Читать книгу: «The Calling», страница 3

“Thank you,” Diego said and dismissed the young vamp with a nod.

Blake hurried off, melding into the crowd on the dance floor as best he could with his shock of pale hair.

“You don’t think she drained the human?” Samantha asked.

“I saw nothing in the news about it.” Diego gave her a long look. “Blake was right when he said you look a little…fragile.”

She shrugged off his concern. “Three children died last night.”

“I heard.” There was understanding in his voice as he added, “And you feel responsible?”

“Wouldn’t you?” After being turned, Diego had seen the change as a way to atone for his earlier selfishness. As his strength had grown, he’d taken in those who were weaker, protecting them when necessary.

“You were hurt, mi amiga.” He covered her hand as it rested on the tabletop, but he didn’t give her a chance to answer. “Sí, you’re very weak. Your skin is chilled. You should have said something.”

Samantha pulled her hand away and hid it beneath the table.

Diego shot her a hard look then tossed down the shot of blood, grimacing afterward.

When Esperanza went to pick up her drink, he stayed her hand. “It’s stale. Let’s find ourselves a snack and after…” He paused and glanced at Samantha, “You can restore yourself from one of us.”

“Diego—”

“Querida, do not argue. You are more frail than I have ever seen you. I imagine you slept the whole day. I know how much you must hate that.”

She couldn’t argue. Lassitude had chased her for the better part of the day, preventing her from assisting the women at the shelter. Instead of a vamp schedule of daytime slumber and nighttime activities, she’d always tried to mimic a more human life. It was necessary if she wanted to run the shelter and help others avoid the violence that had doomed her to her vampire state.

Without answering, she watched Diego and Esperanza go in search of sustenance.

Samantha perused the inhabitants of the club, hoping to spot Meghan, but if the confused young vampire was here, she wasn’t making herself known.

But the others in the building…That was a different story. Samantha could smell them. Their sweat, filled with lust and longing. She felt the warmth of the human bodies pressing close. Their life forces spilled through the place, and mixed within them was the more powerful energy coming from those who coveted that life force.

As weak as she was, Samantha could still feel the auras of the other vampires. Blake. Diego and Esperanza. At least two others working their way through the crowd. She transformed slowly so she could better perceive the other vampires, and as she did so, the crowd parted and Diego approached.

The blood-fueled energy coming off him rolled over her like a tsunami. He’d had his snack and his veins rippled with life. When he stood and held out his hand, his force was almost a physical presence, urging her to rise no matter how much she detested needing what he would give her.

She placed her hand in his. His skin was warm. Pink tinged his normally pale cheeks.

“Are you ready, mi amiga?”

She wasn’t sure she was. It had been quite a long time since she’d fed off a human, but she remembered the power in that kiss. The energy and passion fused to create a state that approached Nirvana. The thrill in subduing someone weaker and taking what they might not want to give. It was that last violent aspect that made her shun feeding on humans, even those who appeared to be willing. Once the first pain occurred, they were never willing.

As for feeding on another vampire…It would be a first for her. She’d never been weak enough to require that kind of sustenance. She hoped it would be the last time. Unlike other vampires who took great pleasure in such activities, Samantha had no interest in continuing with the practice.

Sensing her hesitation, Diego applied gentle pressure to her hand. “Let’s go somewhere more private.”

At his urging, they walked to the back of the club to a series of small rooms. Billed as private dining rooms, Samantha could only imagine what was happening within. Vampires feeding on vampires and humans alike. Humans sharing a tryst as they gave in to their darker side.

An unfamiliar vampire appeared before them, blocking their way. He held out his hand and Diego slipped him some money.

The vampire pulled aside a curtain and led them down a dark hallway. He unlocked one room and disappeared.

Diego held open the door for her. “Are you ready?”

Chapter 5

The room was not much bigger than a closet. A small uncomfortable-looking bed spanned one wall and along the other was an assortment of chains, straps and bindings.

“You don’t expect that you and I—”

“No, Samantha. I know what your life has been like. I would never ask you to exchange your virtue for what I offer.” He cupped her cheek, his touch that of a friend and not a lover.

