Secret Life of a Vampire

CHAPTER 2

"Wait!" Lara Boucher ran after the paramedics as they rolled their gurney into an elevator. She caught up with them just as the doors slid shut. She could have stopped the elevator doors, but she froze when she saw their faces. They had the same zombielike expressions that she'd seen on Harvey.

A shudder shot down her spine. It must be a residual effect from the icy cold hotel room she'd just left.

Who was she kidding? She was totally freaked out.

She punched the down button for another elevator and jammed the clip back into her automatic pistol. Coward. If she had any guts at all, she'd march back to that room and take the mysterious Jack in for questioning.

Another shudder racked her body as she recalled the moment he'd taken her weapon. It had been scary enough when he'd ambled calmly into the bedroom with no cuffs on to announce that Harvey had abandoned her and no backup was on the way. But when he'd grabbed her weapon, she'd thought for a second that her life was over. And if that wasn't terrifying enough, she'd thought she'd heard his voice in her head, although she couldn't make out the words.

She glanced down the hall. Should she go back for him? The man was dangerous. Strangely compelling, but at the same time frightening. Confusing, unworldly. And incredibly handsome.

She jumped when a dinging noise announced the next elevator. She hurried inside and pushed the lobby button. Coward. You're running away.

What else could she do? Harvey had left her. And Jack had disarmed her so easily. He would simply do it again.

She snapped her sidearm back into the holster. She had a strange feeling Jack had been in control of the situation all along. He could have killed her, but instead, he'd seemed insulted that she'd thought him capable of it.

After the elevator doors opened, she dashed into the lobby and spotted the paramedics leaving the hotel. She rushed through the revolving door and met them as they were loading the gurney into the back of the ambulance.

"Hey, guys. What's going on?"

One of the paramedics gave her a blank look. "Hello, Officer. We're on call tonight."

"You were called here, to the Plaza hotel."

The paramedic shut the back doors on the ambulance. "We've never been to the Plaza."

Lara's mouth fell open. Didn't they know where they were?

The paramedic climbed into the driver's seat. "Good night, Officer."

She inhaled sharply as the ambulance drove away.

What had Jack done to them? Did he have some sort of strange power over people's minds? Her skin prickled as if a thousand eyes were focused on her in tike dark. Keep it together. You're not losing it. Unfortunately, she knew too well how fragile a person's brain could be.

She spotted the patrol car parked by the curb and jogged over to it.

Harvey frowned at her as she climbed into the front passenger seat. "Where have you been? I've been waiting forever."

"I was in the hotel." She buckled her seat belt. "With you."

He snorted. "I've never been in a hotel with you. I'm a married man."

"I didn't mean—"

"If that's some kind of joke, it's not funny." He turned on the ignition and pulled out onto Fifth Avenue.

"Harvey, I have the utmost respect for you and your marriage." And absolutely no attraction to you. "You don't remember the Plaza asking us to check on some guests who were too rowdy?"

"Hotel security would take care of that."

"Normally, yes. But when someone reported an alleged sword fight going on, they called us."

He laughed. "A sword fight in a hotel room? You need to cut back on the caffeine."

"You don't remember the guy with the sex toys?"

Harvey gave her a dubious look. "You're crazy. Our last call was a drunken brawl in Times Square."

Her skin chilled. "I'm not crazy." It did happen. Just because Harvey and the paramedics couldn't remember it, that didn't mean it hadn't happened. Somehow Jack had erased their memories. What manner of man could do that?

At least he hadn't screwed with her head like he had the others. Or had he? Was she remembering something that hadn't even happened?

Oh God, not again. She'd already spent six months of her life in utter confusion, unable to tell reality from dreams. After the car accident, reality had seemed fuzzy, and her dreams had seemed real.

She had to know. She had to go back and face Jack.

Two blocks ahead of them, a car swerved onto Fifth Avenue. It skidded across two lanes, sliding dangerously close to a yellow cab before speeding away.

Harvey eased on the accelerator. "What do you think? Drunk driver?"

"Or stolen vehicle." Lara grabbed the radio mike to call the dispatcher. "I need a ten-fourteen." She read the license plate number as they continued to follow.

