DraculaVille - New York - Book One

by Lara Nance

  Gerri arched one brow. “So that’s it. You’re worried about how this will look.”

  Talia made a sound like, “blurpphhfzzzz,” and waved a hand. Gerri wasn’t making her feel better, she was making it worse. When all you had was your reputation, losing it was everything. People like Gerri, who had friends and a life outside of work, couldn’t understand that.

  Their waiter returned and placed two martini glasses in front of them. Talia grabbed one and sucked it dry before Gerri had time to touch hers.

  “S’not true,” Talia mumbled.

  “What?”

  “I don’t care what people think.” It was a lie, but she didn’t want to admit it. That would make her vulnerable.

  Gerri studied her for a moment. “Yes, you do. You’ve spent your whole life building up this image of Talia the tiger, tough as nails ad executive. But it’s not really who you are.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m tougher than anybody.”

  “You can fool yourself, but you can’t fool me. I remember the nights you’ve stayed at my apartment when I was sick, and how you punched Jeff in the face when he broke up with me. And don’t forget how you helped Felix get over the death of his father, and went to bail him out of jail in the middle of the night when he got too rowdy at a gay rights demonstration.”

  She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s nothing.”

  “Maybe you’ll be relieved to lose the cola giant. It’s a lot of work, and they expect you to drop everything when they need something. You might not like that.”

  “I can do that Fizzola account with my hands tied behind my back. I can write copy using a pencil between my teeth. I’m tough enough.”

  “But can you do Romania?” Gerri sipped her drink, staring at her over her glass’ rim.

  Talia glared. Gerri was the only real friend she had. The one person who stuck with her through thick and thin. Now she sounded like Harv, the traitor, going on about how there’s more to life than money, and how she needed a challenge. Garbage.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She pushed her empty glass to the side and it fell over. Irritation boiled in her gut. Why didn’t somebody understand what this meant to her? It felt like her whole career had been worthless. Years of work down the drain. All her sacrifices pointless.

  “There’s no hidden meaning.”

  “You think I can’t do an ad campaign for a country I’m pretty sure is smaller than California?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  Talia rubbed her palms over her eyelids. Her head pounded and the room looked a little fuzzy. Her heart still ached, so she probably hadn’t had enough to drink. “I thought you would be on my side.”

  Gerri put her glass down and leaned across the table. “I am on your side. It sucks that Bill got Fizzola the way he did, but that’s life. It’s never fair. So, do a bang up job on Romania, and next year you get Fizzola. Your life’s not over. Maybe this will be a wake-up call for you to put your life in perspective. Work shouldn’t be everything to a person. Get out and date, make some new friends, travel. You might like having a life.”

  “Go ‘way.”

  “What?”

  “I said, go away.” Talia slapped her hands on the table, and the glasses clattered against each other.

  “Tal…”

  “No, please. I want to be alone. I want to wallow in self pity. A lot. I don’t want people telling me to ‘just get over it’ and patting me on the shoulder.” She sniffed and fought tears. She hadn’t cried in five years. She wasn’t starting now. No one would see her weak. “So, please leave.”

  Gerri touched Talia’s hand on the table, but she jerked it away.

  “At least let me call you a cab. You’ve had way too much to drink.” Gerri scooted off the seat and stood.

  “I’m fine. Ssseriously. Go.” Talia buried her face in her hands and stayed that way until she heard Gerri’s footsteps leaving. Part of her wanted to call to her friend, beg her to stay. But alcohol urged her to continue her pity party and block out everyone but the vodka.

  When she raised her head, the room tilted to the right and then to the left. The olives she ate seemed to battle each other in an epic war inside her stomach. One more drink should settle everything down.

  She waved to her waiter, but he ignored her. Stupid jerk. One more person trying to screw her today. Fine. She’d drink at the bar. The bartender couldn’t ignore her. She grabbed her purse and headed over, but the floor didn’t cooperate. It kept moving and growing bumps she tripped over. Stupid floor.

