by Jenna Black
“My first impression is it wasn’t him.” She huffed out an exasperated sigh. “I wish we had some idea what the hell Gray is into. Nothing makes any sense!”
“Hey, I was all into gently persuading him to spill the beans, if you remember.”
Carolyn shook her head ruefully. “How could I forget? Do you think you might have gone a bit overboard?”
“He was hurting you. I figured if I fetched your gun I could persuade him to stop.”
“He wasn’t hurting me when you tried to cold-cock him.”
“So I got carried away. Sue me.”
By all rights, Carolyn should be reading her best friend the riot act. Hannah had never been a cop, didn’t own a gun of her own, and had no firearms training. Before becoming a PI, she’d been an investigative reporter. Handling Carolyn’s gun at all, much less pointing it at someone and then hitting him over the head with it, was reckless in the extreme. But somehow, Carolyn couldn’t find it in her heart to dress her down for it.
“I appreciate the thought, if not the method,” she said. “You’re a good friend.”
“The best,” Hannah agreed, smiling. “Will you still think so if I tell you Gray was right and you should come stay with me for a while?”
Carolyn instinctively bristled at the suggestion but gained control of her visceral reaction before she said anything she would regret. Much as she hated to admit it, she knew Hannah and Gray had a point. Yes, she was perfectly capable of defending herself. But not against so vague a threat, with so little information to go on.
Swallowing the stubborn refusal that wanted to tumble out of her mouth, she managed a tight nod.
JULES WASN’T LOOKING FORWARD to the next meeting at Eli’s. True, it wasn’t his fault that Gray’s house had a bolt hole somewhere that had allowed Gray to sneak out without being followed. But for all the time he’d spent shadowing Gray, Jules should have known about it. If the stupid bastard hadn’t come sauntering back through the front door, Jules still wouldn’t know he had a secret way out of the house!
The first light of dawn was creeping over the city. At his advanced age, Jules could tolerate small doses of weak sunlight, but he was cutting it a little close. He’d been in a foul mood since he’d realized Gray had gotten away from him, and he’d done penance, of sorts, by staying at his post longer than usual.
His mood lifted some when he saw the little red Miata parked in front of his house. He was too tired to take full advantage of her charms this morning, but it would feel nice to fall asleep with Courtney beside him. She was such a sweet little thing. Not noticeably bright—as his fellow Guardians pointed out when they felt like ribbing him—but he’d never minded her lack of intellectual depth. For one thing, it made it a lot easier for him to hide his true nature from her. She was credulous enough to believe just about anything he told her. But she was pretty, she was good in bed, and she was at heart simply a nice person. He found himself smiling in anticipation.
He stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him. Then he froze as several realizations struck him at once.
The house felt empty—no psychic presence, mortal or vampire, waiting for him in his bed.
His nostrils flared as he scented the distinctive odor of semen, though he hadn’t been with Courtney for two nights now. And under that there was a faint whiff of blood. Nerves tingling, he crept toward his bedroom, moving in a cautious crouch even though his senses insisted he was alone in the house.
The door was ajar. Jules took a deep breath to brace himself, then pushed the door all the way open.
Courtney lay naked on the bed, her legs spread, her head lolling to one side. A garish red wound slashed across her throat.
Jules grabbed the doorframe, but his knees still wouldn’t hold him. He slid to the floor, his heart pounding frantically. He knew without having to examine the body more closely that she’d been drained of blood. He struggled for breath.
The sun was rising steadily. Lethargy stole over his limbs, fuzzing his mind.
“Courtney …” he croaked as he fought for consciousness. He wanted to go to her, at least cover her up, give her a kiss goodbye. But he could barely move, and the need to sleep was an overwhelming force.
He groaned as his eyes slid shut. For now, he could do nothing. But come sunset, there would be hell to pay.
8
HANNAH WAS STILL HANDLING all the agency’s cases, so she headed off to work in the morning and left Carolyn to her own devices. Carolyn promised not to do anything rash or hasty, but she suspected Hannah wouldn’t be shocked if she broke that promise.
Figuring her chances of being attacked by the alleged Broad Street Banger in her own place in broad daylight were approximately zilch, she went home. Last night, she’d taken only the bare essentials in an overnight bag. However, if she was going to play along with the paranoia and stay at Hannah’s until everything blew over, she would need more clothes. Also, she wanted to take another look at the note, which they had left behind on her coffee table.
It didn’t reveal much more this morning than it had last night, Carolyn decided as she sat on the sofa sipping a cup of coffee and staring at it. She remembered that Gray said the note had come in an envelope. She might as well go ahead and check it for fingerprints, despite his claim that she wouldn’t find anything. She still had a friend at the fingerprint lab, one who could probably be persuaded to have the print analyzed for her.
Having learned Gray’s address the hard way, she had no trouble finding his phone number, which wasn’t even unlisted. The number was listed under the name James Gray. He didn’t answer, and she left a message on his machine. She frowned at her watch. It was already ten. He was the kind of guy who made “early to bed and early to rise” into a religion. Surely he wasn’t still asleep. Though he did seem to keep late hours these days.
