Vampire - Deep Midnight Part 13

"I'm sure the author will be glad. Strange material ... but popular, it seems."

"Oh?"

"I've just gotten in another one, to be published next October."

"On vampires?"

Liz hesitated. "Vampires, cults, Satanism, copycats, rumors ... there's a really interesting chapter on defense against vampires. The author is a cop."

Jordan's fingers tightened on the wire as she felt a spasm of pain. "A cop?"

"A fellow in New Orleans who has worked some really bizarre cases. He doesn't say that vampires exist, but he suggests ways of dealing with people who think they're vampires. His book goes back into the ancient legends and all as well-interesting reading."

"Send it to me."

"Jordan, all this reading may not be good for you under the circ.u.mstances-"

"I am not a fragile person about to go over the edge. If this book is by a police officer, I very much do want to read it Send it by FedEx. The earliest delivery possible."

"You don't think that the contessa's entertainment ..."

"Was real?" Jordan hesitated, remembering dancing with Ragnor-and his comments about the contessa.

Yes, he did think that the woman was a criminal Dangerous . . .

"Liz, I'm keeping my nose clean, behaving rationally, I'm just a civilian visitor to a beautiful city, and especially because of Jared, I'm being as cool, collected and courteous as I can be. But I want that book."

"You want to get your a.s.s on a plane. If that woman is dangerous-"

"Liz, I'm staying in one of the most beautiful hotels in the world, with my cousin and his wife just next door. I'm fine. And the police think I'm a little crazy, so they're keeping an eye on me. Send me the d.a.m.ned book. Please."

"All right. All right. But I'd better hear from you frequently."

"It's a promise."

They said their good-byes, and Jordan hung up. She glanced at her watch.

It was late enough for her to go down to the concierge and get instructions on how to walk to the palazzo that Tiff Henley had rented.

Sal D'Onofrio loved his work, and he loved Venice.

The mornings now tended to be quiet. Party-goers at Carnevale were usually late sleepers. But it was also a good time for work in Venice because there were so very many people here. And every human being with an ounce of romance in his or her soul was compelled to take a gondola ride.

He had already taken a couple of early-bird British women for a two-hour ride among many of the ca.n.a.ls. They wanted to see the buildings of Venice, to go off the beaten track.

He had taken them far, singing away.

They'd loved his singing.

They'd tipped him generously for his tunes.

But he didn't sing for money. He sang because it was fun. One of the British women had joked that a good singing voice must be a requirement for all gondoliers. He had told them that no-some gondoliers couldn't sing worth a single lira-they had just gotten lucky. He had told them, too, that not all gondoliers were exceptionally good looking- they had gotten lucky in that aspect as well. And few had his gift for languages. He'd never had much schooling, only what had been required; he had always known that, like his father before him, he would be a gondolier. He had a natural ear for languages and was fluent in French, Spanish, English, and Italian. He could converse somewhat in German and knew a smattering of Russian. He was good looking, and even the other gondoliers admitted grudgingly that he had the best singing voice. Italian, however, was a language made for singing. Those who came for rides usually wanted to hear Italian songs sung-after all, they were drifting through the beauty of Venice.

His British ladies were gone, but the morning had already been well worthwhile. He sang as he drifted along alone, dunking of heading back to the dock and waiting, but singing in hopes of luring some straying tourists.

They all loved, "O sole mio!"

Yet even as he sang, his pleasant tenor booming across the narrow ca.n.a.l he navigated, he noted something bobbing in the water ahead. He narrowed his eyes, still singing, but more absently, and quietly.

He used his pole expertly to slow his vessel.

His singing stopped abruptly mid-note as he narrowed his eyes and stared into the water.

No...

He hunched down and reached into the water, grabbing for the bobbing, ball-shaped object. His fingers wound into something.

Hair.

Even as the thought reached him, he saw the object, full front, just inches before his face.

He let out a hoa.r.s.e cry of horror, dropping it as if it burned him.

The blood drained from his face. He felt the eggs he'd had for breakfast scrambling and scorching in his stomach.

He retched and plopped down into his boat, first using ca.n.a.l water to rinse his face, then remembering what he'd just found in the water, and retching again.

He breathed deeply and straightened his shoulders.

The ... thing ... was now bobbing in the water again, just a few feet away. He watched it, still breathing deeply.

After a moment, he knew what he had to do.

It was a pleasant, uneventful walk to Tiff Henley's palazzo.

Jordan crossed several bridges, but the directions she had been given were excellent, and she had no trouble finding the palazzo, a well-kept structure near the Accademia.

The entry was up a short flight of stairs, and Tiff herself answered when Jordan used the ma.s.sive ring in a bra.s.s lion's mouth to knock.

"You made it!" Tiff said, pleased. She was dressed in faux leopard pants and a cashmere sweater with a fur-trimmed neckline that wasn't at all synthetic, Jordan was certain.

Despite the weather, Tiff was wearing flashy sandals that clicked on the marble of her palazzo's entry.

