Vampire’s Dilemma. Penny Ash
one more time about buying the curious old matryoshka doll and chatting with the woman selling it. “So I asked about charters…”
“And she gave you my name.” Shel grimaced.
Lucy nodded.
“Shit. I…” Shel trailed off as the satellite phone beeped with an incoming call. He grabbed the phone. “Yeah?”
“Sheldon Jefferson?” asked a disembodied voice on the other end of the phone.
“Yes?” Shel asked, recognizing the voice despite the distortion. Sergei must have leaned on Ava to get his phone number.
“You have something that belongs to me. I want it back.”
Shel stiffened, instantly on alert. “Oh really? And what might that be?”
“I think you know,” Sergei said in a deceptively soft voice.
“Enlighten me anyway, comrade.” Shel looked at Lucy. This was absolutely insane.
“Insults will get you nothing. But I will be generous and offer you one hundred thousand US dollars for the return of my property.”
“Pricey, comrade, makes me wonder what this property is.”
“A memento you understand, sentimental. I am very attached to it.”
“Oh, of course,” Shel said. “I’m even more curious now.”
“If it should be damaged, I will kill you.” Sergei dropped all pretense of politeness.
Shel drew a deep drag from his cigarette, “You can try,” he said, amused.
“When I find you, you are a dead man, Jefferson.”
“Or I could drink your blood,” Shel said in a cheerful voice. He smiled at Lucy’s wide-eyed stare and hung up the phone, tossing it into the little bin beside the wheel. “You’ve probably guessed that was our friend Sergei. The husband of your nice Russian lady, Ava.”
“How did… You know him?” Lucy looked a little pale.
“I know, correction, knew his wife Ava. We were on, um, intimate terms. I imagine Ava’s husband tortured my phone number out of her before he killed her.” Shel smiled at Lucy’s look of horror. “You didn’t think this was a game did you, sugar?”
“She’s dead?” Lucy sounded as if she’d lost a bit more of her innocence than she’d planned. Her green eyes held a haunted expression of old grief renewed. That puzzled him.
Shel regretted his flippant attitude, sometimes he forgot not everyone held the same casual attitude toward life his kind did. The troubled expression on Lucy’s face gave him a sharp twinge of guilt. Of course she was scared, Sergei had people after her.
Before he realized it, Shel knelt in front of Lucy and took her hands. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” She nodded.
“You can stay in my cabin tonight.” Shel looked Lucy over. “I probably have something you can borrow to sleep in. I’ll show you which cabin and where my extra t-shirts and things are if you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” Lucy’s voice was still a pale shadow of the brightness it had been earlier.
Shel gave a mental shrug and motioned toward the end of the passage. “Tomorrow I’ll go ashore and do some checking. You’ll be safe here. I’ll bring back your things.” He left her there, giving her what privacy he could on the small boat.
Shel shut the door and silently slipped back to the salon. When he got there, he pushed the idea of her asleep in his cabin out of his mind. He didn’t want to examine the feelings that conjured up too closely. Shel went to the small couch. He’d sleep there. If he slept.
Shel reached for Lucy’s bag, a tacky straw tourist job with Miami embroidered on the side. He set it on the galley table. It tipped over and the usual stuff women carried spilled out, along with a small wallet.
He put everything back in. The wallet held something hard. Shel turned the wallet over in his hands a few times before opening it. It was simple curiosity that made him look at the contents, a desire to know something more about this woman who made him feel things he hadn’t experienced in centuries.
Shel opened the wallet. His stomach fell into his boots. A smiling Lucy looked back at him from the small photo. He felt sick. The man behind her was a tall impeccably groomed businessman. He appeared to be the sort of man that had always set Shel’s teeth on edge. She leaned into the man and hugged the laughing toddler close.
He took a sudden deep breath remembering to breathe, and pulled out the bit of paper that peeked out from behind the photo. Newspaper. Shel carefully unfolded it choosing to ignore the fact that his hands shook and he was totally numb. He read the date and the words in the obituary three times before they sank in.
Shel bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. That explains the sadness in her. His heart hurt. The sight of the child brought back painful memories. Shel didn’t need to look at the objects but he did anyway dropping the two gold rings into his hand. After a long moment Shel slipped the rings back in their place and quietly put the wallet back in the bag.
Shel went to the galley pantry. He took a bottle of whiskey out along with a glass and poured a drink. After the third shot he headed up on deck. It would be a long time before he slept.
Chapter Three: I’ve Got A Flair
Shel tied the dinghy up at the dock and headed for the charter shack. He didn’t expect to find much but maybe their pursuers hadn’t found the hiding spot where he kept his emergency money. Shel had learned long ago the wisdom of having several stashes of money in case things went to hell. It was beginning to look like it might be sooner than he’d planned.
Inside he surveyed the destruction. Sergei’s goons had done a thorough job, right down to emptying the bait coolers. The stench of spoiled shrimp and dead fish made Shel gag. He kicked debris away from the wall and knelt beside the file cabinet. The baseboard came loose with a little effort. He pulled the trim away revealing the small hollow area it hid. Shel quickly transferred the neatly wrapped packet of hundred dollar bills to his jacket pocket. Habit made him replace the baseboard.
The noise of footsteps on the wooden porch alerted him to the arrival of someone. He stood quickly. The front door opened. Shel gave a mental curse as a familiar figure stepped into the room. He pulled out a strong brown Turkish cigarette and lit it, waiting for the man to speak.
James DeLong, private investigator and part time Werewolf, held a lurid crime scene photo out for Shel to look at. “Ava Romanov was pulled out of the surf two days ago. What was left of her anyway. Sergei Romanov has been following this woman.” DeLong held out another photo, Lucy standing at a table filled with junk. The garage sale. Shel cringed inside. How long had the mutt been watching the place? “We think she may know something about it. Last time anyone saw her, she was entering your charter business.” DeLong waved his hand to indicate the mess.
Shel drew a deep drag from the cigarette he was smoking. He squinted as the smoke burned his eyes but didn’t take his gaze away from the photo of Lucy. “What makes you think I saw her, Werewolf?”
DeLong shrugged, “A pretty woman comes into your business and you don’t notice? Get real. You have seen her haven’t you?”
Shel kept his voice steady despite the fact his heart beat double time. “What if I have?”
“We’d really like to talk to her.”
Shel snorted. I bet you would. “Doesn’t look like she’d be hard for you to track, DeLong. You lose your sense of smell?”
Delong gave him a dirty look. “Always the smart ass.”
“It’s a talent. What is this all about?” Shel ignored Delong’s grin.
“We think she has something of ours and we want it back. That simple.”