  When she reached the bar, she clung to a brass rail that ran along the top. She needed the room to stop spinning long enough for her to climb onto a barstool. The burly bartender scowled at her.

  “Ma’am?” A man in a navy suit, a cheap Armani knockoff of course, took her elbow. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to call you a cab.”

  “I’m not through drinking yet.” She pulled back, but his fingers dug into her arm. She winced and squinted at him. He wavered in and out of focus.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ve had enough. I can’t serve you anymore or I could lose my license. Let me call a cab for you.” He tugged her from the bar.

  “Stop it. Let me go, you jerk.” She swatted at his hand. One more person against her. Was everyone in New York out to make her life miserable today? She managed to swing her free arm and whack him in the side with her heavy Louis Vuitton handbag filled with everything from her makeup kit to an iPad.

  The man staggered back and released her arm long enough for her to grab her friend the brass rail and steady herself. “What kind of bar is this? I just want to drown my sorrows and be left alone.”

  He motioned to the bartender who jumped across the bar and lumbered toward her. “You’re drunk and we can’t serve you anymore. If you won’t leave quietly, I’ll have Sam throw you out.”

  She held her purse in front of her like a shield and retreated from the determined bartender. Creep. Like this was the only bar in Manhattan. She’d never come here again.

  But she wasn’t going to be manhandled by some hunk of meat. How humiliating. She scooted backward until she ran into the rear wall and she had nowhere to go. Oops. Sam gave a cheeky grin and made a grab for her. She twisted away and ran for the fire exit door on the side. Pushing through the door left her teetering on an uneven brick step.

  A rude shove from behind, and she stumbled unceremoniously into an alley that ran beside the bar. She landed in a soft heap of something and her coat landed on top of her. Then she passed out.

  ***

  The sour smell of rotted garbage brought tears to Talia’s eyes. She struggled to sit up. What the hell had happened? Light from a street light glinted off broken shards of glass on the concrete in front of her. It was so dark. She shivered and pulled on her coat. Where was she? Her head felt like someone had hit it with a sledge hammer, and she had an overwhelming urge to throw up. Seriously overwhelming.

  She tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t cooperate. She crawled a few feet and vomited against a brick wall. Gravel and dirt dug into her palms and knees. Her stomach heaved to produce more than vodka and olives, but after that, only bile came up. Scooting backwards on hands and knees, she floundered against the soft cushion where she’d slept. Garbage. She gagged. Plastic bags of garbage formed a pile against the overflowing dumpster.

  A whimper escaped her throat as she gazed at her beautiful, crazy-expensive jacket. Even in the dim light of the alley, she discerned stains and spots marring its exquisite tan material. Her victory jacket. The one she’d bought so she’d look amazing when she accepted the Fizzola Cola account. A single tear trailed her cheek, and she brushed it away, fighting a sob of utter defeat.

  She glanced at her watch. Two a.m. Damn. Yesterday she was on top of the world. Now she was sprawled in a gutter. Literally. Flashes of her drunken argument with the bar manager pulsed in her mind like a broken silent movie. Thankfully she couldn’t recall most of it. She did remember ordering Ge
rri to leave earlier. Crap. She was such a bad person to hurt her friend’s feelings.

  “You broke your heel.” A soft voice rose out of the mound of black, garbage filled bags.

  She jumped. “Excuse me?” She squinted in the dark and finally made out two eyes glowing faintly like tired, spent embers.

  “Pity,” he said. “Nice shoes. Louboutins.”

  Chapter 3

  Talia crawled closer and made out a man curled in a tight ball in the corner beside the dumpster. Some homeless man? No. Homeless men didn’t know about Louboutin shoes, and she recognized expensive Italian loafers when she saw them. His black leather shod feet stuck out of the little ball he made.

  “Don’t come near me.” The voice gained strength on a note of apprehension.

  She paused. “What’s wrong? Did they throw you out of the bar, too?”

  “No. No, I don’t…I think someone tried to kill me.” The figure shifted.

  “Oh, my God! You should go to the hospital.”

