Blood Red

She didn’t answer; she was torn between suspicion and an inexplicable desire to engage in conversation. Okay, maybe not so inexplicable. He was exceedingly attractive. Tall, everything in proportion, muscular without being musclebound, with rugged features that were classically appealing and entirely masculine. She even liked his scent, and felt oddly drawn to move nearer to him.

I would actually like to get to know him, she admitted to herself.

And then another voice chimed in. The truth was that he scared her. And maybe he scared her just because she felt such a strong sense of attraction to him.

Would she have been so afraid if it hadn’t been for what had happened in the Square, the crystal ball and the illusion of genuine danger?

“Wow,” he murmured, and she realized that he was looking at her sketch. “That’s magnificent.”

“I don’t know about magnificent,” she murmured, embarrassed.

He never actually asked if he could join her, and she never suggested that he do so, but he drew out the chair across from her anyway and sat down.

She was glad, she realized. She liked having him there, liked talking with him. Liked feeling his eyes on her appreciatively.

And yet she was still…wary.

Scared.

Something wasn’t right.

“You’re quite an artist,” he said.

“It’s a living,” she replied.

He flashed her a smile. A very attractive smile. “Not everyone is good enough to make a living at it.”

“I’ve been lucky.”

“Are your friends artists, too?”

“Yes. Artists, graphic designers.”

“You do logos, fliers, that type of thing?” he inquired politely.

“Yes, and ad layouts and so on,” she agreed.

She didn’t want him to leave, she realized.

What the hell was it about him that appealed to her so strongly? She wanted to touch him, make sure he was real, stroke the contours of his face, feel his heart beat under her palm.

He tapped the table near the sketch. “I’ve seen her. It’s an incredible likeness. There’s a touch of magic to her, and you’ve captured it.”

“Thanks.” She hesitated. “So you…know her?”

He shook his head. “I saw her when I was walking around. She’s so unusual, so arresting, that you feel compelled to look at her. You’ve caught all that in this sketch.”

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“So you all had your fortunes told?”

“Yes.”

“And?” His tone was teasing, his smile captivating.

And yet, despite his teasing tone, did she sense a note of seriousness behind it? Did he suspect that she had seen a strange vision?

Of course not.

“We’re all going to live long, happy lives,” she lied.

“Wonderful So where are your friends now? Did they get lost in New Orleans?” he asked, a slight frow creasing his brow, though he still spoke lightly.

“They’re not lost,” she said, then added, “I’ve simply misplaced them.”

“Worrying nonetheless,” he said

“It’s broad daylight, and there are tons of people around,” she countered.

A waitress came by. “I’d love a tea, too,” he said, then looked at Lauren. “May I buy you lunch?”

“I should really wait.”

“Until your misplaced friends are located?”

She turned her attention to the street momentarily, then looked back at him. She was startled when he set a hand over hers. Pinpricks of sensation seemed to leap like fire across her flesh, pass into her bloodstream and balloon at the center of her being like a flow of lava. She was tempted to pull her hand away, then realized that would be far too indicative of her feelings.

She stared at him instead, slowly arching a brow.

Suddenly his expression grew serious, and his tone matched it when he spoke. “Please, you may think I’m insane for saying this, but I promise you, I’m not. I’m afraid that you and your friends are in danger here.”

Yes, there had been more to his earlier question.

“Oh, please,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment against her disappointment that he’d turned out to be a loon. “Not this again.”

All she wanted now was for him to go away. She’d been far too tempted to give in to the appealing fact that he seemed to find her interesting, attractive. To be pursuing her. Because she wanted to be pursued.

What she didn’t want was this feeling that something was lying beneath every word he said, that he didn’t actually want to be with her and was just plain crazy.

“Again?” he asked sharply.

Irritation filled her, along with an uncanny sense of fear. “The fortune teller gave me the same line of bull. We’re here for a bachelorette party, Mr. Davidson. Pure and simple. Heidi is about to get married, and the three of us have been planning this trip for ages. I can’t imagine why you—a stranger—would want to ruin it for us.”

He was quiet, leaning back. She could read little from his expression, because his sunglasses suddenly seemed as dark as night. She knew she should just ask him to leave her alone.

Somehow, she couldn’t.

He was still touching her hand, but that wasn’t what was stopping her. It was simply his presence that she couldn’t resist.

“I swear to you,” he said very softly, “I want nothing more than your complete safety.”

“I’m not in any danger.”

“Yes, you are. You saw this morning’s headline.”

