"Oh. Good idea." She took her checkbook from her purse. "How much do I owe you?"
"For the pizza?" Tommy asked in a booming voice as he looked around. Then, he lowered his voice, "Four enchiladas. It was all we could spare." He seemed to be enjoying the situation, like he'd suddenly joined the cast of a spy movie.
"I'm assuming that's four hundred." She wrote a check out to Carlo's Deli, then handed it to Tommy.
"If you can wait a week or so before turning that in, I'd appreciate it."
"What's going on, Doc?" He unzipped the bag and removed a small pizza box. "Some big guys with Russian accents came by the deli, asking questions about you."
"Oh no!" She looked around, suddenly worried they might have followed Tommy.
"Hey, it's cool. We didn't say nothing."
"Oh. Thank you, Tommy."
"Why do those guys want to hurt you?"
Shanna sighed. She hated involving innocent people. "Let's just say that I saw something I shouldn't have."
"The FBI could help. Hey, I bet that's who those guys were."
"What guys?"
"The men in black. They came by asking about you, too."
"Well, I guess I'm very popular lately." She needed to call Bob Mendoza soon. Hopefully, this time he'd answer the phone.
"Anything else we can do?" Tommy's eyes sparkled. "This is kinda fun."
"It's not a game. Don't let them know you've been in contact with me." She fumbled in her purse.
"Let me get you a tip."
"No. No way. You need your money."
"Oh, Tommy. How can I ever thank you?" She kissed his cheek.
"Whoa. That'll do. You take it easy, Doc." He wandered off with a grin.
Shanna gathered up her belongings and headed in the opposite direction. In a drugstore, she used the pay phone to call Bob.
"Mendoza here." His voice sounded tired.
"Bob, this is… Jane. Jane Wilson."
"What a relief. I was so worried. Where have you been?"
There was something wrong. Shanna couldn't quite put her finger on it. He just didn't sound worried or relieved.
"Tell me where you are."
"I'm on the run, Bob. What do you think? I need to get out of New York."
"You're still in New York? Where, exactly?"
Shanna felt a prick at the back of her neck. Rational thought told her to confide in the federal marshal, but her gut was screaming something was wrong. "I'm in a store. Shall I come to your office?"
"No. I will come for you. Tell me where you are."
Shanna swallowed hard. There was something odd about his voice, something distant and mechanical. "I… I'd rather go to your office tomorrow morning."
There was another pause. Shanna thought she heard a voice in the distance. Female.
"I will give you directions to a safe house. Be there tomorrow night at eight-thirty."
"Okay." Shanna wrote down the address. It was somewhere in New Rochelle. "I'll see you tomorrow. Good-bye."
"Wait! Tell me, where have you been? How did you escape?"
Was he trying to keep her on the phone? Of course, she was being traced. "Bye." She hung up. Her hand was shaking. Good God, she was getting paranoid. Even a federal marshal seemed suspicious to her. In another week, she'd be blubbering to herself about aliens and wearing aluminum foil on her head.
She gazed at the ceiling as if to communicate with God and let out a long, silent groan of frustration. Why me? All I ever wanted was a normal life!
She purchased a box of hair dye and a cheap nylon zippered tote bag for her meager belongings.
Then she found a reasonably priced hotel on Seventh Avenue and registered under a false name, paying cash. With a great sigh of relief, she locked herself into her room. She'd done it. Escaped the Russians. Escaped Roman the Pig and his house of horrors. She didn't know which upset her more— Roman's taste in women or the coffins in his basement. Yeech! She shuddered.
Forget them—think of the future and how you will survive.
In the bathroom, she applied the hair color, then settled on the bed to wait thirty minutes. She ate pizza while flipping through TV channels. When a local news channel flashed by, she stopped.
Good God, it was the SoHo So-Bright Dental Clinic. Shattered glass littered sidewalks that were partitioned off with yellow crime scene tape.
She turned up the volume. The newscaster explained how the clinic had been destroyed the night before. Police were investigating the matter in connection to a nearby homicide.
