Secrets of the Night Special Edition (88 page)

"Galan Kent.” He grinned, revealing even white teeth.” It would be my pleasure to drive you home.” Richly sensual, his voice slid over her like a Persian kitten. His eyes were dark and mysterious, his gaze absolutely the most compelling she'd ever seen.

Stevie waved her hand dismissively.” Thanks, but I can take a taxi, Mr.
Kent
.” She wished she could ride home with him, this fascinating man with his ebony eyes and deep voice.

"Galan,” he murmured.

"Galan. I can't thank you enough for the way you saved me from this--" she looked toward the man who still lay prone on the sidewalk-- "this jerk, but I can't expect you to do any more for me.”

"Why go to the trouble and expense of a taxi when I can take you home?” 

"Well . . .”

Galan folded his arms across his chest.” Don't tell me, let me guess. Now that I've saved you from robbery and quite possibly murder, you fear a fate worse than death.” He looked at her closely, a hint of a smile on his face.” Am I correct?” 

In spite of her shattered nerves, Stevie smiled.” Like I said, I appreciate what you did for me, but I don't know you from Adam.”

In a burst of theatrics, he placed his hand over his heart.” Madam, I assure you I have nothing but honorable intentions.” He paused.” Here, permit me to show you something,” he said as he dug a wallet from his back pocket and flipped through it. Stevie liked his hands, strong, masculine hands, the fingers long and expressive. Something told her those hands could be gentle, too. Where had that idea come from?

"I believe you can see well enough by the streetlight.” He held his wallet in front of her, showing a laminated card that revealed he belonged to the Police Auxiliary.” I help the police catch criminals,” he said in his resolute voice.

How did she know he told the truth? She really couldn't see his photo well by the streetlight.” So? I still don't know you.” But she sure would like to, a wish that became keener with each passing minute.

He smiled, a slow, potent smile that made her want to believe anything he said, no matter how outrageous.” Ah, but--"

Lights flashing, the police car arrived. Two blue uniformed policemen, one tall and the other with a medium build, approached.

The tall cop greeted Galan.” Why, Mr.
Kent
, they didn't tell me it was your call.”

"Indeed.” Galan gestured toward the unconscious man.” Bit of trouble here.”

Stevie's gaze flew from the policeman to Galan. Apparently her rescuer had told the truth about his membership in the Police Auxiliary, so maybe it was safe to ride home with him. The prospect sent her imagination skittering in a hundred different directions, each one more exciting than the last.

The tall officer focused his attention on Stevie.” You're the young woman who was assaulted?” 

"Yes.” Loud claps of thunder in the distance made her wince. All she wanted was to go home, forget the damn mugger.

Stepping over the unconscious man, Galan handed the gun to the shorter officer who knelt by the criminal and felt for a pulse.

"This perp's out cold,” the officer said to his partner.” I'll call for an ambulance.” While he radioed in the request, the other one turned to Galan and Stevie.

"We'll need statements from both of you tomorrow, but you can leave as soon as I get some initial information from you.”

"I'll give a statement later tonight,” Galan said.

"Fine, Mr.
Kent
.”

Minutes later, the officers gave them permission to leave.

Another clap of thunder boomed, then raindrops poured from a leaden sky, thick, heavy drops that splattered on the sidewalk and dampened her hair and clothes.

Galan tapped her arm.” You don't want to get wet. Permit me to take you home now.”

He's a nice enough guy, she thought as she wiped the raindrops from her eyes. Talked funny, though. Where'd he come from, the Dark Ages?

"Okay.” Chilled from the rain and convinced she could trust him, Stevie rushed with Galan to his sleek Mercedes. He opened the passenger door for her, then hurried around to the other side and slid into the driver's seat.

"Now tell me where you live,” he said as he turned onto S. E.
First Street
.

"
Miami
Shores
. Just go north on the Boulevard.”

"I know where
Miami
Shores
is, in fact, it's not too far from where I live.” After the light turned green, he headed north.” You live in a nice area,” he said with a quick smile in her direction.” I often pass through there.”

"I don't live in one of the big houses. Just rent a small apartment connected to a mansion. Guess it was the maid's quarters at one time.”

"You don't live with your parents?” he asked with another glance her way.

"Uh, uh, they live up north.” She paused, trying to forget tonight's scumbag as well as family worries.” What about your family?”

He shook his head, sorrow in every line of his face.” They have all been dead for a long time.”

"Oh, I'm sorry.” He looked so dejected, and she wished she could reach over to touch him, comfort him. She wondered what kind of job he had, or if he had any. Maybe he was a playboy with money to burn; plenty of them in
Miami
.” You work downtown?”

"No, I had business to attend to this evening.”

"Kinda late, don't you think? It's after ten.” 

"Only time possible.”

"Well, where do you work?” 

He chuckled.” Maybe I don't work at all.” He spoke quickly, sending a faint smile her way.” Mind if I ask why you were downtown so late?”

What a voice, as hypnotic as his eyes, as smooth as black velvet. With a voice like that, she could ride to
Los Angeles
and back with him and never tire of the trip. The smell of new leather mingled with the faint scent of sandalwood, an unbeatable combination that added to his attraction.

"Madam?” 

"Oh!” She licked dry lips.” I'm a manager at a bookstore, and I still had a few things to do after the store closed. It's a temporary job,” she added, wondering why she felt the need to explain.” Saving my money for college.”

"I see.”

They drove in silence as the rain beat against the car windows, and the wipers swished back and forth, like a metronome. Palm trees thrashed in the wind, and rainwater gushed from sidewalks and splashed onto the street, spilling into the gutters.

