Once Bitten, Twice Shy (8 page)

"Jesus Henry Christ, Parks, why is it that every time I send you out on assignment something explodes?"

Only Pete called me Parks, and only when he was mad. He called me Parks an awful lot. "The car didn't explode, Pete, it crumpled. In the back. About six inches all the way across."

A strangled scream from the other end of the phone told me Pete might be choking on his own tongue. Maybe if I just waited very quietly at this end he'd suffocate before he could fire me.

"Let me talk to Vayl."

"Okay, hang on."

I took the phone to Vayl, who was lounging on one of the couches, getting a huge hairy kick out of my current predicament. The louse. "Tell him it wasn't my fault," I whispered as I handed him the phone.

"It was not Jasmine's fault, Pete," Vayl said. Just for that I went to the mini-fridge to get him a beer. I got one for myself too, a reward for spending the hours since we'd gotten back to Diamond Suites trying to untangle this new mystery Assan had presented us with.

"Yes," said Vayl.

At least we'd figured out the identity of Assan's accomplice. He'd made the FBI's Most Wanted Vampires list.

"I know," Vayl said.

The vamp's name, Aidyn Strait, rang bells all over Top Secret Land. He'd spent all of his long, long life trying to solve scientific problems using horribly unscientific methods, leaving a trail of mutilated bodies stretching back to the 18
^th
century. According to his file, which even now stared at me from the screen of our laptop, his latest venture was getting vampires to breed vampires, not through an exchange of blood, but through traditionally human methods.

So how did the vamp version of a fertility specialist end up with the human version of a makeover artist? As yet, we'd found no clue. We did know two things for sure. Assan and Aidyn were both henchmen types. That led us to believe someone else was calling the shots. Also, Aidyn did not look like he had when he'd crossed Vayl's path a century ago. Apparently Assan had done his buddy a big, plastic favor.

"How does that work?" I'd asked Vayl as we'd stared at the laptop screen, which was displaying Aidyn's before and after photos.

"I am not sure," Vayl had replied. "We can be scarred by fire, and full sunlight destroys us. Perhaps Assan used some sort of specially calibrated laser?"

That made sense. While we were in college, Bergman had theorized that lasers might be used to kill vampires. But he couldn't figure out how to produce the necessary power in a hand-held weapon. Surgery was a different story. All you needed was the space and the financing.

Vayl took a sip of his beer and gave me a nod of thanks.

"What's Pete saying?" I whispered.

Vayl cupped his hand over the mouthpiece. "He is extremely upset that someone tried to kill us tonight."

"So he doesn't want to fire me?"

Vayl held up a finger, listened for a minute, then shook his head. "Jasmine," he said, "Your job is, how you say, solid. One of the reasons I chose you is because Pete told me you are the best human agent he has."

"Oh." I drained my beer, marched into my bedroom, closed the doors, buried my face in the pillows and burst into tears.

Some time later I felt Vayl's presence beside me. The bed sank as he sat down.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm great." I turned to look at him, made sure he could see my smile was genuine. "Our simple little hit has turned into a bioterror nightmare. I nearly died tonight. My boss yelled at me for five minutes straight without stopping to take a breath, and in between I spent three hours staring at a computer screen. I think I may get cancer from the radiation. And I feel better than I have in a long, long time. Weird, huh?"

Vayl brushed a curl away from my cheek with a forefinger. "Unique," he said, "which is what I have come to expect from you."

Once in a great while a very private person will get that ask-me-anything look on his face. When you see it, you have to be ready to pounce. As soon as those soft brown eyes crinkled at the corners I jumped in. "Look, before, you said you chose me because I was the best."

"Absolutely."

"Why though?" I asked. "Don't get me wrong, I've enjoyed the ride. And I hope I spend the rest of my career working with you. I know why Pete wants us partnered. I know why the Senators on the Oversight Committee want me here. But I've been wracking my brain for six months and I haven't been able to come up with any truly viable explanations as to why a vampire who's been around nearly three centuries needs an assistant. You can hypnotize people—"

"Only those with weak minds."

"You can cause a freeze that makes liquid nitrogen look wimpy."

