How To Marry A Millionaire Vampire (8 page)

“Did the Russians see you at the deli?”

“No. When I heard their voices, I hid behind a mess station and some big potted plants. I heard more gunshots in the kitchen, then they came out. They stopped by Karen and looked at her. I saw their faces. Then they left.”

“Did they stop by the other victims like they did Karen?”

Shanna frowned, trying to remember. “No, they didn’t. In fact—“

“What?”

“They opened her purse and looked at her driver’s license. Then they got mad, cursed like crazy, and threw the purse down. It was so strange. I mean, they killed ten people in that deli. Why would they bother to check Karen’s ID?”

Why indeed? Roman didn’t like the conclusions he was drawing, but he didn’t want to alarm Shanna until he was more certain. “So you testified against the Russians in court, and you were given a new identity?”

“Yes. I became Jane Wilson and moved to New York about two months ago.” Shanna sighed. “I don’t really know anyone here. Except Tommy, the pizza guy. It’s kinda nice to have someone to talk to. You’re a good listener.”

He glanced at the clock on the mantel. Only four minutes to go. Maybe now she would trust him enough to let him into her head. “I can do more than listen, Shanna. I… I’m an expert in therapeutic hypnosis.”

“Hypnosis?” Her eyes widened. “You do past life regressions and stuff like that?”

He smiled. “Actually, I was thinking we could use hypnosis to cure your fear of blood.”

“Oh.” She blinked, then sat up. “Are you serious? I could be cured that easily?”

“Yes. You would have to trust me—“

“That would be great! I wouldn’t have to give up my career.”

“Yes. But it would require you to trust me.”

“Well, sure.” She gave him a suspicious look. “You wouldn’t do any of those weird posthypnotic suggestions,would you? Like making me strip naked and crow like a rooster whenever someone yells taxi.”

“I have no desire to see you crow. And as for the other—’” He leaned closer and whispered, “It sounds most intriguing, but I would prefer any stripping to be totally voluntary.”

She ducked her chin, her cheeks blushing. “Right.”

“Then you will trust me?”

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “You want to do it right now?”

“Yes.” He willed her eyes to stay trapped with his. “It will be so easy. All you have to do is relax.”

“Relax?” She continued to stare at him, but her vision dulled.

“Lie back.” He gently lowered her into a reclining position. “Keep looking into my eyes.”

“Yes,” she whispered. Her brow puckered. “You have unusual eyes.”

“You have beautiful eyes.”

She smiled, then winced as a pained expression crossed her pretty features. “I feel cold again.”

“It’ll soon pass, and you’ll feel fine. Do you want to conquer your fear, Shanna?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Then you will succeed. You will be strong and confident. Nothing will stop you from being an excellent dentist.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“You’re feeling very relaxed, very sleepy.”

“Yes.” Her eyelids flickered shut.

He was in. God’s blood, it had been so easy. She’d left the door wide open. All it had taken was the proper motivation. He’d have to remember that, in case he ran across other difficult mortals in the future. But as he settled into Shanna’s thoughts, he knew there was no one else like her.

On the surface, her intelligent mind was well organized.

But just beneath that well-structured exterior, strong emotions swelled. They surrounded him, pulling him in. Fear. Pain. Grief. Remorse. And beneath the storm, a stubborn will to persevere no matter what. The emotions were all familiar to him, yet so different, coming from Shanna. Her feelings were fresh and raw. His had been dying away for more than five hundred years. God’s blood, to feel this way again. It was heady, intoxicating. She had so much passion just waiting to be unleashed. And he could do it. He could open her mind and her heart.

“Roman.” Gregori checked his watch. “You’ve got forty-five seconds.”

He shook himself mentally. “Shanna, do you hear me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her eyes still closed.

“You will have a wonderful dream. You’ll find yourself in a dentist office. A new and safe dentist office. I’ll be your patient and ask you to implant a tooth. An ordinary tooth. Do you understand?”

She nodded her head slowly.

“If there is any blood, you will not flinch. You will not hesitate. You will continue, calm and confident, till the procedure is done. Then you will sleep soundly for ten hours and forget what happened. You will awaken, feeling happy and refreshed. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

He smoothed her hair back from her face. “Sleep for now. The dream will begin soon.” Roman stood. She lay, sleeping peacefully, one hand curled beneath her chin and entwined in chenille fringe. She looked so innocent, so trusting.

The phone rang.

Connor answered it. “Hang on a second. I’m putting you on the speaker phone.”

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Laszlo’s voice sounded nervous. “I hope you’re ready. We don’t have much time. It’s already four-forty-five.”

Roman wondered if the little chemist had any buttons left on his lab coat. “We hear you fine, Laszlo. I’ll be there soon with the dentist.”

“She—she is cooperating?”

“Yes.” Roman turned to Gregori. “Find out the exact time of sunrise. Then call us at the dental office five minutes before dawn so we can teleport back.”

Gregori winced. “That’s cutting it close. I won’t have time to go home.”

