"A fluke," I said, and went toward the kitchen to get a drink. "Do you want a gla.s.s of mineral water?" She nodded yes. "Frizzante or or naturale naturale?" I asked her, using the Italian for water with bubbles or without them.

"Frizzante, with a slice of lemon if it wouldn't be too much trouble," she said, following me. "What kind of a fluke?"

"You remember Cormac O'Reilly?" I opened a bottle of Pellegrino, took a piece of lemon from a dish in the fridge, and handed the gla.s.s to Mar-Mar.

She took it from me and said, "You mean the dancer? The one who was in A Chorus Line A Chorus Line twenty years ago? I thought you two weren't speaking." twenty years ago? I thought you two weren't speaking."

"Well, we weren't, but I ran into him a while ago and we made up. He's working on this historical theater project and thought I might be good at it too. It's definitely an advantage when you've seen the items actually in use." I grinned. "The NPS was still hiring-it's just a temporary position-so I got the job. I think it will be interesting. I've been bored lately."

"Idle hands are the devil's workshop," Mar-Mar muttered. "You know you can always work with Greenpeace."

"Someone else is going to have to save the whales, Ma," I said. "This job is enough for me. And I can work at night."

"As long as you're happy," she said with a sigh that meant she wasn't, and got back to the point of her visit. "You know, it wouldn't hurt to go out just once with Zoe's son. At least try it. He seems like a nice boy."

"I don't think so, Ma."

"For me. Just do it for me. Look, you don't even have to go out on a real date. Come by my place next Sat.u.r.day night. I'll have Zoe and Louis in for drinks."

"Louis?" I said.

"He's French, from Louisiana. It's that that branch of the family, you know, but he's quite nice." branch of the family, you know, but he's quite nice."

I really didn't know anything about that that branch of the family except some nasty rumors. Although I didn't care about Louis's lineage, I was sure I wouldn't like him. I am not attracted to most vampire men. In any case, I knew my mother wouldn't give up until I agreed. I gave in. "Sure, Ma, drinks will be fine." branch of the family except some nasty rumors. Although I didn't care about Louis's lineage, I was sure I wouldn't like him. I am not attracted to most vampire men. In any case, I knew my mother wouldn't give up until I agreed. I gave in. "Sure, Ma, drinks will be fine."

A brilliant smile lit up my mother's face. Her mission accomplished, she quickly finished up her mineral water and announced that she was meeting friends in the East Village. After bestowing a quick kiss on both my cheeks, European style, she left. I must admit that my apartment felt empty once she had gone.

After a few hours of meditation and listening to Bach's Goldberg Variations, I fell into a deep sleep at dawn. When I finally heard the alarm-I must have hit the snooze b.u.t.ton five or six times without regaining full consciousness-twilight was falling. I had less than an hour to get dressed and down to Twenty-third Street. I threw on a sweater and a pair of jeans. I didn't mind being rushed. Where there had once been a dull ache in my heart, I felt light and giddy from both adrenaline and optimism. I could be a great spy; I just knew it. Whatever J wanted me to do, I felt confident I could handle it. It wouldn't be long before I realized how self-deluded I was at that moment. But ignorance is bliss, and I never again felt so happy as I did that day. I never again slept so soundly or so long.

J was waiting for me in the conference room. A grin on my face, my footsteps light and quick, I burst through the door. Seeing his grim face felt like hitting a brick wall.

"Sit down, Miss Urban," he said flatly. I did.

"We have a lot of material to review. You will meet your target tomorrow, so you don't have much time to prepare." He avoided my eyes. I sought out his, but failed to make contact, so I stared at his strong jaw, noted the shadow of a beard beginning to show, watched the movement of his mouth. I began to imagine how those lips would feel tracing down the center of my naked back. A warm, shivery feeling chased up and down my spine where his lips left little kisses...

"Miss Urban, when you contact us," he said roughly, stopping my sweet dreams, "you should use your code name, Hermes."

"Ah, the Greek G.o.d. The messenger. And what is yours?"

"Ringmaster."

"So you're calling the shots."

