to bed at about two. All the lights were out except a small crescent moon lamp on a shelf in the entryway.
With the curtains open, the city spilled into the living room, banishing anything approaching darkness for those who lived at night. Having carefully moved two days' worth of unopened mail to one side, Vicki sat at the mahogany desk staring down at a blank piece of paper and waiting for Henry.
He'd be back soon. He had to be if he wanted to give her any chance to study the autopsy report and maybe come to a few conclusions before dawn.
If she thought about waiting for Henry, she was fine. When she started thinking about what Henry was, her thoughts were tinted red.
Vampire.
But he always had been-he wasn't the one who'd changed.
She fidgeted with the heavy fountain pen she'd found in one of the desk drawers, turning the smooth black weight over and over, the repetition vaguely soothing.
All right. I'm not what I was, but I'm still who 1 was. I accepted the limitations of the RP-okay, not gracefully, honesty forced her to admit, but I accepted them. I didn't let it keep me from living my life exactly as I pleased. I am here to find a murderer, and I'm not going to let Henry Fitzroy change the way I operate. He's my friend, and we're going to act like friends if I have to rip him open and feed on his steaming entrails!
The pen snapped between her fingers.
"Shit!"
Breathing heavily, Vicki barely kept herself from throwing the pieces aside and spraying a room full of very expensive upholstery in ink. Trembling with the effort, she set both halves of the pen gently in the middle of the desk then surged to her feet and vi-ciously kicked the chair away.
While a small voice in the back of her head won?dered where the hell this was coming from, she headed for the door, the Hunger rising. Eyes gleaming silver in the mirror wall of the entry, she reached for the doorknob and realized another heart beat in unison with hers.
Henry.
In the corridor. Almost at the door.
Vampire.
Then memory added Celluci's opinion.
Romance writer.
Vicki grabbed onto that and used it to bludgeon her instinctive response back into the shadows. Her breathing slowed and the roaring in her ears dimmed to a gentle growl. Vampires did not share territories with other vampires, but there was nothing that said vampires could not share a territory with romance writers.
As Tony had said. It was an attitude thing.
And if there's one thing I excel at, it's attitude. Hold?ing tightly to that thought, she opened the door and said, "What the hell took you so long?"
Henry recoiled a step at her proximity, eyes darken?ing, a snarl pulling his lips back off his teeth. "Don't push it, Vicki."
"Hey . .." She spread her hands, the gesture serving a double function of emphasis and of readiness should she need to go for his throat. "I just asked you a question, you're the one who's overreacting." Some?how it came out sounding like a challenge which was not at all what she'd intended. It had been easier with the door between them; face-to-face, her visceral reac?tion to the threat he posed was harder to ignore. "Look, Henry, it was getting late, I was getting wor?ried; okay?"
"Why worried?"
Because you're old and slowing down... Where the hell did that come from? Shaken, Vicki shoved the thought back into her subconscious. "Forget it. What did you find out?"
Forgetting was safer for them both than responding.
He'd seen the threat surface, seen her push it away. Considering the short time she'd spent in the night, her control was nothing short of incredible. A faint hint of jealousy, that she should so easily push aside the demands of her nature, added itself to the emo?tional maelstrom below his barely achieved surface calm. "The ghost has a body. As requested, I made a copy of the autopsy report and added a full description."
"Thanks." Her fingers crumpled the yellow file folder and, stepping backward, she closed the door between them once again. Acutely aware of the mo?ment he lingered, when she finally heard him walk away and go into his own condo, she sagged back against the carved cedar. "So much for the romance writer defense." Old instincts told her to follow and patch things up. New instincts told her to follow and destroy him.
Leaning on the door, she breathed deeply until his scent had been thoroughly mixed with the