Shades of Gray (4 page)

She couldn't think of anything else at work the next day, either. Staring at her computer, all she could see were Grigori's depthless black eyes. She recalled the sound of his voice when he called her
cara,
the incredible touch of his lips against hers. Just thinking about it made her feel warm and tingly all over.

Later, fighting the traffic on the freeway, she could hardly remember how she had gotten through the day.

At home, she changed into jeans and a Jekyll and Hyde sweatshirt, then went into the kitchen. Rummaging in the fridge for something to eat, she was still thinking of Grigori, of the strange effect his nearness had on her. It was more than just his good looks. His voice, perhaps? She had never known a man with such a deep, rich baritone. But even as she considered it, she knew it was more than that. There was something about the man himself. He radiated… what? Charm? Charisma?

She shook her head as she ladled fruit salad into a bowl. No, it was more than that. She had met other men who were charming and charismatic. It was power, she realized, a sense of latent power mixed with a potent dose of raw sex appeal. Even just sitting across from him at Angelo's, she had been aware of an undercurrent of tightly leashed power and sensuality radiating from Grigori.

He might have called her, she thought, annoyed with herself for being disappointed that he hadn't called, and then she realized that she had neglected to give him her phone number. Still, she had told him where she worked. If he had wanted to call, he could have looked it up, or called information. She might have been tempted to call him, but she didn't have his number, either. And then it occurred to her that she didn't even know his last name.

Pouring herself a glass of orange juice, she went into the living room and switched on the evening news, noting that, as always, the news was all bad.

She frowned as the cameras zoomed in on four shrouded bodies being lifted into an ambulance. Leaning forward, she turned up the volume.

"Police today were summoned to the hills behind the Los Angeles Zoo, where the bodies of four women were found by a couple of local teenagers. At this time, the cause of death is unclear. There were no signs of a struggle. Both robbery and rape have been ruled out as a motive. A preliminary investigation by the coroner listed severe blood loss as the probable cause of death. You may recall that the body of Silvano Roskovich, owner of the Roskovich Carnival, was found in a similar condition in a ditch behind the carnival on Halloween night. Two other bodies, as yet unidentified, were found in an alley late last night. In other news…"

Feeling numb, Marisa stared at the screen. Silvano was dead. She might have been one of the last people to see him alive. It made her feel responsible somehow.

She switched off the TV, then went into the kitchen and put her dishes into the dishwasher. Going into the bedroom, she gathered up her dirty clothes and headed for the laundry room that was located on the first floor in the rear of the building.

For once, she had the place all to her herself. She was adding soap to one of the machines when she had the sudden, unmistakable feeling that she was no longer alone.

Whirling around, she glanced at the door, which she had shut behind her. The windows on the far wall stared back at her like black, empty eyes. There was no one there, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't alone, that something was watching her, something evil….

She stood there for several minutes, her heart pounding in her ears, wishing gossipy old Mrs. Patteri or one of the other tenants would join her.

As abruptly as it had come, the sense of evil vanished. She heard footsteps approaching, and then Mr. Abbott, the landlord, entered the room carrying a mop and pail. He was a tall, thin man in his early sixties, with lank gray hair, brown eyes, and an easy smile.

"Evening, Marisa," he said.

"Hi, Mr. Abbott."

"Didn't think anyone was in here," he said. "I'll come back later."

"I'll be done soon."

"Take your time." He smiled at her. "Give me a chance to watch the end of
M*A*S*H."
Leaving the mop and bucket in a corner, he left the room.

In the space of a heartbeat, Marisa was out the door behind him. Her laundry could wait until tomorrow.

Grigori stood outside Marisa's apartment complex, his senses testing the night. He could hear voices coming from the apartment building
— an old couple arguing about whether they should visit their son in jail, a baby's hungry cry, a man snoring, the blare of a stereo, a half dozen television sets, each tuned to a different station. The strong scent of fried food and human waste stung his nostrils. And, over all, the scent of blood and warm living flesh, the low thrumming of beating hearts, calling to him…

He had come here simply to make certain she was safe. He refused to admit, even to himself, that he had any other motive.

