The Vampire Shrink (11 page)

And we're back to the vampire fantasy. I really hope she tires of it quickly.
I made a mental note to ask her more about that later.

She relaxed her arms, sat up abruptly, and turned toward me. “Then there was the discussion with Dev about you. He told me he came to see you, and he went on and on about how pretty you are, and how your eyes are so blue that they reminded him of the daytime sky he hasn't seen in more than eight hundred years, and your dark hair this and your long legs that, blah, blah, blah. I was so pissed that I went and spent the night with Bryce just because I needed someone to want me like Dev wants you.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but then closed it because I didn't know what to say. It was normal for clients to transfer their feelings about their parents or some other significant childhood person onto me, but I'd never found myself in the middle of a love triangle before. Clearly this wasn't the time or place to discuss those issues, especially with a teenage client. Apparently Devereux was clueless about the depth of Midnight's feelings for him. Or maybe he was simply a heartless bastard who didn't care. In the midst of my annoyance at him for his insensitivity, there was still a part of me that'd been pleased to hear that Devereux thought I was pretty.

I was saved from having to figure out anything to say about it by the approach of a handsome, official-looking man dressed in scrubs, with a stethoscope around his neck. A doctor, I assumed. He had shoulder-length golden hair and dark-brown eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses, which gave him a professorial, academic look. By this time Ronald had returned, and the doctor addressed the three of us.

“Are you the ones who brought in the young woman with the neck wounds?”

We nodded.

“Are you family?”

We shook our heads.

Midnight explained that she'd left a message for Emerald's parents, telling them their daughter was in the hospital, but she didn't expect them to show up because they'd given up on Emerald a long time ago.

“Doctor—?” I said, searching for a name tag.

“Dr. Mitchell. Lee. And you are?”

“Dr. Knight. Kismet. I'm a psychologist. Can you tell us anything about what's wrong with Emerald? Can we see her?”

“We've stabilized her, but she's lost a lot of blood, and she's receiving a transfusion now. This is an unusual case. Emerald should be covered with blood to account for the excessive blood loss, but she isn't. Furthermore, it appears that she has older puncture wounds on her neck and chest in addition to those we're treating today. We're running tests on the wounds to see what kind of animal caused them. Do you have any information about where she was when the attack occurred? Did you see anything?”

I glanced over at Midnight, encouraging her to answer.

She shook her head. “I thought Emerald was staying home last night, and I didn't get back 'til early this morning, so I don't know what happened. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for her,” she whimpered, tears running down her cheeks.

I put my arm around her shoulders. “Dr. Mitchell, when will you get the results of the tests back? I'd like to know as soon as possible.”

“Is she a client of yours?”

I started to say no, but then I remembered the lost, empty eyes of the vulnerable young woman we'd brought in and decided to lie. I wasn't sure how far professional courtesy was going to get me, but I wasn't willing to be another person who abandoned Emerald.

“Yes. We just started working together.”

“I should know something by tomorrow morning. I could call you when the results come in, if you want.” He smiled and tilted his head to the side.

Was this guy flirting with me? I must have crossed into some twilight zone, because this kind of attention just didn't happen to me. First the vampire wannabe gave me Jell-O knees, and now the handsome doctor was smiling at me in a most inviting manner. I'd bet the combination of the smile and the head-tilt thing always worked for him. I could definitely verify its effectiveness.

“I would appreciate that.” Flustered, I finally managed to pull out one of my business cards and handed it to him. “Just leave a message anytime, and I'll call you right back.”

If one of my almost clients hadn't been lying in the hospital missing several pints of blood, I might have been tempted to pull my own smile and head tilt out of the garage and take it for a test spin. Nancy would be so proud. But considering the circumstances, I just put my professional face back on and behaved myself.

“She isn't going to be able to have any visitors today, so it would be best if you return in the morning,” he explained, also stepping into his official persona. “Don't worry—we'll take good care of her.” He winked at me and walked away.