She shook her head, a chill snaking through her. “Does that mean every single woman anywhere near the Mississippi River is in danger?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, please!”

“There’s a killer working the area,” he said with such assurance that she felt an ever greater sense of being encompassed of ice, despite the heat of the day.

“Are you a cop?” she asked sharply.

“No.”

“FBI?”

“No.”

“So exactly what are you?”

“I told you. A writer and a musician.”

“Oh, well, that answers that, then. I’m sure you know all about serial killers, not to mention exactly how and why my friends and I are in danger.”

She was stunned when he replied calmly and in a tone of such level and deep authority that it was the scariest part of it all. “I do.”

She just stared at him.

The waitress brought his tea, and he thanked her, bringing Lauren back to the moment.

“I’m going to leave now,” she said. “And you are going to leave my friends and me alone,” she told him firmly.

He ignored her words when he spoke. “I know who the killer is. I’ve known about him for a very long time now. He was responsible for the death of my fiancée.”

Lauren couldn’t believe it of herself, but she didn’t move. She remembered what he had said when she crashed into him the night before. The name he had spoken.

“Katie?” she said, then hesitated before going on. “The woman you think I resemble.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not your Katie,” she told him.

A rueful smile curled his lips. “I know that,” he said.

“But you think this man…killed her?”

He hesitated, then nodded.

“She died here, in New Orleans?” Lauren asked.

“No,” he admitted.

“I see.”

“No, you don’t. Katie did see him here, on a trip. And now I’m afraid he’s after you—just as he was after her.”

She sighed, looking down.

He was just as attractive and possessed of all the raw sex appeal as she had thought from the beginning—and he was completely crazy. Maybe even a murderer himself.

He could be stalking her, for all she knew.

She was finally about to get up when he asked, “Did you all stay in your cottage last night, locked in, once you got home?”

“I saw you out on the street, watching us,” she accused him, instead of answering.

“Did you stay in?” he repeated.

“Yes, which is none of your business,” she lied.

He still seemed concerned. “I only asked because it’s important,” he told her quietly.

She felt oddly uncertain and was angry with herself, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to walk away with things hanging between them.

And Deanna had been outside, sleepwalking, something she’d never done before in her life, and Lauren had been out there with her. Not only that, she’d felt as if someone else had been out there, too, and that somehow this man knew about it.

And at the edge of her consciousness was the memory of how she had dreamed about him, and the ridiculous longing somewhere inside that, against all the evidence, he would turn out not to be crazy.

She forced a casual smile onto her face. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why is so important?”

Instead of answering, he reached into his shirt pocket. “I’d like to give you something.”

“Please, I can’t accept anything from you.”

He smiled then, a charming smile that also managed to convey amusement. “No strings attached,” he assured her.

She was almost bowled over by the unconscious sensuality of his appeal. God, how she wished he were normal. She had never met anyone like him, hadn’t even dreamed that she could meet anyone like him, since she had lost Ken. The sound of his voice was alluring, his body language subtly provocative. If she’d met him anywhere else under any other circumstances…

“This was Katie’s,” he said.

She looked down at the item he’d produced from his pocket. It was a silver cross, beautifully designed and obviously antique.

“I definitely can’t take that,” she told him, staring across the table at him.

“Please.”

“It’s valuable.”

“I would never sell it in a thousand years,” he said.

She shook her head. “I can’t take it.”

He grinned at her suddenly. “If you were to take it and wear it, I’d feel better about you being out on the streets of New Orleans. I might even quit being such a pest.”

“I think you really are crazy,” she told him frankly.

“I’m not. Honestly.”

She picked up her tea and took a long sip, suddenly aware that she had both elbows on the table now and was leaning closer to him. “Okay, look at all this from my point of view. First I run into you in a bar. Then I see you standing out on my street.”

“My street, too.”

“Coincidence, huh?”

He shrugged.

“Okay. Then I’m sitting here drinking tea, and suddenly there you are, too, with a crazy tale about trailing a killer. Don’t you think you should go to the police if you know who the killer is?”

“Probably. I’m just not sure yet how to explain what I know.”

“Because it’s crazy,” she suggested softly.

“I swear to you, I only want you to be safe,” he said.

She groaned, looking down at her hands. “I’ve heard a piece of your story, and I’m not at all sure I want to hear the rest. Please…you’re very attractive. But I…I really have to ask you to stay away from me.”

There. She had managed it; she had said the words and told him to leave her alone.

He pulled away, straightening, his expression both resigned and regretful.

