Dead Heat (Taz Bell Book 1) Page 10

  We took the elevator back up to our suite, and once we walked in I heard Freemont say something about a game of cards. He never cheated when we played cards, never used his talent to win unfairly, and because of that usually didn't win at all. I stopped in the middle of the living room, completely distracted, knowing what I had to do but hating the idea. I would rather have played cards with Freemont or even watched something on television, but I'd been left with no choice at all.

  "Freemont, I have to go out," I said, interrupting his asking me again if I was all right. "That vampire came too close to getting what he wanted, mostly because I'm vulnerable right now. A one-night-stand won't solve all my problems, but it ought to take some of the edge off."

  "Are you sure you want to do that?" Freemont asked quietly. "You don't like one-night-stands and you can't pretend you do. What if your urges get stronger instead of quieting down? Then you'll be worse off than you are right now."

  "I have to take that chance," I said, nearly gritting my teeth to keep from wrapping my arms around myself and shivering. "I went out of my way to keep from getting worked up sexually because I was afraid that the urges would be a lot stronger than they used to be. This is a lousy way to find out I was right, but it's the way I've got. I need a certain kind of male, and the more I try to put off looking for him, the more the need becomes a demand."

  "What do you mean, a certain kind of male?" Freemont asked as he followed me into my bedroom. "Do you mean a man who's something like you?"

  "I don't know, but it looks like I'll be finding out," I answered, going over to the dresser and my shoulder bag. I got out my driver's license and some money, and after a very brief hesitation I put them and my room key into the lefthand pocket of my slacks. I'd wondered for a minute if I ought to change my clothes, but then I realized that the kind of male I needed would be attracted to me no matter what I wore. If the casual look turned off the other kind of male, so much the better.

  Coming from a very large city as I did, I'd altered all my slacks for the times when I didn't want to carry a shoulder bag. The lefthand pockets were a lot deeper than normal, mostly to keep pickpockets from slipping a hand in and reaching what the pocket held. The deep pocket also came in handy for holding extra clips of ammunition at a time when I might have to do a lot of diving or rolling around. Losing your extra ammo wasn't something you wanted to do at any time, but most especially during a gunfight.

  When I came out of the bathroom after brushing my hair a little, Freemont stood waiting near the suite's door. He looked a bit on the forlorn side, and it didn't help that George hadn't yet come back from wherever he'd gone.

  "I can't see any real disasters in the near future, so I guess all I can say is have fun." He tried to smile as he spoke, but that angelic beauty was toned all the way down by his unhappiness. "Just make sure you take all the necessary precautions."

  "Yes, Daddy," I said as I pulled him into a hug that he returned immediately. "I'll choose as carefully as I can and then make sure he uses a condom. You can wait up if you like because this probably won't take long."

  "How utterly romantic," Freemont said, and now he sounded even more depressed as he stepped back again. "If you don't mind, I'm going to spend the time you're gone thinking of various violent things to do to vampires."

  "When I come back I'll help you add to the list," I said, strangely enough starting to feel just a little better. Freemont nodded without much enthusiasm, so it was obviously time I left. My partner didn't believe in one-night-stands any more than I did, so I made no effort to suggest that he do his own looking around. If he changed his mind he wouldn't need me to tell him what to do.

  And right now I had enough to think about because of my own decision…

  Chapter Seven

  Asking the desk clerk about the nearest bar/night club got me the directions I needed. There was a place only a few miles down the highway, and it was easily seen just before the exit. The neon sign said Morgan's, just as if everyone who saw it ought to know who Morgan was. Well, I was a stranger in the neighborhood. Maybe the people who lived here did know who Morgan was.

  The parking lot was fairly crowded for a weekday night, but then I remembered that not everyone worked five days a week anymore. More and more businesses were going over to four days on, three off for their employees, which would account for some of the people out tonight. It was their Friday or Saturday night, and they were entitled to spend it looking for company.

