Let Them Speak (Vampire Assassin League #13) Page 2

  “Everything is slow down here. Like molasses. I can see why. Who could move fast in this heat?”

  “Must you go on and on about it?”

  “Shit. Me? You know the actor they’re considering for the lead. Franklin. He’s pure prima donna. At this rate, we’re going to need air conditioning in every corner of every room.”

  “Well. All of that is contingent on finding the right house in the first place, now isn’t it? And then we have more trouble. Get on the cell. Call the realtor. Find out what the holdup is.”

  “On it.”

  “And check on building codes. Modifications. We’re going to need more than air conditioning. We’re going to need municipal power. And wiring that won’t fry the place the moment we flip a switch. Jeez. This just gets better and better. They probably don’t even allow air conditioning in this section.”

  “Oh. They allow it. Look up. The place next door has a little air conditioner unit attached to every upstairs window. Like a cheap motel.”

  “Looks like they quit working sometime around the Vietnam War era, too. Thanks Stan. Thanks a lot. Why did I bring you again?”

  “Mule. You got heavy equipment. I get to haul it.”

  “And nowhere in that job description does it say smart-ass remarks. Oh, look. We got another one. Where the hell is security?”

  Sydney pushed her glasses up her nose and looked across the yard at yet another gorgeous fellow. Stan hadn’t been exaggerating earlier. She’d seen enough hot males this evening to populate a male revue show. And yet, she instinctively knew they had nothing on this guy. His face was half-shadowed by the street lights behind him, but the half she could see gave her heart a healthy punch. Wow. If handsome had a visual description, she was looking at it. And he was tall. Extremely broad-shouldered. Thickly muscled. Black slacks rode his thighs all the way to his open coattails. And that old-fashioned velvet coat was gapped open, as if he needed those abs and pecs framed and displayed. He was leaning against the gate post and he was focused entirely on her.

  Entirely.

  Her heart gave another lurch.

  “All right, guys! Who ordered a male stripper? ‘Fess up, and I won’t—”

  “Stan,” Sydney stopped him.

  “What?”

  “Stop that. As far as you know, that’s the realtor.”

  “Not hardly…unless he sounds like a sixty year old woman on the phone.”

  “Go give him a card. One of mine.”

  Her employee gave her a look that spoke volumes before sighing heavily and approaching the newcomer.

  “Hi. Listen. Buddy. You’re encroaching. We got private business here. And we’re not casting extras until next month. Here’s a card. Okay? Next month. See you then.”

  Stan handed the guy a card. The stranger took it without moving his gaze from hers. And then he spoke. One word.

  “Extras?”

  Hell’s bells. His voice was incredible. Deep. Magnetic. Sydney dropped her flashlight, sending an arc of illumination along the brick wall before it stopped rolling. Every hair on her body whispered upright with the accompanying shiver. There was the strangest sound in the air, too. A deep, pulsating throb. Like a vibrato note.

  “Yeah. Extras. For the series we’re developing. And please. Don’t tell me you didn’t know. And expect me to believe it, anyway.”

  “Series?”

  Man! The guy had the most amazing voice! It was tinged with a slightly foreign accent. Each syllable perfectly enunciated. One word from him could melt ice. It was doing a fair job of it already on her legs. And arms. And starting a tingling where she wouldn’t even admit. She didn’t have permission to look for cast members. But if the studio head could see and hear this guy…well. Hell. He’d probably get a walk-on part. Maybe even some dialogue.

  No. Wait. They’d already interested Franklin in the lead. He was a hot ticket. They needed him to help get financing. Franklin demanded a contract proviso that nobody in any project got to be prettier than him. He got final approval. And that included the actresses. Mr. Perfect here was never getting past that proviso…which was just as well. He was messing with her concentration and doing a major number on her nerves. Even as he’d moved his attention, seeming engrossed now with Stan. And Stan wouldn’t quit talking and explaining. Like he’d turned into one of those chatty dolls and someone had pulled his cord and until it rewound, he just couldn’t shut up. That was really odd. She wasn’t the only one with raised eyebrows. And rapt attention. The three members of her crew and more than one bystander beyond the iron rails fronting the courtyard were all watching and listening as if opening night was already happening.

