"And you've come to this realization how?"

Diana put the mug down. "Instinct. Plus some things just don't make sense."

"Like what?" Ramona asked, wrapping her hands around the mug because of the sudden nip at her core.

"I ferreted out some financials on the appraiser and transport company. Nothing out of the ordinary in any of the information I could access."

"So they're not involved?" Ramona asked, wondering where the switch had been made. "What if the art transport company didn't pack the originals?"

"They didn't." Diana explained how, according to the movers, van Winter had had his own staff pack the paintings. The movers had only picked up the three crates for delivery to the auction house.

"So van Winter loaded the copies in the crates, but we have no way of proving it."

A grin lit up Diana's features. "Not yet. If you can think of anything, call me," she said, and rose from the stool. She reached into the pocket of her black suit jacket and placed a business card on the island.

"How can I thank you?" Ramona said.

"Don't give up. Not on life. Not on Diego."

Diego roused himself, the waning of the afternoon sun calling him to rise and prepare for another night. One that would hopefully be better than the night before.

Simon had been asleep when he returned from the Blood Bank shortly after three in the morning, hours earlier than normal from a night out. Diego had opted not to wake the old man, totally capable of removing from the fridge a bag of blood from the butcher.

He had sucked it down quickly, the taste of the cold beef's blood not as appealing as a warm human's.

As he turned over in bed, only a faint protest came from his muscles, confirming that the bulk of the damage done the night before had healed. The various feedings and Stacia's intervention had helped his body repair from the blows of the whip, plus the knifing.

Running his hand over his side, he felt the phantom pain of that injury and chastised himself for his carelessness. He had allowed his emotions to distract him, and that distraction had nearly proved fatal.He couldn't allow it to happen again.

The only way to make certain of that was to not see Ramona again. His emotions around her were too raw, too conflicted.

As he swung his legs over the side of the bed, Simon hobbled in, leaning heavily on the ornate mahogany butler's cart bearing Diego's breakfast-a large gla.s.s of blood.

"How are you today?" Diego asked, noting that his steps seemed slower, more laborious.

"I'm tired, sir. I don't think it will be too long now," his keeper said, rousing unwelcome emotion within Diego.

He still had trouble understanding how Simon could be so accepting of his fate, and yet he understood that in some ways death provided a peace and closure that his eternal life never would.

Death brought a human's life full circle, from cradle to grave. Diego watched that cycle from his undead existence and understood that it was the way it should be. His nearly immortal state perverted the natural order of things.

While he had prayed to escape the death visited on him by the Inquisitor, he now understood the price he had paid, the toll it had taken on Esperanza and others like them.

"Master?" Simon asked, and Diego realized that his keeper had been waiting for him to have his feeding and go on with his day.

"I'm sorry, Simon. I was just thinking."

"About something sad, sir. I could see it in your eyes." The old man knew him well after nearly a century together.

"It will pa.s.s," Diego said as he picked up the goblet and took a sip. Human blood and perfectly warmed. He morphed and sucked it down greedily. When he was done, he slipped back to his human state and dabbed at his lips with the linen napkin beside the gla.s.s. It came away with smudges of his meal.

Disgust filled him at the sight. At the reminder of what he was and would forever be. Loneliness came next as he met Simon's slightly rheumy gaze and noticed the tremble in his thin hands on the handle of the cart.

"Go rest, my friend. I have some errands to run," Diego said, and the old man left the bedroom, his gait almost painful to behold.

Diego rose from the bed and quickly dressed. He had to get to the gallery and make sure all was in order, but he knew he wouldn't linger.

Ramona's paintings would be there, slated to hang for another couple of days before being shipped to their respective buyers.

They'd had a sellout show, but that brought no happiness. He knew now why Ramona had needed the exhibit so quickly, why she'd needed the money. She wanted to put her house in order before she died.

Because that's what humans did, he thought again and winced. He rubbed his chin as the memory of Diana's blow came back to him. The lady packed quite a wallop. He still couldn't fathom Ryder's allegiance to her, couldn't comprehend that his friend willingly subjected himself to a relationship with only one possible outcome.