When he still hadn’t called her back by one, she called his house again. Again she got his answering machine. She left a second message, but now a frisson of doubt assailed her.
In the first week of her surveillance, she’d established that Gray was the ultimate homebody, and she hadn’t once seen him venture forth in the daytime. That suggested that he should be home at this hour. Despite his night-owl schedule, he should be awake by now. So why wasn’t he answering? Or at least calling her back?
Once the doubt had set in, it nibbled at the edges of her thoughts as she tried to make herself useful. Maybe if Gray couldn’t be persuaded to tell her what was going on, she could find someone else who would. Jules, perhaps? She knew only his first name and had no address for him, but at least the name was unusual. She sat in front of her computer and used one of the many locator sites on the Internet to search the city for men named Jules, guessing he was maybe in his early thirties. As it turned out, there were only six thirty-something men named Jules in all of Philadelphia. Of course, there was no guarantee that Jules lived in the city proper, but at least she had a starting point.
She looked at her watch again. Two o’clock. She let out an exasperated sigh and dialed Gray’s number again. No answer.
Try though she might, she couldn’t dismiss her unease. The man was clearly in some kind of dire trouble. Although the note had threatened her directly, Gray seemed to think the venom was aimed at him somehow. What if he was right? What if sending her to spend the night with Hannah had been a pointless gesture and it was Gray himself who was in danger?
Carolyn hated the cold terror that settled in the pit of her stomach at the thought. After all the bastard had done to shatter her life, how could she possibly be worried about him? Concerned, she could have handled. A human being was allowed to be concerned about another’s safety, whether or not there was any connection between them. But worry … Worry conveyed a much more personal bond. And, damn it, she was worried!
Hannah would skin her alive for this, but Carolyn couldn’t just sit around the house and twiddle her thumbs while this worry pounded through her.
Logging off
the computer, she bundled up against the cold. Though she’d always been a reasonably law-abiding citizen, and though of course she would never—ahem—dream of using an illegal search to solve a case, Carolyn had taken the precaution of learning how to pick several basic models of locks. She tucked her Glock into one pocket and her lock picks in the other, then took a cab to the Zip Mart two blocks from Gray’s house. If possible, she’d really like to avoid being seen by his personal surveillance team. She walked slowly toward his house, scanning the streets for any familiar faces. She didn’t see any. Nor did she see any suspicious loiterers.
The coffee shop was doing brisk business, but no one at any of the booths by the window seemed to be paying any particular attention to Gray’s doorstep. Still keeping an eye out for surveillance, Carolyn climbed the front steps and rang the bell. She heard the sound echoing through the house, but no footsteps approached the door. She bit her lip.
Maybe he really was out. That would explain why no one was watching the house right now—they’d followed him to wherever he’d gone. Wouldn’t she feel ridiculous getting so worked up when he’d just gone out to the movies or something? Logic failed to ease the worry.
A narrow alleyway led around the side of the house. The alley dead-ended at another house, but behind Gray’s house was a gated courtyard. Carolyn pushed aside the rampant growth of ivy over the gate and peered into the courtyard.
It was small, shared by five or six row houses and clearly not much used. Here and there, an outdoor grill was locked down against the city’s omnipresent thieves. A barren garden looked sad and neglected, tangles of leafless branches spilling over its sides.
There was no sign of anyone watching out of any windows. Knowing she could end up in deep shit if she was wrong about that, Carolyn grasped the top of the gate and hauled herself up. The ivy tangled up her foot for a moment, but she pulled free and slid over the top into the courtyard. She brushed the leaves off her coat, hoping she hadn’t left an obvious trail in the ivy.
There was a slight gap between the heavy curtains covering the window in the back door. Cupping her hands over her eyes to fight the glare, she looked inside and saw a stove. No lights on, no sign of life. After one last look around, Carolyn turned her attention to the door itself.
No deadbolt, she noted with a grim smile. That ought to make this easier. She pulled off her gloves and set to work on the lock.
Breaking and entering, Carolyn. Not a good sign. She shook her head at herself, but kept working, her heart racing with adrenaline. She’d be hard-pressed to explain herself if anyone caught her at this, breaking into a house in broad daylight. But she had to assure herself that Gray wasn’t lying dead in his house somewhere, had to put her worries to rest.
And if he was?
Her heart clenched and her eyes actually blurred with tears. Damn it! It would be sad if something happened to him, yes. But she would not grieve for him! Whatever he’d gotten himself into, he’d made his own bed.
The lock clicked open. Carolyn turned the knob, withdrew her tools, and took a deep breath to steady herself. Then, she pushed the door open and slipped inside.
“Gray?” she called, not expecting an answer.
The house remained silent as the grave. On the kitchen wall, his answering machine blinked the number four. She slid her coat off, drawing the gun from her pocket. Probably the place was empty, but she didn’t feel inclined to take a chance. For one thing, it didn’t feel empty. Keeping her back pressed to the wall, she slid over to the doorway leading out into the hall.
