“He’s to die for, Sera.”
“Oh, God. Don’t tell me some Southern gigolo got to you.”
Another wrong set of four words. She tried again. “He’s not a gigolo, Ser. He’s the owner of the haunted inn I was telling you about. He’s also got a mansion in town.”
“Hmmm. Rich, and to die for. Okay, this guy is sounding better. So you really hit it off, huh?”
Tia sucked on her beleaguered lip. “Ah, well, not exactly. Not at first.”
“Oh, I see the problem with Mr. Perfect. You’ve got a crush on him and he doesn’t know you’re alive. Is that it?”
“Oh, he knows I’m alive.” He just doesn’t want anything to do with me.
“And, so? What are you going to do?”
“He’d make a fantastic shoot, Ser. You should see him. He’s got long hair, the most fantastic green eyes you’ve ever seen, and sex appeal that goes off the scale.”
“So he’s going to let you shoot him?”
“Well, I’m still trying to arrange it. That’s why I need a few more days.”
“Oh, okay. So all you want is this photo shoot. For a minute there you had me worried. I thought you wanted a relationship with this guy or something.”
Did she? What did it matter? He didn’t want her. “I don’t know. One thing at a time.”
A smart rapping sounded on her room door. “Hold on, Sera. It must be the hotel people about something.”
Tia looked through the peephole in the door. It was Dallas’ blond friend from the inn. She grabbed the phone. “I’ll have to call you back.”
“Why? Is it him?”
“No, listen, I’ll call you back. ’Bye, Sera.”
She hung up and tried to organize her thoughts. What did this man want? And how did he know where she was staying? She had changed hotels this morning to the River Park Inn, and Dallas didn’t even know where she was. She cracked the door, but left the safety chain attached.
“Yes?”
“Miss Martell? I’m a friend of Dallas Allgate. My name’s James Mavrick. He told me you’re a photographer. I wondered if we might talk some business?”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Dallas told me.”
“He doesn’t know I’m here.”
The man shrugged. “This is the hotel he gave me.”
Damn Allgate! He always seemed to have the advantage over her.
“You hungry? We can talk downstairs in the restaurant,” he quickly added.
“Hold on a minute.” She closed the door. He had mentioned business. Maybe he had a photo job for her. She could use the extra money. This hotel was cheaper than the Magnolia House, but the daily expenses of meals out, lodging, and the rental car were piling up. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to hear what he wanted. She checked her face in the bathroom mirror, grabbed her wallet and camera case, and opened the door to the hallway. For a moment, she was speechless. The man was magnificent.
In spite of the ninety-plus heat outside, he looked as cool as if he had just stepped out of an air-conditioned limo. He wore a long, black trench coat with ornate silver buttons, a black vest over a white shirt, and wide-leg black trousers. Around his neck dangled a silver pendant in the shape of a cross. Her eyebrows couldn’t help doing an appreciative flip.
“Wow. I hope you didn’t dress like that just for me.”
A slow smile spread across the handsome face. “Actually, in a way, I did. I’ll explain downstairs.”
As they entered the restaurant, Tia was well aware that every female in the room turned to stare at the man at her side. Not one to show off, she suppressed a grin. Tia had to give credit to the hostess as well, who seated them without a crack in her professional demeanor. As soon as the hostess finished, however, Tia saw her waste no time in heading for the kitchen door, where the woman exchanged animated glances with two waitresses. James was sitting with his back toward the kitchen door, so he missed the show his admirers were giving. Even if he had seen it, Tia was sure he was used to it. No doubt he attracted similar attention wherever he went. “I’ve eaten already. But go ahead and order whatever you like,” he said to her with a renewed smile.
She looked at the menu, but couldn’t help shifting her eyes between the list of entrees and his stunning features. He looked like a ghost.
He had pale skin, and his hair, half-shagged and half-spiked, looked like it had never seen sunlight. It was a dark blond, but a blond drained of all golden highlights, like brass tarnished by years of neglect. He had deep-set gray eyes immersed in shadow, and she couldn’t tell whether he wore makeup applied for the effect, or it was just a natural consequence of his facial bone structure. His fair skin was clean-shaven and unwrinkled, and his nose was strong, with just a trace of a hook. The only failing she could see in his sensual face was a mouth that was a shade too thin.
James said nothing, and his features showed nothing overt, but she got the distinct feeling that he reveled in her appreciation of his appearance. His gray eyes never left her. She gave her order for grilled seafood to the waitress and smiled back at James.
“Okay. I have to admit it. I’m curious about all this”—she gestured vaguely at his attire—“and what it is you wanted to see me about.”
He propped his elbows on the table and linked his fingers in a steeple before his face. All she could see were the deep eyes, glinting like secrets from an abyss of shadow. “Simple enough, Tia. Do you mind if I call you that?”
She shook her head, her gaze glued to his.
“I want you . . . ” He tilted his head forward in a nod. “ . . . to take me.”
She blinked her eyes. “Excuse me?”
“Take my picture, of course. For a CD cover. I sing in a band. You didn’t guess, did you?”