  I found a spot to leave the Saturn and walked to the wide, one-story building over paving rather than gravel. The easy walking was a courtesy not every place offered, as if they didn't care whether or not women in high heels could make it to their door without breaking an ankle.

  As a Northerner I hated to admit it, but you found more of courtesy in the South than you did in the North. People were more polite in the South, and something told me it wasn't just the fact that Tennessee was a carrying state that made Tennesseans so pleasant. It was more a matter that people expected good manners from those around them, and they weren't often disappointed.

  I could hear the music almost as soon as I got out of the car, and when I walked through the door I found the source of it. All the way over to the right was a stage, and a live band played something that sounded part Country and part rock. A wide dance floor in front of the stage was well-filled with dancers, and for a minute I was tempted. I like to dance even though I'm not good at it, and the people on the dance floor looked to be having a lot of fun.

  But the people on the dance floor were almost all couples, and I hadn't come here to dance anyway. So instead of turning right I turned left, making my way through the small tables that filled the floor on this side of the wide room. Every table had a candle burning in a glass holder, but that didn't do much to lighten the overall dimness. It was fractionally brighter behind the tables near the bar, and the bar was where I was headed.

  I was able to smell cigarette smoke from the tables on the far side of the area, but none from the tables I passed. The bar had a smoking section, then, and it looked like smokers and non-smokers were coexisting peacefully. Another sign of good manners you didn't often find in the North.

  Strangely enough, the sound level of the music went down the closer I got to the bar. It was possible for the people at the tables to talk to each other without shouting, and the farther away I got from the band the easier it was to hear myself think. The sound equipment must have been concentrated around the dance floor, leaving the rest of the wide room livable for those who just wanted to talk.

  Not all the tables had people sitting at them, and not all the bar stools were taken. Three empty stools stood together, so I chose the middle one of the three and slid onto it. I hadn't been in a bar since the day my father came to return my spare apartment key. After my father left I found the closest bar and tried to dive into a bottle of Scotch, but the try had been a waste of time and money.

  My new metabolism was hiked up too high for alcohol to have a chance to work its evil will, and drinking a bottle of Scotch was like drinking the same amount of cream soda. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't get drunk, and I'd finally gone home and cried instead. I probably would have tried drugs next just to find out if they'd have the same lack of effect, but I couldn't handle the idea of another bitter disappointment. It was so much easier to just sit and stare at my gun…

  "What'll it be, ma'am?" a voice said, bringing me back to where I sat. The bartender had come over, a lean, older man with a neatly trimmed beard and a friendly smile. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans, and his shirt said "Morgan's" in red lettering.

  "A double Scotch, please, neat," I told him with my own smile. I didn't know how long I'd have to wait for the kind of male I wanted, so I needed a drink to nurse during the time. If no one showed up by the time I finished the drink I'd think about leaving and going somewhere else, but first I needed to give this place a chance.

  My drink was put in front of me in less than a
minute, and I paid for it just as quickly. You may be able to run a tab in your neighborhood bar, but when you're a stranger you pay as you go. I got back more change than I was expecting, which was a pleasant surprise. There aren't many places more expensive to do things in than New York, which makes buying things elsewhere a constant pleasant surprise.

  The first sip I took of the drink tried to make my blood surge, but the surge was gone even before it started. All that was left was the taste of Scotch, and to be honest I like the taste of cream soda better. The cream soda I'd been given with my steak had been red instead of brown, but the taste had been clear enough to make me think of the deli places back home. Real pastrami on rye, fat, greasy fries or creamy potato salad, sour pickles that really were sour instead of sweet -

  "Evenin', darlin'," I heard in a male voice from the right. "How about I buy you a drink?"

  I turned my head to see this large, dark-haired specimen standing to the left just behind the stool next to mine, a wide grin on his bearded face. He was dressed head to toe in black, boots, jeans, T-shirt, and jacket, with a couple of small silver chains on the jeans and on the jacket. He seemed to be trying for the biker look, but Hollywood biker rather than the real thing. Most of the bikers I knew kept their beards neat if they wore a beard, and their leather jackets were real leather, not some kind of polyester.

