"Advice you yourself should take, Lyle."
Ric listened with amusement and waited until Ormie, Lyle, Eva, and Zada all melted into the surrounding countryside. "Thanks for the use of your house, Dory."
Dory beamed with pleasure, as though the hideous building was some sort of mongrel pet he had taught to perform a fancy trick.
"Any time, Doc."
Ric turned to his adjutant and leaned close. "A word outside, Tux, if you will."
"Sure."
They both left by the nearest open door. "Good night, Dory."
Dory waved. "'Night, Doc, Jud."
Ric and Tux moved to the far side of the latter's truck, and Tux spoke first. "I don't think you made a whole lot of friends in there just now. Except maybe Dory. He looked positively star-struck. But the others..."
"I'm not here to make friends. I'll protect them, and whether they like me or not, I'll be a trustworthy and righteous leader. But I expect the same loyalty in return, and I'll not tolerate disobedience or resistance."
"And if one of us should disappoint you?"
Ric sank his gaze deep into Tux's eyes. In the moonlight the green eyes glinted like pools of water, bottomless and dark. It was easy to see that Judson Tuxbridge was the most intelligent and powerful vampire of the group. Whether or not he was the most clever was yet to be seen. "I would mourn that fact very deeply, Tux. Very deeply."
Tuxbridge nodded slowly. "I understand." He turned his face away from the scrutiny. "You know, something occurred to me.
Digger's already found two bodies-this one and the bones discovered earlier in the year. Who knows how many humans have already been drained, dispatched and buried around the county? It's fine to uncover whoever's responsible for the poor feeding habits and convince them to clean up their act, but the unearthing of all these past victims is just as damaging to us, if not more so.
Don't you think it would be a good idea for one of us to, shall we say, 'compel' Digger to give up his hobby? At least until we find the truth."An excellent idea. Why didn't I think of it? Because he had been experiencing some serious sleep deprivation lately. "I think that would be a very good idea. Leave it to me. I'll see that Lucius Moravich doesn't so much as go sniffing around any more privy holes." Ric headed for his bike. "I'll keep in touch."
Tuxbridge gave him a small smile and disappeared into the darkness of his truck cab.
Ten minutes later Ric was home, and ten minutes after that he was in his bed in the cellar of the Chicken Palace. A final notion came to him before sleep scattered the remnants of his thoughts.
Was Judson Tuxbridge simply performing the role of a good adjutant in looking out for the welfare of the group, or had he suggested calling off Digger's endeavors for a more personal reason? A cunning second-in-command was a bonus, but just how much of the jackal lie behind those green eyes?
Chapter Three.
Ric awoke the next day feeling, if not quite at peace with the world, at least better than he had in the past few days. Shadow Bay was, after all supposed to be a new beginning for him.
In France as a Paramount he had held rule over hundreds of vampires, and since his contact with humans had been limited, he had not been forced to move often. Here, though, it was another story. His exposure to human scrutiny was much greater in a small town, and his plan was to stay not more than five years in any one place. His youthful features were part of the problem. It was hard to look forty and beyond when he barely looked thirty.
He had spent only three years in Eidolon Lake in the Upper Peninsula. It had been a good place to establish credentials without a lot of questions asked, but it had been time for the next step. Eidolon Lake barely sustained a population of two hundred souls, most of them elderly. There was little to recommend the town, other than stories about the past that were livelier than the current residents. Living in Eidolon Lake hadn't been much different from the hours spent in the catacombs under Paris.
The next step had been Shadow Bay. Yes, Shadow Bay was to be a new beginning in more ways than one. Ric had come to believe that it was a good thing to be forced to move every so often. It kept a creature like himself who was stagnant by nature from becoming dormant to the point of death-the True Death-something that came to his kind with much more ease and frequency than humans would guess.
It had been a long time since Ric had lived and interacted so closely with humans. So much of his existence had been spent avoiding interaction with humans...
