Hunting Daylight (9781101619032)

by Maitland, Piper

  “I love you, mia cara. But I cannot compete with a ghost.”

  I flinched. Be not afraid.

  “I’ve known you fifteen years,” he said. “You and Jude were together five. Give me one night, Caro. Just one. If I don’t please you—”

  His voice rang through me, a holy sound like church bells. I shook my head. “Pleasure isn’t the issue. It never was.”

  “I want to feel you,” he said. “I want two people in the bed. You and me. Tell me that you want this, too.”

  My knees began shaking. “We’re in a graveyard,” I whispered. “Have a little respect.”

  “Can you vanquish your ghosts for one night?”

  “Not until we talk to Dr. Walpole,” I said.

  We walked out of the cemetery. Raphael retrieved Arrapato from the guard and took my hand. We turned into a stucco-and-timber apartment building. The lobby was furnished with brown nubby sofas, a dusty potted plant, and three security cameras. The air was cold and smelled medicinal. We walked up the stairs to the second floor and walked along a blue-carpeted hall, the guard lagging behind, checking out the security cameras that angled down from the ceiling.

  I turned my face away. Raphael stopped in front of a blue door. Off to the side were a blank nameplate and an electronic keypad. Black masking tape covered the doorbell. He tucked Arrapato under his jacket, ignoring the ferocious growls, then knocked.

  Behind us, I heard a rustling noise—the sound a pit viper might make if it crawled over a silk blanket. Then I heard a strangled gasp and shoes stamping the carpet.

  I turned.

  A guy in a hazmat suit held a pistol to our guard’s head. “Hands in the air,” he told us. His voice was muted by a Plexiglas helmet, but I detected a British accent. He was tall and rangy, and a black patch covered one eye. The other one bulged like a hard-boiled egg. His free arm snaked under the guard’s chin.

  “Get your hands up. Hurry. Or I’ll cap him.”

  The guard lifted his hands. I raised mine, too. Raphael was holding Arrapato, so he could lift only one arm.

  “I said both hands, you bloody idiots,” the guy in the hazmat suit yelled. A circle of mist spread inside the Plexi-mask and disappeared. He pushed the gun a little harder against the guard’s temple.

  “Raphael can’t raise his other hand,” I said. “He’s holding a dog. Don’t shoot him.”

  Arrapato chose that moment to poke his head out of Raphael’s coat, his pale pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

  “I’m going to put my dog on the floor,” Raphael said. “I will move slowly.”

  “No!” the man yelled. “It might have germs.”

  I kept holding my hands in the air, ignoring my tingling fingertips. I was pretty sure we’d found Dr. Walpole. At first, the black patch over his left eye had confused me. Vampires have acute vision, and I’d never seen one wear a patch.

  “Please let go of my friend,” I said, nodding at the guard. “You’re choking him. He’s having trouble breathing.”

  “Why does your friend have a gun? He’s a guard, isn’t he?” Walpole’s good eye wobbled. “Who the bloody hell are you people?”

  “I’m Raphael Della Rocca, and this is my friend Caro. We’re looking for Dr. Emmett Walpole.”

  “Never heard of him,” Walpole said. “But if I had, why are you looking for him?”

  “I need to talk to him,” Raphael said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s private,” Raphael said.

  I recognized something of myself in Dr. Walpole. He was an example of a man who’d taken caution too far.

  He tilted his head, his nostrils twitching, and another burst of condensation hit the glass. “Are you people vampires?”

  “I’m a hybrid,” I said quickly. “But the dog is a vampire.”

  The doctor looked at Raphael. “What about you, Romeo?”

  “You know what I am,” Raphael said.

  Walpole turned to the guard. “What’s the name of your employer?”

  “Mr. Della Rocca,” the guard said in a strangled voice.

  “Why did he hire you?”

  “To protect the lady and her daughter.” The guard winced.

  Walpole took the guard’s gun. “Get on the floor. Spread eagle. But don’t touch your nose to the carpet.”

  The guard put his hands on his head and lowered himself to the ground. Walpole walked toward me and Raphael. “Get on the floor.”

  “No,” Raphael said. “We’re not here to harm you.”

  “How can I be sure? Do either of you have any diseases?”