  “We’re developing a series. It was in all the trade journals. And all over the internet. Couldn’t keep it quiet if we wanted to. And we don’t. That’s why we booked a full page ad in all the tabloids.”

  “Tabloids?”

  “You didn’t see it? Damn! That was my idea and cost a fortune. We’re trying to get buzz started. For our series. We’re calling it Intimate Secrets, but the title has to await studio approval.”

  “Intimate…secrets?”

  His voice! Those words! Holy shit. Her knees trembled. Weakened. She’d have probably fallen if the stone bird bath wasn’t there beside her. Her palm gripped the edge while her knees just kept shaking. An instant flash of heat arced through her bosom, too.

  “Yeah. Just think of it! We get people to confess their deepest, darkest secret desires when they think they’re off-camera, and then we make it happen. The first one is already scripted. It’s a kick-ass episode all about vampires. I know. Why don’t they just throw another sinker when I’m looking for a curve ball? What can I say in defense? Vampires are still popular. That’s why we’re out here, in this god-forsaken section of the French Quarter, in the dead of night. We’ve got to find the perfect spot for a vampire to hang out.”

  “You think this is where a vampire would…how did you phrase it - hang out?”

  “Maybe not this exact building. But hey. We’ve seen some other places. We’ve got options.”

  “Derelict places?”

  “Well…yeah. It’s easier to deal with empty buildings.”

  “Really?”

  “Lots easier. You know the hell we have, otherwise? Much easier to get leasing agreements if the place is off the beaten path and unoccupied. Tons easier to modify pre-existing walls and such for our needs. And don’t get me started on the insurance. Then there are the municipal factions, building permits, utilities, ecological concerns, trash removal, and let’s not forget – the ever-present gawkers.”

  The man turned his face back to her, lowered his chin a fraction, and somehow gained a lot more light on his face. Stan not only shut up, he visibly sagged, before catching any reaction on the opposite gatepost. Part of her noticed that. The other was solidly enthralled. And she didn’t even know a good description for that word until right now.

  Oh dang. Mister Perfect had little lines in his forehead. She’d never seen such a look. She was in danger of swooning. Big time. A tingling sensation hit her nose even as she panted for air. She watched him lift the little business card in his hand and scan it.

  “You agree with all this, Miss Sydney Ross…LLC?”

  “Please. It’s just Sydney.”

  He smiled. The world shifted. He grew in stature and definition somehow. Or maybe it was just the lights. Everything flared up for the briefest of moments before sinking back to a poorly lit section of New Orleans in the middle of the night.

  “Very well. Sydney. Are you in agreement that a vampire would reside in an abode such as that?”

  He gestured to the building backing her with an arm that contained every bit of the disdain already in his voice. Sydney didn’t dare move her eyes. Or her hand from where it still clung to the fountain edge. Or even her feet.

  “Well. Maybe…not exactly that one. But one like it. I mean…after we get done with restoration and modifications. You know. We’d inspect
it first – for soundness of construction. Foundation status. Wall stability. Then we’d clean. Put in new floors and stairs if we have to. Paint. Wallpaper. New floor coverings. Furniture. Lighting effects. That’s why we need building permits. And lease agreements that are favorable toward restoration efforts.”

  Now, why the hell was she a chatty doll all-of-a-sudden? Part of her noticed her crew looking at her with the same raised brow look she’d worn earlier. Not Stan. He was still leaning against the post, looking at his feet or something else on the ground. The other part of her was abuzz with…something. It resembled the sensation she’d felt one summer out in the lake in a canoe with her cousin, Ron, during a lightning storm because their parents had told them not to do it. Hair raising. Electrifying. Slightly scary. Totally titillating. Heady.

  But worse.

  This sensation was addictive.

  “You know…you could always find out where a real vampire would reside in the first place. And save yourself all that trouble.”

