She conferred briefly with the M.E., then waved to Flynn and left the park. There was nothing more for her to do there.
Going to her car, she pulled out her cell phone, called the Vampire Arms, and left a message for Joaquin Santiago to call her as soon as possible.
The rain started just before she got home.
Regan’s phone rang almost the very instant the sun went down. A tingle of anticipation ran through her body when she picked it up and heard his voice.
“Miss Delaney, what can I do for you?”
He cut right to the chase. She liked that. “You said there had been three other murders.”
“Yes.”
“Were they in the park?”
“No.”
Regan frowned. “But they were similar to the recent ones?”
“Yes, almost identical.”
“Were they all males?”
“Two men and a young woman.”
“I’d like you to tell me everything you remember.”
“Of course, but this is hardly the kind of thing one discusses over the phone. Why don’t you meet me at Sardino’s for dinner?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Santiago, but synthetic blood isn’t on my diet.”
His laughter sent frissons of heat dancing up and down her spine. “I am sure I can persuade Sardino to prepare something a little more to your liking.”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Santiago.”
“Then I have nothing more to say.”
She felt her temper rise. “That’s blackmail.”
“Indeed it is.”
It was also flattering. “What time?”
“As soon as you can be there.”
“All right,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll meet you there in forty minutes.” It would give her time to wash up, fix her hair, and change her clothes. She shook her head. What was she thinking? The man was a vampire and this was a business meeting, not a date!
“Forty minutes,” he agreed, and hung up the phone.
In spite of herself, Regan took pains with her appearance, choosing a long white skirt, white heels, and a dark green sweater that made her eyes appear several shades darker. She brushed her hair until it crackled, put it up in a fancy twist, and then let it down again. She rarely wore much makeup. Tonight, she indulged in a touch of powder and a bit of eye shadow and lipstick. Picking up her handbag, she checked to make sure her pistol was inside and loaded, and she was ready to go.
Stepping outside, she was glad to see that the storm had passed. She hated driving in the rain, but she loved storms, loved the thunder and the lightning and the way the rain washed away the dirt and grime of the city, leaving everything looking and smelling clean and fresh.
Sardino’s wasn’t yet crowded when she arrived. At this time of night, most of the humans had already left the park, while most of the vamps preferred to arrive later. She parked at the curb and took a deep, calming breath before getting out of the car.
Santiago was waiting for her. Dressed in ubiquitous black, he looked dashing and handsome and deadly. She could tell, by the heightened color of his skin, that he had fed not long ago.
He smiled when he saw her, displaying even white teeth. “Good evening.” His smile was devastating, without a hint of fang.
“Hello.”
He held out his hand. “Our table is ready.”
Regan looked at him, hesitant to let him touch her.
Santiago raised one brow in a silent challenge.
Pursing her lips, Regan placed her hand in his and let him lead her to a table in a secluded corner of the room.
A waitress clad in a long black dress and a crisp white apron came to take their order.
Santiago asked the waitress to have Sardino fix Regan something to eat, then ordered a glass of A negative for himself.
Regan’s heart skipped a beat. Was it merely coincidence that Santiago had ordered A negative, which happened to be her blood type, as well? But of course it was, she thought. How could he possibly know?
With a nod and a smile that showed only a hint of fang, the waitress moved away from the table. The fact that she couldn’t completely hide her true nature proved that she was still a young vampire.
“Does all blood taste the same?” Regan asked what was uppermost in her mind without thinking.
“No.” His gaze moved briefly to her throat. “Each type has its own…shall we say, bouquet.”
Regan grimaced. It was more information than she needed. “So,” she said, changing the subject, “tell me about the other killings.”
“There is little to tell. They were almost identical to the one you saw last night. And the one today.”
Regan wasn’t surprised that he knew about the latest victim. She had a feeling that he knew everything that went on, not only inside the park but outside, as well.
“You told me that on the phone,” Regan said. Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms under her breasts. “I thought you had some new information.”
“There have been other killings.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone is also killing vampires.”
That piqued her interest. “I hadn’t heard about that,” she said, leaning forward.
“Of course not. But I have.”
“How many?”
“Four, so far.”
“Do you think the same person is killing both vampires and humans?”
Santiago shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Perhaps?”
“The one responsible for the deaths inside the park is not a vampire. And not a mortal.”
“Not a vamp and not a human? What else could it be?”
“It is a werewolf. A very old werewolf.”
Regan stared at him. A werewolf? She sat back, stunned. That possibility had never occurred to her, but then, why would it? Werewolves were supposed to be extinct. She had never seen a werewolf, had been skeptical that they had ever existed except in fairy tales. The idea of a human turning into an animal just seemed so bizarre. And yet, it shouldn’t be so hard to believe in werewolves, she mused, not when there was another, equally fantastic creature sitting across from her. Still, vampires remained humanoid if not entirely human. But werewolves…she shrugged inwardly. She supposed the two species really weren’t so very different. Both werewolves and vampires were brutal killers that stalked the night in search of human prey. And if there could be werewolves and vampires, then why not fairies and goblins and trolls and elves?
