Blue Twilight

Max's heart twisted hard and tight. She slid across the bed until she sat beside him, legs still under her, one hand on his shoulder. "He...died?"

Lou nodded. "Leukemia."

"Oh, my God."

He shook his head. "I couldn't handle it. I was no good to anyone, not my wife, not myself. I threw myself into my work. She fell apart. She wanted another child. I couldn't even bear the thought of going through what we'd gone through with Jimmy again. So she found someone else. End of story."

"End of story?" She was shaking all over. My God, she hadn't so much as had a clue, and if she found just hearing about it this devastating, how must Lou feel? "End of story, Lou? I don't think so."

"Well, it is. There's no more to tell."

"How long ago was this?"

He nodded. "Jimmy would have been fifteen this year."

She closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I know you are, Max. It's okay. It was a long time ago."

"It's not okay. Hell, something like that is never okay. No wonder you're...the way you are."

He looked sideways at her. "How am I?"

She couldn't take her eyes off his face. Everything in her wanted to hold him, comfort him, take away the old, deep shadow of pain in his eyes. But she couldn't do that, because he wouldn't let her. "You're...solitary and kind of shielded. You never go too deep, never get too close. Sometimes I get the feeling you keep the truest part of yourself locked away in a dungeon somewhere deep inside you. And now I know why."

He pursed his lips as if considering those words, and then he dismissed them with a shake of his head. "I'm just who I am. No deep, dark psychological knots to untangle. Nothing locked away or hidden. It's more like I've been worn down until everything in me is callused and tough, like old leather." He shrugged. "It's a good way to be."

"I'll bet. Nothing can hurt old leather."

He smirked at her. She lifted a hand to his cheek, staring into his eyes. "I am so sorry you lost your little boy, Lou. You must have been a wonderful dad"

He got to his feet rather abruptly. "Go to sleep, Max. Get some rest. We have a lot to do tomorrow." She nodded. "Good night, Lou."

"'Night. Lock up behind me."

He walked out of her room.

Max slid out of bed to go to the door and turned the dead bolt, because she knew he would be listening for that on the other side. Then she waited, to give him time to get back to his own room. Five minutes, she figured, ought to be plenty.

She used that time to ponder her new knowledge about Lou. No wonder he was afraid of relationships. He hadn't healed from his failed marriage, from his lost little boy. He hadn't let himself heal.

She knew Lou. Everything he did, he either did very well or he gave up. She'd joked with him once about how he'd tried golf and was lousy at it. So he'd never played the game again.

He was a good cop. Hell, he was a great cop. If he hadn't been, she thought, he would have quit as a rookie and looked for a different profession.

So he'd been married. And his marriage had failed. He'd had a child and lost him. He'd made up his mind those things were things he wasn't meant to do, wasn't any good at and would never do again.

She closed her eyes. God, it was going to be harder to get through to him than she had even imagined.

Forcibly, she tugged her mind back to the task at hand. She glanced at the clock but wasn't sure Lou had put it back together in a way that was entirely reliable, so she counted off time in her head, even as she gathered up a credit card, notepad, pen and her trusty penlight. When enough time had passed, she unlocked the door, opened it and peered outside.

She saw no one. Crickets chirped and sang in the distance. She smelled night air, sea-smells. They were not far from the shore. It was light outside; the light of the now-lopsided waning moon beamed brightly, bathing everything in a soft glow. It made up for the broken streetlight that stood like a crippled sentry over the parking lot.

Slipping outside, Max walked quickly, quietly, in her bare feet to the motel office, then cupped her hands around her eyes to peer through the window.

No lights were on. No one seemed to be around. She tried the door, but it was locked. Didn't matter. She'd scoped it out earlier. Now she headed around to the side, where there was a window. It was an old window, and she flipped the lock around easily by sliding a credit card between the panes. Then she opened it wide and climbed inside.

The office was tiny. There was a four-foot length of counter, a small workspace behind it, and a door behind that. That door was closed now. She hadn't been able to see enough last time she'd been in here to decide whether that door led to a large office or a small apartment. If the latter, that creepy young clerk might be lurking back there even now.

