by Lori Foster
“Good. Great.” Michael smiled at Nick, then at Katie.
But she was making a face. “Sorry about the cops. They caught me off guard when they asked me about Peter, and I figured if people had already ID’d him and connected him to me, it was better not to lie.”
“It’s fine.” Nick didn’t like it, but he didn’t think it would be an issue. “You know how Peter is. He won’t tell them anything that makes sense and they’ll let it go.”
They shared a sad moment of silence, the two people who had cared for Peter and watched him descend into mental illness.
“Yeah, you’re right. But let me know if it doesn’t go okay.” Then Katie smiled again. “And now Michael and I are going off to pack. Last night was my final shift at work for three weeks, I can hardly believe it. We’re going to Paris, Nick! I’m so excited.”
Katie and Michael were leaving for three weeks to get married and honeymoon in Paris. Nick was deeply happy for the woman he had spent a hundred years looking out for, and thought of as a surrogate daughter. “You should be,” he said, feeling a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “It’s not every century a girl gets married.”
She laughed, tossing back her thick, rich brown hair. “This is the only time for me, I can tell you that. And we’re going to be married until Michael dies.”
Her fiancé raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m going to die before you? Or die at all for that matter? I am a vampire.”
“Statistically men die before women, even in the vampire world. I think it’s because they engage in more dangerous activities than women. So I’m just assuming you’ll probably die before me.”
“As long as it isn’t soon and you don’t plan to kill me.”
“I might tear you up, but I would never kill you.”
Uh-oh. They were getting a look in their eye that Nick recognized as one that usually led to sex, so he said, “Stop by and say good-bye before you leave. I’ve got to go.”
Then he got the hell out of there and headed toward the elevator. Bad enough they were a constant reminder of how lonely he was, he didn’t need to think about his total lack of a sex life, too. Most of the time he could ignore it, and he had significant willpower. Plus he could honestly say that there weren’t many women he encountered in his job guarding Donatelli that even tempted him. The majority of them floating around the casino or with Donatelli were bubble-headed or trashy, neither of which appealed to him.
But he was a man, and he was feeling a bit, well, in need of release.
If he did encounter a woman he found attractive, he might have trouble controlling himself.
Which he realized the very second he stepped onto the elevator and met the green eyes of a petite redhead. Well, petite to him anyway, given that he was six foot five, but she was probably an average height for a woman. Her gorgeous rich auburn hair went to her shoulders, cute little freckles dusted across her nose and under her eyes, and the sleeveless summer shirt she wore showed off the creamy smoothness of her fair skin. He could smell her blood, sweet and juicy as it coursed through her veins, her heart beating strong and steady in her chest.
She was beautiful, stunning. Sensual and alive and intelligent looking.
Lust slammed into him so unexpectedly that Nick briefly paused while stepping in, needing a second to recover himself. “Hi,” he said, before turning and taking the appropriate front-facing place on the elevator.
“Hi,” she said in return, her voice a little huskier than he expected, and unfortunately, sexy as hell.
Nick hated those Minnie Mouse voices on women, and this one was the furthest thing from it—she had the voice of a forties film star, the sound sliding over him and grabbing onto his balls and squeezing. Damn, he was in trouble, especially since the woman was clearly with a man.
“What floor?” the guy asked, adjusting his pants under his ample gut.
“Tenth,” Nick said. “Thanks.” How could this woman be with this guy, who was clearly a decade older than her and in desperate need of a gym membership? Maybe they were co-workers, going to some business meeting or event. They were both wearing black dress pants and carried jackets over their arms. Then again, how many business meetings occurred at ten o’clock at night?
“That’s where we’re going,” the guy said, raising his arm to smooth his thinning hair and revealing a giant sweat stain in his armpit. “All these floors and we’re going to the same one. Weird.”
“It’s called a coincidence,” the woman said to him, then turned to Nick and rolled her eyes, her irritation with her companion cheering Nick up.
