Dangerous Master

by Tawny Taylor

  The attacker’s limp, lifeless body fell to the ground.

  Zane rushed to her.

  Mandy gasped in horror when he came closer.

  His mouth, chin, and neck were covered in some slimy substance. Blood, but a darker shade, perhaps. He said something. Mandy didn’t hear. She was too focused on how he looked, at the elongated fangs gleaming in the dim light. At the creepy red light seeming to glow from his pupils.

  He was a monster.

  She shrank away from his touch.

  Someone shouted from the hotel’s door.

  She twisted her head to see who it was. When she turned back around a split second later, Zane was gone. So was the attacker’s body.

  Gone.

  The Mercedes’s alarm cut off.

  A man walked up to her. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m ...” Mandy glanced around. “Someone attacked me.” She wrapped her arm around her aching rib cage. “Please call nine-one-one.”

  The stranger pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and made the call.

  What felt like a lifetime later, a stampede of police, fire, and rescue vehicles descended upon her, lights flashing red and blue and white. She was questioned by a police officer. She was lifted onto a gurney and questioned some more. She told the EMS guys where she was hurt, and while they fought to put in an IV, she told her story to yet another pack of police officers. She told them about being jumped. About a second stranger coming to her rescue. And about them both disappearing. She left out a few details, however, figuring the police officers would think she was either delusional or on drugs.

  She didn’t give them Zane’s name. Not when telling them about the fight. Not when she was asked who she’d like them to contact. When asked for an emergency contact, she gave them Sarah’s cell phone number without a second thought.

  The area was cordoned off. She was put into an ambulance and was bumped and jostled to a nearby hospital.

  Sarah was there, waiting for her, when she was wheeled into the ER. Sarah took one look at her and went ghostly white.

  Mandy tried to reassure her. “I’m okay, Sarah.”

  Sarah white-knuckled the gurney’s railing. “Ohmygod, Mandy. Oh my freaking God.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  The EMS guy pushing the bed gave it a nudge forward, and Sarah dragged along. “Miss, I’m sorry but you’re going to have to wait out here.”

  “But my friend—”

  “She’s stable. We need to get her in and have her looked at. They’ll call you back as soon as they can.”

  Mandy grabbed Sarah’s hand, gave it a squeeze. “Sarah, I’m not dying. I promise.”

  Sarah took a step back. Her eyes were very red, her face very white. It was a stark contrast. Shaking hands covered her mouth.

  The gurney was wheeled into a room. Mandy was helped onto a hospital bed. The EMS guys wished her luck and off they went, leaving her to lie there in pain. Now she wished Sarah was there with her. At least her rapid-shot questions would have distracted her from the pain a little. Her side was killing her. Every time she inhaled, a sharp blade of pain sliced into her rib cage, nearly taking her breath away.

  Why had that awful man attacked her?

  A cheery nurse came in, asking her how she was feeling.

  “Pain,” was all Mandy said.

  She did what she had to and left, promising a doctor would be in shortly.

  Much to Mandy’s surprise, a doctor did come into her room soon afterward. He was young. He was smiling. There was nothing to smile about.

  “I need drugs,” Mandy said to him before he’d spoken a word.

  “Let me see what we have going on. If it’s safe, we’ll get you something. Now, what happened?”

  Mandy went through the whole thing for the umpteenth time, this time focusing on where she’d been struck and where she hurt. He poked and prodded, finally saying, “We’ll need to run some tests.”

  “Drugs?”

  “I can give you a little something.”

  “Thank you.”

  Twenty minutes later, Mandy was feeling much better.

  Sarah dashed in shortly after the drugs kicked in. She ran up to the bed and stared down at Mandy, looking as horrified as Mandy had ever seen her. “What happened? Ohmygod, this is my fault! I should’ve gone with you. Why didn’t I? Because I wanted to have sex with a fucking married cop? That was no reason to abandon you!”

  The words were coming too fast for Mandy’s drug-hazed brain to register them. But she got the overall message. “Hon, it isn’t your fault. I was doing what I always do. Some man I’ve never seen before decided to attack me.”

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “I don’t understand it. Why would anyone attack you? Unless. . . Did he look familiar? Was he one of the husbands we’ve nailed?”

  “No.”

  “Huh.” Sarah dragged a wheeled stool to her bedside and plopped onto it. “So, what happened after he kicked your ass? Did he just leave?”

  “Not exactly. Zane showed up and sort of kicked his ass for me.”

  “Zane?”

  “It gets weirder. The fight was like nothing I’d ever seen. Zane and the bad guy were like ... unnaturally strong. They were throwing each other twenty, thirty feet.”

  Sarah gave Mandy a strange look.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Yes, I had been unconscious at one point. Strangled.” Mandy fingered her neck. “But I know what I saw wasn’t a hallucination.”

  “Who won the fight?”

  Mandy’s eyelids were growing heavy. Tired. Very tired. She let them shutter out the bright lights. “Zane. He bit the other guy. It was disgusting.”

  “I don’t know. To me, it sounds like you might’ve had a near-death experience. And your brain probably created that whole scenario, based upon what Zane had told you recently. I’ve read some research about near-death experiences.”