She moved silently, slipping behind the counter, sliding the penlight from her jeans pocket, glancing behind her over and over. She bent to the shelves under the counter and slid out the guest registry. Setting it on the counter, she opened it and found her own registration. Then she started copying down the names, addresses, license plate numbers and telephone numbers of the people who had been there prior to her. She decided to get as many names and addresses as time allowed.

She stood there, flipping pages and scribbling down names-hell, there weren't very many.

A noise-so soft it might have been her own pulse beating in her throat-made her pen go still. She looked behind her. The door was still closed.

Carefully she tore the top page from her notepad, folded it small and slipped it into her jeans pocket. Then she bent over the registry to begin filling a second page.

She was jotting the third entry on that page when the back of her head exploded in pain. White light flashed like lightning in her mind, and then she was pitched into darkness.

Lou didn't go back to sleep. Of course he didn't go back to sleep.

How the hell did Max manage to get to him the way she did? How did she get him to talk about things he had lived more than a decade without sharing with anyone else?

Hell, how did she manage to do any of the things she did to him? Ever since he'd known her-on and off for close to ten years now-he'd taken her flirting as playful teasing and nothing more. Of course, they'd never been more than mere acquaintances-until the Frank Stiles case.

It was only then, when they'd been thrown together on a daily basis in the height of a life-and-death situation, that he'd begun to suspect her playful flirting might be something more.

And now he was sure of it. At least, he was sure she thought it was. And he was damned if he knew what to do about it.

She was wrong about him. He hadn't been a wonderful father. Hadn't been much of a husband, either. He'd spent far too much time working, always assuming there would be time for his family later. It was only when Jimmy was diagnosed that he'd realized there might not be a later. And sure, he'd taken time off then, tried to make up for his lack of attention. But it was too little too late. He hadn't blamed Barbara for leaving him. He'd expected it. And he'd managed to go twelve years without feeling anything more than a slight attraction toward any woman.

He felt something for Max, though. Hell, he had a pulse. Naturally he felt something for her. Who wouldn't? The thing was, it went way beyond attraction. But dammit, he just wasn't ready-didn't think he would ever be ready-for a relationship like one with her would have to be.

And she was too special for a fling. A fling would destroy what they had, and maybe destroy her, too. He didn't see that there were any options other than those two-a serious, passionate, long-term relationship, or a fling-except for keeping what they currently had. A growing and genuine friendship. Mutual respect. Admiration. He liked her, and she liked him.

Yet more than ever, he feared Max wasn't going to settle for that.

He needed to take a walk. Walk her off. Hell, being friends was great, in theory. But when she looked up at him with those big green eyes of hers, and he looked back down at her wearing a tiny T-shirt with no bra underneath, with her smooth, taut belly showing above her jeans, and her bare feet so goddamn cute he wanted to kiss them...hell.

Yep, a walk. Clear his head.

He opened his door, stepped outside and saw a car in front of the motel office. Taillights lit briefly. Then the trunk popped open. He glimpsed the form then, lying on the ground in front of the building.

Max!

He dove for his gun, lunged back outside in time to see a dark form bending over her and ran full bore. He saw something like surprise in the man's eyes-as if the woman he was about to scoop up was not the one he'd expected-but then that vanished when he swung his head toward Lou just in time to meet the butt end of Lou's handgun.

The stranger went down hard, landing flat on his back, but he sprang up again, hissing, teeth bared.

And that was it. There was no longer any doubt about what this guy was.

Lou pointed the gun at him. "Stay the fuck away from her, you bloodsucking bastard!" He crouched between the immortal and Max.

The vamp's eyes, feral and almost glowing, narrowed on him. "You can't kill me with that toy."

"I know what I can do with this toy, pal. I can make you hurt like you never hurt in your life. And if I place the bullet right, I can make sure you bleed out before sunup"

Surprise registered in the vampire's eyes. "You know more than any mortal ought to know."