  Chuckles followed his statement. Probably due to the absurdity of it. Sydney didn’t join in. Maybe it was the look on his face. Or perhaps it was the absolute magnetism of the guy. Man! If she could get him any kind of part, the series would rocket off the chart. She didn’t have to guess at it. Something made it inevitable. Inescapable. This man radiated vibes that contained pure sex appeal. He even managed to look like he’d just come from an interrupted tryst with a lover. Or a score of them. That would certainly explain the half-dressed view. The female demographic on viewership would go right off the charts. If he could act, he’d even be a good replacement for their lead.

  Franklin could take a flying leap off the nearest cliff.

  Hell. She’d assist him.

  She cleared her throat. It helped somehow. “Well…I don’t happen to know how to find a real vampire. And the realtor wasn’t forthcoming about her knowledge, either. Speaking of….”

  As if it was a cue from stage right, headlights entered the street from that direction, highlighting Mister Perfect even more as it approached. Stopped. Everyone held a collective breath at seeing such an expensive, really old model limo. It was painted in a pearlescent tone that reflected what light the street lamps were willing to part with out there. The engine turned off, and then a petite, perfectly groomed woman stepped out. Her dyed black hair was pulled into a bun atop her head. She wore a dress with a cinched-waist and stiletto heels. And two strands of pearls around her throat. In the middle of the night. It was amazing she’d foregone a chauffeur and actually drove her own vehicle. And if this was the realtor, she was charging way too much for her services.

  “Hello there! My. My. Look at you. Ah. To be just a decade younger. You in charge around here, Young Man?”

  Mister Perfect ignored the woman. He didn’t look to have moved his full attention from Sydney. She managed to return it despite the buzz that grew until she had to strain to hear over it. She thought she heard him ask something. And her voice replying. It might have been in her head, just as easily.

  “Do you wish to?” he asked.

  “Do I wish to…what?”

  “Know a real vampire? And where they’d…reside?”

  Okay. It was a trick question. It had to be. Anything else was nonsensical. Sydney pulled her gaze away and shook her head, and somehow gained a bit of sanity back. She looked down at the ground. Located her flashlight. Frowned. The realtor lady was still talking.

  “Gentlemen. Please. This place isn’t what you need. It requires way too much work. We’ve got a place over in the Garden District…well. It’ll knock your socks off. Just got the listing yesterday. You’re getting first peek. And at fifteen thousand, it’s a steal.”

  “Fifteen thousand? Is that all?”

  One of her crew answered. Sydney was still trying to avoid looking anywhere near them – and the man. Mister Perfect. The guy who seemed to alter the elements. Or something. Hell. She glanced at Stan and then back to the ground. He still looked and acted like a limp dishrag.

  “Fifteen thousand and some change. Per month. I can offer you an open or closed-end lease. Perfect for what you need. If you’re ready, I’ll be happy to transport you—”

  “Whoa. Lady. That’s well out of our budget. Back me up here, somebody. Sydney?”

  She shook her head again. The interaction over at the gatepost sounded and looked like it was a block away. Maybe more. Or space was changing on her. This was entirely too weird. And she hadn’t even drunk anything.

  Yet.

  “Oh, come along boys. What have you got to lose? And I even brought the limo. I’ve got my Class C license, too. No worries on that account. Now. Everybody in. Buckle up now. Champagne’s in the bucket in the middle. Cold beer in the ’fridge. You need anything else, you just let me know.”

  Sydney had to look, despite how the view included Mister Perfect. She narrowed her eyes and attempted to send him to the peripheral area. What the hell? Her entire crew was getting hustled into the back of the car, without the slightest regard for her. She’d heard of Southern hospitality and charm, but this was ridiculous. From the looks of things, that realtor was more than worth her fee. Good thing nobody had contracting authority on this trip.

  She swiveled, knelt, and scooped up her light. Put her fingers around the handle. Lifted the beam…and then gasped as the light illuminated dark trousers and that spectacular span of abs. He’d moved? That quickly?

