His existence had gone on for more years than she could probably imagine, and he had known battle and peace, family, friends...and enemies. But he had seldom, if ever, felt so in awe, so touched, and all from a woman's eyes upon him. Eyes that promised honesty and an exploration of the heart, eyes that he could never, not even in the full span of his near-eternal lifetime, betray.

  He kissed her again--hard and passionately--feeling as if he were drowning in nothing but a kiss. His lips traveled to her collarbone and, impatiently, he began to undo the tiny buttons of her blouse. At the same time, he felt her hands on him. Her fingers were like pure magic, moving down his spine, slipping beneath his waistband.

  She shrugged impatiently, letting the blouse slip from her shoulders, then slipping her hands beneath his jacket. He stood up, shedding the jacket, along with his holster and gun. And then she was against him again. A dream. Silk in his arms. He pressed his lips to her breast, felt the intake of her breath, the press of her body against his. He eased her skirt down, found the tiny line of her string panties, let them fall. A second later he'd shed the rest of his clothes and was with her at last. Naked flesh to naked flesh. Feeling the play of muscle beneath her smooth skin, as she arched against him.

  It hadn't been that long since he'd had sex.

  But it felt like forever since he'd made love.

  His desires seemed to burst instantly and almost savagely to the front the instant they came into contact, but he brutally willed them under control. Being with her in this moment, this seemingly impossible moment, was something to cherish and savor. And he did. He stroked her flesh in wonder. Kissed her with reverence and wanton need. He explored the length of her body with his touch, with his lips. She was not to be outdone. Her hands moved along his back, teasing his spine, his buttocks. Her lips found his chest, his abdomen, below. Soft groans escaped him, and he took the lead again, bearing her beneath him to the mattress, finding her breasts with the pressure of his mouth, the teasing touch of his tongue, then moving lower, down to her ankles, her knees, the luxurious length of her thighs...and between.

  She cried out, dragging him to her. Their lips met again as he entered her, drawing her long legs around him, sinking together so completely that he felt as if they were sharing their very beings. All that had been slow became desperately fast, subtle became bold, and they seemed to both give way before something so urgent it was almost cruel, and yet there was still time for kisses of liquid fire, caresses and whispers as tender as the softest breeze.

  He held himself in check as he held her, felt her shudder and jerk and climax, and at long last he allowed himself to release the shattering volatility that he had held in check, the entire world darkening and then exploding along with him. She fell against him, drenched and liquid, spent and limp, and he held her, feeling as if he actually had a heart himself, one that hammered along with hers as they both eased down from the pure carnal ecstasy of incredible sex.

  Together, they lay entwined on the bed, with the soft white light slowing bringing the world into focus again. He didn't want to leave--ever.

  She stirred against him. He slipped an arm around her, drawing her head down to his chest, gently threading his fingers through the tangled mass of her hair, marveling at the color in the light. Where she went, he thought, there was sun. A sun that didn't burn or hurt, just brightened the world.

  She could be the most infuriating individual in the world. Stubborn. Pig-headed, actually. But being with her was amazing. Making love with her was even more amazing. Lying beside her, just being near her...

  He must be insane. Being with her was the most wonderful experience in his memory, in his life, in his death...in his entire existence. But he needed to be careful. His emotions were running rampant.

  He didn't care. He didn't think all the powers in heaven or hell could have stopped him from making love to her tonight.

  And then he stopped, amazed at the tenor of his own thoughts. He was a vampire.

  And he was falling in love.

  She moved slightly, getting more comfortable against him.

  He wondered if she realized just what they might have to face as he continued to stroke her hair in silence. Then, he couldn't stop himself.

  "Are you sorry?" he asked softly.

  She shook her head. "No...actually, I haven't felt this...I don't know...so..."

  "So...what?" he asked, setting a finger on her chin to lift her face so that she had to look at him.

  She was smiling. "I was about to say 'at peace.' I haven't felt so at peace in years. But I didn't want you to think that your lovemaking was peaceful. I mean, I'm not sure that would be a compliment, and I wouldn't want to insult you. At all." She was suddenly flushing, but he laughed, not in the least bit offended.