"Whatever. I don't pick the names, Miss Urban," he said. "Now, to get on with this. You represent a private collector of aboriginal art. The collector is real. The art is real. Bonaventure knows of the collection and very much wants to purchase items from it. The collector refuses to have direct contact with him. Bonaventure has tried. He has been turned down. Finally the collector has agreed to work through a middleman-you. This gives you entree into Bonaventure's apartment. You have an appointment tomorrow at seven thirty P.M."

"What's the address?"

"It's in this file." He picked up a nine-by-twelve brown envelope and handed it to me. "In there is all you need to know about the collector and the art you are going to sell. Read it, memorize it, then destroy it. And by destroy I mean burn it." I slipped the envelope into my Louis Vuitton backpack. "You need to insinuate yourself into Bonaventure's life. That is where you can put your beauty and charm to use."

I finally managed to look him in the eyes. His held mine for a brief moment; then he deliberately looked away. It was enough. The chemistry was there. He knew it, and I knew it. I pulled my attention back to my coming a.s.signment. "What am I supposed to do, exactly?" I asked.

"Your first task is to plant some listening devices inside Bonaventure's apartment. We haven't been able to pick up much from outside the building. We think he's jamming our directional mikes."

J handed me a small box. "The devices and the instructions about where to plant them, and how, are in here. Again, memorize your instructions, then destroy the paper and this container. Transport the bugs themselves in with your pocket change. Their cases look like dimes. The devices inside the case are much smaller." He handed me the small package. I dropped it into my backpack.

"Now, your second objective. We need you to get information on the recipients of Bonaventure's next big weapons delivery. We already know they belong to a terrorist cell operating in this area, somewhere near New York City. And we know they will pay him in diamonds..."

"Ah, the Benny Polycarp connection," I said.

"You're very quick, Miss Urban. Yes, that is how your fellow operative will be connected to this mission. She will be called in to evaluate and appraise the payment. We've worked hard setting this operation up. You're the linchpin that holds it all together. You are going to be our means to identify the terrorists and stop them."

"What does 'stop them' mean?" I said. "Am I supposed to kill someone?"

"Probably not. You're not there to terminate anyone, just to get us information. The art deal gives Bonaventure the need for major cash, and fast. You might look at your role as a conveyer of knowledge. You plant the listening device. You pick up information on who is bringing the cash to Bonaventure, who is getting the weapons, and when the exchange will take place. Anything beyond that will be a bonus. Other members of our agency will prevent the terrorists from getting the weapons and arrest them. Maybe we will be able to turn one of them to our side and make him a double agent. We haven't had much success in infiltrating these groups. But that's not your job. Your job is to make sure we have enough data to interrupt the exchange and catch the buyers.

"As for Bonaventure himself, there will always be merchants of death like him. Frankly he is more useful to us alive than dead. We know his weaknesses, and through you, we hope to be able to control him."

"And what are his weaknesses?"

"Greed, for one. An obsessive personality, for another. He is a collector and he'll go to extraordinary lengths to obtain an item he wants. Don't make it too easy for him. The quest is part of what gives him pleasure. The art collection you represent has pieces he desperately wants to acquire. Some of them were used in New Guinea witchcraft rituals. Most people would find them repugnant, but Bonaventure likes that sort of thing. He also likes beautiful women, and that is another weakness you will need to exploit."

"Do I have to sleep with him?" I said, my voice hardening.

"What you do to get the information is up to you," J said, and looked at me as if to measure my reaction.

"Well, I won't have s.e.x with him," I said, glaring at him. "I'm not a wh.o.r.e."

"I never implied you were, Miss Urban," he said more softly, almost kindly. "What you do in the course of the mission-what any of us do-we do in order to get the job done. I believe you will do whatever it takes. But how you win Bonaventure's confidence, how you capture his trust, to the extent he ever trusts anyone, will be your decision." He was still looking at me then, and a hot wind seemed to stir my blood. I was drawn to J as if a golden wire reached out from his soul and wound around my heart, reeling me in. Such feelings could lead only to hurt and pain, I knew. But at that moment I thought of nothing but of having his mouth cover mine. I wasn't thinking very clearly. No, that's not true: I wasn't thinking at all.

I leaned closer to J. He didn't draw back. "In other words, s.e.x is a weapon I may choose to use. Or not." I could feel his breath touch my face. I knew his desire was rising up to answer mine. I expected him to kiss me...

