Dead and Dateless (23 page)

He punched buttons for a few moments, sent an e-mail to his “guy in a league all by himself” friend and then snapped the lid closed. “I’ve got to go out and get supplies.”

“But it’ll be daybreak soon.”

“That’s why I have to go now. It’s been a long night. You should relax and turn in. I’ll be back in a little while.” He pinned me with a stare. “I mean it. Stay inside. We’ve got a safe place now, but we won’t if you start flying around and socializing again.”

“Who needs to fly?” I held up the cell phone he’d given me. “I can still use this, can’t I?”

He nodded. Then he moved so swiftly that I saw just a black blur. The door closed and I was all by my lonesome once again.

Alone. Not lonely, I reminded myself. Big difference. I was (a) used to living alone and being independent and (b) not the least bit dependent on Ty’s presence to make me feel complete.

Sure, I’d just had a close brush with the cops and whoever was out to get me had dragged my fantasy man into it. My nerves were on edge, but I could deal. It wasn’t like I was really and truly
scared.

Get real. I was a
vampire,
for Damien’s sake. The baddest of the bad. The fiendiest of the fiends. The most wicked of the…well, you get the idea.

I ignored the urge to check the lock on the door, picked up my cosmetics bag, and headed for the bathroom. After I washed up—while humming “Dontcha” by the Pussycat Dolls to kill the oppressive silence—I climbed up into the loft and slid beneath the camouflage comforter.

Considering my mood, it wasn’t nearly as creepy as I’d anticipated. What can I say? I’m a sucker for a pillow-top mattress. I closed my eyes and focused on the exhaustion that tugged at my muscles.

Exhaustion was good.

It meant sleep rather than tossing and turning and feeling like a beta in a fishbowl thanks to the stuffed bobcat who sat in the loft corner and eyed me.

Then again, I
did
have an entire thirty-three minutes until sunrise. I’d never been much for turning in early. I sat up in bed and reached for the cell phone that sat on the nightstand.

I
had a total of five messages waiting in my voice mail. Not a huge number, but enough to pass the time until Ty returned and distracted me from the bobcat.

“It didn’t work,” my mother announced as the first message played. “Your father and I spent two hours with him after you left with that woman. Two useless hours. Jack is completely bewitched.”

“That’s
whipped,
” my father added in the background.

“Whatever, dear. The point is he’s not listening to reason.” Aka my mother. “He’s going through with this madness and actually pursuing a relationship with a
human.
I swear I’m this close to throwing myself on the nearest butter knife.”

The Wedding March played in my head. Wait until she heard the real scoop.

“He insisted that we show up tomorrow,” my mother went on, “and while my first instinct is to decline, I can’t
not
show up when my son is being so obviously manipulated. What kind of mother would I be?”

The non-interfering kind who let their children grow up and make their own mistakes. In other words,
not
my mother.

“That woman won’t hurt Jack. I simply will not allow it. I have every intention of saving him by whatever means necessary. If that includes destroying a few pesky humans, then so be it. I’ve already notified your brothers that we have a family crisis and I’ll need all of you at tea tomorrow.”

Code for “I’m butting my nose into his business and I expect the fruit of my loins to show their support and join in.”

“Eight o’clock sharp,” my mother added. “Do not be late again.”
Beep.

The
again
lingered in my head and I remembered my mother’s first message when she’d switched hunt night.

If the police had been monitoring my voice mail—and Ty had assured me they were—then they had known about the hunt. Which meant they’d had my parents staked out on the off chance that I would show. I did and so they’d followed my from my folks’ house, back to the city, to Ty’s place. Hence, the raid.

Then again, if they
had
been following me, why hadn’t they nabbed me when they’d first spotted me in Connecticut? Why tail me all the way back to the city and risk losing me along the way?

Because no one had been watching.

Except Remy.

I thought again of Ty’s accusation. The dead certainty in his gaze. The conviction in his voice.

But we’re talking
Remy.
We’d been fixed up dozens of times. We’d talked. He
liked
me.

Duh.

He’s head over heels for you, pining away every night, plotting various ways to make you fall in love with him.

Meanwhile, you’re hiding out, playing kissy-nibble with a megalicious made vampire.

On top of
that
, you’re trying to set the poor schlub up with someone else. Of course he freaked and tipped off the cops. He’s jealous. You’re the one and only as far as he’s concerned and he can’t stand the thought of facing eternity without you.

It made sense.

Message two played and a familiar male voice slid into my ear. “Hey. It’s Remy. I know I told you to call me, but I figured why wait? So here I am. I know you’re not picking up, but I’m really psyched. I can’t wait another minute.”

What’d I tell ya?

“I know it’s short notice, but I have a city council reception on Friday night and I need an escort. I usually go solo, but I’m getting sick of being named Fairfield’s Most Eligible Bachelor. It’s time I took myself off the auction block and settled down. You mentioned Ayala and she sounded so perfect that I figured there’s no better time than the present to bite the bullet.”

Wait a sec. Ayala?

“Set it up and send the bill to my office.”
Beep.

So much for jealous. Unless he was just a really skilled actor.

My pride went with number two and I made a mental note to call Evie and have her set up the Friday night date. Come on, if the guy had it bad for me, I didn’t want to return his call and put him through even more agony with the sweet sound of my voice.

And, of course, I didn’t want to have the cops after me again. While Ty had said the cell was untraceable, Remy Tremaine was very well connected. And a born vampire. I wasn’t taking any chances that he might be able to sniff me out at my new location.

The third message was from Evie.