  "I won't take it as an offense against my masculinity, I promise," he assured her.

  Her smile suddenly faded. "I want you to know...I mean, I have no expectations. I...don't think I meant to do this when I let you walk me home tonight. I...I don't mean to intrude on your life. I mean...I do, as far as discovering what happened goes. So far..."

  "So far," he said firmly, wrapping his arms around her, "so far, there's nothing we can do until morning. Tonight...tonight, I'm in awe, and I don't want to give up a minute of the time that's left."

  "I think it's already starting to get light."

  "Then hush, and let me love you."

  Fiona awoke with his words echoing in her mind.

  Of course, he hadn't meant it as "love." He'd meant it as "make love." But still, she believed with her whole heart that there was something between them more than sex. She really hadn't wanted to want him.

  But she had. And she did.

  She'd dreamed about him.

  She'd felt a pang when others had talked about him.

  She had admired him.

  But he was a vampire, and she shouldn't have been with him.

  Why not? It wasn't forbidden. Just because her parents had died to stop a war because beings from two different societies had fallen in love...

  Hadn't they learned from that war? People were people, even when they were creatures of the night or the underworld. Surely they had learned that society's dictates could never control the heart.

  After all, look at her. She was lost in a whirlwind over him. Falling deeply. She didn't have affairs; she had never been the type. Sex was the most intimate act possible between a man and a woman, and she had never taken it lightly.

  But...

  She didn't even know how old Jagger DeFarge really was, or how long he had existed, or...

  If he knew how to feel emotion.

  She started to roll over, certain that he would still be there, when she was stunned as her door flew open.

  She pulled up her covers, suddenly self-conscious.

  Jagger was gone.

  But Caitlin, wearing a look of pure fury was standing in her doorway.

  Chapter 6

  "Oh, my God!" Caitlin said. And then again, "Oh, my God!"

  "Excuse me, what happened to knocking?" Fiona demanded.

  "When did we ever knock?" Caitlin said, then gave her anger free rein again. "I would think, if there was a need to knock, you would have told me!"

  "Would you excuse me?" Fiona said, ignoring her and wanting only to get away to think--about Caitlin's words, Jagger's absence. "I'd like to grab a shower."

  "A shower? You need to be decontaminated," Caitlin snapped.

  "What?"

  "You were with--you were with Jagger DeFarge!" Caitlin said.

  How did she know? Fiona was certain that her sister hadn't seen Jagger. She was positive. He never would have put her into that position. He could be far faster than any speeding bullet. Even if he had been sound asleep, with his acute hearing, he would have known when Caitlin twisted the knob, and he would have been gone, rather than let her sister catch him there.

  "Caitlin, this isn't really any of your business," Fiona said.

  Caitlin stared at her, her jaw clenched. Finally she spoke icily. "I'm afraid that, because of who we are, it is very much my business."

  Then she slammed the door and was gone.

  Ruing the situation--but never the deed--Fiona hurried into the shower. Afterward she brushed her teeth, dressed quickly in a soft knit halter dress, grabbed her sandals and sped down the stairs. A glance at her watch assured her that she hadn't missed opening time at the store--again--and that her sisters would be at the breakfast table.

  Caitlin might have been angry, but Shauna was just amused.

  "Ah, there she is at last. The fallen woman. Thank God! I've thought for a very long time that you needed to get in bed with somebody," Shauna said.

  "But a vampire!" Caitlin said, almost spitting out the word.

  "Does somebody want to run up to the roof and announce it to the city?" Fiona asked.

  "Honestly, Fiona. I can't believe that in the middle of everything going on, you brought a vampire into our home," Caitlin said.

  Fiona sighed and walked over to the coffeepot on the buffet. Antonia--a shapeshifter--came and helped them out three days a week. She was a natural housekeeper and a warm mother figure. She'd been with them for over five years, after coming into the shop one day and overhearing them admitting that even between the three of them, they were having trouble keeping up with the house and the store.

