How To Marry A Millionaire Vampire (14 page)

Back in her room, she paced back and forth, making her plans. It irked her to accept anything from Roman, King of Pigs, but she was in the midst of a struggle to survive, and she would have to be practical. She grabbed the largest shopping bag and filled it with some clothing and essentials.

Radinka hadn’t bought anything black. Darn. She needed black stuff for her plan to work. Aha! The pants she had on last night were black. She put her old clothes back on and packed the new ones into the shopping bag. Then she put on her old white Nikes. They were best for walking.

With her purse and one shopping bag, she headed for the stairs. The guard on the fourth floor nodded at her.

She smiled. “You know, I was going to try these clothes on with… Darcy.” She lifted the shopping bag to show the guard. “But she forgot to tell me which room is hers.”

“Och, the pretty lass with the blond hair.” The Highlander smiled. “All the harem sleeps on the second floor.”

Shanna’s smile froze. Harem? Is that what they called them? She gritted her teeth. “Thank you.”

She stomped down the stairs. That damned Roman. Master and his harem. How sick! On the second floor, she picked a door and went inside. There were two double beds, both slightly rumpled. It looked like Roman’s harem girls had to share rooms. What a pity.

She looked in the closet. Catsuits? She couldn’t fit into one of those. There! A black fishnet tunic. She slipped it over her pink T-shirt. No doubt Vanda would wear nothing under it.

She spotted a black beret and stuffed her brown hair into it. Was she disguised enough? She scanned the room. No mirrors. That was hard to believe. How could those women survive without a mirror?

In the bathroom, she located some dark red lipstick. Using a compact mirror from her purse, she put it on. She applied red eye shadow. There, she looked as creepy as they did. She picked up her shopping bag and purse and headed down the stairs.

As she reached the ground floor, she noted the parlor doors were shut. Good. The harem was closed up inside. Not that they would try to stop her from leaving. Then she spotted Connor coming from the kitchen. He’d stop her for sure.

She ran behind the grand staircase, looking for a place to hide, then noticed a narrow flight of stairs going down. The basement. Maybe there was another way out of the building from there. She reached the bottom of the stairs. There was a furnace, a washer and dryer, and a door. She opened it.

It was a large room with a pool table in the middle. A stained glass lamp hung over the pool table, its dim light illuminating the room. Exercise equipment was scattered about. Banners decorated the walls, made of plaid material with embroidered mottoes. Between the banners, swords and axes were on display. Against another wall was a leather sofa, flanked by two armchairs upholstered in red and green plaid. This had to be where the Highlanders hung out when they weren’t on duty.

Shanna heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Shoot. If she left the room, they would see her. The couch was pushed against the wall—no hiding behind it. She spotted another door.

The footsteps approached. More than one person. Shanna ran for the door and slipped inside. Total darkness enveloped her. Was this a closet? She set her bag and purse on the floor by her feet. She reached out her hands but felt nothing around her.

She leaned against the door. She heard voices in the guardroom, then laughter. Finally the voices faded away. She inched open the door. The guardroom was empty, but they had turned the lights on full blast.

She picked up her bags and tiptoed from her hiding place. She glanced back to close the door and gasped. Light from the guardroom had made her hiding place slightly visible.

It couldn’t be. She dropped her bags on the floor, leaned into the other room, and fumbled along the wall for a light switch. Click.

She gasped again. Her skin prickled with gooseflesh. The narrow room resembled a ghoulish dormitory with two long rows. But the rows weren’t made up of beds. Oh no. These were coffins. More than a dozen coffins. All open. All empty, except for the tartan pillows and blankets inside each one.

She turned the light off and pulled the door shut. My God! It was sick! She grabbed her bags and stumbled from the guardroom. Her stomach churned. This was too much. First Roman’s betrayal with those psycho women; and now coffins’? Did the Highlanders actually sleep in them? A wave of nausea surged up her throat. She swallowed hard. No, no! She would not give in to fear. Or horror. Her paradise had suddenly turned into hell, but it would not defeat her.

