Passion In The Blood Page 2

  "What are you doing to my head?"

  "It doesn't work on you, does it? Interesting. You can't affect me with your psychic invisibility, so for the moment we're even."

  His open reference to that secret she'd hidden from everyone made her stagger in shock. He steadied her with both hands on her shoulders. "You saw me?" she whispered. "I mean, you saw me trying to keep you from seeing me?"

  To her relief, he didn't laugh at her babbling. "Of course. I'm surprised at your talent, though I suppose I shouldn't be."

  "Then I'm not crazy." Light-headed, she clutched his forearms.

  For the first time since he'd walked in, he smiled. She felt the pressure on her brain ease. "Hardly. You're gifted. Since I can't compel you to answer, I'll ask politely. Why are you searching my office? And why shouldn't I call the police on you?"

  Could she trust him enough to answer truthfully? He seemed ready to listen, and now that he'd caught her, she had no hope of getting the book unless he handed it over. She saw little choice but to confide in him.

  "I broke into your house because Randy's been kidnapped." Speaking the words aloud for the first time made the situation feel both more bizarre and more frightening.

  His thick eyebrows arched. "What in the name of sanity does that have to do with your taking up a life of crime?"

  "I was looking for that journal in the secret compartment. I need it to ransom her."

  Chapter 2

  * * *

  Karl released his grip on her. "That sounds like too long a story to tell standing here. Come along and sit down."

  When they crossed the foyer into the living room, the dog padded along with them and stretched out on the carpet next to Karl. Once he and Cordelia were seated at opposite ends of the leather-upholstered couch facing the unlit fireplace, he said, "I know you must have used the spare key I left with your father, but how did you get past Thor?"

  "I have a thing with animals. I can usually make them obey me." Until elementary school, she hadn't realized all children didn't share that talent. The fact that her father couldn't do it hadn't registered as a counter-example, because she'd assumed grown-ups lost the knack. After showing off the trick to other kids a few times, she'd realized her mistake and become more discreet. "Dad said I inherited it from my mother." That tidbit of information didn't help much, since he'd hardly ever talked about her mother. In fact, he'd stonewalled every question from Cordelia or Miranda. Too late to ask him now. Cordelia shook off the memories, along with the familiar bitterness about his secretive behavior.

  "Of course you did. Another gift of yours I should have realized long ago."

  If she hadn't been consumed with fear for her sister, she would have asked what he meant by that remark. She tucked it into the back of her mind to investigate later.

  "Very well, tell me who kidnapped Miranda and why." Now that their father had died, Karl was the only person who consistently called the twins by their full names instead of "Randy" and "Cordy." In middle school Miranda had complained about the embarrassment of having an old-fashioned name derived from a Shakespeare play. Cordelia had retorted that they were lucky not to have names like Ophelia and Perdita.

  "Some crazy man who wants that book. I have no idea what for."

  Karl turned toward her, leaning forward with his eyes fixed on hers. "More to the point, how does he know it exists? But we'll get to that later. Start from the beginning."

  What was the beginning? When the phone had rung with the ransom demand? No, Cordelia decided to start with the last time she'd seen her sister. "In the last couple of months, Randy got obsessed with finding our mother. What set her off was an envelope she found while going through Dad's stuff. There was a check in it, a big one."

  "From your mother?"

  Cordelia nodded. "When we checked through the bank statements and other paperwork, we figured out she'd been sending a quarterly check for our entire lives. Dad set up a savings account just for that, in all three of our names. He'd never made a withdrawal." When she'd uncovered that information, a blend of sadness and resentment that her father had never shared it with her had pummeled her like a gust of hurricane-force wind.

  "He set the funds aside for you," Karl said.

  "That's what we figured. My first impulse was to donate it all to charity. Then I had second thoughts. It's a heck of a lot of money to just throw away. But the point of all this is, Randy got the idea of using the information on the check to trace our mother."

  Again he raised his brows in that expression of mild surprise. "She'd put her home address on the check?"

