Anna Strong - The Becoming Part 6

"Max, come on." I put a hand on his shoulder. "Talk to me. How's the job going? I heard about a big bust in Southeast last week. I figured it was one of yours."

He doesn't answer right away. I start to think he's not going to answer at all and then he exhales noisily and places his hand over mine. "The job is going great," he says. "The bust was one of the biggest ever. Now there's only the money trail and we can wrap this thing up."

He s.h.i.+fts a little on the couch, raises my hand and brushes the palm against his lips. It's all I can do to keep from purring. Instead, though, I give him a little "go on" bob of my head.

He sighs and continues. "This afternoon I drove the boss over the border to visit his mama. When I dropped him off, he gave me five hundred bucks and told me to get laid." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the wad of cash. "Hold this for me, will you?

If I go back with this, he'll know I didn't get laid. Of course, it looks like I'm not going to get laid anyway, so what difference does it make, huh?"

I give him the look. "So, that's the only reason you come to see me? s.e.x is the only attraction?"

He capitulates with a smile. "Not theonly attraction," he says. "But when I haven't seen you in two months and I don't know when I'll see you again and we only have a few hours ... Well, it's hardly enough time to enter into a comprehensive discussion of world politics, is it?" He leans toward me, his lips dangerously close. "But it's certainly enough time to explore other interesting topics.

Things like b.r.e.a.s.t.s." His left hand cups my right breast. "Or thighs." His hand moves down.

Then his lips move past my cheek and blow gently into my ear. "I could be very, very gentle, Anna." My defenses slip away. s.e.x with Max is one of the great pleasures of my life. The fact that we see each other only sporadically, and always unexpectedly, adds to the delight.

But I can't do this now. I don't trust myself. Regretfully, I pull away. "Please, Max. I just don't feel well."

"Oh. Headache, huh?"

I nod and do the palm to the forehead thing again.

He laughs. "It isn't working, Anna," he says. "You're the toughest woman I know. And you're wired for s.e.x like n.o.body I've ever met. So, are you going to tell me what's really going on here? Or do I have to track down David and get the truth from him?"

It's an empty threat. Max's undercover work as a driver for one of Mexico's most notorious gangsters keeps him on a short leash.

In fact, his a.s.signment is how we met. Not long after I got into the business, a skip I was working agreed to turn informant in exchange for a get-out-of-jail free card. The Feds became very interested when they learned the guy was a lieutenant in the gangster's mob. I arranged the deal and Max turned out to be the plant. So I know for sure he won't be making any unscheduled forays into LA.

And Max knows it, too, but I give him points for the effort.

When I don't respond, he sighs. "Okay. I give up. I don't know what's wrong, but I can't force you to tell me. I'm not buying this injured act, and I can't believe anybody could get the best of you and David. But I've trusted you with my life since the first moment I saw you. I guess I just have to trust that whatever is bothering you now has nothing to do with us."

It's a touching speech. I believe he believes what he's saying. I alsoknow Max lies for a living, and his acting skills are what have kept him alive in some pretty tough situations. I wipe an imaginary tear from my eye.

We both start laughing at the same time.

"So," he says, coming up for air. "Got anything to eat? I'm starved."

I take his hand and pull him toward the kitchen.

"I don't suppose you have anything from Luigi's," he says, scanning the contents of my refrigerator. "I'd kill for a plate of his lasagna."

Chapter Eleven.

It's ten o'clock. Max left to pick up his boss, and I'm staring at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. Do vampires really have to do their own dishes? I've never seen that in movies.

I rinse the dishes, load them into the dishwasher, and reach for the Cascade. The phone on the counter rings so loudly it makes me jump. The box slips from my hand, and before I can catch it, powder spills across the floor.

s.h.i.+t. The second time today I've made a mess.

Do I have to avoid loud noises, too? Is that another vampire bogey?

Before I can say h.e.l.lo, he begins. "Anna, this is Grant Avery. Sorry to disturb you. Is your friend still there?"

Now I'm getting mad. "Doesn't anyone say h.e.l.lo anymore? And if you know I had someone here, then you know he's gone. So why are you asking?"