“You can sleep here.”

“Me, too?” Laszlo asked over the phone.

“Yes. Don’t worry. We have plenty of guest rooms.” Roman gathered a sleeping Shanna in his arms.

“Sir.” Connor stood. “About her father. ‘Tis like the man doesna exist. I’m thinking CIA. I could send Ian to Langley to find out.”

“Very well.” Roman adjusted his hold on Shanna. “Start talking, Laszlo, and keep talking till we’re there.”

“Yes, sir. As you say, sir. I—well, everything is ready here. I put your tooth in the Save-a-Tooth system like the dentist recommended. That reminds me, wasn’t there a movie about a dentist, an evil dentist who kept asking, ‘Is it safe?’ What was the name of that actor…”

Laszlo’s voice rushed on, though Roman didn’t focus on individual words. Instead he used the voice as a beacon, reaching out with his mind until he made the connection. For routine trips, like from his home to his office at Romatech, the journey was imbedded in his psychic memory. But if he was unfamiliar with either a destination or point of departure, the safest way to teleport was to use some sort of sensory anchor. If he could see a place, he could go there. If he could lock onto a voice, he could go there. Without an anchor, a vampire could accidentally rematerialize in the wrong place, like inside a brick wall or in blazing sunlight.

Gregori would remain in Roman’s home office, then call them before sunrise, acting as their beacon for the way home. The room faded before his eyes, and Roman followed Laszlo’s voice to the dental office. As he materialized once again, he heard Laszlo sigh with relief. The dental office was bland, all in shades of tan. The smell of disinfectant filled the air.

“Thank God you made it, sir. Come, this way.” Laszlo headed toward the examining rooms.

Roman checked to make sure Shanna was all right. She was slumbering peacefully in his arms. He followed Laszlo, wondering what information Ian would discover about her father. If the man had tussled with the Russian mafia while overseas, that would explain why the Russians had wanted revenge. And if they couldn’t avenge themselves on the father, they could pick on his daughter. It would also explain why they had checked Karen’s ID, then gotten angry. Roman’s arms tightened around Shanna. He hoped his suspicions were wrong, but his gut was screaming he was right.

The Russian mafia didn’t want to kill Shanna just because she’d witnessed their murder spree in Boston. She’d been the reason for that murder spree. Their original target was Shanna. And they wouldn’t give up until she was dead.

Ivan Petrovsky flipped through the unopened mail on his desk. Electric bill. Gas bill. Here was a stack that was postmarked several weeks ago. He shrugged. What was three weeks when you were more than six hundred years old? Besides, he hated being connected to the mundane, mortal world. He ripped open the first envelope. Oh, his lucky day. He was eligible for life insurance. Morons. He tossed it into the trash.

An ivory envelope caught his eye. Return address— Romatech Industries. A growl vibrated low in his throat. He had the envelope and contents almost completely torn in two when he paused. Why would that accursed Roman Draganesti send him mail? They weren’t even speaking to each other. Ivan removed the card and laid the two halves side by side on his desk.

He and his coven were cordially invited to the Gala Opening Ball of the 2005 Spring Conference to be held at Romatech Industries in two nights. Oh, it was that time again. Draganesti hosted this big event every year, with vampires from around the world in attendance, and their coven masters met in secret conferences to discuss relevant issues of modern-day vampire life. Whiny little bastards. Didn’t they know vampirism was a superior way of life? Problems were caused by mortals, and there was only one way to handle them. Feed and destroy. No discussion necessary. There were billions of mortals crammed onto the planet, and they kept breeding more. It wasn’t like the vampires were in danger of running out of food.

Ivan threw the invitation in the trash. He had not attended their inane conference in eighteen years. Not since that traitor Draganesti had introduced his new, synthetic blood to the vampire world. Ivan had walked out in disgust and never gone back.

It surprised him that Draganesti continued to send him an invitation every year. The fool must still be hoping that Ivan and his followers would change their minds and embrace his new, exalted philosophy of the gentle vampire life. Gag.

Frustration and stress gravitated toward Ivan’s neck. He massaged the muscles below each ear and closed his eyes. A vision slipped into his mind—Draganesti and his followers at the Gala Opening Ball, dancing in their elegant evening wear, sipping that slimy, fake blood from their crystal flutes, while they patted one another on the back for their heightened, evolved sensibilities. It was enough to make him puke.

Never would he give up fresh human blood, or the thrill of the hunt, or the ecstasy of the bite. Draganesti and his followers were traitors to the very definition of vampirism. An abomination. A disgrace.

And just when Ivan thought it couldn’t get any worse, they managed to sink even lower, plummeting from betrayal into the absurd. Two years ago, Draganesti had introduced his latest invention—Vampire Fusion Cuisine. Ivan groaned. Pain throbbed in his neck. To relieve the pressure,he snapped the vertebrae like a mortal would crack his knuckle.