  “No, just a post office box. From that we knew her name--Corinne Benoit--and her home city, plus what bank she uses. Randy wanted to hire a detective to find her. I thought the whole idea was a waste of time."

  "You have no interest in meeting your mother?"

  "The woman who abandoned us practically at birth?" Cordelia's cheeks burned, and acid clogged her throat. "The one who hasn't sent so much as a birthday card in twenty-seven years? That mother?"

  "She sent you money," he said in his usual infuriatingly calm tone. "Maybe she had good reasons for not making personal contact."

  Cordelia scowled. "I don't buy that. Why are you defending her? I tried to talk Randy out of going any further, but she went ahead and hired a detective on her own. A computer expert, she said. He dug up an e-mail address for Corinne."

  "Miranda sent a message, naturally."

  "Yeah. She asked for a face-to-face meeting. I tried to talk her out of humiliating herself that way, but she wouldn't listen. No big shock there." Not only did the sisters look nothing like twins, they had equally contrasting personalities. Miranda relished adventures. It was typical of her to get a thrill out of hunting a long-lost parent. Cordelia wanted nothing to wreck her carefully constructed routine, least of all a quest for a woman who obviously didn't care about them. When Miranda's first three e-mails had evoked a resounding silence, Cordelia felt vindicated. "Randy wouldn't give up. Finally Corinne answered and set up a date for lunch in downtown Washington. Anybody could tell she was agreeing just to get Randy to stop bugging her."

  "Indeed."

  "Yes, indeed." Cordelia mimicked his cool tone. "Corinne said in so many words that this was the first and last time she'd see either one of us."

  "You didn't care to join them, then?" When she only glowered at him, he added, "When did this lunch meeting take place?"

  "Day before yesterday. That morning was the last time I saw Randy, when she drove off about eleven o'clock." Tears stung her eyes. She scrubbed them away with the back of her hand. "That day I had the afternoon and evening shift at the library." She worked as a reference librarian at the main branch on West Street in Annapolis. The job let her spend most of her time among the books, with human interaction controlled and usually serene. Library patrons seldom bombarded her with storms of passion, fury, or terror. "When I got home after nine at night, she wasn't there. I knew she was scheduled to get off work earlier than that, but I wasn't too worried." As assistant manager of a coffee shop downtown near the city dock, Miranda doubled as a Tarot reader. Her gift for sensing emotions helped make her readings believable, as did an erratic ability to touch people and sometimes catch images of moments from their past. "Her car was in the driveway, but maybe she had a date and forgot to mention it, or she might've gone out with friends. I checked my e-mail and found a message she'd sent from her cell. Nothing about coming home late, just about our mother."

  "Did she seem pleased?"

  "Yes and no. She was all excited about talking to Corinne, went on about how nice she was and stuff like that, but Corinne wouldn't budge on the relationship thing. That was still going to be the one and only meeting."

  "I'm not surprised," Karl said.

  "What do you mean?"

  He waved away the question. "I'll explain later. You weren't surprised either, I assume?"

  "Not one little bit. I fired off an e-mail telling Randy to forget
the whole thing. She hadn't answered or come home by the time I went to bed. It's not unknown for her to forget about letting me know where she is, so I still didn't stress over it." Cordelia wiped her eyes again, reluctant to make the reality of the kidnapping more vivid by putting it into words. "The phone call woke me up yesterday morning. It was that nut who'd grabbed her. His name's Thomas Howard."

  "You're sure he wasn't lying?"

  She shook her head. "This morning in daylight I noticed Randy's purse on the front porch where she must've dropped it when he captured her. She wouldn't have left it there on purpose. Anyway, he let me talk to her. She said he'd caught her when she got home from work. He had a gun under his jacket. She didn't have any choice but to go with him quietly." She closed her eyes for a second, her skin prickling at the memory of the man's voice.

  "So he ordered you to steal a certain antique book from my office. He didn't give a reason?"