“And you offer—”

“A way for you to quickly rebuild your strength. Otherwise, it may take days and many more feedings before you are right. With Meghan missing, we all need your strength.”

Samantha couldn’t imagine feeling as badly as she had today for several more days. Nor requiring that many more feedings. Her blood supply was hard to come by, and with as many people as there were in the shelter, she risked discovery by feeding too often. “Why are you offering this?”

“I was a selfish and foolish young man. It’s why I am the way I am. But now I wish to help. In exchange, I only want the friendship you have offered for all these years.”

His words brought tears to her eyes. He was one of the few men in her life who’d ever shown her any kindness. He and Ricardo…And the good detective.

Diego brushed away a tear. “I believe you would be more comfortable if we did this standing up, no? Minus the accoutrements, of course.”

“Of course,” she said, watching as he slipped off his jacket and his shirt, revealing his chest and neck to her.

Each muscle on his body was delineated beautifully, as if a sculptor had chiseled the fine lines into the palest of marbles. He was almost too beautiful to be real, and she reached out, laying her hand on his chest just to remind herself that he was.

His skin was still warm from his feeding, but nowhere near a human temperature. Nevertheless, the heat of it blazed against her skin, chilled as she was from the injuries to her system.

Diego bent his head, exposing his neck.

A spark of warmth came to life inside her. She could feel her fangs elongating, slipping downward past the edge of her lower lip. His heartbeat, slow and steady, called to her.

Rising on tiptoe, feeling a bit woozy from the transformation that had drained the last of her strength, she inhaled the scent of him, savored it before she grazed his neck with her fangs. A shudder worked through his body and he grew hard against her.

“Diego, don’t.” Her voice sounded way too feeble to her own ears.

“I cannot help it, mi amor. Por favor, just feed. Before I forget that I am an honorable man.”

Samantha met his gaze and realized the truth of his words. There was only so much he could bear. And she had no choice any longer. A damp sweat had erupted on her chilled skin as her body began to fail.

With a small prayer that they both knew what they were doing, Samantha bit down on his neck and fed.

The rush that had come from feeding on Diego was indescribable. From the first taste of his blood, energy had surged through her, charging every atom in her body with incredible potential. Invigorating all her senses until everything seemed more alive than ever.

She’d taken only a few sips, afraid of the intensity of that kiss. Afraid of the passion that might rise within her. Sexual urges that would need to be assuaged had she fed even a drop more.

She avoided passion. In her life, passion had invariably led to pain. First her husband. Then the vampire who’d turned her. It was why she avoided any kind of involvement.

Once passion entered the mix, everything was sure to change.

Even a hint of desire was enough to incite her fear, which was why she didn’t linger with Diego. When she reached the shelter just past midnight some of the effects of her feeding had worn off, but not entirely. Like someone who was over-caffeinated, she was unable to rest. Unable to remain confined. So she slipped into the night, leaping from rooftop to rooftop as she surveyed her neighborhood to make sure all was right. It was something she regularly did to keep the neighborhood safe. Even though she rarely saw anyone during her solitary patrols, she knew her neighbors believed her responsible for the improvements in their lives.

She paused her patrol after an hour to watch the fast rush of clouds across the face of the moon. A storm was on its way, she could smell it. When the first drops arrived, she turned her face to the sky and let the chill rain wash over her. It cleansed away the smell of Diego and his blood, cooled the heat of her skin from her transformation and the feeding.

The calm lasted only until she returned to the shelter. A flat of bright salmon-colored impatiens and a note from Sofia waited for her on the kitchen table. Detective Daly dropped by with these flowers and some questions.

She didn’t know what to think about the flowers. She took them out to the small brick patio just beyond the French doors to catch the spring rain.

The flowers sat there for the rest of the night and into the early morning while she worked off some of the blood-induced energy by making lunches for the children and working mothers and preparing that morning’s breakfast.

Dawn was just breaking when Sofia came down, rubbing her eyes and yawning. “You’re up earlier than usual.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Thinking about the good detective?” Sofia asked as she made a pot of coffee.

Yes, Samantha thought, but she shook her head. “Nope. Just worried about a friend.” Which wasn’t far from the truth. The night had come and gone with them finding out nothing about Meghan’s whereabouts. It wasn’t like they could go to the authorities for help.