  Raphael and I shook our heads.

  I felt Walpole probe the edges of my mind the way a moth flutters around a lampshade. I forced my thoughts to go still, and the fluttering receded. He turned to Raphael. “What about the dog?”

  “He’s never sick.”

  “Does it have fleas or mites?”

  “No. They can’t stand the taste of a vampire’s blood. You should know that.”

  Walpole’s jaw moved, as if he were chewing on this information. “Are you sure you haven’t been exposed to a viral illness?”

  Raphael nodded. “My immune system is strong. So is Caro’s.”

  Walpole pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket. Inside were plastic handcuffs. He handed it to me. “Tie up your guard.”

  I set my plaid travel bag on the floor, then shuffled forward. The guard was holding his face off the carpet, just as he’d been instructed. I looped the ties around his wrists, then moved cautiously back to Raphael. He put his arm around me.

  Walpole gave me the once-over. “Well, well. What have we here? A blond Dorothy Gale.” He gestured at my red boots. “You know, the girl from The Wizard of Oz. And you’ve even brought Toto and the wizard. Lovely!”

  I tried to keep my face still and emotionless. Vampirism had a tendency to magnify human quirks, but Walpole was full-bore paranoid. What had broken his mind? Something he’d seen in the jungle? Or had he been psychotic before the expedition?

  “A vampire with a dog can’t be all bad,” Walpole said. “I’ll let you come inside. But only for a minute.”

  Keeping his good eye on us, he walked to the door. Then he faced the security box, blocking our view of the keypad. A series of beeps stabbed up into the air. I heard a click, and the door whooshed open.

  “Take off your boots, Dorothy,” he said. “You, too, Mr. Vampire. The plaid bag stays out here, too.”

  Raphael kicked off his loafers, then held my elbow while I struggled to kick off my boots. Walpole led us into his apartment, past a table that was sheathed in plastic. Photos sat on top, each frame encased in a plastic bag. I glimpsed a smiling, middle-aged woman in a tweedy jacket, and two spotted dogs sat at her feet. Except for the table, the room had no other furniture. The white walls and ceiling gave off a clean, astringent smell with a trace of camphor. I smelled something else, too, dirt and darkness, making me think that I’d fallen into a rabbit hole.

  Walpole sprayed Raphael and me with something that smelled faintly of chlorine bleach. He set the guns on the table, pulled off his helmet, and scraped his gloved hands through his hair. Sweaty, taffy-colored strands jutted up in all directions. Then he picked up his pistol. If he’d held a torch rather than a gun, he would have been a dead ringer for the Statue of Liberty.

  Raphael nodded at the gun. “Caro and I aren’t armed. If you don’t put away those weapons, we’re leaving.”

  Walpole continued to hold the gun. “Is that a threat?”

  “No, but you could accidentally shoot someone I love,” Raphael said.

  When Walpole didn’t lower the gun, Raphael touched the back of my hand. “We’re wasting our time, Caro. Let’s go.”

  As he led me to the front door, my shoulders tightened. I didn’t like turning my back on Walpole.

  “You’re wrong,” the doctor called. “I would never shoot anyone in the back.”

  I bit my lip. So much for blocking my thoughts. What els
e had he picked up? I turned. He set the gun on the table and held up his hands, fingers splayed.

  I stepped toward him. “It’s good to meet you, Walpole.”

  He moved back. His eye went to the gun, then flicked back to me. “Did the Al-Dîn Corp send you?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “How can I be sure?”

  “I don’t care if you’re sure,” I said.

  Raphael put a warning hand on my elbow.

  Walpole tilted his head. “You’re really not here to kill me?”

  “My husband went on an expedition to Gabon ten years ago, and he didn’t come home.” I watched his face. How was his paranoid brain processing this information?

  “What does that have to do with me?” he asked.

  “You were on that expedition. My husband’s name was Jude Barrett. I need to know what happened to him.”

  “Why should I tell you?” Walpole said. “Because you want to put your husband’s ghost to rest?”

  Raphael squeezed my hand, and then his voice sliced through my head. Quick, close your thoughts.

