Deep Midnight
There was a note from her agent right on top. She scanned it and went straight to the manuscript.
Vampire Legend and the Criminal Mind.
She started reading as she walked up the stairs. There was an introduction about the author, a cop named Sean Canady who lived in New Orleans. His record had been filled with commendations, and he had worked homicides for years.
The first section of the book centered on solved criminal cases involving occultism and vampirism, going back into history for centuries, and including cases involving cannibalism, all the way up to the murders perpetrated by Jeffrey Dahmer.
The book was absorbing. In her room, she flopped down on her bed and kept on reading until she realized that she hadn’t locked her door.
Her reading material indicated that she really should do so.
She stood, rushed to the door, locked it, and stretched back out to read again. The manuscript was very well written: detailed without being graphic, to the point, and yet explanatory. There was a section on cases still under investigation, including the murder of several prostitutes in New Orleans, and the occult killings that had occurred in Charleston, South Carolina.
Steven was in the book, mentioned by name. She bit her lip while reading that section.
There was a chapter on the various psychologies involved in such murders, written in cooperation with one of the leading men from the FBI who worked on criminal profiles. The author stressed the fact that although serial killers were often white males between twenty and thirty-five?men who might have tortured animals as children, who held menial jobs, and were often married?there was also a breed of very organized killers with the ability to charm and get ahead in life, attractive and appealing men in appearance and manner, such as Ted Bundy.
Sometimes killers left their signatures. Sometimes they wanted to be caught. Sometimes they wanted the power trip that came with outwitting the police.
There were those who were truly ill.
And those who believed they were dealing with vampires.
Vampire lore had come into play in the capture of a ‘vampire’ killer in Colorado who thought he was a vampire. The scare had been so real in the small western town where the killings took place that many women had armed themselves with stakes and large crosses, kept vials of holy water by the door, and hung their windows and doorways with garlic. The killer, who selected his women by breaking into bedroom windows, had avoided these households, believing himself susceptible to the weapons of legend. The police knew of one victim who had saved herself through her efforts. The killer’s footprints had been found in her garden and he later admitted to making an attempt to strike at her, but had seen the garlic, and knew that he would be falling prey to his own doom. There was a list of suggestions from the author on keeping safe. Most of them were common sense, but Jordan kept reading anyway.
? Avoid being alone in any dark or any potentially dangerous place.
? Always keep doors and windows locked.
? Keep a dog?barking is a deterrent to many would-be criminals.
? Never invite strangers in. Never.
There was a knock on her door.
She nearly jumped through the ceiling.
She glanced at her watch. Three o’clock. Hours had passed, and she hadn’t even noticed.
She leaped up, then paused, and for some reason, decided to shove the manuscript under her pillow.
Walking to the door, she looked out the peephole, expecting Jared or Cindy.
It was Ragnor.
Never invite a stranger in. Never.
But.. .
Last night, she had done so.
CHAPTER 10
The knocking sounded again.
Jordan squared her shoulders, giving herself a mental shake. Her reading material was beginning to have an effect on her. As he raised his hand to knock again, Jordan opened the door.
He stared at her expectantly and glanced at his watch. “Are you ready?” he queried.
“For what?”
“A walk to Anna Maria’s to return the last costume?the vinyl. And pick up whatever delight Raphael planned for you for tonight.”
She wanted to tell him no, to go away. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to go to the ball that evening.
Maybe her reading material was getting to her; she wanted to immerse herself in it.
Maybe she was simply and totally crazy. Ragnor had a ... presence. He wasn’t just striking, he was compelling. She liked the sound of his voice, the shape of his jaw ...
As she had before, she felt the sudden temptation to fly into his arms, lay her head down, and believe that everyone was fine and normal, that he wasn’t a man with a million dark secrets, that... that she could just bury herself in sensation. Turn off the lights, forget the shadows, have faith in the dark, and the feel of him.
She took a step back. She wasn’t prey to true insanity.
And she was torn, longing to read more of the new book. She wanted to find out more about the author.
She wanted to talk to him and tell him what she had seen . . .
And that a head had appeared in a Venetian canal.
But she knew she had to go to the ball. And she needed to return the one costume and get the other.
