Kiss Noir (BookStrand Publishing Romance)

by Robynn Clairday

  Jen threw her brush down on her dresser and whistled for Cobbs. She had to get out of the house or she'd go insane. It was already afternoon and she'd done nothing but mope all day. Soon, she and Cobbs were plowing through the fall leaves, the wind teasing Jen's hair. The lake looked dark and rough today, and no one else was out. Grenville was silent and still. Jen felt a wave of loneliness. She'd wanted Dameon to call, hoped he'd call, despite what he'd said to her.

  Dameon was deeply upset and humiliated by his episode, Jen realized. He might never want to see her again. At the thought, a deep, slashing pain sliced through her and she stopped in her tracks. Cobbs barked and tugged at the leash. I couldn't bear that, she thought, biting her lip, momentarily unaware of her surroundings. Some people would say I should stay away, that Dameon is trouble. But I can't worry about common sense. Not when I miss him so much. I have to trust my instincts.

  Cobbs bounced at the end of his leash and barked loudly, arousing her from her reverie. Jen suddenly decided to visit Mrs. Joslyn and see if she'd relent and let Buffy join them for a walk. Poor little fellow must be dying for a real romp. More leaves had dropped, stripping the trees and leaving them with a more skeletal appearance.

  Jen frowned in puzzlement as she rang Mrs. Joslyn's door a second time. No one was answering. With the elderly woman's further retreat into hermitude, it was surprising to find her out. Jen knocked again, and strained to listen for any sound. She hoped her neighbor wasn't hurt or ill, but surely Buffy would be barking by now? A chill of worry touched her spine. With the outbreak of troublesome incidents at the lakeside, it wasn't hard to imagine the worst.

  "She ain't at home." A loud voice boomed in her ear.

  Jen spun around. Tom Shlessinger loomed behind her, leaning on a rake. His tomato red face clashed with the bright orange hunter's jacket. At Jen's questioning expression, he explained, eyes narrowed under the bill of his hat. "Old lady got scared and hightailed out to her sister's." He paused to scratch his side. "She got the bejesus scared out of her, or haven't you heard?"

  "Heard? Heard what?" Fearful images of a thief burglarizing and harming Carmen Joslyn raced through her mind.

  "Somebody dumped some Satan voodoo and spray painted some nasty stuff in the old lady's back yard. She let out a scream that could a woke the dead, according to her neighbor, Mr. Jackson. Jackson was scared himself and his old lady wouldn't even come out of the house, just peeked through the curtains. Somebody's warning us." Schlessinger scowled at Jen ominously. "And we all better listen. The cops say it's a prank 'cause Halloween is coming in a few days." He shook his head. "This ain't no prank."

  "I still don't understand. Warning us about what?" Jen nervously raked her fingers through her long hair.

  "This way, and I'll show you." Shlessinger strode through the leaves and marched around to the backyard.

  She the saw the objects, malevolent-looking even at a distance. As they got closer, Jen saw a long, black candle lying on its side and a dead rat—the rat's throat was cut. There was little blood. The body looked drained, just like the duck's. A few inches away someone had used black spray paint on the grass. The large, jagged writing was easily legible: The blood-drinker lives among you. Beware of the stranger. Jen shuddered and her stomach rolled. The prankster had never before left this kind of message.

  Shlessinger watched her increasing pallor with satisfaction. The little tableau was gristly and menacing, and uncannily similar to the doll scenario. These were not a simple, harmless Halloween gags, she realized, feeling goose bumps erupt on her skin. Jen could well understand Mrs. Joslyn's fear and desire to leave after viewing this horror.

  "I'm gonna move that filth, but had to wait till the cops saw it first." Shlessinger looked proud of himself.

  Jen swallowed hard, fighting a sudden surge of nausea. "Why would someone do this?" she whispered, more to herself then to Schlessinger.

  "I'll figure it out," Schlessinger raised his brows and smiled a chilling smile. "Beware of the stranger means we need to find out who's new to the area. I'm gonna do a little investigating, and believe me, I'll figure it out. Mrs. Davis mentioned something about someone buying that big house..."