  "He described it, a leather-bound, octavo-sized handwritten journal almost two hundred years old, but he didn't say why he's so desperate to get hold of it. He also told me exactly where to look. If he knew that much, why didn't he commit his own burglary?"

  "Perhaps he was afraid of the dog and thought you'd have a better chance of getting inside unmolested."

  "Maybe. He said he'd actually seen the book but hadn't been able to get possession of it. Any chance he'd been in the house earlier, posing as a plumber or something, and cased the joint?"

  Karl smiled thinly at her feeble attempt at criminal slang, but he neither confirmed nor denied her guess.

  "Then I told him there was no way I could sneak in until tonight, because you'd be out, teaching your Thursday night class. What are you doing home already, anyway?" She couldn't keep an irrational note of resentment from her voice. Allowed only a few minutes more, she could have escaped with the prize and avoided this whole confrontation. With luck, Karl wouldn't have noticed the loss for weeks or months.

  "It's already storming at the college." He ran a hand over his wet hair. "The electricity got knocked out, so I had to dismiss class early. Since you're here, I take it you didn't call the police."

  "No, he threatened to kill her if I contacted the authorities." Her voice quavered. She clamped down on her anxiety and focused on delivering the facts. "He gave me his home address and told me to bring the book tomorrow morning at eight."

  Karl sighed. "And you believe he'll simply let Miranda go and forget the whole thing?"

  "It's my only hope. Randy said he hadn't hurt her or treated her roughly at all, except for locking her in his basement. What is that book, anyway?"

  "Exactly what Howard said, a journal from the early nineteenth century. It's been handed down in my family and has important sentimental value for me."

  "Then I'm sorry for what I tried to do." Her face flushed with guilt. Karl had always treated her family with kindness, and this was how she repaid him. "But you have to understand why. How else could I save Randy?"

  "There's no question of giving in to that blackmailer."

  His icy tone shattered her façade of calm. Her throat constricted, and tears spilled from her eyes. She hid her face behind trembling hands.

  The next moment, Karl's arms wrapped around her. Her pulse stuttered. He drew her head onto his chest, where the slow beat of his heart thundered in her ears. His cool, metallic scent tickled her nose. "Shh." He stroked her hair. "No need for that. It will be all right. Relax."

  His mellow bass, no longer sharp with cold determination, tempted her to do just that. How many years had she daydreamed about nestling into his embrace? But not like this.

  "I don't want to relax." She fisted her hands in his damp shirt front. "I want a solution. One that doesn't involve dragging in the police and getting my sister killed."

  "And I have one for you." He tilted her chin up to compel her to meet his eyes. "I didn't say I refused to help."

  Her gaze wandered to his lips. A rush of desire flooded her. She gave herself a mental slap to quench it. "Help? How?"

  "I'll allow you to use the book as a decoy." His thumb idly traced the outline of her mouth, as if he weren't quite aware of what he was doing. A shiver coursed through her. "When Howard sees you have it with you, he'll let you into the house, and I will follow."

  "What, you're planning to fight him or something?"

  "I wouldn't call it a fight," he said with faint smile. "I'll disable him while you have him distracted. After that, it will be simple to escape with both Miranda and the journal."

  "You sound awfully sure of yourself." Although Karl had a lean, muscular build, she didn't know whether he had martial arts skills to match. "What if he shoots at us?"

  "Let me worry about that." The smile widened. "I promise I won't let anything happen to either you or Miranda. I made your father a solemn vow to watch over you."

  "Yeah? When?"

  "In the ICU after his first heart attack." A second one, while their father was still hospitalized, had killed him. "I visited him one day when you two weren't present. And I hate hospitals, so you can rely on that as a measure of my commitment."

  "Is that why he named you his executor? What's up with that, anyway?" Irritation at the slight to the twins' financial competence, which had baffled Cordelia ever since she'd learned of it, sharpened her voice and dried her tears.

  "Oh, that decision was made long ago. But this is no time to discuss estate management, is it?"

  With a shake of her head, she pulled away from him and rubbed her eyes. "So what's the plan?"

