Polanski Brothers Read online

  Society might be liberal about many things in this day and age, but it sure as hell didn’t include vampires in its semi-enlightened state, despite the fact that her family wouldn’t hurt a fly. Her family was a peaceful lot; but there was no convincing a human that just because they were vampires, it didn’t mean they all wanted to steal your soul or bite you to make you one of them.

  Indeed, there were plenty of those types of undead running around loose in the world, but not in her clan. The night dwellers who opted for that lifestyle were considered rogue—often shunned by the more civilized like the Polanskis who chose to blend with the human population rather than kill it one soul draining at a time.

  A good majority of humans participated in all sorts of alternative lifestyles of all shapes and sizes.

  So what was the big deal about a little blood drinking amongst friends? It wasn’t like they forced their lifestyle on anyone, for Christ’s sake. They didn’t invite the neighbors to do blood shots with them at block parties while they worshipped the devil and sacrificed a virgin.

  Which was a good thing, too, because she’d be first on the list of sacrificial items.

  But just let a human get wind of the fact that you were a vampire and all of a sudden you were being chased through the night with a loaf of garlic bread and some holy water in a cup by a bunch of Dracula mongers.

  Thanks, but no thanks.

  Spencer loved working in Easton. It was one of her favorite towns in the many they’d been in. She loved living in Cedar Glen with its band of misfit paranormals. She didn’t want to leave either place and she wasn’t going to let some nosy detective with a sideshow affliction for mind reading mess with her happiness.

  Wearily, she hoped maybe Detective Larkin McBride and his gorgeous body would just go away. Adelaide Perkins had mentioned something about how impossible she thought it was that Alan had killed himself. Maybe the lip-smacking detective would go Sherlock Holmes Alan’s demise to death and forget all about the Polanskis.

  That thought eased her mind just a little as she picked up her clothes and shoes and went to close the curtains to prepare for bed.

  But a foreboding chill crept up her spine when Spencer glanced out her window into the black ink of night.

  And then again, maybe the delicious detective wouldn’t forget all about her. Maybe he was a real multitasking wonder, because look who just came to dinner.

  Larkin McBride.

  Shit.

  Spencer closed her curtains, blocking out the persistent detective in his very obvious white car.

  He’s a real super sleuth. Moron

  What kind of detective sat in plain view of their suspect?

  Spencer’s cell phone rang, making her push the curtains closed and rush to grab it, hoping it might be her brother or even Andrew. She needed to talk to someone about this. “Hello?”

  “The kind of detective who wants to know what the hell is going on. Now.”

  “What?” she asked innocently, smothering a groan.

  “You wanted to know what kind of detective sat in plain sight of their suspect. A super sleuth is what you thought me, I believe.” His gravelly voice over the line made her shiver, and it wasn’t only because of her fear he’d found her out.

  It was time to break out the big guns. Heavy threats with maybe a little crazy mixed in might work. But either way, he had to go. “Detective, it’s late and I’m tired. If you don’t go away I’m going to report you to your superior.”

  “Don’t vampires stay up all night long?”

  “Not if they just worked a double shift.” He chuckled into the phone at her response and an odd electricity shifted Spencer’s non-existent insides. Which was, of course, impossible. She had no insides.

  “The fact remains that we have some things to discuss, Ms. Polanski.”

  “Your vampire fixation and the voices in your head, perhaps?” Tucking her hair behind her ear, she dug around in her purse for something to tie her hair up with.

  “Yeah, my vampire fixation,” he groused dryly. “Answer the door, Spencer, or we will play cops and vampires because I’ll slap some cuffs on you and haul you to the station if I have to in order to get some answers.”

  Spencer didn’t have the time to protest before the line went dead and she heard her doorbell.

  She raced to grab a robe from the hook in her bathroom and throw it on, rolling her shoulders in preparation for battle. He wasn’t going away. He’d made that clear.

  So she’d just have to empty her mind of everything and keep her cool by convincing him he was out of his gourd. If she didn’t play this right her family could be in danger and she refused to let that happen.