She was outta here.

On the ground floor, she spotted the guard at the front door. Okay, show time. She took a deep breath to calm her shaky nerves. Don’t think about the coffins now. Be tough.

She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Bonsoir.” She marched toward the front door with her bags in hand. She poured on a thick French accent. “I must go out and buy ze hair color. Simone wants ze highlights for her hair.”

The guard gave her a confused look.

“You know, ze blond highlights. It is all ze h-rage!”

He frowned. “Who are you?”

“I am Simone’s personal hair styliste. I am Angelique of Paris. You have heard of me, n’est-ce pas?”

He shook his head.

“Merde!” Sometimes her knowledge of foreign curses was a positive boon. And three years of French at her boarding school was a great help, too. “If I do not return wiz ze hair color, Simone will be furieuse”

The Scotsman blanched. He must have witnessed Simone throwing a hissy fit before. “I suppose ye can go out for a while. Ye know the way back, lass?”

Shanna huffed. “Do I look like an idiote?”

The Highlander ran his ID card through the machine at the door. The green light came on. He opened the door and surveyed the surroundings. “It looks fine to me, lass. When ye come back, push the button on the intercom so I can let ye back in.”

“Merci bien.” Shanna stepped outside and waited for the Scotsman to close the door. Whew! She waited for her heart to stop racing. She’d done it! She looked right and left. The street was quiet. A few people were strolling down the sidewalk. She hurried down the steps and took a right toward Central Park.

Behind her, a car engine started. Her heart leaped in her chest, but she kept walking. Don’t look back. It’s nothing.

The street lit up when the car behind her turned on its headlights. Sweat popped out on her brow. Don’t look back.

She couldn’t take it. She had to know.

She glanced over her shoulder. A black sedan was pulling away from the curb.

Shit! She jerked her head forward. It looked just like one of the cars the Russians had parked in front of the clinic. Don’t panic. There were a jillion black cars in the city.

Suddenly she was struck in the face by the glare of headlights. A car that was parked facing her had just turned on its lights. She squinted. It was a black SUV with dark-tinted windows.

Behind her, the sedan revved its engine. The SUV swerved into the street. It headed straight for her, then screeched to a halt, spinning sideways to block the entire street. The black sedan was trapped. The driver jumped out, shouting curses.

Curses in Russian.

Shanna ran. She reached the end of the block, hooked a left, and ran some more. Her heart pounded. Her skin grew sticky with sweat. Still she ran. She reached Central Park and slowed to a walk. She glanced around to make sure no one was following her.

Good God, she had narrowly escaped the Russians. Her skin chilled from her cooling sweat. She shuddered. If it hadn’t been for that SUV, she’d probably be a corpse by now. The thought of dead bodies brought back the memory of coffins in the basement. Her stomach twinged.

She stopped and took deep breaths. Relax. She couldn’t afford to get sick now. Don’t think about the coffins. Unfortunately, her next thought was just as unnerving.

Who the hell was in the SUV?

Roman wandered across the ballroom, accompanied by Radinka. A small army of janitors was at work. Three men crossed the floor, swinging their buffing machines from side to side, as they polished the black and white checkered linoleum to a glossy finish. Others were cleaning the plate glass windows that looked out onto the garden.

Radinka had her clipboard in hand and was checking off each item on her list. “I called to make sure the ice sculptures would be delivered on time tomorrow. Eight-thirty sharp.”

“No gargoyles or bats, please,” Roman muttered.

“And what would you have? Swans and unicorns?” Radinka eyed him impatiently. “Need I remind you this is a vampire ball?”

“I know.” Roman groaned. Ten years ago, he had insisted on eliminating the ghoulish decorations. It was a spring conference, after all, not a Halloween party. But everyone had thrown such a fit, he was now stuck with the same ridiculous Dracula theme every year. The same gruesome ice sculptures, the same black and white balloons floating along the ceiling. The same guests every year, always dressed in black and white.