  Antonio made the best coffee in the world. It was strong and bracing, with a slight touch of pecan.

  Fiona got her coffee, then turned to face Caitlin. She loved her sister so much, and she knew that Caitlin loved her, too. She hated it when they were at odds.

  "August Gaudin has been coming here forever. Antonia is a shapeshifter and she might as well live here. They're good...beings. So is Jagger DeFarge."

  "How can you say that? You hardly know him," Caitlin said.

  "One way or another, we've known him forever, actually," Shauna said in Fiona's defense. "Caitlin, come on. The city trusts him. We might as well, too."

  "None of us should become involved," Caitlin said quietly.

  "Perhaps we shouldn't," Fiona said, walking over to where her sister was sitting at the dining room table.

  "I'm sorry. Maybe I should have...maybe I should have told you both how I was feeling, but I didn't really know myself until...Look, that's not the point. We have to worry about the real problem here, not whether or not I choose to have sex, or with whom."

  Caitlin inhaled a deep breath. "I'm trying not to overreact. Honestly." She took another deep breath and stood, her hands on her hips. "But the vampires started the war, the war that killed our parents, Fiona."

  "They--they didn't start it alone," Fiona said.

  "They started it over an affair--a love affair--between a vampire and a werewolf," Caitlin reminded them grimly.

  "Well, there you go," Fiona said quietly. "I'm not a werewolf. And no one's going to war."

  "Everyone will start to think that mixed affairs are all right," Caitlin said accusingly.

  "Would that really be such a bad thing?" Fiona asked.

  "Let me tell you why it's a bad thing," Caitlin said.

  "It's not you or me or Shauna--it's not Jagger. It's the rest of the underworld. It's people. It's the world around us. I'm sorry, but the world is filled with prejudice, and that's simply the truth."

  "Then shouldn't we work to change things?" Fiona asked.

  Caitlin looked at her and sighed. "I don't want you to feel the hurt the world can dish out," she told her sister.

  Fiona hugged her, suddenly at a loss for words.

  "Get serious. Half the shapeshifters were drooling over him at that luncheon," Shauna said. "I think things are going to be fine. When is the wedding?"

  "Wedding?" Caitlin gasped.

  "Shauna! Stop, I beg you. There is no wedding," Fiona said. "Seriously, there's a killer out there, and catching him is my only focus at the moment."

  "Except for having sex with a vampire," Caitlin noted sourly.

  "Yes, I'm sorry, forgot to throw that in. I'll probably have a few meals and sleep for a few hours in the midst of all this, too. Caitlin, please..."

  Caitlin bit her lower lip, looking away. "I'm sorry. I do love you, and you know it. I don't mean to be difficult. It's just that Jagger is..."

  "Jagger is a vampire. Yes, I am aware of that. And I'm the oldest of the three of us, and I need to act responsibly. And I will. I swear, I would never do anything to risk the two of you or myself--or anyone else, for that matter," Fiona said.

  "Responsible, intelligent and aware--and sleeping with a vampire," Caitlin said, then lifted a hand when Fiona would have spoken. "And vulnerable. We're all vulnerable. That's life. Just don't let it be your death."

  The artist's sketch of the man from Barely, Barely, Barely who had probably met up with Tina Lawrence after her last night at work was everywhere.

  It was shown on every local news channel. It was in the newspapers.

  In some neighborhoods the residents printed up fliers and plastered them all over trees and poles and shop windows.

  But not a soul called in to say that they had seen the man.

  Jagger had returned to the scene where the body had been found, though with very little hope that he would find anything, but he had to start somewhere.

  Of course, it was still early days, he told himself. The sketch had just started making the rounds. They could still hear something.

  Meanwhile, he was standing in the tomb in the old cemetery just on the edge of the Quarter when the call came that a body had been discovered in a cemetery in the Garden District.

