Rajmund (34 page)

Sarah shuffled to a halt just inside, letting her eyes adjust. It was even darker inside than out, especially once Raj let the door close with a muffled thud. She was aware of him crowding impatiently behind her and she stepped aside, watching as he strode across the room. A trio of cheap, tin wall sconces hung on the opposite wall, the kind with a pattern punched into the metal to shed a dim, yellowed light on a row of banquettes. There was a long bar to the right, with tired-looking twinkle-lights around the mirror. Raj called out something to the bartender in Polish. The bartender grunted and headed for a small freezer unit sitting on the counter at the far end.

Sarah threaded through empty tables to the bar where she took one look at the dull, sticky surface and decided to stand. Raj had no such qualms, he was leaning forward with both elbows, one foot cocked on a railing which might have been brass in some long-ago former life. He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You want something to drink?"

"What are you having?” she asked.

"Vodka,” he snorted, as if it was a stupid question.

"I'll have the same."

He barked out a surprised laugh and called to the bartender who reached beneath the bar and produced two shot glasses. Carrying the glasses in one hand and a frosty bottle of vodka in the other, he deposited both on the bar in front of Raj with no comment. The label on the bottle was in Polish, but it wasn't one of those trendy made-for-America Polish vodkas in a beautiful bottle, and Sarah had a feeling the alcohol content was quite a bit higher.

Raj picked up both glasses and bottle and headed for a booth in the darkest corner of the already dark room. Sarah saw little choice but to follow him.

"Have a seat,” he said. He took his own advice and slid onto one of the benches, dropping the glasses onto the table and twisting off the bottle cap with a snap of metal seals. The vodka was so cold, it poured more like thin syrup than liquid, the alcohol preventing it from ever freezing solid.

"You guys drink a lot,” she commented. She brushed off the bench seat across from him and sat.

He gave her a lazy look. “That's
all
we do,
sweetheart."

She hated it when he called her sweetheart like that. Like what he really wanted to say was
bitch
, but he was too polite. “That's not what I meant and you know it,” she said.

He smiled and pushed one of the brimming shot glasses across the table to her. “Have a drink. You'll feel better."

She doubted that. She wasn't much of a drinker, but the few times she'd indulged it had made things far worse, not better. She looked down at the small glass, now frosted white from the cold liquid. His chuckle made her glance up quickly to meet blue eyes which were as icy as the vodka in front of her. His gaze moved slowly down to the glass and back up again in blatant challenge.
Damnit.
Sarah drew a breath, picked up the shot glass and brought it to her lips. Her eyes watered immediately from the alcohol fumes and she hesitated, but he was watching her with that patronizing smile of his.

She opened her mouth and threw the freezing liquid straight down her throat, feeling the muscles there contract in shock. She choked, fighting down a reflexive cough, refusing to give him the satisfaction, even as her stomach burst into flames.
Jesus Christ! How did anyone drink that stuff?

Raj laughed appreciatively. “
Nazdrovia,
” he said and tossed back his own shot, slamming his glass to the table and immediately lifting the bottle again. He gestured at her glass, but she shook her head, still unable to speak, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. Raj slid out of the booth, strolled over to the bar and came back with a glass of water, no ice.

"This will help,” he said, putting it on the table in front of her.

Sarah waited until she was sure she could open her mouth without gasping for air, then picked up the glass and sipped slowly. The water was just slightly cooler than room temperature, soothing her traumatized throat and washing away the residue of what was surely pure alcohol. She grabbed some cocktail napkins from the table and dabbed her eyes with them, their rough texture like sandpaper on her overheated skin.

"Not much of a drinker?” he asked.

"That,” Sarah rasped, “is not drinking."

"It is where I come from."

Sarah took another sip of water and another, before she trusted herself to say anything more. “Will you tell me what you found out from Regina?"

He gave her a cool look.

"I'm the one who found her, not you,” she insisted.

He still didn't say anything, just raised his eyebrows doubtfully.

She threw the wet napkins on the table. “You have got to be one of the most frustrating men I've ever met."