He gave her a smile even as he realized there were no meeting rooms on the tenth floor, just suites. Then again, they could be doing who knew what, and what difference did it make, because the elevator doors were going to open and Nick was never going to see her again.
The doors did open and the guy said to the woman, “What room are we going to?”
She gave Nick one last look, naked curiosity in her eyes, before glancing down at a paper in her hand. “Ten-thirty. Is that left or right?”
Oh, shit.
Nick said, “It’s left. And that’s my room.”
He had a sinking feeling he knew who the gorgeous woman was.
She gave him a sharp look as they clustered outside the elevator. “Really? Are you Nikolai Stolin, by any chance?”
“That would be me, though I prefer Nick.” He stuck out his hand. “I take it you are from the police department?”
“Yes.” The woman took his hand and gave him a firm shake, her expression curious. “I’m Detective Jordan Waters and this is Detective Marshall. Thank you for your cooperation.”
Jordan was an intriguing name for an intriguing woman. She was so very feminine in appearance, yet she was a homicide detective with an androgynous name. Nick’s interest only increased, and he had to force himself to focus on the subject at hand. “Sure. I doubt Peter can be any help to you, but I’m willing to let you try. It’s my understanding these were quite brutal killings and if we can help, we’re happy to.”
He took the hand Detective Marshall was now offering, glad to know this wasn’t Jordan’s lover. He gestured toward his suite. “Shall we?”
Jordan nodded. “So Peter is your son? And he’s thirteen?”
“Yes.” That was their story, anyway. “I told the other detective that Peter is autistic. The things he says don’t always make sense to the average person, even though they make sense to him.”
“And you live here? Where does he go to school?”
“Yes, we live here. It’s convenient for work, and my employer pays for my accommodations. I’m a personal bodyguard. And Peter is homeschooled with a tutor.”
The look she gave him told him her opinion on the fact that he was raising a child in a casino. But he couldn’t tell her that Peter was no child, but a hundred-year-old vampire trapped in a pubescent boy’s body.
“Could he have been in the alley behind the casino kitchen three nights ago?”
“It’s possible,” he admitted. “We try to take precautionary measures but Peter is sneaky and he likes to wander.”
“We? Who is we?”
But Nick was already opening the door to his suite and he could hear Kelsey singing off-key to a pop song, the lyrics highly sexual. Embarrassed, he stepped in and called, “Kelsey, I’m home. For that meeting I told you about.”
Ringo’s wife appeared in view, wearing a very tiny red bikini. “Oh, shit,” she said. “I totally forgot. We were going to the pool.”
Peter was sitting on the couch, wearing swimming trunks with sharks on them and a UNLV T-shirt. He had been a sickly mortal child, and even though he’d been thirteen when he’d been turned, he had been slight, looking more the age of nine or ten. It was occasionally unnerving to see him still in that child’s body, but with the eyes of a man, and it had that effect on Nick now as he recognized the very manly appreciation for Kelsey’s bikini in Peter’s expression.
A glance back at Jordan Waters showed her frowning, deep grooves in her forehead.
Something told him this interview wasn’t going to go well.
THREE
JORDAN didn’t consider herself judgmental, especially when it came to raising children. She always figured she had never walked in those shoes, being childless herself, so who was she to criticize when a kid was running loose in a restaurant or a parent lost patience in a public restroom?
But she couldn’t help but think that the Stolins weren’t doing their kid any favors by having him living in the false glitz of a casino, homeschooled without any interaction with kids his own age, and heading to the pool after ten on a school night.
And Mrs. Stolin? Good God.
