In the clear light of morning, Savanah told herself she had imagined the whole incident. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened on the dance floor. She had been caught up in the thrill of being in Rane’s arms. After all, she had never been with a man who radiated such raw sensuality. All that potent masculinity was bound to have an intoxicating effect on a girl’s senses.
She could hardly wait to see him again. Tonight, she would keep her wits about her. She would ask the questions she had intended to ask last night. And she would try again to get that interview. She grinned inwardly, remembering how Yoda had informed Luke that there was no try. Either she would get that interview or she wouldn’t. And she would.
After taking a quick shower, she dressed in a pair of tan slacks and a white sweater, brushed her hair, and then went downstairs to have breakfast with her father.
He was waiting for her in the kitchen. She smiled as the smell of freshly brewed coffee tickled her nostrils. She had always loved sharing this part of the day with her dad.
“So,” he asked, looking up from the morning paper, “how was your date?”
“Wonderful!”
Her father lifted one brow.
“We went dancing.”
“He must be some dancer, to put that glow in your eyes,” her father remarked dryly.
“Oh, he is.” She smiled at the memory. “He is.”
“I don’t like it,” her father said. “If I thought it would do any good, I’d tell you not to see him again.”
Savanah frowned at her father. “Are you having one of your mysterious premonitions?”
“Not exactly. There’s just something about him…and I don’t just mean the obvious. I mean, why does he keep changing his name every few years?”
“I’d think that would be obvious, but I’ll ask him.” She patted his shoulder as she moved toward the fridge. “I can’t get a story if I don’t see him.”
“Your life is more important to me than any news story.”
“I know, Dad. I love you, too,” Savanah said, then paused. “Do you think I’m in danger?”
“No, not really. The shape-shifters have never been a threat to us. I was just being an old worrywart, I guess.”
“I’ll be fine.” Going to the fridge, she pulled out a carton of eggs for French toast, a package of bacon, and a bottle of orange juice, and proceeded to fix breakfast.
When it was done, she dished it up, got the butter and syrup, then sat at the table across from her father.
“So, what’s up for today?” he asked as he tucked into his breakfast.
“I’m going over to the high school and see what I can dig up on that car accident, and then I’m going to the morgue to see if they turned up anything new on that John Doe those kids found in the vacant lot last week. Nothing really exciting. How about you?”
Her father shook his head. “End-of-the-month paperwork. Interview with some kid who wants to be a reporter. Like you said, nothing really exciting.” He pushed his plate away and reached for his coffee cup. “Ask Chang if there was an unusual amount of blood loss in the John Doe.”
“All right.” Savanah quickly cleared the table. “I’ve got to run. See you tonight.”
“All right, honey. Be careful.”
Frowning, Savanah left the house. It wasn’t unusual for her father to tell her to be careful, but there had been something in his tone this morning, something that bothered her, almost like he was expecting trouble.
Shaking it off, she got into her car and headed downtown.
William Gentry sat at his computer, his fingers flying over the keys. He had asked Savanah to do a story on Santoro the Magnificent, or whatever the hell his name was, on the off chance that she might turn up something on the man that he couldn’t. She was a pretty woman, after all, and men had been known to betray confidences and countries for less.
Leaving the Web, he pulled up the story he was working on. A story in which the magician was the lead suspect. There had been suspicious deaths and disappearances in every town where the man had performed, far too many to be mere coincidence. There was no rhyme or reason to tie the deaths together, other than the fact that all of the victims had been drained of blood.
In truth, the story he was working on would never see the light of day. It wasn’t an assignment for the paper, just more research in an effort to find out who had turned Barbara. In his mind, the Vampire who had done so was also responsible for her death.
Gentry muttered an oath as another Web site turned out to be a dead end. Whoever said you could find anything you were looking for on the Web obviously hadn’t been trying to track a Vampire. For the last few years, he’d had a niggling suspicion that Santoro the Magnificent was more than a magician, that the reason the man could do such amazing tricks was because he possessed Supernatural abilities. He had suspected that Santoro might be a Vampire, but according to Savanah, the magician claimed to be a shape-shifter, creatures that had little in common with Vampires other than their ability to change shape.
Gentry shook his head. It had been a Vampire who had turned Barbara; there was no doubt about that. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he was reminded that Vampires could take on many shapes. Perhaps Santoro the Magician was a Vampire masquerading as a shape-shifter.
He swore softly. Maybe there was no story. Maybe Santoro was nothing more than a talented magician with the ability to change shape. Maybe the fact that people died wherever he performed was just a bizarre coincidence.
Gentry blew out a sigh. But what if Santoro was indeed a Vampire, the very Vampire that had turned Barbara? Was he willing to risk his daughter’s life to find out? He knew Barbara would never have done anything that would put Savanah’s life in danger, not for a few columns of newspaper space, not even to avenge her own death.
And yet, what if Santoro had killed Barbara? The thought repeated itself over and over again. Savanah was his best chance to get close to the magician, a chance that might never come again. Vampire or not, Santoro was hiding something, and Gentry was determined to find out what it was.
Chapter Seven
Savanah sat back in her chair. A glance at the clock on the wall behind her desk told her it was almost quitting time. She’d had a busy day and the time had passed quickly. She had gone to the morgue and talked to Bobby Chang, the mortician, who had informed her that there had been about a teaspoonful of blood left in the John Doe’s body. The mortician had no explanation for the blood loss, other than two small puncture wounds located on the inside of the corpse’s left arm.
Returning to her office, Savanah had read and answered her mail, gone to lunch with one of her coworkers, done a little writing on the story she was working on, and spent every minute she wasn’t busy thinking about Rane.
She had Googled his name on the Web. Lots of links came up for various products and services. There was even an old movie titled Rane, but none of the links applied to her magician. She felt her cheeks heat at the thought of Rane being hers. When she Googled the stage names he had used in the past, she found numerous rave reviews of his shows posted by fans all across the country, as well as dozens of online videos, and at least fifty fan sites. But nothing she didn’t already know.
Feeling as though she were banging her head against the proverbial stone wall, she shut down her computer, grabbed her bag, and headed for home, figuring she had just enough time to get out of her work clothes, take a quick shower, and get ready for her date with Rane. Just thinking about seeing him again put a smile on her face.
“And a song in my heart,” she said, and giggled like a teenager with her first crush.
It was near dark when she