Shanna gasped when a picture of a young blond woman flashed on the screen. Her body had been discovered in an alley close to the clinic. Official cause of death was unknown at this time, but the reporter had heard rumors of a bizarre injury. Two punctures in the neck like an animal bite. People in the neighborhood were blaming a secret cult of teenage dropouts who liked to pretend they were vampires.
Vampires? Shanna snorted. She'd heard about the underground societies—bored kids with nothing better to do with their time and money than drink blood and have their canine teeth purposely altered to resemble vampire fangs. It was sick. No reputable dentist would ever do such a thing. Still, against her will, a series of memories zipped through her mind. A wolf's fang in Roman's hand. His seemingly lifeless body lying in her bed. A basement filled with coffins.
A chill crept up her spine. No, there was no such thing as vampires. She'd been through too much trauma. She was getting paranoid. That was all. People only pretended to be vampires.
And there were rational explanations for everything. She'd checked Roman's tooth, and it had been a normal size. Okay, so it was more pointed than usual. That could be explained, too. It was an unusual genetic trait. A person could be born with webbed fingers or toes without being a mermaid. And the coffins? Oh God. What possible explanation could there be for that?
She went back to the bathroom to rinse her hair. She toweled it dry and examined herself in the mirror. Platinum blond, like Marilyn Monroe. The comparison was not too comforting. Marilyn had died young. Shanna regarded herself with dismay. She looked a lot like the woman she'd recently seen on television.
The blond woman killed by a vampire.
"This is not my area of expertise, sir." Laszlo twisted a button on his new, bright white lab coat.
"Don't worry." Roman scooted onto a stool in his lab at Romatech. "Besides, how could you hurt me? I'm already dead."
"Well, not technically, sir. Your brain is still active."
His brain was mush, though Roman didn't care to admit it. Since receiving the news about Shanna's disappearance, he could hardly follow his own train of thought. "You did a good job wiring VANNA to work. I'm sure you'll manage with me."
Laszlo picked up a wire cutter, then changed his mind and selected some needle-nosed pliers. "I'm not quite sure how to go about this."
"Just rip the damn wires out of my mouth."
"Yes, sir." Laszlo advanced toward Roman's open mouth with the pliers. "I apologize in advance for any discomfort."
"Unh." Roman acknowledged the remark.
"I appreciate your confidence in me." Laszlo yanked the wires loose. "And I'm glad to have something to do. Otherwise, I start thinking about…" He lowered his hand and frowned.
"Aaargh." Roman had wires poking the inside of his mouth. This was not the time for Laszlo to obsess over death threats.
"Oh, sorry." Laszlo resumed his work. "I still don't have my car. We left it at the dental office last night with VANNA in the trunk. So I don't have anything to work on tonight."
Roman remembered his unfortunate conclusion regarding the Vampire Artificial Nutritional Needs Appliance. That toy had propelled him into a powerful state of blood-lust. She would remind every Vamp how glorious it was to bite. He hated to tell Laszlo his project would have to be scrapped, especially when the guy was going through hell. Maybe after the conference.
"There." Laszlo removed the last of the wires. "All done, sir. How does it
feel?"
Roman ran his tongue along his teeth. "Good. Thanks."
Now, he wouldn't have to attend the conference with wires in his mouth. And Shanna wouldn't be able to use the splint excuse to avoid kissing him. Not that he had much hope for future kisses.
He glanced at the clock in his lab. Three-thirty a.m. He'd been calling Connor every thirty minutes for an update, but no one had seen Shanna. She'd pulled a great disappearing act.
Roman knew she was tough and smart. And she had his crucifix to protect her. Still, he worried. He couldn't concentrate on work. His package from China had arrived, but even that couldn't distract him from his growing sense of frustration and anxiety.
"Is there something else I can do?" Laszlo was back to plucking at his buttons.
"Would you like to assist me on my current project?" Roman gathered a pile of papers from his desk.
"I'd be honored, sir."
"I'm working on a formula that would enable us to stay awake during the daylight hours." Roman handed the papers to Laszlo.
His eyes widened. "Fascinating." He examined the papers.