He cut the thought short. No more escaping. Last night, surrounded by his own kind, had been easy. Today he would have to deal with the privy digger, Lucius Moravich, and the sheriff. It wouldn't-or at least shouldn't-be difficult, but it put him in an unaccustomed state of unease.
He debated the best way to deter Digger from engaging in his favorite pastime. He could talk to the man himself and compel him to stop his digging. Compelling humans was an easy enough task for most vampires, but there were intangibles involved. Some humans had a measure of resistance to the imposition of another's will, and the power of such commands faded at unpredictable rates. Unless a vampire had experience with a particular subject, such coercion involved too many variables and volatility.
It would be safer to talk to the sheriff and use logic and common sense instead of mind tricks. Besides, it would give him an excuse to see Shelby Cort again. He told himself it would give him the opportunity to ask questions about the investigation. If he were to be truthful, though, he'd have to admit that the allure of her rich, red hair and even richer blood was too powerful an enticement to ignore, in spite of the dangers of such a meeting.
Ric called her office several times during the afternoon but was told each time that she was either in a meeting, on the phone, or had just stepped out. His patience held. He had plenty to do to keep himself busy until he could snare a moment of the sheriff's time. He made a trip to Maritime to finish preparing Kyle Carver's body for shipment to La Pointe. On the way home, he stopped at the county building on an impulse. He was just about to go inside and ask to see the sheriff when she walked out the front entrance. She was in street clothes, and he almost didn't recognize her. It was the first time he had seen her in anything but her uniform.
She wore tight jeans, a sleeveless black top, and carried a huge nylon bag over one shoulder. Her hair was loose, straight and swung just past those marvelous hard-working shoulders. Her eyes were cast down at the pavement as she strode the short distance to her vehicle, and with his vampiric gift of celerity he was in front of her in a heartbeat. He thought she'd see him at the last second, but when it became clear to him that she didn't, he raised a restraining arm. She still plowed into him.
"Oh, God!" The words flew out of her mouth like startled birds. "You scared me, Doc. I didn't see you coming."
With his extended arm, he caught the heavy bag as it started to slip from her shoulder and lowered it effortlessly to the ground.
"My fault. I should have said something. Long day, huh?"
She was staring at him, her mouth hanging open as though she were out of breath and couldn't get enough air. He realized the impact had bounced his glasses halfway down his nose and that she could see a portion of his eyes. He pushed the glasses back into place as if out of habit.
"Yeah, it was. Listen, I'm sorry I didn't get back to you. I know you left a couple messages, and I really was going to call you..."
"It's okay, really. But I would like to talk to you. You're off duty?"
"I'm never off duty," she mumbled as she bent down to pick up her bag.
"Yeah, cops and doctors. I know how it is."
She rose slowly, still staring at him. "Sorry. I guess you do."
"Is there someplace we can go to talk? Are you hungry?"
She brushed a long strand of red hair out of her face. "Ah, no. I had a sandwich delivered to the office earlier. Unless you want to eat," she added quickly.
"No. I'm not hungry just now."
"Listen, I really need to run a quick errand. If you don't mind tagging along, we can talk at my place."
It wasn't exactly what he had planned, but he supposed it was better to speak in private than in some public place. A human audience, even for so innocuous a meeting, was not something he relished. He smiled. "I'm practically a stranger, and you're inviting me to your house?"
"Why, Doctor, I didn't think you had a smile in you." She smiled back, a slow grin that lit her face with a mischievous blush in the evening sun's glow. "You look innocent enough to me. Besides, I've got a semi-auto, a twelve-gauge, a hunting rifle, and a collection of knives that would put Davy Crockett to shame. I think I'll be safe."
His smile turned inward. Little did she know that he was without a doubt the most dangerous man in all of Cristallia County she could invite inside her home. He quickly amended his assessment. The second most dangerous. There was a vamp out there who had no compunction against killing humans.
"Follow me, then," she said. "I'm just going to stop at the Fresh Mart on the highway."
