Temptation Calls

by Caridad Piñeiro

  Peter nodded.

  “What Samantha has, I can’t heal.”

  Something akin to dread filled Peter’s gut. “She’s sick? Is it—”

  “It’s not a sickness like you can imagine, Detective. It’s in here,” Ricardo said and motioned to a spot above his heart.

  “I know she’s had it rough. I saw the lines on her back.”

  Ricardo seemed almost physically jolted by that revelation. “She doesn’t show them to many people. She must trust you.”

  He didn’t want to contradict the other man by telling him that he’d given Samantha no choice. Not that they were what he’d expected. But having seen them, he’d recognized that she’d entrusted him with something very personal and very painful.

  Peter said nothing else, just closed his notepad and headed for the door.

  “Detective.”

  Peter stopped and turned.

  “Don’t make her sorry that she trusted you.”

  Chapter 6

  T he morning sun was still weak and she was still in overdrive from Diego’s blood. Not to mention that a flat of salmon-colored impatiens called to her to be planted.

  Samantha let Sofia know where she would be, grabbed a large floppy-brimmed hat and walked into the yard. The buildings nestled close together kept the yard in partial shade for most of the morning. It wasn’t until noon that the sun was high enough to bathe the yard with light.

  Perfect timing actually. At her age she could tolerate weak morning sunlight, but not anything stronger. At least, not for long. She hoped wherever Meghan was, she had taken shelter. As young as she was, she could die quickly from overexposure.

  She picked up the flat of impatiens and began on the left side of the yard. The sun would bathe that area first as it travelled to the west. The border along this side already held a collection of vegetable plants. The small garden cut food costs and there was nothing like the taste of a ripe tomato picked off the vine.

  Small shovel in her gloved hand, floppy hat securely on her head, she worked quickly, transplanting the impatiens from their small plastic containers to the rich earth. As she worked she occasionally glanced up at the sky, keeping a careful watch for the sun.

  She had bordered the vegetables when she heard the slide of the French doors. Sofia stood in the courtyard, Detective Daly beside her.

  Merde.

  “You have a guest.” Sofia didn’t wait for Samantha’s reply. She left the detective to find his own way.

  Samantha wasn’t about to encourage him to stay. As he walked toward her, she picked up the flat and walked to the back of the yard to continue with her gardening. She dug a few holes and was reaching for a container when he stood beside her.

  “I’m sorry to bother you again.”

  She refused to look up. Instead, she slipped a plant in each hole and tamped down the soil around the roots. “I’ve already told you I know nothing about what happened that night.”

  He crouched down to her level. “I got a call a short while ago. We found the car and CSU is already working it.”

  She finally faced him. A big mistake. Unlike the other day when he’d been looking a little haggard from lack of sleep, he had a fresh-faced glow on his tanned face. His hair—that shaggy streaked blond hair—hung along the edges of his face, itching to be brushed aside. She fought her awareness by saying, “And that’s supposed to mean?”

  “We may get some prints or other evidence. But that’s still not as good as an eyewitness.”

  She rose and shifted to work on another section of the border.

  He followed, but didn’t crouch down beside her again. Instead, he pitched his plea while standing, his hands tucked into the pockets of his serviceable dark gray suit. He jangled his change as he spoke. “Your friend Ricardo wasn’t at the scene. That’s obvious from talking to him.”

  She shrugged and continued digging. “Ricardo says he saw the car and the shooter.”

  “I never said there was only one shooter.”

  Peter watched as his words made her pause. She fumbled with the shovel before resuming her methodical planting. “Ricardo mentioned it to me.”

  She was lying. He didn’t need to see her face to know it. He could tell from the tension in her body. The muscles in her shoulders had tightened beneath the pale blue long-sleeved T-shirt she wore with faded jeans that hugged every curve.

  “A defense attorney will shred Ricardo’s testimony. That may create enough reasonable doubt for those killers to walk.”

  She finally turned her gaze on him. Her earlier flush had faded. Now she looked rather pale. “I didn’t see what happened.”

  “They’ll kill again, you know. They’re like animals. Once they get a taste of fresh blood, the urge doesn’t go away.”

  His comment made her blanch even more and sway. He reached out to steady her, but she wrenched away. “Don’t touch me.”

  Peter gritted his teeth and took a breath. “I’m sorry. Again.”

  She glanced down at her hands before looking up at him and then beyond. He followed her gaze, but could see nothing since the sun was coming up over the roof of the building next door. Samantha tucked the last small pack of flowers beneath one of the low-lying bushes then hurried to the house.

  Peter followed her, intent on pleading his case, hoping she would admit the truth.

  Once inside, she tossed her hat and gloves on a small table then poured herself a cup of coffee. She didn’t offer him one.

