Vampire - Deep Midnight Part 22

"Yes, we do. Goodbye, we'll be seeing you." She had her hand on Harold's arm, he was up, a big man, ready to follow his slender wife.

"Keep the paper!" he said to Ragnor.

"Thanks. Thanks very much," Ragnor said.

When they had gone, Ragnor slid into a seat at Jordan's table. She took her chair opposite him.

"I don't remember asking you to join me for breakfast," she said.

"It isn't really breakfast," he murmured, eyes scanning the paper.

Jordan wished she could read Italian. "What does it say?"

"Not too much. A head was found in one of the smaller ca.n.a.ls."

"Near the contessa's palazzo?" Jordan asked.

His eyes shot up at her. Not that she could really see his eyes. His Ray-Bans shot up at her.

He stared at her a while. "Yes."

"People were killed at her party. I'm convinced of it. If only someone else believed it."

He didn't contradict her. He translated from the paper instead. "Police will call in a forensic artist to try to re-create the face so that bulletins can be sent throughout Europe, as there are no reports of missing persons in the Venice area at this time."

She sat back, staring at him. "Can you take those off, please?" she asked, indicating his gla.s.ses.

"No," he said flatly.

"Wearing them at the table is extremely rude, something even an American wouldn't do."

"I see Americans wearing sungla.s.ses at the table all the time," he replied absently.

She leaned forward, shoving the omelette aside. "You spend your time warning me that I'm in danger, that I create danger, then you tell me that a severed head means nothing in Venice."

"I didn't say that at all."

"What did you say?"

"That you can't go a.s.suming that this severed head has anything to do with the contessa.

And if you go to the police insisting again that the contessa's party was full of costumed creatures ripping up guests, they're just going to think that you're crazy again. Delusional, suffering from stress brought on by grief due to the loss of a loved one."

She started to rise; he caught her hand. "Why are you angry with me when I tell you the truth?"

"You're still not telling me the truth about anything."

"I'm telling you what you need to know."

"Well, at the moment, I have work to do. Will you excuse me?"

His face was expressionless, but he didn't release her hand. "Where are you going?"

"What on earth is that to you?"

"Where are you going?" he repeated.

"Down to the front desk-I was supposed to get some work by FedEx today. Then I'm going to my room to work."

"And then?"

"I'm going to bring the red vinyl costume back to Anna Maria's and pick up the outfit I'm wearing tonight."

"I'll be in the lobby. Make sure you stop by to get me before you go."

"What if I don't want you with me?"

"I'm hard to shake."

"Will you let go for now?"

"You haven't touched your food."

"I'm not hungry. And I am awake and aware, and it seems like a good time to get some work done."

He released her hand. His attention was back on the newspaper article.

Jordan took the elevator down to the lobby level and went straight to the front desk, asking if a package had arrived for her. To her surprise, it actually had; it had arrived in almost exactly twenty-four hours.

There was a note from her agent right on top. She scanned it and went straight to the ma.n.u.script. Vampire Legend and the Criminal Mind.

She started reading as she walked up the stairs. There was an introduction about the author, a cop named Sean Canady who lived in New Orleans. His record had been filled with commendations, and he had worked homicides for years.

The first section of the book centered on solved criminal cases involving occultism and vampirism, going back into history for centuries, and including cases involving cannibalism, all the way up to the murders perpetrated by Jeffrey Dahmer.

The book was absorbing. In her room, she flopped down on her bed and kept on reading until she realized that she hadn't locked her door.

Her reading material indicated that she really should do so.

She stood, rushed to the door, locked it, and stretched back out to read again. The ma.n.u.script was very well written: detailed without being graphic, to the point, and yet explanatory. There was a section on cases still under investigation, including the murder of several prost.i.tutes in New Orleans, and the occult killings that had occurred in Charleston, South Carolina.

Steven was in the book, mentioned by name. She bit her lip while reading that section. There was a chapter on the various psychologies involved in such murders, written in cooperation with one of the leading men from the FBI who worked on criminal profiles.

