Here Comes the Vampire (Dead End Dating)

by Kimberly Raye

  I reminded myself of all the reason why I shouldn’t shake in my shoes. Numero uno? I was a vampire, i.e. a total B-A-D ass. I could leap tall buildings and read minds and sway the masses with one flash of my irresistible smile.

  I sucked up my courage and stared straight into his baby blues. His personal info flashed through my brain like the trailer for a really boring movie.

  Title? Frankie Jenkins. Plot line? He’d been working at the Mayan since they’d opened their doors several months ago. He was actively trying to nab a trio of card counters who’d been working the local casinos for the past three weeks. Before that he’d been assistant to the chief of security at the Bellagio. Before that, he’d been the second casino officer at Paris. He was born and raised in Vegas, and he’d never been anywhere else. Except for a Mexican jail down in Tijuana. He’d done six months for starting a bar fight before his mother had finally bailed him out. It had been the worst time of his life and the best. He’d learned how to survive any situation. He’d also learned how to make his own tattoo ink with a few burned bible pages, a ball point pen and a vial of pee.

  Can you say too much back story?

  I shook off that last bit of info and pasted on my most dazzling smile. “Hi there. My name’s Lil.”

  His thick eyebrows drew together as if I’d/p> just stomped on his little toe. “You shouldn’t be up here.”

  Duh.

  My smile grew bigger. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to bother you, but there’s something I need. Something only you can help me with.” I stared deep into his eyes and played the mesmerizing vamp card. You’ll give me anything I want because I’m super hot and super sweet and you can’t resist me because I have major vamp skills including the ability to glamour you with one glance.

  His gaze went blank for a long moment before reality seemed to click. He blinked before shaking his head. His brows drew together. “We don’t allow guests on this floor. You’ll have to leave.” His gaze dropped to my shoes. “But first you’d better tell me where you snagged those Pradas.”

  Did I mention he’d met a fellow inmate named Raoul and fallen madly in love during the Tijuana stint?

  “You’re gay,” I stated, anxiety rushing through me as I realized my vamp charm was null and void on this guy.

  “Yeah.” He glared. “You got a problem with that?”

  “Of course not.” I was an equal opportunity matchmaker who believed in love and happiness for every person. Unless, of course, said person was blocking my way to freedom.

  I stared deeper into Frankie’s gaze, looking past the hot, humid nights with Raoul to the other important events that had shaped the security guard into the, ahem, man he was today. His crush on the captain of the Basketball team. The sixth grade birthday party sleepover that had killed his interest in GI Joe and made him a Barbie fan for life. His numerous Sundays spent helping his mom in the kitchen.

  “I came to Vegas to meet my biological mother for the first time,” I blurted, playing what I thought would be my best sympathy card. “I think she may have paid a visit to my hotel room last night while I was out. I,” I gave a huge shudder, “I can’t believe I missed her.”

  He folded his beefy arms in front of him. “So call her up and schedule another meeting.”

  “If only it were that simple.” I plopped down another card. “But she was on her way to do charity work in Guatemala. See, she helps build schools for poor children.” When he didn’t look the least bit moved, I decided to go for broke and lay down the entire deck. “She also brings food to them in addition to building schools. Lots of food. Particularly spaghetti. She delivered six tons of sauce and six hundred and eighty loaves of garlic bread just last week. She’s trying to spread the joy of Italian food everywhere she goes.”

  “No way?” When I nodded, his stance seemed to relax just a hair. “Everyone deserves good pasta once in a while.”

  “Exactly. That’s why she had to leave. She has another delivery to make and she couldn’t miss her plane. She won’t be back for six months this time. I’ve already waited twenty-four years to see her.” I sniffled and blinked and a tear slid down my cheek. “Can you imagine not seeing your own mother,” sniffle, blink, tear, “not knowing what she looks like or hugging her or tasting her cooking for twenty-four years?” When he shrugged, I squeezed out a few more tears. “All I want is to see her just once. That’s it. Just a quick peek to tide me over until I can meet her face-to-face and give her a great big hug. Surely you can understand my situation?”