Am I crazy? Shelby wondered. What am I doing inviting this guy home with me? She opened the door of the SUV, hefted her bag onto the front passenger seat, and climbed in. When she started the engine and music from the stereo came on, her concerns seemed silly. It was a business meeting, nothing more, and besides, with his clean-shaven, youthful good looks, he was the type of man any woman could bring home to Daddy. And if he wore dark glasses all the time and had a voice that resonated through her like the purr of a very big cat, so what?
She thought about his eyes as she swung onto the highway. When she had crashed into him and his glasses had slipped, she had thought to get her first glimpse of his eyes. In truth, she hadn't seen much. The low sun behind him had silhouetted his features, and all she had seen were dark brows and dark lashes that ringed light eyes. They had been beautiful, but cold, almost predatory.
She shook her head and pulled into the Fresh Mart lot. There you go again, being silly. She brushed aside the intuition that had served her well during her ten years as a cop. Shelby parked and stepped over to the red bike that had pulled into the space alongside hers. "Are you coming in?"
"As long as I'm here, why not?"
She watched him swing his jeans-encased leg gracefully over the bike as he dismounted, and she felt a flush come to her face as her gaze followed the length of his lean body upward. She suddenly wished she was the one who had dark glasses to hide behind.
Instead, she spun around, headed for the entrance to the store, and sucked in a deep, calming breath. His boots made little sound on the asphalt behind her, yet she knew he was right on her heels. Her face still felt on fire, and she knew the flush wasn't going away. Maybe I've just been without a man in my bed too long. They all look good. As soon as the thought formed, she knew it was a lie. She worked around men all day long, and even resident hunk Deputy Marc Montoya didn't make her feel like this.
"Ah, I'll meet you at the register," she said without turning, again aware that he was close enough to her back to hear her with ease.
"Certainly."
The long, drawn out word vibrated against her ear, and a shiver ran down her body, tickling places deep inside her. The utterance had a stronger than usual French accent behind it, and it was but one more reminder that for all his pale, unsullied looks, he was anything but the boy next door. She wandered through the store, trying to concentrate on the items she needed, but her eyes kept looking up and down the aisles for him instead of at the shelves. This is getting out of hand.
But she found her items and stood in the express checkout line, and before she had waited more than a few seconds Ric materialized behind her. She turned and looked first at him, then lowered her gaze to the hands that held furniture polish and bathroom cleaner. She raised a questioning brow to the dark glasses.
His head dipped slightly, and she got the impression he was questioning her purchase of milk, birdseed, and ice cream in the same manner. "Don't tell me you live on that," he whispered.
She felt warm again and tried to look anyplace but at his face. "I don't cook at home much. It's just me, and since I work such long hours I usually run out for a quick meal during the day or have something delivered. And what about you? You're no cook either?"
He smiled, and the long smile line hooked to the dimple appeared. "Something we have in common, then. But I find I must be a housekeeper whether I like it or not. The Chicken Palace needs a lot of cleaning before it's truly habitable."
"'The Chicken Palace?'"
He cocked his head to the side. "Apparently that's what the locals call the monstrosity I bought."
"I haven't heard that one."
"Long story. I'll tell you some time."
The light moment felt good, and before she knew it they were back in the parking lot. "I don't live far-just up the highway and a block east."
He put his purchases into one of the saddlebags over the rear fender and mounted the bike with the same grace he had displayed before. "Lead the way."
Five minutes later they were at her house and she was balancing her duty bag on one arm and her grocery bag on the other on the way to the front door.
He matched her stride for stride. "Here, let me help you with that."
"I'm fine, but if you could get the door I'd appreciate it." She held her keys in her right hand and waited until she felt him hold out his hand just below hers. He still had on his leather cycle gloves, but it was easy to see that his large hand and long fingers dwarfed hers. He raised his hand, almost cupping hers, and she dropped the keys like they were red-hot. "It's the key right next to the car key."
