Free Crave by Karen E. Taylor Page B

thought of Victor’s security measures for the Cadre, and how he would react to my revealing its secrets to a stranger, “most of it, I should probably not tell you. I’m not at liberty to reveal certain details to you.”
    â€œTell me what you can,” he said, sharply. “I’m pretty good at piecing puzzles together.”
    Skipping the preliminaries, I started right in. “I transformed Mitch because I had no choice, he would have died had I not. To this day, I still wonder if that was a mistake.”
    â€œHe’s having trouble adjusting to the life?”
    â€œMitch?” I gave a low laugh and crushed my cigarette out. “Actually, he’s adjusted quite well, perhaps all too well.”
    â€œToo well?”
    â€œThere are times when I hardly recognize him,” a note of panic entered my voice, “when I feel like I don’t know him at all. I’ve never had the company of my own kind before. And Mitch is undoubtedly that.” I sighed. “To be perfectly honest, Sam, he frightens me. It wasn’t too bad, when we were in England and alone, but now that we’re back here and surrounded by . . .” I broke off, realizing that I was saying too much, “well, surrounded by memories and the like, the reality of his, or our, existence hits me hard.”
    Sam gave a noncommittal grunt and cleared his throat. I looked away from him and reached across the desk to help myself to another cigarette. As I lit it, our eyes met, locked together and I felt myself blushing under his close scrutiny.
    â€œThat wasn’t what you were going to say, Deirdre. You’re a terrible liar.”
    â€œOnly with you, Sam. I never seem to have this problem with anyone else.”
    â€œIncluding yourself?”
    â€œEspecially myself. I’m very good at lying to myself.” I grinned slightly and he grinned back briefly before growing serious again.
    â€œSurrounded by what, Deirdre?”
    I gave him a long, calculating look, took another drag on the cigarette and exhaled slowly. “You must promise to keep whatever I tell you in the strictest confidence. To do otherwise might have dire circumstances for you.”
    â€œOf course.” Sam nodded, his voice pained. “I’ll treat everything you say as patient confidentiality. I would’ve anyway, you should know that you can trust me.”
    â€œWell,” I leaned back in the chair, “trust, as you should know by now, is an extremely rare commodity for me.” But I proceeded to relate the story of the Cadre, how they had been wrongly persecuting Mitch for the murder of Max Hunter, how, when they had discovered that I had actually been the one to kill Max, I was put on trial and escaped their sentence only through Max’s ghostly intervention. By the time I reached the end of my story, involving Larry’s attack on Mitch and my frantic attempt to transform him before he died, we had smoked at least half of the pack of cigarettes; the room was filled with a cloudy, gray haze. Sam’s eyes were red and teary, perhaps some of that was due to the smoke.
    â€œAnd now?” I jumped a little at the sound of a voice other than mine.
    â€œAnd now we have been brought back to New York to kill Larry Martin.”
    â€œHow does that make you feel?”
    â€œHow the hell do you think it makes me feel?” I glared over at Sam from where I sat. “I don’t want to kill him, or anyone. But,” I shrugged away the thought, “it’s out of my hands now, anyway. Mitch and I found him tonight and delivered him to the Cadre; other than speaking for him at his trial, I need never see him again.”
    â€œYou’re speaking for him? Why?”
    â€œI must. He’s my child.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œDo you really?” I got up from my chair and walked around his desk to the window. Pulling aside the venetian blinds, I studied the night streets.