No, not just one.

His friend could turn Diana, much like Diego had sired Esperanza. Much like he could bestow the kiss of eternal life on Ramona.

He forced that thought from his mind as he left his apartment and headed down to the street to flag a cab. Eternal life brought with it many difficulties. Only the strongest individuals could deal with it, and even then, the constant loss and change burdened your soul, made you shut off a piece of yourself at a time, until all humanity was gone.

It was why the elders were so dangerous. No trace of humanity remained within them. Vampires like Stacia no longer felt anything human, no longer understood the joys of life. Only blood called to them or brought satisfaction.

As Diego thought about the centuries to come in his life-centuries alone-he wondered whether he, too, would lose his humanity. Or whether he'd become like some others he had known and walk out into the sun, never to return to the darkness of eternal life.

He paused outside his apartment building and looked up at the late afternoon sun, already low in the horizon. He was old enough to tolerate such weak sunshine, but still, pins and needles p.r.i.c.ked the exposed parts of his skin. He stretched his hands outward and closed his eyes, a supplicant to the sun and its power, until its touch became painful.

Then he snapped into action, striding briskly to the curb and hailing a cab. Once inside, he scooted to the center of the seat, away from the light.

Ramona's sunny apartment came to mind. It would be warm and golden with both morning and afternoon light, thanks to the skylights. He imagined those rays bathing her as he lay with her in bed, touching her skin and warming it, bringing a flush of color with their kiss.

She would never again experience those things if she became like him.

He wouldn't do it. Couldn't do it. He cared for her too much to bring her into a world that would deny her children and the joy of growing old.

But fate already denied her those things. He thrust that reality far away because it complicated everything.

No matter how hard you tried, fate had a way of catching up with you. The longer you avoided it, the more it screwed you up when it finally found you.

Just look at me, he thought. Possibly in love with a human. A dying human.

What better punishment could fate deliver?

Chapter 16.

R amona paused outside the steps to the gallery. The lights from the display windows illuminated the sidewalk, calling to her. She looked upward, her arms wrapped tightly around herself to battle the chill. One of her smaller pieces hung in the window, along with information about the current showing. Beyond the painting, she could see a few people in the front room, walking from piece to piece.

The show had been a success. Diego's a.s.sistant had called to say all of the paintings had been sold, and for quite a nice sum.

Ramona had made arrangements for the check to be sent to the trust fund she had set up. That money would be enough to take care of her mother for some time.

Now she had to take care of her own life, or what was left of it. She had to straighten out the mess she had made of things, including the man-no, make that vampire-who waited inside the gallery.

She checked her watch. Only a half hour remained until the gallery closed its doors. Just enough time for her to go in and apologize for her lies.

Her steps hesitant, she walked straight to the receptionist's desk. The young woman there, elegantly dressed in a cowl-necked black knit dress, smiled broadly. "Ms. Escobar. It's a joy to see you."

A few heads turned their way and people leaned closer, their whispered comments tinged with excitement. She had never quite gotten used to such attention. Forcing a smile, she acknowledged their stares with what she hoped was a cordial nod.

Returning her gaze to Diego's receptionist, she said, "I was hoping Mr. Rivera had a moment." "For you, of course."

The young woman rose from her chair, but Ramona gestured for her to sit. "I know the way."

She almost felt as if she was walking to the gallows as she pa.s.sed through each room, pausing for one last glimpse of the largest painting. The one she had come to think of as theirs.

Of course, nothing in her imagination as she'd painted it could have prepared her for the much better reality of Diego as a lover.

But then the unbidden image came. Diego as a vampire.

Ramona's hand trembled as she knocked once, briskly, on his office door.

A m.u.f.fled "Come in" greeted her, but she delayed, suddenly uncertain if this was wise.