He stepped in front of her, turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open, then stood aside so she could enter first. She stepped inside and threw an invitation over her shoulder. "Come on in and make yourself at home. I'll just be a minute in the kitchen." She turned her head just enough to make sure he followed her into the living room. She continued through to the dining room and kitchen and heard Flash greet her guest.
"Hello, lover. Lover boy. Pretty boy."
She felt her face flush with embarrassment again. Never was she more glad that she hadn't taught the bird anything really racy or obscene. She put the milk and ice cream away and returned to the living room, where Ric and Flash were eyeing each other critically. Ric had taken off his leather jacket, revealing a gray rib-knit shirt the same color as those damn glasses.
"You'll have to excuse Flash's limited vocabulary."
"Flash?"S She stepped to the other side of Flash's cage, not wanting to get too close to Ric. "Named after one of my ex-partners. Want something cold?"
"No." He ruined her plans by moving closer to her. "Here." He held out one closed fist.
She automatically extended her hand to meet his. Her fingers brushed his, and their touch, even through the layer of leather, seemed to suck all the oxygen from the room. He opened his hand and pressed something cold and hard into her palm. She forced her gaze from his face to her hand. My keys.
She found the breath to laugh. "Oh, thanks. I forgot about these. Sit down, please."
"Lover boy." Flash sat on his perch and bobbed his head up and down.
Ric laughed, too, a rich, throaty sound. He turned and was at her sofa in two long strides. He made himself comfortable at one end, and she sat in the middle of the long sofa, curling her legs beneath her and leaving a good three feet between them.
"Listen, Doc, this is going to sound really strange..."
"Call me Ric. My patients call me Doc."
She had resisted using his first name, but she couldn't very well refuse his invitation to use it now. After all, they were practically sitting side by side in her living room. "Ah, okay, Ric." His name tasted odd on her tongue, like some exotic new food, and the distance between them seemed to shrink. "This is going to sound strange-call it a cop phobia, pet peeve, whatever you want- but do you mind taking off those glasses? I really hate talking to dark glasses."
One side of his mouth twisted in what looked to be more wry self-deprecation than amusement. "Regretfully, I'm not only sensitive to the light, I'm blind as a bat."Such a thing was hard to imagine, but she couldn't very well push the issue. "I didn't know. Sorry. What did you want to talk about?"
He ran the fingers of his right hand along the armrest. "How's the investigation going? Anything?"
She couldn't help a sigh of frustration, and she let her head fall to the sofa's cushioned back. "It's going, but no, nothing. The canvass, the interviews, the scene-nothing." She looked up at him sharply. Was he here to give her some good news? "Please, tell me you found something on the body I can use."
His lips parted, and it seemed a long time before he answered. "No, sorry. I've got clothing samples, fingernail samples, even scrapings from the bottoms of his shoes. I haven't run every test yet on every sample, but like you, nothing yet. But the ID should help."
"Yeah, the ID should help. By tomorrow we'll have a slate of photos of Kyle Carver and hopefully his life story. The paper and TV news channels will run it all. If we're lucky, even if he was here temporarily or just passing through, someone will remember having seen him."
"I do have one suggestion for you."
She leaned toward him. "Sure."
"Your privy digger, Lucius Moravich. It occurs to me that he may be in some danger."
"Danger? How?"
"Well, he's already unearthed two bodies. If your murder suspect has disposed of other victims in a similar manner, he might not like the idea of Digger doing all this jabbing and poking around. Digger might find another body, and the killer wouldn't like that. If I were the killer..." He paused and adjusted the glasses. "I'd put a stop to Lucius Moravich."
What Ric said made good sense. She wished she had thought of it. "I see your point. But I can't very well force him to stop. It's his passion. And I can't put an around-the-clock guard on him."
"You can at least talk to him. Make him understand the danger. If he has any common sense at all, he'll quit on his own."
She rubbed her head. "You're right. I'll talk to him tomorrow. Any other suggestions?"
"Just one." His voice had dropped to a breathy whisper. "I think the local sheriff needs to go to bed ... and get caught up on some needed sleep.."
The phone rang. The doctor's cell phone.