As she’d put the impatiens on the patio, she’d let herself imagine how the good detective might react if she asked for his assistance.

Hello, my friend Meghan is missing.

Any distinguishing characteristics?

Why, yes. Fangs and a bad temper when deprived of blood.

He would think she was certifiable. Not that she cared what he thought.

Then she had little time to think about anything as the morning rush commenced, with the women and kids shuttling in and out of the kitchen, preparing for another day.

He was a stupid fool.

Why had he expected her to be home last night? She was a beautiful woman. She wouldn’t sit around the shelter day in and day out. His cop’s intuition told him there was something about Samantha Turner that was far from saintlike.

He’d felt like a total idiot as he’d thrust the flat of impatiens into the hands of the young black woman who’d answered the door earlier in the day. Her sullen mood had dissipated to some extent, but it hadn’t kept her from issuing a warning. “Ms. Turner has no interest in men.”

With those words, she’d slammed the door in his face and left him pondering all night long the meaning behind them.

Given the nature of the shelter, and the scars he’d seen on her back, it seemed likely that Ms. Turner’s aversion to men had to do with a relationship with one man that had soured her on the species in general.

And you’re about to remedy that? The annoying little voice in his head had challenged him for the entire drive back to the shelter this morning.

He really had no more information than he’d had the day before. Which meant that unless she abruptly changed her tune about her whereabouts on the night of the shooting, it would do little good to see her again.

So instead of walking up her stoop he headed to the end of the block, to the store where his one supposed witness lived and worked.

Peter gazed through the large display window at the various items for sale along with the santero’s services. Rumor claimed he was a healer, although Peter was reluctant to put much faith in gossip. Doctors healed. This guy was probably a con man robbing people of what little they had left from their social security and welfare checks.

Not that Peter could do anything about it, even if that was the case.

As he walked to the door, the sign that said Closed flipped to Open.

Inside, it was not what Peter had expected.

In the anteroom of the shop, one wall held an assortment of candles and books related to various religions. A glass-topped display counter ran along the opposite wall and bore an antique cash register. Within the counter, religious medals and pins made of gold, silver and semiprecious stones gleamed. Behind the register stood the healer himself and beyond him, bookshelves filled with dried flowers and herbs alongside sacred statues and other items of devotion.

“May I help you, Detective Daly?” Ricardo asked.

“Mr. Fernandez,” Peter said with a nod of his head. “I wanted to confirm the information you provided the other night.”

Peter walked into the back room of the shop. Here at the farthest wall, there was a small altar holding a large statue of a saint, although he couldn’t identify which one despite his earlier life as an altar boy. Assorted candles were scattered along the altar, together with an assortment of small bowls and dishes that held an eclectic mix of items—flowers, tobacco and some coins.

Peter motioned to the altar. “This is—”

“To Catholics, Santa Barbara. But to those of us who practice santeria, it is Chango, one of the strongest of the deities.” Ricardo followed Peter then sat in one of the chairs in the back room.

Peter turned to look at him, waving his hand at the woven grass mat on the floor and the chairs circling the area. “What exactly do you do back here?”

“Worship. The Supreme Court says it’s allowed, you know.” As he spoke, Ricardo crossed his arms in a casual stance, but there was some anger in his words.

Peter sat in one of the chairs opposite Ricardo. “Do you do your ‘healing’ here?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral, but knowing he failed miserably.

Surprisingly, the other man took Peter’s contempt in stride. “I’m not asking that you believe, Detective. But I know I’ve helped others with my abilities.”

Peter flipped through his notes before asking, “You say you helped one of the teenagers that night.”

Ricardo nodded. “One of them was still alive when I got there, but bleeding badly.”

“Was it a mystical help or—”

“Plain old medical help. I applied pressure to his wound and tried to do what I could. I was a medic in the army before opening my store.” Peter suspected there was more to that story than he was letting on, not that it mattered to this case.

“And how about Ms. Turner? How did you help her that night?”

“Detective. I’ve already told you. I was the only one on the street that night with the children.”

