"Ah." Connor rubbed his chin with a forefinger. "And if her brain is damaged, she willna be able to fix yer tooth. I see."
Roman frowned. He hadn't even thought about his damned tooth. His concern had been for Shanna.
What was she doing to him? He'd committed too many sins in the past to be acquiring a conscience now. He glanced back. Gregori was taking a seat at the end of the chaise. He lifted Shanna's feet and set them in his lap.
"So what can we do, man?" Connor asked, dragging Roman's attention away from Shanna.
"I have to gain her trust. She needs to let me in of her own free will."
"Humph. Since when does a woman ever cooperate? Ye could spend a hundred years at it, but ye have only eighteen minutes." Connor looked at the clock. "Make that seventeen."
"I guess I'll have to be extra charming." As if he knew how. Roman glanced back. Gregori was slipping the shoes off her feet.
"Aye." Connor nodded. "The ladies like charm."
Roman narrowed his eyes. Gregori was massaging Shanna's feet. Memories zipped through his mind. Gregori playing with VANNA's feet, raking his teeth over her toes. And his eyes had glowed red. Goddammit. "Get your bloody hands off of her!" he shouted loud enough that everyone in the room jumped.
Gregori set Shanna's feet back onto the chaise as he stood. "You told me to make her comfortable."
Shanna yawned and stretched. "And you were doing a great job, Gregori. I was half asleep when Roman started bellowing like a mad cow."
"Mad cow?" Gregori laughed till he caught the look on Roman's face. He cleared his throat and backed away from Shanna.
"Connor, there's some whisky in the cabinet there." Roman gestured toward the wet bar.
The Highlander opened the cabinet. "Talisker from the Isle of Skye. What are ye doing with malt whisky?"
"Angus sent it. He's hoping I'll invent a new drink for him with my Fusion Cuisine."
"Och. That would be grand." Connor held the bottle up to admire it. "I have sorely missed the stuff."
"Pour a glass for Miss Whelan." Roman strode toward the chaise. "Are you feeling better now?"
"Yes." She lifted a hand to her brow. "I had a terrible headache, but it seems to have disappeared. It was so strange. I could have sworn I heard voices in my head." She made a face. "That's gotta sound bad."
"No, not at all." This was good news. She hadn't recognized whose voices she'd heard. And she hadn't connected her headaches to their attempts at mind control.
She rubbed her forehead. "Maybe I'm coming down with a virus." She grimaced. "Or schizophrenia.
Sheesh. Next thing, somebody's dog will start telling me what to do."
"I don't think you need to worry about that." He perched on the chaise beside her. "There's a simple explanation for what you're experiencing. Post-traumatic stress."
"Oh yeah, that's probably it." She moved over a little to make room for him. "A shrink from the FBI told me about it. She said I could expect recurring panic attacks for the rest of my life. Doesn't that sound cheerful?"
"The FBI?" Connor asked as he brought the glass of whisky.
Shanna winced. "I'm not supposed to talk about it, but you guys have been great. You deserve to know what's going on."
"Just tell us what you're comfortable with." Roman took the glass from Connor and offered it to Shanna. "This will help warm you up." And loosen your tongue. And lower your defenses.
She raised herself up on an elbow. "I don't usually drink anything stronger than beer."
"You've been through hell tonight." Hell with a full cast of demons. Roman pressed the glass into her hand.
She tossed back a portion, then coughed. "Whoa!" Her eyes watered. "Goddang. That was straight up, wasn't it?"
Roman shrugged one shoulder and set the glass on the floor. "What do you expect when a
Highlander pours you a drink?"
She lay back on the chaise, narrowing her eyes. "Jeez, Roman, were you trying to make a joke?"
"Maybe. Did it work?" Charming his way into a woman's mind was a new experience for him.
Before this, he'd simply taken what he needed.
She slowly smiled. "I think you were wrong before. There is hope for you."
God's blood. She had such cheerful optimism. Would he have to crush it someday with cruel reality? There was no hope for a murdering demon. But in the meantime, he'd let her fantasy of hope continue. Especially if it helped him get into her mind. "You were telling us about the FBI?"