  Something seemed to uncoil from Walpole’s eye, a force that reached inside me and tugged, as if a rubber stopper had been pulled from a drain. I felt a heaviness move inside me, the weight of water as it spiraled down a pipe. Then I felt the twisty thing leave.

  Walpole’s good eye cut to Raphael. “Oh, I see. She won’t consummate the relationship. Which shouldn’t be confused with consommé. Though the truth is slippery as soup on a spoon.” He turned back to me and grinned, showing crooked white teeth. “Isn’t it, missy miss?”

  My cheeks burned. Walpole’s gaze sharpened. “What’s his name again?” he asked.

  “Jude Barrett.”

  Walpole’s eye circled my face. “Was he a big chap? A biochemist? Early thirties? British, wasn’t he?

  I nodded.

  “I see.” His eyelid twitched, giving his face a lunatic sharpness. “What’s your question?”

  “Was my husband wearing his wedding ring?”

  Walpole gave me a pitiable look. “Why do you ask? Because you think he and Tatiana were snogging?”

  “Are we talking about the same Dr. Barrett? Who is Tatiana?”

  “The team leader,” Walpole said. “Russian. Quite pretty. Crawling with STDs, I’m sure. I stayed away from her. But the other chaps didn’t.”

  “So, do you remember if Dr. Barrett wore his wedding band?” I asked.

  “Actually, I do. He was in my tent one day, and I saw it on his finger.” Walpole’s eye narrowed. “Anything else?”

  “Just one,” Raphael said. “What happened on that expedition? How did you escape?”

  “That’s two questions,” Walpole said.

  “Here’s a third,” Raphael said. “Was Jude wearing his ring when trouble started at the camp?”

  “How would I know? Every day was troubled. Why all this fuss over a ring? And please don’t tell me it’s a family heirloom.”

  “You’re right,” Raphael said. “It’s about more than a ring. I’m in love with Caro, but our relationship is going nowhere. She needs closure. We’d appreciate anything you can tell us about Jude.”

  I tried to find an empty space in my thoughts, but it was damned hard.

  Walpole rubbed his temple, as if the gentle movement helped loosen the memories. “I’ve got to be honest…” He paused and looked down at his gloved hands.

  I felt so disappointed. Usually a liar will preface a sentence with To be honest, but I tried to keep an open mind. Maybe Walpole would tell the truth.

  “I only saw Dr. Barrett once,” he said, averting his gaze. “I don’t know what happened after the mercenaries arrived.”

  “Mercenaries?” I said.

  “You didn’t know?” Walpole gave me a pitiable look.

  “Initially I was told that the team had gone missing,” I said. “Then I found out about the fire. The camp was burned, wasn’t it?”

  “I suppose all of that’s true—technically.” Walpole sniggered. “I can’t give you a time frame. It was so long ago. Early one morning, just before dawn, I heard gunfire. I got up and looked out my flap. Mercenaries were all over. I didn’t want those ugly men to touch me. So I cut a slit in the back of my tent and ran into the trees.”

  “So you didn’t see what happened to Jude?” Raphael asked.

  “How could I?” Walpole’s eyelid moved up, as if it had been stitched tightly to his brow. “The mercenaries had lit a huge fire. Smoke was everywhere. Men were screaming. I ran. I kept going until I reached the waterfalls. Then I got caught piggy-in-the-middle by daylight. That’s how I lost my eye. I hid behind the falls, but the water didn’t quite cover me.”

  “Why were the mercenaries at the camp?” Raphael asked. “To guard the scientists?”

  “No, we had Congolese guards. They were killed, too.”

  “Too?” I cried.

  Arrapato began to whimper, and Raphael stroked his head.

  Walpole’s eye moved to the dog, then up to Raphael. “I went back to the camp after sunset. The bodies had been piled up like cordwood. Nick Parnell was poking around the camp—he’d escaped, too. He told me that the mercenaries had killed everyone. I hope they ripped Tatiana apart.”

  The level of anger in his voice surprised me. “Excuse me?”

  “I hated her,” Walpole said. “We all hated her. She took a fancy to your husband.”

  What was he implying? I struggled to keep my face slack.

  “Tatiana went into his tent several times,” Walpole said.

  “How do you know?” I narrowed my eyes. “A few minutes ago, you claimed that you saw Jude once.”

