A Taste of the Nightlife (30 page)

“You keep rescuing me,” I whispered. “Why do you keep on rescuing me?”

“Because I want to.”

It was too much. I couldn’t take it. I’d never had backup like this. Nobody could take what I had to throw at them. Even my own parents had left me alone to deal with the mess I’d made out of my brother’s existence. But Brendan kept coming back, and he not only took it, he made it better. Really better. Not because of the money or the magic, but because he saw me at a level of bad I wouldn’t have been able to imagine a few days ago, and he still came back.

I started to cry.

These were not decorous Elizabeth Taylor tears. These were great, loud sobs that shook my exhausted body and made my throat instantly raw. No pride, no dignity, no strength, just a river of guilt, regret and confusion I couldn’t hold back anymore.

Brendan folded me tightly in his arms. He didn’t worry about hurting me. He seemed to know I needed to feel his strength. I rested my cheek against his chest, wrapped my arms around his waist and bawled. He said nothing. He didn’t move. He just held me close, one arm around my shoulders, one hand cupping the back of my head, and let me cry.

Slowly, the storm dissipated, and extraneous sensation began to shine through. I could feel Brendan’s heartbeat beneath the hard plane of his chest. He smelled of warmth and Ivory soap. I lifted my head and I looked into his amazing blue eyes.

I kissed him. There was nothing soft or subtle about the gesture. It was as raw as my crying jag and born of a pent-up desire to know what his mouth would feel like against mine.

I can report that Brendan Maddox was an absolutely topflight kisser. Direct, open, thorough, and filled with all kinds of promises. He slid his hands around my shoulders and pulled me onto my toes as I clung to his solid waist and kissed him back with everything I had. A hot, sweet ache filled me to overflowing. I wanted to pull up his shirt and run my hands over his skin. I wanted to drag him down onto the plush carpet, or let him drag me down. It didn’t matter. I needed the tumult, the tenderness and heat that would make all the rest of this mess go away. Just for now. Just this once.

Except it would matter, and that realization laid a cold finger on my heated brain. It mattered because I didn’t know what the hell was really happening now, or what would be happening ten minutes or two days from now. I did know, though, that Brendan wasn’t the kind to walk away. If we became lovers tonight and I changed my mind, he would not leave me with nothing but the memory of one night of poor judgment. He’d stay. I’d have to turn on him and force him away to get him to go, and as badly as I wanted him now, that was not a possibility I was ready to live with.

My libido fought me every inch of the way, but I pulled back. Brendan let me go. But then, I’d known he would.

We stood there, both panting, with a good six inches between us. Brendan’s cheeks were flushed and he had an adorable, kissable smile on his face that he was trying to get under control.

“Sorry?” I said.

He shook his head. “You?”

I considered the possibility. “No.”

“Good.”

“It was just stress?” I tried.

He thought about that. “We’ll find out, won’t we?”

“I guess we will.” And if I stood here another second, I was going to throw myself at him again. He’d catch me too.

“I’m going to get that shower,” I said.

Once in the bedroom, which could have comfortably slept half my line crew, I shut the door firmly. I’m pretty sure I had a goofy smile on my face as I stripped down and sauntered into the bathroom. The water was instantly hot and a twist of the showerhead had it coming down in a pummeling rain to rinse off the stink from lls and cop cars. The towels were gloriously fluffy. So was the complimentary bathrobe. The toiletry kit included a heavy brush. A hair dryer hung in its holder on the wall. I spent a solid twenty minutes on my hair, teasing out the tangles and blowing it dry until finally I recognized the woman who stood before the mirror.

The combination of being physically clean and working with my hands, even if it was just to tidy my hair, settled my thoughts. This left me with enough room in my brain to stack the information I’d gotten hold of in some kind of order. Fact One: There was a human-blood-running underground in New York City. Fact Two: Chet was looking for a legal way to deliver a better product than the runners could supply. This could very easily have made somebody nervous. Fact Three: Bert Shelby had a history of dealing with criminals. A tourist goth bar would make a great place for dealing actual human blood. You’d be hiding in plain sight.

