The Calling - Desire Calls Part 18

"Van Winter is here." The mirrored window of the backseat sluggishly lowered, and there he was, smiling his cold, snakelike grin.

"Where's 'here'?" Diana demanded. "Can you keep him there?"

"He's in a limo and I'm on foot. Doubt it." Van Winter quirked his index finger, beckoning her closer. Before Ramona went, she murmured, "I'm putting it on speakerphone.

Stay quiet."

She tucked the phone into the pocket of her purse and slung the bag over her shoulder, praying the position would allow Diana to hear their conversation, and hoping van Winter would say something that the agent could use to build a case. Faking a confident stride, Ramona approached the limo.

"Mr. van Winter. How can I help you tonight?"

"Call off Rivera and whatever other dogs you have sniffing around."

"And what if I don't?"

Van Winter gave a phlegmy laugh, then coughed before he said, "You have nothing to gain and everything to lose."

His comment drew a jerky chuckle from her. "Everything to lose? I'm as good as dead. How much worse could it be, Frederick?" she asked, accenting each syllable of his name.

"You got the package I sent, didn't you? Think about that."

Then he waved at his driver and put up the mirrored gla.s.s as the limo muscled its way into the traffic.

"Did you hear that?" she said out loud, and then slipped her fingers into her purse to remove her cell phone.

"Most of it. What's the package he's referring to?"

"The envelope and photos we gave you last night," she confirmed.

"We got several fingerprints off the photos. I'll need to print you and Diego so we can eliminate yours."

Ramona walked back to the corner and peered down the street toward the gallery, wondering if she should go warn Diego. Then she rethought it. Now that the adrenaline of the meeting had faded away, her stomach had started a weird kind of rumbling. "I'm not really up to it tonight. Can I meet you somewhere tomorrow?"

"I have a few calls to make in the morning. How about a late lunch? Luigi's near Federal Plaza."

"Deal."

Ryder rolled Diego's thumb in the ink and then moved it to the card, where he rotated it against the paper to record its print. He repeated the procedure until all of his friend's fingerprints were on the sheet. Smiling, Ryder said, "All done," and handed him a premoistened wipe to clean his hands.

Diego mangled the small cloth as he rubbed at his fingers, trying to remove all the ink. "I'm glad. Why didn't your little friend come and do this herself?"

Unexpectedly, Ryder's smile broadened. "Because I didn't want to see you get hurt again."

He snorted in disbelief, but then realized Ryder wasn't kidding. "Is that what intrigues you? Her violence?"

His friend shook his head. "She definitely intrigues me, amigo. As for violence, her edge can be quite sharp at times."

"Is that why you're so determined to endure the pain of a mortal's love?" Diego said as he rose and walked to the small bar at the edge of Ryder's office. Perusing the offerings, he realized his friend kept no blood there. Pouring brandy into two snifters, he waited for an answer, but it didn't come. He returned to the desk and handed him a gla.s.s.

"So, why do you do this?"

Ryder raised his snifter and said, "When love calls, only a fool refuses to answer."

"Love," he said with a sniff. After taking a sip of the brandy, he retorted, "You confuse the call of her blood with what you think is love."

Ryder shook his head. "Foolish Diego. How long will you deny it?"

"Can you deny that you've bitten her?"

"No, I can't. Can you be as truthful?" Ryder challenged.

"Blood, amigo. It's what sustains us. Nothing else will satisfy."

To which his friend replied, "Liar."

Chapter 17.

R amona hugged the toilet bowl as her body spasmed over and over. By the time she finished, she was drenched in cold sweat and her limbs trembled with weakness. She struggled to her knees, then somehow found the strength to get to her feet. Her steps slow, she shuffled to the sink, where she rinsed her face and mouth.

She stripped off the sweat-dampened clothes and turned on the shower. When the water was deliciously hot, she stepped in and just stood there, letting it warm her. The chill she'd felt was due to so much more than the medicines battling with her out-of- control immune system.

Van Winter's threat had troubled her all night long, robbing her of badly needed sleep.

She wondered whether Diana would have any information later that afternoon, and thought about what the agent had said the day before-that the transport company hadn't packed the artwork.

There hadn't been that many people van Winter had allowed near her when she'd been doing the copies. Who among them had he trusted to pack the works? Even more importantly, who had he gotten to sign them?

Finishing up, she stepped from the shower and started her day.

First thing on her list was calling Melissa to tell her about her body's reactions to the c.o.c.ktail of medicines.

The doctor answered on the second ring. "How are you?"

"A little sick," Ramona said, and tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder as she put the kettle on the stove, hoping some chamomile tea would help soothe her stomach.

"A little or a lot?"

Reluctantly, she admitted, "A lot. I can't keep the morning mix down at all. The afternoon dose lingers a little longer. But only a little."

Melissa hesitated, but then quickly rattled off an adjustment, splitting the doses into three. "Make sure not to skip a dose. They're keeping everything in balance until-"

"I'm not hoping for that donor to miraculously appear, Melissa. I have to have my head straight about this, not filled with unrealistic possibilities."

"Then what made you change your mind about looking for one? Why even embrace that hope?" the doctor asked.

"I thought I had something more...I was wrong."

With that, she hung up. The teakettle whistled, the sound becoming a hissing screech as she stood there, considering what she had told Melissa.

