Later, armed with limited knowledge, Sprintz and her son made progress on the treatment. Sprintz was feeling old and tired, but happy. Papa would be proud of her and of her coolheaded, relentless research that had produced the treatment. Prudently, she had taught her son all that she knew so that when she died, he could continue the research to perfect the drug and work out the weaknesses and negative side-effects. She only wanted happiness for him, that he might find the love and peace that had eluded his parents.
Chapter One
The present
The woman sat immobilized. Two laughing young men were peering in through the open passenger window of her car. The sinking evening sun shone down on the brand new tan Lexus, its back seat crammed with shopping bags. The car was stopped at the intersection of Hall and Fern Avenue, and Jen, who was walking to her car just a half a block away, paused automatically to watch with a stranger's mild, indifferent curiosity.
The boys looked as if they were selling something. Kids in the area were always hawking candy or magazines for the high school band or field trips. It was fall, after all, and Homecoming had to be coming up. The more daring, reckless kids weren't above accosting cars at stop signs for sales.
These two were redheaded, wholesome and clean-cut, potential Boy Scouts. Both of them could have easily graced the front of a cereal box.
But, wait a moment, these two weren't exactly kids, Jen realized uneasily. They were older than high school students, she was sure—and they wouldn't be selling candy. And was that a gun she saw in the taller one's hand? Her heart lunged to a standstill, and she froze in a sudden icy sweat as she stared at the menacing black object.
The darkened, deserted street, lined with vacant office buildings and shuttered closed shops, loomed before her. Except for the lights flickering from a dry cleaners over a block away, they seemed to be cut off from the rest of world. Three blocks south, her eyes distractedly noticed a startling silver Rolls Royce driving past at the intersection behind her. It was too far away to notice cries for help. Jen was all alone.
Her muscles were paralyzed. Hands numbed with fear, she dropped her dry cleaning. She couldn't breathe. She was witnessing a carjacking. Blindly, she reached for the handle of her car door. In her panic, she forgot the old car's ragged edge of trim hanging from the door. She was scarcely aware of the sharp jab in her hand as she suddenly met the eyes of the carjackers. Her heart raced as the two stared boldly at her. The taller one grinned and slowly turned the gun in her direction.
Jen felt her heart stop with shock and, at the same time, something stinging and wet in her hand. Suddenly, a tall man in a long, black coat was standing beside the carjackers, who both swung around to face him just as the woman in the car began to wail for help. Tensing for the sound of gunshot, Jen couldn't hear what was being said, but stood frozen, unable to move.
Jen's racing mind was urging her to hide and protect herself, but her body wouldn't comply. The tall man's back was to her, and she could see only the two car thieves' faces. Without warning, they were opening their mouths as if to scream, but instead, both jumped back as if jabbed with a red hot pitchfork. The taller one suddenly hurled the woman's purse and keys into the car window.
In seconds, the carjackers were running at breakneck speed, hightops thumping loudly until one fell sprawling to the pavement. He scrambled to his feet, gasping so loudly that Jen could hear him, and sprinted after his companion, who didn't wait or look back. She gaped in disbelief.
As the carjackers disappeared down the street, the woman in the Lexus, without warning, screeched her tires and spun away, bumping wildly over the curb.
Jen and the strange man were alone.
It was unnaturally silent and still. Jen could only hear the rushing of blood in her ears.
Shaking from a flood of adrenaline-pumped emotions, Jen gazed once again down the now empty street, and then back to the man who was walking toward her. Things were moving in slow motion; time seemed to have halted. "This is so unreal," she whispered as the man reached her side. "Are they gone?" Her knees were still shaking.
"Yes. I doubt they'll return," he said. The voice made her turn. It was rich and sweet—like melted chocolate pouring over her icy nerves. "At least, not today."
The man was apparently unarmed, relaxed and at ease. Jen wondered if he was hiding a gun under his coat. With the sun blazing directly in her eyes, it was hard to make out his features. "Maybe you scared them off car stealing for good," she said.
