"You want the Executioner at your back." I stared at him for a space of heartbeats. The true horror of what he'd just said floated slowly through my mind. "I thought the two marks were accident. That you panicked. You meant all along to mark me, didn't you?"
He just smiled.
"Answer me, you son of a bitch."
"If the chance arose, I was not averse to it."
"Not averse to it!" I was almost yelling. "You cold-bloodedly chose me to be your human servant! Why?"
"You are the Executioner."
"Damn you, what does that mean?"
"It is impressive to be the vampire who finally caught you."
"You haven't caught me."
"If you would behave yourself, the others would think so. Only you and I need know that it is pretense."
I shook my head. "I won't play your game, Jean-Claude."
"You will not help me?"
"You got it."
"I offer you immortality. Without the compromise of vampirism. I offer you myself. There have been women over the years who would have done anything I asked just for that."
"Sex is sex, Jean-Claude. No one's that good."
He smiled slightly. "Vampires are different, ma petite. If you were not so stubborn, you might find out how different."
I had to look away from his eyes. The look was too intimate. Too full of possibilities.
"There's only one thing I want from you," I said.
"And what is that, ma petite?"
"All right, two things. First, stop calling me ma petite; second, let me go. Wipe these damn marks away."
"You may have the first request, Anita."
"And the second?"
"I cannot, even if I wanted to."
"Which you don't," I said.
"Which I don't."
"Stay away from me, Jean-Claude. Stay the f**k away from me, or I'll kill you."
"Many people have tried through the years."
"How many of them had eighteen kills?"
His eyes widened just a bit. "None. There was this man in Hungary who swore he killed five."
"What happened to him?"
"I tore his throat out."
"You understand this, Jean-Claude. I would rather have my throat torn out. I would rather die trying to kill you than submit to you." I stared at him, trying to see if he understood any of what I said. "Say something."
"I have heard your words. I know you mean them." He was suddenly standing in front of me. I hadn't seen him move, hadn't felt him in my head. He was just suddenly inches in front of me. I think I gasped.
"Could you truly kill me?" His voice was like silk on a wound, gentle with an edge of pain. Like sex. It was like velvet rubbing inside my skull. It felt good, even with fear tearing through my body. Shit. He could still have me. Still take me down. No way.
I looked up into his so-blue eyes and said, "Yes."
I meant it. He blinked once, gracefully, and stepped back. "You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met," he said. There was no play in his voice this time. It was a flat statement.
"That's the nicest compliment you've ever paid me."
He stood in front of me, hands at his sides. He stood very still. Snakes or birds can stand utterly still but even a snake has a sense of aliveness, of action waiting to resume. Jean-Claude stood there with no sense of anything, as if despite what my eyes told me, he had vanished. He was not there at all. The dead make no noise.
"What happened to your face?"
I touched the swollen cheek before I could stop myself. "Nothing," I lied.
"Who hit you?"
"Why, so you can go beat him up?"
"One of the fringe benefits of being my servant is my protection."
"I don't need your protection, Jean-Claude."
"He hurt you."
"And I shoved a gun into his groin and made him tell me everything he knew," I said.
Jean-Claude smiled. "You did what?"
"I shoved a gun into his balls, alright?"
His eyes started to sparkle. Laughter spread across his face and burst out between his lips. He laughed full-throated.
The laugh was like candy: sweet, and infectious. If you could bottle Jean-Claude's laugh, I know it would be fattening. Or orgasmic.
"Ma petite, ma petite, you are absolutely marvelous."
I stared at him, letting that wonderful, touchable laugh roll around me. It was time to go. It is very hard to be dignified when someone is laughing uproariously at you. But I managed.
My parting shot made him laugh harder. "Stop calling me ma petite."
Chapter 22
I stepped back out into the noise of the club. Charles was standing beside the table, not sitting. He looked uncomfortable from a distance. What had gone wrong now?
His big hands were twisted together. Dark face scrunched up into near pain. A kind God had made Charles look big and bad, because inside he was all marshmallow. If I'd had Charles's natural size and strength, I'd have been a guaranteed bad ass. It was sort of sad and unfair.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I called Caroline," he said.
"And?"
"The baby-sitter's sick. And Caroline's been called in to the hospital. Someone has to stay with Sam while she goes to work."
"Mm-huh," I said.
He didn't look the least bit tough when he said, "Can going down to the Tenderloin wait until tomorrow?"
I shook my head.
"You're not going to go down there alone," Charles said. "Are you?"
I stared up at the great mountain of a man, and sighed. "I can't wait, Charles."
"But the Tenderloin." He lowered his voice as if just saying the word too loud would bring a cloud of pimps and prostitutes to descend upon us. "You can't go down there alone at night."
"I've gone worse places, Charles. I'll be all right."
"No, I won't let you go alone. Caroline can just get a new sitter or tell the hospital no." He smiled when he said it. Always happy to help a friend. Caroline would give him hell for it. Worst of all, now I didn't want to take Charles with me. You had to do more than look tough.
What if Gaynor got wind of me questioning Wanda? What if he found Charles and thought he was involved? No. It had been selfish to risk Charles. He had a four-year-old son. And a wife.
Harold Gaynor would eat Charles raw for dinner. I couldn't involve him. He was a big, friendly, eager-to-please bear. A lovable, cuddly bear. I didn't need a teddy bear for backup. I needed someone who would be able to take any heat that Gaynor might send our way.
I had an idea.
"Go home, Charles. I won't go alone. I promise."
He looked uncertain. Like maybe he didn't trust me. Fancy that. "Anita, are you sure? I won't leave you hanging like this."
"Go on, Charles. I'll take backup."
"Who can you get at this hour?"
"No questions. Go home to your son."
He looked uncertain, but relieved. He hadn't really wanted to go to the Tenderloin. Maybe Caroline's short leash was what Charles wanted, needed. An excuse for all the things he really didn't want to do. What a basis for a marriage.
But, hey, if it works, don't fix it.
Charles left with many apologies. But I knew he was glad to go. I would remember that he had been glad to go.
I knocked on the office door. There was a silence, then, "Come in, Anita."
How had he known it was me? I wouldn't ask. I didn't want to know.
Jean-Claude seemed to be checking figures in a large ledger. It looked antique with yellowed pages and fading ink. The ledger looked like something Bob Crachit should have been scribbling in on a cold Christmas Eve.
"What have I done to merit two visits in one night?" he said.
Looking at him now, I felt silly. I spent all this time avoiding him. Now I was going to invite him to accompany me on a bit of sleuthing? But it would kill two bats with one stone. It would please Jean-Claude, and I really didn't want him angry with me, if I could avoid it. And if Gaynor did try to go up against Jean-Claude, I was betting on Jean-Claude.
It was what Jean-Claude had done to me a few weeks ago. He had chosen me as the vampire's champion. Put me up against a monster that had slain three master vampires. And he had bet that I would come out on top against Nikolaos. I had, but just barely.
What was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. I smiled sweetly at him. Pleased to be able to return the favor so quickly.