"Oh, right. I'm in the Witness Protection Program. I have a federal marshal I'm supposed to contact if I get in trouble, but he wasn't there when I called."
"Is Shanna your real name?"
She sighed. "My name is supposed to be Jane Wilson. Shanna Whelan is dead."
He touched her shoulder. "You feel very alive to me."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "I lost my family. I can never see them again."
"Tell me about them." Roman glanced at the clock. Twelve minutes to go.
She opened her eyes and gazed, unfocused, into the distance. "I have a sister and brother, both younger than me. We were very close, growing up, 'cause all we had was each other. My dad works for the State Department, so we grew up in a lot of foreign countries."
"Such as?"
"Poland, Ukraine, Latvia, Lithuania, Belarus."
Roman exchanged a glance with Connor. "What exactly does your father do?"
"He was some kind of aide, but he never really said what he was doing. He traveled a lot."
Roman tilted his head toward his desk. Connor nodded and moved quietly to the computer. "Your father's name?"
"Sean Dermot Whelan. Anyway, my mom had been a schoolteacher, so she home-schooled us. That is until…" Shanna frowned and tugged the chenille blanket up to her cheek.
"Until what?" Roman heard Connor tapping away on the keyboard. The investigation of Sean Dermot Whelan had begun.
Shanna sighed. "When I was fifteen, my parents sent me to a boarding school in Connecticut. They said it would be better for me to have some formal school records, so I could get into a good university."
"That sounds reasonable."
"I thought so, too, at the time, but…"
"Yes?"
She rolled over onto her side, facing him. "They never sent my brother or sister away. Only me."
"I see." She was the one chosen to leave. Roman understood that more than he wanted to admit. She twisted a chenille fringe around her finger. "I thought I must have done something wrong."
"How could you? You were a child." Memories filled Roman's mind, memories he had thought long dead. "You missed your family."
"Yeah, something terrible at first, but then I met Karen. We became best friends. She's the one who first wanted to be a dentist. I used to tease her about wanting to stick her hands into people's mouths for a living. But when it came time for me to make a decision, I chose to be a dentist, too."
"I see."
"I wanted to help people and be part of a community, you know, the neighborhood dentist who sponsors the local kids' softball team. I wanted to set down roots and have a normal life. No more moving all over the world. And I wanted to treat children. I've always loved children." Her eyes shimmered with moisture. "I don't dare have children now. Those damned Russians." She leaned over, grabbed the whisky off the floor, and downed another gulp.
Roman took the glass from her hand while she coughed and sputtered. Damn. He wanted her relaxed, not drunk. He glanced at the clock. Laszlo would be calling in eight minutes. "Tell me about the Russians."
She settled back down on the chaise. "Karen and I shared an apartment in Boston. We used to go out every Friday night to this deli. We would scarf down pizza and brownies and curse men because we didn't have a date. Then, one night—" She shuddered. "It was like an old gangster movie."
Roman wondered why she didn't have a date. Mortal men had to be blind. He took her hand in his.
"Go on. They can't hurt you now."
Her eyes filled with tears again. 'They do hurt me. Every day. I can't sleep without seeing Karen dying in front of me. And I can't function as a dentist anymore!" She leaned over to grab the glass of whisky. "Sheesh, I hate self-pity."
"Wait a minute." He moved the whisky out of her reach. "What do you mean, you can't function as a dentist?"
She collapsed back onto the chaise. "I might as well face the facts. I've lost my career, too. How can I possibly work as a dentist when I faint at the sight of b-blood?"
Oh, right. Her fear of blood. He'd forgotten about that. "This fear of yours—it started that night at the deli?"
"Yes." Shanna wiped her eyes. "I was in the bathroom when I heard the awful screams. They were shooting all over the place. I could hear the bullets hitting the walls. And I could hear the screams when they hit… people."
"It was the Russians?"
"Yes. The gunfire stopped, so after a while, I sneaked out of the bathroom. I saw Karen lying on the floor. She… she'd been shot in the stomach and the chest. She was still alive, and she shook her head at me like she was trying to warn me."