Each year, he hosted the event at Romatech. They opened up a dozen conference rooms to make one huge ballroom, and vampires from around the world came to party. He’d started the tradition twenty-three years earlier to please the ladies in his coven. They loved it. He had grown to hate it. It was a waste of time—time that was better spent in his laboratory.

Or with Shanna. She was never black and white. She came in colors. Blue eyes, pink lips, and red-hot kisses. He couldn’t wait to see her again, but first he needed to get some work done in his lab. He’d teleported to his office more than forty minutes ago, but he’d been so busy with this nonsense, he hadn’t even seen his laboratory. “Did my package from China arrive?”

“What package?” Radinka ran a finger down her list. “I don’t see anything here from China.”

“It has nothing to do with the damned ball. It’s for the formula I’m working on in my lab.”

“Oh, well. I wouldn’t know about that.” She pointed at an item on her clipboard. “We’re trying a new band tomorrow. The High Voltage Vamps, and they play everything from minuets to modern rock. Won’t that be fun?”

“Hilarious. I’m going to my lab.” He headed for the door.

“Roman, wait up!” He heard Gregori’s voice behind him and turned around. Gregori and Laszlo were entering the far side of the ballroom.

“About time.” Roman strode toward them. “Laszlo, I still have your cell phone.” He took the phone from his pocket. “And I need you to remove these wires from my mouth.”

Laszlo just stared at him. His eyes were wide and unfocused. His fingers were flexing with jerky spasms as if he wanted to grab a button, but wasn’t quite able to master the movement.

“Here, buddy.” Gregori escorted him to one of the chairs that lined the walls. “Hi, Mom.”

“Good evening, dear.” Radinka gave her son a peck on the cheek, then sat beside the chemist. “What’s wrong, Laszlo?” When he didn’t respond, she looked at Roman. “I think he’s in shock.”

“We both are.” Gregori ran a hand through his thick brown hair. “I’ve got bad news. Really bad.”

Great. Roman called out to the workers to take a thirty-minute break. He waited for them to file out, then faced Gregori. “Explain.”

“I offered Laszlo a ride to work this evening, and he wanted to stop by his apartment to change clothes. We went there, and it was a total mess. I mean, destroyed! Furniture broken, cushions shredded. And spray paint on the walls.”

“They want to kill me,” Laszlo whispered.

“Yeah.” Gregori grimaced. “They painted a message on the wall. Death to Laszlo Veszto. Death to Shanna Whelan”

Roman’s breath caught. Bloody hell. “The Russians know we’re harboring Shanna.”

“How did they find out?” Radinka asked.

“It must have been Laszlo’s car,” Roman said. “They traced the plates.”

“What will I do?” Laszlo whispered. “I’m just a chemist.”

“Don’t worry. You’re under my protection, and you’ll be living in my house for as long as you need.”

“There, buddy.” Gregori patted the chemist on the shoulder. “I told you it would be all right.”

It was far from all right. Roman exchanged a worried look with Gregori. Ivan Petrovsky would take Roman’s actions as a personal insult. He might even encourage his coven to attack. By protecting Shanna, Roman had exposed his own coven to the possibility of war.

Radinka squeezed Laszlo’s hand. “Everything will be fine. Angus MacKay is coming tonight with more Highlanders. We’ll have more security than the White House.”

Laszlo took a deep, shaky breath. “All right. I’ll be okay.”

Roman flipped open Laszlo’s cell phone. “If the Russians believe she’s in my house, they might attack.” He punched in his home number. “Connor, I want security tightened around the house. The Russians—“

“Sir!” Connor interrupted. “Ye called just in time. We canna find her. She’s missing.”

It felt like a kick in the gut. “You mean Shanna?”

“Aye. She’s gone. I was just going to call you.”

“Dammit!” Roman shouted. “How could you lose her?”

“What’s going on?” Gregori stepped toward him.

“She… she’s gone,” Roman croaked. All of a sudden, his throat didn’t seem to work right.

“She fooled the guard at the front door,” Connor said.

