Blue Twilight. Maggie Shayne

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СКАЧАТЬ He nodded at the man’s wrist. “Proceed.”

      “There’s more.”

      Closing his eyes slowly, the vampire sighed. “What more?”

      “This,” Fieldner said. He took a paper from his pocket, unfolded it and handed it over.

      He took it, skimming the glossy flyer, which advertised some sort of detective agency. But then he went as still as if he’d suddenly turned to stone. His eyes were riveted to the photographs of the women on the front. One of the women, to be more precise. It was impossible. Impossible.

      “What is the meaning of this?” he asked, and his voice was no more than a whisper.

      “The resemblance is amazing, isn’t it, master? I thought the same.”

      As he said it, the police chief looked up. So did the vampire. He looked up at the portrait of the woman with the delicate facial features of a porcelain doll and beautiful blond hair flowing over her shoulders. She wore a gown from an era long, long ago, and her wide, expressive eyes were as black as the night.

      He kept looking from the face on the flyer to the face on the wall. “Tell me what you know of these two women,” he whispered.

      “The girl’s brother—Jason Beck—he had this flyer in his wallet. It fell out when he took out his sister’s photo to show it to me. As to the women, I know only what’s on the flyer, sir. Their names are Maxine Stuart and Tempest Jones. They’re some kind of investigators for hire, who work, apparently, out of an office in Maine. When I asked who they were, Beck said they were old friends of his.”

      Another good move on the chief’s part. One that might keep him alive a little bit longer, the vampire thought. He paced closer, removed the blade from the police chief’s hand and returned it to the case. “I’ll need you at full strength, Fieldner.”

      “I await your command, my lord.”

      He drew a deep breath, moving back to the girls. The second girl, Janie, was sitting up now, watching the men with unfocused eyes. She was confused and frightened.

      “I’m afraid you two will have to be my guests for a short while.”

      The blonde found both her voice and her courage. “Don’t put us back in that cell. Please. We haven’t done anything to you.”

      He pursed his lips, shook his head. “No, no cells for you. My servant has treated you grievously, but I will make up for that. You are my guests, my cherished and honored guests. No harm will come to you in my care. You have my promise.”

      They seemed to absorb the mental commands he was sending. Delia had already relaxed to a great degree, and Janie’s fear began to ease, as well. He leaned closer to Fieldner, spoke softly. “Take them up to the guest rooms. Lock them in.” Then he turned to the girls again. “My man here knows now that he was mistaken in his treatment of you. You have no more to fear from him, I promise. And if all goes well, you’ll be home with your families in a day. Two, at most.”

      He nodded to Fieldner, again lowering his voice. “Photograph them, and then hurry back here, Fieldner. There is work to be done.”

       4

      Maxie couldn’t hide her excitement from Lou—he thought there wasn’t a hell of a lot she could hide from him—when she jumped out of Stormy’s car in the curving, white gravel driveway and stared at the beautiful house. He didn’t blame her. The place was a freaking dream house, a pristine white mansion resting on the rugged coast of Easton, Maine. She was racing up the white flagstone walk to the front door with its tall, oval stained-glass inset even as he parked the van. He smiled as she used her new key to let herself in.

      Then he shut the van off and sent a look back at Stormy. She was fiddling with some things in the trunk of her car, obviously not as eager as Max was to rush inside. Preoccupied, perhaps. Maybe Max’s worry about her wasn’t as overblown as Lou wanted to think.

      He climbed out of the van and joined Max in the house. She stood in the great room, taking it in. The chandelier in the domed ceiling above. The gleaming hardwood floors and the rugged, almost Norse-looking furniture. The way the stairs widened at the bottom so that they seemed to spill down from above, like a waterfall flowing into the room. She loved this place—it practically glowed from her eyes. Mostly, Lou thought, she loved it because it was her sister’s. It seemed filled with Morgan’s presence, her touches, even when she wasn’t here.

      “Aren’t Morgan and Dante here to greet you?” Lou asked.

      “No. They’re traveling. A delayed honeymoon, I guess.” She smiled up at him. That smile hit him in the solar plexus every time she flashed it, and this time was no different. “Besides, I think Morgan wanted to make sure I understood the place was really mine now. Give me time to settle in, get comfortable here. You know?”

      He nodded, looking around. “So where’s the office going to be?”

      “Oh, we already started setting up—took a drive up here last weekend. It’s the room Morgan used for her writing when she was here. I think it was originally a den.” She walked as she spoke, glancing over her shoulder once. “Stormy …?”

      “She’s going through some stuff in her car,” he said. He saw the way Max’s eyes clouded with worry. “Was she okay the rest of the way here?”

      “Seemed to be.”

      “But you’re still worried.”

      She sighed. “You think I’m being dumb.”

      “I think it’s great the way you worry about her, Max. You’re the most loyal person I know.”

      “Yeah?” She smiled again. “That’s sweet, coming from a guy who’s as miserly with compliments as you are.”

      “Am I?”

      “You’d think they were an endangered species.” She looked toward the door again. “Lou, something’s wrong with Stormy.”

      He frowned, a little shiver tingling up the back of his neck. “She said she fell asleep.”

      “She lied.” Max shook her head and paced back to the entryway to stare out at Stormy, who was still picking through the luggage in her trunk. “I think she’s been keeping something from me for a while now. Since the coma.”

      “Any idea what it’s about?”

      Max shook her head. “Back there, when she went off the road, I could have sworn for just a second that her eyes were jet-black.”

      Lou frowned at her. “What color are they usually?”

      “Blue,” she said. “You telling me you never noticed the color of Stormy’s eyes?”

      “It’s not the kind of thing I notice. So shoot me.”

      “You’re a cop. You notice everything.”

      “Ex-cop,” he corrected.

      Max flattened a palm over her eyes. “What color are mine?”

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