  Jen felt an icy tingle of unease creep up her spine. Don't be silly, she told herself. He doesn't even know Dameon. It's got to be a warped joke anyway. Some kids with too much time on their hands...

  "Look, let's not overreact," she said, breathing fast. "These are nasty pranks, I know...You don't really believe in monsters and that sort of thing, do you?"

  "I sure do." Shlessinger looked dead serious and determined. "Where I came from, there were werewolves and such." He studied the objects on the grass, scowling heavily. "Well, we better stop this before something big happens. We'll have to soon have another neighborhood watch meetin' and figure it out."

  Jen shivered as she watched Schlessinger lumber off. She patted Cobbs, who'd been whining softly ever since they'd stopped at Mrs. Joslyn's. This is creepy, but whoever's doing this will stop, she told herself firmly. Schlessinger can't do anything, really. There's no reason to worry.

  Reaching her front door, Jen did a double-take. A bouquet swathed in green tissue wrapping rested against the door, accompanied by a small, gold, red-ribboned box, the well-known trademark of a certain gourmet chocolatier. Interest piqued and dark mood suddenly lightened, she bounded up the steps and gathered the booty up. The horror behind her evaporated as she beamed and hugged the packages to her chest.

  She tore off the tissue paper to reveal a dewy bouquet of violets and orchids. The jewel-like amethyst tones of the violets picked up the tender pinks and creams of the orchids. She'd never seen a flower arrangement as uniquely exquisite as this. The tender beauty of the flowers took her breath away. Beneath the gold wrapped box lid lay a luscious array of mouth-watering chocolates, priced closely to that of real gold. They were her favorites, milk chocolate. Jen tucked one in her mouth while she unearthed a card from the flowers. It read simply: Thank you for the other night. Dameon. Jen's heart sped up and she found she couldn't stop grinning.

  The wind was beginning to pick up, rattling the windows in their frames and knocking branches against the back. This house, her own little oasis, actually needed a lot of repairs, but she was content to ignore an occasional leak and rattle.

  Night was falling rapidly and Jen lost track of time. She leafed through documents from work and scribbled a few notes. It was easier to nibble chocolates than to get up and make dinner. Rubbing her eyes and yawning, she found an excuse to go into the kitchen. Taking a Diet Coke out from the refrigerator, she tried unsuccessfully to hypnotize the Garfield phone into ringing.

  Earlier in the day, she had dialed Dameon's phone at least three times to no avail. She hadn't kept track of how many times she had picked up the telephone to only place it back in the cradle, sternly lecturing herself on self-control. But now she had an excuse. She wanted to thank him for the lovely gifts. If only she could work up the nerve...

  Jen ran a mental scene where she casually asked about his "episode" on Friday, downplaying the intensity, and conveniently forgetting his emotional withdrawal from her. She sighed and went back to the living room. She couldn't do it. For some reason, she was paralyzed now that she had a reason to call him.

  She picked out a chocolate truffle filled with raspberry cream. What was it they said? Chocolate caused the same chemical reaction in the brain as love did. Savoring the creamy, delicate taste, she suddenly put the chocolate down as a wave of emotion shook her.

  She was seeing herself in Dameon's arms in front of the fireplace, and then seeing Dameon's face when he cried out stricken and in pain. She kept turning over in her mind possible diseases that could account for his bizarre behavior and his desperate need for injections. Staring at the blank television screen, she noticed flickering lights on its surface. Confused, she realized the screen was reflecting something from her picture window. Pressing her nose to the cold glass, she saw the distant flicker of orange an
d red, spiraling plumes of smoke. The fires.

  The fires Mrs. Joslyn had told her about. Jen gripped the ledge, and unlatched the window, tugging it open. Crosses were burning down by the lake. Two fiery, tiny shapes filling the black sky with fierce illumination and pale smoke. The connotations of burning crosses made her suck in her breath. Tensely, she watched, eyes aching with the effort to see more clearly. She tried to imagine someone setting the fires, and why. The pranks were happening more frequently, she acknowledged over her thudding heart. Maybe we all are in danger here.

