really sense Bastien was worried about. It was the adrenaline rush Vincent seemed to enjoy. Risk-taking was like a drug to him.
"Of course, I do," his cousin replied.
Relieved, Bastien began to walk again. Vincent went on, "I would have wiped the old bird's memory, but you guys walked in. I managed to veil the editor's memory though, and I'd have taken care of the housekeeper too, but you and Sleeping Beauty came rushing in."
"Sleeping Beauty?" Bastien glanced curiously at his cousin.
"The name suits her," Vincent said with a grin. "Just looking at her, you can see she's got passions waiting to be woken."
"You can?"
"Sure. She's like ripe fruit, ready to burst out of her skin."
Bastien gave a start. That description, the term ripe fruit, had come to mind when he'd first seen her. Apparently it had entered Vincent's head as well. "Why do you say that?"
"The way she walks, dresses, talks." Vinny shrugged. "All of the above."
"Yes, but—"
"So, where does this Mrs. Houlihan live?" Vincent interrupted, and Bastien's mind shifted gears to the most important problem at hand: His housekeeper. His ex-housekeeper. And her whereabouts.
Irritation returned to him, and it focused directly on the man walking beside him. He said, "She lives, or did live, in the penthouse."
Vincent whistled through his teeth. "And she left everything behind when she went? I don't think she even stopped for a coat! Not a good sign." He shook his head as he contemplated, then got over it and asked, "So, where do you think she went? Her son's? A daughter's?"
"She has a son and daughter?" Bastien asked. He was so surprised that he stopped walking again.
"How the hell am I supposed to know? I was just guessing," Vincent said with a laugh. His gaze sharpened. "Don't you know?"
"I haven't any idea if she even has family in New York," Bastien admitted with an unhappy sigh.
"Dear God, Bastien! She worked for you, and you haven't a clue if she has kids or family? Man! You're a piece of work. You get all squeamish about me feeding off humans, but you're the one who treats them like cattle."
"I do not," Bastien protested.
"No? What's her first name then?"
"Whose?" he muttered
"Your housekeeper's."
Bastien grimaced and turned to his car. He had stopped behind it, and ignoring his cousin, he retrieved his keys from his pocket and pushed the button on the remote to unlock the doors. He felt some relief upon getting inside. Until his cousin slid into the passenger seat.
"It's Gladys," Vincent announced with more than a little satisfaction.
Bastien ignored him. He inserted the keys and turned the engine over.
"I always find out my donors' names before I feed," his cousin continued in prim tones as Bastien backed out of the parking spot and drove toward the exit. "I don't like to treat them like cattle. Hey!" he cried out, grabbing at the dashboard to prevent flying through the windshield. Bastien had slammed on the brakes half inside the parking garage, half out on the edge of the street.
"That's why they make seat belts," Bastien said with grim satisfaction. He leaned past his cousin to open the passenger door. "Out."
Vincent peered at him in surprise, then grinned his very irritating, very knowing grin. "Okay. Deal with the matter on your own, if you like. But it's true, you know. You may not feed on humans anymore, but you still treat them like cows."
"And you don't, of course," Bastien sniped as the other vampire slid out of the car.
Vincent straightened on the pavement, turned, and bent to peer back in. "No, I don't. Some of my best friends are human." He waited a moment to be sure that sank in, then asked, "Can you say the same?" He straightened and slammed the door, leaving Bastien staring after him as he walked off down the sidewalk.
Chapter Four
« ^ »
"Damn," Bastien muttered, hitting the button to lock all the doors as he sat back in the driver's seat. Galling as it was to contemplate, Vincent might have a point. Bastien didn't have
"Of course, I do," his cousin replied.
Relieved, Bastien began to walk again. Vincent went on, "I would have wiped the old bird's memory, but you guys walked in. I managed to veil the editor's memory though, and I'd have taken care of the housekeeper too, but you and Sleeping Beauty came rushing in."
"Sleeping Beauty?" Bastien glanced curiously at his cousin.
"The name suits her," Vincent said with a grin. "Just looking at her, you can see she's got passions waiting to be woken."
"You can?"
"Sure. She's like ripe fruit, ready to burst out of her skin."
Bastien gave a start. That description, the term ripe fruit, had come to mind when he'd first seen her. Apparently it had entered Vincent's head as well. "Why do you say that?"
"The way she walks, dresses, talks." Vinny shrugged. "All of the above."
"Yes, but—"
"So, where does this Mrs. Houlihan live?" Vincent interrupted, and Bastien's mind shifted gears to the most important problem at hand: His housekeeper. His ex-housekeeper. And her whereabouts.
Irritation returned to him, and it focused directly on the man walking beside him. He said, "She lives, or did live, in the penthouse."
Vincent whistled through his teeth. "And she left everything behind when she went? I don't think she even stopped for a coat! Not a good sign." He shook his head as he contemplated, then got over it and asked, "So, where do you think she went? Her son's? A daughter's?"
"She has a son and daughter?" Bastien asked. He was so surprised that he stopped walking again.
"How the hell am I supposed to know? I was just guessing," Vincent said with a laugh. His gaze sharpened. "Don't you know?"
"I haven't any idea if she even has family in New York," Bastien admitted with an unhappy sigh.
"Dear God, Bastien! She worked for you, and you haven't a clue if she has kids or family? Man! You're a piece of work. You get all squeamish about me feeding off humans, but you're the one who treats them like cattle."
"I do not," Bastien protested.
"No? What's her first name then?"
"Whose?" he muttered
"Your housekeeper's."
Bastien grimaced and turned to his car. He had stopped behind it, and ignoring his cousin, he retrieved his keys from his pocket and pushed the button on the remote to unlock the doors. He felt some relief upon getting inside. Until his cousin slid into the passenger seat.
"It's Gladys," Vincent announced with more than a little satisfaction.
Bastien ignored him. He inserted the keys and turned the engine over.
"I always find out my donors' names before I feed," his cousin continued in prim tones as Bastien backed out of the parking spot and drove toward the exit. "I don't like to treat them like cattle. Hey!" he cried out, grabbing at the dashboard to prevent flying through the windshield. Bastien had slammed on the brakes half inside the parking garage, half out on the edge of the street.
"That's why they make seat belts," Bastien said with grim satisfaction. He leaned past his cousin to open the passenger door. "Out."
Vincent peered at him in surprise, then grinned his very irritating, very knowing grin. "Okay. Deal with the matter on your own, if you like. But it's true, you know. You may not feed on humans anymore, but you still treat them like cows."
"And you don't, of course," Bastien sniped as the other vampire slid out of the car.
Vincent straightened on the pavement, turned, and bent to peer back in. "No, I don't. Some of my best friends are human." He waited a moment to be sure that sank in, then asked, "Can you say the same?" He straightened and slammed the door, leaving Bastien staring after him as he walked off down the sidewalk.
Chapter Four
« ^ »
"Damn," Bastien muttered, hitting the button to lock all the doors as he sat back in the driver's seat. Galling as it was to contemplate, Vincent might have a point. Bastien didn't have
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