She was home. He could sense her life force, smell the warmth and the heat of her. And then, just as he was about to climb the stairs to her apartment, he felt Alexi's presence.

With preternatural speed, he followed Marisa's scent to the back of the building. His sense of the other vampyre was stronger here. Rage rose up within him, bringing with it the fear that he might be too late.

The sense of evil grew stronger still as he neared the back of the building. He saw a shadow separate itself from the darkness, heard the faint sound of mocking laughter, and then the specter vanished from his sight.

With a wordless cry of frustration, Grigori gave chase. He followed the vampyre down dark alleys and over rooftops, never able to catch more than a glimpse of his quarry. He chased him for hours, never able to get close enough to catch him, though he often heard the mocking sound of his laughter. Anger and frustration burned within him as he realized Alexi was toying with him.

Refusing to give up, he continued to chase Kristov until the dawn threatened to steal the darkness from the sky.

Cursing softly, he turned back, heading for his resting place lest the sun find him.

Marisa felt foolish in the morning, and more than a little irritated that the blouse she had planned to wear to work that day was still in the washing machine.

Muttering about being a foolish, over-imaginative idiot, she ran down to the laundry room and tossed her clothes in the dryer.

Returning to her apartment, she ate breakfast, combed her hair, and brushed her teeth, then went down to the laundry room to take her clothes from the dryer. She folded what was necessary, leaving the rest in a heap on the bed. Dressing quickly, she grabbed her keys and drove to work.

In spite of herself, she found herself thinking of Grigori, wondering whether he would have called if she had thought to give him her number, or if she had read more into their brief encounter than was there.

The day passed quickly. Mr. Salazar was handling a high-profile case, and that always meant a ton of paperwork. Today, she had been glad of it, glad she had been too busy to give much thought to a man with dark hair and sinfully black eyes.

It was late when she finally left work. She had just unlocked her car door when she saw Grigori striding toward her. She frowned, wondering what he was doing downtown and, more specifically, what he was doing in the parking structure of her building. He wore a black leather jacket over a white T-shirt, snug black jeans, black boots.

He looked tall and dark and dangerous, and she felt ridiculously happy to see him.

"Good evening," he murmured.

"Hi. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you."

"Oh."

"I wondered if I might impose upon you for a ride in exchange for dinner."

"I suppose that could be arranged," Marisa replied. Slipping behind the wheel, she reached over and unlocked the passenger door. "Get in."

He settled into the seat, arms folded across his chest. His presence seemed to fill her small car. Once again, she was aware of the power that radiated from him like heat off a stove.

She started the car and drove toward the exit. "What were you doing downtown?"

"Taking care of some business." The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue. He was here because she was here. "It is a remarkable city. So many big buildings, so much concrete and glass. So many people wandering around with no purpose in life…"

"I know," Marisa said. She glanced in the rearview mirror before changing lanes. "There are an awful lot of homeless people living on the streets. It's so sad."

"Yes. It makes me yearn for my old home," Grigori murmured.

"Where's that?"

"Italy."

"Were you born there?"

"Yes. It is a beautiful country." Sadness flickered in the depths of his eyes. "I've not been there for many years."

"Where do you live now? I mean, when you're not working. I guess you must do a lot of traveling."

"Yes. I have a small villa in Naples, and an apartment in Paris. When I'm… on the road, I stay in hotels."

"That can't be much fun. I think I'd like the traveling part, but living out of a suitcase must get old fast."

"It does, indeed. Where would you like to eat?"

"You don't have to take me out," Marisa said.

"It would be my pleasure."

"Well…" She considered for a moment. She knew a wonderful little restaurant uptown, but somehow the thought of sitting beside Grigori at a small table in a dark, intimate cafe was too unsettling. "How about the North Woods Inn?"

