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  “Fee, you have to let him go. Now.”

  She closed her eyes, focusing only on his voice. “I was thinking about calling the police.”

  “And telling them what? That you tried to pick him up in a bar so you could drink his blood and he played one-up-manship with you?”

  “That’s not how it went down! And look who’s handcuffed to a drain-pipe. Not me.”

  “Fee, you know better.” His tone was judgmental.

  “Arlan…” Her voice nearly cracked with emotion. What was wrong with her? She was losing it. She was losing her professional edge. She was losing her vampire edge. She was becoming so damned…human.

  He was quiet for a second. “Do you want me to come get you?”

  “No.” She snapped her eyes open. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re hours away.”

  “Where’s your HM?”

  “Asleep in his bed in his own apartment where he ought to be.”

  “He doesn’t know you’re missing?”

  “I kept my place,” she admitted. “We just play sleepover. Besides, he thinks I’m still in Clare Point.”

  “You’re lying to the boyfriend now?”

  The sound of his voice made her cringe. “It’s complicated, Arlan. You know that.”

  He sighed on the other end of the phone. “Listen to me, Fia. You cannot call the police. You need to remove the handcuffs and get the hell out of there, do you hear me? Go home before you get into trouble you can’t easily get yourself out of.”

  The threat was ominous. There were a lot of ways this could go down if anyone saw her. None would be good for her. At the very least she would be investigated by her own office. Worst, she could be investigated and then punished by the sept. Human blood-feeding was forbidden. Human stalking was absolutely taboo.

  “Right.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll just cut the cuffs. He’ll wake up hungover wondering how the hell he got here.” She slipped the red tie off her neck and dropped it over his head so that he wore it like some kind of weird bandana, dangling over one ear. He looked stupid and he deserved it. If she had the time she’d have written something clever on his forehead with her lipstick to make him look like an even bigger idiot.

  “Where’s your car?” Arlan asked.

  “A few blocks away.”

  “Walk straight to it. Speak to no one,” Arlan instructed. “No bums, no one.”

  “No bums. No one,” she repeated as she cut the plastic handcuff tie with a pocketknife she always carried in her handbag.

  The suit’s hands fell to his lap. His head lolled a little, but the tie stayed in place. Fia walked toward the streetlights at the end of the alley, a tunnel in the darkness.

  “I cut the creep free. I’m walking out now,” she told Arlan. She stopped when she reached the sidewalk. The air was cleaner here. Cooler. She felt more like herself again.

  “You okay?” Arlan asked.

  “I’m okay.” She nodded, even though she knew very well he couldn’t see her.

  “Good. Now you call me later and we’ll talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this, Arlan. We’re just going to pretend it didn’t happen. We’re going to pretend I never called you.”

  “Okay,” he said, even though she could tell he wasn’t really going for the idea. “How about Maggie? You want to talk about her later?”

  “What do you mean?” She walked under a streetlight. She could see her car on the next block. “She call you? I thought she was going to call me.”

  “She’s here, Fee.”

  “There? There where? In your bed?”

  “No,” he scoffed, seemingly offended. “Of course she’s not in my bed. She’s in town. Apparently you told her where you live.”

  “I live in Philadelphia, Arlan. She knew about Clare Point because she found me through the beheadings. It was all over the news, remember?” Fia pulled her keys from her bag and unlocked her BMW. “So exactly where is she?”

  “She said she was staying at the Lighthouse Inn.”

  “And you’re sure she’s there?”

  “No, I’m not sure she’s there. I’m not the cop, you are. She wants to talk to you, face to face,” Arlan said.

  “I don’t want to lose her again. Tell her to call me.” Fia got into her car.

  “I don’t even know that I’ll see her.”

  “Go to the hotel in the morning and tell her to stay put.” She started the engine. “Better yet, get her to move to Ma’s place. You can keep a better eye on her there.”

  “I’m not even sure I can find her, Fee.”