Shanna pressed her hands to her eyes. "That's when I heard them. They were back behind the pizza oven, yelling in Russian." She raised her hands to look at Roman. "I don't really know Russian, but I recognized the cuss words. My brother and I used to have this competition going—who could learn the most cuss words in different languages."
"Did the Russians see you at the deli?"
"No. When I heard their voices, I hid behind a mess station and some big potted plants. I heard more gunshots in the kitchen, then they came out. They stopped by Karen and looked at her. I saw their faces. Then they left."
"Did they stop by the other victims like they did Karen?"
Shanna frowned, trying to remember. "No, they didn't. In fact—"
"What?"
"They opened her purse and looked at her driver's license. Then they got mad, cursed like crazy, and threw the purse down. It was so strange. I mean, they killed ten people in that deli. Why would they bother to check Karen's ID?"
Why indeed? Roman didn't like the conclusions he was drawing, but he didn't want to alarm Shanna until he was more certain. "So you testified against the Russians in court, and you were given a new identity?"
"Yes. I became Jane Wilson and moved to New York about two months ago." Shanna sighed. "I don't really know anyone here. Except Tommy, the pizza guy. It's kinda nice to have someone to talk to. You're a good listener."
He glanced at the clock on the mantel. Only four minutes to go. Maybe now she would trust him enough to let him into her head. "I can do more than listen, Shanna. I… I'm an expert in therapeutic hypnosis."
"Hypnosis?" Her eyes widened. "You do past life regressions and stuff like that?"
He smiled. "Actually, I was thinking we could use hypnosis to cure your fear of blood."
"Oh." She blinked, then sat up. "Are you serious? I could be cured that easily?"
"Yes. You would have to trust me—"
"That would be great! I wouldn't have to give up my career."
"Yes. But it would require you to trust me."
"Well, sure." She gave him a suspicious look. "You wouldn't do any of those weird posthypnotic suggestions,would you? Like making me strip naked and crow like a rooster whenever someone yells taxi."
"I have no desire to see you crow. And as for the other— " He leaned closer and whispered, "It sounds most intriguing, but I would prefer any stripping to be totally voluntary."
She ducked her chin, her cheeks blushing. "Right."
"Then you will trust me?"
She lifted her gaze to meet his. "You want to do it right now?"
"Yes." He willed her eyes to stay trapped with his. "It will be so easy. All you have to do is relax."
"Relax?" She continued to stare at him, but her vision dulled.
"Lie back." He gently lowered her into a reclining position. "Keep looking into my eyes."
"Yes," she whispered. Her brow puckered. "You have unusual eyes."
"You have beautiful eyes."
She smiled, then winced as a pained expression crossed her pretty features. "I feel cold again."
"It'll soon pass, and you'll feel fine. Do you want to conquer your fear, Shanna?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."
"Then you will succeed. You will be strong and confident. Nothing will stop you from being an excellent dentist."
"That sounds wonderful."
"You're feeling very relaxed, very sleepy."
"Yes." Her eyelids flickered shut.
He was in. God's blood, it had been so easy. She'd left the door wide open. All it had taken was the proper motivation. He'd have to remember that, in case he ran across other difficult mortals in the future. But as he settled into Shanna's thoughts, he knew there was no one else like her.
On the surface, her intelligent mind was well organized.
But just beneath that well-structured exterior, strong emotions swelled. They surrounded him, pulling him in. Fear. Pain. Grief. Remorse. And beneath the storm, a stubborn will to persevere no matter what. The emotions were all familiar to him, yet so different, coming from Shanna. Her feelings were fresh and raw. His had been dying away for more than five hundred years. God's blood, to feel this way again. It was heady, intoxicating. She had so much passion just waiting to be unleashed. And he could do it. He could open her mind and her heart.
"Roman." Gregori checked his watch. "You've got forty-five seconds."
He shook himself mentally. "Shanna, do you hear me?"
"Yes," she whispered, her eyes still closed.