Suddenly she heard Heidi’s voice. “There you are! Lauren, why haven’t you been answering your phone? Oh, hi, Mark. Okay, now I know why you haven’t been answering. Can we join you? Or should we get lost?”

And Heidi wasn’t alone.

Deanna was with her.

Heidi’s voice was, teasing, the day sunny, everything normal. And yet…

4

Mark Davidson was charming, and of course both Heidi and Deanna were outrageous flirts when they wanted to be.

First, though, Lauren demanded to know where her friend had been. Deanna seemed surprised that Lauren had been so worried just because she’d wandered off and told her, “Shopping. And I’m perfectly capable of going in and out of stores alone. You’re the one who left us high and dry, you know.”

Ignoring that, Lauren asked, “Did you take a carriage ride?”

“A carriage ride? Why would I have taken a carriage ride?”

So whatever had so disturbed her was really nothing, Lauren thought. Maybe she needed to start worrying about herself.

Over a couple of really po’boys, Mark entertained them with tales of his travels, his writing—and his playing.

“So are you good?” Heidi asked good-naturedly.

“I leave that to the listener to decide.”

“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” Lauren said.

He justshrugged. “So, tell me more about your business,” he said.

He had quite a knack for turning the conversation away from himself, she thought—and decided not to allow it. “Mark lost a fianceé, too,” she said. “Her name was Katie, and she looked like me. Or I look like her.”

The table went dead silent.

“I’m so sorry,” Heidi said.

“Me too,” Deanna told him. She reached across the table and squeezed his hand.

Lauren noted the way he studied her in return. Not lasciviously, more as if he were searching for something, expecting her to give herself away somehow.

“He’s worried about us,” Lauren added.

“Why?” Heidi asked.

“Because of that body they found in the Mississippi,” Lauren said.

To her surprise, Heidi bestowed a tremendous smile on the man. “That is so sweet of you!”

“Imagine. We go on vacation and find a handsome protector,” Deanna said. She turned to Lauren. “And he’s in the cottage right next to ours.”

They were both crazy, Lauren decided. The sun was too much for them. And the way they were flirt…She wasn’t sure whether to scream or vomit.

“He thinks he knows who the killer is, that it’s the same man who killed his fianceé.”

“Oh, my God!” Deanna said, leaning forward and touching him gently, real concern in her eyes.

“I didn’t actually say that he killed her, but he was responsible for her death,” Mark said, frowning at Lauren.

“You should go to the police if you have any information at all,” Heidi told him.

“You’re right, I should,” he said. To Lauren’s surprise, he stood. “I think I’ll take a stroll down to the station right now. Thanks so much for letting me join you for lunch,” he said. “And I’m in cottage six, if you need me.”

“Are you two insane!” Lauren asked in a vehement whisper as he walked away. When he looked back with a glance of amusement; she knew that, even at a distance, he had heard her, and she blushed.

“What is the matter with you?” Heidi demanded. “He’s unbelievable.”

“That would be the point,” Lauren muttered.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Heidi announced. “He obviously has the hots for you, but if you’re going to be an idiot and turn down a good man, let Deanna have a crack at him.”

“Lauren, if you’re not interested in him, you’re going off the deep end,” Deanna told her.

“Hey, I wasn’t the one sleepwalking,” she snapped. “And he’s lying—I’ll be you he’s lying. He isn’t going to the police station.”

“We can follow him and find out,” Deanna suggested.

“Yeah—right after we pay the check. He joined us for lunch and walked out,” Lauren reminded them, waved a hand to signal the waitress.

“May we have the check, please?” Lauren asked when the woman came over.

“The gentleman gave me his credit card before he joined you,” she said. “You don’t have a check.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Lauren said, staring at her blankly.

“I’ll leave the tip,” Heidi offered.

“He was really generous,” the waitress said. “You don’t need to. Honestly.”

“Thanks,” Heidi told her. “We’ll…we’ll just add to it,” she said lamely.

Lauren rose along with Deanna, as their friend dug in her purse, then laid a bill on the table. “Hey, look at this.” Heidi said.

It was the beautiful antique cross. He’d left it on the table, Lauren realized.

“Where did this come from?” Heidi asked curiously.

“Mr. Gorgeous left it,” Lauren said. She shook her head, but took the cross from Heidi. “Come on, I’m going to prove to you both that he’s full of shit.”

She led them quickly through the French Quarter, for once ignoring the architecture that never failed to enthrall her and the street musicians who somehow always sounded so good. When they reached the police station. Lauren opened the door to go in, then froze.