Well, that's it. I've definitely entered a parallel universe. After thirty years of being almost invisible to men, suddenly I'm on the menu. How did that happen?

Ronald went to fetch the van, and Midnight retreated in search of a restroom. I sat down in one of the uncomfortable chairs, closed my eyes, and circled my head around, stretching out the tight muscles in my neck. After a few seconds, I sensed someone behind me and turned to investigate.

A tall, absurdly attractive man inched toward me, madly scribbling in a notebook, totally oblivious to the fact that I was staring at him. He must have sensed he'd reached my chair because he started talking, eyes still on his writing.

“Dr. Knight? I'm Special Agent Stevens,” he said, finally making eye contact. “I didn't mean to sneak up on you. Seems I really can't walk and do anything else at the same time. I couldn't help but overhear the conversation you had with the doctor. The victim of the attack is your client?”

“Special Agent Stevens?” I took in his jeans and white T-shirt. “You don't look like a special agent. Who do you work for?”

“Sorry. I'd just gotten home and changed clothes when I picked up the call that there'd been another attack.” He pulled out his identification from his back pocket and handed it to me.

Federal Bureau of Investigation, Special Agent Alan Stevens. I shifted my eyes from the photo to his face and back again, then returned his ID. “Why would the FBI be interested in an animal attack in Denver?”

He paused and studied me as if he was trying to figure out if I was serious or not. “This wasn't an animal attack. I've been tracking these cases all over the country. The local police are involved too. So is Emerald Addison your client?”

“You know I can't confirm or deny that.”
Shit
. He'd obviously heard me confirm it to the doctor.

“That pesky confidentiality thing, eh?” He grinned and made excellent eye contact.

“Uh.” I played with my hair. “What cases have you been tracking? What does Emerald's situation have to do with them?” It was definitely time to change the topic.

He smirked. “Oh, so you won't answer my questions, yet I'm supposed to answer yours? I don't think so. But I'd like your contact information, just in case I think of some questions you
can
answer. Could I have one of those business cards you gave to the doctor?”

I gave him one, and he fished in his wallet for his. “Here's mine,” he said. “If you think of anything that might help me find whoever did this to your client, you can call me. Day or night.”

“Thanks, I will.”
What an odd fellow.

He locked eyes with me for a few seconds, then shifted his gaze back down to the notebook, began writing furiously again, and shuffled a few feet toward the nurses' station. Midnight, who had been standing off to the side, listening to the exchange, joined me and reported that Ronald and the van were out front. We were just going through the door when Special Agent Stevens suddenly reappeared and grabbed my arm.

“Oh, by the way, Doc—watch out for the vampires.”

CHAPTER 5

B
y the time we left the hospital, the mountain skyline shimmered in the midst of a breathtaking color and light show. Brilliant shades of red, orange, blue, and purple swirled around and through one another, muting into pinks, peaches, and lavenders as shafts of sunlight streamed through openings in the kaleidoscope of colors. Off to the east, faint points of light floating in an indigo void sparkled as the sun retreated behind the towering peaks in the west. Nothing's as magical as a Rocky Mountain sunset.

We were all exhausted and worried about Emerald, and the ride back to my office was a silent one. It appeared my companions had buried the hatchet, because Ronald offered to take Midnight home, and she accepted. Before they left I rescheduled Ronald's appointment and thanked him for being such a big help. He seemed ill at ease with my expression of appreciation but gave me a tentative smile. I looked forward to finding out if I could help alleviate the sadness I saw behind his warm tawny eyes.

I wrestled with myself about whether I should go up to my office and work for a while or head home to a glass of wine and a hot bath. Guilt won the match, and I rode the elevator upstairs, daydreaming about sinking into an aromatic, bubble-filled tub.

I was gratified to find several voice-mail messages from prospective clients, and I sat at my desk for the next hour returning calls and answering emails.