The radio crackled. "That's a ten-seventeen." The dispatcher reported the vehicle was not stolen.

"Roger," she answered. "Looks like a DWI."

"Let's get him." Harvey hit the lights and siren.

Lara's nerves tensed. You never knew how people would react. Luckily, the driver cooperated, and twenty minutes later, they were hauling his drunken ass into headquarters.

As the sun rose, Lara finished her paperwork for the night. She double-checked the log Harvey had kept. No reference of them ever going to the Plaza. She drummed her pen on the desk, debating what to do. If she included the Plaza incident in her report, then her supervisor, Captain O'Brian, would question why it didn't appear in the log or in Harvey's report. She'd never get promoted to detective if they started doubting her grip on reality.

She strode to the water cooler and took a long drink. Maybe she should visit a neurologist and see if it was possible to have a relapse.

Dammit, no! She crushed the paper cup in her hand and tossed it in the trash. She'd fought too hard to overcome her head injury. That was six years ago, and she was over it. She hadn't dreamed this up. For one thing, she could remember everything about Jack. All sorts of details.

Thick, black hair brushed back from his wide brow. The ends curled slightly where they touched his shirt collar. And that black silk shirt—it had clung to him, clearly outlining his broad shoulders and rock-hard abs. He was as gorgeous as any model she'd ever seen in a magazine.

And his voice had intrigued her. Soft and melodious, with an Italian accent, but also crisp and polite, as if he'd learned English from the British. The dual accents hinted at a man who would be complex. Fascinating, even. He was both Jack and Giacomo. Bellissima, he had called her.

She closed her eyes and mentally roamed up his body from his expensive Italian leather shoes. Long legs. Narrow hips. Trim waist. Broad shoulders with a lovely curve to his neck that made her want to nestle her face into the crook. Strong jaw with a shade of dark whiskers, just enough to make her want to touch. Expressive mouth. She'd found herself using his mouth to gauge his reactions. One corner of his mouth would curl up when he was amused. His lips would part when he was surprised, then press together when he was annoyed.

And his eyes—they were a warm, golden brown that radiated both intelligence and courage. He'd watched her every move with an intensity that bordered on… hunger.

"Hey, don't fall asleep standing up."

She jerked her eyes open to find Captain O'Brian regarding her curiously. "Sorry. It was a long night."

"It takes a while to adjust to the graveyard shift, but you're doing fine. Finish up and go home, Boucher."

"Yes, Captain." She hurried back to her desk to finish her report without the incident at the Plaza. But it had happened. Jack might look like a dream, but he was real.

She usually changed into civilian clothes before taking the train back to her apartment in Brooklyn. After a long night of dealing with drunk and disorderly people, she just wanted to fade into the crowd unnoticed. But this morning, she kept her uniform on and took the subway back to the Plaza hotel.

"I need information on Room 1412," she told the registration clerk.

"Just a moment." The young man typed on his keyboard. "That's one of our Edwardian suites. Would you like to reserve it?"

"It's already occupied. I want to check on it."

He frowned at his computer screen. "That suite is vacant at the moment."

"Well, maybe they checked out, but they were there last night. They had a wild party. Hotel security called the police."

He gave her a confused look. "I don't know what to tell you, Officer. According to our records, that room was vacant last night."

Lara swallowed hard. How far had Jack gone to erase his steps? "Is the night manager here? I'd like to speak to him. And hotel security, too."

The story remained the same. The night manager had no record of Suite 1412 being occupied. Lara asked him to check on any room reserved by a man named Giacomo, but no such name emerged in their files.

Hotel security was even worse. They got all huffy when she claimed they had called the police. They could handle matters on their own, thank you very much. And there hadn't been any wild parties the night before.

She insisted on seeing the room for herself, so they reluctantly gave her a key. On the fourteenth floor, she opened the door slowly and let it swing open. She inhaled, expecting to encounter the odor of whiskey.

It was gone. But the strong smell of disinfectant and cleansers filled the room. She walked in and looked to the left where the man had lain on the carpet, covered in blood. He was gone. The carpet was clean.

She wandered through the room, eyeing the upholstery and carpet. No stains. Her gaze shifted to the wall. No blood splatter. She moved closer. Either she was off her rocker, or someone had done a phenomenal cleaning job.

