Part 16 (1/2)

”Maybe you've seen him.” I described the man I'd met at the meet and greet. ”His name is Mordred Lucius.”

He thought for a second before shaking his head. ”There's n.o.body by that name around here.” He grabbed a rag and started wiping down the Formica.

”I knew a Lucius fella once,” came the old, scratchy voice from the corner.

My gaze swiveled to the two old men. Darwin Jenkins and Ben Richter. Darwin kept sipping his coffee, his gaze trained on the obituaries, while Ben folded his paper and eyed me. Ben was eighty-seven and he lived for dominoes. He'd been the state champion twice until his eyesight worsened and he started playing double sixes on the tail end of a three. Lost his t.i.tle and his wife (ovarian cancer) all in the same year. He 'd been spending his days at Abel's ever since.

”Knew him when I was a young gun. He used to live at the Bigby spread way back when. Don't know much about his family, but I'm thinking they had money, on account of he never worked. Just showed up one day and leased the house. Stuck-up fella, if I remember correctly. Waltzed around here like he owned the whole town. Even dated the Homecoming Queen. Caused a pretty big stink, too, on account of it was Pastor Hanover's daughter and n.o.body dated one of the pastor's girls. Caused a beauty of a scandal. Enough to run Lucius out of town. Moved out in the middle of the night and ain't been back since.”

”So you haven't seen anyone who looks like him around here recently?”

He adjusted his bifocals. ”Cain't see much anymore, but I don't think so.”

”How about the pastor's daughter? You think she might have seen him?”

”I doubt it. She don't live around these parts anymore. Ran away a few months after Mordred. Heard tell she settled up in Dallas, but I don't know for sure.”

”I heard she joined a cult out in L.A.” Darwin glanced up from his paper. ”A group of crazies who wors.h.i.+p seash.e.l.ls and dance naked on the beach.”

”That's just a lot of gossip,” Ben told him. ”I knew Tara Hanover and she was a good girl. She wouldn't dance naked on no beach. She wouldn't even put a bikini on for Spring Break up at the lake. Wore this blue cover-everything-up one-piece that hung to her ankles.”

”That ain't the way I remember it,” Darwin started in. ”She wore a red one-piece ...” The back and forth continued and I turned my attention back to Ronnie.

”If you see anyone who fits the description, I would appreciate it if you could give me a call.” I slipped him a DED card.

”Will do. And for the record, Tara Hanover ain't dancing naked on some beach. She's in a retirement home outside of Austin with her sister. Golden Acres, I think it is.”

”Thanks.” It wasn't the address I'd been hoping for, but at least it was a lead. Maybe.

I fought down a wave of disappointment, gathered my determination, downed my soda and bought a new L'Oreal lip plumping gloss on my way out.

I needed a pick-me-up in the worst way.

I hit three more places-the diner, the bakery and the hardware store-before the town closed up shop. I talked to a total of twelve people, but no one had ever heard of Mordred Lucius or seen anyone that fit his description.

I spent the next thirty minutes parked at the Dairy Freeze while I checked out listings for retirement homes in Austin. It seems that Golden Acres wasn't actually in the city. It was in a small suburb called Round Rock. They didn 't have a Tara Hanover registered but they did have a Tara McKenzie. I left a message asking her to call me -she was out bowling with the other retirees-and then polished off two diet sodas.

Hyped on caffeine, I decided to check out the old Bigby place and have a look around. I got directions from the clerk at the local Quick Pick-he hadn't seen or heard of Mordred, either, but he had bet twenty bucks that I was in town to hook up the new city councilman.

The Bigby place sat two miles (that would be a thirty second flight via the Batmobile) outside the city limits. I was hoping for a dark, abandoned sh.e.l.l out in the middle of nowhere. The perfect spot to slice and dice an innocent vampire. Hopelessness washed through me as I stared at the bright yellow house with ivory trim. A swing set sat in the front yard. The smell of cherry pie drifted from the open kitchen window, along with laughter and the latest episode of Survivor.

I walked the perimeter of the house. The yard was well kept and the barn had a fresh coat of paint. No signs of a cellar or torture chamber. Rather, the place looked warm and lived in and-s.h.i.+t.

My eyes burned and I blinked frantically. Crying would ruin fifteen minutes of eye makeup and I was already having a bad enough night. Besides, I was a born vampire. I didn't do tears.

Or fear.

An all-important BV fact that I tried my d.a.m.nedest to remember a half hour later when I returned to the hotel, to find my door wide open.

I had brains. I had b.a.l.l.s. I had fangs, for Damien's sake.

Unfortunately, so did the born vampire sitting on the edge of my bed.

The sweet telltale scent of apple cake filled my nostrils a split second before the deep voice slid into my ears.

”I've been waiting for you.”

M y heart jumped into my throat and my stomach tied itself into a dozen different knots.

I know, right? I was a s.e.xy, irresistible BV with totally fab hair, an impeccable fas.h.i.+on sense and an unbelievably high o.r.g.a.s.m quotient. Finding a male BV on my bed shouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary.

It wasn't.

It was finding a fully clothed male BV on my bed that had me wigged out.

He wore a blue and tan western s.h.i.+rt, Wrangler jeans starched within an inch of their life and a pair of Tony Lama brown snakeskin cowboy boots. A dark brown felt cowboy hat sat next to him on the bed.

I caught another whiff of apples and sugar, reaffirming that he was, indeed, a born vampire. At the same time, there was something else in the air. Something sharp and potent that made my nose burn. My eyes watered and I blinked before giving him the once-over. He had blond hair and mesmerizing green eyes. He looked in his thirties, indicating that he 'd lost his virginity later than most.

Translation? Socially challenged.

Nix the I-want-to-have-wild-meaningless-monkey-s.e.x agenda that usually motivated most males of my species.

This vampire was here for an entirely different reason.

My survival instincts kicked into high gear and a growl worked its way up my throat.

”Easy.” He held up his hands. ”I only want to talk.”

Talk?

A male vampire?

Now I was really freaked.

I growled again and flashed some serious fang.

He shot to his feet, but his gaze remained calm and steady. ”Look, I'm not here to hurt you.”

”As if.”

”I heard there was a matchmaker in town,” he added, his voice smooth and enchanting, ”and I wanted to see for myself.”

Not that I was enchanted, of course. That parlor trick only worked on humans. Socially challenged, all right. Any male BV worth his weight knew the way to a female's heart was to plop down some green.

He didn't pull out his wallet. Instead, he stared at me, his eyes brightening and glowing for a long moment before cooling back to their normal shade. ”You're a vampire,” he finally declared. ”I never expected that.”

”Yeah, well, the world is full of surprises. I never expected to find Wyatt Earp breaking and entering my room. ” I planted my hands on my hips and eye-balled him. ”What's the deal?” ”My name is DeWalt Carrigan. I own the Circle C, about five miles outside of town,” he said as if the words were supposed to mean something. When I didn't seem clued in, he added, ”It's the biggest spread in Texas.”

”And this impresses me how?” Every born vamp in existence had a successful something or other. My parents ran a printing and copy dynasty. Remy provided security to celebrities and politicians. Nina One's family did hotels. Nina Two? Feminine hygiene products.