  “I’m sure what I saw was real,” Mandy mumbled, slipping into a shallow semisleep. “Enough about that. Why were you crying?”

  “We can talk about it later. Rest.” Sarah’s hand settled on top of hers.

  Mandy nodded. “Later.” She let herself tumble into a deep sleep.

  23

  “Amanda, I’m going to take you home now.”

  Zane?

  Was she dreaming?

  “Amanda.”

  Zane again.

  She opened her eyes.

  No, she wasn’t dreaming. It was him. He looked perfectly normal. No bruises. No swelling. No blood.

  Had she been hallucinating after all? It was maybe possible. Her brain had been deprived of oxygen for over a minute. Maybe longer.

  “Where’s Sarah?” she croaked. Her throat was so sore. Dry.

  “It’s okay, baby. I’m going to take care of you.”

  She tried to move. It hurt like hell. She quickly decided she was better off staying right where she was. “Hurts.” She gently placed her flattened hand on her side. It was bandaged. When had they done that?

  “You have a couple of broken ribs. I can give you some more pain medication when we get home.” He clicked the side rail down and carefully scooped her into his arms to transfer her to the wheelchair sitting next to the bed.

  The world spun. She groaned. “Sick. Hurt.”

  “Sorry, baby. I’ll try to make this as painless as I can.”

  She was wheeled to the exit, where she waited inside with a security guard while Zane ran out to get his car. He pulled up to the entry, and she was helped into the car’s comfy leather seat. A few minutes later, she was reclined, eyes closed, while the vehicle prowled the quiet, empty streets. She woke up to discover Zane had brought her to his house.

  “You’ll be safer here,” he explained as he pulled the car into the attached garage.

  “Am I in danger?”

  He cut off the engine. “Not from the bastard who attacked you. He won’t be hurting anyone ever again. B
ut I didn’t find out who hired him.”

  “Someone hired him?”

  “He’s been on our Most Wanted list for centuries. Damn good at his job.”

  In other words, she had probably used up a lifetime’s worth of good luck tonight, just by surviving.

  “What were you doing at the hotel?” she asked him after he walked around the car and opened her door.

  “Let’s get you inside first. Then we can talk.” He helped her out of the car, supporting her as she walked—she insisted he not carry her. Her rib cage hurt less when she walked. He took her upstairs, to the guest room where she’d stayed before. He pulled some cozy pajamas out of the dresser, set them on the bed, and told her he’d go down to get her something to wash down her pills.

  It was not easy, but she finally exchanged her dirty, torn clothes for the pajamas. She also stumbled her way into the bathroom, brushed her teeth with the toothbrush that she’d left there the last time she’d stayed, and went to the bathroom. By the time she was finished with all that, Zane was waiting for her with a tall glass of ginger ale and a bottle of pills.

  Of course, he rushed to her side the minute she opened the bathroom door. He helped her to the bed, treating her like she was made of delicate china. Once she was settled in, he handed her the glass and two pills.

  “Thank you,” she said, searching his face for any sign of injury. He hadn’t denied being there, in the parking lot. So she knew that much had truly happened.

  But what about... ?

  “I’ll explain everything once you’re feeling better,” he said. He leaned close, arms extended, hands braced on either side of her body. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  She palmed his cheek. “You weren’t hurt?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She let her hand fall to the bed. Her gaze followed it. “I need to know. Was what I saw real?”

  He pinched her chin and lifted it, not speaking until she’d met his gaze again. “What did you see?”

  “You and the attacker fighting. Throwing each other impossible distances. Tossing each other like you were both weightless.” She hesitated to say more. Her gaze drifted back to the bed.

  “What else did you see?”

  “I saw you bite him. The blood.”

  He said, “It was real.” Her insides twisted. “I was hoping you hadn’t seen that. You’re afraid of me now.”

  “Not afraid. Uneasy.”

  He backed away. When she lifted her gaze to his face, she saw his expression had turned a little distant, a little cool. He was pulling back, no doubt because of what she’d said.

  “You saved my life,” she said. He nodded but he didn’t respond. “I’ll always remember.”

  “I don’t want your gratitude.” He turned and left the room.

  The next two days passed by in a blur. Part of it was the painkillers. They tended to keep Mandy in a cloud. She slept a lot, spending her waking moments taking care of basic essentials like using the bathroom, eating, calling Sarah to check on her.

  Zane was a kind and generous host. He brought her food, he brought her clean clothes, he showed her how to operate the flat-screen television, and he bought her books. During the day, he would check on her hourly. At night, he let her sleep. Mandy asked nothing more about the attack. Zane offered no more information. Nor did he tell her when it would be safe for her to return home. On the third day, she woke up feeling much better. The pain had subsided enough that she didn’t need to take the heavy-duty medication. As a result, her mind was clearer.

  She needed to get out of this room.

  After taking a long, almost scalding-hot shower, she changed into clean clothes. Following the mouthwatering scent of cooking food and freshly brewed coffee, she barefooted it down to the kitchen.