  “Just do it,” Fia said. She hung up before she started getting all mushy and thanking Arlan for being there when she needed him.

  Arlan fell back on his pillow, cell phone still in his hand, and stared at the ceiling. The paddle fan turned slowly, but it didn’t seem to be cooling off the room.

  What the hell was wrong with Fia? He thought she’d put an end to the stalking after she started dating her human. Hadn’t she been working on this with her shrink for years?

  Arlan tossed his phone on the nightstand and threw back the sheet. He needed something cold to drink. Water. Better yet, a beer.

  He walked nude out of the bedroom and down the hall. In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and light fell on the tile floor. He stared as if something would magically leap out at him.

  A sound in the front of the house caught his attention. He had no cat. No dog. His current position in the sept took him away too often to have pets. He grabbed a bottle of Mexican beer and let the refrigerator door swing shut. He walked out into the living room and studied the furniture cloaked in shadows cast by the streetlamp out front. Everything was as he had left it when he went to bed. Books were piled beside his leather recliner. Clean clothes were piled on the couch, waiting to be folded or at least tossed in a dresser drawer.

  He shifted his gaze to the open windows that looked out over the front porch. He’d installed central air in the house, but he hated to turn it on. He liked to smell the ocean when he slept. It reminded him of the shores of his homeland of Ireland. It reminded him of when he had once been human.

  Twisting the cap on the beer, he padded barefoot to the window. The curtain drifted in the faint breeze. Nothing stirred outside. Everything was so quiet, so still, that he didn’t see her at first. Just the porch rail. The steps. The overgrown forsythia bush. He didn’t see her, but he smelled her. It was a combination of his enhanced senses and her erotic scent that he couldn’t quite get out of his mind.

  He walked to the front door and yanked it open.

  She rose off the step as if she had been expecting him. She walked past him, into the house, taking his beer as she walked by.

  Without a word, she walked through the living room, down the hall.

  Arlan followed her in silence.

  She dropped her purse just beyond the living room. She stepped out of her jeans, carefully balancing the beer, at the doorway to the spare room. As she walked into his bedroom, her thin T-shirt drifted off her fingertips. She sat down on the end of his bed, her bare skin glistening in the soft moonlight as she took a sip of the beer.

  “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

  “What do you think?” She touched the rim of the bottle with the tip of her tongue.

  He frowned, remaining a safe distance from her. “I’m serious, Maggie. How did you find me? Did you follow me home?”

  “Didn’t have to. In a small town like this, everyone knows everyone’s business. Mrs. Cahall’s nephew has the night desk at the hotel. He was more than happy to give me directions.” She offered the bottle. “Beer?”

  He crossed the room, snatching it out of her hand. “What do you want from me?”

  She looked up, her pale, beautiful face so earnest. “Do you want me to leave? I can leave if you want.”

  He eased down beside her. She smelled amazing. “I just want to know what you want. I’m not used to women follow
ing me.” He took a long drink of the cold beer.

  “You mean, like, do I want a relationship? Marriage, a picket fence, and kids?” Her caustic laugh didn’t seem to match the softness in her face. “Not hardly.” She rested her hand on his bare knee. “I just want to be with you, Arlan. Don’t you want to be with me?”

  Her words were over-the-top sexual, but the tone of her voice, the softness in her face, took away the tawdriness of it. From her mouth, the proposition seemed almost chaste.

  “You’re scaring me a little, Maggie.” He took another drink. “You sure you’re not a stalker?”

  She took the bottle from his hand and climbed across his lap, straddling him. She looked into his eyes, unblinking. “A stalker is the last thing on this earth I would be,” she whispered.

  Her mouth lingered just over his, not touching, just hovering. His for the taking.

  He thought about Fia. Hadn’t he just ten minutes before told her Maggie wasn’t in his bed? Hadn’t he just chastised her for making poor choices? And now here Maggie was. Here they were naked, already hot for each other.

