Blue Twilight_[11] Page 13

  “End of story?” She was shaking all over. My God, she hadn’t so much as had a clue, and if she found just hearing about it this devastating, how must Lou feel? “End of story, Lou? I don’t think so.”

  “Well, it is. There’s no more to tell.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  He nodded. “Jimmy would have been fifteen this year.”

  She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “I know you are, Max. It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

  “It’s not okay. Hell, something like that is never okay. No wonder you’re…the way you are.”

  He looked sideways at her. “How am I?”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his face. Everything in her wanted to hold him, comfort him, take away the old, deep shadow of pain in his eyes. But she couldn’t do that, because he wouldn’t let her. “You’re…solitary and kind of shielded. You never go too deep, never get too close. Sometimes I get the feeling you keep the truest part of yourself locked away in a dungeon somewhere deep inside you. And now I know why.”

  He pursed his lips as if considering those words, and then he dismissed them with a shake of his head. “I’m just who I am. No deep, dark psychological knots to untangle. Nothing locked away or hidden. It’s more like I’ve been worn down until everything in me is callused and tough, like old leather.” He shrugged. “It’s a good way to be.”

  “I’ll bet. Nothing can hurt old leather.”

  He smirked at her. She lifted a hand to his cheek, staring into his eyes. “I am so sorry you lost your little boy, Lou. You must have been a wonderful dad.”

  He got to his feet rather abruptly. “Go to sleep, Max. Get some rest. We have a lot to do tomorrow.”

  She nodded. “Good night, Lou.”

  “’Night. Lock up behind me.”

  He walked out of her room.

  Max slid out of bed to go to the door and turned the dead bolt, because she knew he would be listening for that on the other side. Then she waited, to give him time to get back to his own room. Five minutes, she figured, ought to be plenty.

  She used that time to ponder her new knowledge about Lou. No wonder he was afraid of relationships. He hadn’t healed from his failed marriage, from his lost little boy. He hadn’t let himself heal.

  She knew Lou. Everything he did, he either did very well or he gave up. She’d joked with him once about how he’d tried golf and was lousy at it. So he’d never played the game again.

  He was a good cop. Hell, he was a great cop. If he hadn’t been, she thought, he would have quit as a rookie and looked for a different profession.

  So he’d been married. And his marriage had failed. He’d had a child and lost him. He’d made up his mind those things were things he wasn’t meant to do, wasn’t any good at and would never do again.

  She closed her eyes. God, it was going to be harder to get through to him than she had even imagined.

  Forcibly, she tugged her mind back to the task at hand. She glanced at the clock but wasn’t sure Lou had put it back together in a way that was entirely reliable, so she counted off time in her head, even as she gathered up a credit card, notepad, pen and her trusty penlight. When enough time had passed, she unlocked the door, opened it and peered outside.

  She saw no one. Crickets chirped and sang in the distance. She smelled night air, sea-smells. They were not far from the shore. It was light outside; the light of the now-lopsided waning moon beamed brightly, bathing everything in a soft glow. It made up for the broken streetlight that stood like a crippled sentry over the parking lot.

  Slipping outside, Max walked quickly, quietly, in her bare feet to the motel office, then cupped her hands around her eyes to peer through the window.

  No lights were on. No one seemed to be around. She tried the door, but it was locked. Didn’t matter. She’d scoped it out earlier. Now she headed around to the side, where there was a window. It was an old window, and she flipped the lock around easily by sliding a credit card between the panes. Then she opened it wide and climbed inside.

  The office was tiny. There was a four-foot length of counter, a small workspace behind it, and a door behind that. That door was closed now. She hadn’t been able to see enough last time she’d been in here to decide whether that door led to a large office or a small apartment. If the latter, that creepy young clerk might be lurking back there even now.

  She moved silently, slipping behind the counter, sliding the penlight from her jeans pocket, glancing behind her over and over. She bent to the shelves under the counter and slid out the guest registry. Setting it on the counter, she opened it and found her own registration. Then she started copying down the names, addresses, license plate numbers and telephone numbers of the people who had been there prior to her. She decided to get as many names and addresses as time allowed.

  She stood there, flipping pages and scribbling down names—hell, there weren’t very many.

  A noise—so soft it might have been her own pulse beating in her throat—made her pen go still. She looked behind her. The door was still closed.

  Carefully she tore the top page from her notepad, folded it small and slipped it into her jeans pocket. Then she bent over the registry to begin filling a second page.

  She was jotting the third entry on that page when the back of her head exploded in pain. White light flashed like lightning in her mind, and then she was pitched into darkness.

  Lou didn’t go back to sleep. Of course he didn’t go back to sleep.

  How the hell did Max manage to get to him the way she did? How did she get him to talk about things he had lived more than a decade without sharing with anyone else?

  Hell, how did she manage to do any of the things she did to him? Ever since he’d known her—on and off for close to ten years now—he’d taken her flirting as playful teasing and nothing more. Of course, they’d never been more than mere acquaintances—until the Frank Stiles case.

  It was only then, when they’d been thrown together on a daily basis in the height of a life-and-death situation, that he’d begun to suspect her playful flirting might be something more.