Roman returned to his desk and opened the package. "This is a root from a rare plant that grows in Southern China. It's supposed to have remarkable energizing effects." He dug through a mass of Styrofoam peanuts and pulled out a dried root encased in bubble wrap.
"May I see it?" Laszlo reached for the dried plant.
"Sure." A week ago, the project had fascinated him. But now Roman had lost interest. Why bother to stay awake during the day if he couldn't share the time with Shanna? God's blood, she had affected him more strongly than he had realized. And now that she was gone, there was nothing he could do about it.
Two hours later, Roman returned to his townhouse. His guests from Europe were safely tucked away in guestrooms on the third and fourth floors. His so-called harem had been chastised for their rudeness to Shanna. They were skulking in their rooms on the second floor.
He entered his office and headed to the wet bar for a bedtime snack. While the bottle warmed up in the microwave, he wandered toward his desk. Memories of Shanna filled his mind. He could see her resting on the blood-red velvet chaise. He could see them kissing by the door.
He stopped with a jerk. There on his desk was the silver chain and crucifix. "Shanna, no." He reached for the cross, but it instantly seared his flesh.
"Shit!" He dropped it and examined the burned skin on his fingertips. Just what he needed—a painful reminder that God had abandoned him. Damn. He would heal overnight, but what would become of Shanna? Without the silver cross, she had no protection from the Russian vampires.
This was his fault. He should have been more honest. Now, in her anger, she had rejected the one thing she needed most to survive.
Roman squeezed his eyes shut and concentrated hard. He'd been connected to her mentally just the night before. And it had been an amazingly strong, two-way connection. Perhaps some of it remained.
He reached out for her. Shanna! Shanna, where are you ?
God's blood, he felt so alone and helpless.
Shanna moaned in her sleep, haunted by a strange dream. She was at work, and Tommy was in the examination chair, telling her to chill. Then he transformed into Roman. He raised his hand, palm up. A wolf's fang rested in a pool of blood.
Shanna rolled over. No, no blood.
In her dream, she picked up her instruments and looked inside Roman's mouth. She glanced at the dental mirror. What? The mirror showed an empty chair, but Roman was in the chair. Suddenly he caught her hand. He wrenched the dental mirror from her grasp and tossed it onto the tray. "Come with me."
Instantly they were back in Roman's office. He took her in his arms and whispered, "Trust me."
Shanna felt herself melting.
Then he kissed her, kisses that she never wanted to end, kisses so hot that she kicked the blanket off the bed. He led her to his bedroom and opened the door. His king-sized bed was gone.
In the middle of the room sat a black coffin. No. Shanna stared at it in horror.
Roman held out his hand, beckoning her forward. She retreated to his office, but the harem was there, laughing at her. They had a new member—the dead blond from the television newscast.
Blood trickled from two punctures on her neck.
With a jolt, Shanna sat up in bed, gasping for air. Oh God, even in her sleep she was a basket case.
She dropped her head forward into her hands and rubbed her temples.
Shanna! Shanna, where are you?
"Roman?"
She looked around the dark room, half expecting one of the dark shadows to move toward her. The clock on the bedside table glowed the time. Five-thirty a.m. She turned on the lamp.
No one there. She took a deep breath. Just as well. Roman couldn't help her. He couldn't be trusted. Tears of frustration threatened to overflow.
Dear God, she had never felt so alone and helpless.
CHAPTER 14
Shanna hid in her hotel room most of the next day, waiting until it was time to meet Bob at the safe house. Her thoughts eventually gravitated back to Roman. How could she have been so wrong about him?
He was a brilliant scientist and a gorgeous-looking man. He'd rescued her without a concern for his own safety. He'd been kind and generous. And there had been something else she'd sensed inside him. A great well of remorse and regret. She'd understood his pain. God knew she lived with guilt and remorse every day of her life. Karen had been alive when she'd first found her, but out of fear, she'd done nothing to help her.
