“Maybe.”
“What are you doing hanging around with a dead man?”
A dead man? Raphael Cordova was the most vibrantly alive man I had ever met. And since he had never died, “dead man” was hardly an accurate description. I didn’t see any need to mention that, either, because if there was one thing I was certain of, it was that I couldn’t trust the man sitting across from me.
“Hi, Cagin,” the waitress said, returning to my table. “Can I get you anything?”
“Hey, Pam. How about a steak sandwich, rare, and a cup of black coffee?”
“You’ve got it, you handsome devil.”
Cagin licked his lips as he watched Pam walk away. “Cute kid.”
“Uh-huh.” I had a mental image of Pam as Little Red Riding Hood, and even though Cagin wasn’t a Werewolf, I had a mental image of him lying in wait for her, only this time there would be no heroic woodsman to save her from the big bad wolf, or big bad tiger, as the case may be.
“Kathy?”
Startled from my reverie, I realized he had asked me a question. “What?”
“I asked if you were busy Friday night. I thought maybe we could try again.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Come on, give a guy a break.”
“You aren’t a ‘guy.’”
“You’re not holding what I am against me, are you?”
“Not exactly, it’s just that I’m still recovering from a bad breakup. I’m really not ready to start seeing anyone again on a regular basis.”
“Except for Cordova.”
I stared at him, searching for a reply, relieved when the waitress brought my salad and our drinks. The fact that Cagin knew I had gone out with Raphael bothered me, although I wasn’t sure why. I mean, I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret or anything. Lots of people had seen us together. I guess someone could have mentioned it to Cagin.
I waited until Pam moved away from the table before saying, “What I do, and who I see, are none of your business.”
With a shrug, he added two packets of sugar to his coffee and took a drink.
Pam returned with the rest of our order a few minutes later.
Cagin picked up his sandwich and took a bite. Red juice dripped down the corners of his mouth. It looked very much like blood. I knew Raphael drank blood, but he didn’t eat his prey.
We said little during the rest of the meal. Cagin ate quickly, then leaned back in his chair, lazily studying me with his amber eyes. As the seconds went by, it made me increasingly uncomfortable. Raphael had gazed at me just as intently from time to time, but it had never made me feel as if I were a piece of meat.
I folded my napkin and laid it beside my plate, placed my fork on top of it, and pushed away from the table. “I’m going home.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.” I reached into my purse and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “That should cover my dinner.”
He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I think I’m leaving. Good night.”
“Sit down,” he said curtly. “You’re not going anywhere.”
I was about to tell him to go to hell when a voice spoke from behind me.
“Are you ready to go home, Kathy?”
Relief poured through me when I looked up and saw Raphael. “Yes, I am.”
Cagin’s eyes narrowed to ominous yellow slits. “What the hell are you doing here, Cordova?”
“Rescuing my fair lady from the dragon,” Raphael replied. He offered me his hand. “Shall we go?”
Cagin sprang to his feet, his eyes blazing with anger.
I clung to Raphael’s hand, my heart pounding. Surely they wouldn’t fight here, in the restaurant. A quick look around confirmed that everyone in the café was staring avidly in our direction, no doubt waiting to see who would throw the first blow.
“This isn’t the time or the place,” Raphael said quietly. “Sit down and cool off.”
“This isn’t over.” Cagin spat the words.
“Just tell me where and when,” Raphael said. Still holding my hand tightly in his, he walked me out of the restaurant. His car was parked in a red zone at the curb. He opened the door for me, and then closed it with a little more force than necessary.
Still feeling shaky, I watched him walk around the front of the car to the driver’s side. Opening the door, he slid behind the wheel.
As Raphael pulled away from the curb, I glanced out the side window to see Cagin standing on the sidewalk.
Raphael drove in silence for several minutes. Tension radiated off of him like heat from a blast furnace. I couldn’t tell if his anger was directed toward Cagin or toward me, or if it was even anger I was sensing.
My apprehension kicked up a notch when he pulled up in front of a large two-story house located at the end of a long dirt road lined with cypress trees. The house was made of faded red brick and had a tile roof. Four steps led to a covered veranda that spanned the front of the house. I only saw one window. It was on the first floor, and barred.
I cleared a throat gone suddenly dry. “Where are we?”
“My place.” He cut the engine and got out of the car.
His place. Oh, Lordy. Sitting in the restaurant with Cagin suddenly seemed a lot safer than accompanying a Vampire into his lair.
I was trying to think of a way to convince Raphael to take me home when he opened the car door and reached for my hand. The next thing I knew, he was leading me up the porch stairs. The front door, made of what looked like solid steel, opened seemingly of its own accord. Interior lights came on as I crossed the threshold ahead of Raphael.
The sound of the door closing behind me sent a shiver down my spine.
“Make yourself at home,” he invited.
The living room, sparsely furnished, was decorated in earth tones. The main focus of the room was an enormous fireplace that took up most of one wall. I stared at it, thinking it could easily hold an elephant or two. A deep brown leather sofa was situated in front of the biggest television screen I had ever seen. A pair of matching leather chairs faced the sofa. The carpet beneath my feet was a dazzling white. A large painting hung over the fireplace. It depicted a black knight astride an equally black horse. A large green dragon loomed in the distance. A collection of dragons made of onyx, jade, pewter, and carved wood were scattered on the mantel amid several black candles.
“Do you mind if I look around?” I asked.
“Help yourself.”
An arched doorway to my left opened onto the kitchen. I peered through the doorway, my gaze sweeping the room, noting that the kitchen was bare except for a small black refrigerator and a microwave oven. The countertop was black granite; the floor was white tile. There were no windows in the room, which I thought was odd, especially for a kitchen, and no back door. I wondered if Rafe had plastered over the windows to block the sun.
A short hallway opened off the kitchen. My feet made no sound on the thick carpet. The first door off the hall was a guest bathroom with a commode, sink, and a small shower. There were no windows in this room, and no mirrors. A small bedroom adjoined the bathroom. The walls were a pale moss green, the carpet white, the furnishings no more than a twin bed made of black wrought iron and