"Thank you."

"You can make yourself invisible—"

"Not invisible, just intensely uninteresting."

"You run like you're strapped to a rocket. Your hearing's remarkable. You're stronger than Paul Bunyan… am I leaving anything out?"

His eyebrow rose ever so slightly, but I was so attuned to him I knew he was making a wry face. "Is that not enough?"

"Why me?"

He waited awhile to answer, shaking his head slightly every once in awhile as if he was trying out reasons and discarding them one by one. Finally he said, "After what happened to you November last, most people would have just curled up and died." I stared at him, ready to walk if he even brushed against the heart of my pain. "You did not. You survived, but with Gifts that have only just begun to surface. I felt you needed help to develop these Gifts. And since I needed an avhar—"

"What's that?"

"A partner, just like you."

"And?"

"You are right, there is more. I must ask you to be patient. When the time is right, we will both know."

Nuts
. "Okay," I grumbled. I suddenly wanted my cards. I took them off the bedside table, and as I did my eyes strayed to the clock. "It's almost time," I said. "Do you need me to help you set up the tent?"

Vayl has never slept in a coffin. Now that I knew he was phobic, I suspected lying in one probably gave him the heebie jeebies. I don't know what his sleeping arrangements are when we're home. Hell, I don't even know where his home is. But when we travel he brings a custom-made tent that covers his entire bed. The material is impermeable to light, so if someone was to accidentally open a curtain or something, he won't singe. I'd love to have one myself, just because the kid in me thinks it would be a real hoot, like camping out only without the bugs.

Vayl's fingers slipped into my hair. The pins began to fall out and he combed each bit as it loosened. I closed my eyes and leaned my cheek against his thigh, totally lost to the sensation. It felt great, soothing. It shouldn't have. Why wasn't I backing Vayl off?

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, catching my breath at his expression. Passion lit his eyes with an intense green flame. I could not look away, not even as he lowered his face to mine very slowly and deliberately. At the last second I turned away, the feeling of his lips against my cheek making me gasp.

"So tired," I murmured, though I'd never been more aware.
Can't do this, Jaz. It's wrong. It's bad. It's
…

"Sleep then," he whispered, his lips so close to my ear I felt his words tickle my eardrum. I felt him slip the cards from my hand and heard him put them back on the table.

"Okay." I snuggled under the blanket he draped over me and promised myself that tomorrow, as soon as darkness fell, I would definitely put Vayl in his place.

You know how sometimes real sounds can invade your dreams? Like one time, I was napping on the couch and dreamed I was interviewing Steven Tyler. Then I woke up and there he was on MTV talking to some bimbette who asked such stupid questions I was glad to wake up and find it wasn't me.

Now I dreamed that Vayl and I were discussing the mission. I said, "So what do you think this virus does?" And Vayl answered by making a strange trilling noise, like he had a cricket stuck in his throat.

"How do you think it gets transferred?" I asked.

"Trrrill."

"And what's the deal with this vampire/terrorist connection anyway? The Sons of Paradise hate supernatural stuff, and vampires are just seething with it. So why ally with them, especially if you have your own cadre of mad scientists?"

"Trrill."

"Vayl, it's so weird, you sound just like my—"

"Cell phone," I mumbled. I opened my eyes, stared at the glittering handbag on the bedside table, a little worse for wear as a result of its trip to the floorboards during last night's wreck. Beneath the bag, where I'd laid it before we left, sat my personal phone. Ringing. Which meant it was either Evie or Albert, neither of which did I feel like talking to at—I glanced at the clock—eight in the morning.

I said a very unladylike word as I reached over to pick up the phone and my ribs reminded me to fight dirtier next time some hulking bruiser wanted to trade blows. "Do you have any idea what time I went to sleep last night? I mean this morning?" I waited. Nothing. Oops, forgot to press the button. I might actually be glad about that later.

Beep. "Hello?"

"Jaz, I'm so glad you answered."

"Evie… have you been crying?"

"It's either that or pound Dad over the head with a mallet."

Crap. I am
so
not up to this
. "What's he done now?"

