a voice, a dark, persuasive voice borne by the wind. We’ve been waiting for you, it whispered. Your sister’s here, Erin. I can take you to her. Don’t let her down this time.
A wave of dizziness washed over Erin, and a blackness so cold and so swift it seemed as if icy waters were closing over her head. She felt herself sway, and then her knees began to buckle. She was falling, plunging toward Megan’s open grave, descending toward that yawning abyss, that dark place from which there would be no return….
Erin! Help me!
Was that Megan’s voice that called to her? Was that Megan’s cry she heard?
Suddenly Erin no longer had the will to fight. She closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.
A gasp rose from the crowd. Just as she was about to pitch forward into the grave, someone grabbed her and pulled her back, with a hand that seemed capable and comforting, yet cold and dangerous. A hand that was scarred and battered, yet beautiful and strong. Erin opened her eyes and felt Detective Slade’s grip tighten on her arm.
“Are you all right?”
“I…felt faint,” she said weakly. His hand was still on her arm, and beneath the fabric of her coat, Erin imagined that she could feel the warmth of his hand seeping through her. Her skin tingled with awareness, with warning. Her heart began to thud against her chest as he guided her away from the grave.
He’d turned up the collar on his black leather coat, but he didn’t have an umbrella, and his dark hair glistened with droplets of water. She’d forgotten how tall he was, how formidable he appeared. He was still wearing the dark glasses she found so daunting, but even guarded, his stare was powerful, mesmerizing, as he gazed down at her. Suddenly Erin remembered last night and how his gaze had seemed to trap her.
“Rough day” was all he said, guiding her out of the cemetery toward the street. But somehow those two simple words conveyed everything Erin was experiencing at that moment. She wanted to cry and gave silent thanks for the mask of rain on her face.
At the edge of the graveyard, she stopped and looked back. The tombstones blurred in the rain, creating an eerie, almost mystical illusion. Someone was watching her, she thought. Someone was watching her again, and she shuddered, a dark portent creeping over her. She looked up and found Detective Slade gazing down at her with hidden eyes.
“What is it?” His voice held an edge, as if he knew—or sensed—what she was feeling.
But Erin didn’t want to admit even to herself that she was suddenly, desperately afraid. She hugged her arms to her chest, then shrugged. What could she say? That her imagination was running away with her? That she was seeing monsters now, even in daylight?
As if sensing her reluctance, Slade let the matter drop. Without another word, they began walking again. After a few moments, Erin said, “How is the investigation progressing?”
It was his turn to shrug. “As well as can be expected.”
“What did the autopsy report show?”
Slade hesitated. “We can talk about that later.”
“I want to hear it now,” Erin said, mustering her courage. She braced her shoulders as if to prove to Slade she could handle whatever he had to say. “What was the exact cause of Megan’s death, Detective? I want to know.”
Again that odd hesitation. “There were marks on her neck.”
“Marks? You mean she was strangled?” That would explain why there was no blood that night, Erin thought.
Detective Slade stared straight ahead as they continued to walk. “Your sister wasn’t strangled,” he said.
“But I thought you said—”
“There were marks on her neck. Two puncture wounds. Almost all of Megan’s blood was drained from her body.”
Erin staggered to a stop. A wave of horror washed over her. Slade’s hand shot out and steadied her once more, but Erin was hardly aware of it. Instead, in her mind she saw an image of Megan’s body on the ground, the smile on her lips. Erin put a hand to her mouth as her stomach churned sickeningly. “My God,” she said. “What kind of person could do that? Especially to Megan. She was so young, so beautiful….” And now she was dead. Dear God, Erin wrote about this kind of stuff. It didn’t happen in real life. Not to Megan. Please not to Megan.
“How did he do it?’ she asked weakly.
“We don’t know for sure.”
“Why did he do it? What kind of monster would do such a thing?”
Slade said nothing, but Erin barely noticed. Her mind was racing with the implications. “What if it was because of me?” she whispered. “What if this happened because of my book?”
Slade was still holding her arm, and now his grip tightened. “You had nothing to do with this.”
Erin lifted her agonized gaze. “How can you be so sure? There are a lot of people out there who read my books. What if one of them decided to…”
“There are a lot of people out there,” Slade said evenly, “who have never read your books. And they kill, anyway.”
“But do they drain their victim’s blood?” Erin’s heart was beating so fast she felt light-headed. She swayed again, and Slade steadied her once more.
His mouth tightened as he gazed down at her. “We’ll get him, Erin. I promise you that. He won’t get away with this.”
“No, he won’t,” she agreed, the horror inside her turning to rage. “He won’t get away with this. I’ll see to that.”
“What do you mean?”
They stared at each other in silence. Mist shrouded them in an illusion of privacy, and once again Erin became conscious of how tall he was, how immense he looked in that long black coat. She hadn’t been aware of how far their walk had taken them, but as she looked around now, she realized the cemetery was long behind them. They stood in the gray afternoon, a myriad of desolate buildings surrounding them, and all Erin could think was how quiet everything seemed. How alone they were.
Behind his dark glasses, Slade continued to hold her gaze. Erin’s fingers began to tremble, so she forced her hands deep into the pockets of her coat.
“What did you mean you’ll see to it?” he repeated suspiciously. His voice was low and rough. She could see the hint of anger in the rigid set of his mouth, a mouth she knew could look at once cruel and sensuous….
Erin tilted her chin, denying her thoughts. “I mean I can help you find him. I knew my sister better than anyone else. If anyone can trace the last few days of her life, it would be me.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
He drew her up so close the frost of their breath mingled in the cold air. Their bodies were almost, but not quite, touching, yet Erin had no difficulty at all imagining the warmth of his skin next to hers. The hardness of his body against hers…
Dear God, she thought. What am I doing? What am I thinking?