  “Open the door, Spencer,” Larkin demanded from behind the shiny oak of her apartment door.

  She cracked her neck and flipped the locks, flinging the door open to find a more casually dressed Larkin McBride staring down at her with those intense eyes that singed her soul.

  Yet, there was consolation. If she had to have a crazy person stalking her and reading her mind, at least the view was lovely.

  Then she cringed. Empty your mind, idiot. Do you want him to know you think he’s attractive?

  If Larkin heard that thought, he ignored it and pushed his way past her to stand in the middle of her living room, all big and intimidating against the backdrop of her beige and white furniture.

  A crisp pair of low-slung blue jeans molded to his muscled thighs, and his black T-shirt hugged his wide chest. Folding his thick forearms sprinkled with a light dusting of fine, dark hair over his stomach, he waited.

  Her mouth went dry and her legs were weak again when she said, “So, here we are. You with the crazy voices in your head, me still contemplating whether I should call the psych ward. What is it you want from me exactly, Detective, and how am I responsible for the nutty things going on in your head?”

  “Cut the bullshit and tell me what the hell is going on.”

  Spencer brushed past him, making a beeline for her kitchen. She flipped on the light in the small kitchenette and went to the cabinet to find some coffee. She couldn’t really taste coffee per se. She kept it because her human friends seemed to like it, and right now it seemed like a very human thing to do. “Shouldn’t you be out hunting down the nearest twenty-four hour donut shop?”

  Larkin remained silent as he followed her into the kitchen and went to the cabinet where she kept her coffee cups, presumptuously taking out one for him, too.

  Spencer fought a smile. Pushy bastard.

  “I’m a cop. We’re all pushy—especially where coffee’s concerned.”

  Yep. Now this was bordering spooky, but still, she fought for calm. “Well, Mr. Pushy Cop, what do you hope to accomplish by forcing your way in here and drinking coffee you weren’t invited to drink?”

  “An answer to my question.”

  “Could you remind me again what the question was? Oh, wait, now I remember. You want to know if I’m a vampire, right?” Spencer snorted, hoping to put him on the defensive—or at the very least make him think she thought he was one egg shy of a dozen.

  He leaned into her, the heat of his body searing hers without ever touching her. “I want to know why I can read your every thought and yeah, I want to know if you’re a vampire.”

  “I don’t know and no, but I play one on TV.” Spencer turned her back to him to fill the coffee pot, then went to sit at her small table, purposely moving with an unhurried pace. She settled in, regretting grabbing the shortest bathrobe she owned as she tugged at the length of it.

  Larkin leaned back on the countertop, pronouncing the lines of his abs and gave her a “methinks the lady protests too much” look. He continued to stare her down with that unnerving, unblinking gaze.

  Spencer refused to be ruffled, so she stared back. “Is this the good cop, bad cop thing? Where you make me confess to something just by virtue of your best scary staring technique?”

  His immobile features cracked a bit, just enough to
let her see he was clearly amused. “Yeah. Is it working?”

  Wow, he was solid. If she was human and she could suddenly read minds, the mind of a vampire, no less, she’d curl up in a corner and rock herself. You had to admire his core strength.

  “So,” he probed. “Is it working? Or should I tighten up the part where I demand you damn well tell me what you know?”

  Tucking her bathrobe under her thigh, she smiled at him. “Um, no. Maybe you should find a new profession.”

  “Like what? Embalming?”

  That’s it, pick on the embalmer. It wasn’t a glamorous job, but someone had to do it.

  “I’m not picking on you. You were good with Adelaide tonight.”

  Spencer softened a bit at the mention of Adelaide’s name. “Is she okay? She was so torn up.”

  Larkin nodded his dark head, his rock-hard stare easing. “She’s fine now. I left her with a neighbor who offered to stay with her tonight. Alan was her only child, so she’s rightfully bereft.”

  And Larkin’s friend. Damn death for leaving behind those who felt they should have gone first. “I’m glad. I feel better knowing she’s with someone.”

