Vampire - When Darkness Falls Part 24

Derrick grinned, then delivered her beer and an envelope of photos.

She accepted the photos, sipped the beer, and started through the pictures. She felt a small sense of loss, a maternal surge-and a chill.

She'd found the right guy-decent, cute, employed, all the right things.

Her business was a success. She could settle down and get married.

If she could just quit having erotic dreams about a stranger who had come and gone from her life in a night of pure terror.

Derrick finished refilling drinks along the bar and returned to her, grinning.

"What do you think of the baby's Halloween costume?"

"An infant werewolf. Perfect."

"He's so adorable. Great eyes. The folks are always calling him Wolfy, so we thought a werewolf costume would be just the thing."

"Didn't catch any of the new Disney flicks this year, huh?" she inquired politely.

He grinned. "I did, but what boy wants to be a little do-gooder?"

She shrugged. "I guess the evil do have more fun."

"Did you see Addie? She wanted to be a princess. Sally made that costume."

"Addie is the perfect little princess. Tell Sally I said the costume is beautiful. And your kids are beautiful, too."

He grinned. "Thanks. Thanks, a lot, Jade. Hey, how about you? Where is that copy you're dating? The two of you are like the A-plus gene bank. When are you going to start procreating, huh?"

"We're not married, Derrick. Not even engaged."

"Don't have to be, Jade. Don't you remember Human s.e.xuality? I think it was tenth grade."

"Funny, funny. Don't you remember Sister Ann Marie? She was the nun who wasn't supposed to teach us all about birth control-but did."

"Yeah. Cool lady."

"She was."

"Okay, so you're going to get married. Great. I love a good wedding."

"And I promise, when I'm going to have one, you'll be among the first to know!"

He grinned. "Cool-whoops, excuse me, Jade. Got a tour group coming in here."

"A tour group? I didn't know you were on that circuit!"

"I'm not, except that there are a lot of small companies out there right now-Halloween season, you know? Extra people working- cas.h.i.+ng in on extra bucks."

He left her.

She continued to sip her beer, looking at the pictures.

The tour had crowded into the bar. She knew that, during the Civil War, the lady of the house had hanged herself in an upstairs room after someone in New Orleans spilled the beans about her liaison with a Union soldier.

The tour guide was telling the story.

At first, she was just aware of the drone of his voice. Then she became aware that...

He sounded slightly familiar. There was a roll to his Hs. ...

She spun around. The tour group was leaving the bar. A half dozen stragglers were blocking the exit She could see the guide ahead. He was dressed in a black cape. Her heart thundered. Lots of guides wore black Dracula capes in New Orleans. This was Anne Rice's city.

Lestat's town.

But lots of guides didn't necessarily have Scottish accents.

He was ahead, far ahead.

She started running along the street, terrified but determined. She was jostled into a group of costumed revelers, coming from or going to an early Halloween party.

"Sorry!"

"Sorry!"

"Sorry!"

She was pa.s.sed from a white rabbit to a Tin Man and on to a dancing pack of cigarettes.

"It's all right, it's all right, excuse me ..."

She kept running. A three-man band blocked her way. She sidestepped them.

On Bourbon Street the crowd became fierce. She ran, pus.h.i.+ng and shoving, trying to keep up.

She reached a man wearing a black cape. She caught his arm, whirled him around.

His face was lined with weariness. His hair was gray; his eyes were powdery blue. She had never seen him before.

"Sorry!" she said softly.

He nodded and walked on.

She stood still in the middle of the street, feeling the rush of humanity go past her, hearing laughter and music and feeling as if it were all pa.s.sing over her, by her.

Then the street seemed empty before her.

And up ahead, just up ahead, under a streetlight, stood a man.

The man.

She hadn't seen him in over a year.

Except in her dreams.

But he was here now. As tall as she remembered, dark, striking. His long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt was black, as were his trousers. His hands were casually shoved into his pockets. He might have been any striking young tourist. A businessman, out to see the sights of New Orleans. A musician, a politician, ad exec, plumber, electrician ... any tourist.

Except that... he wasn't.

She started walking toward him, half certain that he would turn away.

Disappear.

It wasn't him. It couldn't be.... He stood dead still, waiting.

He didn't walk away, and he didn't disappear.

And as she came to him, the noises of the city rushed to meet her.

The jazz, the talk, the laughter, the footsteps She was fairly tall, but she had to look up at him. Yes, it was he. In the flesh. The dark hair, the slender-appearing but hard-muscled physique.

The eyes ...

Like amber. Like fire.

"h.e.l.lo, Jade," he said softly. "We have to talk."

They had to talk? He had been there during the night of her greatest danger and her greatest fear. He had probably saved her life-but then he had left her, leaving the police to think that she was crazy, leaving her to doubt her own sanity.

Then he had entered her dreams. Invaded her sleep, stolen into her soul. He had touched her, somehow. He had touched her; it had been real.

He had ruined-absolutely destroyed-her chances with the most perfect man she was ever likely to meet.

"Jade?"

"You b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

She hauled off and hit him with every bit of strength she had in her.

Chapter Eight.

It might have been a stupid thing to do.

He was a good six feet, three inches tall, and muscled like a son of a b.i.t.c.h. If he'd taken it the wrong way ...

Fear or instinct caused her to draw up an arm again. He caught it.

She attacked him with words. "b.a.s.t.a.r.d. You were there. You saw everything. You just disappeared. And how amazing! I start to dream about you-"

He held her wrist; he had caught her flying palm in air, and now held it by her side. Gently? She couldn't feel the grasp, yet she knew that she couldn't have moved had she tried. "What the h.e.l.l is going on?"

He shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do."

He stepped back suddenly. "Look, I hardly know you. Excuse me."

To her amazement he turned and started walking away. She stared after him, mouth agape, hands on hips.

"Excuse you?" she repeated. "Excuse you?"

She raced after him. He was in black again. Black form-hugging jeans, long-sleeved knit s.h.i.+rt, casual black jacket. It rode his shoulders very nicely. His dark hair, still longish, curled over his collar. It glistened in the lights of the street.

"Hey!"

She caught hold of his shoulder, drawing him back. "You can't just walk away from me."

"Should I stand here so you can hit me again?" he inquired politely.

"No, no ... but you ... you have to talk to me!"

He arched a brow. She did want to hit him again. He wasn't just attractive; he was compelling in an almost frightening manner.

Devastatingly good-looking, dark eyes, dark hair, and an air of self- confidence, a.s.surance, even arrogance.

She knotted her hands into fists at her sides.

"Fine! Don't talk to me!"

She turned that time, and started to walk away.

He didn't follow. She stopped, turned back. He was waiting, a smile lightly turning the fullness of his lips.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" she whispered. "What is going on?"

"Where's your cop?"

"What?"

"Officer Beaudreaux."