  “I can’t, my head’s pounding and my body’s on fire. I, I want to die. Just leave me alone. Please.” He closed his eyes, causing the strange glow to disappear.

  Was that how pitiful she’d sounded when she told Gerri to leave? What a wretched friend she was. Well, she wasn’t such a bad human being as to leave some poor man to die in an alley. A really smelly alley at that. Even a rat shouldn’t die here.

  “Let me help you. At least go somewhere, uh, clean…and think this through.” She sat on her haunches and held a hand to him. “Okay?”

  The twin glows appeared and his gaze bored into hers. A strange compulsion tugged at her to go to him, hold him. It was like a magnet pulled. His eyes never left hers and she became lost in their depths. The world swirled around her in a fog. All she could focus on was his face.

  Without thinking, she crawled to his side and rested a hand on his chest. He sighed and closed his eyes. She blinked, losing the mesmerizing connection. Her shoulders slumped and nausea returned. Then her phone rang.

  She scrambled around in the trash and found her purse, extracting her phone. “What? What?”

  It was Gerri. “Dear Lord, Tal. Are you okay? I’ve been calling you all night. Where are you?”

  Talia sank backward in relief. Gerri was still her friend. A good friend.

  “I’m sorry, Ger. I was a bitch. Please forgive me.”

  “Of course, you idiot. I know a drunken pity party when I see one. Now, where are you?”

  “I need help. Can you get a cab and come to the bar? I’m in an alley beside of it.”

  Gerri screeched, “Did someone attack you?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. Bring your medical kit. And hurry.” She pressed END and turned to the huddled lump of darkness.

  “I’ve got a friend coming. She’s a nurse. At least let her help you if you won’t go to the hospital.” She reached toward him. “You don’t want to die here. Trust me. If you still want to die later, I’ll take you somewhere nice—a cute little flower bed in Central Park. How’s that?”

  A soft chuckle rumbled from the man. “You’re funny. I like that.”

  She strained her eyes to peer at him in the dim light. He unfolded and reached for her. Breathing a sigh of relief, she took his hand and pulled him from the dank, foul corner. His ice cold fingers chilled her skin, and she caught a flash of red on his white shirt. Blood.

  “What happened? Do you remember?” She helped him into the alley. He cringed from the street light, hunching a shoulder in its direction. He wore what used to be a nice charcoal pinstripe suit. Burberry unless she missed her mark. Dark hair hung over his eyes in matted clumps.

  “Not really. I think I was in the bar having a drink. It was late and I’d had too much. I remember someone offering to get me a cab, and then the rest is blank.” He glanced at her, those eerie eyes glowing against the paleness of his skin. “But there’s blood on my shirt…and…I feel weak, very weak.” Emphasizing his words, his legs started to buckle.

  She wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him upright. “Whoa, steady now. We need to make it to the street so my friend can find us.”

  She limped, bobbing on one heelless shoe and holding him tightly against her. The coldness of his body seeped through the material of his suit, and she shivered. Poor guy. He was nearly frozen to death.

  They didn’t have to wait long before a yellow taxi pulled to the curb. Gerri’s anxious face plastered the back passenger window. She jumped out as soon as the vehicle stopped, hurried to Talia, and threw her arms around her.

  “Are you all right? You look like a hellish mess.”

  “Yes, yes, but let’s get out of here.” Talia jerked her head to her companion.

  “He’s coming with us?” Her friend wrinkled her nose.

  “I’ll explain, but let’s go.” She reached for the car door.

  “So, who is this?” Gerri got in, squashing them together in the back seat.

  “I don’t know.” She glanced at her alley buddy. He sat hunkered, head on his chest and leaning against the door. Talia gave the driver her address then turned to her friend.

  Gerri elbowed her in the side. “What’s going on?”

  “I think he was attacked. He doesn’t remember anything. Maybe he has amnesia.”

  “He should go to the hospital.”

  “No,” said the man.

  “What are you going to do with him?” her friend asked.

