Dark Obsession

by Amanda Stevens

  “That’s what I want to talk to you about. I think it’s time we started working together.”

  Erin’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious.”

  “Then why haven’t you called me?” Erin hated the way her voice sounded. Her accusation sounded more personal than professional, and that was the last thing she wanted him to think. “Why haven’t you kept me informed?”

  “That’s what I’m here to do now,” he said.

  Erin turned and pushed open the door of the apartment, flipped on the light and set the roses down on the bar that separated the kitchen and living room. She closed the door behind her and carried the remaining packages into the hallway. “I’ll be right back,” she said.

  Leaving her coat in the bedroom, she located Megan’s first-aid kit in the bathroom, then liberally dosed the scratch with antiseptic. As she was putting away the supplies, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Touching the loose curls at her shoulders, she turned first one way and then the other. It really was amazing how different she looked with her hair down, how much she looked like Megan.

  She studied her reflection in the mirror. The black rayon dress she wore swirled around her ankles, and the neckline left her throat and neck completely bare.

  Yes, that’s better.

  Erin paused as the voice fluttered through her mind. She turned, glancing around the room. “Megan?” The only sound was a soft rustle as the curtains at the window stirred slightly in the breeze.

  Slade was standing at the mantel, gazing at the pictures of Erin and Megan when Erin came back into the living room. His head turned toward her, and she knew he was watching her intently as she crossed the room, carrying the vase she’d found in Megan’s room. He held one of the pictures in his hand. It was the one of Erin and Megan and their mother.

  “When was this taken?” he asked.

  Erin resisted the urge to reach out and snatch the picture from his hand. It was too revealing. She hadn’t yet learned to hide her fear. “I was eight and Megan was four,” she said. “It was taken two days before our mother…disappeared.”

  “She was very beautiful,” he said, watching her.

  “Yes, she was.”

  “You look like her.”

  She was surprised by the compliment. Her heart fluttered inside her chest. “I hope that’s where the resemblance ends,” she tried to say lightly.

  “I’m sure of it.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. He returned the picture to the mantel, but before his hand moved away, Erin saw one of his long, thin fingers stroke her image in the photo. It was an oddly compassionate gesture, and the effect on Erin was immediate.

  She turned and walked quickly away from him, her heart thumping against her chest. Better not get too close, she advised herself. Better not want his compassion.

  Her hands were trembling slightly as she picked up the roses and walked around the bar to the kitchen, arranging the flowers in a vase. Slade walked across the room and stood on the other side of the bar, watching her. “Roses don’t suit you,” he said flatly.

  Erin glanced up. “They were Megan’s favorite. In fact, one of the things I learned today was that she bought roses the day she died.” Erin’s voice faltered. She busied herself, putting water in the vase until she was sure she had her emotions under control. Then she walked over and set the vase in the center of the dining room table, at the end of the bar, replacing the wilted ones.

  “What else did you learn?”

  “I learned that she always dressed in black, at least toward the end. That seems to tie in with her obsession with…vampires,” Erin said hesitantly.

  The room grew silent. Erin stared down at the roses. “I know you think I’m crazy,” she said. “I know you don’t believe in vampires.”

  “And you do?”

  “I…think Megan did. I think that’s why she went to the club Racine told us about. I think we should go there, too, Nick.”

  His reaction was immediate. His expression darkened. “I’ll take care of that place. I don’t want you anywhere near it.”

  “But you said it was time we worked together. You want me to tell you everything I learn, but you don’t want to give me anything in return, is that it?”

  “I’m willing to share information with you,” Slade said. “I’m just not willing to risk your life.”

  He stared her down until Erin was forced to look away. “Tell me what you came here to tell me,” she said a little testily.

  Slade gazed around the apartment as if feeling the chill of memories, sensing the ghosts from Erin’s past. “Not here,” he said. “Let’s grab a bite to eat somewhere.”

  “Aren’t you on duty?”

