Dead Sexy. Amanda Ashley

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      “Fine,” Flynn said brusquely, “just stay the hell away from me. Come on, Reggie, let’s get out of here.”

      Regan hurried out of the restaurant, aware of Santiago’s gaze on her back as she followed Flynn out the door.

      “Dammit, Regan,” Flynn blurted as they walked toward the crime scene, “what the devil are you thinking, hanging around with that bloodsucker?”

      Because she couldn’t tell him the truth, she told him part of a lie. “I’ve been talking to him about the murders. After all, who better to catch a vamp than a vamp?”

      “Yeah, right. He’d as soon kill you as look at you.”

      Regan felt a little thrill of excitement as she recalled the way Santiago had looked at her earlier. It wasn’t death he had on his mind, unless it was what the French called la petite mort, the little death, in reference to making love.

      The sight of the body sprawled beneath a flowering bush drove every other thought from Regan’s mind. Though she had seen many similar deaths lately, it didn’t make this one any easier to bear. Once again, she was glad she didn’t have to notify the family, didn’t have to see the faces of the victim’s husband and children when they learned that their wife and mother wouldn’t be coming home that night, or any night.

      Frowning, Regan wondered what the woman had been doing in the park after sunset. She would never know now.

      Regan looked up at Michael. “Did the M.E. say she’d been killed here?”

      “As a matter of fact, he suggested she might have been killed somewhere else and her body dumped here.”

      Regan moved closer. Spotlights lit the area, making it almost as bright as day. The woman’s body had been shoved under the bushes, apparently in an effort to hide it. As far as Regan could see, there was no blood on the ground, and none left in the body. There were gaping holes where her heart, liver, and throat had been torn out, but no blood.

      “I think someone else is killing these people and trying to make it look like the work of vampires,” Regan said.

      Flynn snorted. “Why would anyone do that?”

      Regan gestured at the woman’s body. “Why would anyone do this?”

      They stood back as the body was bagged and carted away.

      “I need to go and check out the rest of the park,” Flynn said. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car.”

      “Thanks.”

      “Be careful, Regan,” he said as she slid behind the wheel. “Keep your doors and windows locked.”

      “Don’t worry about me, Mike, I can take care of myself.”

      He closed her car door, then leaned down to look in the window. “I can’t help worrying.”

      “I know. Good night, Mike. Be careful.”

      He waved as she pulled away from the curb.

      Regan’s mind wasn’t on Mike or on the road as she drove home. Instead of traffic noise, she kept hearing Joaquin Santiago’s voice, whiskey smooth and maddeningly sexy. Instead of streetlights, she saw his eyes, deep and dark and mysterious as they gazed into her own. How many centuries had he lived? How many secrets lay hidden beneath the midnight blue depths of his eyes? How many innocent lives had he snuffed out so that he could prolong his own unnatural one?

      What if he was the killer?

      That chilling thought brought reality rushing back to the fore. No matter how handsome he was, no matter how charming he appeared to be, no matter how blatantly sexy he was with his bedroom eyes and his roguish smile, he was a vampire and strictly off-limits.

      Clearheaded now, Regan made a left onto her street, and noticed that the car behind her also made a left. Now that she thought about it, she realized that the same sleek silver-gray Mercedes had been following her ever since she left the park.

      Overcome by a sudden sense of foreboding, she drove past her apartment and made a right at the next stop sign. The car behind her did likewise.

      With growing apprehension, Regan continued on down the street and when the car continued to follow her, she drove to the police station and pulled into the parking lot. The Mercedes drove on past without slowing down.

      Regan blew out a sigh of relief. She was getting paranoid, she thought with a shaky laugh. There was no reason for anyone to be following her. None at all.

      Chiding herself for acting so foolishly, she drove home, checking the rearview mirror all the way. There was no sign of the silver-gray Mercedes. Pulling up in front of her apartment building, she switched off the ignition, then sat in the car, the hair along her nape quivering. Ordinarily, she parked in the underground garage, but not tonight. She told herself she was behaving irrationally but she couldn’t help it. No way in hell was she parking in that garage tonight.

      She was about to open the car door when she saw the silver-gray Mercedes turn the corner.

      With a wordless cry, Regan started the engine. Tires screeching, she pulled away from the curb, her heart pounding a rapid tattoo in her chest, her palms damp on the steering wheel as panic gripped her. She couldn’t see who was driving the silver Mercedes, didn’t want to see who it was because she was afraid, so afraid she could taste it in the back of her throat. She told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. She had destroyed vampires before, she could do so again. She had a pistol loaded with six silver bullets that would stop a vampire cold. That knowledge did nothing to allay her fears.

      She drove straight to You Bet Your Life Park, certain that the only one who could help her, the only one who could save her from the unknown terror that stalked her, was the vampire Santiago.

      Chapter 7

      Santiago stood on the balcony of his apartment, enjoying the moonlight while savoring the sounds and smells of the night—the faint hum of a small white moth doing a dance of death with a streetlight, the rich earthy scent of dew-damp grass and flowering trees. Being a vampire had given him a keen appreciation for the beauty and mystery of the night. It was a different world after dark, one feared by mortals because their vision was limited, or perhaps because they were the predators by day, but at the setting of the sun, they were prey, like everything else.

      So many things had changed since he was made, and yet much remained the same, like the age-old struggle between life and death, good and evil. Mankind had made great strides in some areas—the oceans and the air were clean again, cures had been found for most of the diseases that had plagued the world of men, cloning had never become as popular as scientists had predicted it would, nuclear weapons were no longer a threat. There were settlements on other planets now. Solar power had, for the most part, replaced electricity. And yet, in spite of all that, there were still wars and rumors of wars. Doing away with poverty had not done away with the urge to steal. Prejudice still reared its ugly head from time to time.

      Santiago lifted his face to the sky. How many nights had he stood thus? After the first few hundred years, he had stopped counting. Mortal time no longer held any meaning for him. Indeed, there was little in his existence, other than the need for blood and a lingering need for vengeance, that held any appeal СКАЧАТЬ