Part 32 (1/2)

Roger lay on his back, eyes shaded with one arm, watching her performance. ”You can stop now; he's gone.”

Britt hurried to the bedside, pus.h.i.+ng him back to a supine position when he tried to sit up. The first minute was a rapturous blur. Her hair was straggling down, her blouse and slacks were rumpled from being slept in, and she tasted like ham and cheese. She was beautiful. When she got a good look at him, tears of anger s.h.i.+mmered in her eyes. ”Roger, how do you feel?”

He forced a smile and tried to answer lightly. ”Well, I'm feverish and nauseated, and my head hurts like the very devil-otherwise, just fine.”

”You don't have to violate your human half,” she whispered fiercely. ”I'll kill him myself.” She took off the windbreaker draped around her shoulders and spread it over Roger, then s.h.i.+fted to cast her shadow across his face. ”At least I can-as Peter said- help you build up your strength. You aren't going to argue, I hope?”

He smiled wryly. ”I'm not arguing. Allow me to point out, however, that physiological processes aren't very intelligent. If I could keep anything down in my present condition, my body would probably respond the way a well-fed vampire's system usually deals with extreme stress-by falling into suspended animation.”

”Oh-I forgot about that.”

”I don't think unconsciousness would be a terribly useful tactic.”

Britt clenched her fists in frustration. ”But I can't stand this-I want to help you.”

”You are helping. Beloved.” His fingertips traced the outline of her face as if seeking rea.s.surance that she was real. ”Actually, I'm too sick to feel hunger. But I wish I weren't so thirsty.” She looked confused. ”Confound the imprecise English language. I mean I'm dehydrated.”

”Yes, I should think so! Don't move, I'll get you some water.”

He felt an irrational reluctance to let her out of his reach. She was back in almost no time, though. He sat up to drink the cup of water she'd brought, then laid his head in her lap. She readjusted the windbreaker, which helped a little. Her hand, usually so warm, felt strangely cool on his forehead.

”Youare feverish,” she said. ”That scares me; you're sup posed to be immune to sickness.”

”This is a special case.”

”We have to get you out of here,” she fretted.

”Any ideas?”

She glanced at the door. ”I know you can't do anything about the deadbolt, but couldn't you rip the door off its hinges?”

”Probably,” Roger said. ”Looks like typically shoddy modern construction.” ”Then why haven't you done it?”

”Because it would take a little time,” he said. ”What would our host be doing while all that racket was going on?”

”I guess the same argument applies to breaking the window. Otherwise you'd have done it just to get fresh air. I like Italian food myself, but this is ridiculous.” She leaned over in a vain attempt to shade him more thoroughly. ”Sorry, it isn't funny.”

”And the higher the sun gets, the worse it will be,” Roger said.

”Then we have to act soon, before you get any weaker. Say, you can still take him, can't you?”

”Of course.” Roger decided acting insulted would demand too much effort.

”It all comes back to the gun,” Britt sighed in frustration. ”We need to distract Peter long enough for you to disarm him. Could you hypnotize him?”

”Not a chance. He's too wary. If he were immobilized long enough, I might be able to overcome his resistance-in which case it wouldn't be necessary anyway.”

After a moment's thought she brightened up. ”How about setting the place on fire?” She smacked the mattress, raising a puff of dust.

”In theory, an excellent plan,” said Roger. ”You have the means to start it?”

”Don't you?”

”No, I didn't bother with anything but my car keys.”

”First time I ever wished I smoked,” Britt said. ”If I did, I'd carry matches in my jacket.”

”I smelled cigarette smoke on Peter's clothes,” Roger said. ”It's possible he may have overlooked a book of matches in one of these drawers.”

”True,” Britt said. ”Can't hurt to look.”

”And after we get him in here?” said Roger. ”He's still the one with the weapon.”

”Can't you just try wrestling it away from him?”

”Not when a bullet meant for me could hit you. And I don't care for the idea of being shot twice in one week, either.”

”Too bad he cleared out all the deodorant and aftershave and so forth. Squirting something in his face would slow him down. All we have is water.”

”I'd prefer sulfuric acid myself,” Roger said. When Britt started to get up to search for matches, he clasped her hand. ”Colleague- beloved-if we don't get out of this-”

”Don't be silly,” she said. ”Of course we will. You have superhuman powers, remember?”

He fixed his eyes on hers, silently conveying what words could express only in part. ”I love you, Britt.”

”I know,” she breathed. ”Don't look at me that way when you can't follow through.”

”I wish I could have been more for you.” ”Stop using the past tense!”

”Very well,” he said in the same solemn tone. ”I wish I could be all you need. You've often complained of my inhibitions. If I had a sort of Bela Lugosi flair-”

”Lugosi is overrated. Now, if you looked like Frank Langella-” Dropping the pretense of frivolity, she lay across him, her face hidden on his chest, and said in a rapid, fierce whisper, ”Stop being obtuse, Roger. I didn't fall in love with a fantasy of vampirism; I fell in love withyou . I love everything about you, even the traits that drive me up the wall.”

”That isn't logical.” He knew they had to stop before they drove each other into hysterics. He held her away from him. ”We can indulge in emotional displays later. You were going to look for matches.”

”Right.” Brus.h.i.+ng tears from her eyes, Britt rearranged the jacket over him. At that moment they heard the deadbolt click.

Britt leaped up. Too late-Peter, opening the door, caught her in the act. If nothing else, Britt's jacket covering Roger made the situation clear.

Frowning, Peter swept the gun from Britt to Roger and back again. ”You'll help me, huh? Sure!” He gulped rasping breaths between phrases. ”You were in it with him all the time.”

Britt folded her arms and glared back at Peter. Roger discarded the jacket and sat up.

Peter's weapon hand jerked convulsively. ”Hold it right there!” He turned the muzzle toward Britt. ”You-get over here.”

”I'm getting fed up with taking orders from this kid,” she told Roger.

”In the circ.u.mstances you haven't much choice.” He tried to bridle his anger at his own helplessness. Encouraging her to fight would be unpardonably reckless.