Kerrelyn Sparks: Secret Life of a Vampire

Another shudder racked her body as she recalled the moment he'd taken her weapon. It had been scary enough when he'd ambled calmly into the bedroom with no cuffs on to announce that Harvey had abandoned her and no backup was on the way. But when he'd grabbed her weapon, she'd thought for a second that her life was over. And if that wasn't terrifying enough, she'd thought she'd heard his voice in her head, although she couldn't make out the words.

She glanced down the hall. Should she go back for him? The man was dangerous. Strangely compelling, but at the same time frightening. Confusing, unworldly. And incredibly handsome.

She jumped when a dinging noise announced the next elevator. She hurried inside and pushed the lobby button. Coward. You're running away .

What else could she do? Harvey had left her. And Jack had disarmed her so easily. He would simply do it again.

She snapped her sidearm back into the holster. She had a strange feeling Jack had been in control of the situation all along. He could have killed her, but instead, he'd seemed insulted that she'd thought him capable of it.

After the elevator doors opened, she dashed into the lobby and spotted the paramedics leaving the hotel. She rushed through the revolving door and met them as they were loading the gurney into the back of the ambulance.

"Hey, guys. What's going on?"

One of the paramedics gave her a blank look. "Hello, Officer. We're on call tonight."

"You were called here, to the Plaza hotel."

The paramedic shut the back doors on the ambulance. "We've never been to the Plaza."

Lara's mouth fell open. Didn't they know where they were?

The paramedic climbed into the driver's seat. "Good night, Officer."

She inhaled sharply as the ambulance drove away.

What had Jack done to them? Did he have some sort of strange power over people's minds? Her skin prickled as if a thousand eyes were focused on her in tike dark. Keep it together. You're not losing it . Unfortunately, she knew too well how fragile a person's brain could be.

She spotted the patrol car parked by the curb and jogged over to it.

Harvey frowned at her as she climbed into the front passenger seat. "Where have you been? I've been waiting forever."

"I was in the hotel." She buckled her seat belt. "With you."

He snorted. "I've never been in a hotel with you. I'm a married man."

"I didn't mean—"

"If that's some kind of joke, it's not funny." He turned on the ignition and pulled out onto Fifth Avenue.

"Harvey, I have the utmost respect for you and your marriage." And absolutely no attraction to you . "You don't remember the Plaza asking us to check on some guests who were too rowdy?"

"Hotel security would take care of that."

"Normally, yes. But when someone reported an alleged sword fight going on, they called us."

He laughed. "A sword fight in a hotel room? You need to cut back on the caffeine."

"You don't remember the guy with the sex toys?"

Harvey gave her a dubious look. "You're crazy. Our last call was a drunken brawl in Times Square."

Her skin chilled. "I'm not crazy." It did happen . Just because Harvey and the paramedics couldn't remember it, that didn't mean it hadn't happened. Somehow Jack had erased their memories. What manner of man could do that?

At least he hadn't screwed with her head like he had the others. Or had he? Was she remembering something that hadn't even happened?

Oh God, not again . She'd already spent six months of her life in utter confusion, unable to tell reality from dreams. After the car accident, reality had seemed fuzzy, and her dreams had seemed real.

She had to know. She had to go back and face Jack.

Two blocks ahead of them, a car swerved onto Fifth Avenue. It skidded across two lanes, sliding dangerously close to a yellow cab before speeding away.

Harvey eased on the accelerator. "What do you think? Drunk driver?"

"Or stolen vehicle." Lara grabbed the radio mike to call the dispatcher. "I need a ten-fourteen." She read the license plate number as they continued to follow.

The radio crackled. "That's a ten-seventeen." The dispatcher reported the vehicle was not stolen.

"Roger," she answered. "Looks like a DWI."

"Let's get him." Harvey hit the lights and siren.

Lara's nerves tensed. You never knew how people would react. Luckily, the driver cooperated, and twenty minutes later, they were hauling his drunken ass into headquarters.

As the sun rose, Lara finished her paperwork for the night. She double-checked the log Harvey had kept. No reference of them ever going to the Plaza. She drummed her pen on the desk, debating what to do. If she included the Plaza incident in her report, then her supervisor, Captain O'Brian, would question why it didn't appear in the log or in Harvey's report. She'd never get promoted to detective if they started doubting her grip on reality.

She strode to the water cooler and took a long drink. Maybe she should visit a neurologist and see if it was possible to have a relapse.

Dammit, no! She crushed the paper cup in her hand and tossed it in the trash. She'd fought too hard to overcome her head injury. That was six years ago, and she was over it. She hadn't dreamed this up. For one thing, she could remember everything about Jack. All sorts of details.

Thick, black hair brushed back from his wide brow. The ends curled slightly where they touched his shirt collar. And that black silk shirt—it had clung to him, clearly outlining his broad shoulders and rock-hard abs. He was as gorgeous as any model she'd ever seen in a magazine.

And his voice had intrigued her. Soft and melodious, with an Italian accent, but also crisp and polite, as if he'd learned English from the British. The dual accents hinted at a man who would be complex. Fascinating, even. He was both Jack and Giacomo. Bellissima , he had called her.

She closed her eyes and mentally roamed up his body from his expensive Italian leather shoes. Long legs. Narrow hips. Trim waist. Broad shoulders with a lovely curve to his neck that made her want to nestle her face into the crook. Strong jaw with a shade of dark whiskers, just enough to make her want to touch. Expressive mouth. She'd found herself using his mouth to gauge his reactions. One corner of his mouth would curl up when he was amused. His lips would part when he was surprised, then press together when he was annoyed.

And his eyes—they were a warm, golden brown that radiated both intelligence and courage. He'd watched her every move with an intensity that bordered on… hunger.

"Hey, don't fall asleep standing up."

She jerked her eyes open to find Captain O'Brian regarding her curiously. "Sorry. It was a long night."

"It takes a while to adjust to the graveyard shift, but you're doing fine. Finish up and go home, Boucher."

"Yes, Captain." She hurried back to her desk to finish her report without the incident at the Plaza. But it had happened. Jack might look like a dream, but he was real.

She usually changed into civilian clothes before taking the train back to her apartment in Brooklyn. After a long night of dealing with drunk and disorderly people, she just wanted to fade into the crowd unnoticed. But this morning, she kept her uniform on and took the subway back to the Plaza hotel.

"I need information on Room 1412," she told the registration clerk.

"Just a moment." The young man typed on his keyboard. "That's one of our Edwardian suites. Would you like to reserve it?"

"It's already occupied. I want to check on it."

He frowned at his computer screen. "That suite is vacant at the moment."

"Well, maybe they checked out, but they were there last night. They had a wild party. Hotel security called the police."