Taylor could have told Shelby about Chet’s spa. Shelby, or his employers, could have gotten nervous and decided to try to warn Chet that he’d better get out of the business. Or maybe, they wanted to take over the spa and Chet wouldn’t sell.

All of which left Burning Question Number One: Had Taylor Watts turned in his keys when he left? Because if he had kept a key to the walk-in, he could have dumped both the body and the blood in Nightlife.

But where did the Maddoxes fit in? Starting with Pam and Dylan but moving on to Margot and, as much as I hated to admit it, Brendan. Brendan said Chet was trying to set Pam up. He was gathering information on her and from her. Had Pam gotten herself involved with Shelby’s operation? She was a security expert and a vampire hunter. That’d be a very handy skill set for a gang of blood runners.

Could I be sure that it was Shelby who was in charge, though? What if it was Ilona St. Claire? What if I had things backward, and Ilona, Chet and Marcus the Nebbish Vamp—or some combination of those three—were trying to muscle in on Shelby’s operation rather than Shelby and Pam trying to muscle in on theirs?

Or . . . or what if Pam was still working for her family and was acting as a mole in Shelby’s operation, and Dylan had been killed as a warning to her? No, that couldn’t be right. If they knew Pam was a mole, why not just kill her? And why dump the body at Nightlife? Pam must really be in Shelby’s operation, and poor, dumb, lovesick Dylan was trying to pull her out before the fact of her criminal involvement could jeopardize the Maddox family’s chance at a city contract.

Or maybe . . . I scrunched my eyes closed. I was dangerously close to giving myself a headache from going around in so many circles. I was also missing something. I could feel it.

I set down the hairbrush. This much I was sure of. My world had collapsed and my brother was on the run in Connecticut, but for just a minute I needed to set that aside. I was physically clean and dinner was on its way to my hotel room. Everything else could wait, just for an hour. Just one hour more.

That I had no clean clothing was a problem. Well, this was the Ritz. There would be a laundry service. But when I walked back into the bedroom, I got my next surprise. The filthy T-shirt and slacks I’d tossed onto the bed were gone. In their place I saw a long black skirt and a soft sapphire-colored top made of what looked suspiciously like watered silk. With loose sleeves. And silver spangles.

I knew I shouldn’t. I had already taken too much from Brendan. Besides, if I was absolutely honest with myself, there were still questions about eactly how much of this mess was just family and how much was really him. I didn’t want to owe Brendan, for that reason, but there was more to it. I didn’t want him to think that when we—I mean
if
we—got physical, it was because I owed him. I didn’t want to have to wonder if he was going to expect something because I owed him so much.

I didn’t want to have to wonder what Anatole would think about my being with Brendan.

That was another one of those ice-cold thoughts that opens the door wide to reality. Because I knew that if it had been Anatole holding me when I broke, I might have acted exactly the same, and felt the same sweet ache as a result.

I looked at the ceiling. “It would have killed you to send them one at a time?”

There was no answer. I sighed and got dressed.

23

When I emerged from the bedroom, Brendan stood up. He’d been at the dining table, which was laden with covered dishes. I smelled duck and ginger, and rice and warm bread. There were candles, and red wine.

I refused to be distracted. I gestured to the clothes.

“Lobby boutique,” Brendan said.

“How’d you know my size?”

“I looked at your labels.”

“Why didn’t you just rummage around in my purse while you were at it?”

“Because I didn’t think you kept your measurements in your purse.” He smiled and my heart tried to hide behind my ribs. He looked down at my Mary Sue Scarlet toes and I felt myself blush. “Nail polish?”

“My roommate’s idea.”

“I like it.” His eyes traveled back up to mine. “I know now is not a good time for the charm offensive, but you do look wonderful.”