"You will have a wonderful dream. You'll find yourself in a dentist office. A new and safe dentist office. I'll be your patient and ask you to implant a tooth. An ordinary tooth. Do you understand?"
She nodded her head slowly.
"If there is any blood, you will not flinch. You will not hesitate. You will continue, calm and confident, till the procedure is done. Then you will sleep soundly for ten hours and forget what happened. You will awaken, feeling happy and refreshed. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
He smoothed her hair back from her face. "Sleep for now. The dream will begin soon." Roman stood. She lay, sleeping peacefully, one hand curled beneath her chin and entwined in chenille fringe. She looked so innocent, so trusting.
The phone rang.
Connor answered it. "Hang on a second. I'm putting you on the speaker phone."
"Hello? Can you hear me?" Laszlo's voice sounded nervous. "I hope you're ready. We don't have much time. It's already four-forty-five."
Roman wondered if the little chemist had any buttons left on his lab coat. "We hear you fine,
Laszlo. I'll be there soon with the dentist."
"She—she is cooperating?"
"Yes." Roman turned to Gregori. "Find out the exact time of sunrise. Then call us at the dental office five minutes before dawn so we can teleport back."
Gregori winced. "That's cutting it close. I won't have time to go home."
"You can sleep here."
"Me, too?" Laszlo asked over the phone.
"Yes. Don't worry. We have plenty of guest rooms." Roman gathered a sleeping Shanna in his arms.
"Sir." Connor stood. "About her father. 'Tis like the man doesna exist. I'm thinking CIA. I could send Ian to Langley to find out."
"Very well." Roman adjusted his hold on Shanna. "Start talking, Laszlo, and keep talking till we're there."
"Yes, sir. As you say, sir. I—well, everything is ready here. I put your tooth in the Save-a-Tooth system like the dentist recommended. That reminds me, wasn't there a movie about a dentist, an evil dentist who kept asking, 'Is it safe? What was the name of that actor…"
Laszlo's voice rushed on, though Roman didn't focus on individual words. Instead he used the voice as a beacon, reaching out with his mind until he made the connection. For routine trips, like from his home to his office at Romatech, the journey was imbe
dded in his psychic memory. But if he was unfamiliar with either a destination or point of departure, the safest way to teleport was to use some sort of sensory anchor. If he could see a place, he could go there. If he could lock onto a voice, he could go there. Without an anchor, a vampire could accidentally rematerialize in the wrong place, like inside a brick wall or in blazing sunlight.
Gregori would remain in Roman's home office, then call them before sunrise, acting as their beacon for the way home. The room faded before his eyes, and Roman followed Laszlo's voice to the dental office. As he materialized once again, he heard Laszlo sigh with relief. The dental office was bland, all in shades of tan. The smell of disinfectant filled the air.
"Thank God you made it, sir. Come, this way." Laszlo headed toward the examining rooms.
Roman checked to make sure Shanna was all right. She was slumbering peacefully in his arms. He followed Laszlo, wondering what information Ian would discover about her father. If the man had tussled with the Russian mafia while overseas, that would explain why the Russians had wanted revenge. And if they couldn't avenge themselves on the father, they could pick on his daughter. It would also explain why they had checked Karen's ID, then gotten angry. Roman's arms tightened around Shanna. He hoped his suspicions were wrong, but his gut was screaming he was right.
The Russian mafia didn't want to kill Shanna just because she'd witnessed their murder spree in Boston. She'd been the reason for that murder spree. Their original target was Shanna. And they wouldn't give up until she was dead.
CHAPTER 8
Ivan Petrovsky flipped through the unopened mail on his desk. Electric bill. Gas bill. Here was a stack that was postmarked several weeks ago. He shrugged. What was three weeks when you were more than six hundred years old? Besides, he hated being connected to the mundane, mortal world.
He ripped open the first envelope. Oh, his lucky day. He was eligible for life insurance. Morons. He tossed it into the trash.
An ivory envelope caught his eye. Return address— Romatech Industries. A growl vibrated low in his throat. He had the envelope and contents almost completely torn in two when he paused. Why would that accursed Roman Draganesti send him mail? They weren't even speaking to each other.
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