"Sorry."

His tone is unapologetic and quite insincere, but it's something else that triggers alarm bells in my head. "Avery, please tell me that you aren't having him followed."

There's a slight hesitation before he replies. "No, it's not Max we're having followed."

Max? He knows his name? The alarms are shrieking now. "Avery, can you read my thoughts over the phone?"

He starts talking in the same dry, academic pitch he used when explaining my new "gift."

"No, actually I can't," he says. "Something about electric circuits that interfere. If you're wondering how I knew Max's name, it popped into your thoughts once or twice while I was there this afternoon."

For the first time, I'm disappointed to hear that he can't get inside my head. In fact, I'm fighting a wave of panic. "Can you come over now? Or can I come to you? We have to talk about Max."

"Well," he says, "that's convenient because I have something to talk to you about, also. Would you like to come here?"

"And here is?"

"Do you know the Mount Soledad area?"

Everyone on the coast knows the Mount Soledad area. It's one of the most prestigious addresses in prestigious La Jolla. A vampire doctor. Figures that's where he'd live. "Want to give me the address?"

I reach for a piece of paper and write it down. "I can be there in twenty minutes."

"Good. And Anna?"

"Yes?"

"Wear something nice. I have some folks I'd like you to meet."

And he hangs up.I replace the receiver, frowning at both the implication and inflection of his tone. I have a good mind to come as I am, in the scrubs he so graciously lent me when I left the hospital.

But on the other hand, maybe I'm about to meet some of my vampire relatives. First impressions are always important, aren't they?

For work, I drive a Ford Crown Vic, the same model as most cops and tricked out with a lot of the same gadgets. For pleasure, I drive a two-year-old, British Racing Green Jag XKR convertible. Between the car payment and insurance, I sh.e.l.l out what amounts to the mortgage on a small house each month. But it's my only luxury, and since I own the cottage outright, it's a concession I'm able to make.

As I pull into Dr. Avery's driveway, I'm sure that at least my car will fit in with this crowd. I park between a silver Lexus and a big Mercedes sedan. And did I say driveway? I climb out of my car and glance back along a tree-lined avenue that meanders about a half mile from a gated entrance to the front of the stone mansion.

Pretty d.a.m.ned impressive, even for this neighborhood. Either medicine or vampirism pays very well.

Dr. Avery answers the doorbell himself. He's all spiffed up in a navy suit with a cream s.h.i.+rt and red silk tie. Black basket weave oxfords peek from the cuffs of tailored slacks. Even his mop of hair lies tamed and moussed. He looks every inch the country gentleman.

I raise an eyebrow.I expected a servant to answer the door.

The servants have the night off, he says, ushering me in with a hand on my back.Welcome to my home. You look wonderful, too, by the way.

Did I say he looked wonderful? I have to be more careful with my thoughts. And it makes me wonder what I was thinking when I decided to come to Avery. I can't protectmyself from creatures who can invade my thoughts at will. How can I hope to protect Max? What I need to tell Avery, I need to tell him in private. Max's safety depends on it.

Max is safe, Avery a.s.sures me.Remember, the thoughts of my guests will be as open to you as yours are to them. We all have secrets.

But that doesn't make me feel any better as he guides me through an immense foyer and into a living room with more square footage than my entire house. One wall is floor to ceiling windows and another is a huge stone fireplace big enough for a man to walk into. There is a small cl.u.s.ter of people gathered in a tight knot in front of a roaring fire. I count six, three men and three women, talking in soft voices, seemingly unaware of our approach.

The men are all in their mid-forties, wearing suits of gray or dark blue. Their intense faces are ruggedly handsome, their bodies under the exquisitely tailored clothes look lean and fit. The women are similarly attired in Armani and Gucci, with glittering stones in their earlobes and at their throats. They all sip from martini gla.s.ses and wave well-manicured hands to make their points.

They are the people you see on the society pages and in the glossy magazines. I recognize a few of them, including the Deputy Mayor of San Diego and the Chief of Police.

No wonder Avery said my secrets would be safe.