  He didn’t answer for a long moment, but I could see the indecision pushing and pulling inside of him. Finally, he shrugged and I gave myself a mental high five.

  “I suppose I could let you take a look at yesterday’s surveillance.” He glanced behind him to make sure the hallway was clear before signaling me to follow. “All of the day’s video surveillance is downloaded from the hard drive onto recordable DVDs the morning after. We store t to. We sthem in here.” He stopped in front of a door on the left. He punched in a few numbers on the keypad and the knob clicked. “They’re arranged by date. Last night’s just hit the shelves.” He indicated a three foot row of slim cases lining the left wall. “There.”

  “Which ones are from last night?”

  “All of them.”

  “You’re kidding right?”

  “This is a big hotel. We have one thousand and eighty-eight surveillance cameras shooting twenty-four hours of footage. You do the math.”

  “But I only need the footage from that one camera.”

  “If you give me a few hours, I can look through and find the specific camera you’re interested in. Then you can come back and take a look.”

  Fat chance. I was leaving for the airport in five minutes and no way was I missing the only flight back to New York. I wasn’t getting stuck here for another twenty-four hours. I was in enough trouble as it was and the sooner I went home, the better.

  But Frankie didn’t know that.

  I flashed him a look of pure gratitude. “I can’t put you out like that. I’m sure you have work to do. Why don’t you just run along and do your thing and I’ll look through the DVDs myself? I’ll find what I need and take a peek.” I indicated the small DVD player and screen that sat on a nearby desk. When he didn’t look the least bit accommodating, I added, “I tend to get overly emotional and I’d really like to do this in private.” I blinked and managed to push out two tears this time. “That saintly woman providing all that spaghetti for all those poor children is my mother.”

  I could see him softening as he conjured a mental image of his own mama. Yikes. No wonder he was bald.

  “I am supposed to be on duty in the casino right now,” he finally said. “We’ve got a team of professional card counters making the rounds of all the hotels and the boss has everyone on alert.”

  “It’s settled then.” I beamed. “I’ll stay here while you go to the casino.”

  “I’ll come back up and check on you in an hour.” He reached for the first DVD in the stack, popped it into the DVD player. He’d just hit the play button when his phone started to beep. He glanced at the display. “I’ve really got to go. They’ve spotted the counters at one of the Hold ‘Em tables.”

  I gave him a little wave. “I’ll be here when you get back.” Not.

  As if he could read my mind as clearly as I could read his, he gave me a stern look. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “I’ll just watch.”

  “I mean it. I could get in big trouble for doing this.”

  “For a good cause. Your Mama would be so proud.” The last statement eased the worry around his eyes. “I’ll be right here when you get back. Cross my heart and hope to die.” Which would have been a binding statement if I wasn’t technically already dead.

  The door slammed behind him and I found myself alone. I emptied out the contents of my make-up bag into the nearest trash--desperate times and all that--and grabbed a stack of DVDs from the shelf. In a split-second I h
ad stuffed all but a handful of them into my make-up bag.

  All right, already. So it’s more of a small suitcase than an actual cosmetics tote. What can I say? I’m having a mad, passionate affair with MAC.

  The remaining DVDs went straight into my Louis Vuitton hobo bag. I retrieved the lone DVD from the player, stashed it deep and sent up a silent thank you that pencil clutches had gone out with last season’s metallic skirts.

  Gathering up my stuff, I did my vamp version of a power-walk and hit the elevator in two seconds flat. Inside, I punched the button for the lobby and breathed a sigh of relief.

  For the first time, I actually started to think that maybe this whole weekend wasn’t a disaster of Titanic proportions. There was a chance, albeit slim, that I truly hadn’t slept with Remy and the DVDs could prove that. They would prove it.

  It was just a matter of watching each one until I found the truth. In the meantime, I had to hold tight and play the newly committed Mrs. Remy Tremaine until I could prove my innocence.