  And now he was sure of it. At least, he was sure she thought it was. And he was damned if he knew what to do about it.

  She was wrong about him. He hadn’t been a wonderful father. Hadn’t been much of a husband, either. He’d spent far too much time working, always assuming there would be time for his family later. It was only when Jimmy was diagnosed that he’d realized there might not be a later. And sure, he’d taken time off then, tried to make up for his lack of attention. But it was too little too late. He hadn’t blamed Barbara for leaving him. He’d expected it. And he’d managed to go twelve years without feeling anything more than a slight attraction toward any woman.

  He felt something for Max, though. Hell, he had a pulse. Naturally he felt something for her. Who wouldn’t? The thing was, it went way beyond attraction. But dammit, he just wasn’t ready—didn’t think he would ever be ready—for a relationship like one with her would have to be.

  And she was too special for a fling. A fling would destroy what they had, and maybe destroy her, too. He didn’t see that there were any options other than those two—a serious, passionate, long-term relationship, or a fling—except for keeping what they currently had. A growing and genuine friendship. Mutual respect. Admiration. He liked her, and she liked him.

  Yet more than ever, he feared Max wasn’t going to settle for that.

  He needed to take a walk. Walk her off. Hell, being friends was great, in theory. But when she looked up at him with those big green eyes of hers, and he looked back down at her wearing a tiny T-shirt with no bra underneath, with her smooth, taut belly showing above her jeans, and her bare feet so goddamn cute he wanted to kiss them…hell.

  Yep, a walk. Clear his head.

  He opened his door, stepped outside and saw a car in front of the motel office. Taillights lit briefly. Then the trunk popped open. He gl
impsed the form then, lying on the ground in front of the building.

  Max!

  He dove for his gun, lunged back outside in time to see a dark form bending over her and ran full bore. He saw something like surprise in the man’s eyes—as if the woman he was about to scoop up was not the one he’d expected—but then that vanished when he swung his head toward Lou just in time to meet the butt end of Lou’s handgun.

  The stranger went down hard, landing flat on his back, but he sprang up again, hissing, teeth bared.

  And that was it. There was no longer any doubt about what this guy was.

  Lou pointed the gun at him. “Stay the fuck away from her, you bloodsucking bastard!” He crouched between the immortal and Max.

  The vamp’s eyes, feral and almost glowing, narrowed on him. “You can’t kill me with that toy.”

  “I know what I can do with this toy, pal. I can make you hurt like you never hurt in your life. And if I place the bullet right, I can make sure you bleed out before sunup.”

  Surprise registered in the vampire’s eyes. “You know more than any mortal ought to know.”

  “I know enough to hold my own against you. Get the hell out of here.”

  The vampire lunged. Lou fired the gun once—a warning shot—and the dark creature froze in place. He was tall, powerfully built, with long black hair that moved in the night breeze as if with a life of its own. His black eyes held Lou’s for a long moment. “You have something that belongs to me, mortal. And I will have it from you.”

  “If you’re talking about Max, it’ll have to be over my dead body, mister. And even then, I might give you a run for your money.”

  With one lingering look, the vampire turned on his heel and became no more than a blur. Vanished. Those goddamn vamps gave him a headache when they decided to move at speeds too fast for the human eye to follow, Lou thought. No time passed between that last lingering look and the car speeding away into the night. None.

  He thought he moved almost as fast himself, because a heartbeat later he was gathering Max to him, pushing her hair away from her face to search for signs of life. “Maxie? Come on, baby, talk to me.”

  He heard motel room doors opening, heard people asking what was happening, heard Stormy cry out as she and Jason came racing forward. Lou cradled Max’s head with one hand, searching her slender neck for a pulse with the other. He found one, steady and strong, and at the same instant he felt sticky warmth coating his palm where he cradled her head. “Oh, hell. Max.”

  “What happened?” Stormy asked when she got to his side. “I heard a shot.”

  “That was me, chasing off the bad guy. She’s hurt. I need a light.”

  Jason produced one, kneeling low and aiming it at Max’s head. The manager was coming out of the motel office now, blinking sleep from his eyes. “What happened?”

  “Oh, God, she’s bleeding,” Stormy said.

  Lou scooped her off the pavement. “Let’s get her back to the room. You. Motel-guy.”

  “It’s Gary.”

  “Call the police, Gary. And if you have a doctor in this town, get him out here, too. Can you handle that?”

  The young man nodded, and Lou carried Max back—not to her room, but to his own. He laid her on the bed, rolling her gently onto one side. Jason flipped on lights. Stormy brought a wet cloth, and Lou took it from her, dabbing the blood away until he finally managed to find the small cut in Max’s scalp.

  Not a crushed skull. Not a bullet hole. Not a life-threatening injury. Jesus, he’d been sick, physically sick, close to vomiting, with fear for her. The relief that washed through him now made his knees weak.

  He pressed the cloth to the wound, using pressure to stop the bleeding and letting her body lie flat.

  Max squinted and frowned and puckered her face almost comically, all without opening her eyes. “Ow. Damn, that hurts.”

  “I’ll bet it does. Open your eyes, honey.”