Instead a flicker of something like surprise crossed his face. He pulled back as if he had been burned. His eyes changed, becoming flat and angry. "Let me get something clear. Miss Urban. We will be working closely together, but my my relationship with relationship with all all Darkwing team members is the same. It's a professional one. I am your team leader. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more." Darkwing team members is the same. It's a professional one. I am your team leader. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more."

Liar, I thought to myself. I know you feel the same pull I do I know you feel the same pull I do.

He stood up and pushed his chair back. "Furthermore, and I will not repeat this again"-he spit the words out-"what you are disgusts me. A wh.o.r.e would be more moral. You are a monster, not a woman. I know about the vampires' magnetism and the magical attraction that pulls humans to them so they can satisfy their l.u.s.t for blood. You are depraved. All of you are nothing more than beasts. And no matter what your powers, I would never-do you hear me?-never so much as touch you."

Something snapped in me then. An emotional gate opened and white-hot anger poured through. He had rejected me as a woman, and more than that, he had demonized my entire race. His arrogance and his belief in his human human superiority pushed me over the edge. I returned his words with ones of my own, hard as adamantine. "You are right, J. You are so, so right. I am superiority pushed me over the edge. I returned his words with ones of my own, hard as adamantine. "You are right, J. You are so, so right. I am not not human. I human. I am am a monster." I paused for moment and slowly got to my feet. "I am a a monster." I paused for moment and slowly got to my feet. "I am a vampire vampire," I hissed. "You need to know exactly what that means." To his shock and amazement I pulled off my sweater and shimmied out of my jeans as fast as any quick-change artist. And then, having committed myself to what was about to happen, I let the transformation into my bat shape begin...

A dark veil began to swirl around me, blurring the very air. I felt myself hover between two worlds before a jolt of energy surged through my blood. I grew taller, I saw my nails extend and become claws, I felt wings spring out from my back with a rustling like a death rattle from infinity. My white skin metamorphosed into a dark, soft pelt. I felt immeasurably strong; power surged through my veins as a laugh escaped my throat. I rose up then, above the floor, suspended in the air, a creature more beautiful than a bird, more terrifying than a bat, sleek and shining, a dark phantasmagoria, glistening with rainbow colors that broke forth from prismatic silver crescents clinging like water droplets to my fur. A glow surrounded me as I ascended. My head came close to the ceiling. As I extended my magnificent bat wings, they reached from wall to wall. When I spoke, I knew J could see my fangs.

"Look and fear me, human," I said in a voice of silk and flame.

J had moved away, his back pressed against the room's front wall. His face held a mixture of awe and terror. To his credit, he did not tremble or faint. Many had. Many had wept and pleaded. Many had voided their bowels as they sank down onto their knees in abject fear. J, unlike them, looked up at me with something like admiration.

"I didn't know," he whispered. "I had heard, but I didn't really know. You look like... you look like something, not a bat... an angel."

"A dark angel," I said with a voice that seduced and mesmerized. "I am the reality of myths and nightmares. I am ancient desires come alive to haunt you." And with that, as he stood spellbound and unable to move, I flew closer to him. I landed lightly on the floor before him. His eyes closed, then snapped open and looked deeply into mine, which were dark and fathomless, filled with melancholy. I leaned forward. My lips brushed his. He moaned. The man who had vowed never to touch me devoured my lips with an unmistakable hunger. I broke the kiss and moved my lips to his jaw. His eyes closed as I went lower and touched his neck, softly, gently with my teeth. I nipped yet did not bite. He stiffened but he didn't resist. Without total surrender, yet submitting, he offered himself to me. No human can resist a vampire's seduction.

At that moment, however, I pulled back, and I laughed a cruel hard laugh. He stood there as if frozen. He had guts; I'll say that for him. And now he understood in the very fibers of his being what I had: power.

