Dead Perfect

Shannah had been signing for about forty-five minutes when there was a brief lull. Glancing around, she thought she saw Jim lurking nearby, but that was ridiculous. It was one thing for him to follow her from one bookstore to another in Los Angeles, and quite another to think he had followed her all the way to New York City. She frowned when she saw the newspaper reporter, Carl Overstreet, in the next aisle.



A shiver ran down her spine. Jim plus Carl plus herself in New York in the same store at the same time was just way too much of a coincidence to be a coincidence.



“What’s wrong, love?”



She looked up to see Ronan standing beside her. “Maybe nothing…”



“Tell me.”



“That guy, Jim, is here. And so is the reporter I told you about.”



“Where?”



She started to point them out, then frowned. Neither man was in view. “They were here just a minute ago.”



“Sit tight. Smile. I’m going to have a look around.”



She did as he said, smiling and signing, posing for pictures, and all the while a knot of tension was growing in her stomach. If Ronan was worried, then there must be something to worry about.



He returned a few minutes later. “They’re gone,” he said, for her ears alone.



She nodded and smiled. Thankfully, the rest of the time passed quickly.



After she signed some stock, she thanked the store manager, who shook her hand and asked her to please come again, then turned to shake Ronan’s hand.



“I was wondering,” Ronan said. “Is there a back way out of here?”



“Yes, of course. The service entrance,” the manager replied, frowning. “Is there a problem?”



“There was a man here tonight who’s been following Miss Black. We’d like to avoid him, if possible.”



“Of course,” the manager said. “This way.”



Moments later, Shannah and Ronan were walking down a dark alley toward the sidewalk.



“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Shannah asked, glancing around. “I can’t see my hand in front of my face.”



“Just hold on to me,” Ronan said.



“I think she should hold on to me.”



The voice, low and raspy, slid out of the shadows to their left.



“I think you should mind your own business,” Ronan replied, putting Shannah behind him. “And get out of here before you get hurt.”



Malicious laughter echoed off the walls of the buildings. There was the unmistakable snick of a gun being cocked.



Shannah clutched Ronan’s arm as stark terror raced down her spine. They were going to die, here, now, in this dirty alley.



She cried out in protest as Ronan removed her hand from his arm. There was the sound of scuffling, a harsh cry of pain, the sound of a gunshot, the acrid stink of gunpowder. And then silence.



She shrieked as a hand grabbed her forearm.



“Hush, love,” Ronan said, “it’s me.”



She had to run to keep up with him as he hurried down the alley. “Wait! What happened?”



He dragged her out onto the sidewalk; then, taking her by the hand, he turned left and walked slowly down the street.



Shannah glanced over her shoulder. “What happened back there?”



“Nothing for you to worry about.” Ronan couldn’t help grinning as he recalled the look of stunned horror on the would-be mugger’s face when he realized he was about to die. Panicked, he had fired his gun in a last ditch effort to cheat death, and missed. The stink of the man’s fear had filled Ronan’s nostrils and quickened his hunger. He had not soothed the man’s fears before he buried his fangs in his neck. It had been years since he had taken a life in anger, or drained a man to the point of death. He had forgotten how exhilarating it could be when he released the predator within, when he shed the thin veneer of civility and unleashed the beast within him. But he couldn’t tell Shannah that.



She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “Are you hurt? There’s blood on your mouth.”



“It’s not mine.” Grimacing, Ronan wiped his hand across his mouth. Not all blood tasted the same. Some, like Shannah’s, was sweet. The would-be robber’s had not been sweet but it had been satisfying just the same.



Ronan hailed a cab on the next block.



Shannah heard the sound of sirens as he closed the car door. Guilt pierced her. Had someone seen them leaving the alley and called the police?



Feeling suddenly light-headed, she sank back against the seat. “Did you…is he…?”



A look silenced the question she had been about to ask.



The cab pulled up in front of the hotel a few minutes later. Ronan paid the cabby, took her by the hand, and led her into the hotel and up to her room.



She waited until they were inside and he had closed and locked the door. “Did you kill that man?”



He hesitated a moment, and then nodded.



“Oh.” Feeling like a deflated balloon, she sank down on the edge of the sofa.