"I know enough to hold my own against you. Get the hell out of here."

The vampire lunged. Lou fired the gun once-a warning shot-and the dark creature froze in place. He was tall, powerfully built, with long black hair that moved in he night breeze as if with a life of its own. His black eyes held Lou's for a long moment. "You have something that belongs to me, mortal. And I will have it from you."

"If you're talking about Max, it'll have to be over my dead body, mister. And even then, I might give you a run for your money."

With one lingering look, the vampire turned on his heel and became no more than a blur. Vanished. Those goddamn vamps gave him a headache when they decided to move at speeds too fast for the human eye to follow, Lou thought. No time passed between that last lingering look and the car speeding away into the night. None.

He thought he moved almost as fast himself, because a heartbeat later he was gathering Max to him, pushing her hair away from her face to search for signs of life. "Maxie? Come on, baby, talk to me."

He heard motel room doors opening, heard people asking what was happening, heard Stormy cry out as she and Jason came racing forward. Lou cradled Max's head with one hand, searching her slender neck for a pulse with the other. He found one, steady and strong, and at the same instant he felt sticky warmth coating his palm where he cradled her head. "Oh, hell. Max."

"What happened?" Stormy asked when she got to his side. "I heard a shot."

"That was me, chasing off the bad guy. She's hurt. I need a light."

Jason produced one, kneeling low and aiming it at Max's head. The manager was coming out of the motel office now, blinking sleep from his eyes. "What happened?"

"Oh, God, she's bleeding, " Stormy said.

Lou scooped her off the pavement. "Let's get her back to the room. You. Motel-guy."

"It's Gary ."

"Call the police, Gary. And if you have a doctor in this town, get him out here, too. Can you handle that?"

The young man nodded, and Lou carried Max back-not to her room, but to his own. He laid her on the bed, rolling her gently onto one side. Jason flipped on lights. Stormy brought a wet cloth, and Lou took it from her, dabbing the blood away until he finally man-aged to find the small cut in Max's scalp.

Not a crushed skull. Not a bullet hole. Not a life-threatening injury. Jesus, he'd been sick, physically sick, close to vomiting, with fear for her. The relief that washed through him now made his knees weak.

He pressed the cloth to the wound, using pressure to stop the bleeding and letting her body lie flat.

Max squinted and frowned and puckered her face al-most comically, all without opening her eyes. "Ow. Damn, that hurts."

"I'll bet it does. Open your eyes, honey."

She opened them slowly, and only to mere slits. "The light's too bright. My head hurts."

"That's because somebody hit you with something." Lou snagged a shirt off the back of a chair and draped it over the bedside lamp. "That better?"

She peered out again. "Yeah."

"What happened, Max? You remember anything?"

Her brows drew closer, and she shifted her eyes past him, almost as if checking out who else was in the room. "Give me some time, my head's spinning."

Lou nodded.

"How did you know I was in trouble?" she asked.

"Couldn't sleep. Went out for some air and saw you lying in the parking lot behind a car. Some guy popped the trunk and looked to be about to toss you into it."

Her eyes opened wider. "Someone was trying to kidnap me?"

Lou nodded. "Looked like. I fired a warning shot and he took off." He licked his lips. "He took off...fast." Max blinked. "How fast?"

Lou shrugged, but held her eyes. "Beck, go see where that goddamn clerk is with getting us a doctor out here. She needs a couple of stitches."

"I'm on it, " Jason said, running from the room.

Lou caught Stormy's eye, nodded toward the door. She went to it and closed it. Lou said, "If there's a 'prince' in charge of Endover, I just met him, and there's no doubt in my mind, the guy's a vamp, " he said.

"Yeah, well, just to placate my skeptical nature, Lou, can you tell me what you're basing this on?" Max asked.

"The fangs, mostly."

"Oh, hell." Max looked at Stormy. "Did Lou tell you our rooms are all bugged?"

