by Lynsay Sands
Jeanne Louise peered more closely at him now, noting the buzz cut hair, dark brown eyebrows, green eyes and pleasant smile. He was a good-looking man. It was hard to imagine she hadn’t noticed him in the cafeteria at some point over these supposed years they’d had breaks together. But then she did tend to get into her work and walk around a little oblivious a lot of the time, she supposed. Jeanne Louise wanted desperately to find the cure for her uncle and cousin and even took her notes with her when she went for her breaks so that she could glance over them while she ate. As focused as she was on her obsession, Jeanne Louise supposed Uncle Lucian himself could have been in the seat next to her and unless he said or did something to catch her attention, she probably wouldn’t notice.
Her eyes shot back to his as something he’d said caught her attention. Eyes narrowing, she asked, “Until a month ago? Don’t you work for Argeneau Enterprises anymore?”
“Yes, I do,” he said quietly. “I took a couple months off.”
Jeanne Louise stared at him silently, processing this information. If this plan, whatever it was, hadn’t been in his mind before he’d taken the break . . . well, it may be that no one had messed up after all. There wouldn’t have been anything for one of the team who kept tabs on mortals to find.
“Eat?” he asked quietly, urging the forkful of food closer to her lips.
Jeanne Louise’s eyes dropped to the fork and she almost shook her head in refusal on principle alone, but it seemed like cutting off her nose to spite her face when her stomach was rumbling eagerly and her mouth filling with saliva at just the prospect of the food he offered. Sighing, she opened her mouth somewhat resentfully, closed it around the fork when he slid it carefully inside, and then drew the food off with compressed lips as he removed it. They were silent, eyeing each other as she chewed and swallowed and then he scooped up another forkful for her.
“It would be easier if I could just feed myself,” she pointed out dryly when he raised the next forkful.
“Yes, it would,” he agreed mildly and when she opened her mouth to snap a bit impatiently that she’d prefer that, he slid the fork in, silencing her before the first word could leave her lips. As she chewed, he added, “But I know your kind are very strong and I don’t want to risk you trying to escape. I’m sure once you understand the situation, there won’t need to be such caution. But until then . . . this is just the better way to handle things.”
“My kind,” Jeanne Louise muttered the moment she’d swallowed. “We are human, you know.”
“But not mortal,” he said quietly.
“The heck we aren’t. We can die just like you can. We’re just harder to kill. And live longer,” she added reluctantly.
“And stay young, and resist disease, and can self-heal,” he said quietly, slipping another forkful of food into her mouth.
Jeanne Louise eyed him as she chewed and swallowed and then said, “So let me guess, you want that. To be young, to live longer, be stronger, be—”
He shook his head and silenced her by slipping another forkful of food past her lips even as he assured her, “I don’t.”
“Then what do you want?” Jeanne Louise asked with frustration when she could speak again. “What is this proposition?”
He hesitated and she could see the debate going on behind his eyes, but in the end he shook his head again. “Not yet.”
This time when he raised the fork to her lips, she turned her head away and muttered, “I’m not hungry,” and meant it. She was too frustrated and angry to care about food anymore. Besides what she’d eaten had taken the edge off her hunger.
He was silent for a minute, but then sighed, set the fork on the still half-full plate and stood. “I’ll let you rest for a bit. The drug should be out of your system by the time you wake up again. We can talk then.”
Jeanne Louise didn’t even acknowledge his words with a glance, but stared grimly at the wall as he bent and did something to make the bed slide back into a flat position. She didn’t move until she heard his footsteps cross the floor and the door open and close. Then Jeanne Louise slowly allowed herself to relax and let her eyes slip shut.
She wanted out of there and back to her own life. But she was also tired, and there was little she could do until the last of the drug wore off. The moment that happened though, she would take control of the situation and make the man release her, Jeanne Louise promised herself. He wouldn’t be expecting that. While there were mortals who knew about them and knew some of their skills and strengths, the immortals’ ability to read and control minds was not usually one of the skills revealed. Mortals didn’t take the knowledge of those attributes well. It tended to freak them out to know their thoughts could be heard, and “her kind” had learned over the years to just keep that bit of knowledge to themselves. Of course if his job had depended on that knowledge, he might have been given it. But Jeanne Louise doubted that was the case or he would keep her drugged rather than wait for her head to completely clear to make this proposition he had.