  “His tent was near mine. I saw Tatiana go in and out. When she went into a man’s tent, it wasn’t to discuss business. Like I said, everyone slept with her. Except me.”

  I swallowed. I just couldn’t believe it. Jude hadn’t been the type to womanize. Our vows had been a sacrament.

  “Don’t mourn him,” Walpole said. “Build a life with Toto and the Wizard. By the way, don’t bother to look me up again. I’ll be gone by this time tomorrow.”

  Raphael sighed. “What happened after you got out of the jungle? Did you contact Al-Dîn? Did you tell them what happened?”

  “No.” Walpole ran his hand through his hair.

  “Why not?” Raphael looked puzzled. “Are you telling us everything?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why have you been in hiding for the past decade?” Raphael said.

  “Why are you turning this interview into an interrogation?” Walpole snapped. “But you seem like a decent chap, so I’ll explain. I don’t like to stay long in one place—too many germs.”

  “You’re a vampire,” Raphael said. “You have a superior immune system. Why would you worry?”

  “Germ warfare,” he said. “The Chinese are involved. I’m serious. Bird flu is coming. H5N1 will recombine. When it’s airborne, look out; vampires are going down.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Vivi

  The next morning Vivi stood in front of the Alpine Center with Gillian and Fielding, watching the glacier goats trot down the main street. Tourists were lined up on both sides of the street, aiming their cameras at the herd.

  Vivi reached out and her hand skimmed over a goat. It seemed as if she’d left Australia a thousand years ago, but it had been only eleven days. She’d never been this happy, and she was starting to think about the future. One day she would live in Zermatt, and she’d get a pet goat. She’d learn how to hang glide and ski. She might even climb the Matterhorn.

  Gillian took Vivi’s hand. “Let’s walk around.” Fielding and two bodyguards scurried behind them. They rode the train to the Matterhorn, past the glaciers, and returned to town late that afternoon. They stopped in a jewelry store, and Gillian bought herself a diamond horseshoe ring. It fit perfectly on her pinkie finger. Vivi was hungry, so they went into the Portofino Grill and stepped around an old boat, where the antipast
i was set out, and moved into the crowded blue dining room.

  After Vivi was seated, she looked up at Gillian. “Did my mom have a nervous breakdown? Because she never lets me do stuff like this.”

  “Your mom is fine,” Gillian said, lifting her menu. “Don’t question every little thing she does.”

  “Why not?” Vivi asked. “She questions me.”

  “Enjoy the moment,” Gillian said.

  “Because it’ll pass?”

  “Sugar, everything passes.”

  Vivi’s hand stole across the table, and she touched Gillian’s new ring. “I wish you weren’t leaving tomorrow.”

  “I’ll be at Raphael’s villa if you need me. You know the phone number?”

  “Mom does.”

  “I’ve never been to Italy,” Gillian said. “Think I’ll like it?”

  “Raphael lives on an island. It’s close to Murano. The décor is red, white, and black.”

  “Sounds pretty,” Gillian said, then looked down at her ring. “I think our luck is fixing to change.”

  Hours later, Vivi walked into the hotel suite, loaded with packages. The room was dark, the curtains pulled tightly over the sunny windows, hiding the view.

  “Hey, Meep,” Caro said, coming out of her bedroom.

  “Look what Gillian and I bought,” Vivi said.

  She followed her mom into the bedroom and dumped the bags on the bed. Caro began folding the white blouses and beige denims.

  “Gillian told me to buy neutrals,” Vivi said.

  “I love what you picked out,” Caro said.

  Vivi sat on the bed, watching her mom work on each garment, flattening the edges with her palms. “Gillian says we’re leaving Zermatt,” she said. “She’s going to Italy.”

  “She’ll love it, won’t she?” Caro lifted a striped tan blazer.

  Vivi folded her arms. “Where is Raphael taking us now?”

  “Paris.” Caro set the blazer on the bed and reached for an ecru sleeveless top.

  “Can’t I go to Villa Primaverina with Gillian?”

  “We’ve got an appointment with Dr. d’Aigreville in Paris.”

  “We? When did you and Raphael become a we?”

  “We’re not.”