  In ten minutes time he was standing in the Alden family vault, last interment 1921. He noted everything about the vault as he went in, the architecture and the inhabitants. The first interment had been in 1840, soon after the cemetery was established in 1833. The gated door was guarded by two angels, now minus their heads. That detail fit in well with the asymmetrical rows of little stone houses in this particular city of the dead. As for the Alden mausoleum itself, there was an altar at the far end, a small table in the center of the room, and rows of divided shelving for bodies, most of them sealed in. A few of the oldest had broken--or been broken--open, but not even bones remained. The heat in New Orleans provided for burial of another family member or loved one in the same space in "a year and a day." In that time, the corpse was basically cremated by the intense heat alone, and what was left of the remains could be raked to a "holding cell" at the end of each tomb so that someone else could be interred in the first body's spot.

  This tomb itself was slightly different from the one where Tina's body had been left, so this time the killer had left his victim on the altar that stretched across the back wall.

  She was beautiful--blonde and beautiful. Her face was perfect, like porcelain. Her hair was almost platinum, and curled over the edges of the stone. She was laid out in a white halter-necked gown, as if she had just been to a dance. Maybe a prom. This one was young.

  There didn't appear to be a mark on her.

  "Oh, God," Tony breathed.

  Jagger turned to him. "Apparently she was also found by a tour guide. Can you head out and talk to him? I don't think he found her until eleven, and the first tours go through around nine, so maybe we'll get lucky and someone saw our killer. Can you find out just how he stumbled on her?"

  Tony nodded, looking almost as ashen as the corpse.

  When he was gone, Jagger slipped on his gloves and began his intense search of the corpse.

  As before, the marks he was looking for were there.

  He sighed softly. This time the killer had gone for the major artery in her left thigh.

  "Now we're in serious trouble," a voice said from the entryway.

  He turned around.

  Craig Dewey had arrived. He was standing in the doorway, caught in the dust motes that played against the rays of sunlight seeping into the tomb.

  Dewey laughed dryly. "Hey, buddy. You look like a character out of a movie, standing there all 'Son of Dracula,' bending over his last meal."

  Jagger didn't laugh. He knew Dewey wasn't trying to be funny.

  The other man strode on in, stared down and shook his head.

  "They have an ID on her yet?"

  "Nothing certain, but she matches up with a missing co-ed call that came in this morning. Abigail Langdon, last seen at a frat party last night. One of the uniforms is getting me her college ID picture. If it's her, we'll have to bring someone in to make a positive ID. One of her friends, maybe," Jagger said.

  Dewey slipped on gloves and stepped closer to the body. "Skin as white as snow. The killer seems to like blondes. And he's bold. Wants his victims found, and found by ordinary citizens. This is considered one of the safest cemeteries in the city to visit."

  "I'm not sure any cemetery is safe at night," Jagger said. "There are too many places for someone to hide. We call them the cities of the dead, and the dead don't call the cops when you run in to escape observation."

  Dewey looked at the victim's eyes, turned her, touched her and took her body temp, then turned to Jagger. "Well, we're looking at exactly the same kind of killing--late last night, very late. Can't say much about lividity, because there was no blood left to pool beneath the skin. Again, I can't help but think she was killed elsewhere, since I'm not seeing a drop of blood around the body anywhere. What a shame. This one looks like a kid."

  "Rape?" Jagger asked.

  "I'll need a kit, but no obvious signs of violence or trauma...." He looked at Jagger. "I'm not a vegetarian, and I don't avoid leather, but I'd never buy fox fur. They electrocute the poor little things with a rod up the rectum. Quite gruesome."

  "She wasn't electrocuted," Jagger pointed out.

  "Just don't ever buy fox fur," Dewey said, stabbing a finger at him. "The point is that she looks as pure as the day she was born. The killer didn't leave a mark on the body that I can see so far. I'm not even sure she suffered. It's almost as if she were hypnotized and told to go to sleep or something. Poor child, so beautiful."

  "Well, we've got to let the crime scene unit in, and then you can take her to the morgue," Jagger said. "How soon can she be scheduled for autopsy?"

 

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