Whoever he was, she thought with a frown as it occurred to her that she had no idea what his name was or much of anything else really. All she knew was that he worked in R and D at Argeneau Enterprises and took the same breakfast break as she did.
Which meant he probably worked the night shift too. That was interesting. Mortals usually didn’t like the night shift. It was usually full of immortals, while the mortals stuck to the day shifts. She wondered briefly why he would work the night shift, and then let the matter go. She needed to rest. Jeanne Louise wanted to be awake and alert when he returned.
Paul pulled the door closed behind him with a little sigh and moved up the hall to the stairs, his mind running over everything he’d done so far, looking for any problems that might arise, but he didn’t see any. He’d waited until she was off Argeneau property and away from the cameras on the grounds before making his move and it had all gone as smoothly as he’d hoped.
Hers had been the only car at the traffic light when Paul had hit her with the tranquilizer. That, of course, had been pure luck. God or the Fates had been smiling down on him this morning.
The tranq had worked as quickly as it did in testing and it had only taken seconds for him to get out of the backseat, shift her to the passenger seat and slide behind the wheel himself. The whole thing had been over within a moment.
The only place where he could see a problem was when he’d crawled out of Lester’s trunk and got into the backseat of her car at Argeneau Enterprises in full view of at least three security cameras. But he’d worn dark clothes, and a balaclava to cover his face. There wouldn’t have been much for the cameras to catch. Paul had snuck onto the property in the trunk of Lester’s car, but there wasn’t anything the other man could tell them. Paul had broken into Lester’s garage, jimmied his trunk open, got in, and hitched a ride into Argeneau Enterprises. It meant he’d had to hold it not quite closed until the end of the long night shift.
Moments before Lester had returned to the car, Paul had slid out of the trunk and made his way to Jeanne Louise Argeneau’s car. His main concern had been that it might be locked, but few bothered in the parking garage. It was so well patrolled and had so many damned cameras, no one would try anything there as a rule. Much to his relief, Jeanne Louise hadn’t had her car locked, and she hadn’t worked past her usual half hour after end of shift but had arrived just moments after he’d gotten in. If Paul was spotted moving from one car to the other on the cameras and security had been on their way, they’d been too late. His only worry now was that Lester might be thought of as a co-conspirator in the whole business and get in trouble. That would make him feel bad. Lester was a good guy.
Aware that he couldn’t do a damned thing for the man right now, Paul pushed that worry away as he mounted the steps out of the basement. They came out in the kitchen, and he headed for the sink, intending to dump the food Jeanne Louise had left unfinished and rinse the plate. But halfway there he changed direction and instead walk
ed out of the room and up the hall to the stairs to the second floor. Paul mounted those quickly, slipping one hand under the plate as he went to check that the food was still warm. It was and still looked fresh and tasty enough that it made him hungry. He only hoped Livy would think so too, but feared she wouldn’t. Nothing seemed to tempt her appetite anymore.
“Daddy?”
Paul forced a smile at that soft query as he crossed the pretty pink bedroom to the canopied bed to peer down at the little blond slip of a girl who almost disappeared in all the soft fluffy pillows and comforter. “Yes, baby. I’m here.”
“Mrs. Stuart said you went to work last night,” she said with a hurt expression.
“Yes, baby. Just for a bit. I’m back though,” he said quietly, not surprised that she knew. Paul had driven Jeanne Louise’s car to the parking lot where his own car had waited, relieved to find it empty. He’d quickly switched her to his car, then had driven straight home and into his garage. He’d carried her down into the basement through the garage door to chain her up before heading into the house proper and finding the babysitter.