"No"

"I figured it could wait until morning, " Lou said. Stormy threw up her hands and paced the room. "What the hell is going on here? Bugged rooms? Midnight visitors? Why would some vamp want to kidnap Max?" "Maybe the same reason he kidnapped Delia and her friend?" Lou suggested.

Stormy swore softly. "I'm going back outside to keep an eye on things. See if anyone saw anything" "Watch your back, " Max called.

She gave a nod, then headed out the door.

Max looked at Lou, smiled a little. "You saved my ass" "Your ass shouldn't have been out there in the first place. What happened, Max?"

She shrugged. "I broke into the motel office. Thought I'd get the names of some former guests here over the past few months, see if anything interesting showed up." He closed his eyes, shook his head slowly.

"Someone clocked me on the head from behind. I didn't see who, but I'd bet dollars to doughnuts it was that Gary."

"What makes you think so?"

"Like I said, it was from behind. The only thing behind me was the door that leads from the motel office into-into whatever it leads into. Probably his apartment."

`And no one else was around?"

"Whoever it was came from beyond that closed door."

"Unless it was someone who moves too fast to be seen." "A vampire wouldn't need to bash me on the head to knock me out, " she reminded him.

Lou pursed his lips. "Did you get any information out of this expedition, or just risk your life for kicks?"

"Kicks, mostly, " she said. "I had a notepad, but I don't suppose it was lying out there next to me."

"No."

She sighed, then seemed to brighten. "Wanna see what's in my pants?"

He shot her a look even as her words heated his blood and sped up his pulse. "You haven't even got the hole in your head stitched up yet."

She smiled slowly, shifting her position.

Lou pressed a hand to her shoulder. "Lie still. Every time you move, the bleeding starts to get worse."

"Then I guess you get to put your hand in my jeans. Not that I mind."

What the hell was she up to? he wondered, searching her eyes as the brief, forbidden image of him sliding his hand where it should never be sliding crossed his mind and slithered through his groin.

"Front pocket, my right, your left."

Lou slid his hand into the pocket she indicated and knew she was loving this. Hell, he was loving it, too, as much as he hated to admit it.

So then, what's your problem?

The little voice in his head sounded a lot like Max's. He ignored it and thrust his hand a little deeper, then pulled out a folded piece of notepaper.

Unfolding it, he read the words there, partly out of curiosity and partly because he didn't want to look at Max's eyes right then. They would either be full of mischief or full of heat. Of the two, the heat scared him more.

The paper held a list of names and contact info. He lifted his brows, forgot his caution, met her eyes.

"There were more. Get a fresh pad and pen, and I'll tell you what I can remember."

Someone knocked. "Too late. Try to hold on to them, Max." He got up, started for the door, pocketing her notes on the way. Before he opened it, he looked back at her. "That was good work. Quick thinking." '

"Thanks."

"I didn't say I approved of the way you went about it, kid. No information is worth risking your life."

"If I'd known I was risking my life, I might have thought twice, " she told him.

He opened the door to the police chief and a frail-looking man with less pigment than an albino, who had to be the doctor.

"Three stitches, " Stormy said. "Shoot, girl, you're gonna have to do a lot better than that to catch-up to me."

"Give me time. I'm still young yet, " Max said. She was sitting up now, still in Lou's bed. The police chief and the doctor had gone. Jason stood. He'd barely sat down since he'd come in. And now he was on his feet again almost before his rear end had time to settle in the chair.

Max heaved a sigh and turned to lower her feet to the floor. "It's time we all went to bed. We won't be worth a damn tomorrow without some sleep."

"I think you and Storm should stay here, " Lou said. "Share the bed. I'll take the chair."

Stormy held up a hand. "No way, Lou. I'm going to my own room. Don't worry, I'll lock up. Believe me, if anyone tries to get in, you'll hear me. I'm only two doors down. 'Night, Maxie. See you in the morning."

"'Night."

Stormy and Jason left them then. Lou sighed, not liking it a bit, Max knew, but he also knew better than to argue with Stormy. You couldn't win. Then he turned to Max. "How about you?"