He had said he would clean it up.

She touched the wall. It looked so fresh. Had they repainted it? Too bad she couldn't get a CSI team in here. There was no way Captain O'Brian would okay that, not when hotel management insisted the room had been empty.

She strode into the bedroom. The satin comforter was spotless. How had Jack managed that? She peered into the bathroom. No sex doll. She scanned the mosaic floor and white marble vanity for any sign of blood. The twenty-four-carat-gold faucets gleamed. The towels were neatly folded. No one would ever believe this room had been occupied.

She strode toward the door to let herself out. Somehow, Jack had tampered with the memories of all the hotel staff. Had he bothered with the guests?

She knocked on the next door down the hall. A droopy-eyed, yawning couple told her that everything had been quiet the night before, then slammed the door in her face. If it had been quiet, why were they so sleepy?

Well, that was easy. They could have been up all night making love. Lara sighed. Just because she was going without didn't mean other people were.

Close to the elevator, a man in a business suit emerged from his room, carrying a briefcase.

"Sir." She jogged to catch up with him.

"Yes?" He gave her that wary look so many people give the cops, like they know they've done something wrong and they're hoping she doesn't know.

She gave him a friendly smile to put him at ease. "I wanted to ask you about last night. Did you hear anything out of the ordinary?"

"You mean the damned bagpipes? Some idiot was playing them at three in the morning."

Lara's heart lurched up her throat. She wasn't crazy! And Jack had missed someone. "Yes, exactly. Do you remember anything else?"

"Just that I couldn't sleep. I finally went out to a bar to get a drink."

And that was how Jack had missed him. "Thank you."

"Well, I just hope my presentation today doesn't suck," he grumbled as he lumbered toward the elevator.

Jack was real. But how could she find him? She glanced at the local newspaper in front of the door. "Sir?" she called after the businessman. "Do you mind if I take this paper?"

"Be my guest." He stepped into an elevator.

Lara picked up the paper and turned to the section on wedding announcements. It had been a bachelor party with bagpipes and claymores. Chances were good that the groom was Scottish.

Today was Saturday, so there were plenty of weddings listed. MacPherson, Ferguson, and MacPhie. Three weddings with Scottish-sounding grooms.

Lara took a deep breath. She was about to become a wedding crasher.

Lara rushed up the stone steps as fast as her high-heeled red sandals would allow. After three months on the beat, she wasn't used to dressing up. She stopped before the carved wooden doors and mentally braced herself.

She could do this. She'd crashed the MacPherson wedding with no one realizing it. Of course, that had been a huge affair. The Ferguson wedding had been scarier. With only fifty people in attendance, she'd been painfully aware of the curious looks cast her way. She'd slipped away as soon as possible, leaving behind one of the three wedding presents she'd purchased that afternoon.

She adjusted the bodice on her red cocktail dress. Maybe she shouldn't have worn red. Or this low neckline. It was bound to draw attention. But this was a late wedding, starting at nine p.m., so she assumed it would be more formal that the afternoon weddings she'd attended. The red dress was the fanciest one she owned. The only fancy dress she owned. After leaving home, she'd sworn never ever to wear a full-length formal gown again.

Too bad she had to lug this canvas tote bag with her. Her uniform and weapon were inside, since she'd have to leave soon for work. Her shift started at ten, but she'd make it on time. It would only take a few minutes to see if Jack was here. She believed he was real, but she'd feel a lot better if she could verify that in person. And she wanted to know how he had managed to erase his tracks at the hotel. He was an intriguing mystery, with his ability to control minds. So naturally, as a wannabe detective, she just had to investigate him. The fact that he was also gorgeous and incredibly sexy didn't factor into it.

Yeah, right. She shouldn't lie to herself in church.

She pulled open the heavy wooden door and slipped inside the vestibule. Rows of red glass votives flickered, casting a warm glow against the stone walls. Her stiletto heels wobbled on the uneven pavement as she moved quietly toward the nave. Two saintly statues flanked the entrance, frowning at her for sneaking in uninvited.