  And then I caught up to what I'd seen in the bar mirror while I'd been daydreaming about New York deli. A smaller, gentler-looking man had been on his way to the bar, probably to make the same offer about buying me a drink, but the biker wannabe had shoved the other man aside as if he was nothing but an insect. The smaller man had sent a brief kill-stare to the biker before putting his head down and going back to his table, obviously knowing when he was out of his weight class. The biker had saved me the trouble of refusing the smaller man, but that didn't mean I owed the biker anything.

  "Thanks anyway, but I already have a drink," I said after turning back to stare into the mirror. I saw the biker's grin start to fade, annoyance filling his small, dark eyes.

  "That's crap, bitch," the biker complained, his reflection staring at me rather than my own reflection. "I seen the way you smiled at me on my way over here, so what are you tryin' to pull?"

  "It wasn't you I was smiling at," I said after taking another sip of my drink. "I was doing the kind of magic that's called thinking, and I didn't even see you. Why don't you go back to your table and see if any of your friends can explain to you what thinking means."

  The biker wannabe drew himself up, more than ready to be completely insulted, but the bartender had come over with his hands out of sight. Biker boy switched his glare to the bartender, but the smaller man was just as unimpressed by the glare as I was. I doubted if the biker could smell gun oil the way I could, but he still seemed to know what the bartender held out of sight. He growled under his breath, something that sounded like a garbled curse, and then he turned and stomped back to the table that held two more specimens like himself. I hadn't seen him come from that table, but would have bet that he wasn't in the bar alone.

  "I don't blame you for not likin' what he called you, but talkin' to him like that wasn't smart," the bartender said softly once the biker was gone. "When you're ready to leave you let me know, and I'll walk you out to your car."

  "It's nice of you to offer, but it probably won't be necessary," I said. "He and his friends aren't really tough, they just think they should be tough because they're big. I've seen a hundred like them, and if they think I'm armed they won't come anywhere near me."

  "Are you armed?" the bartender asked, his attention suddenly sharpened. "I can't serve anybody who's carryin'."

  "As it happens I'm not carrying tonight, but we don't have to let them know that," I said, feeling my smile fill with actual amusement. "I'll be leaving once I finish my drink, but you might want to refuse me a second drink so we can send the right message."

  "I'll be sure and do that," he said, his answering smile showing nowhere but in his eyes. He was taking my word for it that I was unarmed, but experienced bartenders were usually good judges of character. Biker boy would have been thrown out on his ass, but I was left to drink my drink in peace.

  No more than five minutes passed before there was movement to my right again. I'd been watching the man in the mirror as he came up to the bar, not completely sure it was me he was heading toward. He was only a little above six feet, which put him an inch or so below the biker, but his shoulders were wide enough to make up the difference. He was blond with light eyes, and wore a light blue shirt tucked into jeans. The shirt was completely unbuttoned, showing a light undershirt of some kind instead of chest, and he carried a drink in his hand.

  And as soon as he got within five feet of me I knew he was also a shapeshifter. The first clue is a tingle down the skin like the brush of a feather, but the closer the other shapeshifter gets, the more the tingle turns into lightning-filled heat. My body tried to react instantly to that touch, but I refused to let it happen. I did have complete control over myself, control I'd had to fight like hell for, so instead of starting to shiver I just sat and stared into the mirror.

  "Do you mind if I join you?" he asked as he stopped in the same place the biker had. "If you'd rather be alone just say so and I'll go back to my table."

  "I don't know yet if I'd rather be alone," I answered, turning my head to look at him rather than his reflection. His blond hair didn't quite reach his shoulders, but it still did well framing a handsome, clean-shaven face. "Why don't you sit down and we'll find out."