The author stressed the fact that although serial killers were often white males between twenty and thirty-five-men who might have tortured animals as children, who held menial jobs, and were often married-there was also a breed of very organized killers with the ability to charm and get ahead in life, attractive and appealing men in appearance and manner, such as Ted Bundy.

Sometimes killers left their signatures. Sometimes they wanted to be caught.

Sometimes they wanted the power trip that came with outwitting the police.

There were those who were truly ill.

And those who believed they were dealing with vampires.

Vampire lore had come into play in the capture of a 'vampire' killer in Colorado who thought he was a vampire. The scare had been so real in the small western town where the killings took place that many women had armed themselves with stakes and large crosses, kept vials of holy water by the door, and hung their windows and doorways with garlic. The killer, who selected his women by breaking into bedroom windows, had avoided these households, believing himself susceptible to the weapons of legend. The police knew of one victim who had saved herself through her efforts. The killer's footprints had been found in her garden and he later admitted to making an attempt to strike at her, but had seen the garlic, and knew that he would be falling prey to his own doom. There was a list of suggestions from the author on keeping safe. Most of them were common sense, but Jordan kept reading anyway.

* Avoid being alone in any dark or any potentially dangerous place.

* Always keep doors and windows locked.

* Keep a dog-barking is a deterrent to many would-be criminals.

* Never invite strangers in. Never.

There was a knock on her door.

She nearly jumped through the ceiling.

She glanced at her watch. Three o'clock. Hours had pa.s.sed, and she hadn't even noticed.

She leaped up, then paused, and for some reason, decided to shove the ma.n.u.script under her pillow. Walking to the door, she looked out the peephole, expecting Jared or Cindy.

It was Ragnor.

Never invite a stranger in. Never.

But.. .

Last night, she had done so.

CHAPTER 10.

The knocking sounded again.

Jordan squared her shoulders, giving herself a mental shake. Her reading material was beginning to have an effect on her. As he raised his hand to knock again, Jordan opened the door.

He stared at her expectantly and glanced at his watch. "Are you ready?" he queried.

"For what?"

"A walk to Anna Maria's to return the last costume-the vinyl. And pick up whatever delight Raphael planned for you for tonight."

She wanted to tell him no, to go away. She wasn't even sure she wanted to go to the ball that evening. Maybe her reading material was getting to her; she wanted to immerse herself in it.

Maybe she was simply and totally crazy. Ragnor had a ... presence. He wasn't just striking, he was compelling. She liked the sound of his voice, the shape of his jaw ...

As she had before, she felt the sudden temptation to fly into his arms, lay her head down, and believe that everyone was fine and normal, that he wasn't a man with a million dark secrets, that... that she could just bury herself in sensation. Turn off the lights, forget the shadows, have faith in the dark, and the feel of him.

She took a step back. She wasn't prey to true insanity.

And she was torn, longing to read more of the new book. She wanted to find out more about the author. She wanted to talk to him and tell him what she had seen . . .

And that a head had appeared in a Venetian ca.n.a.l.

But she knew she had to go to the ball. And she needed to return the one costume and get the other. And, of course, she had to go to Tiff's for drinks. She would ruin everything for Tiff if she didn't.

"Sure. Great. Let's go."

"Don't you need to get the vinyl costume?"

"Yes."

She walked back into the room to get the costume that was hanging by the window on a lamp stand. When she turned around, he was just inside her door.

She had invited him in last night.

Yes, and it was day, and she was alive and well.

She carried the costume, slipped her handbag over her arm.

A killer could be charming, attractive in appearance and manner. . .

Jordan hurried out into the hall, eager to reach the lobby and the flood of people there.

Tonight, the Danieli would hold its own ball in celebration of Carnevale.

She wished she were just staying here, attending this ball instead of Anna Maria's.

Not fair.

Anna Maria had been wonderful to her; everyone in the shop had been wonderful. They had sympathized with her when the rest of Venice had been laughing at her. Lynn had promised good-humored, beautiful entertainment. She had looked forward to the ball, and she was going to enjoy it. Even if her footsteps were dogged by this ...

Stranger.

"Is there a fire?" he asked.