"That's because I'm not a man, sweetheart. I keep telling you that, but you're not listening."

"Fine. You're one of the most frustrating males I've ever met, how about that? You're still a male aren't you?"

"Oh, yes,” he drawled suggestively. “Definitely that."

Sarah felt her face heat once again, and not from the vodka. “All right, I give. What are we doing here?"

He shrugged. “Having a drink."

She sighed and scooted further into the banquette, turning sideways to lean against the wall and bring her feet up in front of her. She wrapped her arms around her knees and let her head fall back and her eyes close. She was tired. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a decent night's sleep, and didn't know how long it would be until the next one. She thought of all the things she had to do once this was over, once they found Trish and the others. The nightmare would be over for everyone else after that, but just beginning for Sarah.

She'd resign from the University, of course. She felt bad about leaving them in the lurch like this, but the term was almost over and they'd find someone to cover her classes. She was sure they'd prefer that to having her finish out the semester, in any event. It was bad enough that she was living under an assumed identity, although they probably could have gotten past that. She'd done nothing illegal. But a psychic? A woman who channeled captive women in her dreams? That was the stuff of those tawdry newspapers they sold at grocery checkout counters and not at all suitable for a faculty member at any decent university. She sighed again, more deeply this time, and was glad she'd already cried herself out from the vodka. The last thing she needed was to get all weepy with Raj the Perfect sitting across the table from her.

"Tired?” he asked.

Her eyes flashed open and she gave him a distrustful look. He'd sounded almost sympathetic for a minute there.

He gave a cynical laugh, more of a breath than anything else, as if he knew what she was thinking. “Regina doesn't know anything about where she was held,” he said without preamble. “She was drugged at first and then . . .” He scowled across the table at her. “But you already know that, don't you, Sarah? What else haven't you told me?"

Sarah studied him for a minute and looked away. “Emelie said you wouldn't understand."

"Understand what?"

"Why I didn't tell you."

"You mean why you lied to me?"

She blew out a frustrated breath and gave him a disbelieving look. “Why should I have told you anything? What are we, best friends now, Raj? Hell, I don't even tell my best friends any of this."

"What about your buddy Cynthia. I bet she knows."

"Is that what's really bugging you? That Cyn might know something you don't?” His jaw tightened and she coughed a disbelieving laugh. “That's it, isn't it? No, wait. It's not Cyn, it's Raphael! You think Cyn told Raphael. This is just stupid vampire one-upmanship.” She laughed bitterly. “Well, don't worry, Raj. Cyn doesn't know either. No one knows,” she muttered. “Or at least they didn't until all of this happened."

She leaned her head back again, closing her eyes. She'd have to call Cyn when this was over, too, she thought tiredly. Have to explain it all over again. Although something told her Cyn would understand a lot better than Raj did.

Raj poured himself another shot and threw it down his throat, slamming the empty glass down with a crack of sound. “There's at least one vampire involved,” he said suddenly, his voice heavy with disgust. “He's putting the women under his control so they only see what he wants them to see."

Sarah looked at him. “Can you tell who it is?"

"No. But I can tell who it
isn't
. He's got power, but he doesn't know what he's doing. His work is clumsy and potentially harmful."

"Regina?"

He shook his head. “She'll be all right."

"Wasn't she taken from one of the blood houses?"

Raj nodded. “Corfu, but that doesn't—"

"Were the others all taken the same way? I mean except for Trish."

"Pretty much, and I think whoever took Trish meant to get Jen. She was at one of the other houses the week before. Wait a minute,” he said slowly. “Why?"

"Well, that's how we find him."

His gaze sharpened. “
We
don't do anything. I do. You're no longer a part of this investigation. It's gotten too dangerous.” He slid out of the booth and stood next to it, waiting for her. “Come on, I'll take you back to the warehouse."

Sarah swung her legs down, scooted out of the booth and said calmly, “I'm not going back to the warehouse. I need to help with Trish and the others, and I can't—"

"No."

"Excuse me?” she demanded. She glared up at him towering over her and wished she was wearing heels instead of her Nikes.