"You'll see," Tiff said, leading her in, "This is nothing so fine as the contessa's ancestral home or whatever, but it's really quite adorable."

Jordan looked around with interest as Tiff took her coat The foyer was small and cozy; the steps leading upward were narrow and winding, but the banister was really beautiful, marble with a blue tinge, and the steps themselves were covered in a plush, navy blue carpeting that made them seem warm and welcoming.

"This place was built during the Renaissance and it's still in the same family. The owner is a hoot. He said that they were the n.o.bility of the lira! No t.i.tles in the family, but they made a mint importing and exporting."

"It's great-I like it much better than the contessa's," Jordan a.s.sured her.

"It's-cozier. But then," Tiff said with humor, "you'd like it better than the contessa's place if I'd rented a barn. Is there such a thing as a barn in Venice?" Tiff didn't wait for an answer. "Frankly, I'd stay in a barn just to be here; thankfully, I don't have to. Come on up, come on up! I ordered in Bellinis or whatever you call them from Harry's Bar-you have been there, right?"

"Yes."

Jordan loved the fabled Venetian establishment, once beloved of Hemingway. The prices were high, but the food was excellent. "Jared entertains at Harry's a great deal," she said.

"Well, of course, he would, wouldn't he?" Tiff said. "Actually, he could have told you how to get here- I rented this through your cousin and made all the arrangements for my stay through him. He's really quite good."

"Thanks. I rather like him myself."

"His wife is a sweetie, too. I should have invited them as well."

"Don't feel bad. They're sleeping in."

"I wanted to get to know you better anyway. Come up, come up, we're all set up on the patio on the second level."

Jordan followed Tiff up the stairs.

The landing on the second floor was large, with hallways going off to the left and right while directly in front there was a large expanse of marble flooring that led to columns, and beyond them, a plate gla.s.s window with a double doorway leading to a terrace that directly overlooked a charming ca.n.a.l.

"There are heat lamps out here; it will be warm enough," Tiff a.s.sured her, leading the way.

Jordan was barely seated with a famed Venetian Bellini in hand when Tiff leaned on the table across from her. "Okay, so I don't mean to be rude or crude or anything, but just what exactly is the sad history behind your being so sensitive to things of a frightening nature."

"I'm not sensitive-"

"Your fiance was killed."

Jordan sighed. "Tiff, I'm completely sane."

"Of course you are!" Tiff sounded almost angry, as if it would be ridiculous for anyone to think anything else. "It's just that I'm so, so sorry! How terrible. He was a cop, right, killed in the line of duty? Hunting down some terrible murderers-"

"Evidently, you have the story."

"Well, I have the story through one of the girls at the art shop. And she, I believe, got what she knows through Cindy. Not a long line of gossip, but you do know how things change."

"You have it basically right." "And you're still mourning this poor fellow? They probably shouldn't have brought you here. I'm sure they thought Venice! Carnevale! Such fun, that will take her mind off things.

And, of course, there are masks worn everywhere and an abundance of handsome young men, only a few of whom don't speak English. Hm. Maybe the not speaking English would make a man more appealing." Tiff laughed softly. "More Bellini?"

"I'm fine, thanks. This is a bit early for me, actually."

"Oh, these are just sissy drinks. And we're not driving anywhere! Oh, well, bottoms up, even if I'm drinking on my own."

Tiff finished her drink and poured another. "So- are you still in mourning, and perhaps, just perhaps, a bit oversensitive?"

"I loved him a great deal." She paused, eager to change the subject "You've been widowed, I've heard-"

"Several times," Tiff said. "As I'm sure you've heard."

"Yes. As to Steven ... I miss him, still. I really loved him. But he's gone, and I know it.

And I like going to parties; I enjoy meeting people-"

"And dancing."

"And dancing."

"I saw you last night, with Ragnor. You were beautiful together. I was jealous as all h.e.l.l.

Of course, he is a little young for me, but what the h.e.l.l? I've always married old men, a younger fellow would be such a novelty!"

Jordan lifted her hands. "Go for it then!"

"Oh, but he's not interested in me. I watched him last night. He was watching you all night."

"I didn't even see him when I first arrived."

"But he was there. Watching you."

Jordan wasn't sure whether Tiff's observation disturbed her...

Or excited her.

She shrugged. "Tiff, you're most welcome to pursue him with all vigor. He was quite rude to me."

"Rude?" Tiff said, puzzled.

"Rude. He told me that I should go home, that... I don't know. That I caused trouble, or stirred trouble ... that I could be putting myself in danger."

"Danger!" Tiff sounded delighted. "How ... beguiling!"

"I'm not interested in Ragnor," Jordan said. She hesitated. She was lying. She was interested. Because he angered her.

That much was true ...

But last night...

She felt an uneasy surge of warmth again. Last night, as they'd watched the acrobatic dancers, she'd felt... a stirring. That term was an understatement She'd felt as hot as blue Sterno flame, dying to touch and be touched, as she hadn't felt since ...