"We can but hope," the man said, his voice tinged with dark humor, "but humans are notoriously persistent in their vices." A cloud suddenly covered the sun and revealed the man's face. Jen was startled by the unexpected beauty of his features, their symmetrical perfection. A breeze blew back his hair, which was thick and dark blonde and contrasted startlingly with his black eyes and dark eyebrows. She shook herself mentally, annoyed that she was staring like a starstruck adolescent. It was suddenly hard to concentrate and hard to breathe. She swallowed several times.
But how did he terrify armed thieves? I wonder… she thought, the blood burning beneath her skin. The world was blurring before her eyes; her hand throbbed. "How—" she croaked before swaying, aware that the man was reaching for her.
"You've hurt yourself. Your hand is bleeding," he said. He was leading her to the curb and gently pushing her to sit down. As she sat, she was aware of him wrapping something around her hand and applying pressure. "Breathe slowly. That's it. In and out." Somehow, she was obeying. Oxygen poured through her body. “You'll feel better soon." His soft voice came from a distance.
The fuzzy edges of the world were coming clearer and Jen opened her eyes to see him holding a beautiful silk handkerchief to the cut on her hand. The pale gray was rapidly turning maroon, and she was startled to see large drops of her blood spattered on his hand, as well.
"I don't think it's very deep, chérie. You probably won't need stitches, but have the wound cleaned. A tetanus shot would also be wise if you haven't had one recently."
"You're probably right. Though I can't bear thinking about being stuck with a needle right now," Jen muttered.
The man chuckled q. They sat silently for minutes while Jen closed her eyes and took deep breaths. She was aware of the faintest scent of mint and of the breeze cooling her warm face. He relaxed the pressure on her hand.
Feeling better and more than a little embarrassed, Jen sat up straighter. "I don't know why I felt so faint. It's not like I lost a lot of blood. I guess I'm a little squeamish."
He nodded. "Very understandable." For a second, a funny expression flitted across his face. His dark eyes studied her. "Considering the trauma you've experienced, it's not surprising."
She shook her head and took a deep breath, startled that she was already feeling better. With amazing speed, her head was clearing and strength was returning to her legs. Her hand was stinging, but the pain was muted. She was s aware that she and the man were sitting very close. Jen felt self-conscious. His nearness made her look away.
"Why am I shaken up? You're the one who confronted armed thieves, not me." She noticed that he was looking down at his hands with a strange, tense expression on his face, and wondered if her blood on them was disgusting him. Maybe he was squeamish, too.
"I am not unaffected, I assure you." He rose to his feet. "Are you steady enough to stand?"
Jen nodded and allowed him to help her to her feet. He had the slightest accent, she noted, but couldn't tell what kind. She was feeling more normal, but she noticed that her arm tingled warmly where he'd touched her. She told herself not to be a fool and touched the handkerchief, which she was chagrined to see looked very expensive. "I think I've ruined it," she said r. "I can wash and return it..." The man was very tall, she noticed. Jen was five-foot-seven in her bare feet; the man towered over her by a good ten inches. He was slender, but powerful muscles filled the shoulders of his coat.
"Keep it or throw it away as you wish. But don't apologize—it is only
a piece of cloth." He smiled down at her, and she noticed that he had the longest eyelashes she'd ever seen on any man or woman.
A shaky smile trembled on her lips. "Watching all of...that...felt so strange, almost as if it were happening on a movie screen, but much scarier. Reality can't compare..."
"Life can catch you unaware, chérie, no matter how prepared you think you are." His eyes held hers captive for a second before he looked away. They were so different, she realized, so dark she couldn't see the pupils. Strange, unlike anyone else's.
Jen felt her face flush without knowing why. A noise caught her attention, making her spin around. A car whizzed by, spewing up gravel. Jen shook herself mentally. We should be calling the police, or something, she thought.
"I have to go," the man said abruptly. His face was grave. "You must fix the trim on your car door. That metal edge is quite lethal." He bit his lip and hesitated. "It is important to protect yourself—from future injury." Jen had the feeling that he was going to say something else but changed his mind.