I had just decided to pack it in for the evening when my office door opened, and two of the whitest men I'd ever seen walked in. I don't mean just pale, like the British actors on the BBC, but chalk white. Unlike the makeup Midnight used, the tone of their complexions hadn't come from a tube. Suffice it to say they weren't sun worshippers.

One of the men was tall, dark haired, and handsome and the other short, odd-looking, and muscle-bound.

Startled, I asked, “May I help you?”

How did they get in? I'm positive I locked those doors.

No response.

They ambled in and circled around, prowling through the couches and chairs in the middle of the room, their eyes fixed on me.

The shorter of the two came and sat on the corner of my desk and leered at me. He smiled a closed-mouthed smile and reached out a tattooed hand to touch my hair. I jerked away.

He wore a sleeveless T-shirt that showed exaggerated biceps and triceps rippling across his upper arms. His hair was that artificial color of burgundy so popular with the goths, and it flowed down his upper body like stringy octopus arms. His eyes were so light blue they were almost white. He reminded me of a demented miniature muscleman—a nightmare come to life.

These guys made my stomach hurt. It wasn't only that they'd invaded my privacy, or that they appeared dangerous, or even that they could assault me at any moment. It was something else, some basic, preverbal fear that caused the hairs on my arms to stand up and the warning system in my head to fire a red alert. I kept having the odd, less-than-comforting intuition that death was in the room, and my usually manageable radar was picking up so much fearful information that it plunged into overload and threatened to shut down.

I glanced over at the phone on the far corner of my desk and began sliding my hand in that direction.

The tall man stepped around behind me, put his hands underneath my jaw, and pulled my head back, somehow rendering me powerless. He bent down, brought his mouth next to my ear, and whispered, in a very sensuous voice, “I've heard so much about you, I thought it was time we were formally introduced.” He grabbed the hand moving toward the phone.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I tried not to sound as worried as I felt.

His hand trailed across the hair at the back of my head, and he moved to sit directly in front of me on my desk, jamming his legs into the space under the desk with mine.

“No!” I stifled a scream and reacted instinctively, making an unsuccessful attempt to push away. He bent in close, his hands gripping both sides of my chair, and effectively blocked any move on my part. I was glad I'd worn a pantsuit instead of a skirt, because I wanted as many layers between us as possible.

Think, Kismet. Don't let the lunatic know how afraid you are. Don't give him that power.

He lowered his mouth to within an inch of mine, and I twisted my head to the side, shifting away from his hot, unpleasantly sweet breath. He grabbed my chin between his thumb and first finger, holding tightly enough that I knew there'd be bruises, and forced my face back level with his. “I'm Bryce. I believe you've heard of me.”

“Stop it! Let go of me—”

He swallowed my words with his mouth, clamping his lips on mine with enough pressure to cause my teeth to break the skin on the inside of my lip. Then he sucked my lower lip into his mouth and held it between his teeth until I gave an involuntary yelp of pain. Only then did he pull back with an evil grin and gaze at me with his dark-green eyes, which were suddenly magnetic. I tried to look away, but I couldn't. I literally couldn't. It was as if his eyes were pulling me. I managed to briefly squeeze my eyelids shut, but he dug his fingers into my chin again, jerking my head roughly. “Open your eyes,” he roared.

My breath caught, and my eyelids flew up. His eyes were directly in front of mine, the green darker than before, almost black. I fell into them, and the edges of my vision blurred. A strange haze settled over everything as part of my mind drifted off on a cloud.

I felt as if my arms and legs were encased in armor, that even thinking about moving would require way too much effort, and that it really wouldn't matter because they were too heavy to lift anyway. Nothing really mattered.

Bryce watched me with a smirk. “See? You're feeling much more relaxed now. Aren't you sorry you made such a fuss?”

“What do you want?” I mumbled.

I made what I thought was another valiant effort to raise myself out of the chair. Since nothing happened, I could only assume the message hadn't traveled from my brain to my body. My muscles were pudding, and my mouth was as dry as the Sahara. Maybe I'd had a stroke and was spending my last moments on Earth in the company of a psychopath.