Chosen

Frey gives me one of those oh-what-does-that-mean quirks of an eyebrow.

“Not what you’re thinking. I brought him home to sleep off a drunk. He slept on the couch.”

I glance into the backseat. “What do you think she gave him?”

He raises a shoulder in a half shrug. “Hallucinogenic? Meth or ecstasy? A cocktail of all of the above? Hard to say. The good news is he hasn’t been exposed that long. Hopefully, he’ll sleep it off.”

When we get to his place, we’re able to rouse David to his feet and into the elevator. He doesn’t appear to have keys on him, but I have a set on my key ring so at least this is one door we don’t have to break into or down.

David looks surprised to find himself at home. “What happened to the girls?”

Frey and I steer him into the bedroom, strip him down to his tighty whities and bundle him into bed. David smiles up at me and holds up a corner of the sheet.

“Aren’t you going to join me?”

Frey clears his throat. “I think I’ll make some coffee.”

He leaves for the kitchen and I take a seat on the edge of the bed. David’s eyes have already closed.

I brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “David?”

“Hmmmm?”

“Did she hurt you?”

A snort. “You mean Judy? If anything, I probably hurt her.”

Okay. Too much information. “Did Judy say anything strange to you while you were—uh—having sex?”

One sleepy eye pops open. “You mean did Judy tell me that you’re both vampires?”

“What did you think when she told you that?”

“I thought”—he pulls the sheet up to his chin and rolls on his side—“that it explained a lot.”

Frey is standing in front of the picture window in the living room staring out at the downtown skyline. The morning sun blankets the city with crimson rays of molten silk. When he hears me coming up behind him, he says, “This is quite a place. Must have cost David a bundle. The fugitive apprehension business must be more lucrative than I imagined.”

He’s holding a mug of coffee in each hand and holds one out to me.

“Business is good,” I say after taking a sip. “But not this good. He bought the condo when he was still playing football.”

Physically, it looks like Frey is focusing on the view but I can tell his mind is elsewhere. Probably thinking of what he might be doing now. At home with Layla. Or at school. Anywhere except here dealing with another of my crises.

“Frey?”

He half turns toward me.

“I’m sorry.”

His brow wrinkles. “For what?”

“For dragging you into yet another drama. You should go home now. I’ll stay with David. Then when I know he’s okay, I’ll go back to the cottage and take a look at your notes.”

He places his mug down on the coffee table. “I will go home,” he says. “To shower and change. Then I’ll go by the cottage and get the book. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“What about school? How many days have you missed now?”

He holds up a hand. “Two words. Student. Teacher. She has lesson plans and an attitude. She’ll do fine without me.”

I walk him to the door. “Let me give you my keys. Take the Jag.”

“I have a set of your keys. Remember, I drove tonight when we left Avery’s?”

Yeah. That’s right. “When did I give you a set of keys?”

“You didn’t. I managed to abscond with the extra set you keep—make that kept—in the sugar bowl on the kitchen counter.”

“Very resourceful.”

“We cats are.”

He pulls the door open. “You’re not mad?”

How could I be mad? “I should have thought to give you a set myself.”

He leaves with one last admonition. “Lock up. We don’t know how pissed off Judith Williams is, but there’s no sense taking chances. A locked door won’t keep her out, but it’ll slow her down.”

I close the door behind him and turn the deadbolt. Then I head for the kitchen and a phone.

I hope Judith was smart enough to get her new best friends out of Avery’s house. Time for her to know I don’t make empty threats.

It’s time for me call the cops.

CHAPTER 42

David is still asleep. It’s been almost twelve hours and I’m begi

Frey and I have made ourselves at home in the condo. David is as much a carnivore as Frey so food isn’t an issue. We alternate lessons from the book with bouts in the kitchen. I’d forgotten how good bacon smells when it’s cooking or the way a rare steak oozes when it’s cut into. Which is what Frey is doing now. I take a seat on a barstool and watch.

Frey watches me watching him.

“Want a bite?”

I have another flashback. Retching into the sink after a mouthful of lasagna. “How do you feel about projectile vomiting?”

“Nice image.”

I rest my elbows on the counter, lean forward. “How long do you think David will be out?”

“As long as it takes. No way to judge since we don’t know what she gave him.”

Frey is sopping up meat juices with a piece of bread.

“Are you going to lick the plate next?”

“How do you clean up after yourself?”

He’s right. Vampires lick puncture wounds to heal them. “We have a lot in common.”

When Frey finishes up, however, he doesn’t lick his plate. Rather he takes it to the kitchen sink, rinses it, sticks it into the dishwasher. Very civilized. More civilized than the average vampire, though most hosts would probably object to being stuffed into a dishwasher.

He’s bending now to look through the glass door of an under-the-counter wine cooler. “How about a glass of wine? David has some nice reds here.”

I nod and he chooses one, a bottle with a black label and a gold crown. He uncorks it, swirls a little into a wide-mouthed wineglass and hands it to me.

“No. You taste. You have a much more sophisticated palate than I do. It’s all I can do to distinguish type O from type A.”

He laughs, completes the ritual, proclaims it drinkable and pours out two glasses.

We drink in silence for a few minutes. I sense that Frey has something he wants to say. He keeps looking at me but when my eyes meet his, he looks away. I let it go on through the first glass of wine but bring it to an end after we’ve started on the second.

“Spill it. And I don’t mean the wine.”

“Ha. Ha. Very clever.”

I lay my hand over his. “Come on. You have something on your mind. God knows I unload on you all the time.”

“This isn’t about me.” He comes from around the back of the counter to stand next to me. “I know you must be concerned about what’s going to happen tomorrow. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Isn’t that all we’ve done since I got back?”

He swirls the wine in his glass. He doesn’t answer; he doesn’t have to. We both know the ceremony is not what he’s referring to.

I take a good, long drink, almost drain my glass, before reaching for the bottle for a refill. I have to wait for the liquor to spread its warmth before answering. I want to be honest this time. No more bullshit. No more posturing.

I look up into Frey’s wonderful, thoughtful, concerned face and unexpectedly feel the sting of tears.

Stupid. Not me.

I jump up, try to turn away.

He grabs my arm and doesn’t let me.

I fall against his chest, heart pounding, to feel his own heart racing, too.

His arms close around me. “Tell me.”

I don’t know where to begin. Don’t know why after all that’s happened, I’m more afraid at this moment then I’ve ever been. I’ve lost too much. I can’t lose any more. Emotions swamp my senses like a tidal wave.

“Tell me.” Frey says it again.

I squeeze my eyes shut for courage. Let my arms encircle his waist, hold on so he can’t see the hopelessness on my face.

“I’m afraid.”

“Go on.”