A moment later the door flew open and he stood there, the practiced smile on his face turning to a scowl as he realized who it was.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice a low rumble. As she met his gaze, the ice-blue of his eyes slowly bled out to the scary blue-green neon of the demon, and a menacing hint of fang dropped from his top lip.

"You can't scare me away, Diego."

She hoped she sounded calm, in control, strong. Someone like him wouldn't abide weakness. Her gut tightened with trepidation as if to taunt her, but she fought back her fear. Something told her he would never hurt her.

Diego examined her. He let his vamp senses take in everything about her. The weaker beat of her heart and the chill in her body that went beyond the cooler temperature of the night air outside. A bright slash of color stained each cheek, but beyond that blush her skin was pale.

"I thought you never wanted to see me again."

"Diana came by this afternoon. She told me she was working on the case. I wanted to say thank-you." Ramona plucked at the sleeves of her coat, clearly uneasy.

"Diana has a mind of her own. She would do what she wanted regardless of what I said." He kept his tone cold, almost cruel, because anything else would move them toward perilous ground.

She winced as if struck, and the color fled from her face. Despite that, she gathered herself, pulling her shoulders back beneath the loose folds of her dark-blue peacoat. She walked toward him and cradled his jaw.

He flinched, her touch cold on his skin.

She rose on tiptoe and whispered against his lips, "I'm sorry I lied, but I'm not sorry about us. About what happened."

In the s.p.a.ce of a heartbeat, she kissed him and then fled.

Diego remained rooted to the floor, his hands balled into fists, his gut twisted into a knot. He took a faltering step, about to follow her, and then remembered the lunacy of caring for a human.

Holding fast, his muscles trembling from the strain, he reached out with his vamp senses and picked up the lingering remnants of her scent and the hurried lub-dub of her heart as she raced away.

Closing his eyes, he focused on it, memorized its beat until it faded from hearing.As it would fade when she died.

Ramona mumbled a rushed goodbye to the receptionist as she hurried out the door. She had gone half a block before she slowed her pace, wondering why she was bothering to rush.

She had no one waiting for her at home. Nothing to do except work on Diego's painting and hope that her stomach would settle down, because the second dose Melissa had prescribed was wreaking havoc on her system.

Pausing for a deep breath, she heard the m.u.f.fled ring of her cell phone from her coat pocket, and yanked it out.

"h.e.l.lo."

"Rather chilly night for a walk, isn't it, Ms. Escobar?" Van Winter's tone was obsequious, but his words worried her. Pivoting on her heel, she peered up and down the street, but it seemed to be business as usual on the Soho block. A few pa.s.sing cars and pedestrians. Over on Broadway, the higher volume of traffic, both automotive and on foot, moved swiftly by.

"What do you want, Mr. van Winter?" she said, but kept her eyes on the road, vigilant after being nearly run over a week earlier.

She had no doubt van Winter had been behind that near accident.

"Come now, Ramona. You can call me Frederick by now, don't you think?"

"What do you want, Frederick?" she asked, and began walking rapidly toward Broadway, thinking she would be safer there with the increased activity.

Van Winter finally said, "You've been seeing a lot of Mr. Rivera lately. Too much."

"Mr. Rivera sells my works. That's it." She wanted to shift attention from Diego, afraid of what van Winter might do. Afraid of how vulnerable Diego's vampire state made him.

"He's been asking questions and it has to stop, Ramona. Do you understand?" In the background she heard an approaching siren.

Much like the one now moving closer as she finally turned the corner onto Broadway.

She ended the connection and backed toward the window of one shop, guarding her back as she looked for the late-model black sedan that had nearly run her over the other night.

She saw nothing until the light changed and the cars slowly stopped. Then a familiar stretch limo came into view. It had picked her up many a time to take her to van Winter's building so she could work.

Her phone rang again. She answered. "What do you want?"

"Ramona?" This was a woman's voice, and she immediately identified herself. "It's Diana Reyes."

"This isn't a good time," Ramona said as the light turned green. The limo inched forward slowly and drew up to the bus stop before her.

"Are you okay?" the agent asked.