  “This is business,” he said.

  Business not pleasure, Erin thought, feeling unaccountably disappointed. He couldn’t have made himself clearer. “I’ll get my coat and we can go then.”

  He took her to a small restaurant only a few blocks away from the apartment. Rubinoff’s Deli was the kind of neighborhood eatery that New York was famous for. Bells over the door tinkled melodiously as Slade and Erin stepped inside, and the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread, accompanied by the more pungent scent of garlic, permeated the air. Red-and-white-checked tablecloths adorned the half-dozen tables near the rear and candles flickering in fat red jars chased away the gloomy twilight and gave the place a homey, intimate atmosphere.

  Behind a long glass counter, a heavyset man with thick black hair salted with gray stirred a huge, steaming pot of soup. His swarthy face, red and glistening from the hot stove, lit up when he spotted Slade. “Nicholas! I don’t believe my eyes! Where’ve you been hiding all this time?” He wiped his beefy hands on the white apron slung around his neck as he hurried around the counter to clap Slade on the back. “You been working too hard, eh, Nicholas?”

  “You know how it is,” Slade responded noncommittally, steering Erin past the overflowing shelves of bottled delicacies toward a secluded booth in the back.

  “Yeah, I know how it is,” Mr. Rubinoff agreed as he followed on their heels. His gaze frankly appraised Erin as she slid onto the red vinyl booth. “Mama was just saying the other day how much she still misses seeing you. ‘Remember how Nicholas used to come by after school when he was a boy, Papa?’ she said.” His dark, warm gaze included Erin in the conversation. “‘Every day, three-thirty, just like clockwork, Nicholas and Simone would come waltzing through that door.”’

  Slade’s mouth tightened. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Yeah, a long time ago,” Mr. Rubinoff agreed, his smile dimming. “Before you started hiding behind those dark glasses, eh? Before you too busy for your old friends.”

  “That’s not how it is,” Slade said, and Erin was amazed at how defensive he sounded. She’d never seen him like this. So…human. “Things change,” he muttered.

  “Things change,” Mr. Rubinoff echoed. “Now Simone’s gone and you done moved away.” A look of profound sadness passed over the old man’s face, making Erin wonder who Simone was. Why had her name evoked such strong reactions from both men?

  Mr. Rubinoff’s gaze rested on Erin again, and some of the warmth returned to his eyes. “The past is past, though, eh? It’s been eight years. Time to move on. The important thing is that you’ve brought another pretty girl to see me today.”

  The way Mr. Rubinoff was looking at her, beaming first at her and then Slade, made Erin’s face heat with color. She knew that Slade was looking at her, too, and that made her heart beat even faster.

  “This is Erin,” Slade said. “Erin Ramsey. She and I are here to discuss a case I’m working on,” he added pointedly.

  Mr. Rubinoff took the hint. “Fine,” he said, throwing up his hands. “I bring you two plates of Stroganoff and a bottle of my best Romanian wine to enjoy while you talk.”

  “I take it you and Mr. Rubinoff are old friends,” Erin said after the old man had hurried off.

  Slade shrugged.
“My mother used to work here before she remarried and moved south. She and I lived in a little apartment over the restaurant. The Rubinoffs were like my grandparents. They took an interest in everything I did.”

  Erin wanted to ask him about the girl Mr. Rubinoff had mentioned, but something held her back. Slade’s hands were resting on the table, and he was gazing down at them in a way that made Erin wonder if he was the one now being haunted by ghosts. “What about your father?” she asked, instead.

  “He was killed when I was just a kid,” Slade said. “He was a cop.”

  Somehow that information surprised Erin. He seemed like such a loner to her. It was difficult to think of him having a family, a mother who had remarried and a dead father in whose footsteps he’d followed.

  Nick’s just a man, Erin thought. And, like everyone else, he’d been hurt. Perhaps that explained why she’d been so drawn to him from the first, why the kinship between them seemed even stronger tonight. It wasn’t just the physical attraction, Erin admitted reluctantly. It was deeper than that. More profound. And much more dangerous.