Suffice it to say I then grabbed my clothes in my talons and managed to get myself through the door of the office and out into the lobby in front of the elevators. It was far from a graceful exit. Huge in my bat form, I had to squeeze through the door, and one wing got stuck on a hinge. I hurriedly tugged it free, swearing all the while. At least I didn't fall on my face. As soon as I slammed the door shut behind me, I changed back to human form in a blast of light, dressed nearly as quickly, fled to the stairs, not the elevator, and rushed down to the first floor. As I ran across the lobby and pushed through the heavy gla.s.s doors to the street, exhaustion and anxiety washed over me. I had made a mistake. I had shown myself, revealed my true being, and let J live. I hated him. Or did I? I felt confused about that. But what was done was done. Nevertheless, I had exposed too much.

There were sure to be repercussions when J reported this. Would the agency think me unstable and a threat to them? If J conveyed that I had threatened to bite him, I would probably be terminated with the same cold deliberation with which animal-control officers shoot a rabid dog. Even so, in practical terms, the agency probably wouldn't eliminate me until after this urgent mission was over. If I was the linchpin, then they couldn't replace me overnight. At least I had time to figure out what to do. Right now I was so angry and upset, I had to do something to calm down.

It was too late to shop, but I had the address of the salon where Benny got her Buff V Glo. I hailed a taxi. The Middle Eastern driver took off like a rabbit. While he raced in and out of traffic, he continued a loud conversation on his cell phone. He was speaking Pashto, a language used by some Northern Afghanistan tribes. I had known Ahmad Shah Abdali of Kandahar, founder of the Durrani clan and invader of India back in the eighteenth century, and I had learned a powerful lesson in cunning from him. It was not a pleasant memory. The driver made some remarks about me into the cell phone, basically saying, "You should see the babe I just picked up; she's definitely f.u.c.kable." Yeah, sure, in your dreams Yeah, sure, in your dreams, I thought. I repaid him in spades when I got out. I handed him a tip and said, in Pashto, something like, "You stink like a camel and my uncles would enjoy your tiny private part like a c.o.c.ktail frank." He turned pale and pulled out into traffic so quickly that he nearly hit a bus.

I walked into the salon and lucked into an appointment. An hour later I emerged a new woman-one with a tan!

The night was young, and I felt good again. Screw J. I was an idiot for letting myself feel something for him. It just had been too long since I was involved with a man. h.e.l.l's bells, it had been years since I'd even dated. The loneliness, not to mention the horniness, was making me vulnerable. What I needed was some nice, no-strings-attached s.e.x, just to take the edge off. Unfortunately I didn't have any "hot prospects"-Zoe's bloodless son Louis or Cormac were not even worthy of a second thought. I certainly wasn't about to go to a bar and try to get picked up. That wasn't my style. I had to get myself back under control and find something to keep myself busy. The first thing that popped into my head was to take a cab to Bonaventure's address at Park Avenue and Seventy-fourth Street and case the joint, so to speak. It would be a d.a.m.ned good idea to find out what I would be walking into tomorrow.

Bonaventure's place looked like all the other Park Avenue solid-stone apartment buildings whose maroon awnings and liveried doormen scream money money. I exited the cab and I walked past Bonaventure's building without pausing. I saw enough with a quick look. The building was narrow, and I figured it contained one apartment per floor. Glancing through the doors I could see a small jewel box of a lobby, sparkling with lots of gilt and crystal chandeliers. There was a graceful Louis XIV desk holding a phone. At the far side of the room was a single elevator. Near the front door stood a doorman in a fancy gray uniform. An older man, he was busy on a cell phone. I didn't want to draw attention to myself, so I quickly walked to the corner and crossed the avenue. I wandered one block west to Madison, hoping to find a late night Korean deli. Mostly I was thirsty, not particularly hungry, and I needed a bottle of water. I was also much too wound up to go home.

Like many other women, I have a habit of surrept.i.tiously looking at my reflection in shop windows while I'm walking. There is a widely held old-wives' tale that a vampire doesn't have a mirror image. That's just misinformation. It is ghosts that don't reflect, being just ectoplasm and spirit. Ergo no body, no reflection. We vampires, on the other hand, are solid as flesh and blood. We are are flesh and blood. I would have had a h.e.l.l of a time putting on makeup for the past five hundred years if I couldn't see myself. I need a mirror when I do my hair and makeup. And beyond the vanity factor, I surely would have been nailed, or more accurately, flesh and blood. I would have had a h.e.l.l of a time putting on makeup for the past five hundred years if I couldn't see myself. I need a mirror when I do my hair and makeup. And beyond the vanity factor, I surely would have been nailed, or more accurately, staked staked, long ago if I pa.s.sed by a looking gla.s.s and nothing was there. But I applaud the notion that most people-even the so-called experts-believe that vampires are so without substance or so magical that we can't be seen in a mirror. It's saved my a.s.s more than once.