“Who was he?”



“I don’t know. A pickpocket, a mugger.” He shrugged. “What difference does it make?”



“But…you killed him. Shouldn’t we have waited for the police?”



“No.” Going to the window, he drew the curtains aside and peered into the darkness. “The last thing we need is to get involved with the police.”



“But…”



“It’s late.” He turned away from the window, his gaze holding hers. “You’re tired.”



“Yes,” she said, yawning. “I am tired.”



Smiling faintly, he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “Go to bed, love,” he said quietly.



“You’ve a busy day tomorrow.”



And I’ve got something to dispose of tonight.



Chapter Thirteen



There was no mention of the dead man in the newspaper in the morning. Shannah looked on every page of every section. There was talk of the never-ending war in the Middle East, the latest sex scandal in Hollywood, a strike by the Teamsters, the suicide of a high profile lawyer, but not one word about the man in the alley. Shannah thought it odd, but then, this was New York City, not the small town where she had been raised. Maybe the death of a mugger in an alley was so commonplace these days that it didn’t rate a story. For all she knew, the man’s name could be among those listed in the obituaries.



A glance at the clock told her there was no time to ponder the matter. She had to wash and dry her hair, dress, and be at the radio station in an hour.



“How did the interview go?” Ronan asked later that night while she was changing her shoes.



“Fine, I guess. They said they would send me a copy of the tape so you could hear it.”



He nodded. “Were you able to answer everything all right?”



“Yes, although I drew a blank when he asked me the name of your first manuscript. Fortunately, he had a stack of all your books on a table. When I saw the title, I remembered it was your first one.”



“Quick thinking.”



“Uh-huh. I wanted to hit him when he asked me how I researched my love scenes. Why does everyone ask that?”



He grinned at her. “Why do you think?”



“Well, I’m sure if you wrote murder mysteries, no one would ask me if I’d actually killed someone. He also asked me if I really believed in vampires and if I had ever let anyone drink my blood.” She shook her head. “Can you believe that? Real vampires, indeed. Honestly…”



She felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks when she recalled that she had once thought Ronan was a vampire. Judging by the look in his eyes, he was remembering the same thing.



“And what did you say?” he asked, no longer grinning.



“I said I didn’t believe in vampires, of course. You don’t want your readers to think you’re some kind of kook, do you?”



“Of course not,” he replied, “but it might have added to my mystique if people thought I did.”



“Well, next time someone asks me, I’ll tell them that I believe in vampires and goblins and things that go bump in the night, and…” She looked down at her hands, her voice trailing off.



“And?” he prompted.



“I just remembered that man you killed.” She wondered why the fact that Ronan had killed a man didn’t bother her more than it did. Was it because she hadn’t actually seen him do it, because she hadn’t seen the body, or because she knew he had killed the man in self-defense?



Whatever the reason, it bothered her that she wasn’t more upset by what had happened. Had something like that happened a few weeks ago, she would probably have been in hysterics.



What had happened to change her?



Ronan grunted softly. “He was of no consequence.” And not very tasty, he recalled, but a free meal was a free meal. “Are you ready to go?”



She hesitated a moment but try as she might, she couldn’t summon any regret over the man’s fate. The man had had a gun. He might have robbed them, or worse, but for Ronan’s swift intervention. Still…



“Shannah.” His gaze caught and held hers. “It’s over and done. Put it out of your mind.”



She blinked at him, then shook her head. “How do I look?”



She pirouetted in front of him. The black cocktail dress was chic and flattering with its full skirt and bare back. The high heels did wonderful things for her legs.



“Good enough to eat, as always,” he murmured. “Shall we go?”



Ronan’s agent, Lorena Barbour, and his editor, Patricia Miliken, were waiting for them when they arrived at the restaurant. After introductions were made, the four of them went into the bar for drinks.



“I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet you at last,” Patricia said, smiling at Shannah. “I was beginning to think you were a recluse or something.”



Lorena grinned. “My thoughts, exactly. I’ve been representing Eva for years and we’ve never met.”



Shannah smiled. “I do tend to be a homebody. I don’t like traveling, and I don’t care for crowds.”