She shook her head. She was being ridiculous now. Vampires and werewolves had once been human. Elves and goblins and trolls were just…make-believe. Weren’t they?
“What makes you think it’s a werewolf?” she asked, although the longer she thought about it, the more sense it made. She had never known any vampire to do more than take the blood of its victims. Sure, they usually took the life, too, but they left the victim’s body intact; they didn’t rip out the internal organs.
“I recognized his scent.”
“You know him then?” she asked, startled.
Santiago nodded. “Our paths have crossed before.”
From the tone of his voice, she didn’t think they were friends. “The other night, you told me you didn’t know who had killed the victim.”
“I lied,” he said with a shrug.
“So how do I know you’re not lying to me tonight?”
“Because I know you better now.”
Disconcerted by his words, Regan lifted her water glass and took a drink. What was she doing, sitting here with this…this creature? He was one of them, a killer of innocents, a drinker of blood. Looking at him, it was hard to believe he was one of the monsters. He looked like any other man, save that his teeth seemed a little whiter, his eyes a little brighter…who was she kidding? No ordinary man had ever looked this roguishly handsome, or made her heart do handsprings in her chest. No ordinary man had ever made her skin tingle just by looking at her.
She
shook her head to clear it. It was hard to think straight when he was looking at her. “Are you the only vampire that can cross through the barrier?”
He hesitated a moment before replying, “As far as I know.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
He shrugged.
She frowned thoughtfully. “What about the werewolf?”
The vampire’s gaze moved over her, probing, curious, and yet she had the feeling that he knew her better than she knew herself. “It would have no effect on him.”
If only Joaquin Santiago had no effect on her! It was hard to think coherently when he was looking at her as if nothing else in all the world mattered. His dark eyes smoldered with unspoken desire. Her body warmed under his regard, aching for his touch. She told herself it was nothing. Vampires were notoriously charming and seductive. It was part of their appeal, part of their preternatural glamour, the very thing that made it so hard for humans to resist them.
Regan was glad when her meal arrived as it gave her something else to focus on. She had never eaten with a vampire before and she soon discovered that doing so made her extremely nervous.
“Is the food not to your liking?” he asked.
“No, it’s really very good, but…”
He lifted one brow. “But?”
“I…it’s…” She cleared her throat. “It makes me uncomfortable, eating in front of you, and…”
He glanced at the ruby red liquid shimmering in the crystal goblet in his hand. “And my drinking this doesn’t help your appetite?” he guessed.
She nodded.
He signaled for the waitress and had her take his glass away. “Is that better?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right to eat in front of you when you can’t….” She paused a moment, then gestured at the basket of garlic bread the waitress had brought with her spaghetti. “Does this bother you?”
“No,” he said, grinning. “The whole garlic thing is just a myth.”
“Oh. How long has it been since you consumed real food?”
“A very long time.”
“I guess you don’t remember what it was like?”
“Ah, but I do. I even remember my last meal, though it was remarkably unremarkable. Ash cakes and a bowl of venison stew. A cup of tiswin.”
“Ash cakes?” Regan shook her head. “They aren’t really made of ashes. Are they?”
He laughed softly. The sound danced across her skin, sensuous and seductive, like the man himself.
“Not at all,” he said. “They are made from ground mesquite beans or pine nuts mixed with tallow or bear grease, and honey. The women form the mixture into small cakes and bake them on heated stones.”
“Do you miss it? Eating, I mean.”
“Not any more, though sometimes…”
“Go on.”
He shook his head, thinking it would be better not to go down that path. She had no need to know that when he drank from his prey, he could, if he wished, vicariously experience what they had recently experienced.
“Please,” he said, “enjoy your meal.”
She tried, but every time she took a bite, she was aware of his gaze. He was not a mortal man. He didn’t eat food. He drank blood. She had been a fool to meet him here, alone, after dark. No one knew she had agreed to meet him here. If he should decide he wanted a snack, she was readily available.
The thought made her shudder. How could anyone drink blood? It was beyond her comprehension. Contemplating it ruined what was left of her appetite and she pushed her plate away.
“You have hardly eaten a thing,” Santiago remarked.
“I’m not hungry anymore.”
He regarded her through narrowed eyes. “I see.”
Drat the man. She was afraid he saw way too much.
He signaled for the waitress and signed the check, leaving a generous tip.
After rising, he drew back Regan’s chair, then followed her out of the restaurant.
Silently, he walked her to her car. Was it her imagination, or did she feel a slight tremor in the force field when he passed through?
Regan unlocked the door. “Thank you for dinner.”
He flashed a smile. “I am sorry that the food, and the company, were not more to your liking.”
“I…”
He held up one hand, silencing her. “You needn’t explain.” Indeed, her thoughts were clearly visible in her eyes.