  That meant no crying.

  Or freaking out.

  Or jumping ship.

  “Where have you been?” Remy asked the minute the doors swished open and he spotted me in the lobby.

  “Bad hair day.” I waltzed past him and headed for the front desk. “But I’m here now. Let’s go. I don’t want to miss the plane. I’ve got an appointment first thing tomorrow evening.”

  “About that,” Remy said as he caught up to me, wrenched the bag out of my hand and slid an arm around my waist. “I was thinking you might want to call it quits.”

  “Call what quits?” I kept walking.

  “Your job. You aren’t making that much money anyway.”

  “I’m still establishing myself,” I said in my own defense. “Building a reputation takes time.”

  “So does raising kids.”

  “What kids?”

  “The eight that we’re going to have.”

  I came to a dead stop and turned on him. “You want eight?”

  “Or nine.” He smiled. “We Tremaines like big families.”

  On second thought, this was definitely a scene worthy of a James Cameron flick.

  I glared. “Let’s set the record straight--I’m not having nine kids with you.”

  “Then we’ll go for the eight.”

  “I’m not taking care of eight kids, either.”

  “You don’t have to take care of them. We’ll get a nanny for that. You just have to squeeze them out.”

  Okay, so like I’ve thought about having kids. But in my fantasies they come sliding out in a cloud of fairy dust and bam, I’m the vamp equivalent of June Cleaver--with better hair and a super fantabulous wardrobe, that is. No worries. No regrets. No huffing and puffing and squeezing. My throat went tight. “I think I need to sit down.”

  “You can sit in the limo. It’s waiting outside.” He smiled. “Nothing but the best for Mrs. Tremaine.”

  Forget sitting. I needed to lie down. Flat on my back. Eyes closed. Comatose to the world.

  “Besides,” he went on, “we need extra room. Your parents are riding with us.”

  Nix the coma. I needed more alcohol.

  “Finally,” my mother sighed as I climbed into the back next to her. “We’ve been waiting for ages. Whatever took you so long?”

  “Hair,” Remy said when I couldn’t seem to get the words past the lump in my throat.

  My mother gave me a thorough once over. “I think I would have given up on that lost cause and gone for some extra make-up, dear. You look like death warmed over and I don’t mean that as a compliment.”

  I thought of the wastebasket full of my treasures up on the second floor and for the first time, the enormity of what I’d done hit me.

  I’d not only committed myself to Remy but I’d ditched every last bit of my prized makeup collection. I now had nothing now. Nix the lip gloss. No blush. Zero bronzer. Nada.

  I blinked back the sudden burning in the backs of my eyes. “I don’t feel so good.”

  “Nonsense.” My mother patted my knee. “You’re a vampire. We’re strong. Resilient. It’s the shock of finally finding someone and settling down that has you looking so green. I can’t say that I blame you. I’bacme you.d all but given up on you, too.”

  Gee, thanks, Ma.

  “Your father and I even had a bet going that you were a lesbian. Needless to say, he won. But I don’t mind losing this one time since things finally turned out the way I’d always hoped. Even if I do owe your father a record-breaking BJ.”

  What did I tell you? Rabbits. The whole lot of us.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” My stomach churned and I swallowed against the bitter taste of champagne and full-blown panic.

  “You’ll get used to the idea in no time. Once you and Remy get back home, you can set up house together and everyone will be happy. First things first,” she eyed me, “I’d get some sleep. Just crawl into the coffin together and shut out the world for the next few days.”

  “As great as that sounds,” not, “I can’t crawl into a coffin and shut out anything. I have a business to run.”

  “You have a husband now, Lilliana,” came the stern voice I remembered so well from my wild and crazy teenage years. Don’t take that tone with me, young lady. Don’t stay out past midnight. Don’t eat the Italian when you can easily suck down a Frenchman. “He’s your first priority. Not that silly dating service. Speaking of which, did Remy tell you the good news? That darling mother of his managed to book the country club.” She beamed. “One week from Saturday you and Remy will announce your commitment in front of six hundred and ninety two of our closest friends. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “It’s...” I started, the words stumbling into one another on the way out. “It’s just...”