  I've got to find out something. I can't just sit here. She jerked her jacket off its hook and raced outside, keys in hand. Unsure of what she planned, except for the vague notion of stamping out the embers, she started to jog downhill. A bulky, orange-jacketed figure appeared suddenly and was throwing something onto the flames. Soon, they were extinguished. Two more figures joined the other. Jen could see them gesturing and pointing. Orange Jacket, who had to be Shlessinger, was doing the most of the talking, as far as Jen could see. She felt a sinking sensation as she drew closer.

  Rita Irman, Bobby Davis and Tom Schlessinger were gathered around the blazing crosses. Bobby was directing an extinguisher at the flames. Soon, nothing was left but crackling embers and choking smoke. The charred crosses were smaller than Jen had first thought, standing about three feet tall. They were crudely constructed, she noted. Just rough cut planks nailed together. Schlessinger was swinging a now empty bucket in his hands. Jen's neighbors glanced up as she joined them, and she could tell they had been deep in conversation.

  "What happened?" she asked dazedly, staring the blackened wood. She coughed as the gritty air swirled around her.

  Rita scowled, her features strangely hollow in the flickering light. "Tom was just filling us all in. We're deciding what to do." She turned back to Bobby Davis. "What was Pam saying? That she met the man who bought the house on Rye Road?"

  Bobby nodded. "Pam thought that he was visiting Jen." His round, brown eyes fastened on Jen.

  Rita and Schlessinger also turned toward Jen, who found herself squirming. "Mr. La Faim was just being nice. He'd found my keys and was returning them to me."

  Schlessinger stared hard at Jen. "How'd he know they were yours?"

  Jen thought quickly. For some reason, she knew she shouldn't reveal too much. They were all too suspicious and edgy right now. Everything she knew about Dameon would sound strange to them. "My name and address were written on the key chain," she lied as smoothly as possible.

  Rita frowned. "That's dangerous to do in this day and age." She threw a significant look at both Bobby and Schlessinger. "So, are we all set to meet at the Lipmans?"

  "I am," Bobby answered quickly, his Ken-doll face eager. "But what about this La Faim character?"

  Jen fought back an urge to shake Bobby. What was everyone's problem? Dameon was a gentle, cultured person, not the kind to stoop to these kind of tricks. She pushed back the image of him losing control the other night.

  Rita shrugged. "We don't know enough about what's going on. The warning about strangers may just be a tactic to throw us off the track. It could be someone who lives here and doesn't want us to be suspicious." She crossed her arms in front of her. "We can't be sure who it is."

  "I say we keep an eye on this new guy," put in Schlessinger. He gave Jen a pointed look. "If you see him again, you'd better let us know."

  "Of course, this guy has to be loaded if he bought that property up the hill, so he's probably not the criminal type..." Bobby interjected. "I'd guess it'd be someone not even from this area, maybe someone from the city, from a poor neighborhood."

  Jen felt guilty for feeling a surge of relief at Bobby's words, even if they did smack of snobbery. Schlessinger was not giving up, though.

  "I think it's got to be someone who lives close by. No one's gonna drive all the way out here," he persisted stubbornly.

  "We should head over to the Lipmans," Rita interrupted. "They're waiting for us, and they don't know about the fires yet." She hesitated and Jen felt their unspoken question.

  "I'm...uh...expecting a call from my mother," she faltered, backing away and stumbling over a tuft of grass. She bit her lip, longing to defend Dameon and steer their suspicions elsewhere, but nothing came to mind. They'd probably think she was covering for him. The mistrust and doubt in the air was so thick Jen could taste it. Her neighbors headed off into the dark without saying good-bye.

  Jen shivered as the chilly breeze blew right through her jacket. The sky was inky, but brilliantly lit by a harvest moon, which hung like an enormous lantern over the landscape. She was too shaken and tense to appreciate the beauty, and was eager to retreat into her house.

  The first thing she did was reach for the phone. She had to hear Dameon's voice. And warn him, a silent voice inside her added.

  Dameon's husky voice caressed and warmed her, and goose bumps rose on her skin, almost as if he was touching her through the phone. His voice obliterated all images of voodoo and pranks. He didn't seem worried at all when she breathlessly relayed the latest news about Grenville. He even chuckled when she mentioned some of her neighbors were suspecting him. "Don't worry, chérie. I'm in no danger."