Fusion Cuisine. It was laughable. Shameful. It was insidious and seductive. It was constantly being hawked in commercials on the Digital Vampire Network. He had even discovered two of his own harem girls sneaking in bottles of Chocolood—Draganesti’s perverted fusion drink of blood and chocolate. Ivan had ordered the girls whipped. Still, he suspected his harem was managing to drink the nasty stuff when he wasn’t there. For the first time in centuries, his lovely, nubile girls were gaining weight.

That damn Draganesti! He was destroying the vampire way of life, turning the men into cowardly weaklings and the women into fat cows. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he was getting filthy rich. He and his coven enjoyed the good life while Ivan and his followers were crammed into a duplex in Brooklyn.

Not for long, though. Soon he’d deliver Shanna Whelan’s dead body and earn a quarter-million dollars. After a few more well-paid assassinations, he could be as rich as those other snooty coven masters—Roman Draganesti, Angus MacKay, and Jean-Luc Echarpe. They could take their fancy Fusion Cuisine and stick it where the sun did shine.

A knock sounded on Ivan’s door, drawing his attention away from the foul thoughts of Roman Draganesti. “Come in.”

His trusted friend Alek entered. “There is a mortal here to see you. Calls himself Pavel.”

A stocky, blond male ventured into the small room, his gaze darting nervously about. Stesha claimed he was the most intelligent of his thugs, which probably meant the guy could read.

Ivan rose to his feet. He could have risen to the ceiling, but that was a trick he’d reserve for later. “How did Stesha take the news of your abysmal failure?”

Pavel grimaced. “He wasn’t very happy. But we do have a solid lead.”

“The pizza place? Did she show up there?”

“No. We haven’t seen her anywhere.”

Ivan perched on the corner of his desk. “Then what is the lead?”

“The car that 1 saw. The green Honda.I9 traced the license plate.”

Ivan waited. “And?” God, he hated how mortals tried to be so dramatic about everything.

“It belongs to Laszlo Veszto.”

“So?” A twinge of pain pinched Ivan’s neck. This was taking far too long. “I’ve never heard of him.”

Alek narrowed his eyes. “Neither have I.”

Pavel’s smile was a little too smug. “I’m not surprised. We didn’t know who he was, either, but we definitely have heard of his employer. You’ll never guess who it is.”

Ivan zipped over to Pavel so fast, the mortal stumbled back, his eyes widening. Ivan grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him forward. “Don’t be a smart-ass, Pavel. Tell me what you know and be quick about it.”

Pavel gulped. “Laszlo Veszto works at Romatech.”

Ivan released him and stepped back. Crap. He should have known. Roman Draganesti was behind this. That accursed bastard was always the thorn in his side. A royal pain in the neck. Ivan tilted his head, snapping the vertebrae back into place.

Pavel flinched.

“Does this Laszlo work the day or the night shift?”

“I… I believe the night shift, sir.”

A vampire. That would explain how Shanna Whelan had managed to disappear so quickly. “You have this Laszlo’s address?”

“Yes.” Pavel pulled a slip of paper from his pants pocket.

“Fine.” Ivan grabbed the paper and studied it. “I want two more places watched during the day—Laszlo Veszto’s apartment and Roman Draganesti’s townhouse.” Ivan gritted his teeth. “He lives on the Upper East Side.”

“Yes, sir.” Pavel hesitated. “I… I’m free to go?”

“If you can get out of here before my girls decide you look like a snack.”

Pavel muttered a curse, then ran to the front door.

Ivan passed the paper to Alek. “Take a few men to this address. Bring Mr. Veszto back in one piece before dawn.”

“Yes, sir.” Alek stuffed the paper in a pocket. “It looks like Draganesti has the girl. What would he want with her?”

“I don’t know.” Ivan meandered back to his desk. “I can’t imagine him killing a mortal for money. He’s too big a wimp.”

“Da. And he doesn’t need the money, either.”

So what was that stinking Draganesti up to? Did he think he could interfere with Ivan’s plans to get rich? The bloody svoloch. Ivan’s gaze wandered to the torn invitation in the trash. “Tell Vladimir to watch Draganesti’s house. The girl is probably there. Go.”

“Yes, sir.” Alek closed the door as he left.

Ivan leaned over to retrieve the invitation from the trash bin. This would be the easiest way to confront Draganesti. The bastard was impossible to reach otherwise, surrounded constantly by a small army of Scottish vampires.

Roman Draganesti was right to keep so much security. He’d survived a few thwarted assassination attempts in the last few years. And his security team had discovered a few bombs at Romatech Industries—courtesy of a secret society called the True Ones. Unfortunately, the bombs had been discovered before they could detonate.

Ivan rummaged through desk drawers till he found a roll of tape. Carefully, he restored the invitation to its original form. These conferences were by invitation only, and for the first time in eighteen years, Ivan and a few of his trusted friends were going. It was about time Draganesti learned that he couldn’t mess with Ivan Petrovsky and live to gloat about it.

Ivan was more than the master of the Russian coven. He was leader of the True Ones, and he would make the Gala Opening Ball a night to remember.