"What kind of a question is that?"

He actually smiled, just a little. She saw it, before he moved to the closet for the extra blanket and pillow tucked inside on a shelf.

"Lou, don't sleep in the chair. Come on, I promise your virtue will be safe. You'll be miserable in that little chair all night."

"I'll be fine"

She sighed. "You don't trust me. Do you honestly think I'm so damn desperate for you that I'd attack you in your sleep, even though I just got my head bashed in? Jesus, Lou, is that what you really think of me?"

"I don't think that at all."

"No? Then prove it." She slid underneath the covers and patted the spot beside her.

He stood there, blanket and pillow under one arm, halfway between the chair and the bed.

"Maybe it's not me you don't trust? Maybe it's yourself."

"Don't be ridiculous."

She shrugged. "Well, if you trust me, and you trust yourself..." She patted the bed again.

Lou sighed and came to the bed. "Fine. If it'll make you settle down and go to sleep." He sat down, tossed the pillow behind him and lay back on it. On top of the covers.

Man, he just wasn't taking any chances, was he? she thought. He shook the extra blanket out and laid it over him, closed his eyes.

Max wriggled underneath the covers, maneuvering her jeans off, then tossed them onto the floor. "You gonna sleep in your clothes, Lou?"

"Yep" He reached out for the lamp beside the bed and snapped it off. "'Night, Maxie."

"'Night, Lou."

The vampire knew when they returned to his domain. He felt their presence, sensed it as clearly as he could sense the sunrise. And hers most of all.

It's good that you returned, he told Jason Beck, invading the man's mind as easily as he could stroll through a moonlit garden. I would not have been pleased had you broken your word to me.

Beck sat up in his bed, looking around his darkened motel room. But the vampire wasn't there. He relaxed slightly when he realized that. "How much longer do you think I can keep them here? They're getting suspicious of me."

The vampire knew it was true. But mostly the young man was impatient to have his sister back. Too bad. He wasn't ready yet. He needed to know more about the woman. There was something terribly wrong-with her, with his own feelings, with this entire situation. And he hadn't lived for centuries by rushing into situations without first knowing all the risks.

Be patient, he told Beck. It won't be much longer. "I want my sister back, " the man said. "I want her back soon."

The vampire didn't reply.

Beck went on. "You said you wouldn't hurt my friends. But you hurt Max last night."

Not me. One of my henchmen. It was a mistake, and one for which he will be punished.

"I can't betray them unless I know they won't be harmed, " Jason Beck said.

So the young man had a hint of honor, of nobility. Not one strong enough that he would risk his sister's life, however. Best to reassure him, ensure his continued cooperation, the vampire decided. It won't happen again. I give you my word.

And then, before Beck could reply, he retreated from the man's mind to focus on the myriad things plaguing his own.

Lou knew damn well that he was taking a huge risk. Lately, he'd been thinking about Max in ways he'd managed to avoid until now. Getting into bed with her was going to make things far worse. And damn, he didn't want her to know how attracted to her he was. She would never let up if she knew-not until he gave in. And giving in would end up ruining them both. She would build up romantic fantasies, while he fought to keep things purely physical. She would get hurt, and she would end up hating him. Hell, if he hurt her, he'd end up hating himself.

He couldn't give her what she wanted: a deep, abiding, romantic kind of love. He didn't have it left in him. His heart had been emptied a long time ago. There was nothing inside it to give to her.

It wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it.

And yet he let her twist him around her little finger, just like he always had. He got into that bed knowing damn well it was a bad idea, partly because there had been a hint of hurt in her eyes when he said no, and partly because he wanted to be there as badly as she wanted him there.

So when he woke the next morning, he was not surprised to find Max's little body wrapped around him like a spider monkey. She'd kicked off her covers and rolled onto her side, facing him. Her head lay on his chest, so that the mingled scents of her hair and the antiseptic the doctor had applied surrounded him. Her arm lay across him, hand resting on his shoulder. He lifted his head just slightly to look down at her. And, hell, her thigh was across his body-across his pelvis. And it was firm, and naked, and way too damn delectable.

