Not me. Brandilynn Payson had her big girl panties on. I may shed a few tears once in awhile, but I’m no wuss.
“I was killed by the Fulton Falls Ripper?”
“That’s right.” His arm tightened even more.
I thought about it really hard. I felt myself frown and automatically stopped. No frown lines. Then I almost laughed. I was dead. No need to worry about looking my best to survive now. Survival was a thing of the past.
“I don’t remember being killed,” I told Dan. “You know, I can remember my day-to-day routine just fine. But I can’t remember anything in particular right now.”
He nodded, his expression grave. “Traumatic death often results in memory loss of the event.”
I had the urge to kiss the seriousness right off his face. He honestly looked that scrumptious. And sex would be a wonderful way to delay thinking too hard about the implications of my situation. Distraction beckoned, wanting to replace the rising terror. Yes, it was much better to contemplate screwing the man beside me. I dove headlong into the simplicity of lust.
Dead and horny. How weird can a girl be?
Fortunately, Dan felt awesomely right as he held me. Bless his heart, he tried to shield me from the worst news a person can get.
It hit me again. I’m dead.
I really needed to not think about that.
Dan stroked my hair. He said, “We need to try to recover your memory of what happened so we can catch the killer and bring him to justice.”
I had a vision of Marlboro Man riding the wild frontier, searching for the varmint who laid low poor little Brandilynn Payson, the saloon girl with a heart of gold. I couldn’t help but snicker. The notion of a ghost posse catching a killer tickled me. “What do you do with him when you catch him? String him up from a ghost tree?”
Dan chuckled at me. “There’s a more permanent solution to that problem, especially since the killer is most definitely a vampire.”
“Which is?”
Another voice answered me. “We stake his ass and burn him to ashes.”
I looked up. My eyes widened, startled to see a man leaning on one of the long reading tables that stood nearby. I froze like a statue as I recognized Tristan Keith, ruler of the Fulton Falls vampire clutch.
I do not mix with paranormals, or as we refer to them, paras. Especially not vampires. The undead creep me out.
Were-creatures are scary too, and I’d probably flip out if confronted with a dragon, harpy or gargoyle. But when it comes to flat-out scary, vampires take the cake. It certainly didn’t help my present frame of mind to realize one had killed me.
Which brought up a new concern: how had I ended up in the company of one to get murdered? I would have never been an escort for one. It’s even in my contract. I might have been on a human client’s arm at a party where vampires attended, but I would have kept my distance from the bloodthirsty monsters.
Dan stood, helping me to my feet. “Tristan, this is Brandilynn Payson. Brandilynn, Tristan Keith.
Tristan stepped forward, his hand extended. “I’m sure it’s no pleasure for you, Miss Payson, but may I say I’m thrilled to see you. Good work finding her, Dan.”
I looked at my town’s most well-known vampire with trepidation. I had to admit he didn’t look terribly vampy. In fact, he looked normal. His hair was short in an old-fashioned haircut typical of the 1920’s, the decade he’d become a vampire. Clean-shaven, looking not a day over 30, with sharp, handsome features. Not rugged and somehow worn like Dan, but elegantly masculine in the way of old-time movie actors like Errol Flynn and Clark Gable.
Okay, I’ll admit it. The darn bloodsucker looked as scrumptious as my Marlboro Man. I couldn’t discern the slightest bit of undead about him. He inspired visions of naughtiness dancing in my head.
I hesitantly accepted his hand. In a move that made me catch my breath in appreciation, he kissed the back of mine. No one did that these days, and I was impressed. Mr. Keith had charm to spare.
Of course vampires are known for their abilities to seduce. That’s why so many of us humans fear their kind. As a mortal, one could never truly know the trouble she was getting into until it was too late and she was woozy from a lack of blood.
Or dead.
I pulled my hand free of Tristan’s. I wondered why I feared him. After all, didn’t being dead mean I had nothing left to lose? It wasn’t as if he could kill me again.
“I thought vampires could only come out at night,” I said.
He smiled winningly at me. Tristan Keith was the county commission’s only para member, and more than one of my clients had whispered the vampire had his eyes on the state legislature. Considering paras had only been eligible to run for office for the last 30 years, that said something about his ability to charm.