Right now I was so delighted with my tan that I was positively preening as I walked down Madison. Whenever there was a mirrored back to a window display and I got a clear view of myself, it was a wow. I stopped in front of a jewelry store with a full-length one behind the display. I couldn't get over how good I looked-healthy, perpetual pallor gone. I no longer fit Sir John Suckling's lines, "Why so pale and wan, fond lover, prithee, why so pale?" I radiated outdoorsy good health.

No doubt that was why I was so preoccupied that I didn't notice the man coming up behind me until it was too late.

Chapter 4.

What looks like an appealing offer may not be.

-A fortune cookie's fortune

A gun barrel poked me hard in the middle of my back. I froze. A strong hand gripped my upper arm and pulled me against a hard-muscled body. Inches from my ear a low voice said, "Stay away from Bonaventure. He's mine."

I stood rigid and unmoving. My heart was pounding. I tried to keep my voice from shaking. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. I've been following you. You're one of J's people."

Adrenaline was pounding through my veins. I felt every inch of the man's powerful chest against my back, and suddenly I realized I wasn't frightened. What I felt was excitement. This was no mugger. I figured he was another spy, albeit from a rival country or agency. Suddenly I felt exquisitely alive, all my perceptions heightened. I looked up at my reflection in the jewelry store window and recognized the man with the gun-it was black watch cap, blond ponytail! He had had been following me on the subway platform. I stared at him arrogantly in the gla.s.s and said with no fear in my voice, "If I'm one of J's people, who are you?" been following me on the subway platform. I stared at him arrogantly in the gla.s.s and said with no fear in my voice, "If I'm one of J's people, who are you?"

"Not one of J's people. Let's leave it at that," the man answered. He stared back at my reflection.

Suddenly the whole thing struck me as absurd. I wasn't a career spy. If anything I was a rookie spy who'd made a mess of everything my first day on the job. Maybe I'd risk running away from the whole deal and change ident.i.ties again. Despite the recruiter's warning, I bet that I could. On the other hand, maybe, just maybe, I could redeem myself from my earlier faux pas. It might be fun to see if I could be a real spy by finding out who the blond ponytail really was.

Unlike me, though, this guy was dead serious, and he was really full of himself. He sounded like a bad movie. But he certainly was good-looking, and his well-muscled body was like steel. Ripples of antic.i.p.ation started low in my belly. Blond Ponytail had been playing games with me. Now I was going to play games with him-even though I hadn't made up my mind what kind of game it might be.

"Well," I said, lightening my tone, "that's the most original pickup line I've ever heard." We stared at each other's reflections.

Unexpectedly the man laughed. The hard poking in my back disappeared, although he still held my arm so firmly it hurt as he spun me around to face him. In intimate proximity, I could see him clearly in the store's light. He smiled at me. If Brad Pitt were taller, he could have been this guy's twin. My heart skipped a beat. I guessed he was in his thirties, his face unwrinkled except for a few lines on his high forehead. His eyes were hooded-bedroom eyes, I'd call them. His brows were dark and straight. But it was his lips that were really s.e.xy. The bottom lip was full and almost pouting. The more I looked, the more my thoughts lingered. This guy was hot. I gave myself a mental slap. And he could be dangerous And he could be dangerous, my rational mind said. He followed you. He scared you. Find out who he is and stop thinking like a trollop He followed you. He scared you. Find out who he is and stop thinking like a trollop, I reminded myself.

In fact, my conscious mind was being sabotaged by the smell of leather and soap, fresh-washed hair and citrus aftershave. And underlying those aromas was an animal muskiness, a scent that was unmistakably male. He still wore his distressed-leather bomber jacket, and jeans that fit him like a second skin. I'd wager big money he wasn't wearing underwear. His long blond hair remained tied back in a ponytail, but the watch cap was gone. It might be unwise, but I was attracted to his physical appearance. Now that I was reasonably sure he was a "colleague" of some sort, I was letting go of my former fears completely.