“Ayala called again and said she absolutely can’t sit home this weekend. At least, that’s what I think she said. I hadn’t had any coffee since noon and she called really late. I think I might have missed something. But then I realized that I wrote it down so it seems I’m not so brain dead after all. The woman’s a ball buster. Help!”

Woman
being the key word. Evie was still clueless when it came to my Other clients. She thought Ayala was simply a snotty, spoiled, pampered princess instead of a snotty, spoiled, pampered princess of darkness.

I smiled. Evie was going to be majorly psyched when she heard about Remy.

Message four? Nina One.

“I went for the pink, and I absolutely love it! At least, I think I love it. I won’t know for sure until I see it with a pair of shoes. The problem is I can’t decide between the ones I mentioned, or a pair of pussycat slides I saw at Gucci. I know, I know. Gucci and Vuitton? Arrest me now. But these slides are really the bomb and they look totally phat with the bag. But maybe not. Call me.”
Beep.

Message five…

“Would you please call Nina?” It was Nina Two, the brunette half of The Ninas who’d recently committed to her soul mate—a born vamp accountant named Wilson—thanks to
moi
and my fantabulous matchmaking instincts. They were now living eternally ever after in Hoboken and desperately trying to populate the race.

Which meant a phone call from her these days was pretty rare, on account of her being so busy populating and all. Being mindful of my own responsibilities as a born vampire, I was totally understanding. Being mindful of my own sucky love life, I was also insanely jealous.

“She’s driving me nuts with this purse thing,” she went on. “She called right when Wilson and I were about to have sex during
The O’Reilly Factor,
and to tally killed the mood.”

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t
that
jealous.

“Not to mention, she’s turned into a point of contention between us. She blurted out the whole thing to Wilson and sucked him in. He’s voting for Gucci since their corporate stock is on the rise, while I think she should abandon the entire idea, return the Louis Vuitton, and invest her money in a nice CD. It’s safe.”

Did I mention that Nina Two is the practical one?

“Of course, she refused to listen,” Nina added. “The girl wouldn’t know a sound investment if it jumped up and bit her on the ass. Call her.
Please.
I have to go. CNN is running a special on the national deficit and Wilson gets really excited when they flash the coming year predictions.”
Beep.

I ignored the visual that rushed at me courtesy of Nina Two’s parting statement and glanced at the front door. Still no sign of Ty. Not that I was counting the minutes or anything like that. Sure, I knew he’d been gone a total of twenty-six minutes because I’m an extremely conscientious person who keeps track of such things. But it wasn’t like I
cared.

“Go for the pink pussycats,” I told Nina One after I pressed my speed dial to distract myself from the clock ticking away on the nightstand. Her answering machine picked up. “It’s totally retro,” I added. “Oh, and I’m fine. No bullet holes from my near brush with the authorities. Thanks for asking.”

I was feeling a little put out. I mean, geez, I’m wanted for murder and all my two best friends can talk about is shoes? Sure, we’re talking totally hot shoes, but still just footwear. Am I evolving or what?

I debated whether to call Nina Two, but a quick glance at the clock confirmed the start of the early morning news—complete with the latest market statistics—and I changed my mind. I was feeling bad enough. The last thing I needed was to interrupt someone having mad, passionate sex. Particularly since I wasn’t having any and Ty still wasn’t back.

Twenty-nine minutes
…

I called my brother, Max, next and told him I couldn’t make the intervention/tea.

“I didn’t call Mom because she’s probably still up. I don’t want to talk to her because she’ll make me feel guilty and I can’t buckle this time. I’m already in enough trouble.”

“You worry too much.”

Uh, yeah.

“I’m a
murder
suspect, Max. I might go to prison.”

I knew I was being a bit melodramatic. I’m a vampire, after all, and so the possibility of me actually rotting away in prison was really slim to none. I had the resources to skip the country and live out my days in some exotic place with servants at my beck and call. Courtesy of my parents, of course. Which meant I could live out my days in some exotic country surrounded by servants and guilt.

But my life as I knew it—the life I’d come to actually like—would be over.

Bye-bye Dead End Dating.
Au revoir
Ty.
Hasta la vista
Neiman’s.

“What am I supposed to tell her?”

“Tell her the truth.”

“She’ll still expect you there.”

“Tell her I met someone—a born vampire—and we’re too busy having wild, crazy monkey sex to come up for air, let alone tea.”

“Vampires don’t need air.”

“The point is, we’re busy. Making grandbabies.”

“And what’s the name of this baby-making vampire?”

Sheesh, did I have to make up
everything
? “I’m wanted for murder. I’m working the biggest client of my career. I’m barely keeping my hands off the guy who’s helping me out of this mess. Can you say mega stress? The least you can do as my oldest, and most protective, brother is come up with a really great name.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell her, but you owe me.”

“Put it on my tab.” I hit the off button and dialed Evie to tell her about Ayala.

“I love you,” she said groggily. “You’re the best boss
ever.
I’ll set it up as soon as I get to the office.”

“Any luck on the alpha hunt?”

She yawned. “I’ve got five candidates I spotted on line. A construction worker, an extreme sports nut, owner of a local Harley dealership, a fireman, and a bond enforcement agent.” Another yawn. “Actually, the bond guy has a twin which means I might have six. Except the twin is shy and that really isn’t an alpha trait.”
Yawn.

“We can deal with shy.”

“Also, I’ve had seven phone calls from guys claim ing to have met me at a Knicks game. I’m assuming it was you.”

“Play along, call them back, and ask them the first screening questions.”

“What screening questions?”

“The ones I’m going to e-mail you this afternoon. It’s just an interview to weed out the serial killers and make sure we don’t have any closet betas in the mix.”