Dead Sexy. Amanda Ashley

watch to remind him that he now had all the time in the world. A Satellite Screen took up one entire wall.

      The bedroom where he kept his clothing was a light blue-gray and contained a king-sized bed with a wrought-iron headboard, a black leather chair, an ebony dresser, and a pair of matching nightstands. A small bathroom was adjacent to the bedroom. Santiago had never courted the Dark Sleep in the bed, though he rested there on occasion.

      His lair, located behind a hidden panel in the bedroom closet, was done in the same shade of gray as the living room and contained little aside from a sleek black casket lined in black silk and a tall, free-standing, wrought-iron candelabra.

      A prickling across his skin told him the sun was rising. Once, the sun had ruled his life. At its rising, he had been trapped in the death-like sleep of his kind, weak and helpless until the setting of the sun. But no more.

      Bemused by the quirk of fate that had altered his destiny, he readied himself to take his rest, his mind turning once again to the Delaney woman. She had looked as innocent as a child, lying in her bed with her hair spread around her shoulders. Even now, his hand twitched with the urge to run his fingers through the thick golden strands.

      Regan. He was still thinking of her when he sank into oblivion.

      Chapter 3

      The ringing of the phone beside her bed roused Regan from a deep, dreamless sleep. Picking it up, she muttered a groggy, “Hello?”

      It was Michael Flynn. “Reggie,” he said tersely, “we’ve got another one.”

      Instantly wide awake, Regan sat up and glanced at the clock. It was a quarter after nine in the morning. “Where?”

      “About three meters from where we found the last one. How soon can you get here?”

      “Give me twenty minutes.”

      Rising, she went into the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face, and brushed her teeth. After pulling her nightshirt over her head, she dressed quickly in a pair of old blue jeans that she had washed so often they were almost white, a long-sleeved sweatshirt with the words Who Wants to Live Forever? emblazoned across the front in bright pink letters, and a pair of old sneakers. She grabbed her gun from under her pillow and dropped it into her handbag, then went into the kitchen. She quickly downed a small glass of grapefruit juice, grabbed her handbag from the counter, and left her apartment.

      Looking at dead bodies was a heck of a way to start the day.

      Outside, the sky was thick with lowering gray clouds and the promise of rain before the day was out.

      Flynn was waiting for her at the scene, his handsome face solemn. No one else was there, so she figured he must have called her before he notified anyone else.

      The body lay on the dew-damp grass in a loose-limbed sprawl that couldn’t be imitated by the living.

      Regan’s stomach clenched. This one was a woman in her mid-twenties. Regan surveyed the body without touching it, noting the opening in the chest where the heart had been extracted, the gaping hole where the liver had been, and the fact that there was virtually no blood to be seen. And no telltale puncture wounds on her neck. Of course, whatever marks had been there had been destroyed when her throat was ripped out.

      “Same M.O. as the other one, right?” Flynn asked.

      Regan nodded. “Identical, as near as I can tell.”

      “Two bodies in two days,” Flynn remarked with a shake of his head. “I’m afraid we’ve got a serial killer on our hands.”

      Regan blew out a sigh. She was sorely afraid he was right. Though Flynn didn’t know it, the death toll was five and not two. And while she hadn’t seen the three bodies that Santiago had told her about, he had told her they looked the same as the one from last night. Even though she had no way of knowing if the killings were related, she had a feeling in her gut that they were. She should have questioned Santiago further about the other killings, she thought, and made a mental note to call his place and ask him to meet her in the park later.

      Flynn swore softly. “Sure doesn’t look like any vampire kills I’ve ever seen,” he remarked. “I mean, look at…”

      His voice trailed off at the sound of approaching sirens. Moments later, the forensics team and the M.E. arrived on the scene, along with a few cops who had nothing better to do so early in the morning.

      Regan stayed out of the way as the medical examiner and his team got down to work. With that morbid sense of humor common to those who dealt with death on a daily basis, it occurred to Regan that if they didn’t catch the murderer soon, she wouldn’t have to go looking for a new job. She could go back to doing what she did best—hunting vampires. The thought brought a smile to her face, which she quickly banished.

      She conferred briefly with the M.E., then waved to Flynn and left the park. There was nothing more for her to do there.

      Going to her car, she pulled out her cell phone, called the Vampire Arms, and left a message for Joaquin Santiago to call her as soon as possible.

      The rain started just before she got home.

      Regan’s phone rang almost the very instant the sun went down. A tingle of anticipation ran through her body when she picked it up and heard his voice.

      “Miss Delaney, what can I do for you?”

      He cut right to the chase. She liked that. “You said there had been three other murders.”

      “Yes.”

      “Were they in the park?”

      “No.”

      Regan frowned. “But they were similar to the recent ones?”

      “Yes, almost identical.”

      “Were they all males?”

      “Two men and a young woman.”

      “I’d like you to tell me everything you remember.”

      “Of course, but this is hardly the kind of thing one discusses over the phone. Why don’t you meet me at Sardino’s for dinner?”

      “I’m sorry, Mr. Santiago, but synthetic blood isn’t on my diet.”

      His laughter sent frissons of heat dancing up and down her spine. “I am sure I can persuade Sardino to prepare something a little more to your liking.”

      “I don’t think so, Mr. Santiago.”

      “Then I have nothing more to say.”

      She felt her temper rise. “That’s blackmail.”

      “Indeed it is.”

      It was also flattering. “What time?”

      “As soon as you can be there.”

      “All right,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll meet you there in forty minutes.” It would give her time to wash up, fix her hair, and change her clothes. She shook her head. What was she thinking? The man was a vampire and this was a business meeting, not a date!

      “Forty minutes,” he agreed, and hung up the phone.

      In spite of herself, Regan took pains with her appearance, choosing a long white skirt, white heels, and a dark green sweater that made her eyes appear several shades darker. She brushed her hair until it crackled, put it up in a fancy twist, and then let it down again. She rarely wore much makeup. Tonight, she indulged in a touch of powder and a bit of eye shadow and lipstick. Picking up her handbag, she checked to make sure her pistol was inside and loaded, and she was ready to go.

      Stepping outside, she was glad to see that the storm had passed. She hated driving in the rain, but she loved storms, loved the thunder and the lightning and the way the rain washed away the dirt and grime of the city, leaving everything looking and smelling clean and fresh.

      Sardino’s