“Well, actually, the thought did cross my mind. You don’t exactly look like a stockbroker. Don’t you have your own cover photographer?”
James shifted his eyes away from her for the first time. Tia followed the direction of his gaze, but only saw two men being seated across the dining room. His eyes returned to hers. “I fired him. I have the perfect concept for the cover. When my good friend Allgate mentioned you were a professional photographer, well, the idea came together.”
“What’s the name of your group?”
“St. Satan. My name’s Saint James. It’s a mouthful, so I go by James, but for band publicity I use Saint.”
Somehow it seemed to fit him. The name was as bizarre as the man. “So what’s the concept for the CD? What’s the title?”
“Well, we haven’t decided one-hundred-percent on the title yet, but it’ll be something like ‘Trespassing the Gates.’”
“What ‘Gates’?”
James lifted his shoulders in a graceful, unhurried movement that was almost sensual. “The gates to Hell, the beyond, the other side. Whatever you want to call it.”
She wasn’t surprised. After everything that had happened in the last two days, the fantastic was becoming quite commonplace. Her food arrived, but she hesitated digging in. “Are you sure you don’t want some of this?”
“Quite sure.”
They were quiet for a few moments while she gave her attention to the meal, but her curiosity wouldn’t allow her to remain silent very long. “And what’s your idea for the cover?”
“There’s a small chapel and cemetery just outside of town. Quite serene, actually. But with the right lighting, I think it could capture the mood I’m looking for.”
This time Tia did laugh out loud. “Are you serious?”
“Quite. If we hurry, we can make it there with plenty of light to spare.”
“You want to go out there now?”
“Of course. As you can see, I’m dressed for it.”
Tia shook her head. “I
have to admit I’m intrigued, Mr. Mavrick, but I don’t have any experience with a shoot like this. The shadows will be very long and the lighting’ll be tricky. It’ll be new to me.”
James leaned closer to her and beckoned her to do likewise with a crook of one finger. She moved her water goblet and plate to one side and inclined her upper body so that her face was inches from his. His gray eyes sparkled at her with the hardness of diamonds.
“Call me James. You want to do this, Tia, I know you do.” His voice was no louder than a whisper.
His eyes were so beautiful, like gems winking from the depths of a velvet-lined jewelry box. And they were just as alluring. She saw the promise of everything she had ever wanted in their silver shine.
“Call me James,” he breathed.
Yes. “James.”
“It’s done, then. I’ll pay you five hundred dollars. Half now, the other half when I see the photos.”
“And if you don’t like any of them?”
“I’ll find something I like, don’t worry.”
As they stood to leave, Tia saw that the pendant she’d thought was a cross was actually a dagger, the long blade pointing downward, the arms of the hilt reaching out on either side like an entreaty. To Satan?
She shuddered, but had no will to leave the side of the man before her.
THE EMERGENCY alarm sounded in the cellar of Rose Hill. Dallas disliked being awakened during the day. It was usually left to Gillie’s discretion to decide what was important enough to merit disturbing him and what wasn’t, but occasionally Dallas left specific directions. He spoke into the intercom near his bed.
“What is it, Gillie?”
“St. James has Miss Martell, sir.”
Dallas swore. He had told Gillie to rouse him if this happened, yet that didn’t make the untimely awakening any more pleasant.
“I’ll be right up.”
St. James must have followed her last night from Rose Hill. Dallas got up from the bed and exited the special room he used for sleeping. Fireproof, fortified, and fit with a series of locks even Gillie didn’t have keys for, the cellar room was as impregnable as a bomb shelter. He ascended by one of several secret staircases to the drawing room where Gillie waited. The drapes were all closed, steeping the room in comfortable gloom, and air conditioning cooled the closeted room, yet even thusly shielded from the light Dallas felt debilitated and lightheaded.
“What happened?”
“Miss Tia changed hotels, as you thought she might. She’s now staying at the River Park. Just before four, St. James called at her room. They sat in the hotel dining room while she ate supper, then they left. They’re in separate cars, but she’s following him.”
Dallas looked at the time. It was half past five. “They met at four? Is Rae sure it was St. James?” Raemon Sovatri was the man in charge of those Gillie had sent to keep an eye on Tia. Ten years ago, when Dallas had played at being a private investigator, Rae had been his assistant.
“Positive. St. James was, ah, hard to miss. Or mistake.”
When Dallas lifted his brows, Gillie explained St. James’ attire.
So, the good news was that St. James, like Flynne, liked to play his part for the humans after all. That could indicate a weakness—overconfidence or recklessness. “By the way, what of Conner Flynne?”
“No sign of him.”
Good. The bad news was that St. James obviously had a markedly greater tolerance for daylight than Dallas had. He had heard of day vampires, though they were uncommon. Different strains of vampirism produced Undead with differing strengths and abilities. It was probably the strength in St. James that Dallas had sensed during their meeting.
“I can’t go after them, Gillie. It would be suicide.”
Gillie nodded in understanding. “Of course.”
“Is Rae following?”