  Zane was standing at the counter, watching the news on the little flat-screen television suspended from the cabinets and cutting up a melon. He was wearing that silly apron again. One day, she’d have to take a picture... .

  Her camera! She needed to find out if it was still in her pocket. For all she knew, it had fallen out in the parking lot.

  Zane glanced over his shoulder. “Good morning. You’re up.”

  “Yes. Up and clean. I took a shower.”

  “Feeling better?”

  “I am. Thanks.” Mandy settled onto one of the raised stools lining the breakfast counter while Zane poured a glass of orange juice. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “For everything.”

  His smile was distant.

  “I know, you don’t want my gratitude,” she said, remembering his parting words the night she’d been attacked.

  Zane placed the melon chunks into a bowl and set them on the breakfast bar. “That’s right. No gratitude.”

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  Zane went to the stove, stirring whatever was cooking in the cast-iron skillet. “I want you to heal.” He poured what looked like scrambled eggs onto a plate. “I want you to be safe.” He added a couple of slices of buttered toast to the plate and set it down in front of her.

  “I think I’m well on my way to being healed.”

  “Good.”

  “But I don’t know about the other. Have you found out anything about the attacker? What about the police? You haven’t said a word about the attack since you brought me here.”

  “The police have nothing. I’m not doing much better. All I know is that the bastard was hired to kill you. And in case you were wondering, he is one of us.”

  “Us? As in a vampire?”

  “That’s right.”

  Mandy tried to piece it together while she ate. Zane cleaned the kitchen.

  Someone wanted her dead. Who? Why?

  The most obvious answer to that question was an angry ex-husband. Revenge being the reason why. Oddly, despite the fact that she’d made a living digging up dirt on cheating spouses, she’d never expected anyone to go this far. Vandalize her car, maybe. Break a window or make a phone threat, sure. But hire a hit man to kill her?

  She mentally ran through the list of her former clients’ husbands. She couldn’t imagine any of them doing such a thing. None of them had violent criminal backgrounds. The first thing she did when she took on a new client was look at the husband’s criminal record, if he had one. The worst had been Mr. Travis. He’d collected hundreds of unpaid speeding tickets and landed in jail for driving on a suspended license.

  Maybe one of them had become violent after the divorce?

  Or maybe it was that bitch who’d punched her.

  By the time she was finished with her breakfast, Zane had left to tackle some other chore. He was definitely not himself today. But that was a whole nother problem.

  First things first. She located her cell phone upstairs in the guest room and called Sarah.

  “Mandy!” Sarah screeched.

  Mandy yanked the phone away from her ear to protect her eardrum. When the squealing ended, she reluctantly placed the phone to her ear again. “Wow, that was some greeting.”

  “I am so relieved to talk to you. You have no idea how much I’ve been worrying.”

  “Didn’t Zane tell you he was bringing me to his place?”

  “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to worry. After everything that man has put you through, I have good reason.”

  So true. “I’m fine. Feeling better. I could probably head into work, but I doubt Zane would like that idea very much.”

  “Don’t do it. Zane may be a lot of things—heartless and insanely stubborn, for instance—but when it comes to keeping people safe, I have no doubt he’s more than capable.”

  Easing onto the bed, Mandy sighed. “I don’t like being cooped up like this.”

  “I hear you. But would you rather be dead?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, then ...”

  “Fine. Listen. I need you to do something for me.”

  “Anything.”

 
; “Do a criminal record check for all the cases we’ve taken in the last six months or so. See if any of the husbands have been arrested for any violent crimes. Also, dig up what you can on Clark’s neighbor, the one with the mean left hook.”

  “Will do.”

  “Also, could you go over to the hotel where I was attacked and take a look around the parking lot? See if the police missed anything?”

  “How likely is that?”

  “Extremely unlikely, but I want to find out who wants me dead sooner rather than later. If I have to hide out for more than a few days, I may go insane.” After a beat, she asked, “Hey, you never told me, what happened with Valdez?”

  Sarah sighed. “He’s an ass, not worth talking about. You’ll be glad to hear it’s over. I learned my lesson. Never again.”

  “I’m sorry, hon.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not. I’d better get going if you want me to get all this research done so you can get out of the Bat Cave.”

  “Okay. But only if you’re sure you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later then.” She ended the call, then went in search of Zane to ask him about her clothes. She checked the most obvious places for him first, like the kitchen, the family room, the home office. Finally, she headed back upstairs and pressed her ear to his bedroom door. It was closed.

  She heard the distant sound of running water.

  Assuming he’d be occupied for at least twenty minutes or so, she went in search of the laundry facilities. In most houses, they were in the basement. In fancy houses like this, they could be anywhere. After checking all the doors up on the second level and coming up with nothing, she went down to the first floor. In searching for a laundry room, she discovered a nicely furnished home office, a sparsely stocked walk-in pantry, the basement stairs, two half baths, and a coatroom full of very nice wool and leather coats and expensive men’s shoes. No laundry room.

  The next stop: the basement. She flipped on the light and descended. The main space was set up as a home theater, complete with reclining seats set onto shallow risers. The doors leading out were painted to match the wall, making them blend in. Mandy tried one, found it led to an empty storage area. She tried the other.