A hard breath shook her chest. Dee realized she could still taste him. Still feel the press of his lips against hers. The brush of his tongue.
He might not be alone. He probably wasn’t. A guy like him, oozing sex, he’d probably snapped his fingers and—
She put the card down. For an instant, she thought she saw red staining her fingers.
No, no, just a memory.
Wasn’t it?
Shaking her head, she walked toward the shower. A nice, cold shower, that was what she needed.
Or him.
Fuck. Dee grabbed the phone. Dialed before she could stop herself. One ring. Stupid. You can’t do this. Two. Are you crazy? You can’t. Three.
“Night Watch.” The private security line for the team. The one they called when they needed Intel, twenty-four-seven.
“Grace? It’s Dee. Did you—did you run that check for me?” Because she was a suspicious bitch, always would be.
A faint hum on the line, then…“Finished it earlier tonight. You want me to fax over the file?”
“Go ahead and give me a quick and dirty rundown.” Because she had to know, right now, before she made a deadly mistake. “And then send over the paperwork.” She’d want to know every detail later. That was her way.
“Simon Lawrence Chase.” Dee’s fingers tightened around the phone when Grace began. So she ran background checks on all her potential lovers, what was wrong with that? A woman had to be safe. These days, you never knew what you were dragging home.
“Age thirty-four.” Really? It’d been so hard to judge his age, he could have been younger or—“Born in New Orleans, he left when he decided to be all he could be.” Military? With that long hair?
“He’s not still serving.” Dee was definite on that.
“No. Looks like he went Merc for a while,” Grace said.
Merc. Mercenary. Yeah, she could see that. A brief hesitation, then she asked the most important question, “Any sign he’s more than human?”
“Negative.”
Her shoulders relaxed. She’d had a demon lover once or twice. They weren’t anything to complain about, for sure, they’d been phenomenal in the sack, but a human—
I can control him.
“There’s…something else, though, Dee. Something you should know.”
Aw, hell. Always something to spoil her party. “What is it?”
“The records show his parents were killed a few years back. It went down as a B and E gone bad, but…”
“But you’re telling me it wasn’t a breaking and entering? It was more?” Often was.
“Jewelry was snatched, the TVs and a computer were missing, and the parents, Janice and Ned Chase had their throats slit.”
A slit throat. The easiest way to cover a vamp attack.
“I made a call to a coroner I know down in New Orleans.” One of the reasons Grace was so good at Intel—the woman had connections everywhere. “Seems there wasn’t enough blood at the scene to match the severity of the wounds.”
Because the parasites had drained them dry. Huh. No wonder the guy knew so much about vampires.
Personal experience.
Just like me. “Thanks, Grace. I owe you.”
Silence, then very softly, “No, you don’t.”
The call ended and Dee clenched the phone tight. He’d passed the screen, and his past was as screwed up as her own.
She swallowed. He was safe.
Or as safe as a lover could be for her.
Her fingers dialed quickly. There was no hesitation this time. No stupid voice whispering in her mind, no—
“Dee.”
Just that, her name. Breathed with need. With the same lust that was tightening her nipples and making her sex clench.
Oh, boy. Her own breath came out in a hard rush. Course he would have known she was calling. In this techno crazy age, her name would have appeared instantly on his caller ID. No backing out now.
“Where are you?” He asked, a dark demand.
She pulled at her shirt, trying to break it away from her hot flesh. “My place.”
“What do you want, Sandra Dee?”
Her sex quivered. Just that voice, whispering to her in the dark.
He knew what she wanted. Had to know. “Are you alone?” Probably not. Probably had some stacked bimbo crawling all over him.
“What do you want?” A sensual demand.
“You.” She cleared her throat. “Apartment B-6, Groves Terrace.”
His breath rushed over the line.
Then, click.
She knew he was coming.
Dee hung up the phone and paced to the edge of the bed. She lifted the mattress and checked to make sure her gun was close. She always kept her weapons close.
He was coming.
Her gaze darted to her hands. No blood. This time.
Fuck, fuck, fuck—talk about some serious bad timing. Simon jumped out of his Mustang and stared up at the apartment on the left, the one with the white terrace and the French doors open on the second floor balcony.