She had thought she'd found love. Love made everything possible.

Even beating death.

Located a few blocks from Federal Plaza, Luigi's was an old-fashioned Italian restaurant, much like one might find on the rapidly vanishing streets of Little Italy, which were being swallowed by an ever-expanding Chinatown.

A quick look revealed that Diana had yet to arrive, so Ramona loitered inside the front door, checking out the menu posted there.

Her stomach grumbled-in a good way, thanks to her medicine change-at the thought of a nice plate of chicken parmigiana.

The front door opened, allowing a bright beam of light into the darkened interior, and Diana entered, dressed as usual in a dark suit and white shirt. When the agent noticed Ramona standing there, she smiled and walked over. "Glad you could make it."

"Diana, mia amica. So good to see you," the hostess said. The Rubenesque older woman stepped around the podium and embraced her in meaty arms.

"Nice to see you, too. Do you have a table for us?" Diana asked.

"Your usual." She ushered them to a booth toward the back of the restaurant.

"Come here often?" Ramona teased after they were seated.

"Not as much as I used to, unfortunately," Diana replied.

"Busy at work?"

"Actually, no. I'm on modified a.s.signment right now."

The hesitancy and distress in the agent's voice was apparent despite the barrier of the menu. Ramona put hers down and examined Diana's face. She was about to question her further when a handsome young waiter arrived and placed a large basket of garlic bread in the middle of the table. There was no denying the garlicy aroma that wafted toward them.

Diana pointed at the bread. "That's part of the reason why I don't come here as often."

Garlic and vampires. Apparently horror movie lore wasn't that far off the money. "So what's the other part?"

"At first work, but now mainly my involvement with Ryder," Diana said, and snagged a piece of garlic bread from the basket.

Ramona didn't want to get into the whole relationship-with-a-vampire topic. "So you're on modified a.s.signment. What does that mean?"

Diana chewed a bite of bread slowly, almost thoughtfully, before she finally said, "It basically means I screwed up and I'm on desk duty. Security clearance checks and that kind of thing." The waiter came over and, with a wink at Diana, said, "The usual, bella?"

"The usual."

Ramona placed her order for the chicken parmigiana and immediately resumed the conversation. "How are you working-"

"On your case? Unofficially. At some point I may have to turn this over to the FBI Art Crime Team, but not until you and your mami are safe," Diana said.

Ramona hesitated, unsure of what to say. Van Winter was a powerful man with many high-level connections. "How can you be certain?"

Diana leaned her forearms on the table and shifted closer. "I can't be sure, but I also can't arrange for protective custody until I have more information."

"What do you need besides the fingerprints?"

The waiter came over with their plates. There was silence for a few minutes as they sampled their meals, and then Diana commenced her explanation. "I did some searches to see if anything unusual was going on with our friend. He filed a police report about a week after the paintings were moved to the auction house."

"What for?" Ramona asked, and twirled her fork in her pasta.

She had the fork halfway to her mouth when Diana said, "He claimed that a Luis Rodriguez stole several small objet d'art from his penthouse."

"I met Luis when I was working on the paintings. He was a hardworking family man."

Diana nodded and ate a piece of a large prawn from her plate of garlic-infused scampi. "No priors, but his bank account had an unusual deposit a few days after the police report was filed. A very large deposit."

"I don't believe it. Can't you question him?" She recalled the gentle man who had been a servant in van Winter's apartment. Luis had always made sure she was comfortable and would sometimes share a coffee break with her, telling her about his family. In some ways, he had reminded her of her own father, with his softly accented English and work-rough hands.

Diana laid her fork down, picked up her water and took a large sip. When she put the gla.s.s down she said, "I can't. He's dead.

Killed by a hit-and-run driver on his way home from a dishwashing job. Apparently van Winter fired him the same day he filed the police report."

Ramona's stomach immediately twisted with anguish. The food on her plate was half-eaten and would stay that way. Her appet.i.te had fled.

"It was a black sedan, wasn't it?"

Diana curtly nodded. "Only witness was another dishwasher from the restaurant. They finished late, stepped outside and headed home in different directions."

"A black sedan came speeding out of nowhere and ran him down. If it hadn't been for Diego the other night, that might have happened to me," Ramona murmured numbly.

"I'll walk you home after this," Diana told her. "And once the sun isn't as strong, Ryder will swing by."

"That's not necessary. Actually, I might get kind of creeped out knowing Ryder was hanging from my rafters or something," she said, dragging a reluctant smile from the other woman."Ryder doesn't hang like a bat. I'm not sure if any of the vamps I'm acquainted with do, including Diego. He's hurting, you know."

"He's made himself quite clear and-"

Diana slashed a hand through the air. "Forget the vamp thing. It's a man thing. They will never admit to weakness."

Diego and weak? Not two words she would string together in the same sentence. Regardless of whether or not he actually had a weakness for her, Ramona could not allow herself any vulnerability around him.

"I've got other things to deal with now."

"Like my getting your prints. Best we do that back at your apartment. If van Winter is watching, this should look like two friends having lunch."

Ramona glanced around, but didn't notice anyone familiar. Then again, she hadn't noticed any of van Winter's goons in the last week, even though he clearly had his eyes and ears tuned to her goings-on.