Dead Perfect
Page 16

Hanging up the phone, she looked at Ronan. “I’m going to take a bath now.”
He nodded, then murmured, “Ah, I guess you want me to leave.”
“Good guess. Maybe we can watch some TV later.”
“Call me when you’re ready.”
“All right.”
Drawing her into his arms, he kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry for being such an ass.
Forgive me?”
“I guess so,” she said with a sigh. “But, geez, chill out, will ya?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, laughing. “I’ll chill out.”
Still laughing, he went into his own room and shut the door. She really was too young for him, he thought, and in more ways than just her age, but she was still the most delightful creature he had ever known.
Chapter Eleven
Jim Hewitt stood at the end of the bar alone, one hand fisted around a glass of Irish whiskey.
Maybe his luck was changing at last! He had gotten a tip from another hunter that Ronan was in a little town in Northern California. He had flown to North Canyon Creek as soon as he had finished his last job. He had spent a week and a half tracking the vampire, getting to know his habits and his hangouts.
Hewitt had followed the woman a couple of times, but he hadn’t been able to find out much about her. The car she drove was registered to Scott Davis in Middletown, New York. The mail in her mailbox was addressed to Shannah Davis. Further investigation revealed that she was twenty-four years old and that she had lived in North Canyon Creek a little over a year. When he’d followed her and the vampire into the bookstore the night before, he’d had no idea she was a published author and concluded that Eva Black was a pseudonym. After leaving the bookstore, he’d done a little sleuthing into Eva Black’s publishing history.
The first Eva Black book had been published seven years ago. Since then, she had published thirteen books, which meant that she either wrote at an alarmingly fast pace, or she had published her first book before she got out of high school, which seemed unlikely. Every instinct he possessed told him that she was a fraud, though what she hoped to gain by masquerading as Eva Black puzzled him. And when the real Eva Black got wind of it, there was sure to be a lawsuit…He shook his head. Nobody in their right mind would pass themselves off as a romance writer just for the fun of it. In the long run, there was nothing to be gained by it except perhaps a lot of embarrassment. So, for now, he would assume she was indeed Eva Black and that she was just very prolific. He knew of authors who wrote several books a year, and one young man who had published a book when he was only fifteen years old, and had that book made into a movie. In the long run, whether the woman was Eva Black or not was of little importance to him. What was important was her connection to the vampire. Was she under the vampire’s thrall, or was she simply someone he had marked as prey? It was a mystery, but he liked mysteries, especially ones that came wrapped in packages as pretty as this one. And while it was the vampire he was after, he wasn’t opposed to mixing a little pleasure with business if the opportunity presented itself.
Tonight, Hewitt had followed the lovely Miss Black back to her hotel. A little subtle sleuthing had uncovered the information that she and the vampire were checking out tomorrow night at six. And he would be right behind them.
Whistling softly, Jim finished his drink. He was about to leave the bar when a man moved up beside him.
“Can I buy you another?” the stranger asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“I think we could help each other.”
“Is that right? What makes you think I need help?”
“You’re after the vampire, right?”
Hewitt shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The tall man hanging out with the author.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim said, injecting a note of boredom into his voice. “Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Carl Overstreet. I’m a freelance reporter. I’ve been working up in Northern California for the last few months, trying to get the real story on vampires.”
“And you think Miss Black’s companion is a vampire?”
“I know he is. And you’re a hunter.”
“What do you want?”
“I want an interview with the vampire before you take his head.”
Hewitt laughed. “Right.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.”
“You’re out of your mind. What makes you think this guy’s a vampire?”
“I saw him in action once, a few years ago.”
“Where?”
“Some little town outside of Sacramento. I was in a bar, a little tanked, and went out the back door by mistake. It opened into an alley. And he was there, bent over some woman’s neck.
Scared the crap out of me when he looked up, his eyes red, his fangs dripping blood.”
Overstreet shuddered. “I ran back into the bar and out the front door like the devil was on my heels.”
“So, how’d you know he was here, in L.A.?”
