up tight, baby,” he called. “It’ll be dawn soon.”
She watched him go, having no idea where the hell he was going—which should be the least of her worries, she knew. He walked to the road and got into his hot-looking black car, started the engine. Then he turned on the headlights and roared away.
Only then did she manage to close the door. She turned the locks not because he had told her to, but because it made sense. Then, her hands trembling, she took the envelope, opened the clasp and pulled out the paper-clipped sheets it contained.
The cover page read: PROFILES OF PERSONS OF INTEREST IN THE MURDER OF MIRABELLA DUFRANE.
“What the hell? They had suspects? I never knew of any suspects.” Topaz moved through the giant, sprawling foyer through a wide archway into the living room, which had a fireplace