Jordan stared at the brunette in the bikini—which one half turn of her skinny body revealed to actually be a thong—and felt an instant female dislike for her. Maybe it was because for a few sensual shared moments in the elevator, aware of Nick Stolin’s flattering assessment of her, conscious of the spark that flickered between them, she had remembered she was a woman. She had actually contemplated flirting with him, and if the kid had no information, she would be free to do whatever she wanted with Nick without it being a conflict in the case. That had all raced through her head in two minutes, shocking her, considering she hadn’t really glanced at a man in months. But there had been something about his brawn, the soulful brown eyes, the way he stared at her … Even now her inner thighs felt warm at the memory.
But this dingbat in a bikini was his wife? That was just all sorts of wrong, and made him nothing more than a pig for checking her out so avidly.
Not to mention that looking at the pale skin of the thin brunette, her muscle tone amazing, Jordan was painfully aware of the doughnut—okay, two doughnuts—she had eaten an hour earlier.
The woman was babbling. “I’m going to go ahead and go swim my laps, Nicky. You know I hate cops. It’s because it was their fault I OD’d, you know. If I hadn’t been worried they were going to take my stash, I wouldn’t have shot it all up and ended up flatlining. I know it was a long time ago and I’m clean now and everything, but cops still creep me out.”
Was she serious? Jordan felt her eyebrows head north and she glanced at Shawn, who looked equally flummoxed.
“I think they have a few questions for you, Kelsey, since you were with Peter the night in question. It will just take a minute, don’t worry.” Nick’s voice was calm and reassuring, and he picked up the beach bag that was laying on the coffee table. “Here, put your cover-up on and have a seat on the couch.” He handed her a gauzy shirt, and she actually obeyed.
He turned to the boy, who had his feet crossed on the coffee table. “Peter, this is Detective Waters and Detective Marshall. They just want to talk to you.”
Peter stared at his father blankly.
Great. Jordan had a feeling this was a complete waste of time. She took the seat in the easy chair that Nick offered her and decided to start with the wife. “Mrs. Stolin, are you with Peter every night?”
The woman just stared at Jordan, much like the kid. Feeling her frustration increase, she was about to repeat the question, when Nick interjected.
“Oh, Kelsey isn’t my wife. She’s my babysitter.” He gave an apologetic shrug. “I’m not married, and I work nights. It’s not easy to find an overnight sitter, and Kelsey doesn’t mind the odd hours. Sorry for the confusion.”
Well, at least it made the once-over he’d given her in the elevator flattering again instead of creepy. She could also see that raising an autistic child alone on the Strip when you worked nights would be something of a challenge. But it seemed like there could be better options than this woman if you looked a little harder.
She tried again. “Okay, then, Kelsey, are you with Peter every night?”
“Yes, except for Sunday and Monday, Nick and Ringo’s nights off.”
“Who is Ringo?”
“My husband. He works with Nick.”
Jordan turned to Nick, who was hovering next to the couch. “Is that how you met Kelsey and decided to hire her?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“And how long have you been in Vegas?”
“Five months.”
“And how long in the U.S.?”
“Five months. We came from Odessa with my employer.”
Jordan was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt, then. It couldn’t be easy to relocate halfway around the world, and it seemed logical that you would seek a babysitter from a co-worker. She had a thought. “Does Peter speak English?”
“Of course.” Nick looked offended. “I speak English, don’t I?”
“Yes, very well, actually,” she said. “You only have a hint of an accent.” And he was looking at her again, with naked interest, and she was responding, her nipples hardening, her long-neglected body stirring to life, and she suddenly couldn’t remember what she had been about to ask, which irritated the hell out of her.
Shawn saved her. “So last Tuesday, that’s three nights ago, were you with Peter?” he asked Kelsey.
“Yes.”
“What time?”
“Uh … I guess on Tuesday their shift was eleven to seven, so that’s when I was here.”
“Did you leave the room at all?”
She shifted on the couch. “No.”
Well, that was clearly a lie. Jordan recovered herself and gave Kelsey what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “The kitchen staff saw Peter in the alley, so we know you weren’t with him all night. It’s okay, just tell us the truth so we can piece this together.”
