Sara Humphreys: Tall, Dark, and Vampire

“My guess is that she wanted to get a rise out of you. Want me to talk to her?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’ll speak to her again before she leaves tonight. She’s my…”

“Responsibility,” Damien finished for her. He sighed and shook his head. “Not everyone is your responsibility, you know.”

“No, but she is.” Olivia patted his shoulder wearily. “I hear the last song of the night.” Sadie always played The Strike Nineteens’s “Forever in Darkness” as the final tune, and the irony was never lost on Olivia. “Time to go inside and clear out the stragglers.”

As she turned to go back inside, an oddly familiar voice floated over, and the scent of the ocean filled her head.

“Excuse me. Can you tell me where I can find Ms. Olivia Hollingsworth?”

Olivia stopped dead in her tracks, and the tattoo on the nape of her neck burned. Her fangs erupted, and little licks of fire skittered up her spine, as one note of that smooth, velvety voice banished all self-control. She closed her eyes and willed her quaking body to settle.

It can’t be.

Terrified and hopeful, Olivia steeled herself with courage she’d forgotten she had. She turned around, excruciatingly slowly, and found herself face-to-face with the man of her dreams and the love of her life.

The problem was he’d been dead for almost three hundred years.

Doug gaped at her like an idiot. A woman he never expected to see in the flesh stood in front of him, larger than life, staring with the most intense green eyes he’d ever seen—the same green eyes that had haunted his sleep since he could remember. Her curly red hair flowed over slim shoulders and glinted brightly like flickering firelight in the glow of the New York City night. The fire framed creamy ivory skin, which he had the sudden urge to nibble, as he had so many times in his dreams.

The tattoo of the dagger on his back burned, and one word flickered through his mind—the same word he heard when he slept. Eternity. Doug blinked but didn’t take his eyes off hers.

He’d gotten the damn tattoo as a way to make the redheaded goddess from his dreams more tangible, but here she was, looking all kinds of tangible. He dreamt of her ever since he could remember, but now she—or someone who looked just fucking like her—was standing here in the flesh.

She was dressed impeccably in a jet-black suit that hugged her long, well-formed figure. Doug’s mouth went dry, and for a second he forgot how to speak. The most breathtakingly beautiful woman he had ever seen was here, and he stood there staring like a mindless boob.

She looked at him as though he was from Mars, and for a second he thought she was going to laugh right in his face. Speak. For Christ sake, say something, you moron! Doug straightened to his full six feet, two inches and cleared his throat, hoping neither she, nor the giant bodyguard, noticed how she’d thrown him off balance. It was never good for a cop to lose his bearings, especially when investigating a murder and speaking with a possible suspect.

Thankfully, his partner spoke up and saved him from his own stupidity.

“You’ll have to forgive my partner. He’s so used to dealing with the scum of society that he’s forgotten how to speak to a beautiful woman.” Tom quickly flashed a charming smile and his badge to the stunner and the bodyguard. “I’m Detective Tom Daly, homicide. This massive mute next to me is—”

“Doug Paxton, ma’am,” he finally managed to croak out. Doug reached into his jacket pocket and quickly flashed his badge as well.

“I’m Olivia Hollingsworth. How can I help you, officers?” she asked coolly, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. Doug cocked his head and eyed her more carefully. Even though her voice remained calm, her body language screamed how uncomfortable she was. She rubbed the back of her neck briefly with one graceful hand, before folding her arms over her chest again.

Now his radar was on full tilt.

Something was up here. He had a knack for sniffing out trouble, and this woman—no matter how gorgeous she was and how much she might look like the siren from his dreams—had it written all over her.

“We’re investigating the death of one Ronald Davis,” Tom said as he perused the small notepad in his hand.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone by that name.” She turned her head slightly toward the bouncer but never took her bright green eyes off Doug. “Do you, Damien?”

His attention was now drawn to the enormous bouncer who looked more like a mountain than a man, and the muscles in his arms that were barely contained by the leather jacket. He hadn’t taken his glare off Doug for a second and had positioned himself in a protective posture near the Hollingsworth woman.

When he opened his mouth, the voice matched the body.

“Nope,” he uttered in a deep baritone. “Can’t say that I do.”

Doug took the picture out of his pocket and held it up for the odd couple to have a look at. He kept his attention focused on the woman, looking for any sign of recognition, but she didn’t flinch.

“Don’t recognize him?” Doug asked quietly as he kept his gaze fixed on her oval face. She reminded him of a porcelain doll with smooth, delicate skin, and he’d bet his entire shitty salary that it tasted like snow.

Concentrate, Paxton. Jesus. What the hell is wrong with me?

He cleared his throat, hoping that his partner didn’t notice how off balance this woman made him. “Could he have been here in the club last night?”

“I have hundreds of people in and out of here six nights a week, officer. Could he have been here? Sure,” she added with a casual shrug.

“Well, ma’am,” Tom began, “we hate to be pests, but according to his friends, he was here last night real late. Until closing. We were told he was buzzing around one of your bartenders. A pretty, little blond… by the name of…” Tom looked at his notes.

“Maya,” Doug finished.

He locked eyes with the Hollingsworth woman, and a shock went straight to his dick. His gaze slid to her full lips. Damn. He bet they were soft and sweet, like plums in the summertime. It was all he could do to keep from reaching out to touch her and see if he was right. He glanced into those glittering pools of green, and he could swear she smirked. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she knew exactly what was going through his dirty mind.

Heat crept up his neck at his lack of professionalism. He’d never flirted with anyone while on an investigation, but this woman had him forgetting himself on every level. Doug cleared his throat and focused on the notes he was making in a useless attempt to stop ogling her. That lasted about three seconds, before he found himself looking into those bright green eyes once again.

“Maya is one of our bartenders,” she said, with a polite smile. She turned to Damien. “Go get Maya please, so we can straighten this out.”

Damien nodded and went inside to get the girl.

“Ms. Hollingsworth,” Doug began in an attempt to regain some semblance of professionalism.

“Olivia. Please call me Olivia.” Her voice softened a bit. “Would you gentleman like to come inside? The club is just closing up.”

“No. Thank you, ma’am—I mean, Olivia.” Doug felt foolish, like some adolescent schoolboy.

“So how was he killed, Detective Daly?” Her attention shifted immediately to Tom, and the icy tone had returned as quickly as it had left. Doug sighed. He would never understand women.

“Well, you see, ma’am, they found him inside a dumpster over on Second Ave. Someone cut him up pretty good.” Tom stopped suddenly, slapped Doug in the chest, and nodded past Olivia.