  She opened them slowly, and only to mere slits. “The light’s too bright. My head hurts.”

  “That’s because somebody hit you with something.” Lou snagged a shirt off the back of a chair and draped it over the bedside lamp. “That better?”

  She peered out again. “Yeah.”

  “What happened, Max? You remember anything?”

  Her brows drew closer, and she shifted her eyes past him, almost as if checking out who else was in the room. “Give me some time, my head’s spinning.”

  Lou nodded.

  “How did you know I was in trouble?” she asked.

  “Couldn’t sleep. Went out for some air and saw you lying in the parking lot behind a car. Some guy popped the trunk and looked to be about to toss you into it.”

  Her eyes opened wider. “Someone was trying to kidnap me?”

  Lou nodded. “Looked like. I fired a warning shot and he took off.” He licked his lips. “He took off…fast.”

  Max blinked. “How fast?”

  Lou shrugged, but held her eyes. “Beck, go see where that goddamn clerk is with getting us a doctor out here. She needs a couple of stitches.”

  “I’m on it,” Jason said, running from the room.

  Lou caught Stormy’s eye, nodded toward the door. She went to it and closed it. Lou said, “If there’s a ‘prince’ in charge of Endover, I just met him, and there’s no doubt in my mind, the guy’s a vamp,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, just to placate my skeptical nature, Lou, can you tell me what you’re basing this on?” Max asked.

  “The fangs, mostly.”

  “Oh, hell.” Max looked at Stormy. “Did Lou tell you our rooms are all bugged?”

  “No.”

  “I figured it could wait until morning,” Lou said.

  Stormy threw up her hands and paced the room. “What the hell is going on here? Bugged rooms? Midnight visitors? Why would some vamp want to kidnap Max?”

  “Maybe the same reason he kidnapped Delia and her friend?” Lou suggested.

  Stormy swore softly. “I’m going back outside to keep an eye on things. See if anyone saw anything.”

  “Watch your back,” Max called.

  She gave a nod, then headed out the door.

  Max looked at Lou, smiled a little. “You saved my ass.”

  “Your ass shouldn’t have been out there in the first place. What happened, Max?”

  She shrugged. “I broke into the motel office. Thought I’d get the names of some former guests here over the past few months, see if anything interesting showed up.”

  He closed his eyes, shook his head slowly.

  “Someone clocked me on the head from behind. I didn’t see who, but I’d bet dollars to doughnuts it was that Gary.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  “Like I said, it was from behind. The only thing behind me was the door that leads from the motel office into—into whatever it leads into. Probably his apartment.”

  “And no one else was around?”

  “Whoever it was came from beyond that closed door.”

  “Unless it was someone who moves too fast to be seen.”

  “A vampire wouldn’t need to bash me on the head to knock me out,” she reminded him.

  Lou pursed his lips. “Did you get any information out of this expedition, or just risk your life for kicks?”

  “Kicks, mostly,” she said. “I had a notepad, but I don’t suppose it was lying out there next to me.”

  “No.”

  She sighed, then seemed to brighten. “Wanna see what’s in my pants?”

  He shot her a look even as her words heated his blood and sped up his pulse. “You haven’t even got the hole in your head stitched up yet.”

  She smiled slowly, shifting her position.

  Lou pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Lie still. Every time you move, the bleeding starts to get worse.”

  “Then I guess you get to put your hand in my jeans. Not that I mind.”

  What the hell was she up to? he wondered, searching her eyes as the
brief, forbidden image of him sliding his hand where it should never be sliding crossed his mind and slithered through his groin.

  “Front pocket, my right, your left.”

  Lou slid his hand into the pocket she indicated and knew she was loving this. Hell, he was loving it, too, as much as he hated to admit it.

  So then, what’s your problem?

  The little voice in his head sounded a lot like Max’s. He ignored it and thrust his hand a little deeper, then pulled out a folded piece of notepaper. Unfolding it, he read the words there, partly out of curiosity and partly because he didn’t want to look at Max’s eyes right then. They would either be full of mischief or full of heat. Of the two, the heat scared him more.

  The paper held a list of names and contact info. He lifted his brows, forgot his caution, met her eyes.

  “There were more. Get a fresh pad and pen, and I’ll tell you what I can remember.”

  Someone knocked. “Too late. Try to hold on to them, Max.” He got up, started for the door, pocketing her notes on the way. Before he opened it, he looked back at her. “That was good work. Quick thinking.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t say I approved of the way you went about it, kid. No information is worth risking your life.”

  “If I’d known I was risking my life, I might have thought twice,” she told him.

  He opened the door to the police chief and a frail-looking man with less pigment than an albino, who had to be the doctor.

  “Three stitches,” Stormy said. “Shoot, girl, you’re gonna have to do a lot better than that to catch up to me.”

  “Give me time. I’m still young yet,” Max said. She was sitting up now, still in Lou’s bed. The police chief and the doctor had gone. Jason stood. He’d barely sat down since he’d come in. And now he was on his feet again almost before his rear end had time to settle in the chair.

  Max heaved a sigh and turned to lower her feet to the floor. “It’s time we all went to bed. We won’t be worth a damn tomorrow without some sleep.”