Beneath a Blood Red Moon Read online

Page 46

 

  “He’s . . . ”

  “Don’t lie to me, Maggie!”

  “Hey, Sean!” Jack warned softly.

  Sean realized that he was out of control, thoroughly frustrated, and more. He felt like a tiger crawling the walls, he was jealous, irrational—and suddenly scared to death for Maggie.

  “Maggie!” he barked out, ignoring Jack.

  “An old friend, Sean—that’s all. We met . . . in Europe. He’s just arrived recently. ” An old friend? Or an old lover?

  “How did you come to be in the alley, Maggie?” he demanded.

  Her beautiful eyes were flickering gold now with anger. She glanced down at Mamie, and to his astonishment, Sean thought that he saw Mamie shake her head slightly.

  Maggie set her hands on her hips. “Gut feeling. I was suddenly nervous about Mamie. I hadn’t heard from you. I came down to the bar and Sam said that Mamie had just left, so I came outside and then I heard the scuffling and . . . ”

  “Sean, you’re grilling her like a hardened criminal!” Jack said softly.

  He tried to ease the stiffness in his shoulders, the steel that seemed to shoot through his back. Something wasn’t right. She was lying through her teeth.

  “What about your friend?” he demanded.

  “I don’t know. Ask him!” she snapped.

  Sean crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, now, I can’t actually do that—since he’s disappeared right along with the killer. ” He swung around suddenly, realizing that one of the officers in charge of the uniformed cops searching for the killer was waiting for his attention.

  “Sergeant Meeks. ”

  “Lieutenant, I’m damned sorry, the men are everywhere, but we haven’t found him yet. We’ll keep it up with all the manpower we can, but . . . ”

  “Thank you, Sergeant. You’re right—we’ve got to keep every available man looking. Our sketch of the killer is a damned good one. Make sure it’s plastered everywhere. But make sure we’ve got warnings out that the killer is highly dangerous, highly dangerous, and that the population is not to try apprehending him. ”

  “Yessir. ”

  “If you need me, I’ll be at the station for a while—taking statements!” he said firmly to Maggie and Mamie. Then he turned his back on them, telling Jack and Mike to drive the women to the office while he brought his own car in.

  Two hours later, he let Mike Astin escort Mamie back to her restaurant. She’d given her statement.

  She’d clearly told Sean everything the killer had said, nervously rubbing her neck. There were little scratches, but nothing that had broken the surface. She still didn’t want to go to a hospital, and she’d see her own doctor if she felt the need. She told Sean that the killer had been angry with her for selling him out—he had lain in wait to attack her, and he had told her that he liked chocolate, and nearly given her heart failure. He would have killed her if Sean hadn’t come along, but she was alive, and grateful. She didn’t know anything else, though, there was nothing more she could tell him.

  There would be a police guard on her place all night. That didn’t seem to mean much to Mamie. She’d insisted on a meal while she gave her statement, and she’d ordered garlic bread, linguini in garlic and olive oil, and a salad—with garlic cloves.

  She’d relieved Mike Astin of a tiny gold cross he wore, then smiled sweetly when Sean quizzed her.

  “Honey, it’s just one of those nights when I want to feel closer to my God, you know?” Mamie said.

  “Even God will gag on your breath, Mamie,” he told her, and she’d laughed uneasily. She’d insisted on seeing Maggie, and the two of them had whispered together for a minute before Mamie left, looking at Sean as if he were an evil creature, about to pounce on poor Maggie.

  Well, he was about to pounce on Maggie. That was for certain.

  She sat in his office, irritated now. She’d been restless at first, crossing and uncrossing her legs, pacing.

  Now she just sat back and stared at him.

  “What is it you want out of me?” she demanded.

  Even Jack was gone by then. The cops were still searching the streets; they hadn’t found the killer.

  “The truth. ”

  “I told you the truth. ”

  “The whole truth. ”

  She sighed. “Honest to God, that’s the truth. I felt a strange gut feeling that I needed to see Mamie. ”

  “You two are awfully chummy all of a sudden. Especially,” he pointed out, “since you were the one who reminded me that she did deal in human flesh. ”

  “Mamie seems to be all right,” Maggie said with a shrug. “And no matter what she does, she surely doesn’t deserve to die at this killer’s hands!”

  “Right. But you should risk your own life?”

  “I didn’t mean to risk my own life. I just saw that he was about to attack you and . . . ” Her voice trailed.

  He felt a wave of heat sweep over him, but he fought the desire and the emotion she kept so alive within him.

