CHAPTER NINE
“Michael?” Miriam says with a frail voice, lying back in her bed, her head propped up with a pile of pillows. “What are you doing here?”
Her brown eyes are bloodshot but lucid. I can’t help but smile to see her alive and not undead.
“I just came to check on you, sis,” I say, lifting my brows so she gets the gist. “How are you feeling?”
She sits up in her pale blue gown, tubes sticking from her arm. “I’m not sure. What happened?” Miriam’s eyes shift nervously to the nurse tending her IV.
I shrug. “I wish I knew. I showed up when they were loading you into the ambulance. The police said something about a random assault?” I take a seat at the foot of the bed. “How do you feel?” I stare deeply into her eyes, soaking in the view of the glorious life radiating from them.
She watches the nurse leave and then hisses, “What’s going on?”
“I told them I’m your brother so they’d let me see you,” I whisper.
“No. I mean, why are you here?”
Now there is a tricky question. “Well, after the interview, I found a résumé in my car”—a lie—“and came back to give it to you just in time to see your boyfriend perform a hit, hit, and run.”
“My boyfriend? That pig is not my boyfriend.” She looks away, and I see her blonde hair is matted on one side.
Dear God, kill me, but I want to brush it. This bond thing is a nightmare.
“Then who?” I ask.
She doesn’t budge.
“Listen,” I say, “there is no reason to lie to me. So you made a bad choice—hooked up with the wrong man. Who hasn’t been there?”
She gives me a look.
“All right.” I hold up my palms. “I haven’t. But I’m not here to judg—”
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Her tiny nostrils flare.
“Then who?”
“It’s a long story.”
She doesn’t want to tell me. Very well. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty, and that includes twisting her arm with a white lie. “If you don’t come clean, then he’ll only be back. Then what?”
Obviously, he’s not returning, because I drank him up. And he was tasty, too. The bad ones always are.
“It’s not your concern.” She frowns with fearful brown eyes. “Just go. I don’t need some college kid mixed up in all this.”
Her words are like a blow to the groin, and I’m unsure which comment stings more: that I’m too young or that it’s not my concern. Can she not feel our connection?
Perhaps sensing the bond takes time with mortals.
“Miriam, I’ve already been helping out at your library while you’ve been away. If something’s going on, then now I’m involved, and I deserve to know what it is.”
“You were working? At my library?” She simmers.
I shrug. “Yeah, well, you were kind of indisposed, and I couldn’t leave the place unattended.”
She nods and then lets out a slow breath. “Thank you.”
“You can thank me by telling me who he is.”
Mulling, she shakes her head. Whatever is going on, I can tell she’s ashamed.
Finally, she breaks. “That man is a thug from the Carlitos crime family. They’re part of a Mexican drug cartel.”
And I killed one of them? Uh-oh. Not that I fear for myself—my kind happens to love cartels. They’re easy pickin’s because the authorities do not ask many questions when a member disappears. The revenge factor, on the other hand, warrants a big throaty groan. People like them usually seek vengeance and hit hard. Meaning, if they suspect Miriam was involved—and why wouldn’t they if she was the last person to see the guy—they’ll come looking for answers.
They already have. I think of the man from earlier who slipped away and, now that I think about it, very much tried to kill her.
“What?” Miriam says, noting my distress.
I don’t want to frighten her, so it’s best she doesn’t know. “Uhhh…nothing. How did you get mixed up with people like that?”
“I didn’t. They mixed with me. A friend of theirs, some big developer, wants to buy my building, and I refused.”
“You own the building?”
“My parents passed away last year, and I inherited it, the library, and everything else.”
So the library, though open to the public, is private and all Miriam’s. Yet again, she’s managed to intrigue me. Especially the part about her standing up to a bunch of thugs trying to take her library.
“Ah, the classic tale of greed, unscrupulous cads, and land grabs.” I scratch my stubbled chin.
“Huh?” She gives me a look.
Darnit. I must remember to speak my age. “It was a joke.” I shrug. “A college-kid thing.”
She nods. “Whatever. But now you understand why I can’t have you getting involved.”
“Why haven’t you gone to the authorities?” I ask.
“I did, and I thought I’d taken care of the whole thing.”
“By doing…?”
She sighs. “I got a restraining order against Bob Kline, the developer—he kept bullying and threatening me. I heard rumors that he had connections with the cartel, but I never imagined he’d resort to this.”
A big mistake on his part, because Miriam is not without friends.
“Well, today is your lucky day, then, because I know a guy who can help.” And I’ll give you a hint: he’s deadly, well educated, very handsome, and enjoys long digs in the desert.
“No! Absolutely not,” she protests. “And you’re too young to know ‘a guy.’ I’ll handle this myself.”
Dear God, woman! You’re driving me mad with the ageism. Mad, I say!
“Miriam, I’m a grown man—albeit very youthful in appearance and virile—but I, too, can handle myself.” I stand. “Besides, I’m not asking, and you’re in no position to argue.”
She’s furious. I literally feel her rage. Our bond is most interesting.
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” she snarls.
“Too late.”
“Huh?”
“Nothing.” I walk over and gently embrace her. “You worry about getting better.”
Her entire body goes stiff, and I quickly pull away, noting that her heart rate has accelerated and her emotions have moved from anger to fear.