“Thank you.” I don’t get to wear girlie clothes very often. Or twirl around gently on painted toes to let a hem flutter around my ankles while my hair ripples around my shoulders. Brendan responded to this most unusual sight with another one of his bone-melting smiles. Then he pulled out my chair for me and poured the wine.

Unfortunately, my blossoming hopes of holding reality at bay for the length of one intimate, delicious dinner were dashed in short order. First Trish called, demanding to know where the hell I was and what the hell had happened to me. When she responded loudly to my mention of the Ritz, Jessie ripped the phone from her hand and said they
had
to come over right now, so I wouldn’t be alone. It took five minutes of wrangling to convince Roomies One and Two that this would be a bad idea, because where they went, the FlashNews mob was sure to follow.

Then it was time for the second tail Brendan had on Margot and Ian to check in. The other Maddoxes were still in their hotel, and should he stay put? The answer was yes.

Then it was Elaine West, demanding to know where I was and what the hell had happened and telling me we had to talk first thing in order to work out how to spin this, and she could come to the Ritz straightaway for a confab, and oh, she was sending me her bill for overtime.

Then it was another of Brendan’s people. Then it was Suchai. Then it was Marie.

But by the time we got to the chocolate-hazelnut gâteau with candied citrus peel, raspberry sauce and bittersweet chocolate curls, I found myself thinking about one of the people we hadn’t heard from. A new knot of worry tightened in the back of my neck.

“Maybe I should call Anatole,” I said carefully. I still wasn’t entirely sure how Brendan and Anatole felt about each other, especially after the huge mess at Ilona’s theater. Especially now that Brendan and I had kissed. “He was with me when I found out Chet had taken off.” I said this to the dessert plate. “I should let him know what’s going on.”

“I called him from the courthouse.” This was another surprise and it jerked my gaze back up to see Brendan checking his phone again. “No message yet.”

“Is this the part where you say, ‘He’s a big vampire, I’m sure he’s fine’?” I asked, one hand already on my phone.

“No. You should try calling.”

I thumbed my way through my contact list until I found Anatole’s number and put the phone on speaker. It rang only once before the voice mail answered. “This is Anatole Sevarin. I regret that I cannot speak with you at this moment. If you would be so kind as to leave your message and contact information, I will return your call as soon as it becomes possible.”

“The man’s physiologically incapable of constructing a short sentence,” I muttered. “Anatole, it’s Charlotte. Call as soon as you get this.”

I hung up and bit my lower lip. That the call went straight to voice mail didn’t mean anything. Anatole could be on the other line, or maybe his battery had died, or he was in a dead zone. He’d call back in a minute.

My excellent meal sat heavily in my stomach.

“I’m overreacting, right?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Brendan thumbed his own phone again. “Keith? I need a confirmation on your targets.”

“You don’t think . . .”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m checking. Yeah, Keith, I’m still here. . . . Yeah? . . . Did you check the trip wire? Okay. Stay sharp.” Brendan hung up, but he didn’t meet my eyes. Instead, he stared out across the black pool of Central Park. I looked at the crumbs and the bones on our plates, the half-empty wineglasses and the disarray of the rolls and crispy breadsticks. I felt the silk sliding against my skin and my scarlet-tipped toes digging into the thick carpet. Chet was not the only idiot in the family. I was an idiot too. A completely selfish idiot. While I’d been wasting time getting the star treatment, the rest of my life was still headed on the fast track to the drain.

I shoved my chair back. “I can’t stay here. We’ve got to find Chet and find out what he’s got on Pam and whoever she’s running around with.” How many spas could there be in the Connecticut phone book? We had the number. We should be able to backtrack—unless of course that was Marcus the Nebbish’s number. . . .

Brendan sighed and looked at the remains of dinner, and I could tell he was missing all the things we hadn’t had a chance to get around to. “I think I can help you narrow down where he is,” he said.