Dark Obsession (20 page)

A rat scurried across the floor of the balcony as Slade looked around. He went back down the stairs
and searched in the darkness for a door that might lead to a basement or cellar or a room without windows. If Roman Gerard was a vampire, his coffin would be around here somewhere. Unless, of course, he’d had it moved.

Slade located a trapdoor on stage and lifted it to reveal a flight of stairs leading down into complete blackness. Cautiously he descended, playing the flashlight he’d brought with him on the dripping ceiling and walls. Dampness pervaded the air, a kind of seeping cold that put his senses on the alert. Something clung to the moisture, an odor so subtle anyone else would never have noticed it, but Slade recognized it immediately for what it was. Decay. The decline of untold ages. This was a very old passage.

There was no sign of a coffin, but as Slade made his way out of the theater, he experienced an almost overwhelming sense of dread, a premonition that stirred old memories to life and made him remember a past he wanted desperately to forget.

“Kiss me, Nick. Just one last kiss…”

The darkness was playing tricks on him, he thought as he left the theater. He knew the voice was coming from within his soul. He knew Simone’s plea would never be silenced easily. After all, it hadn’t diminished in eight long years. Why should it now?

The breeze outside picked up, and the shadows in the alley deepened. The voice he heard in the wind
now was as ageless as the moonlight and as immortal as time itself.

“You pathetic human,”
it whispered.
“I did nothing to Simone that she didn’t want. She and I were meant to be together. I waited centuries for someone like her. You killed her, Slade. You killed her and now I will see you in hell.”

Slade’s gaze lifted as something swept across the moon. A chill of foreboding plunged through him. Was it a whisper or the wind he’d heard? Slade knew he was being taunted, but whether by a real enemy or his own demons, he had no idea.

The wind began to howl around him, whipping at his long leather coat like a hound from hell snapping at its leash. When a dark figure emerged from the shadows, Slade’s hand closed over the wooden stake he carried.

His breath rushed out in relief as he watched Dr. Traymore walk through the alley toward him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“The same thing you are, I imagine. Looking for Gerard. He’s a vampire, you know.”

“How did you find that out?” Slade demanded.

“I have my methods, Detective, the same as you. You and I have a common cause. We just go about it a little differently. We both want to rid the world of vampires. You by killing them, I by curing them.”

“Curing them?” Slade scoffed in disgust. “The only cure is a stake through the heart.”

“That’s effective, but does nothing to save their immortal souls, I’m afraid.”

“And your way does?”

“Possibly. Tell me something, Detective. How did someone like you become a vampire hunter?”

“It’s a long story.”

“It was because of her, wasn’t it? Your fiancée, Simone.”

Slade stared at him. “How did you know—”

Traymore’s smile cut him off. “I know a lot about you, Detective. I’ve made it a point to study you. I went to the library and read all the accounts about the fire eight years ago, the one that very nearly ended your career. You refused to answer questions. You holed yourself up in an old warehouse down by the river. You started wearing dark glasses to hide your eyes. And you never, ever came out in sunlight. It was easy to draw conclusions.”

“And just what conclusions did you draw?” Slade asked bitterly. “I didn’t kill Simone.”

“Oh, I realize that. Probably better than you do. The conclusions I drew were that the man with her, D’Angelo, was a vampire and that he’d made her one. And I suspect that she tried to turn you, as well. That’s why the dark glasses. Your eyes are now sensitive to light, I imagine, but you can see extraordinarily well in darkness. Am I right?”

Dead on, Slade thought.

“Tell me something, Detective. How did you explain your…affliction
to your colleagues. Haven’t they ever wondered why you wear the glasses, why you insist on working at night?”

Slade hesitated a moment, then thought, what the hell? Traymore had already put most of the story together on his own anyway. “My personnel file contains the name of a very rare disease which makes eyes sensitive to light. There’s a scientific term for it, one very hard to pronounce. There were questions at first, but I did my job and people finally stopped asking.”

“I see,” Traymore said.

“Now
you
tell
me
something,” Slade said. “What do you plan to do with these conclusions of yours?”

The old man shrugged. “Why, nothing at all, Detective. I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” Slade said.