“I didn’t. I came down to do a story on Spielberg’s next blockbuster. It was just coincidence that I was in that bookstore in Hollywood the other night. I knew who he was the minute I saw him.”
Overstreet shuddered. “That’s a face you don’t forget.”
Hewitt grunted softly. Ordering a glass of whiskey, he moved toward a table in the back of the pub.
“Come on,” he called over his shoulder. “Let’s talk.”
Chapter Twelve
Shannah was a little less nervous as they boarded the plane for New York, but not much. This was a much longer flight than the last one. Once again, Ronan had managed to secure an entire row for their use, which meant they could really stretch out.
She gripped the arms of her seat as the plane took off and told herself there was nothing to be afraid of. Thousands of people flew across the country, across the world, every day. She closed her eyes and thought about how nice it would be to see her parents again, how surprised they would be to hear from her, how much fun it would be to see New York City again.
She breathed a little easier when they were airborne. Moments later, a flight attendant came by offering them food and drink. Shannah asked for a 7-Up, then sat back in her seat, watching the lights below gradually fade away into the distance.
“You all right?” Ronan asked.
She nodded. “What’s our itinerary in New York?”
“You’ve got a book signing tomorrow night and a radio interview Friday morning.”
“I hope I don’t get tongue-tied.”
“You’ll be fine. Friday night we’re going out to dinner with my agent and my editor.”
“You’ll be there, right?”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Good.”
He smiled at her, pleased beyond belief with how well she was doing. If he had searched for years, he couldn’t have found anyone who could have done better at assuming the persona of Eva Black. Shannah was likeable and believable and totally charming. She would make just the right impression on his editor and his agent.
“You’ve got another book signing Saturday afternoon,” he remarked. “Saturday night I’ve got tickets to seeBeauty and the Beast if you want to go. We can leave for home any time after that.”
“Beauty and the Beast! Oh, I’ve always wanted to see that!” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re so good to me. How can I ever repay you?”
His gaze moved over her, slow and hot. “I’ll think of something.”
“Do you remember you said we could visit my parents while we’re in New York?”
“I remember.”
“Do you think we could go on Sunday?”
“Sure. Where do they live?”
“On Hillcrest Street in Middletown.”
“Leave me the address and I’ll meet you there around six.”
“You’re not coming with me?” she asked. “Never mind,” she said before he could reply, “you’ve got business to attend to.”
“Right. Is one day going to be enough, or would you like to stay longer?”
“I don’t know. I’ll have to play it by ear.”
The flight was uneventful. It was a little after two a.m. when they arrived at LaGuardia Airport, on the north shore of Queens. Ronan collected their bags and hailed a cab. Their driver was a handsome young man with a thick accent that made Shannah think of Jamaica.
Sitting in the back seat of the taxi, bouncing over an old bumpy highway, Shannah got her first look at Queens in over a year as they traveled toward the 59th Street Bridge which would take them into Manhattan. She smiled as they crossed the bridge. It always reminded her of the song made famous by the Simon & Garfunkel hit, “The Fifty-Ninth Street Bridge Song,” more commonly known as “Feeling Groovy.”
The scenery hadn’t changed much, Shannah mused as they left the highway and drove through a neighborhood of warehouses, four-story buildings, garages, and the like. It was still less than scenic.
Eventually, they crossed the bridge, which was a gloomy, double-decker industrial bridge.
They reached Manhattan some thirty minutes later. The cab driver turned left onto Park Avenue. The two-way street was divided by a narrow island which held numerous pots of concrete planters filled with flowers, shrubs and low hedges. Hence the name Park Avenue, she supposed. The buildings that lined the street were old and elegant. There were several cute little shops she hoped to visit when she had the time—boutiques, flower shops, a small French bakery.
The cabby made a U-turn and pulled up in front of the Waldorf Astoria Hotel. While Ronan collected their bags, paid the fare and tipped the driver, Shannah took a good look at the hotel, unable to believe she was actually going to be staying there. She had seen it on numerous occasions but never been inside.
The Park Avenue lobby near took her breath away. It was beautiful. There were murals on the walls and a stunning mosaic floor. A gorgeous chandelier hung from the ceiling.