He felt a stirring in his groin and realized he had to ease out from under her before she woke, because in a minute more, she would know beyond any doubt that he wanted her. But even as he started to shift, she sighed softly, squeezed his shoulder and lifted her head to blink at him with sexy, sleepy eyes. "'Morning, Lou."

"'Morning."

She smiled slowly, and her hand moved to his face, palm rubbing his cheek. "Stubbly. I like it."

"Max..."

She moved a little closer, then ran her cheek across his.

Jesus, he was going to catch fire if she didn't get off him soon. "Time to get up, honey. How's your head?"

"Achy. Sore. And the pain med the doc gave me is still making me a little loopy, I think. At least, that's what I'll say when you yell at me later."

"Why will I yell at you later?"

"'Cause I'm going to kiss you good morning" She turned as she said it, so her face was very, very close to his. Her mouth, her lips, no more than a breath away. "Don't worry, you won't even enjoy it. Morning breath and all."

He hadn't slept. Had been up pacing three different times and had brushed his teeth the last time-mortified at the prospect that he would have offensive breath and she would be close enough to notice.

She moved closer. She smelled like peppermint. He could have turned his head away. Yeah, he could have-if he were made of stone, maybe. But he wasn't made of stone, and he didn't turn his head. He stayed still, and hated her for moving so slowly that he had plenty of time to avoid her. Hated that she was going to know, no matter what kind of spin he might try to put on this later-she was going to know-he'd wanted this. And then some.

Her lips pressed to his, soft and moist, and her eyes fell closed, lashes sweeping downward to rest on her cheeks. Her breath stuttered out of her as her mouth locked to his with gentle suction, and one of her hands slid along the side of his face and upward, into his hair, while the other moved in tiny circles, fingers kneading, on his chest.

Every practical, logical thought process came to a grinding halt as Lou's insides melted like butter in the sun. He lost every sense except that of feeling. Her mouth on his, moving, hungry. Her body, stretched over his, and the almost imperceptible movements of her hips-so slight, so subtle. And her thigh over his groin, pressing, moving. Oh, God. His palm was skimming over that smooth, taut thigh now, and he didn't remember moving it. He was kissing her back. Jesus, he was kissing her back.

He slid his hand into her hair, to hold her head just right...but his fingers touched the edges of the bandage at the back of her head. And that reminded him of the sight of her lying there, on the pavement. His fear. The creature bending over her. His own fury. Then gathering her up into his arms, every protective instinct on high beam.

This was Maxie. This was his adorable, intrepid, pain-in-the-ass best friend. What the hell was he doing? He opened his eyes, gently cupped her face and pulled back, breaking the kiss. Her eyes opened, sexy and full of green fire. "Oh, Lou..."

"Don't, Max. This is...a bad idea."

She pouted, but rolled off him. "At least I know the truth now."

"What truth is that?" He sat up in the bed, turning his back to her to put his feet on the floor.

"That it's mutual. You feel it, too."

"I tried to explain this to you before, kid. I'm human, and I'm male. A pretty girl kisses me, there are certain reactions that are going to happen. The body takes over, and the mind kind of shuts down. It's a guy thing."

"And that's all it was. Physical."

"That's all it was."

She sighed. "I think you're a liar."

"Well, I think you are, " he shot back, eager to change the subject. He got to his feet, hard as hell and determined to keep his back to her, so he only looked over his shoulder as he said it, and kept walking toward the bathroom.

"I'm a liar? What did I lie about?"

"The morning breath."

She smiled slowly. "I found one of those mints they leave on the pillows."

"You're sneaky as hell."

"But I taste like heaven."

Her eyes burned into his, and he had to force himself to turn away, open the bathroom door and step inside for a brisk, frigid shower.

Forty-four years old, he told himself. He felt about seventeen when he was around her, and randy as a billy goat on the Fourth of July. Damn.