  "I've missed you," she said daringly as relief seeped through her bones and something like joy flood her body. Dameon hadn't mentioned his episode from Friday night and Jen was eager to share his mood and forget all but the most pleasant bits of that fateful evening. Or at least bury all other memories in the farthest recesses of her mind.

  "As I have you," he said. "If you'd like, we will plan an evening just for your pleasure, chérie. Name your desire."

  Pulse racing, Jen was overwhelmed as wild fantasies sped through her mind's eye, but one romantic vision persisted. For the girl who had missed the prom, there was only one choice. "An evening of dancing," she announced. "That's what I want. It will be fun and a chance to show you some of Detroit's night scene."

  "I only hope I can keep up with you," he teased. Thinking of his catlike grace, Jen thought it was likely to be the other way around. Especially since she wasn't the most proficient of dancers. "What about dinner?" he asked.

  She was somewhat startled that Dameon amicably agreed to her suggestion. In her experience, most men hated dancing with a universal passion and would rarely consent to do something strictly to please her. "How about pizza?" she asked, wondering if he would enjoy such a pedestrian meal. But she didn't want him to think her a gold digger, angling for another gourmet meal. She especially didn't want to have to suffer from her cooking.

  "Fine, whatever you wish," he answered. "Will you meet me tonight?" The caressing tone of his voice made her breath come fast.

  Jen immediately agreed, uncaring that Monday was a work day. She and Dameon each had carefully avoided any mention of his "illness" or his earlier comments that she would be better off not knowing him. She was more than happy to keep their cheerful rapport going and avoid any danger spots.

  She tried to slow down her nervous flow of words. She had to sound normal, casual. "Before I hang up, I wanted you to tell Calvin how much I enjoyed the dinner." She hesitated, wondering if Calvin blamed her for what happened. "I'm not sure I made the best impression with him."

  "You've enchanted everyone in the house, I assure you."

  "I'm glad. Calvin seemed a little reserved."

  "That's his nature, chérie, but you've thoroughly charmed him," Dameon said.

  "I should be getting ready," she stalled, not wanting to say good-bye just yet. Jen wound the phone cord around her finger and bit her tongue to avoid asking where he had been all weekend. But he offered an explanation, anyway. Before hanging up, he mentioned he had been away, taking care of business.

  * * * *

  Dameon ran his hands over the stubble of his jaw. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, and his reflection wavered, then steadied. He laughed aloud, but the laughter was tinged with bitterness. He was almost certain that she had also seen his
image in the mirror. Or had not seen him, as the case was.

  His body ached, and his hands were numb, yet on fire. He wondered what she would think if she knew what his "business" had really been. His fears had been founded. The drug hadn't worked over the past few days. There were still times when it was necessary to feed, even if it meant stealing. From a blood bank, of all places.

  The absurdity of it struck him anew and he laughed in disgust. Poor Jen worrying about those silly, miserable human pranks, worrying that he would be blamed. What if she knew about the blood bank and his victims so long ago? Would she despise him?

  He would continue to work on the drug, to completely wipe out any necessity for blood. He had tried his hardest to convince himself to stay away from her. Had avoided being home and tried to persuade himself that it was better for her. He couldn't bear to think of her feeling hurt or unwanted by him. Over and over, he told himself to stay away. But found that he could not. She was in his blood.

  Chapter Nine

  Jen watched Dameon deftly eat the slice of pizza without dangling strings of cheese or dripping sauce, and couldn't help but think that he didn't look like the pizza kind of guy. She sighed. He never seemed to be clumsy or to make a mistake. His preternatural elegance made her feel they were worlds apart.

  Neither mentioned the incident, and each was struggling to keep things light and pleasant. They were seated at her coffee table, since her kitchen fold-out table had suffered an unexpected broken leg. Her face burned as she flashed back to herself struggling with that disaster, in front of Dameon, of course. She took her last bite of pizza and was swallowing just as he reached across the table to wipe at her nose with a napkin.

  He grinned at her. "Just a dab of sauce. I was tempted to leave it there...you look quite irresistible in tomato sauce..."

  "Thanks, I think," she said, wiping her face with her own napkin in case of any other stray dribbles, then pulling out her compact mirror to double-check.