There is a break in conversation, and Avery urges me to join the group. But I feel as out of my element as my off-the-rack dress is to the designer suits in front of me.

Avery's voice comes from behind me and I jump.

You look wonderful, he says a second time.That color is perfect with your hair and complexion and silk flatters your figure.

You are a beautiful woman, Anna. Don't worry that you can't compete.I was thinking about my dress,I reply archly.I have never worried about competing.

He smiles.

Well, I haven't, I repeat. It sounds childish, even to my ears.

G.o.d, what ifthey heard?

So much for first impressions. My eyes turn back to the group, but talk seems to have resumed, and no one is looking our way. If they picked up on any of that, it's not apparent. I touch Avery's arm.

Can we go somewhere else to talk?I gesture toward the fireplace.I'm not ready for this yet.

He looks a little disappointed, but he doesn't try to dissuade me. Instead, he leads me back out to the foyer, where he heads to the right and toward another set of double carved wooden doors. He pa.s.ses in front of me to swing one of the doors open, and I follow him in.

This is the library.

I raise an eyebrow at him.No kidding? Is that what you call a room with hundreds of books? A library? I'm glad you cleared that up. Avery, I may live on the other side of the tracks in Mission Beach, but I do read.

He doesn't appreciate my sarcasm. I can't catch what he's thinking, but there's no mistaking the set of his jaw or the suggestion of annoyance hovering in his eyes.

I can't catch what he's thinking. Why is that?

"I'm sorry," I say aloud. "I'm a little nervous."

The apology does the trick. He relaxes, physically and mentally, and opens his mind to me once again.

You have to teach me to do that,I tell him, shaking a finger.You didn't mention that you can shut yourself down when you want, did you?

A faint light sparkles in the depths of those green eyes.I'm not going to divulge all my secrets right away. Otherwise, you won't need me anymore. Would you like a drink?

Red wine, if you have it.

This time he raises an eyebrow.I think I can find something you'll like.

He moves away from me and toward a large sideboard. With a push of a b.u.t.ton, a door slides open. Inside the lighted cabinet, crystal decanters wink and sparkle like so many jewels on a bed of velvet. He chooses one, pours two gla.s.ses, and beckons me to follow him.

We find ourselves on a wide balcony hovering over the dark Pacific many feet below. I can't see anything except the vast emptiness of the ocean, but I can hear the waves.

He hands me a gla.s.s.Hope you like this. It's from my family's vineyards.

Oh, you're from Napa Valley?

He has the gla.s.s to his lips, but just stops himself from taking a sip as a gurgle of laughter erupts.No , he says,not Napa. Provence.

Provence ? As in France? He smiles. It's the same kind of smile I used to give slow students.

Okay. So I forgot for a minute that you're probably a thousand years old with roots that go back to the Stone Age. I told you, I'm not quite with the program yet. You have to cut me some slack.

Avery still has that smile on his face, but he's taken a seat on a chaise longue and motions with his gla.s.s for me to join him.

I take a seat opposite him and raise my gla.s.s for the first taste of a wine I suspect I'll never be able to afford. I don't expect to like it, either, so I'm quite caught off guard by the sublime flavor. It's rich and dry and tastes elemental, as though made of earth and sea as well as grape. I take a second sip and smile.

You like it.

I do. And yes, I'm surprised. I've never been a connoisseur of wines. I don't have the palate for it, or so I've always thought.

I raise the gla.s.s.Or is this another acquired vampire thing? Blood and wine, elixirs of life?

Avery laughs, tilting his head as he watches me over the top of his gla.s.s.No it's not a vampire thing. Not really. But you will find you've misjudged a lot of things, Anna.

His eyes lock me in their gaze for a long moment. I can't read him again, but suddenly something vaguely sensual pa.s.ses between us.

I pull myself away, and stand up.This isn't what I came here for.

He stands, too.I know. You came to talk about Max.

Max. Yes. Just saying his name snaps me back. I look toward the windows across from us and into the living room, where the fire reflecting on the gla.s.s catches two figures in stark relief. A man and a woman.

I look at Avery.They aren't all vampires?