Mrs. Stuart had reported that Livy had suffered a rough night then. He’d been disappointed but not surprised by the news. They all seemed to be bad lately. But not for long, Paul reassured himself and then tipped the plate of food slightly for her to see. “Are you hungry?”
“No,” she said dully, turning her head away from the food he presented.
Paul hesitated, but then said gently, “Sweetie, you have to eat to keep your strength up so you can get healthy again.”
“Mrs. Stuart said I wasn’t going to get healthy again. That God was . . .” Livy frowned as if trying to recall the exact wording and then said, “calling me home to be with Him. She said if I was very good and He liked me, maybe I’d get to see Mommy. But she doubted He would ’cause I was naughty and crying. Do you think God will like me even though I was crying?”
Paul simply stood frozen. All the blood seemed to have slid from his head and down his body to pool in his feet, leaving him empty and weak. His brain was having trouble processing what she had said. And then the blood came pounding back, rushing up through his body and slamming into his brain, bringing a burning rage with it.
He didn’t say a word; he didn’t dare. The expletives roaring through his head were not for a child’s ears. After a moment of struggle, Paul managed to bark one word, “Yes.” Then he turned stiffly and simply walked out of the room, straight downstairs and back into the kitchen. His movements were jerky and automatic as he scraped the food off the plate into the garbage pail. He then walked to the sink, but rather than rinse it under the tap as intended, Paul suddenly found himself smashing the empty plate across the top of it. He didn’t even realize he was going to do it, and hardly noticed let alone cared that bits of shattered glass flew up to spike his face and neck.
The stupid vicious, nasty old cow. He never should have had Mrs. Stuart watch Livy. He’d known she wouldn’t be able to keep her Bible-thumping to herself, but he’d had no choice. Mrs. Stuart used to be a nurse before retiring, and there was no one else he’d trusted to know what to do if there had been a problem. But he’d never let the old bitch near her again. If she was good, God might like her? But he probably wouldn’t because she’d cried? The child was dying of cancer, being eaten alive, wasting away and suffering a pain that he couldn’t even comprehend, and couldn’t prevent. They had given him a prescription for pain meds for Livy, and the strongest dosage they could, but they did little for the girl. The only other option was to keep her sedated in hospital until she died and he refused to do that. He wouldn’t simply watch her die. He wanted her cured, but until then, nothing seemed to ease the pain she was suffering and for Mrs. Stuart to suggest that her crying because of that excruciating pain might make God not like her so she wouldn’t see her mother—
“Daddy?”
Stiffening, Paul sucked in a breath to calm himself and then turned to peer blankly at the five-year-old girl standing in the kitchen doorway. In the next moment, he was rushing forward to scoop her up. “What are you doing out of bed, baby? You shouldn’t be up.”
“I’m tired of staying in bed,” Livy said unhappily and then reached up to touch his chin. “You’re bleeding. Did you cut yourself?”
“No. Yes. Daddy’s fine,” Paul assured her grimly, carrying her back to the stairs and up. She was all bones and pale skin and his heart ached as he held her. The child was precious, the most precious thing in his life. Paul lived for her, and he’d die for her too if he had to. But for now, he’d put her back to bed and then catch a couple hours of sleep himself. He’d stayed awake all night and needed to be alert and on the ball when he talked to Jeanne Louise Argeneau. He needed to be clear and persuasive. He needed to convince her to make his child one of her kind. He’d give her anything she wanted to get her to do that, including his own life, just so long as she turned her and taught her to survive as a vampire. He’d give anything and everything to know she lived on. He’d failed her mother, his wife, Jerri. But he wouldn’t fail Livy. He had to convince Jeanne Louise to save her life. She was his only hope.
Two
Jeanne Louise woke to the awareness that she wasn’t alone. It wasn’t instinct. It was the hum of a mortal’s thoughts playing on the periphery of her mind. They buzzed there like a bee by her ear, soft and, at first, not entirely intelligible as she slid back to consciousness, and then she opened her eyes and turned her head.
She wasn’t surprised to find a child standing at her bedside rather than the man who had left her there. It was something about the thoughts, their tempo and lightness, she supposed. The thoughts she’d awakened to had been soft, questing, curious like a child’s rather than heavy and defensive and even fearful like an adult mortal’s usually were.