“Right. So tell me how it is that Ms. Turner was the one who purchased the groceries at the store? Groceries in your possession immediately after the shooting.”

There was no trace of emotion on the santero’s face. Not even a flinch or a narrowing of the eyes. “I went to the shelter. Ms. Turner was already inside when I took the groceries from her.”

“In your pajamas? And you walked right into the line of fire?”

“I’m a healer, Detective. What did you expect?”

He’d expected the santero to do exactly what he was doing, Peter thought. Cover up for Samantha Turner. Peter had no doubt she’d been there that night. Maybe even had a hand in saving the lives of the children who’d survived. But if she had done so, she had to have been injured. The blouse and the blood in the stairwell gave mute testimony to that fact.

“Did you heal Ms. Turner after she was shot that night?”

Shaking his head, Ricardo rose from his chair and motioned for Peter to leave. “I think we’ve exhausted this line of questioning, Detective.”

Peter followed Ricardo back to the counter. “Did you heal her? Off the record.”

Ricardo narrowed his eyes as he considered him. “Off the record?”

Peter nodded.

“What Samantha has, I can’t heal.”

Something akin to dread filled Peter’s gut. “She’s sick? Is it—”

“It’s not a sickness like you can imagine, Detective. It’s in here,” Ricardo said and motioned to a spot above his heart.

“I know she’s had it rough. I saw the lines on her back.”

Ricardo seemed almost physically jolted by that revelation. “She doesn’t show them to many people. She must trust you.”

He didn’t want to contradict the other man by telling him that he’d given Samantha no choice. Not that they were what he’d expected. But having seen them, he’d recognized that she’d entrusted him with something very personal and very painful.

Peter said nothing else, just closed his notepad and headed for the door.

“Detective.”

Peter stopped and turned.

“Don’t make her sorry that she trusted you.”

Chapter 6

The morning sun was still weak and she was still in overdrive from Diego’s blood. Not to mention that a flat of salmon-colored impatiens called to her to be planted.

Samantha let Sofia know where she would be, grabbed a large floppy-brimmed hat and walked into the yard. The buildings nestled close together kept the yard in partial shade for most of the morning. It wasn’t until noon that the sun was high enough to bathe the yard with light.

Perfect timing actually. At her age she could tolerate weak morning sunlight, but not anything stronger. At least, not for long. She hoped wherever Meghan was, she had taken shelter. As young as she was, she could die quickly from overexposure.

She picked up the flat of impatiens and began on the left side of the yard. The sun would bathe that area first as it travelled to the west. The border along this side already held a collection of vegetable plants. The small garden cut food costs and there was nothing like the taste of a ripe tomato picked off the vine.

Small shovel in her gloved hand, floppy hat securely on her head, she worked quickly, transplanting the impatiens from their small plastic containers to the rich earth. As she worked she occasionally glanced up at the sky, keeping a careful watch for the sun.

She had bordered the vegetables when she heard the slide of the French doors. Sofia stood in the courtyard, Detective Daly beside her.

Merde.

“You have a guest.” Sofia didn’t wait for Samantha’s reply. She left the detective to find his own way.

Samantha wasn’t about to encourage him to stay. As he walked toward her, she picked up the flat and walked to the back of the yard to continue with her gardening. She dug a few holes and was reaching for a container when he stood beside her.

“I’m sorry to bother you again.”

She refused to look up. Instead, she slipped a plant in each hole and tamped down the soil around the roots. “I’ve already told you I know nothing about what happened that night.”

He crouched down to her level. “I got a call a short while ago. We found the car and CSU is already working it.”

She finally faced him. A big mistake. Unlike the other day when he’d been looking a little haggard from lack of sleep, he had a fresh-faced glow on his tanned face. His hair—that shaggy streaked blond hair—hung along the edges of his face, itching to be brushed aside. She fought her awareness by saying, “And that’s supposed to mean?”

“We may get some prints or other evidence. But that’s still not as good as an eyewitness.”

She rose and shifted to work on another section of the border.

He followed, but didn’t crouch down beside her again. Instead, he pitched his plea while standing, his hands tucked into the pockets of his serviceable dark gray suit. He jangled his change as he spoke. “Your friend Ricardo wasn’t at the scene. That’s obvious from talking to him.”