Stevie observed Galan's hands on the steering wheel, his long, agile fingers, and she wondered if he were a pianist. More likely a magician. How else could you explain how he'd flipped the gun from the mugger's hand?

She liked his nose, an aquiline nose, she guessed you'd call it, his lips full and sensual, set in a firm line, giving him the appearance of determination. Something about him appealed to her, a quality she couldn't quite put her finger on. The man was really attractive, but she liked a guy to have enough of a tan to show he exercised outdoors. This man must spend most of his days in an office, unless he really was a magician. If so, he was welcome to perform his magic on her. Sweet, wonderful, dangerous magic.

A glance out the window told her the rain had stopped as quickly as it had begun, and Galan turned off the windshield wipers.

"Turn right at the next light,” she said, reaching for her purse, setting it in her lap.

They drove onto a wide avenue with magnificent oaks, grand houses, and planter islands brimming with impatiens on both sides of the street. As silence pervaded the car, the full force of her attack came back to hound her. The rain-slick street reflected the glow of street lights, a faint illumination that offered scant comfort. This pleasant and shady avenue now appeared treacherous, as if a thief hid behind each tree, and danger lurked on every corner.

"Here we are,” Stevie said several minutes later.” Home.”

There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but the words got stuck between her brain and her lips. A slew of emotions rattled her as she unbuckled her seatbelt. Happy--relieved! --to arrive safely at her apartment, she knew tonight was the last she'd see of her rescuer. She gripped her purse handle as cold reality sank in. Never see him again. Why should that bother her so?

He stopped in front of a fine Georgian mansion with wide pillars, where huge ceramic planters brimful with red poinsettias added a dash of color to a white front porch, and a Volvo and a Lincoln Navigator tenanted a curving driveway. Grateful for the bright floodlights that offered a clear view of the spacious yard and the brick walkway to her apartment, she reached for the door handle.

"No, wait. Permit me to open the door for you.”

"Thanks, but I'm halfway out already.” Stevie stepped onto the slippery sidewalk and smiled at him as he came around to her, unsure of the protocol in such a situation. She'd never accepted a ride from a stranger before.” Thanks again,” she said, holding her hand out to him, “both for coming to my rescue and for the ride home. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. I . . . I might have been killed, if you hadn't come along.”

His hand was surprisingly cool, yet she found his clasp comforting, like an ice-cold coke on a sultry hot day.

"It was nice of you to drive me home,” she repeated to cover her confusion.

"My pleasure, Stevie.” He withdrew a small notebook and pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled a number on it, then tore out the page and handed it to her.” My phone number. If you ever need help for any reason, please call me.” Black, enigmatic eyes stared into hers, and she couldn't have looked away if a Brinks truck had spilled its loot onto the street.

She tucked the paper in her pants pocket.” Thanks, I'll remember,” she said, fishing in her purse for her keys.” I thought chivalry was dead, but I see it's alive and well in Galan Kent.”

"Anything for a lady. Now, may I walk you to your apartment?” 

"You don't need to,” she said, unaccountably downcast at the thought of his leaving.

"Please, I'd feel better if I saw you to your door.” He placed his hand lightly under her elbow.” Now lead the way.” He walked with a certain masculine grace, but the only sound she heard on the pavement was her own footsteps. . . .

From inside her apartment, she watched his long strides as he returned to his car. A real gentleman, she thought, but not quite as open as she liked a man to be, almost as if he had something to hide. Secrets. He wouldn't even tell her where he worked. Well, she'd had enough of sneaky people, and she could manage fine without knowing another. There was something different about his speech, too, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, sort of old-fashioned. But surely his quaint speech was part of his attraction? 

Galan Kent had given her a lot to think about--his ebony eyes and deep voice, his old world charm that brought to mind some of those vintage movies from the 'forties. Too bad she'd never see him again.

* * *

Behind an oak tree across the street, Moloch watched as Galan escorted the mortal woman to her door. It's a good thing I came to
Miami
tonight, Moloch thought, angling his head past a bougainvillea bush to obtain a better view. His original purpose had been to discuss a troublesome vampire with Galan, but now he was beginning to wonder if Galan himself might cause trouble. Look at how he was consorting with a mortal woman! What was Galan's purpose--to lure the woman, transform her into one of the undead? Yes, that was acceptable. Anything else was not.

Suppose Galan developed an attraction for her? She was pretty--for a human. Moloch scowled, his mind scheming. One thing he knew--he would not permit any attachment between a mortal and a vampire, especially Galan, the one he'd chosen as his successor in the Society of the Undead.

Among all the vampires in the world, Galan had always been the most responsible, the most dependable . . . until now. What had happened to change him? Or had he changed? Moloch scratched his chin, aware he couldn't judge Galan by his actions this one night.

But what was his purpose in taking the woman home? Moloch nodded with determination. He would keep a vigilant eye on Galan, and yes, the woman as well.

If he had to, he would destroy her, and take pleasure in doing so. She was such a lovely thing, and that would make draining her blood all the more erotic.

* * *

Galan headed back toward
Miami
, with only mild self- reproach for deceiving the young lady with his fake Police Auxiliary card. As for planting recognition in the policeman's mind--he'd erase the memory when he visited the police station later tonight. No harm done. What a stroke of luck to be in downtown
Miami
so early, when he usually stalked the city in the middle of the night.

If the young lady only knew he'd stolen the Mercedes from a
Philadelphia
mobster, along with $20, 000--what would she think of him then? Well, it wasn't the first time he'd stolen money from a criminal, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. He didn't need the money, of course--he'd amassed a fortune over the centuries--but it didn't hurt to remind these criminals of their vulnerability.