“Look, uh, Michael. You’re a very nice young man, I’m sure. And I know you mean well, but I’m not interested in you. Not like that. I think it’s best if you leave now.”
I stare down at her, attempting to decipher why my presence is wholly unwanted. “Wait. You think I’m some sort of stalker?”
“Well, I barely know you and—”
“And here I am at your bedside, telling you I’ll take care of you and hugging you. Meaning, I just came off as entirely creepy.”
She nods with an awkward grimace. “Yes.”
I’m confused. Why does she not feel our bond? Once again, I find myself entirely fascinated by this woman. I cannot help it. Anything out of the ordinary is like candy to my kind. And this one is like a shiny new lollipop.
Perhaps it takes time for a human to feel the connection. Perhaps she has too many drugs in her system. Either way, time will tell.
“I merely want to help you like you offered to help me,” I assure her. “That’s all. I promise. In fact, I asked Lula—my girlfriend—to come by tonight and keep you company while I take care of some things.”
“Your girlfriend. Really?”
I sense the relief washing through her. My story has worked.
“Really,” I say. “I’m just a person who helps others out of the kindness of his heart—just like you.” True, actually.
“Sorry I said all that. But I am not joking about you staying away from my mess.”
I nod. “I understand. But I still need that job”—it’s my cover—“so…?”
“I’ll talk to the police. They’ll handle it. You just be careful, and if you see anyone hanging around, call 911.”
“Got it.”
“And I know it’s a lot to ask, since I haven’t trained you yet, but could you please keep holding down the fort at the library? I have no idea when they’ll let me out of here.”
Wonderful. More smelly, dusty library time. “Absolutely, though I don’t know if I can keep the library open so late. Do you have any other part-time help?”
“No. My old assistant stopped showing up one day, and it’s been hard to find a replacement.”
“Well, you found someone now.”
Her brown eyes glow with relief, and shockingly, it pains me. I’m guessing she’s been on her own since her parents died. No one has looked after her, let alone cared.
“Thank you, Michael. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I smile and gaze down at her with affection—the platonic friendship kind. “No need to thank me. I am your assistant, and I’m here to assist. Get some rest. I’ll be by to check on you later and introduce Lula.”
I leave, thinking that I have a bit of time to go see Mr. Aspen for an update on the Clive situation. The Carlitos people likely think Miriam is dead, and by the time they figure out she’s not, Lula will be here. And I will hopefully have taken care of them.
As for this developer, he too will be getting a visit from a very angry librarian’s assistant.
Once outside the room, I slide my phone from my jeans pocket and dial Lula, who answers immediately.
“Uh-oh. What did you do now?” She groans.
“There will be time for updates later. I need you to get on the first plane to Phoenix.”
“Why the hell would I do that?” she asks.
“Because I’m your king, and I said so.”
“Want to try that again?” she says.
“Want to stop being so annoying and act like an assistant for once?”
She grumbles on the other end of the line. “You’re never this mean. Now I know something’s happened.”
I groan. “The situation with the librarian is a bit more complicated than I anticipated, and I need to focus on putting pressure on these sunshine idiots to find Clive’s killer.”
“Complicated how?” she asks.
I explain what I’ve learned about the man I killed.
“What? Mikey, no. I can’t believe you’re asking me to babysit your little bookworm!”
“Mr. Vanderhorst. And, Lula, I am not asking.”
A long moment of silence ensues.
“Lula?”
“I don’t know if I can,” she finally says, her voice cracking with emotion. Lula has always been like this—vibrant and flippant on the outside, but she cares deeply, and her true emotions are never far from the surface. For this reason, I trust her. There’s little guessing involved.
“The sooner I finish what I came for,” I say, “the sooner I can go home and resume my life. You’re just going to have to find the strength to come. For God’s sake, woman, you’re a…” I lower my voice, “child of the night.”
“Ugh, I hate being called that. And I was just referring to the fact that on such short notice, I won’t have a visa to stay in that territory. I’ll have to pretend to be your significant other and room with you in that cesspool of an apartment. So, ick and ick.”
I know perfectly well that was not what she meant—she doesn’t want to look after my librarian in her time of need. She wants me to herself. But this is not what she says, and it’s a favor to us both that she’s moved the conversation away from the elephant in the room. I am now bonded to a woman I do not know, in a town I loathe and have no intention of remaining in.
“I suppose we’ll have to make do,” I say. “And I will advise the cockroaches that you are joining us.”
“And what reason will you give your other pet that I’m hanging around?” Lula asks.
“I’m sure you can figure out your own backstory, sweetheart. Call me when you’ve landed.”
“So you can pick me up?”
I scoff. “No. I need to charm the nurses to let you in after visiting hours.”
“You’re a douche.”
“And you, my dear sweet woman, are a foulmouthed minx. See you tonight.”
I end the call, feeling a twinge of guilt for taking this measure, but I must focus on one problem at a time. Right now, I must focus on Clive, and Miriam cannot be alone.
Then what? I wonder. What happens down the road? Come hell or high water, Clive’s killer will pay. And I will be left bonded to Miriam. I wonder if I will ever be able to leave her, given my need to keep her safe. Always and forever.
Holy vampire nightmares. This truly is my worst day ever.