Gillie dipped his head again. “He’s been calling about every five minutes.”
“All right. I’m going to dress. Give me the next call.”
Dallas went into his dressing room, also similarly veiled from the light, and pulled on black jeans and a long-sleeved, V-necked knit shirt.
He knew exactly what his limitations in daylight were, having experimented with direct exposure to sunlight on a number of occasions. Full sunlight not only blinded him, but produced a loss of equilibrium that made even walking almost impossible. In the low light of an afternoon sun, such as was the present case, he would be able to function with the aid of sunglasses, but would have none of the hypnotic power of his eyes. No hypnotic power. He laughed. He would be lucky to have the puny mental and physical strength of a healthy human. It was a sobering thought.
He would have to wait until at least twilight. Even then he would be taking a risk, but at least he would have some command of his abilities. Risk. It had been many years since he had put himself at substantial risk for the sake of a human. He still didn’t understand what it was about Tia that made him willing to even consider gambling with his life. Introspection was just not something a vampire spent time on. Especially during the day when his mind was like a bog and every thought slogged through the muck with an effort. All he knew was that he didn’t want St. James to have her.
It was exactly the response St. James was hoping for, and Dallas was aware of that if little else.
The jangle of the phone suspended the agony of reverie. Seconds later, Gillie called out that it was Rae. Dallas leaned over to pick up the extension, trying to economize on his physical as well as mental expenditures of energy.
“Go ahead, Rae. Where are they?”
“They just pulled in to the Chapel of Light cemetery.”
Chapel of Light. St. James’ humor was not lost on Dallas.
Rae continued. “The woman brought a large case with her from her car.”
“Large case? Her camera?”
“Could be. Right now they’re just milling around, looking at the chapel.”
“All right. Stay close enough to see what they’re doing, but not so close you provoke St. James. He knows you’re there, so don’t bother going to too many pains to conceal yourselves.”
“Got it. I’ll call you back in a couple minutes.”
Before Dallas could hang up the phone, Gillie was at his side. “It’s quite clear, sir.”
“Nothing’s clear to me right now, Gillie.”
“It’s just the early hour that makes you swimmy-headed. She’s got her camera. She means to photograph him.”
Dallas shook his head, even that small movement an effort. “He’d never allow that. He may be a day vampire, but he won’t photograph any better than I would.”
Gillie’s refined drawl slowed to that of a parent instructing a youngster. “No. You and I know that, and St. James knows that, but Miss Tia doesn’t. She won’t know until she develops the film. St. James has no intention of letting her go that far with it.”
“You mean he won’t let her live that long.”
“He won’t kill her until she’s served her purpose. It’s not her he wants. It’s you. She’s just the bait to lure you into the light.”
Dallas’ head swayed slowly to the side once more. “You’re wrong about him not wanting her. Maybe age has diluted your desires, old man, but time does nothing to slack our lust. If St. James wants her even half as much as I do, he’ll have her—and destroy her in the process.”
Gillie visibly bristled at the reference to being an “old man.” “If my love life suffers, it’s because all my time is spent nursemaiding the dead, not because I’m too old,” he stated, stiffening like a beleaguered hedgehog.
“Undead, Gillie, Undead. There’s a big difference,” said Dallas, softening his words with a smile.
“Is there? Well, if you don’t start exhibiting some sense about all this, you’re
going to be among the true dead, because St. James will have won.”
Dallas closed his eyes. Gillie was right. He would just have to wait. After all, he should be good at waiting. He had two hundred years of practice. The phone stirred the silence again, and Dallas reached for the receiver without even looking at it. “Allgate.”
“It’s me. No change. They’re still wandering around the cemetery, looking at tombstones. She’s got her camera out. It looks like he’s posing for her,” came Sovatri’s voice.
“Okay. Call when there’s a change, Rae.”
Dallas hung up and looked up at Gillie. “I’m going back downstairs. Take the calls. Buzz me if there’s a major turn or if he starts to . . . do her harm. Understand?”
Gillie sighed. “All too well, sir.”
Dallas rose and slapped Gillie softly on the back as he passed the man.
The cellar bed felt good beneath him. It was an elemental good, like a mother’s embracing arms, holding him close, offering him quiet strength. The total darkness of the room, while not quite the true anti-light of night, still nurtured him as well, and he felt his mind clear a little with the power of the blackness.
All vampires had the ability to influence humans. Some had more compelling powers than others, but it was a basic endowment. So why was he so disturbed by Tia’s trailing after St. James like a lovesick puppy? Obviously St. James had set the looking glass before her. Reflected in St. James, she saw something she wanted badly enough to follow him around town the same way she had followed Dallas around.
Dallas’ laughter rent the darkness, mocking his delusions. Tia was no different from any other human female, and Dallas was no different from any other vampire, no different from St. James. Women saw but one thing in the reflecting pool that was the vampire—their fantasies, and the image of the vampire itself mattered not at all. Even creatures like Conner Flynne who, in life, had been unlucky enough to be graced with unflattering features, had no trouble “inspiring” fantasies.
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