She peeked around the corner, squinting against the darkness. The curtains in this place let in hardly a sliver of light, and she felt as though she’d stepped from daytime directly into night. She waited a minute until her eyes had adjusted as much as they were going to. Then, holding her gun at the ready, she crept down the hall.
There was a staircase to her left, and farther down the hall on her right was the living room. There was a powder room under the stairs, but the door was open and she could clearly see it was empty. She hesitated a long moment, listening intently for any sound, but all she heard were the cars passing by on the street outside. She continued down the hall toward the living room, still keeping watch on the staircase.
The living room was empty. She went in to make a circuit around the room just to be sure. Back in the hall, she had a choice between two closed doors in the foyer, and the staircase. One door turned out to hold a coat closet. No mysterious figures lurked inside. The other door led down into a basement. If she were going to go down there, she’d have to turn on a light. Better to check upstairs first. Unnerved and no doubt overly cautious, she locked the deadbolt on the basement door behind her.
She turned to face the staircase. There was no more light coming from upstairs than from anywhere else. Geez, how could Gray live like this? There was almost no natural light in here. It was downright depressing!
The stairs creaked as she made her way cautiously up, but no one leapt out of the shadows. She tried to take that as a good sign, but her pulse pounded insistently in her throat, and her breaths came quick and shallow. Even knowing that this was all a ludicrous overreaction didn’t do anything to calm her nerves. Maybe it was just the aura of this house. It felt oppressive and old, the kind of house a mean old witch would inhabit. There should be cobwebs hanging from the light fixtures!
There were only three doors leading off the upstairs hall. One opened onto … a music room? Carolyn blinked and shook her head. An ancient-looking piano with yellowed keys sat propped against the wall, an even yellower sheet of music opened on its stand. In the corner sat a harp, and beside that was another music stand. As far as she knew, Gray didn’t play any instrument, and certainly not the harp! No, this house was definitely not him. She remembered him saying he’d “inherited” it, but clearly he had not put his personal stamp on the place.
The second door opened onto a small linen closet, which Carolyn quickly examined and dismissed. The last door had to be a bedroom. Taking a deep breath, she readied the Glock in her right hand and used her left to push the door open.
The bedroom was even darker than the rest of the house, and at first her light-starved eyes saw nothing. Her heart rate shot up, and her palms sweated. Anything could jump out at her from that inky darkness! When nothing did, she tried to relax, but her nerves remained on red alert.
Her eyes began to adjust, but she knew she’d never be able to make out more than vague shapes. She took one last glance over her shoulder to make sure no one—and nothing—was creeping up the stairs from the basement toward her. She almost laughed at herself. Did she think she was one of those oversexed teenagers in a horror movie who’d get killed by the monster in the first reel?
She groped along the wall until she found a light switch. The light momentarily blinded her, and she had to close her eyes against its searing glare. When she was able to open her lids a crack, she instantly saw the form that lay on the bed, the covers drawn up to his chest.
For one terrible moment, she thought he had to be dead. He couldn’t possibly still be asleep! Not after her repeated phone calls or her ringing the doorbell or calling his name from downstairs. Then she saw his chest rising and falling with his slow, steady breaths and relief flooded her.
Carolyn let out a shaky breath, putting her Glock down on the dresser and covering her face with her hands.
The relief made her knees weak, and she was in danger of bursting into tears. She clamped her teeth, willing her turbulent emotions to calm. How could she be letting herself get so wound up over Gray? He was through with her, and she was through with him, and somehow she had to find a measure of emotional distance.
With another deep breath, she told herself that her overreaction was merely an effect of the stress his reappearance had caused. Shaking her head, she approached the bed.
The bedroom was the one room in the house that held a hint of Gray in it. The furnishings all looked as old-lady-like as everythin
g else, but his dirty clothes were scattered over the floor, leaving only the occasional glimpse of the floral rug beneath, and the comforter that covered him was a masculine brown geometric print wildly at odds with the rest of the decor.
Carolyn stood at the bedside staring down at him for a long moment. He was lying on his back, his mouth slightly open, his hair framing his face in a black halo against the white pillow. The comforter revealed his naked shoulders and the very top of his chest. His skin was ghostly pale, almost sickly looking, but his body …
She’d always found Gray attractive, despite the extra weight he’d habitually carried. Now she saw the sleek muscles that weight had hidden, and she couldn’t help appreciating the view. Broad shoulders, broad chest with conspicuous tone and a smattering of raven-dark hair. When they’d been together, he’d slept in the nude. She wondered if he still did.
She’d reached out and grabbed the edge of the comforter before she realized what she was doing. She started to pull it down, revealing more of his chest, her mouth practically watering.
With a jerk, she pulled her hands away. What was she thinking? She had no right to be looking at him like this! No matter how much she wanted to reveal the rest of his body to her curious stare, she forced herself to pull the cover back up to his shoulders.
Hoping she’d regained every ounce of her self control, she cleared her throat. “Gray?” she said, softly. He didn’t respond, and she said it again, louder. Still, he didn’t awaken. He’d never been such a sound sleeper before.
Bracing herself for the inevitable pulse of desire, she put her hand on his bare shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” she said.