And, of course, she had to go to Tiff’s for drinks. She would ruin everything for Tiff if she didn’t.
“Sure. Great. Let’s go.”
“Don’t you need to get the vinyl costume?”
“Yes.”
She walked back into the room to get the costume that was hanging by the window on a lamp stand.
When she turned around, he was just inside her door.
She had invited him in last night.
Yes, and it was day, and she was alive and well.
She carried the costume, slipped her handbag over her arm.
A killer could be charming, attractive in appearance and manner. . .
Jordan hurried out into the hall, eager to reach the lobby and the flood of people there.
Tonight, the Danieli would hold its own ball in celebration of Carnevale.
She wished she were just staying here, attending this ball instead of Anna Maria’s.
Not fair.
Anna Maria had been wonderful to her; everyone in the shop had been wonderful. They had sympathized with her when the rest of Venice had been laughing at her. Lynn had promised good-humored, beautiful entertainment. She had looked forward to the ball, and she was going to enjoy it.
Even if her footsteps were dogged by this ...
Stranger.
“Is there a fire?” he asked.
“What?”
She had breezed through the lobby; they were already out on the street.
He took the costume from her, throwing it over his shoulder. “You walk exceptionally fast, for such a small person.”
“You walk exceptionally slowly, for a giant.”
“Why are you afraid of me?”
“Because you either lie or evade all my questions.”
“I’ve answered your questions. My name is Ragnor Wulfsson. I’m originally from Norway. I deal in antiques.”
“And you loathe the contessa, but you were with her in the Square. In a very friendly manner, according to Raphael. What is it between you two?”
“There is nothing between us. I met her before? and we are definitely antagonistic.”
“Where did you meet her?”
“Scotland, years ago. We are natural enemies. Is that enough?”
“No.”
“It will have to do for now. And if you distrust me so very much, why are you with me?”
“Because I can’t seem to shake you.”
He didn’t reply. His long strides were now passing hers, and she was puffing somewhat to keep up with him. They reached the Arte della Anna Maria shop. Lynn was outside, smoking.
“Buon giorno!” she cried happily, stamping out her cigarette and greeting them both with the customary kisses. “We were growing worried. Afraid you had decided not to come to the ball!”
“I’d never miss Anna Maria’s ball,” Jordan assured her.
“Come in, come in, both your costumes are ready!”
In the shop, Raphael left a slender woman to study a row of costumes and hurried to Jordan, his enthusiasm at seeing her very warming. He kissed her, fussed over her, greeted Ragnor, and relieved him of the vinyl costume. He had Jordan’s costume ready for her, but ushered her into a corner to look at masks. “You heard about the head?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“In Venice! At Carnevale.” He was indignant that such a crime should mar the beauty of his city, and the occasion. “But it must not worry you. No one knows where it might have come from?the police are on it.
They are really very good here. We are hard on criminals. You have seen the officers with the automatic weapons, yes?”
“Yes, Raphael.”
“You must still love Venice.”
“I do.”
Raphael sighed, smoothing the ostrich feather on the mask. He glanced over his shoulder at Ragnor.
“But you have found a good friend. Big! It is good to walk the streets with such a friend. Mucho macho.
That’s Spanish?”
“I know.”
“For a very manly man.”
Jordan laughed. “Or chauvinist,” she mused.
“Perdoni?”
“Nothing, Raphael, nothing. Hey, if I ever want to read the Italian paper, will you help me?”
“Of course. I will help you with anything. After today, our ball is over, we collapse, and then we are like free people again. I would love to spend time with you, help you read Italian.”
“Thanks.” She kissed him on the cheek. “What will you be tonight?” He grinned. “Something very flamboyant. You’ll have to wait and see.” Ragnor had been deep in conversation with Anna Maria. As Raphael walked Jordan to the entrance, apologizing that he must get to other customers, the door opened, and Cindy and Jared entered. Cindy looked tired. Wan.
“Hey!” Jordan greeted her cousin-in-law.
Cindy’s face lit up with a smile. “Here you are. I was worried about you.”
“You shouldn’t have been.”
Cindy glanced at Ragnor. “No, I guess not.” She seemed pleased. Jared didn’t. Anna Maria was coming forward to greet Cindy. Jared came over to Jordan, whispering to her.