And while I was looking at him, he was looking at me as if he could eat me up like ice cream, one lick at a time. The air fairly buzzed with the instant attraction between us. It must be the adrenaline, I thought, and my vulnerable state.

A horn beeped on Madison Avenue. The light changed and traffic roared past. But suddenly everything seemed to stop for me. I looked into his eyes. Before I knew what was happening, he pulled me closer and kissed me while we stood right there on the sidewalk. His lips, soft but demanding, felt as good as they looked. The world tilted, my head spun, desire rocketed right up my spine. But when I got over the surprise, I pushed him away and said, "Hey! You followed me, you stuck a gun in my back, and you threatened me. If you wanted to meet me, you could have just asked me for my phone number. You want to introduce yourself? And then do you feel like telling me what the h.e.l.l is going on?"

"Darius," he said. "You can call me Darius. Maybe I handled this all wrong."

"You mean acting like a stalker or a mugger wasn't the best way to meet a woman?"

"Look, we need to talk. Let's go somewhere." He didn't ask; he just told me. That p.i.s.sed me off.

"Why should I talk to you? Because you have a gun? Or because you kissed me?" I refused to move an inch.

Darius gave me a look of exasperation. "Look, I'm sorry. All right? I know an all-night Chinese restaurant near here. I'd like to get off the street and someplace more private."

Before I answered, he tightened his hold on my arm and was escorting me down the block. "What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing!" I said, and was pulling back when he put his lips near my ear and whispered, "Please. I need to get out of here. You do too. It's not safe. Come on, and hurry." After that I went along without a fuss. He never let go of my arm, but his touch was gentler. We walked a few blocks east and south to Peking Won King. We stepped into a harshly lit room and slid into a booth. We were the only customers in the place. Darius sat opposite me, positioning himself so he could watch the door. The waiter came over. Darius ordered a pot of green tea.

"Now talk," he said.

"Me? You wanted to talk, so go ahead, talk. Tell me why I shouldn't get up and walk out of here right now," I said, my voice steady and controlled, but my insides doing somersaults.

Looking like a high school teacher whose pupil had just mouthed off in cla.s.s, Darius opened his mouth to answer, then stopped as if he were considering what to say. For a moment he watched me. I returned his stare without flinching. "Okay, you're right. It's my party," he said at last. "Let me tell you what I know and what I think.

"Twice I've followed you when I was watching to see who J was running. The grapevine says he's after Bonaventure. Well, Bonaventure's mine. And beyond that, there are rumors he's handling vampires."

My heart did a flip as I made sure to keep a poker face and hide my inner trepidation. I rolled my eyes as if to say he had a screw loose, and I said, "Vampires? You have got to be kidding. Vampires aren't real."

Darius pushed a loose strand of hair from his face as he glanced away from me, collecting his thoughts again. Then he came back to my eyes with his, his voice low, as if he didn't want to be overheard-although there was no one around, not even the waiter. "Look, maybe you don't believe in them, but let me tell you, vampires do exist. They are real, and they're right here in New York. They walk the same streets you and I do. They sit next to us on the subway. And in the dark of night they kill innocent people just to satisfy their need for blood. If J has started using them, I want to know about it. I need to know."

"So you thought I was a vampire?" I tried to sound mocking at the absurdity of his words.

"Yes. No. I mean I did, but I wasn't sure." Darius sounded frustrated. "You know, I thought you might be when I first saw you. You sort of had the look. And I couldn't find out much about you from your neighbors besides your name, and some of them didn't even know that."

"You were asking my neighbors about me? What the h.e.l.l? You have some d.a.m.ned nerve. You also sound nuts. You know, I think I'd better get out of here." I stood up and started out of the booth. His hand came down on my arm like a vise.

I glared at it and then at him. "Let go of me or I'm going to start screaming my head off," I said.

"Wait. Let me explain. Give me a chance to finish, will you?" His voice was pleading, his face open and sincere.

I didn't move. "Why should I?" I said.