"More like what hasn't he done." Evie really didn't belong in our family. Too sweet. Too anxious to please. It tended to bring out the worst in the rest of us, including Albert.

"Okay, what hasn't he done?"

"He hasn't taken his insulin every day, or followed his diet, or minded the infection in his f-f-foot."

"I thought we hired a nurse to do that for him."

Evie took a deep, trembling breath, but she still started crying again, hard enough that I didn't understand what she said next.

"Evie, all that bawling can't be good for the baby, so cut it out." I knew I sounded stern, but bossiness is the main perk of big sisterhood. And she did calm way down, way quick.

"Now, first of all, where's your husband? He'd be having a cow if he knew you were this agitated over Albert."

"Tim's in Philadelphia on business."

"Okay, after you get off the phone with me, call him. It'll make you feel better. Now, what about the nurse?"

"Dad fired her."

"What?!" I felt the prickling along my scalp that signaled Big Anger. I wished I was the Queen of Hearts so I could just order my little card soldiers to cut off Albert's head. "When?"

"About a month ago."

"A month! But I've sent him two checks to cover her salary since then."

"Me too." Tears had crept back into Evie's voice. I could just imagine her sitting with her elbows on her little breakfast table, her straight, honey-brown hair sweeping forward to cover her face as she dropped her forehead into her hand. "Apparently Dad's been using the money to buy donuts, beer and cigarettes. Now he's sick, the infection's spread to his heel and up his ankle. The doctor at the veteran's hospital says he may have to amputate, but he won't know for sure until he examines Dad, and
Dad won't go
!"

"What. A. Dumbass."

"Jasmine!"

"Well he is."

"No,
I
am for not keeping better track of him. But we've just been snowed under at work with this turnaround." She was an engineer for Trifecta Petroleum in Indianapolis. Can anybody say free Indy 500 tickets? Yeah, baby. "And by the time I get home I'm so tired I can barely move. But that's no excuse—"

"Yes, it is. The last thing you should be doing is driving to Chicago to look after the original Grumpy Old Man.
He's
the one who's abusing himself, not you, so quit feeling guilty."

"Does that mean you'll call him?"

"Yeah, right after I hang up with you."

"I'm on my way to work, but you can call me back later tonight to let me know how it goes if you want."

"I'll try. But no promises. I'm in the middle of something big right now."

"Me too. Unfortunately, I'm it." She laughed a little—music to my ears.

"You're so full of it," I said. "I saw the last picture you e-mailed me. You're gorgeous." I meant it.

"Th-thank you."

"Are you crying again?"

"Only a little. And in a good way this time."

"Well, I guess that's okay. Take care of yourself and Evie Junior, okay? You two are the only girlfriends I've got."

"Okay. Love you. Bye."

"Love you too." Beep. She was gone, back to the normal, everyday life that I'd give
my
life to preserve.

I dialed Albert's number, but before I hit the last digit I turned the phone off. He was an hour behind me, so he wouldn't be awake until at least ten my time. I set the alarm for 9:30 and went back to sleep.

Psyching yourself up to talk to Albert Parks is like preparing for battle, a metaphor he'd probably appreciate since he'd done that a few times himself during his 30-year stint with the Marines. You need to have all your resources in place before you make your big move. That's why, before I called him, I showered, dressed in my comfy clothes (maroon sweats and an extra large black T-shirt) and drank about half a gallon of coffee. Then I gave myself a pep talk.

"Okay, Jaz," I said as I shuffled my cards for the hundredth time, trying to relax to the
whish
of a perfect bridge, "here's the deal. You will not yell at Albert for at least five minutes." I figured the call would be over in two, but I'm one to hedge my bets when it comes to losing my temper. "You will keep your opinion of him to yourself this time, and you won't mention Mom at all."

"Okay, I'll try," I told my closet door reflection, "but I'm not making any promises." I nodded to myself, then I called Albert.

He answered on the fifth ring. Not a good sign. His voice, when he said, "Hello," sounded faint and weak.

Though he'd gotten himself into this predicament, he would now expect pity.
Ugh
! I grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room. "Hey, Albert," I said, trying to sound pleasant and not overly concerned. "Evie tells me you're not feeling well."