  He knew he should send her away. He knew all the reasons why, but he couldn’t do it. He covered her mouth with his. He just couldn’t.

  She tasted of the beer they shared, but something more. Something deeper. Darker.

  Macy slid her hand over Arlan’s amazing shoulder, allowing her fingertips to explore the firmness of his sculpted muscles. She opened her mouth to his. She didn’t know what she was doing in his house. She wasn’t even entirely sure how she had gotten here. Yes, she had asked the night clerk where he lived, but she didn’t remember walking here. She didn’t remember how long she sat on his porch steps before he opened the door. It was as if she’d, again, been inexorably drawn to him.

  There was something strange about this town. Something strange about Arlan. He was dangerous; she knew it in every fiber of her being. But she couldn’t stay away from him. Moth to a flame?

  Arlan shifted beneath her and she felt his erection between her legs. Desire. It was something she could always count on. The one thing that would carry her away, up and out of the darkness in which she existed. If only for a while.

  Just a quickie, she told herself. Then back to the hotel.

  If she had any sense, that’s where she’d be right now.

  But she was tired of lonely hotel rooms. Tired of her empty bed in her empty cottage. She wanted this darkness to be over. One way or another. So what if Arlan was a crazy ax murderer, a monster just like the man she’d been running from all these years? So what if she was murdered in a stranger’s bed, midcoitus? At least it would be over.

  Arlan ran his fingers through her hair and her scalp tingled pleasantly. He kissed her mouth, her cheek. He was a gentle, attentive lover. He knew how to make her feel alive, if only for a few fleeting minutes.

  She lifted her chin, encouraging him to kiss the sensitive place on her neck just below her earlobe.

  He was a great kisser. An amazing neck-nuzzler.

  He took the beer bottle from her and finished off the last of it before rolling it across the carpet. Then he enveloped her in his arms again and she moved rhythmically on his lap, grinding hip to hip as his kiss deepened again.

  Macy threaded her fingers through his and leaned back so that he could take one of her nipples between his lips. He licked, teasing her until she laughed and then groaned with pleasure. Then he took it between his teeth and tugged ever so gently.

  Her groan grew huskier.

  She was already wet and soft for him. She could smell the heat of their desire wafting upward between them. She lifted up, pushing her toes into the soft carpet, grasped his phallus in her hand, and slid down over it.

  His heavy lidded eyes opened and she smiled up at him sadly. She liked this man. She liked how he talked. How he made love. How gentle a soul he seemed to be.

  Even if he was an ax murderer.

  She groaned inwardly. What was she doing here, not just in Arlan’s bed but in Clare Point? She didn’t really think Arlan could offer her any comfort, did she? She didn’t think she could help Fia find the killer. She didn’t really think the waking nightmare of her life would be over. Not really. Did she?

  Macy closed her eyes, letting her thoughts drift out of her head to linger somewhere above where she couldn’t reach them. She wrapped her arms around his neck, savoring the weight of his male hands on her waist. She lifted upward and he moaned. She hesitated and then lowered herself over him and was rewarded with another moan.

  She could feel her own pleasure building. First it was just a spark in the pit of her stomach…the smallest sensation of pleasure. But it quickly blossomed. Ripples of pleasure grew from the epicenter outward until every nerve in her body was alive with sensation.

  Perspiration beaded above her upper lip. It was warm in the room despite the turn of the ceiling fan whirling overhead.

  “Maggie,” he whispered in her ear. “Sweet Maggie.”

  Remorse swelled in her chest and she lifted herself up again, coming down hard on his lap to chase away the guilt. She’d lied about her name too many times to too many men. Sometimes she couldn’t remember who she was pretending to be.

  But this was Arlan.

  She panted. She knew this one. The guilt that plagued her faded.

  She remembered him. She had thought about him after he was gone from her bed. The fear that seemed to be her constant companion ebbed when she was with him.