Jeanne Louise stared at the girl for a moment, taking in the pallor to her skin and thinness of her body. The child looked like a stiff wind would take her away, and one inhalation told her the child wasn’t well. She caught a strong whiff of the sickly sweet stench of illness coming from her. The child was dying, Jeanne Louise realized, and found the thought troubling. Mortals died much younger than immortals, but rarely this young. This was a tragedy. All that hope and promise snuffed out before it had been allowed to bear fruit. It was an abomination.
“Hi,” Jeanne Louise whispered, the word coming out almost a croak. She should have drunk more of the water her captor had offered earlier, she supposed. As he’d promised, it apparently hadn’t been drugged, and it might have eased her condition. Without it, she was now parched either from the tranquilizer dart he’d shot her with or from the nanos’ efforts to remove it from her body as quickly as possible.
Jeanne Louise took a moment to work her tongue in her mouth, building up saliva and swallowing to try to ease the dryness, and then tried again, “Hello. Who are you?”
“I’m Olivia Jean Jones,” the little girl said solemnly, one hand rising to fuss nervously with a strand of her long, lank blond hair. “But everyone calls me Livy.”
Jeanne Louise nodded solemnly. She hadn’t really needed the child to tell her her name. She had already plucked it from her mind along with the name of her father, who was also the man who had kidnapped and chained up Jeanne Louise. Paul Jones.
Leaving that bit of information for now, she quickly rifled through the girl’s mind to see if she would be of any use in getting her free. But the child didn’t seem to even know there was a key to the chains, let alone where it might be. Disappointed but not terribly surprised by the knowledge, she said, “Hello Livy. My name is Jeanne Louise Argeneau.”
Olivia’s eyes widened. “You’re Jean like me.”
“Close,” Jeanne Louise said with a smile.
Livy didn’t question that, but announced, “I’m five.”
When Jeanne Louise merely nodded, she added earnestly, “And I am always polite to my elders, and I’m nice to everyone, and—” She paused and frowned. “Well, except
Jimmy down the road, but he’s always mean to me first,” she added defensively before rushing on. “And I don’t cry much, except sometimes my head hurts real bad and I can’t help it. But I try not to, and I try not to lie either because that’s a sin, and I like flowers and puppies and . . .” Livy paused and bit her lip and then asked, “Do you think God will like me?”
Jeanne Louise stilled in the bed at the question and the worry behind it, and then slipped into the girl’s thoughts, sifting for the source of it. Her mouth tightened as she touched on the memory of a tired and cranky older woman warning this small waiflike child that she wouldn’t get to see her mom in heaven if God didn’t like her and He didn’t abide crybabies. Jeanne Louise didn’t even hesitate, but quickly eased the child’s fears, fading them in her mind even as she said, “I think He will love you, Livy.”
“Oh.” The girl smiled widely, the worry dropping away under her influence. “I hope so. Then I can see Mommy.”
Jeanne Louise hesitated, unsure how to respond to that, but finally said, “I’m sure your mommy would like that.” She then asked, “So your mother is in heaven?”
Livy nodded and moved closer to the bed. “I don’t remember her much. I was little when she went to the angels. But we have pictures. She was beautiful and she used to sing to me to make me sleep. I don’t remember that but Daddy said she did.”
Jeanne Louise nodded. “Did she have blond hair like you?”
“Yes.” The girl beamed happily. “And she had pretty blue eyes, and Daddy said I got her smile and it’s the prettiest smile in the world.”
“No doubt,” Jeanne Louise said solemnly. “You’re very pretty.”
“You’re pretty too,” Livy said kindly, and then suddenly seemed to become aware of Jeanne Louise’s state. “Why do you have all that chain on you?”
“We’re playing a game.”
Jeanne Louise glanced sharply to the man who had spoken: her captor, Paul Jones. Better known as Daddy in Livy’s mind, she read even as the girl smiled at the man.