“How? Couldn’t he tell she’s mortal?”

“She was dressed like one of yer ladies,” Connor explained. “And she pretended she was here with Simone. When she insisted on going out, he let her go.”

Why would she leave him? They’d shared a kiss only an hour ago. Unless… “Are you saying she met the other women?”

“Aye,” Connor said. “They told her they were yer harem.”

“Oh shit.” Roman walked away a few steps, lowering the phone. He should have known those women couldn’t keep their mouths shut. And now Shanna was in so much danger.

“If the Russians get her…” Gregori left the sentence unfinished.

Roman lifted the phone back to his ear. “Connor, station someone outside Ivan Petrovsky’s house. If he captures her, he’ll take her there.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Send a bulletin out to the coven members. Maybe one of them will see her.” He had followers in the five boroughs who worked night jobs. It was possible one of them might see her tonight. Not likely, but it was their best chance at finding her.

“I will. I… I’m verra sorry, sir,” Connor’s voice cracked. “I was fond of the lass.”

“I know.” Roman hung up. God’s blood. His lovely Shanna. Where could she be?

Shanna was waiting in front of the Toys “R” Us in Times Square. The area was always brightly lit and jammed with people, so it had seemed the safest place to go. Tourists snapped pictures and gawked at buildings covered with video screens. Streetcorners were busy with vendors selling handbags.

It had occurred to her while she was walking that she was in desperate need of cash—cash that would not be traceable. She couldn’t contact family or old friends without endangering them. Besides, her family was overseas. They’d come to Boston last summer for a short visit, then left again for Lithuania. And her old friends were out of state.

So she’d called some new friends. The guys at Carlo’s Deli. Carlo had seen the destruction at the dental clinic and was willing to help. She’d asked Tommy to meet her here.

She was pressed against the building to keep from being mowed over by the constant surge of moving people. When she spotted Tommy, she yelled and waved her arms.

“Hey!” The pizza delivery boy grinned as he dodged pedestrians. In his hands, he carried a zippered pizza case.

“Hi, Tommy.”

“Sorry it took me so long.” Tommy’s jeans slid down his lanky form, revealing boxers with baby Scooby Doos.

She gave him a hug. “Thank you so much. And please thank Carlo for me, too.”

“No problem.” He leaned close to her ear. “The cash is in a Ziploc bag underneath the pizza. I figured we’d better make this delivery look real.”

“Oh. Good idea.” She took her checkbook from her purse. “How much do I owe you?”

“For the pizza?” Tommy asked in a booming voice as he looked around. Then, he lowered his voice, “Four enchiladas. It was all we could spare.” He seemed to be enjoying the situation, like he’d suddenly joined the cast of a spy movie.

“I’m assuming that’s four hundred.” She wrote a check out to Carlo’s Deli, then handed it to Tommy. “If you can wait a week or so before turning that in, I’d appreciate it.”

“What’s going on, Doc?” He unzipped the bag and removed a small pizza box. “Some big guys with Russian accents came by the deli, asking questions about you.”

“Oh no!” She looked around, suddenly worried they might have followed Tommy.

“Hey, it’s cool. We didn’t say nothing.”

“Oh. Thank you, Tommy.”

“Why do those guys want to hurt you?”

Shanna sighed. She hated involving innocent people. “Let’s just say that I saw something I shouldn’t have.”

“The FBI could help. Hey, I bet that’s who those guys were.”

“What guys?”

“The men in black. They came by asking about you, too.”

“Well, I guess I’m very popular lately.” She needed to call Bob Mendoza soon. Hopefully, this time he’d answer the phone.

“Anything else we can do?” Tommy’s eyes sparkled. “This is kinda fun.”

“It’s not a game. Don’t let them know you’ve been in contact with me.” She fumbled in her purse. “Let me get you a tip.”

“No. No way. You need your money.”

“Oh, Tommy. How can I ever thank you?” She kissed his cheek.

“Whoa. That’ll do. You take it easy, Doc.” He wandered off with a grin.