Regan slid behind the wheel. If she needed physical proof that he could leave the park, she had it now. She punched in the ignition code, then looked up at Santiago through the open door. “If you uncover any more information on the werewolf, I hope you’ll let me know.”
Santiago nodded. “If you wish.”
He closed her door, then watched her drive away. He would see her again, he thought, and soon.
Even if he had to make something up.
The vampire murders made headlines in all the newspapers the following day, and became the top story on the nightly news.
By the end of the week, the chief of police had declared that there was a serial killer on the loose and advised people to remain in their homes after dark. To date, eight bodies had been found inside the park, all of them brutally mutilated. For the public’s safety, the mayor closed the park to all human traffic until further notice.
Various anti-vampire groups that had been silent up until now began demanding that the vampires be destroyed once and for all, while the bleeding hearts argued that anyone foolish enough to stroll in the park after sundown knew the risks involved and deserved whatever they got. The public demanded that something be done before it was too late.
At the beginning of the second week, Joaquin Santiago appeared on the eleven o’clock news. He expressed his sympathy to the bereaved and assured the city’s nervous populace that none of the vampires that resided inside You Bet Your Life Park were responsible for the murders.
Sitting on the sofa at home, Regan listened to the telecast with interest, thinking that the master of the city was not only extremely handsome but was as tactful as any D.C. politician, as well. Obviously wary of adding fuel to the fire of panic growing in the streets, he hadn’t mentioned his belief that a werewolf was responsible for the murders. No one would have believed him anyway, Regan thought, since everyone knew that werewolves were extinct. But then, people also believed that vampires couldn’t leave You Bet Your Life Park, or the other complexes like it around the country, when she knew from firsthand experience that at least one of them was completely unaffected by the force field.
Leaning back against the sofa, she switched off the Satellite Screen. Vampires, werewolves, and murder, oh my. She had visited all the recent crime scenes and although she had not seen Santiago at any of them, she had been aware of his presence nearby. She was vaguely disappointed that he hadn’t called her and annoyed with herself for feeling that way. Life was complicated enough without adding a vampire to the mix, especially a vampire like Joaquin Santiago.
Going into the kitchen, she pulled a can of soda from the fridge. The only good thing about the recent murders was that she was again on the police payroll, although it seemed wrong somehow to profit by the suffering of others. Still, the Department had asked for her expertise, such as it was.
Carrying the soda, Regan went back into the living room, switched on her computer, and did a Google search for werewolves. If it turned out that Santiago was right and the killer was a werewolf, then she wanted to know what she was up against. As far as she knew, there weren’t any werewolf hunters in the city, which meant the job was wide open, and she was as qualified as anyone else, maybe more so.
She was about to shut down her computer and get ready for bed when the phone rang. She stared at it a moment and then, grimacing, she picked it up. Lately, whenever the phone rang, it was bad news. Tonight was no different.
“Our killer’s struck again,” Flynn said.
“Same M.O.?” she asked, reaching for her shoes.
<
br /> “Looks like it.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“It isn’t at the park.”
“Where is it?”
“Uptown, behind the high school.”
Regan’s hand tightened on the phone. “I’ll be there in ten minutes,” she said, and disconnected the call.
Behind the high school. Nausea roiled in her stomach as she slid behind the wheel of her car and drove uptown. Not kids, she thought. Please, not kids.
Fifteen minutes later, she pulled up behind Flynn’s patrol car, which was parked at the curb next to the football field. While alighting from her car, she noted that the M.E.’s van was also there. Taking a deep breath, she cut across a corner of the football field, her shoes squishing in the damp grass. She passed a couple of police officers as she made her way to the storm drain located in a ravine behind the field.
The crime scene had been cordoned off with yellow tape. A number of uniformed police stood at the top of the ravine, looking down. She could see the M.E. kneeling on the ground beside the storm drain. The forensic team was bagging evidence, their voices low.
Moving carefully, Regan made her way down the slippery slope toward the M.E. She felt a wave of sympathy for a young cop who looked like he was about to lose his dinner. With a reassuring smile, she hurried forward so she wouldn’t be a witness if he suddenly lost it.
Regan nodded to a few of the officers she knew, her steps slowing as she reached the crime scene. The bodies were sprawled in the dirt. The girl, clad in the bloody remains of a green polka-dot sundress and white sandals, looked like she was sixteen or seventeen. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a ponytail. The body of a young man wearing a mud-and-blood splattered white shirt and a pair of dark trousers lay facedown beside her. Both bodies had been mutilated. Both had been drained of blood.
“According to the M.E., they’ve been dead about four hours,” Flynn said, coming up behind her. “The girl’s mother said her daughter went to a movie with her boyfriend. She was supposed to be home by ten. When she wasn’t home by midnight, the mother got worried. She called the boyfriend’s house but his folks hadn’t heard from him. What with the recent killings making headlines, the girl’s mother called the police.”
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