  “I know you do.”

  Of course he did. Spencer sat up stiffly. It was time for the good detective to take his leave. Maybe chase a nice glazed donut off into the sunset or something.

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on, and I like jelly.” Larkin went to her refrigerator, probably looking for milk for his coffee.

  “No milk?”

  “I like it black. Milk is for sissies.”

  “What about sugar?”

  “Again, another pansy condiment.”

  Larkin poured two mugs of coffee and brought them to the table, setting one in front of her. He pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat down, dwarfing her tiny Formica table. “I can stay here until daylight, you know. Won’t you fry to a crisp by then?”

  Silly, silly detective. A myth that some good SPF and sunglasses cured quite nicely.

  “How high of an SPF do you need for a vampire as fair as you?”

  Spencer rolled her eyes. Good hell. Think empty, Spencer. Vapid and airy. She took a calm sip of her tasteless coffee and ignored his question.

  Larkin leaned forward so his face was mere inches from hers. His lips began to move, but Spencer couldn’t quite make out what they were saying for the sensuous movement of them.

  He sounded like the adults in a Charlie Brown cartoon. Kind of muffled and distorted. She stirred in her chair as something pounded in her ears. It sure as hell couldn’t be her heart, because she didn’t have one. Waves of crashing thunder like the rush of the tide drowned out everything. She wondered if he could hear that, too.

  “Hear what?” he asked, taking a gulp of his coffee, the strong muscles in his bronzed neck working.

  Oy. “You know what, Detective? Here’s something to chew on. Shouldn’t you be really freaked out that you’ve all of a sudden developed bionic mind reading abilities? Is this the calm before your admission to the loony bin storm?”

  Larkin grinned out of nowhere. His teeth were white and set perfectly behind that mouth that actually had dimples bracketing it. Deep crevices she wanted to run her tongue over.

  Eek. Another thought, unbidden and not meant for sharing with smug detectives, flew through her brain. Spencer bit the tongue that wished to betray her. Hard.

  Larkin folded his hands on the table in front of him. “You know what, Spencer Polanski? I should be pretty freaked out, but I’m not. Maybe it’s the cop in me, but I want to investigate the hell out of this phenomenon. I could hear everything you were thinking, from the moment you walked across the room to go fix the flowers that were threatening to fall over, right up until now and it didn’t trouble me one iota. Just made me want to solve the damn puzzle. Now, you’re more like one of those Rubik’s Cubes. Remember those?”

  If he only knew how far back her memory spanned.

  “You know those square things with the colors all over them and you had to match all the colors up? That’s what this is like. I know there’s an answer to this. I just don’t know how to find it. That’s where you come in, Spencer Polanski. You’re going to help me solve the puzzle,” he said definitively, brooking no question about it in her mind.

  Spencer crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “By matching up all of my colors?”

  “You’re a funny lady, Spencer,” he said, as though his word was the deciding factor.

  The beginnings of sunrise caught her by surprise as she glimpsed a ray of orange sun when it hit the top of her table. She needed to sleep—feed and then sleep some more so she could prepare to do battle with the detective.

  Spencer had a funny feeling he wasn’t going to let this go. She pushed her chair back and stood, tightening the silky tie of her robe around her waist. “Well, Detective, this has been a real gas. Loads of fun, but I’m a working girl and I have to get back up in a few hours. Oh, and look,” she pointed toward the window, “the sun is coming up. Are you going to stay and watch me turn into chicken-fried vampire or leave me to my dignity so that I can run a wooden stake through my chest and end it all?”

  Larkin laughed out loud, low and with a resonant rumble that skittered along her spine in a not so unpleasant way. Spencer’s nipples seemed to like that—they waved hello from the top of her bathrobe. She crossed her arms over her breasts self-consciously.

  “I’ll let you get some sleep, but we’re not through. But before I go, tell me something, Spencer?” he asked as he returned to the probing stare phase of their fledgling relationship.

