Shirl slept most of the day, which left Megan with little to do except think about seeing Rhys again. She grew increasingly nervous as the hours went by, until, finally, it was time to get ready to go. She dressed with care, chiding herself for taking pains with her hair and makeup, but she couldn’t help it. This would probably be the last time she saw him, and she wanted him to remember her at her best.
Shortly after sundown, she drove to Rhys’s apartment, only to find that he wasn’t home. Returning to her car, she sat there a moment, her fingertips tapping nervously on the steering wheel. Where else would he be? The nightclub, of course.
Her heart was pounding wildly by the time she pulled into the parking lot of La Morte Rouge. She sat behind the wheel a moment, willing her pulse to stop racing. Was she nervous at going into the club alone, she wondered as she opened the car door, or afraid of seeing Rhys again? Probably both, she decided as she stepped out of the car and locked the door behind her.
She glanced around as she walked toward the front of the building. The parking lot was nearly empty.
She hesitated at the entrance. From out here, the place looked closed. What if Rhys wasn’t there? Only one way to find out, she thought, and knocked on the door.
It opened almost immediately, and she came face-to-face with the same man who had opened it when she’d come here with Rhys. If he recognized her, it didn’t show in his expression.
“I’m sorry, miss, the club doesn’t open for another hour.”
“I’d like to see Mr. Costain.”
He lifted one thick brow. “Is he expecting you?”
“No, but I think he’ll see me.”
The man looked her over a moment, then said, “Of course. Come in. Please wait here.”
Standing just inside the door, Megan glanced around. The room was empty save for a red-headed woman seated at the piano, her fingers moving languidly over the keyboard.
The man returned a few minutes later. “This way, Miss DeLacey.”
She wondered how he knew her name as she followed him across the floor and up a short flight of stairs. She hadn’t given it, and Rhys didn’t know she was coming.
Megan stared at the door in front of her, her heart pounding wildly with the sudden realization that The Red Death wasn’t a Goth club at all. It was a hangout for the Undead.
She jumped when the door opened.
“Are you coming in?” Rhys asked. “Or have you changed your mind?”
“How did you know I was out here?”
“I always know where you are.”
Well, that was disconcerting, to say the least.
He took a step back. “Come in.”
Feeling like Daniel going into the lion’s den, Megan followed him into the room, which turned out to be a large office.
He gestured at an overstuffed chair upholstered in dark red velvet. “Sit down.”
She sat, her gaze darting around the room. The walls were papered in a dark red and gold stripe, giving the room the look of an old-fashioned brothel. The floors were polished hardwood. A pair of antique oak filing cabinets stood against one wall. The chair behind the desk was black leather. There were no windows in the room. She thought the state-of-the-art computer and the chrome-and-glass desk looked out of place.
He sat in his chair, watching her, his face devoid of expression. She couldn’t help noticing he was wearing one of the navy-blue pinstriped shirts he had bought from her.
She clasped her hands tightly in her lap to keep them from shaking.
“So,” he asked, “why are you here?”
“Shirl wants to see you.”
Megan felt a little thrill of satisfaction. He hadn’t seen that coming.
“Indeed? What for?”
“She wants to be a vampire.”
Disbelief danced across his features, and then he laughed.
“It’s true,” Megan said. “She’s dying.”
His laughter stilled, and he leaned forward, his arms crossed on the desk. “You’re serious?”
“Of course! I wouldn’t make jokes about something like that.”
“No, I meant the part about her wanting to be a vampire.”
“She’s afraid to die.”
He grunted softly. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She has a tumor. In her brain. It’s inoperable.”
He leaned back in his chair, his elbows resting on the arms, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
Megan forced herself to look at him. Forced herself, she thought ruefully. What a lie that was. She couldn’t stop staring at him, couldn’t stop remembering the touch of his hands, his lips, the way his body felt against hers. Couldn’t stop wishing…She slammed the door on her thoughts. He was what he was, and there was no changing it, no wishing away the truth. She had lost him, just as surely as she was going to lose her best friend.
“When does she want to do it?” Rhys asked.
“She didn’t say. She wants to talk to you first.”
“I see.” He lowered his hands and leaned forward again. “What do you want?”
“What do you mean? I don’t want anything.”
“Why didn’t Shirl come here herself?”
“Because…I…because she’s…”
“Why did you come here?”
There was no point in lying to him, so she didn’t. “Because Shirl said she’d come if I didn’t, and she’s sick.” Megan lifted her chin. “And because I wanted to see you again.”
“Ah, the truth at last.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” Megan said, rising swiftly to her feet. “What should I tell Shirl?”
“Tell her I’ll be there tomorrow night. What time is good for you?”
She shrugged. “Whenever you can make it. I’ll tell her to expect you. Good night.”
He was around the desk in the blink of an eye, his arm snaking around her waist, his eyes smoldering with barely suppressed desire as he drew her body up against his.
“Not so quick, my sweet, we haven’t discussed my fee.”
She stared up at him. “Your fee?” she exclaimed. “Are you kidding?”
“No.”
“You want her to pay you?”
“No,” he replied in a voice that was silky smooth. “I want you to pay me.”
“I don’t believe this!” It had never occurred to her that vampires expected compensation for making other vampires. “Isn’t taking her blood and turning her into a monster payment enough?”