  “I thought you could check him out. See what’s wrong. Then we’ll know what to do.” Talia took Gerri’s hand causing her friend to give her an odd stare. She couldn’t explain the strange sense of camaraderie she felt for this stranger who’d shared her garbage humiliation. Even here in the car, she experienced the undeniable tug to be next to him, to protect him. She could also catch a hint of his pain and weakness. What sort of strange connection ran between them?

  “You don’t know anything about him,” Gerri whispered in her ear. “He could be dangerous.”

  “I’m not going to harm you, or anyone.” The man’s voice snaked out, low and soothing, strangely inviting. He sat a bit straighter and faced them. The lights of the city at night flashed white, green and red across his angular, pale cheeks.

  “Sorry,” Gerri mumbled. “But it is a peculiar situation. You can't deny that.”

  He settled in his corner, head down.

  Talia squeezed Gerri’s hand, hoping she wouldn't ask more questions. She had no answers. It was unreasonable to bring home a strange man she’d met in a dark alley, but she couldn't explain her unusual attraction.

  They remained silent the rest of the trip to Talia’s apartment. It was a struggle to extract the nearly limp man from the backseat, but they managed. When they had his arms draped over their shoulders to support him, they headed into the building. She was thin but thankfully tall, so she held him mostly upright.

  Talia called to the doorman as they passed the reception desk, “Hi, Pete.”

  He stared at them, a look of alarm rising in his eyes. “Are you all right, Miss Quinton? You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

  She stood straighter under the weight of the man. “Sure, I, uh, slipped off a curb and fell. Broke my shoe. My, um, friend had a little too much to drink. We’re fine, though. Could you just, um, get the elevator?”

  Pete came from behind his desk, called the car and stepped inside to punch the five button. He continued a disapproving glare, and rubbed a finger under his nose while they hoisted their burden into the car.

  “Whew.” Talia and Gerri fell against the back of the elevator with the man between them. He groaned and lifted his head.

  “You can make it a few more steps,” Talia urged as the doors opened on her floor.

  He managed to move his legs enough to stagger to her door. She fumbled with her keys, found the one she wanted, and threw open the door. They lowered him into one of the chairs at her dining room table, which was the closest seat. He blinked and covered his eyes at th
e bright overhead light.

  “Let’s get his coat and shirt off so we can see if he’s injured.” Gerri stripped the jacket down and removed his arms from the sleeves.

  Talia started unbuttoning his shirt. He remained mostly limp, but at least he held his head high and gazed about the room. His strange amber eyes squinted against the light.

  They got his shirt off. Talia shared a look of surprise with Gerri. Their new friend was buff with a capital B. He sported taut, defined abs and muscular arms, though he seriously needed a few dates with a tanning bed.

  Gerri retrieved her stethoscope and placed it on his back then his chest while Talia went into the kitchen to grab a roll of paper towels and a bowl of warm water. While there, she popped two aspirin in her mouth, and chugged a glass of cold water. It was good to get the taste of stale vodka and olive throw-up out of her mouth.

  In the dining room, she swiped at the dark red blood crusted on the left side of his neck. She dabbed tentatively at first, expecting to uncover a huge gash. When she had cleaned his neck, she only found two small holes.

  She frowned and stood. Gerri stared at her with wide eyes, jaw dropped.

  “What?” Talia asked.

  “There’s…I can’t find…” She held up the end of the stethoscope. “He doesn’t have a heartbeat.”

  Chapter 4

  “He has no pulse.” Gerri draped the stethoscope around her nape and crossed her arms.

  The man looked at her friend and touched the puncture holes on his neck. “What happened to me?”

  Talia raked fingers through her bangs. “We should check his coat. Maybe he has some identification.”

  She joined her friend in searching his coat pockets. Gerri pulled out a wallet, and Talia found a folder with plane tickets.

  “Ah ha. Looks like you flew to New York from San Diego three days ago.” Talia flipped through the papers in the folder. “The name on the ticket is Drake Edwards.”

  He frowned, showing no light of recognition.

  “The wallet’s empty except for a driver’s license.” Gerri held it up.

  “So somebody attacked and robbed you.” Talia went to his chair. “Don’t you remember anything?”