  "I'll retain possession of the book, needless to say. Where did Howard order you to meet him?"

  "According to the Internet map program, he lives off Riva Road about a mile on the other side of the South River."

  "If he expects you there at eight, then I'll bring the book and pick you up at seven thirty tomorrow morning. That schedule should get us to his place on time or a bit early."

  She stood. "I'm still not sure it'll be safe for us or Randy."

  Rising from the couch with the grace of a cat stretching, Karl hooked his fingers under her elbow. "Do you have a better idea?"

  With a sigh, she admitted she didn't.

  "You don't have to let him get away with this outrage, you know. You can always report him to the police after we make sure Miranda's safe."

  "Yeah, I could." The idea didn't especially comfort her. If Howard wasn't stupid, he would think of that possibility, too, and take steps to prevent it, such as trying to kill all of them.

  Still holding onto her arm, Karl guided her through the front hall, as if, she thought with renewed annoyance, he didn't trust her to leave without an escort. At the door, he paused to lean over her and cup the back of her head. His lips almost brushed her hair. "Trust me." She felt the vibration of the soft command more than she heard it. His mouth trailed down her cheek and alighted on her lips.

  Her breath caught in her throat. The contact ended before she had a chance to respond or recoil. "Now," he whispered, "hand over my house key."

  She dropped it into his open palm. Cheeks flaming and nerves thrumming, she fled into the night.

  * * * *

  Listening to Cordelia's pulse and tasting her skin left Karl's throat burning with thirst. He momentarily considered venturing out to hunt but shrugged off the idea. He had no appetite for prowling a bar or night club for some anonymous donor. Instead, he went to the kitchen for a plastic bag from the freezer. After thawing and warming it in the microwave, he shook it up and poured the contents into a mug. He sometimes wondered how his supplier, a blood bank employee bribed to smuggle out expired units of whole blood at regular intervals, rationalized the thefts. Whenever they met--not at Karl's home, of course--he planted hypnotic suggestions to erase any qualms about the deliveries.

  Thor followed him into the living room and stretched out next to the armchair where Karl settled to drink his meal. Even animal blood would taste better than this flat liquid, devoid of any spark of life essenc
e. He sometimes fed from the Great Dane when he didn't feel like hunting for either animal or human prey. Not tonight, though. On Tuesday evening he'd intercepted a female student in the campus parking lot and sipped enough that he wouldn't need live blood for at least another night.

  That fact made it all the more frustrating to respond so intensely to Cordelia. He might as well be a cub just learning to control his bloodlust. In the months since Professor Torrance's death, he'd considered feeding on her once just to get her out of his system. He'd resisted the temptation out of caution, for he might end up more deeply ensnared. Her resemblance to Lydia would make it all too easy to get emotionally entangled with her. He refused to make that kind of investment in another human female. The pain of Lydia's death had been more than enough for one lifetime.

  Listening to the rain and the sullen rumble of thunder, he watched flashes of lightning through the bay window and rubbed the dog's head. "What do you think, boy? What could one time hurt? Why should I deny myself the pleasure? Especially when that may be the only way I can control her mind." Naturally, he had no intention of letting her report the kidnapping to the police, but if he couldn't lull her into submission, he had no idea how he'd stop her without using violence. That, of course, was out of the question. The dog's chocolate-brown eyes opened, and he thumped his tail on the floor. "Why am I asking you? As far as you're concerned, it's love them and leave them. Which is what I'd do if I had any sense."

  Most animals shrank from members of his species unless mesmerized into submission. Karl had made exceptions of Thor and the Torrances' cat by taming them to trust him from the puppy and kitten stages. The memory of coming home two weeks earlier to find Thor unconscious on the porch with a dart in his side roused Karl's anger anew. He looked forward to meeting Howard again, if only to punish him for attacking the dog.

  Obviously the man had watched the house long enough to figure out Karl's routine. Since he knew about the journal, he'd known Karl's name, too, and might have simply found the class schedule on the college's website. The thief might have been stalking him from a distance for months, for all Karl knew.