Her gut instinct had told her that Roman suffered from the same kind of torment. She'd felt connected to him in a deep-rooted, elemental way, as if their two souls knew how to comfort each other more than anyone else's ever could. He'd given her hope for the future, and God help her, she had sworn she was giving him hope. It had felt so right with him.
So how could he be a womanizing bastard with a harem? Had her loneliness and fear skewed her perceptions so that she no longer read people correctly? Had she somehow projected her own feelings of guilt and despair on him, making him appear totally different from his real self? Who was the real Roman Draganesti?
She'd been so sure about him. She had thought he was the perfect man. She had thought he was a man she could fall in love with. A tear rolled down her cheek. To be honest, she had already started falling for him. That was why it had hurt so much to discover his harem.
In the afternoon, she visited the hotel's computer room and did a search. She found nothing on Roman, but the website for Romatech Industries came up, complete with a picture of the facility near White Plains, New York. It looked lovely, surrounded by manicured gardens. She printed the page and folded it up in her purse. Why? She didn't want to see him again. He was a womanizing pig. Wasn't he? She sighed. Whatever he was, he was driving her crazy. And she had more important matters to worry about. Like staying alive.
By seven-forty-five that evening, she was ready for her trip to the safe house. The clothes Radinka had purchased were not designed for blending into the woodwork. With her hot-pink pants and camisole, and a big cotton shirt of neon orange and pink plaid, she could be spotted a mile away.
Oh well. She would just think of it as a disguise. No one would expect her to look like a hot-pink version of Marilyn Monroe.
She packed up her belongings and took the elevator down to the lobby. She waited a few minutes in the taxi line in front of the hotel. The sun had set, but the city was still bright with lights—bright enough that Shanna spotted a black SUV parked across the street. She caught her breath. A coincidence, that was all. There were hundreds of black SUVs in New York City.
The next cab was hers. She climbed in and was instantly assaulted by the smell of hot pastrami. She leaned forward to give the driver the address and noticed his half-eaten sandwich resting on a sheet of crumpled foil in the front seat. The taxi lurched forward, making her fall back.
"New Rochelle?" the driver asked as he
careened onto the avenue, headed north toward Central Park.
Shanna glanced back. The SUV was pulling away from the curb. Oh, great. Her taxi made a right turn. She took a deep breath, waited, then looked back. The SUV was turning. Dammit!
She leaned toward the cab driver. "You see the black SUV behind us? It's following us."
The driver looked in the rearview mirror. "No, no. Is okay."
She couldn't place his accent, but his complexion indicated African or maybe Caribbean. She glanced at his ID card. "Oringo, I'm serious. Take a turn up here and see for yourself."
He shrugged. "If you like." He made a left turn onto Sixth, then flashed her a grin. "See? No black SUV."
The SUV turned onto Sixth Avenue.
Oringo's smile faded. "You in trouble, miss?"
"I could be if they catch me. Can you lose them?"
"You mean, like in movies?"
"Yes, exactly."
"We in a movie?" Oringo looked around as if he expected to see cameras set up on the sidewalk.
"No, but I can give you an extra fifty if you lose them." Shanna mentally counted her cash. Dang, by the time this ride was over, she'd be almost completely tapped.
"You got a deal." Oringo slammed on the accelerator and zoomed across two lanes to make a righthand turn.
Shanna fell back against the seat. She fumbled about for a seat belt. This was going to be one hell of a ride.
"Ah, damn! It is still behind us." Oringo swerved into another right turn. They were now going south, the wrong direction. "What kind of trouble you in?"
"It's a long story."
"Ah." Oringo cut through a parking lot and burst out onto a street without slowing down. "I know where you can get a good Rolex. Or Prada bag. Real cheap. Looks like the real thing."
"I appreciate that, but I really don't have time to shop right now." Shanna flinched when the cab ran a red light and narrowly missed getting hit by a delivery van.
"Too bad." Oringo grinned at her in the rearview mirror. "You look like good customer."
"Thanks." Shanna looked behind them. The black SUV was still there, though it had been stopped momentarily by the red light. She glanced at the dashboard clock. It was fifteen past eight. She would arrive at the safe house late.
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