Kelsey bit her lip, which was bloodred from her lipstick. “I went down to the slots for just a half an hour. Peter went with me and sat at the milkshake place in the casino, where I could see him. He was reading.”
Jordan turned to the kid. “Did you leave when Kelsey wasn’t looking and go outside that night?”
“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” the boy said, and then he laughed.
It was an eerie, unhappy sound, and instantly Jordan was reminded of her brother Bill, who had suffered from schizophrenia and had killed himself at eighteen. A sweat broke out between her breasts and on her upper lip as she remembered all those nights of trying to reason with him, only to have him spout random nonsense and give her that creepy, all-knowing laugh.
“Why did you go outside?” Shawn asked.
Peter’s laugh cut off. “To eat boogers, where no one will yell at me.”
Jordan’s stomach flipped at that. She could look at homicide photos and keep her lunch intact, but oddly, the thought of eating mucus made her feel sick. “Ah, I understand,” she said, in a soft, soothing voice. “We all have things we like to do in private.”
“Yes, we do. In the dark.” The look Peter gave her, his eyes inky black as they dropped down to roam over her body, his mouth raised in a smirk, startled her. If he had been an adult, she would have thought he was hinting at sex, at masturbation. But he was just a kid. Even though thirteen put boys securely in the hold of puberty, they weren’t sophisticated or experienced enough to make witty innuendoes about sex. At least she didn’t think they were.
Shifting on her chair, uncomfortable and not sure why, she said, “Did you see anyone out there in the alley with you?”
He shook his head. “Just me. And my shadow.” Then he smiled, revealing small, crooked teeth.
Jordan glanced at Shawn. He seemed to be of the same opinion as her. This was a dead end. “Okay, well, thanks for talking to us, Peter.” She smiled at Kelsey. “And thank you for your cooperation. You’re free to go swimming now if you want.”
Kelsey grinned and hopped off the couch. “Yay!” She turned to Nick, “Can we?”
“Sure.” He checked his cell phone. “I have to go back to work. Keep an eye on him.”
“Always.” Kelsey stretched, threatening to expose her petite breasts. “Come on, Pete, let’s make waves.”
Jordan was relieved to see that the bikini hel
d its place behind the see-through cover-up that shouldn’t ever bother to call itself a cover-up.
“Okay.” Peter stood up and fiddled with the strings on his swim trunks. “I need a drink first.”
There was a pause where Kelsey looked to her employer for approval, which Jordan thought was an intriguing dynamic. The babysitter clearly thought of Nick Stolin as the man in charge.
Nick said calmly, “Of course you can have a drink, just no caffeine. Kelsey will get you something downstairs.”
Jordan admired his control, his serenity with the situation. She wasn’t so sure she could handle a child like Peter day in and day out. She certainly had failed Bill miserably. “Do you like Sprite, Peter? I have a bottle from the machine in my purse if you want it. I haven’t opened it yet.”
Nick knew exactly what Peter wanted and it wasn’t a soft drink. He wanted blood, his appetite always more voracious than Peter’s or Katie’s, and he shook his head at the detective’s offer.
“Thanks,” Nick said to Jordan. “But he wants one of those fruity drinks they serve at the bar without alcohol.”
Another lie, always a lie. Nick wanted to sigh, but there was no point. There was blood in the fridge, but he wasn’t sure how long the two detectives planned to stay, and it was too risky to have Peter drink it around them. Nick trusted that Kelsey could figure something out. She had blood in her apartment, and there were dozens of vampires roaming the Paris at any given time who might have a nip on them. He hoped she wouldn’t let Peter live-feed because it always made him excitable. He got flushed and giddy and talked nonstop for a day after he took blood directly from a mortal, and Nick didn’t feel like dealing with it tonight.
He was pissed off, and he wasn’t sure why. But he suspected it was because he knew he and his dysfunctional little family looked weird as hell, and if he asked Detective Jordan Waters out, she would flat-out say no. Which frustrated him to no end.