  Which disappointed him. First, because the lady made a mean cup of coffee. Second, because he knew she was blowing him off. He wasn’t about to let her get away with that. “May I have some?”

  A small smile quirked her mouth. “Presumptuous aren’t you?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

  That dragged a chuckle from her. “I imagine you have, Detective.”

  “Peter. You can call me Peter. Remember?” he said as he sat at the kitchen table.

  Samantha eyed him intently, trying to get a read on the detective. Was the investigation making him linger, or was it something else? Despite her age, or maybe because of it, her womanly intuition was rusty. She intentionally hadn’t dealt with the man-woman game since escaping the vampire who sired her. That had been nearly one hundred and forty years ago.

  “Detective,” she said now. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

  “There’s no need, ma’am. Unless you have more of those square donut things.”

  He dragged a smile to her lips again with his honesty and with his boyish grin at the mention of the beignets. Turning from him, she poured him a cup of coffee and microwaved a small pot of milk to warm it. When she placed both before him on the table, she finally answered him, “No beignets today, Detective.”

  “Peter.”

  “Just some buttermilk biscuits.”

  “Homemade?” he asked with hopefulness.

  She crossed her arms and smiled. “Are there any other kind?”

  “Would you join me if I had one, or maybe two?”

  She’d told herself not to encourage him to stay and yet here she was doing just that. And even considering his offer to join him, not that she had need of any food. While she might enjoy the tastes of what she prepared, only blood provided sustenance. Until the sun had entered the courtyard, Diego’s blood had energized her, but now that strength was beginning to fade. Once Sofia left for class and the goo
d detective departed, she’d have to grab a snack from the small refrigerator in her room.

  “I’m not really hungry, but I’ll keep you company. It’s the least I can do to thank you for the lovely flowers.”

  “No, it was the least I could do to apologize for yesterday. For touching you. I shouldn’t—”

  Samantha gave an angry slash with her hand to silence him and looked away. “That’s okay. I’d rather not discuss that.”

  She almost jerked back when he cupped her chin and urged her to look at him. “I’m sorry. And you’re cold. Are you okay? You’re pale.”

  She hated the concerned look on his face. “I think it’s time you left, Detective.”

  He didn’t correct his name again, as if aware that it would do little good. Biscuits and coffee forgotten, he rose, and she walked him to the front door.

  “Not all men hurt, you know.”

  Samantha gripped the edge of the door, battling for control as anger rose in her. “And you know this because you’re an expert in what men do?”

  All boyishness fled from his face. He motioned to everything around them. “I see it every day, Samantha. I know what some men do. But I know there are other men who want to make things right.”

  Only nothing could ever be right with me, Samantha thought. No amount of goodness could change what she was or the undead life she lived because of the cruelty of men.

  “Goodbye, Detective,” she said and closed the door on him. Hopefully forever.

  Chapter 7

  T he steel chains binding Meghan to the hooks in the cement wall were cold against her skin. The wall was rough against her body. The sicko liked to keep her naked, her feet barely touching the ground.

  Meghan pulled at the chains feebly, weak from the need to feed and the daylight that snuck in through the window at the end of the day, searing her skin. She couldn’t recall how many times that sunlight had popped in to inflict its punishment. Had it been two or three days? she wondered.

  It was becoming hard to focus due to her waning strength and the fear that touched her during the long bouts of being alone and confined. Fear that would roar to life once he’d come back to play his demented games.

  She should have known better than to go with the old man. She’d thought he’d be an easy conquest. The weak usually were.

  Only he’d turned the tables on her the moment they’d left the club.

  Meghan hadn’t known what hit her. All she knew was that a sudden explosion of pain had brought her to her knees before she lost consciousness.

  During her captivity, she’d learned that the perverted ol’ bastard had used a Taser on her. She still bore burn marks from the last time. Which was not good. She wasn’t healing anymore because she was too debilitated.

  If the old man took any more of her blood, or played too many more of his sadistic little games, she wouldn’t survive.

  Maybe that was for the best, Meghan thought. This wasn’t the kind of life she’d envisioned for herself. She’d been hoping for college in the city followed by a 9-to-5-rush-home-to-the-suburbs kind of life.

  Thanks to Blake that would never be. Blake. That skanky-assed punk vampire.

  Meghan swore that if there was one thing she’d do before she met her end—the second time—it would be to see that Blake got his for what he’d done to her.

  The creak of the door alerted her to the old man’s arrival and thoughts of revenge were driven away by dread. Meghan pulled at her chains, but it accomplished nothing. He smiled at her foolish attempts, and picked up a scalpel.

  Meghan bit back a whimper. She hated when he used the scalpel, but she refused to let him know. Her pride was the only thing she had left. Despite her intentions, however, she couldn’t control her involuntary flinch as the old man ran the flat edge of the blade along her midsection.