Shanna gathered up her belongings and headed in the opposite direction. In a drugstore, she used the pay phone to call Bob.

“Mendoza here.” His voice sounded tired.

“Bob, this is… Jane. Jane Wilson.”

“What a relief. I was so worried. Where have you been?”

There was something wrong. Shanna couldn’t quite put her finger on it. He just didn’t sound worried or relieved.

“Tell me where you are.”

“I’m on the run, Bob. What do you think? I need to get out of New York.”

“You’re still in New York? Where, exactly?”

Shanna felt a prick at the back of her neck. Rational thought told her to confide in the federal marshal, but her gut was screaming something was wrong. “I’m in a store. Shall I come to your office?”

“No. I will come for you. Tell me where you are.”

Shanna swallowed hard. There was something odd about his voice, something distant and mechanical. “I… I’d rather go to your office tomorrow morning.”

There was another pause. Shanna thought she heard a voice in the distance. Female.

“I will give you directions to a safe house. Be there tomorrow night at eight-thirty.”

“Okay.” Shanna wrote down the address. It was somewhere in New Rochelle. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye.”

“Wait! Tell me, where have you been? How did you escape?”

Was he trying to keep her on the phone? Of course, she was being traced. “Bye.” She hung up. Her hand was shaking. Good God, she was getting paranoid. Even a federal marshal seemed suspicious to her. In another week, she’d be blubbering to herself about aliens and wearing aluminum foil on her head.

She gazed at the ceiling as if to communicate with God and let out a long, silent groan of frustration. Why me? All I ever wanted was a normal life!

She purchased a box of hair dye and a cheap nylon zippered tote bag for her meager belongings. Then she found a reasonably priced hotel on Seventh Avenue and registered under a false name, paying cash. With a great sigh of relief, she locked herself into her room. She’d done it. Escaped the Russians. Escaped Roman the Pig and his house of horrors. She didn’t know which upset her more— Roman’s taste in women or the coffins in his basement. Yeech! She shuddered.

Forget them—think of the future and how you will survive.

In the bathroom, she applied the hair color, then settled on the bed to wait thirty minutes. She ate pizza while flipping through TV channels. When a local news channel flashed by, she stopped. Good God, it was the SoHo So-Bright Dental Clinic. Shattered glass littered sidewalks that were partitioned off with yellow crime scene tape.

She turned up the volume. The newscaster explained how the clinic had been destroyed the night before. Police were investigating the matter in connection to a nearby homicide.

Shanna gasped when a picture of a young blond woman flashed on the screen. Her body had been discovered in an alley close to the clinic. Official cause of death was unknown at this time, but the reporter had heard rumors of a bizarre injury. Two punctures in the neck like an animal bite. People in the neighborhood were blaming a secret cult of teenage dropouts who liked to pretend they were vampires.

Vampires? Shanna snorted. She’d heard about the underground societies—bored kids with nothing better to do with their time and money than drink blood and have their canine teeth purposely altered to resemble vampire fangs. It was sick. No reputable dentist would ever do such a thing.

Still, against her will, a series of memories zipped through her mind. A wolf’s fang in Roman’s hand. His seemingly lifeless body lying in her bed. A basement filled with coffins.

A chill crept up her spine. No, there was no such thing as vampires. She’d been through too much trauma. She was getting paranoid. That was all. People only pretended to be vampires.

And there were rational explanations for everything. She’d checked Roman’s tooth, and it had been a normal size. Okay, so it was more pointed than usual. That could be explained, too. It was an unusual genetic trait. A person could be born with webbed fingers or toes without being a mermaid.

And the coffins? Oh God. What possible explanation could there be for that?

She went back to the bathroom to rinse her hair. She toweled it dry and examined herself in the mirror. Platinum blond, like Marilyn Monroe. The comparison was not too comforting. Marilyn had died young. Shanna regarded herself with dismay. She looked a lot like the woman she’d recently seen on television.

The blond woman killed by a vampire.