  She felt Nick’s eyes on her again, and she averted her gaze.

  Mr. Rubinoff came back with steaming plates and, with a flourish, poured the wine, then waited patiently while Erin sampled them both. “Delicious,” she said, and meant it. The food and wine were just what she’d needed, she realized, not to mention the comfortable atmosphere of the deli.

  She began to relax. The apartment, with all its memories, seemed a long way away from this cheerful place, and she was grateful to Nick for bringing her here, for letting her share in this warmth. For a while, they ate in silence. But then, when they were both finished, Erin knew she couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. She toyed with her wineglass as she gazed at him across the flickering candle. “What have you found out, Nick?”

  He hesitated, then said, “Two bodies were found in an alley down by the river a few nights ago.”

  Erin’s hand jerked, upsetting her wine. Slade’s hand shot out and righted the glass, and for a moment, their fingers brushed. Erin fought the urge to cling to his hand. The warmth from the food and wine suddenly left her. The comfort of the deli fled. “Who were they?”

  “The young woman has been identified as Christina Harris. The other one was an old man. A John Doe.”

  “What’s the connection with Megan?” Erin asked anxiously. “I assume there is one. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

  Slade’s mouth tightened. “There were marks on both their necks. Puncture wounds.”

  Erin felt her breath desert her. “And…the blood…?” She couldn’t even finish the question. Slade nodded briefly, and then they both fell silent.

  Erin’s head reeled. She felt sickened by what she’d heard. She couldn’t stand to think that Megan had been killed by such a cold-blooded monster. The thought that her sister might even have known him, loved him—

  “Who found the bodies?” she asked suddenly.

  “There was an anonymous call to the station. When the officers arrived on the scene, the victims were already dead.”

  “Did they find anything? Any clues? A motive?” she asked desperately.

  “He doesn’t need a motive,” Slade said roughly. “He kills for pleasure. For sport.”

  Erin’s hands were trembling as she looked up at him. “My God, you talk as if you know him.”

  “I do,” Slade said coldly. “I know him as well as I know myself.”

  “Then why can’t you find him?” she cried. “Why can’t you stop him?” She was bordering on hysteria, but she couldn’t help it. It was terrifying to think that such evil really existed, that her nightmares could really come true. “You’ve got to stop him!”

  She was clutching his arm, clinging to his hand. His fingers, warm, strong, comforting, closed around hers. “Take it easy,” he said softly.

  Mr. Rubinoff hurried up to the table. “Everything okay?” His worried gaze took in Erin’s and Slade’s linked hands. Dimly Erin saw what he must have seen—the contrast and the disparity. Nick’s hands were huge and strong and hideously scarred. Erin’s hands were pale and smooth and flawless. But together they formed a bond. An unbreakable connection. He tightened his hold on her, as if he was reading her thoughts, and for a moment Erin thought she’d glimpsed something in his expression, a flash of emotion behind those dark glasses. Something she hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

  Erin’s legs were shaking when she stood to comply.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Slade dropped her off at her apartment, making her promise once again not to open her door to anyone. Erin watched him go with an almost overwhelming feeling of abandonment. He was on duty. She knew he couldn’t stay and baby-sit her all night, but the apartment seemed even colder and gloomier after he left. It was hard not to let her imagination run away with her. Hard not to keep going over and over their conversation in her mind.

  “Two bodies were found in an alley down by the river a few nights ago.

  “There were marks on both their necks. Puncture wounds.”

  Don’t, Erin thought. Don’t think about what that could mean. Don’t think about the nightmares you’ve had and the stories you’ve written. Don’t start thinking they could be true.

  But what if they were true? What if a vampire, just like the one in Demon Lover, stalked in the darkness out there, was even now searching for his next prey? What if he’d already found his next victim? What if it was her?