  “Fabulous, I know.” My mother looked positively giddy. “So much so that I even managed to forget Maggie and Jack and their impending bundle of half-human joy for a few blessed nanoseconds.”

  It’s Mandy.

  I tried to verbalize the statement, but nothing could make it past the golf ball size lump in my throat.

  “Since you were too anxious to let us give you a proper commitment ceremony in the first place, your father and I are intent on having an elaborate reception. After that, Remy is planning a long, productive honeymoon. With any luck, you’ll get pregnant right away. I’m hoping you have twins the first go around. They do run in our family, you know. Remember Aunt Claudette? She had six sets of twins.”

  The Devil’s Dozen. How could I forget? They’d tried to set my hair on fire at our last family reunion.

  “Or maybe even triplets,” my mother went on. “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” When I didn’t reply, she gave me a nudge. “Say something dear. At the very least, you should be thanking me for pushing you two together in the first place.”

  My mouth opened then, but it wasn’t gratitude that poured out.

  Bye-bye Cristal.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I did it,” I declared when Evie finally answered her cell phone. “I rolfed all over my mother’s favorite pumps.” I sat in a stall in one of the airport bathrooms and tried to quiet my roiling stomach.

  The click click click of heels on tile echoed in the background, along with the occasional whooooosh of the hand dryer and a symphony of flushing toilets.

  “And you had to call me at,” bedsprings creaked and I heard a light flick on, “half past midnight to break such monumental news because...?”

  Because Nina One had started feeling tired thanks to her future bundle of joy so she and my brother had hopped an earlier flight back to New York. Translation? She was beyond cell reach. Likewise, Nina Two d IAhad been busy trying to make her own baby with her significant vampire Wilson and so my call had gone straight to her voice mail. And Remy wanted nine—count ‘em—nine screaming, pooping bundles of joy and I was totally freaked and I desperately needed to talk to someone.

  “Because you’re my BFF.
”

  “I thought The Ninas were your BFFs?”

  “They are, in a we-grew-up-together-and-we-know-each-other’s-deepest-darkest-secrets way. You and I are BFFs in a totally different way.”

  She perked up. “Cosmic soul sisters?”

  “I was thinking more like earthly shopping partners.”

  “That works, too,” she said.

  I heard her throw the covers back (preternatural hearing, remember? The bionic woman’s got nothing on us vamps). The mattress groaned.

  “So what’s up?” she finally asked.

  “I’m having a major meltdown.” I told her about the naked virgins, the Elvis chapel, a very naked Remy in my shower and the target practice involving my mother’s shoes. “So that’s it. I’m stuck with Remy forever unless I can prove that we didn’t do it in the elevator.”

  I counted off six seconds of shocked silence before she managed to speak. “I can’t believe you’ve been keeping such a big secret from me.”

  “A secret? What secret?”

  “The one you just spilled. We’ve been working together for over a year now and I had no idea you had something that huge hanging in your closet.”

  Uh, oh.

  See, here’s the 4-1-1. Evie doesn’t know I’m a vamp. She just thinks I’m a fabulously dressed boss with mucho sex appeal and great interpersonal skills.

  At least, that’s what she’d thought until about five seconds ago when I’d opened mouth-o and inserted foot-o.

  I did a mental rewind, searching for any reference to fangs or vials of blood, but I’d blurted out the story so fast that I wasn’t one hundred percent certain I hadn’t slipped with something.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” she said accusingly.

  Ugh. I was so busted. “I, um,” I swallowed, “That is, I really didn’t know how,” I finally said after a rush of dread and a sinking I’m-never-talking-my-way-out-of-this. “I mean, you don’t just blurt out something like that.”

  “No, but you could have at least hinted. Paved the way. Poured the foundation. Anything to cushion the blow before you dropped the bomb.”