  She cocked an eyebrow and feigned a yawn.

  “Is there a radius on this mind reading thing? I mean, can I go like ten miles down the road and still hear your thoughts?”

  Now Spencer laughed because she was tired and this was utterly absurd, and she needed him to leave before she fell over in vampire sleep right at his feet. “I think that’s a skill you hone over time, grasshopper.”

  Larkin pushed back his chair, too, and left her standing in the kitchen, but not before he made one last parting shot. “I’m gonna go do that. Hone my mind reading skills. You get some sleep. I’ll be back, Spencer Polanski. Don’t get too comfortable without me.”

  Somehow Spencer didn’t think she would. But then, she wasn’t supposed to think anything, now was she?

  * * * *

  Spencer brushed a strand of her hair from her face and leaned back in her office chair, staring off into space. Her mind was on anything but preparation to embalm her next patient.

  She couldn’t stop thinking about Alan.

  Her cousin Cathy had dropped by earlier to fill her in on the latest development where he was concerned. Apparently, Alan Perkins didn’t kill himself. At least that’s what his mother told the police and they seemed to think enough evidence pointed to the notion that he, in fact, might not have.

  Spencer had looked back over his file again—examined the information she had with an eagle eye. She’d covered the scars on his wrists herself. Nothing out of the ordinary popped out at her then and nothing was popping out at her now. Of course she was no detective.

  But Larkin McBride was.

  Asshole, asshole, asshole.

  Spencer let her mind run free with expletives starting with the letter “A” and was busy working her way down to “C” when she realized Larkin might be able to hear her from wherever he was. She cringed, pressing the palms of her hands into the cool of her desk to ease the hot flush Larkin’s memory evoked.

  The radius thing he’d mentioned bothered her. The whole damn thing bothered her—frightened her to her core. It took a strong mind to truly believe you weren’t losing it when you heard voices in your head. It took a sound mind—one steeped in confidence and a buttload of arrogance—to blame someone else for your nutbaggery. Trying to convince Larkin he was batshit had done nothing but encourage him to prove her wrong.

  Damn
you, Larkine McBride.

  Then, because she’d wished him ill in her mind, her body tensed in preparation for the phone to ring or for Larkin to appear at her office door unexpectedly, bringing with him his intense gaze and gorgeous body.

  Spencer sagged back against her office chair in relief when silence prevailed.

  What the hell was she going to do? How could she protect her family if he kept poking around in her head?

  He was a detective, for shit’s sake. He’d dig and dig until he found out she really was a vampire and then, she and her family were as good as baked in the midday sun. Should she tell her parents? If she did that they’d pack up and leave rather than risk harm.

  And did he have to be so sexy while he was being such a prying pain in the ass? Larkin McBride was downright hot as pains in the ass went and that left her more than a little uncomfortable. It was like admiring the enemy. She wasn’t sure what scared her more. Her hormone patrol on full alert for the detective or her fear that she might be caught.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  A knock on her office door jarred her out of her misery. “Come in,” she said, clearing her throat and shuffling the files on her desk.

  “Hey, Spence.” Her cousin Andrew’s face was grim as he flopped down on the chair in front of her desk. “Did you hear? The cops are taking Alan Perkins’ body in for further investigation into his death.”

  And they’d ruin a perfectly good stitch job while they were at it. “How is it that the coroner’s office didn’t think to do that before he was released and I gussied him up?”

  Andrew laughed derisively, his distaste for small-town was no secret amongst them. “Because this is Podunk-ville and it’s not like someone is murdered here every day. The last murder was in seventy-two. Some woman clocked her husband over the head because she caught him screwing the school nurse. Murder wasn’t even on her mind, apparently. She just threw the nearest thing she could get her hands on, which happened to be some old football trophy.”

  Spencer shook her head, and frowned her disapproval. “What can they possibly hope to find if the body is flushed with embalming fluid? They had Alan for three goddamn weeks and they didn’t once think to look for anything suspicious? Who runs the coroner’s office anyway?”