Jen looked at her battered, old Tempo, eyeing the rust spots and sagging, protruding trim. He was right, the car was a menace. She turned back and opened her mouth to thank him when she realized she was alone. Entirely alone. He had disappeared. Into thin air. Vanished. Stunned, Jen looked carefully around, unable to believe her own eyes.
"Life is stranger than fiction. Especially him," she said out loud. Maybe not strange exactly, but there was something about him, she added silently. She didn't know if she quite trusted him. He was so different. But fascinating. Disturbing. Those bottomless black eyes. It had been hard to look away from them, but also hard to look directly into them.
Jen sighed, scooped up the package of dry cleaning, and climbed into her car, feeling guilty. She should contact the police or do something. If only she weren't so tired. Surprisingly, it was easy to maneuver the steering wheel, but she was lucky it was her left hand she'd cut. Her glance fell on the silken material wrapped around it—a concrete connection to the man.
Enough foolishness, Jen told herself sternly as she drove carefully down the empty streets. She was only a few miles from home, but the winding black road seemed endless. Jen reached for her overstuffed briefcase, which had toppled off the seat, and groaned to herself. She didn't have to invent things to obsess over, not with her employer, Kriegles Engineering, adding to her work load every day.
Recently promoted as a senior technical writer, she was expected to double her productivity but not her pay. Michigan's economy might not be in a slump, but that didn't mean decent jobs were easy to find. I'm lucky I'm making a good salary, one I can live on, she reminded herself. As long as I'm careful, I'll be okay.
She glanced quickly at her wide-eyed image in her rear mirror and took a deep breath. She just needed to relax and put everything in perspective.
Later at home, after eating a hurried dinner of canned chicken noodle soup and crackers, Jen washed the cut on her hand and found it small and shallow. Bandaging it, she removed the handkerchief, but couldn't bring herself to throw it away. Instead, she soaked it in the sink. For a second, she ran her finger across the delicate silk weave and frowned slightly. She pulled her hand awayand stepped back from the sink.
Jen got a better look at herself in the mirror above the sink, and grimaced as she noted the wavy, reddish-blonde hair falling limply to her shoulders and the strained pallor of her small face. Her mother would say it was her own fault for not wearing more makeup instead of relying on just mascara and lip gloss.
Pacing around her living room, Jen glanced out the window. The darkening sky and blazing sunset made a picturesque backdrop for Grenville Lake. The community nestled among hills and clustered tightly around the oval, half-mile long lake was only an hour from Detroit, but could have been hundreds, so bucolic was the scene.
Nothing's changed, she tried to convince herself. You're just worn out and overworked. But her reality seemed skewed, as if suddenly everything had turned upside down. It was absurd, but she felt shaken, disoriented.
Jen went to the bookcase and picked up the sheaf of papers she'd brought home last night. The words blurred on the paper, and she rubbed at her eyes before thrusting aside the stack. Work could wait. She was as caught up as she was going to be.
She just needed a good night’s sleep, and then things would seem normal. She resumed pacing her living room. The ranch house she rented looked normal—familiar, furnished in an eclectic, carefree style. There was her pink, overstuffed couch, her embroidered chair, her faux ebony coffee table, her collection of paintings and art adorning the wall.
Jen tried to shake the notion that she had stumbled into a stranger's dream, far removed from her own daily existence. Her arm began to tingle where the man had touched her. She rubbed the spot and felt nothing. Just a silly fancy.
She dropped down on the sofa and was joined by Cobbs, her six-year old cocker spaniel mix. Cobbs pressed his wet nose against her hand and whined a little. Jen smiled faintly and stroked his thick, soft fur. "I'm so overtired I'm imagining things," she told him. Sighing, she reached for the remote and switched on the news.