"Whatever you wish."

"Have you ever eaten there?"

A faint smile tugged at his lips. "No."

"It's one of my favorite places."

She exited the freeway, and he noted she drove with ease and skill. He sat back in the seat, admiring her from the corner of his eye. She wore a pale yellow blouse under a dark green jacket, and a matching skirt that was long enough to be businesslike and modest, yet short enough to show off a pair of very shapely legs.

A few minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot. The building had been designed to look as if it were made of logs. The roof was painted to look like snow.

Grigori held the door for her, then followed her inside. There was a bar to the left. The restaurant was located at the end of a long hallway to the right.

A pretty brunette in a very short red dress and black stockings led them to a table in the back room. She brought them a bowl of peanuts, a menu, and two glasses of water.

Marisa reached for a peanut, shelled it, and tossed the shells on the floor. She laughed softly at Grigori's expression. "It's all right. It's expected."

"Ah." Glancing around, he noticed that peanut shells did, indeed, litter the floor at every table.

Marisa studied the menu. "What are you going to have?"

"Steak."

"Hmmm. I can't decide whether to have the seafood platter or a turkey sandwich."

She was still trying to decide when the waiter came to take their order.

Grigori ordered a steak, very rare, and a glass of red wine.

"The seafood platter, I guess," Marisa said.

With a nod, the waiter took the menu and left the table.

"Do you come here often?" Grigori asked.

"Not really. So, when are you performing again? I'd love to see one of your shows."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. The show closed last week."

"Oh, that's too bad. Where are you going next?"

His dark gaze moved over her and she flushed, wondering if her words betrayed her disappointment at the thought of his leaving town.

"I'm thinking of taking a vacation," he replied.

"Here?" She couldn't disguise the hope in her voice. "In L.A.?"

"Yes." His gaze swept over her in a most disconcerting manner. "There is still much I haven't seen."

She looked away, her cheeks suddenly warm. The arrival of their dinner couldn't have come at a better time.

"You weren't kidding when you said rare, were you?" Marisa asked when he cut into his steak. "I think it's still moving,"

He glanced at the rich red juice that oozed from the meat. "It is the only way to eat a steak." He speared a chunk and offered it to her.

"No, thank you. I prefer mine to be at least a little bit cooked."

"You do not know what you are missing."

She wrinkled her nose with distaste. "To each his own," she murmured, and felt his gaze move over her again.

"Yes," he replied quietly, "to each his own."

She had the distinct impression he wasn't talking about steak.

There was a man waiting for her on the landing outside her apartment when she got home from work the next night. At first, she thought it was Grigori, but then the man stepped out of the shadows and she realized the only thing the two men had in common was that they were both tall.

"May I help you?" Marisa asked.

"I hope so." He had short blond hair, ice blue eyes, and looked to be in his mid-forties. A thin scar ran along his right cheek. A large silver crucifix hung from a thick chain around his neck. "You are Marisa Richards, are you not?"

"Who wants to know?"

"Forgive me. My name is Edward Ramsey."

Marisa shook her head. The name meant nothing to her. "What do you want?"

"To save your life."

Marisa stared at him in astonishment. Save her life? "I'm sorry, I think you must be looking for someone else."

"I'm looking for two — " A dark shadow appeared in the man's eyes. "Two men. I think you may have seen them."

"Are you a police officer?"

"No."

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"I don't think so." His clear blue eyes met hers with a directness that was disconcerting. "You were at the Roskovich Carnival on Friday last, were you not?"

"Yes, but how did you know?"

His thin lips curved in the slightest of smiles. "I have my ways."

Marisa crossed her arms over her chest. The man had done nothing to frighten her, yet she was frightened just the same. "I think you'd better go now."

Ramsey held up his hands, as if to put her at ease, and she noticed there was a cross tattooed on the palm of the right one.