Part 41 (1/2)

Cool fingers cupped her chin for a heartbeat. ”Foolish girl, why not?” Then, with a jangle of silver bracelets and a careless, ”Don't wait up...” she was gone.

Her touch lingered.

Later that night, as Claire climbed into bed, Austin uncurled enough to mutter, ”I understand you're renting a room to a bloodsucking, undead, soulless creature.”

”Does that bother you,” Claire asked.

”Not in the least.” He yawned. ”Anyone who can operate a can opener is okay by me.”

”She came back into her room just before dawn. I think that she saw somebody in town last night.” Jacques' hands traced euphemistic signals in the air. ”If you know what I mean. She had a cat who has eaten canary look.”

Sprawled on top of the computer monitor, Austin snorted. ”She looked like she was about to hawk up a mouthful of damp feathers?”

”That is not what I mean.”

”You shouldn't spy on the guests,” Dean told him, tightening his grip on a handful of steel wool. ”It's rude.”

”I was not spying,” Jacques protested indignantly. ”I was concerned.”

”Pull the other one.”

”You do not have to believe me.”

”Good.”

”Why do you suppose such a pretty girl stays in a room with no windows?”

Descending from an hour spent studying the power wrapped around Aunt Sara, as long as she could spend so close to such evil without wanting to rent movies just so she could return them unrewound, Claire waited on the stairs for Dean's answer.

”Ms. Moore's a musician.” His tone suggested only an idiot couldn't have figured it out on his own. ”She works nights, she sleeps days, and she doesn't want the sun to wake her.”

”Such a good thing there is the room, then,” Jacques mused.

Claire frowned. What would happen if Jacques put one and one together and actually made two? If the ghost found out about the vampire, who could he tell? Dean? Only if it would irritate or enrage him.

What if Dean found out? She was fairly certain he would neither start sharpening stakes nor looking up the phone numbers for the tabloids. The vampire's safety would not be compromised.

Dean's safety was another matter entirely. Many humans were drawn to the kind of danger Sasha Moore represented. While not necessarily life-threatening, it was a well known fact that the intimacy of vampiric feeding could become addictive and that wasn't something she was going to allow to happen to Dean. He wasn't going to end up wandering the country, a helpless groupie of the undead.

And I'd feel the same way about anyone made my responsibility, she insisted silently. Including guests while they're in this hotel. Which, in a loopy way, made Sasha Moore her responsibility as well.

The sudden realization jerked her forward. Catching her heel on the stair, she stumbled, arms flailing for balance, down into the lobby. She'd have made it had the pommel on the end of the banister not come off in her hand.

Her landing made an impressive amount of noise. It would have made more had she been permitted the emotional release of profanity.

”Claire!” Dean tossed the steel wool aside, peeled off the rubber gloves, and started to rise. ”Are you all right?”

”I'm fine.”

Moving toward her, he found Jacques suddenly in his way, hands raised in warning.