She shrugged and continued digging. “Ricardo says he saw the car and the shooter.”

“I never said there was only one shooter.”

Peter watched as his words made her pause. She fumbled with the shovel before resuming her methodical planting. “Ricardo mentioned it to me.”

She was lying. He didn’t need to see her face to know it. He could tell from the tension in her body. The muscles in her shoulders had tightened beneath the pale blue long-sleeved T-shirt she wore with faded jeans that hugged every curve.

“A defense attorney will shred Ricardo’s testimony. That may create enough reasonable doubt for those killers to walk.”

She finally turned her gaze on him. Her earlier flush had faded. Now she looked rather pale. “I didn’t see what happened.”

“They’ll kill again, you know. They’re like animals. Once they get a taste of fresh blood, the urge doesn’t go away.”

His comment made her blanch even more and sway. He reached out to steady her, but she wrenched away. “Don’t touch me.”

Peter gritted his teeth and took a breath. “I’m sorry. Again.”

She glanced down at her hands before looking up at him and then beyond. He followed her gaze, but could see nothing since the sun was coming up over the roof of the building next door. Samantha tucked the last small pack of flowers beneath one of the low-lying bushes then hurried to the house.

Peter followed her, intent on pleading his case, hoping she would admit the truth.

Once inside, she tossed her hat and gloves on a small table then poured herself a cup of coffee. She didn’t offer him one.

Which disappointed him. First, because the lady made a mean cup of coffee. Second, because he knew she was blowing him off. He wasn’t about to let her get away with that. “May I have some?”

A small smile quirked her mouth. “Presumptuous aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

That dragged a chuckle from her. “I imagine you have, Detective.”

“Peter. You can call me Peter. Remember?” he said as he sat at the kitchen table.

Samantha eyed him intently, trying to get a read on the detective. Was the investigation making him linger, or was it something else? Despite her age, or maybe because of it, her womanly intuition was rusty. She intentionally hadn’t dealt with the man-woman game since escaping the vampire who sired her. That had been nearly one hundred and forty years ago.

“Detective,” she said now. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“There’s no need, ma’am. Unless you have more of those square donut things.”

He dragged a smile to her lips again with his honesty and with his boyish grin at the mention of the beignets. Turning from him, she poured him a cup of coffee and microwaved a small pot of milk to warm it. When she placed both before him on the table, she finally answered him, “No beignets today, Detective.”

“Peter.”

“Just some buttermilk biscuits.”

“Homemade?” he asked with hopefulness.

She crossed her arms and smiled. “Are there any other kind?”

“Would you join me if I had one, or maybe two?”

She’d told herself not to encourage him to stay and yet here she was doing just that. And even considering his offer to join him, not that she had need of any food. While she might enjoy the tastes of what she prepared, only blood provided sustenance. Until the sun had entered the courtyard, Diego’s blood had energized her, but now that strength was beginning to fade. Once Sofia left for class and the good detective departed, she’d have to grab a snack from the small refrigerator in her room.

“I’m not really hungry, but I’ll keep you company. It’s the least I can do to thank you for the lovely flowers.”

“No, it was the least I could do to apologize for yesterday. For touching you. I shouldn’t—”

Samantha gave an angry slash with her hand to silence him and looked away. “That’s okay. I’d rather not discuss that.”

She almost jerked back when he cupped her chin and urged her to look at him. “I’m sorry. And you’re cold. Are you okay? You’re pale.”

She hated the concerned look on his face. “I think it’s time you left, Detective.”

He didn’t correct his name again, as if aware that it would do little good. Biscuits and coffee forgotten, he rose, and she walked him to the front door.

“Not all men hurt, you know.”

Samantha gripped the edge of the door, battling for control as anger rose in her. “And you know this because you’re an expert in what men do?”

All boyishness fled from his face. He motioned to everything around them. “I see it every day, Samantha. I know what some men do. But I know there are other men who want to make things right.”

Only nothing could ever be right with me, Samantha thought. No amount of goodness could change what she was or the undead life she lived because of the cruelty of men.

“Goodbye, Detective,” she said and closed the door on him. Hopefully forever.