"I told you,” he explained with infuriating patience. “It's too dangerous for—"

"And I told you,” she cut in, each word clearly enunciated. “I'll do what I want. I'm not one of your damn vampires, hanging onto every word—"

He grabbed her then, lifting her off her feet and swallowing her next words as he crushed her mouth against his. His kiss was hungry and demanding, his touch rough and familiar at the same time, full of anger and need all at once. She kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck with a little moan. God, she'd missed this. Missed him. Every frustrating, obnoxious, wonderful inch of him.

He deepened the kiss and she felt his fangs press against the soft flesh of her lip, felt the sting as her blood began to flow. He groaned and hitched her higher up his body, sliding one hand beneath her ass and pressing her against his erection which lay hard and long against the rough fabric of his denims. Sarah wrapped her legs around his waist with a sigh of pleasure against his mouth. “This isn't going to stop me from—"

He pulled back long enough to say, “You talk too much.” And then she was lost in sensation. The feel of him was everywhere, his tongue caressing hers, his kiss moving from her mouth to her jaw and down to her neck where he lingered, sucking the skin just below her ear, stroking it with his tongue.

She was vaguely aware of the bartender yelling more indecipherable Polish, of Raj struggling to twist something out of his pocket. Money, she thought, as he threw it on the table and headed for the door. She didn't know how they got outside, but suddenly they were at the car, his heavy body crushing her against the cold metal, his hands beneath her sweater, shoving her bra aside until her breasts filled his hands and he was strumming her nipples to exquisite hardness. She could feel her heart beating wildly and knew he must be aware of it, knew he could sense the rush of her blood beneath her skin. She threaded her hands through his thick, wavy hair, urging him closer to her neck, feeling the press of his fangs against her skin, wanting to feel—

A trilling sound suddenly rang out, seeming unbearably loud in the quiet parking lot. “Ignore it,” she gasped, tightening her legs around him. The ring came again and Raj froze, his breath shivering across her damp, hot skin. She felt him stiffen beneath her, and not in a good way.

"No,” Sarah pleaded softly.

"Jesus,” Raj said. “I shouldn't—"

The touch of his hands changed, no longer caressing, but an impersonal cage supporting her as her legs dropped to the ground. She slid down his body, feeling his obvious arousal as he set her on her feet, putting a few inches and a hundred miles between them. “I shouldn't have done that,” he muttered. The damn phone rang a third time. “Fuck,” he cursed and stepped away from her, digging into his pocket to retrieve his cell.

Sarah leaned against the car, too shocked to say anything, still reeling with the rush of feeling his mouth against her neck, his hands all over her body. She shook herself slightly. Raj glanced at her, his eyes no longer hot, but shuttered and blank, and Sarah ground her teeth, wondering if she could find a piece of sharp wood somewhere nearby. She straightened her clothes, refusing to look at him, refusing to see the look on his face. She heard the locks click open and slipped into the car, sitting sideways on the seat, running shaking hands through her long hair, trying to comb out the worst of it, remembering his thick fingers twisting it out of the way, his mouth . . . She closed her eyes against the sensory overload, shivering slightly.

Raj stood with his back to her, the phone at his ear. “Do not go in without me, Em. I'll see you in . . . Fuck, I'll get there as soon as I can.” He jammed the disconnect with his thumb and shoved the phone back into his pocket, then spun around and headed for his side of the car. His door opened and he slid inside, filling the car with his presence, sucking all the air from her lungs. Sarah swung her legs into the car and closed the door.

"You okay?” he asked.

"Sure,” she lied. She brushed nonexistent lint from her denims, avoiding his no doubt sincere gaze.

"I'll take you back to the warehouse,” he said. “Some of the guards are there and Em should be back—"

"Don't worry about it,” she interrupted. She could feel him staring at her across the endless gulf between their two seats.

"Sarah,” he began.

"You don't have to say it. I understand.” She turned and forced herself to smile at him, meeting his eyes briefly. “Sounds like you need to get going."

He frowned. “I've got people in the field, sweetheart, or I—"