Those who were invited seemed like a happy bunch. She remained half hidden behind the door, watching them as they laughed and talked. The ends of the pews were decorated with white ribbons and lilies. Another floral arrangement rested on the altar. She scanned the small crowd, looking for Jack. She didn't see him, but she did spot the guy who'd been sprawled on the floor covered with blood just the night before. How strange. He was perfectly fine now.

"May I help you?"

She jumped and turned toward the man who'd spoken behind her. A big redheaded Scotsman. "Hi there."

" 'Twill begin soon. May I escort you to yer seat?"

"Sure." She figured he must be one of the ushers. This was definitely a Scottish wedding. The guy was wearing a black-and-white-plaid kilt, white lacy shirt, and black jacket. A single red rosebud was pinned to his lapel, and his long hair was pulled back with a thin black ribbon.

He regarded her curiously with his light green eyes. "Ye're a friend of the bride?"

Lara's mind went blank as she desperately tried to remember the name of the bride. Cheryl? No, that had been the MacPherson wedding. Dammit. She'd paid more attention to the names of the grooms. And this groom had seemed familiar somehow. "I'm a friend of Ian MacPhie."

The Scotsman's eyebrows lifted. "Ye know Ian?"

"Sure. We go way back. I… used to date his cousin."

"I see."

Shoot, this wasn't working. She'd have to distract this guy. She brushed her long hair behind her shoulder to show off some cleavage and gave him the dazzling smile her mom had spent a small fortune on. "I don't believe we've met. I'm… Susie."

"Delighted to make yer acquaintance. I'm Robby MacKay." He took her hand. "Since ye're a friend of Ian's, he'll want to see you right away."

"Oh, that's not necessary." She tried to remove her hand, but Robby's grip tightened. "Surely it can wait till after the ceremony."

"Come with me." He pulled her across the vestibule.

Oh, shit. "Isn't the wedding about to start? We need to take our seats."

He opened a door and gently pushed her inside a dark room. "Wait here." He flipped on a light and as she quickly looked about, he grabbed her canvas tote bag.

"No!" Dammit, her weapon was in there. "I need that."

"Ye'll get it back." He started to shut the door.

"Wait! Is Jack here?"

Robby paused. "Jack?"

"Yes. Giacomo. His English-speaking friends call him Jack. I need to talk to him."

Without bothering to answer, Robby shut the door in her face. An ominous click sounded like a key turning a lock.

Dammit! Lara looked about the dimly lit room. A storeroom, she guessed. A row of high-backed, carved wooden chairs rested against the wall to her left. A bookcase filled with dusty old hymnals lined the wall to the right. The wall across from her was bare. No other door. Just as well. She couldn't leave without her uniform and weapon.

Damn, damn, damn! She paced across the small room. How could she have been so stupid? That Scotsman had moved incredibly fast. He'd wrenched the bag away before she'd known what was happening. But she had suspected he was onto her. She should have done something. But what? Drawn her weapon in a church at a wedding she was crashing?

She tried the door and sure enough, it was locked. How long would they keep her in here? What if she was late to work? What if she couldn't get her uniform and sidearm back? What a lousy cop she was turning out to be.

On the other hand, if Jack was here, then she was a damned good cop for managing to find him.

Male voices murmured on the other side of the door. She took a few steps back and drew in a deep, steadying breath.

Click. The door swung open to reveal Robby and… Jack.

Her breath caught. Good God, he was even more handsome than she'd remembered. His elegant gray suit looked tailor-made. His golden brown eyes widened as he looked her over.

"Ye know this woman?" Robby asked.

"Si." Jack never took his eyes off her.

"Lucky bastard." Robby shoved her tote bag into Jack's arms and strode away.

Jack continued to give her that look, the one she could only describe as hungry. A chill crept up her bare arms. Oh yeah. It was more than intellectual curiosity that had driven her to hunt him down.

"Bellissima." Jack shook his head. "Mi displace, I–I forgot all my English for a moment. You look so… bella. You would make the Mona Lisa cry with envy."

Her heart stuttered in her chest. Get a grip. You're here to question this guy. "Hello, Jack."

"I thought I would never see you again."

She lifted her chin. "I told you it wasn't over."

He walked into the room and shut the door. "Then you wish to start something with me?"