  He smiled and got onto the stool instead of just standing behind it. For a minute or two after the biker left I'd worried that that gentle-looking man would try his luck again, but the man who had been pushed aside seemed to have left the bar.

  "I'm Eric," the newcomer said once he was settled. "Are you from around here?"

  "No, actually, I'm just here for a short visit," I answered. "And I'm Taz."

  "Taz," he echoed, showing a really nice smile. "I like that name. It shows the kind of style that Eric doesn't. Do you mind if I think about changing my own name to Taz?"

  "Won't that be the least bit confusing?" I countered, knowing when I was being teased. "I mean, someone would say 'Taz,' and we'd both turn around. We'd confuse the hell out of them."

  "Well, maybe we'd get lucky and they'd turn out to be enemies," he suggested, his smile spreading into a grin. "You are supposed to confuse your enemies, you know."

  We both laughed at that, which added another pleasant surprise to the list. I didn't usually relax this quickly with men, but I'd never tried to get to know another shapeshifter before. Was what I felt something to be expected with all shapeshifters, or had I met someone who fit with me better than someone else would?

  "You've never done this before, have you," Eric said, nothing in the way of a question in his voice as his grin faded. "Come out looking, I mean."

  "What does 'come out looking' mean?" I asked, now watching him a lot more closely. The way he said the words suggested he was talking about something very specific, something I had no real idea about.

  "You are new to the game," he said, and instead of finding it funny he almost sighed. "It's been better than four years for me, and sometimes I forget what it was like in the beginning. At first you try to keep going the way you did before, pretending nothing has changed, but then the changes start to beat you over the head to make you notice them. Going out looking is one of those changes."

  "You still haven't said what that is," I pointed out as he sipped from his glass. I could tell from the scent that he was drinking some kind of cola, which was wise of him. Why waste money on alcohol when a glass of Coke can pretend to have rum in it without the cost?

  "Going out looking is an effort to find someone like yourself," he said, then shook his head in annoyance. "That still doesn't tell you much, but it's hard to put the feeling into words. Humans who get lonely go looking for company. People like us tend to
look for mates."

  "Not this people," I said at once, holding one hand up between us. "If that's what you have in mind, I think I'm starting to feel the need to be alone again."

  "Aha, then you're not as new as you seem," he said, and now he was studying me more closely. "When I first started to go out looking I discovered I was searching for a mate, but none of the pairings, when I managed to find one, came to anything. None of the females were willing to become involved, and after about a year the urge to mate on a permanent basis started to fade. Now I just look for someone like me to spend some time with. I don't come out looking."

  "Glad to hear that," I said, relieved that he hadn't even tried to touch my hand yet. I was having enough trouble just being close to him and his lightning heat. "I have no interest in finding a mate, and as long as we're clear on the point we should have no problem getting along. How long have you been in this area, Eric?"

  "Not very long," he answered after sipping at his drink again. "I came to interview for a job, but I might not take it even if it's offered. I wasn't told about all that's involved, and I don't like it when people hold back on part of the truth. What about you? Are you just plain visiting, or interview visiting?"

  "Actually, neither," I answered, liking what he'd said about being told the truth. Assuming he was telling the truth. "I ended up doing more of a demonstration, and the people who invited me here were pleased. They hadn't gotten very far before my partners and I arrived."

  "You have partners but you're out here alone," he said. "I take it your partners aren't like us. And I just had an interesting thought. Where are you staying? I'm at the Jordan Suites back up the road."

  "Your interesting thought was right, because I'm at the Jordan Suites too," I said, joining his amusement. "For all we know we have suites next door to each other."

  He was grinning again, but instead of saying anything he reached out with one finger and stroked my hand where it lay on the bar. Luckily for both of us it wasn't the hand holding the glass of Scotch, otherwise there could have been a serious accident. It was such a small touch, a short, gentle caress, but it was all I could do to keep my hand from convulsing. The hand still closed tight in a fist as that heat lightning exploded through me, and all I wanted to do was gasp and melt where I sat.