  “Good afternoon, my dear,” he said, bringing his face so close to hers that she had no choice but to look into his cold blue eyes.

  “What’s so good about it?” She jangled the chains with what little strength she had left.

  “It’s your last.”

  Peter holstered his Glock and stepped away from the wounded teenager. Given the extent of the young man’s injuries, he probably wouldn’t survive.

  Peter’d had no time for guilt or second-guessing. If he hadn’t shot back, he’d be the one bleeding to death on the floor of the warehouse. And if the teen had gotten away, he would have been free to hurt someone else. The way he’d shot those kids in front of the Artemis Shelter.

  Peter took another look around the gang hangout. A few tables and chairs. Beat-up secondhand sofas clustered in front of a state-of-the-art plasma television. Some clubhouse.

  “Sorry, Detective. We lost the other suspect about two blocks away.” The officer was winded as he spoke, a testament to the chase he’d given.

  “The one you shot outside is dead. He’s one of the perps you were trying to find,” the second officer said.

  Two down and one on the loose. And with one perp dead and the other likely to expire, Peter would be up before a review board in the morning. Taking his gun out of his holster, he held it out to the young black officer. She hesitated, but he waved it at her. “You know the routine.”

  She took the gun and nodded. “I’ll hold it until CSU finishes.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Did you get a good look at the third perp?”

  Her answer was interrupted by the growing wail of an ambulance siren. It arrived in a rush of activity as the EMTs tried to stabilize the wounded perp.

  CSU arrived minutes after that, as well as his captain. Peter appreciated the older man coming down to the scene to offer his support. “Captain,” he said with a respectful nod.

  “You okay, Daly?” The older man reached into his jacket pocket, eased out a pack of cigarettes and offered Peter one.

  “Sorry, I don’t smoke.”

  Captain Fitzgerald smiled and slipped the pack back into his pocket. “Neither do I, but it helps some of the men, you know.”

  Peter doubted a smoke would help him deal with the fact that he’d killed one person and critically wounded another. He watched the ambulance pull away, and then turned his attention to the CSU people who were busy taking photos and gathering evidence.

  His captain tracked his gaze and said, “Did you have any other choice?”

  Peter replayed that moment in his mind, going over each step the perp had taken. Rewinding the scene in his brain again and again, but no matter what, the outcome was the same. “Perp was firing at us. He had Rodriguez and White pinned behind their car. I had no choice.”

  “And the second one?”

  “Firing from the doorway. They weren’t going to stop, Captain.” The two teens hadn’t stopped the other night when they’d shot those kids and they’d had no qualms about trying to add a few cops to their growing pile of bodies. The prints they’d found on the van had led them here, to young men who had rap sheets already pages long.

  “You’ll have to give a full report in the morning, Daly. Make sure you’ve got your facts straight.”

  “Yes, sir,” he said and motioned to the two uniformed officers answering CSU’s questions. “They’ll be able to confirm everything, Captain. I did it all by the book.”

  The captain grasped his shoulder in a gesture meant to reassure. “I have no doubt about it, Daly. You always do everything according to regulation.”

  P
eter nodded, but the comfort from the older man’s words wasn’t enough. Following the rules only made it a little easier to deal with the fact that he’d killed two people. The day that it became easy, he’d turn in his shield.

  But for today, just as he had told his captain, he’d had no choice.

  Chapter 8

  S amantha, Diego and Esperanza swept through the crowd in the Blood Bank, hoping to find Meghan. It had been nearly a week since her disappearance and they still didn’t have a clue as to where she’d gone.

  Esperanza thought the young vamp had finally decided to sacrifice herself to the light she loved so much. With a vampire Meghan’s age, it wouldn’t take that long. Just a few hours and she would be dead, drained of her life force by the sun’s rays. Another few hours and all that would be left was a big pile of ash.

  Diego refused to believe Meghan would do something so drastic. He had always been understanding of Meghan’s moods, urging the others to remember what they’d been like at twenty-one.

  Samantha couldn’t remember being twenty-one, at least not with the possibility of the carefree existence so many modern women enjoyed. At twenty-one she’d been working hard at the tavern her parents had once owned. By twenty-three she’d been married, enduring the beatings of her husband. By twenty-five, she’d been dead and reborn in her current state, enduring the torture inflicted by her condition and by the vampire who’d sired her.

  She had never known what it was to be like Meghan.

  “She hasn’t been back here, you know.” Blake leaned his arms on the edge of her booth and peered down at her.

  Samantha turned and glanced up at the punk vamp. There was an edge of concern there. “How do you know?”

  With a shrug, he came around and sat beside her. “Been looking for her myself.”

  She was surprised, since Blake generally didn’t care about anything other than himself. “Why?”