that nod, the assurance in those eyes. I prayed I hadnât.
The classified ad read:
Tamara, remember me? Eighteen years ago. You had the chicken, and I had the seafood. We both had the wine. A little too much. And the cheesecake was more than we could resist. All that cholesterol. It could cost me my life. Call me. 374-555-1092.
No one would have thought it anything unusual. But Tamara did. Eric paced, looking worried.
âWhere did you get this?â Tamara asked, looking up at him from where she sat in the oversize house they owned just outside San Diego. Jamey had returned to get his affairs in order. Sold the bar heâd owned, traded in his car, bought another under an assumed name. He was making arrangements to hide his money as well. DPI must not be able to track him. He had to live the way the rest of them did now. In hiding.
âA vampire by the name of Cuyler saw it, recognized the name, tracked us down and sent it to us. She thought it might be meant for you. Do you think she was right?â
Tamara nodded slowly. âOf course she was right. This is from Hilary Garner. We worked together at DPI. I remember that night, we went out together. I went home alone, and had a flat. That was the night I was almostââ
âIâd rather not be reminded of what nearly happened to you that night,â Eric said. He moved forward, stroking one hand through her hair. âThis could be a trap, Tamara. Hilary still works for DPI.â
She shook her head hard. âNo. Hilary wouldnât do something like that. And look at this last line.â Tamara held up the paper and pointed. ââIt could cost me my life.â She makes it sound as if sheâs referring to the cheesecake, but sheâs not. Itâs there to let me know this is urgent.â She looked into Ericâs eyes. âI have to call her, darling. I have to.â
He lowered his head, and she was glad that for once he didnât argue. âI was afraid you were going to say something like that.â She held his gaze until she saw him conceding. He sighed hard, and nodded. âIâll rig something up, just in case. They wonât be able to trace the call.â
She smiled, and then kissed him.
Â
Since his change, Jameson had been learning. Testing his strength and energy. Honing his mental skills. And he was decidedly happy with his progress. He could run nearly as fast as Eric. Climb and leap and jump as well as Roland. He could speak to any of them without uttering a sound. That was probably the most surprising aspect of his new nature. And the hardest to get used to. He could read their thoughts now just as easily as theyâd always been able to read his. Unless they were guarding them. Heâd become adept at erecting a mental shield around his mind, one that could bar entry to any vampire.
Heâd expected to miss eating a good meal, but oddly enough, he didnât. His other senses were so finely honed, so much sharper and more acute than before, that he took sensual pleasure in everything. Sounds and sights, smells and feelings bombarded him constantly. The tastes heâd once enjoyed were easily replaced. Easily forgotten.
He did regret that heâd never have the chance to fulfill his dream of a ânormalâ mortal life. A life with a family, a wife, children perhaps. But then, that had never really been a possibility anyway. Heâd always known that those rare individuals who carried the belladonna antigen had abbreviated life spans. Few ever lived beyond the age of thirty. Jameson was thirty now, and while he hadnât experienced the onset of any of the usual symptoms, it probably wouldnât have been much longer before he had. So his initial anger at his dearest friends was long since reduced to cold ashes.
The fury he felt for the woman whoâd attacked him, thoughâthat remained red-hot. Coals of that anger glowed in his soul, and it would take
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