It was almost time for bed. Jen lingered to watch the lake through her kitchen window. The water was so breathtakingly beautiful, inky waves awash with mercury silver. Her hand was feeling better and barely hurt. She pressed closer to the glass, her uninjured hand automatically reaching for her camera, which wasn't there. A reflexive action. Her fully equipped Olympus was her prized possession, her one true luxury. Jen loved snapping photos at night so much that it had become a peccadillo, something that fulfilled an inexplicable hunger inside of her.
Working at Kriegles Engineering did little to satisfy her creative side, so spending big chunks of her paycheck on photography equipment seemed reasonable to her. She needed her photos. Something inside of her ached for the release, for the beauty of the night. Stifling a yawn, Jen decided her Olympus could wait.
As Jen climbed into bed, she suddenly remembered what it was she'd forgotten to ask the mysterious stranger. She'd forgotten to ask how he had stopped the carjacking. She wondered if she'd ever get a chance to find out the answer.
* * * *
He'd been crying while he was running and that's why he'd fallen. Crying because he'd been freaked by what he'd thought he saw. The dude had been playing with their heads. He couldn't really be a— No way, it was some trick or scam. It infuriated him that he'd been spooked like some little kid. He'd looked like a fool. Of course, his friend had been scared, too, though he would never admit it.
He hated the fact that he had cried and fallen on his face. All he'd wanted was a good score and the Lexus would have been perfect. Thinking of all the money they could have made with the car made him sick.
But remembering how surprisingly easy it had been to hang around and follow the Rolls made him smile and feel a little better. Scraped and raw in more ways than one, he daydreamed about stealing it.
* * * *
The pathetic young human didn't even realize he was being followed...and watched. It was an amazing coincidence that she'd found Dameon just as he was leaping in the middle of a robbery, playing the hero—playing the fool. Tatiana's smirked. She couldn't believe she finally tracked Dameon down. He was a most elusive vampan.
And now...she had seen with her own eyes Dameon's revolting fascination with that puling female—that ridiculous human. Something like gall seared through her veins. Tatiana writhed. He couldn't really be interested in that scrawny, pale creature. It had to be a passing fancy.
But she remembered only too clearly the look in Dameon's eyes, the tender expression hidden from human observation but not from Tatiana's.
Rage and frustration rose and swelled with in her chest. Jealousy was beyond her, of course, she reassured herself. I am a lamia, the most beautiful of all creatures. The world is mine. Dameon and his perverse obsessions with humans mean nothing to me.
But it was galling for Tatiana to watch Dameon
fawn over that absurd human creature. She'd never seen Dameon infatuated quite like this before. She’d always comforted herself with the notion that he was too cold, too odd to fall for any woman. A snarl contorted her flawless face and she dug her long nails into her palms. Blood streamed unheeded...
She shouldn't have tracked him down. Maybe Claudia was right. Maybe she was a fool. No...Tatiana ran her hands across her bloodied face and almost absent-mindedly raked them through her long, fair hair, leaving the strands dripping and red.
No, Claudia was wrong. Suddenly, Tatiana smirked and hugged herself. Her mind was busy, absorbing the facts at hand. An interesting plan was fomenting—she just hadn't worked out the details yet. She visualized Dameon's face and was nearly paralyzed with fierce emotion. He was so smug, so sure that he was better than her...and the other vampires. Choosing a human. How nauseating that she had to witness his falling under the spell of the plain creature.
She began to giggle to herself. The young car thief was the key. Tatiana could smell his outrage and hunger for vengeance. Maybe she wasn't astute as a mind master, but she was very intuitive. The thief's soul was brimming with vengeful envy, typical of those weak and ineffectual in life. It was far easier to blame others than to take responsibility for oneself. But weak or not, the young car thief would somehow fit into Tatiana's plans. She was sure of it.
Instantly, she possessed the body of a nearby cat and trotted after the young car thief, who was totally unaware of her presence. The car thief had parked near the Grenville housing complex and was strolling to the woods. Very interesting, she thought, watching the thief throw rocks aimlessly at the lake, kicking up dirt, smoking and swearing. Very interesting.
Chapter Two
Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance) Page 2