“Don’t you? You see, I’ve also put together another conclusion. What if D’Angelo didn’t die in that fire? What if he’s the one responsible for all these killings? What if he and Roman Gerard are one and the same?”

It was a conclusion that had been simmering at the fringes of Slade’s own mind for days now, but he’d tried to deny it. What if Drake D’Angelo
had
somehow risen from the ashes of death to seek his revenge against Slade? What better way than to kill the women Slade had warned away from the darkness? To make a mockery of the Mission that Slade had
helped to found? To take away the one decent thing he still had left in his life?

What if Slade once again had to face an enemy eminently more powerful than any who had come after him? Would he have the willpower to resist the cunning of a monster who had honed his evil for over five hundred years?

Would he be able to defeat him this time? Or would it be Slade who succumbed instead? Would it be Slade who took that last, irreparable step into the darkness?

“I saw him burn,” Slade said. “I saw both of them burn.”

“Did you see his ashes?”

Slade shook his head. “I blacked out. I’m not even sure how I made it outside. But his clothes were on fire. His flesh was melting away. There’s no way he could have survived that.”

“Vampires are remarkably resilient,” Traymore said. “They can lie underground for years, even centuries, while massive wounds heal. Then they rise again, ravenous for blood and often hungry for revenge. In D’Angelo’s eyes, you killed Simone. You destroyed the woman he had chosen for his mate. What better way than to take something—or someone—from you?”

Like a deadly wind, fear swept through Slade. It wasn’t the Mission D’Angelo wanted to destroy. Not anymore. He’d found a more effective revenge. He’d
found something that would torment Slade as nothing else would. “Erin,” he whispered.

“Exactly. From here on in, Detective, you will have to be very, very careful. The closer
you
become to Erin Ramsey, the more D’Angelo will want
her.
”

* * *

Slade had only been gone a few minutes when the phone rang. Erin stared at the telephone for a moment wondering if she should answer it or let the machine pick up. Then, realizing that it might be Nick, she jerked up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Erin. Thank God I found you.”

Erin frowned at the voice. “Racine? How in the world did you know I was here? How did you get this number?”

“It wasn’t easy, believe me. Are you alone?”

“Yes. What’s the matter?” A feeling of dread slipped over her.

“I can’t tell you on the phone. I have to see you in person. I’ll come pick you up.” Racine’s voice sounded excited. “You won’t believe what I’ve found out. I think I know who killed Megan.”

Erin’s heart turned over. “My God, what are you saying?”

“It’s true. I have so much to tell you. And show you. I can be there in fifteen minutes. Meet me outside.”

“Racine, wait.” But the phone had already gone dead. Erin replaced the receiver, then sat staring at
the phone for a full half minute before she finally jumped into action. Racine knew who killed Megan? Could it be true? Could Erin’s mission finally be over?

An uneasiness swept over her, but even though her heart pounded in fear, Erin started to get dressed. Her fingers were shaking as she buttoned her blouse, and for a long moment she debated on whether or not to leave Nick a note. She scribbled a brief message that told him she was going to meet Racine, then hastily scrawled her name across the bottom. Without looking back, she hurried outside to wait for Racine.

Erin stood shivering at the curb as she waited. It was still dark outside. Dawn was at least an hour away, and the street was deserted, eerily silent. Steam rose from the sidewalk grates and mingled with the early morning mist. A gust of wind stirred trash in the gutter, and an aluminum can clanged along the alley behind her. Erin jumped, glancing over her shoulder.

Finally, Erin spotted headlights coming down the street, and a car swished to a halt beside the curb. Racine leaned across the front seat and opened the passenger door. “Get in,” she said urgently. “Hurry!”

Erin slid inside and closed the door, then turned to face Racine. The redhead’s face looked as pale as a ghost’s in the dim light from the dash. But her eyes glittered like emeralds, and her hair blazed as if it
were on fire, making her seem almost ethereal, no longer a part of this world. Wordlessly she shifted the car into drive and pulled out into the street.

“You said you know who killed Megan,” Erin said without preamble. “Tell me everything.”

Racine slanted her a brief glance, then checked the rearview mirror. “Never mind all that now. I have to show you something first. Then you’ll know, too.”