  The questions echoed off the walls and pounded inside her head. Erin sat on the couch, too scared to even move. Once she and Nick had left the deli, she’d pulled herself together enough to put up a brave front for his benefit, but now that he was gone, the terror closed in on her.

  Two more bodies had been found. Dear God, two more people had been murdered. And there were puncture wounds in their necks. Just like Megan. Just like the characters in her book.

  We’ve been waiting for you, Erin.

  Go back to L.A., she commanded herself. You don’t have to stay here. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not even to yourself.

  Firmly in the grip of panic, Erin jumped up and ran into the bedroom. She grabbed her suitcase and hauled it to the bed, then began flinging her clothes toward it. She was going, she thought, almost numbly. She was going and nothing would stop her, but in almost the same instant, her gaze landed on the recorder she’d placed on the dresser earlier that day. Her frantic movements ceased as she stared at the machine.

  Erin wasn’t sure why it drew her attention, but something compelled her to cross the room and stare down at the recorder, and then suddenly she realized why she felt so uneasy. The recorder was voice activated, and she could see that the tape had been run forward as if it had clicked on in her absence. That could only mean one thing.

  Someone had been in the apartment while she was out.

  Don’t jump to conclusions, she warned herself. Maybe she’d just forgotten to rewind it the last time she’d used it. But Erin was pretty certain that that wasn’t the case because she’d checked it out to make sure it was still working after her encounter with Nick in the hallway the day of Megan’s funeral. It had been in her purse when she’d hit him. She almost always carried it with her so that any sudden inspiration wouldn’t be lost.

  Erin took a deep breath. She rewound the tape, then pushed the Play button. The tape started running. At first she couldn’t distinguish anything, just a lot of static and what sounded like children singing in the background. She turned up the volume, trying to make out the words, but the sounds were too garbled.

  Then, through the static and the chanting came another sound, another voice. Erin gasped, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream as she heard her sister whisper, “Don’t leave me, sissy. Not again.” It was the voice of a child. The voice of her sister years ago when she had begged Erin to stay with her, to protect her, to save her from
the monsters.

  And then the recorder clicked off. Erin stood rooted to the spot, her hand clamped to her mouth as her whole body began to shake violently. She remained that way for a long, agonizing moment before she became aware of a new sensation. A new terror. Someone—or something—was watching her.

  “Megan?” Erin called out into the silence of the bedroom. At the sound of her voice, the air around her seemed to swirl, to become energized. Erin’s hair tingled at the roots as if charged with static electricity. She could feel the current moving through her body, but still she couldn’t move. The room grew cold, misty, tomblike. An unnatural fog drifted through the crack at the bottom of the window.

  “I’m so cold,” a voice whispered through the mist. “Let me in, Erin.”

  “Megan!” Tears streamed down Erin’s face. Her skin was cold and wet, her soul chilled with a premonition she could hardly name. “Dear God, is that you?”

  “It’s so cold out here. Open the window and let me come in.”

  Slowly Erin turned her gaze to the second-story window. A face mocked her in the glass. Eyes glowed in the dark as the shadow wavered, seemed to float on nothing but air. Erin screamed and tried to back away, tried to flee that cold, damp room, but something—those eyes—held her in thrall. They gazed, unblinking, straight into her soul.

  Beside her the tape recorder turned itself on; the tape ran backward then stopped. The soft click seemed to jolt Erin out of her trance. She stared out the window, seeing only the reflection of her own terrified face.

  * * *

  “This is Slade.”

  Erin drew a shaky breath. “Nick…”

  “Erin? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure…maybe nothing. I thought I saw something outside my window after you left. You said to call—”

  “I’ll be right there. Make sure all the windows and doors are bolted.”

  “But I’m not even sure—”

  “Give me ten minutes,” he said, and then the phone went dead.

  Erin stared at the receiver, unwilling to sever the connection on her end. He’d sounded so calm, so rational. What would he say when he got here and she told him that—