  Holy shit.

  “You ready yet?”

  “Uh…”

  “You might wish to close your eyes.”

  He stepped closer. Put his hand down toward her.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I am going to show you where a real vampire would reside.”

  “And you would know this…how?”

  Sydney ignored his hand and stood on her own power, and then wavered in place at being this close to him. Sweetness! His voice was still sending out vibes that seemed meant just for her, while she could swear she smelled a blend of spices. Her body got the instant impression of warmth. The impression was heady. Euphoric.

  She forced her gaze up over the rim of her glasses; met his eyes, and felt her knees buckle. The fall sent her right into contact with him. She wrapped her arms about him, nestled her nose right beneath his chin, and breathed in short little gasps. The feeling of actually touching him was even more visceral. And a moment later, her entire paradigm shifted as the earth beneath her disappeared. And then he answered.

  “Because I am a vampire.”

  Oh.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Okay. She was only going with him to see where a real vampire would live. For the series. Right, Sydney? That was the only reason. How they got there was going to be an issue. And when situations ripped a big hole in the fabric of reality, there were three options that immediately came to mind: Ignore it. Fight It. Embrace it.

  Ignoring anything was going to be difficult. This guy had impossible-to-look-away-from eyes, and a body worth clinging to, even as she told herself she had to hang onto him or fall into the abyss below them. That was a lie and a pretty bald one but Sydney was very good at those. Wasn’t that what she’d used to get through the “Irreconcilable Differences” petition her ex had sent her last year? Their marriage had crumbled because he was a self-serving asshole with a thing for hot blondes with hotter figures. And no integrity or honor. And Sydney was a certifiable brunette. With morals. And she wasn’t remotely frigid. Chris had just been a lousy sex-partner.

  Frigid, my ass.

  She was proving that. Every bit of connection with Mister Perfect here sizzled. Heat and tension and electricity went to amperage generation level, until she was about ready to embarrass herself and climax without even being touched intimately.

  Right, Sydney.

  Back to options. First - ignore this. Disregard the fact that she was clinging to a man who moved faster than physical probability? Hard to overlook that. And while neither prov
ed he was a real vampire, they didn’t disprove it, either. She could try ignoring that they were flying, too, but that shouldn’t even be in the equation. Flight wasn’t possible unless he’d found a wormhole or changed the time-space continuum, or done something else that was theoretically possible. But to do that, he’d need to reach the speed of sound squared.

  No wait. That was nuclear fusion. In order to fly, he’d need to be following the theory of general relativity.

  No…

  Oh…who the hell cares, Sydney?

  She couldn’t recall off the top of her head, and now was a stupid time to try. She’d helped her ex with his physics homework back when they’d met and connected, despite their differences. Chris started as her “man-panion”, graduated to boyfriend, and then limped into being a husband. He’d never altered. He’d been in full science mode, twenty-four-seven, while she liked living life not just examining it. He’d also claimed to like brunettes with glasses. And he called her the liar.

  So. Back to the physics stuff – from when she’d first met Chris. Flirted. Studied together. Occasionally she’d listened to him read about his field of study. Given it her attention. Learned some basic formulas. To what end? When she actually could’ve put some of that to use, she couldn’t remember. So, whatever the formula, it should mean that Mister Perfect couldn’t actually be flying…unless he was using the theory of special relativity. Ah ha! That was it. Special Relativity was the theory about time traveling forward. General relativity was the one about time travel back. Or, was it the other way around?

  Buggers.

  Whichever, Syd. Mister Perfect could have found a way to use a theory about time travel. And was taking her along.

  Mister Perfect? Hmm. She really needed a better name for him. He already had self-confidence and arrogance in spades. Heaven knew how big his head would get if he heard the moniker she’d assigned him. Hard to think of another one at the moment, however. He really was rather perfect. At least, physically. Gorgeous face. Cut physique. The view was spectacular. The actual connection even better. The guy had a major six-pack and solid pecs and more hard muscle just about everywhere she touched. Yep. Darn near perfect...