“Racine—”

“In a few minutes you’ll know everything. Trust me.” Racine spared her another glance. “You look pale, Erin. Are you okay?”

“I’m a little cold,” Erin admitted. She shivered uncontrollably. It was freezing inside the car. Evidently Racine’s heater was on the blink, or else she’d forgotten to turn it on. Erin huddled inside her coat, but she still felt chilled by the damp. Racine, on the other hand, appeared oblivious to the cold. She wore a filmy black dress with a long silk scarf wrapped elegantly around her neck. She threw Erin an enigmatic look. Erin began to grow uneasy. Racine seemed so different tonight. So secretive. “How did you find out where Nick lives?” she asked suddenly.

Racine smiled. “I found one of his cards in the hallway. He must have dropped it.”

Erin frowned in the darkness. The card he’d given her didn’t have his home address on it. Did it? She tried to remember, but Racine cut into her thoughts.

“I’ve learned a lot more about your Detective
Slade,” Racine said. “He killed someone, Erin. Did you know that? He killed his fiancée.”

“It was an accident,” Erin said quickly.

“Was it? The investigation was dropped, but he was never really cleared. And now all these women are turning up dead. Women
he
knew.”

“How do you know about that?”

“I saw him with Megan, remember?”

“Yes, but what about the others?”

“What about them? They used to go to that club. The papers said so.”

Had that information been in the papers? Erin tried to recall the articles she’d read, but it was so cold in the car it was difficult to think. She hugged her coat more tightly around her.

They had been steadily driving away from the river, and now Racine turned down the street toward the apartment building. She whipped the car to the curb and killed the engine. Erin looked around.

“No one’s about at this hour,” Racine said as if reading Erin’s thoughts.

“What are we doing here?” Erin’s heart started to pound an uneasy rhythm.

Racine smiled. “Let’s go in. You’re really going to find this interesting. I knew all along there was something strange about Detective Slade.”

They got out of the car and Racine hurried around to take Erin’s arm. Her grip seemed abnormally
strong. Erin glanced down and saw Racine’s bloodred nails gleam against her white coat.

“Come on,” Racine urged. “Don’t you want to know the truth about him?”

“What truth? Racine, please tell me what you know.”

“You look worried, Erin. You suspect him yourself, don’t you? You already have your doubts about him. Admit it.”

As if sensing Erin’s inner turmoil, Racine propelled her inside, and the door closed behind them, shutting off the remnants of light that had filtered in from the street. The corridors and stairs lay in complete darkness.

A new tremor of fear shot through Erin. “Why aren’t the lights on?”

“Power must be out. Don’t worry. I have candles.” Racine guided her toward the steps that led down to the basement apartment, but Erin hung back. “I can’t go down there.”

“Of course you can.” Racine’s grip on her arm tightened. “Don’t you want to know the truth, Erin? The whole truth about Megan? And Detective Slade? Think about it. Why have you never seen him in daylight? Why does he always wear those dark glasses?”

“This is crazy,” Erin said again, but her mind was flashing so rapidly with images she felt light-headed. Nick, his eyes hidden by dark glasses. His face pale in the moonlight, but somehow extraordinarily alive.
The black leather coat that blended with the night around him. And his own words, “I belong to the night, Erin, and nothing will ever change that.”

The first time she’d seen him, Erin had thought how one with the night he seemed, how very much a part of the darkness he appeared. And she had never seen him in sunlight….

Erin swayed against the wall. “He can’t be,” she protested weakly. “I would have known.”

“But you
have
known, Erin. You just haven’t wanted to believe it. Think about it. Why did he lie to you about knowing Megan? Why did he try to keep you away from the investigation? Because he was afraid of what you might find out about
him
if you stayed around asking questions.”

Erin closed her eyes briefly. Racine wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t wondered herself. The doubts, the suspicions…they had been there all along.

“You know what I’m saying makes sense, don’t you?” Racine was leading her down the steps toward the basement. “He’s been doing everything in his power to keep you away from the investigation. Now he’s trying another tactic. He’s trying to get you to trust him. Has he succeeded, Erin? Do you trust him?”