  Arlan began to move faster beneath her. Her breath came in short little gasps. She tried to hold back. She tried to make the ripples of pleasure that had become rivers last a little longer, last into forever.

  But she couldn’t stop it. She never could. She tipped her head back and cried out as every muscle in her body tensed, released and tensed again. He got up off the bed, lifting her with him, pushing hard into her as his fingers sank into the soft flesh of her buttocks. She clung to him.

  “Arlan,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut.

  “Maggie.”

  And then it was over. One more groan and he climaxed. He collapsed backward onto his bed, taking her with him. She rolled off him, onto her back, her legs hanging over the edge of the bed. She looked up, watching the fan blade turn, listening to the low hum of the motor as she caught her breath. Orgasms always made her light-headed, made her feel as if she were floating. Better than any drug on the market.

  “I have to go,” she said softly.

  “Now, Maggie?” he panted.

  She made herself get up. She picked up her shirt in the doorway and pulled it over her head, over the thin sheen of perspiration covering her body. “It’s Macy,” she said as she walked down the hall in the dark. “My name is Macy Smith.”

  Chapter 12

  “Hey, where are you?” Arlan said into his cell. “Getting coffee at the Starbucks near my office, as if it’s any of your business.”

  Fia was her old self, as self-assured and haughty as ever. Her dark moment had passed.

  “Ah, so that’s how we’re going to play it this morning, are we?”

  “That’s how we’re going to play it. Vente latte light,” she quipped.

  “Coming right up, ma’am.” Arlan stepped off the sidewalk to get around a family headed for the beach. The father was pulling a wagon filled with a cooler, chairs, and half a metric ton of plastic beach toys. A boy and girl trotted behind the wagon. Mom, in a too-tight tube top and terry cloth shorts, trailed after them. “So, you okay this morning?” he asked Fia, his appreciative gaze locked on the young mother’s jiggling ass as he passed. “Cops didn’t come for you?”

  “Thanks. Have a good day.”

  He guessed that was addressed to the barista rather than him.

  “No one came for me. I apologize for calling you. It was foolish. End of discussion. More discussion than necessary.”

  “What was foolish was what you did, Fee.” He stepped back onto the sidewalk in front of the wagon train.
/>   “You going to chew me out? Because if you are, I haven’t the time right now. I’ve got a stack of case files on my desk and a conference call with the agents on the Buried Alive Killings in two hours. If I want in on this, I have to have my shit together.”

  He softened his tone. “I didn’t call you to chew you out. I plan to do that in person next time I see you. I called about Maggie.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, don’t tell me she’s left town already.”

  “No. Well, I don’t think so. I’m on my way to the hotel now, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. She’s lying about her name. It’s Macy, not Maggie.”

  Fia didn’t answer right away. He heard the blast of a car horn. Traffic sounds. Voices. She was apparently on the street and headed toward her office now.

  “You hear what I said? She lied to us.”

  “Not that big a deal,” she said into the phone.

  “No?”

  “No, actually that might be a good thing. She must really somehow be involved with this bastard.”

  “You think so?” Bonnie Hill drove by in her new blue Miata and waved. He lifted his hand in greeting.

  “Sure. This is getting way too complicated to be some kind of sicko hoax. She’s not getting her rocks off leading me along. She knows something and she wants to tell us.”

  “You think she’s in on it?” he asked.

  “What do you think?”

  Arlan hesitated. He wanted to say that of course she wasn’t involved. Not sweet Maggie. Macy, he mentally corrected himself.

  But she had lied to him. And she was practically a stalker.

  “I’m at the hotel. If I can find her, I’ll tell her she needs to call you. I’ll see what her plans are as far as staying in town. If she intends on being here a few days, I’ll get her moved over to the B and B.”

  “Great. Sounds like a plan. Hey, how did you know she lied about her name?”

  “Mrs. Cahall, good morning. How are you?” Arlan spoke loudly.