Mark Davidson was there, talking to the desk sergeant.

She backed out of the doorway, stunned.

“Ouch,” Heidi protested, as Lauren stepped on her foot.

“I take it Mr. Davidson is inside?” Deanna said dryly.

“Yes,” Lauren said, puzzled.

“See?” Deanna said.

“Something’s still…not right,” Lauren said.

“You always think something not right,” Deanna told her. “Lauren, you can’t live your life with nothing ever being right,” she added gently.

“You don’t understand,” Lauren tried to explain.

“Yes, we do.” Both of them spoke in unison, looking at her in concern. They were convinced that she couldn’t get beyond the past, and that she desperately needed to.

“No,” she insisted. “I’m fine—these days. I would love to meet the right guy…or even a decent enough wrong guy. Movies, dinner…music,” she said. “Honestly, I know you don’t have to plan a lifetime with someone to enjoy his company.”

“You know what she needs?” Heidi said gravely to Deanna.

“I do,” Deanna said.

“And that would be…?” Lauren asked.

“Sex. Wild, hot, passionate sex,” Deanna said.

“Oh, please!”

“Spontaneous. Wicked,” Heidi said, agreeing with Deanna.

“Can we move on?” Lauren said.

“Look—she’s blushing. She is attracted to him,” Deanna said triumphantly.

“How could she not be?” Heidi said.

“Look,” Lauren insisted, “something just isn’t right here.”

“The fortune-teller,” Deanna told Heidi gravely.

Heidi linked an arm through Lauren’s. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with you. Wait! Brainstorm! I do know what we’re going to do. I’m having a vision. It’s me, and I’m standing at a craps table.”

“You lose at craps all the time,” Lauren said.

“And I have a hell of a good time doing it. Come on, slave, let’s trot on back over to Harrah’s. I see us sunning in the late afternoon sun later. A dip in the pool will be followed by dinner. K-Paul’s tonight. Then we’ll hit Bourbon Street for music and jazz. Cool?”

“Cool,” Lauren said, though she didn’t sound convinced. Then she looked at Deanna and frowned. “You’re sure you didn’t take a carriage ride today? I could have sworn I saw you with a tall, dark-haired guy, like the one I saw you talking to in the bar last night.”

“The cute guy?” Deanna said.

“Yeah. Were you in a carriage with him?”

“No,” Deanna said.

It could be difficult to tell if Deanna was blushing, because her skin was such a beautiful shade of copper, but Lauren thought she had reddened.

As if she were lying.

“Hey, pay attention here, slaves,” Heidi demanded.

They both looked at her. “Harrah’s,” she ordered.

Lauren let out a breath, still staring at Deanna. “Right. Harrah’s,” she said.

And she started to walk.

Mark had known the women would follow him, egged on by Lauren.

Luckily, they had quickly departed.

And he had gotten more of a response at the police station than he had been expecting. Of course, it had been some time since he’d been in New Orleans. Things here had changed.

At the desk, he’d informed the sergeant that he didn’t have any solid information, but he knew of a European national now in the country who had been linked to various crimes overseas—crimes that left victims resembling the woman found in the Mississippi.

He had expected to give information to a bored paper-chasing officer in a cubicle somewhere.

To his surprise, he was ushered into the office of Lieutenant Sean Canady, an impressive man with steel blue eyes and a rock-hard chin.

“I understand you have information regarding the body in the river?” Canady said, taking his seat after a handshake and indicating a chair across from his desk.

“Not exactly,” Mark corrected. “But I do have reason to believe that the crime may be associated with a man named Stephan??? who I believe is in this area now.”

“I see.” Canady’s hands were folded on his desk. “Sadly, Mr. Davidson, murder isn’t unusual. Nor is decapitation, though I admit it’s somewhat less common.”

“No.”

“So…?”

Mark took a deep breath. “There are a number of ancient beliefs that suggest decapitation will prevent someone from becoming a vampire. And there’s a modern belief that some vampires are careful to dispose of victims they aren’t entirely…sure of. Population control, if you will. Survival of the…”

“Hottest? Most clever?” Canady said.

The man must think he was an idiot, Mark realized. “Yes.”

Canady’s eyes didn’t flicker. He was either trying to humor him until the padded wagon bound for the asylum arrived, or…

Or nothing surprised him at all.

Or maybe…

He’d had previous experience with vampires.

“Your suggesting there’s a vampire loose in the New Orleans?” Canady said.

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