  “Who was the man? Name, address, if you would, please. ”

  He looked downward at the paper on his desk, pencil in hand, and waited patiently.

  She didn’t speak.

  He looked up.

  “Lucian,” she said after a moment. “Lucian DeVeau. I’m not sure where he’s living right now. I hadn’t seen him in years before he stopped by the shop the other day. ”

  “An old friend?” he queried, staring at her.

  She stared back.

  “Or an old lover?”

  “Is that question necessary for the police report?” she snapped back.

  He set the pencil down.

  “It’s necessary for me. ”

  She exhaled on a long breath. “May I go home now?” she asked him.

  “Old lover. When did it break up?”

  “Years ago. Years. Honestly. ”

  “How many years?”

  “I don’t know!” Maggie snapped.

  “Why was Mamie wolfing down garlic?”

  Her eyebrows shot up.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Never mind. ” He set his pencil down, rose, and reached for her hand.

  “Let’s go. ”

  “Together?”

  “Yes. ”

  “You’ve been incredibly rude. ”

  “You need police protection. ”

  “Surely there are other policemen. ”

  “Honey, I’m the cop you’re getting. Let’s go. ”

  He opened his drawer, reloading his gun, taking extra ammunition. Maggie watched him mutely. Her elbow in hand, he led her out.

  Sean wanted to put some distance between them and the killer. Rather than driving to Montgomery Enterprises, he opted for the longer drive out and down the river to Maggie’s family’s plantation home.

  She left him in the foyer.

  Fine. He walked around the house, seeing that every window and door was secured.

  He looked into the closets, then walked up the stairway. On the midlanding, he paused, looking up at the painting of Magdalena. A strange, hot tremor swept him where he stood. He was tempted to drag Maggie out of the shower and down to the landing.

  Very strange. Maybe he really should resign. Have himself committed to a good hospital.

  He forced himself to keep walking.

  Upstairs, he saw to it that all the balcony doors and windows were secured. It was a time-consuming job.

  In her room, he heard the shower running. He lay down on her bed, and closed his eyes, his gun resting over his chest.

  In a matter of seconds, he had dozed off.

  He had ridden, he had fought. He had slashed at the enemy, he had killed, he had triumphed, and he felt ill. Battle had ended; it was time to go for the wounded, to protect them from the murderer.

  And so, he was riding again. The earth tor
e up beneath his horse’s hooves, the breeze rushed by his face. He was dirty, thirsty, hungry, tired. He wanted her. Wanted to ride to her. But this . . .

  The killer was before him. Getting ready to strike again. He rode hard, ready to attack— but not kill. God, there had to be mercy somewhere! But the enemy was strong, and still, when he had bested his enemy . . .

  Another awaited.

  Fleetingly, he saw a face. A face he knew.

  Oh, God!

  Pain . . .

  He felt pain.

  The knowledge that death was coming. And she was there, an angel, holding him, tears within her eyes. God help him! He ‘d had strength, he ’d learned both courage and mercy, but he hadn‘t been prepared, and so now, the world faded away with her tears while the face of the enemy . . .

  Sean awoke with a start, realizing that he’d dozed, and that he’d been dreaming of fighting in a war that had ended well over a century ago.

  He sat up, carefully placing his gun on the bedside table in Maggie’s elegant room.

  The killer had been in his dream. The killer he had faced tonight had slain him in his dreams. He was losing it; they were going to take him off the force.

  He was never going to have a chance to commit himself. Soon, everyone would see through him, and he’d simply be locked up in a good mental ward.

  He stared toward the bathroom door.

  The hell with it.

  Thoughts played havoc in his head. Mamie’s words, Marie’s. Voodoo Marie giving him the cross. His strange dreams.

  Mamie. Trying to get him to eat garlic.

  Mamie, eating enough garlic to choke a horse.

  He sat on the bed, shaking his head, then pressing his temples between his hands. He heard his father speaking, laughing. There was a rumor that the Montgomerys threw out a vampire every other generation. Years and years ago Maggie’s ancestress had fallen in love with the wrong man. The family had slain him—and she’d gone away.

  And every daughter still bore the Montgomery name . . .

  All right, he thought, dragging his fingers through his hair, he was really losing it. Maggie wasn’t the killer, he knew that Maggie wasn’t the killer, but what the hell was going on?

  He rose, suddenly determined to look around. He pulled open her drawers, searched them. He couldn’t believe that he was making a checklist in his mind of all the vampire movies he had seen, all the books he had read. Vampires disliked crosses. Maggie wore them all the time. Vampires had no reflections.