Dead Perfect

She looked into his eyes, those deep dark eyes that seemed to hold all the secrets of the universe, and knew if she stayed another minute, she would be lost.

“I think I’ll go get something to drink,” she said, scrambling off the sofa. “Can I get you anything?”

He shook his head, his expression telling her clearly that he was well aware of what she was doing, and why.

“I think I’ll go write for another hour or two,” he said. “Will you be all right?”

Blinking back her tears, she went into the kitchen, wondering if he was sorry he had asked her to stay.

Chapter Nineteen

Shannah woke to the sound of someone leaning on the doorbell. Rolling over, she stared blearily at the clock on the bedside table. It was a little after ten a.m. Who could possibly be coming to call at this hour? Or any hour? She didn’t have any friends in North Canyon Creek, and as far as she knew, Ronan never had visitors. Deciding it was probably a solicitor of some kind, she closed her eyes and pulled the covers over her head. Whoever it was, they could come back later.

The doorbell rang again, louder and more insistent.

Shannah pounded on her pillow. Why didn’t they go away? Grabbing her robe, she pulled it on as she padded down the stairs to the front door.

“Who is it?” she called irritably.

“Jim Hewitt.”

Suddenly wide awake, Shannah stared at the door as if it was a snake that might bite her.

Hewitt! What on earth was he doing here? “What do you want?”

“I need to talk to you, Miss Black.”

“So talk.”

“It’s important, Eva. It’s about Ronan.”

Shannah felt her heart skip a beat. “What about him?”

“This isn’t something I can discuss out here on the front porch.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not in the habit of inviting strangers into the house.”

She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard him swear.

“There’s a coffee shop in town,” he said. “The Pot Pourri. Do you know it?”

“Yes.” It was the coffee shop where she used to spend her evenings, the one where she had been the first time she saw Ronan walking down the street.

“I’ll meet you there in, what, half an hour?”

“How did you get through the gate?”

“Does it matter?”

She wondered if Hewitt had climbed over the back wall, the way she had. She would have to tell Ronan his security fence wasn’t as safe as he thought.

“Miss Black?”

“Yes, all right, I’ll be there.”

Going upstairs, she dressed quickly, brushed her hair and her teeth, grabbed her handbag and the keys to Ronan’s car, and headed for town, determined to find out how Jim Hewitt knew where she lived, and why he had followed her to North Canyon Creek.

Shannah entered the Pot Pourri a little over thirty minutes later. Jim Hewitt was sitting at a booth near the door. He wore a white shirt open at the throat and a brown sports jacket. He rose when he saw her.

Taking a deep breath, she walked toward him. As she neared the curved booth, she saw that he wasn’t alone.

Carl Overstreet nodded at her. “Hey, Miss Black. It’s good to see you again.”

She nodded at the newspaperman, then sat down. Hewitt slid in beside her, sandwiching her in between the two men. She didn’t like it. It made her feel trapped. And more than a little uneasy. She assured herself there was nothing to worry about. It was broad daylight. They were in a public place. The café was crowded, and there was a cop sitting at the counter.

She glanced from one man to the other. “So, what’s this all about?”

“How long have you known Ronan?” Hewitt asked.

“A few months, not that it’s any of your business.”

“How well do you know him?”

She shrugged. “As well as you can know anyone in a couple of months.” She glanced from Hewitt to Overstreet. “Either tell me what this is about, or I’m leaving.”

“What does he do during the day?” Overstreet asked.

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him?” She looked at Hewitt. “Get out of my way. I’m leaving.”

“Please,” Hewitt said, “this is important.”

As tempted as she was to tell him to go to hell, her curiosity won out. “Go on.”

“Have you ever seen him in the middle of the afternoon?” Hewitt asked.

Feeling suddenly cold, she stared at Hewitt. “No.”

“Have you ever seen him eat?”

“No,” she said, and then frowned. “I mean, I did, once,” she said, remembering her mother’s apple pie and Ronan’s reaction to it.

“You actually saw him eat something?”

“Yes, but…”

“But what?”

“It made him sick. He said he was allergic to it.”

“Allergic!” Hewitt slammed his hand on the table. “That’s a good one. Do you know why he doesn’t eat?”

“No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

Carl Overstreet leaned forward. “What do you know about vampires?”

The chill in Shannah’s blood turned to ice. “Only that they don’t exist, except in books and movies.”

Now Hewitt leaned forward, his expression intense. “What if I told you they do exist?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.”

“He’s one of them.”

She stared at Hewitt, and then she laughed. “No, he isn’t. I’ve seen him during the day.”

“Yeah?” Overstreet said. “What time?”

“I don’t know. I guess it was around five or six, but the sun was still up, so he can’t be a vampire.”

“Older vampires can rise before sundown.”

Shannah stared at Hewitt. Ronan, a vampire? Had she been right all along?

“What does all this have to do with me?”

“I want to know where he takes his rest,” Hewitt said.

“I want to interview him for my magazine,” Overstreet said.

Shannah looked at the two men, and then she burst out laughing. “You’re crazy,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes. “Both of you. I don’t know where he sleeps, and I wouldn’t tell you if I did. And as for doing an interview, I can assure you that he won’t.”

“Listen,” Hewitt said, “as long as you stay with him, your life is in danger. Do you understand that?”