Born Into Love (35 page)

She chewed her lip, thinking. “Remy says he has the knife, but do we know for sure that it wasn’t included in the artifacts taken from the boat?”

“We do not know. He could be lying, a possibility more akin to his nature.”

“Do you think the knife has power?”

“It possessed enough magic to turn Teodoro into a vampire.”

Her eyes darkened. “Maybe it’s his weapon of choice. He could kill you with it. That’s what Remy really wants.”

He hugged her and inhaled a soft scent of jasmine. “There is only one way to know.” She edged out of his arms ready to argue. “
Mi amor
, I am your husband and soon-to-be adoptive father to Matthew. I have the world to lose. I will be careful, but I have to meet with him.”

She shook her head. “He hates you. This is a trap.”

“That much is certain, but he also needs money. I will discover for myself what Ma’ta’s knife can do for me.”

“This stinks.”

“Have you noticed, beloved? You and Luz are sounding more alike.”

* * *

The streetlights dotting the road in front of
his house turned the night mist to smoke. The burnt shell of Mercedes’ house stood black and eerie against the beach. The perfect setting for a murder.

Remy phoned from the high water mark outside
Diego’s home. Foolishly, he began to hope. In starlight Remy looked as pale as Diego. He jutted his jaw confident that he had the upper hand.

“You get the knife when I know the money’s in my account.”

“Contact the bank.”

He dialed. When he cut the connection, he nodded. “I knew I could count on your desperation, Castilla.”

“Give me the knife.”

“Sure.”

He raised his trouser to reveal a scabbard tied to his leg. He’d covered the blade in aluminum wrap. “I didn’t want it touching my leg. It’s got magic, but not the kind I want.” He kept it wrapped and held it in front of Diego’s face. “If it doesn’t work, blame Teodoro.”

He tossed it into the air.

Diego reached for it. Remy lunged. He caught a glint of metal in Remy’s hand and doubled over. Procteur ran. It was a strange phenomenon but it took a few seconds for him to feel pain. But once this pain started, he toppled onto the damp sand. Pain shot up his back above the kidney. He tried to reach the knife, but could not.

Someone called
his name. Mercedes. And then she knelt by his side. He looked into her panicked eyes filled with fear and starlight.

“Take it out,”
he gasped.

Her hand touched the handle and she stifled a cry. “You’ll bleed to death!”

“Hurry!”

She pulled the sacrificial knife from
his body. He jerked into her waiting arms and into nightmares.

* * *

Mercedes ripped off Diego’s shirt. Would the wound heal?
She clasped him to her chest and rocked him as if he were Matthew.

“It’s all right now, sweetheart,” she murmured. Diego didn’t respond.

“No! No!” She laid him on the sand and began CPR as if he were human.

The harder she tried the more her lungs burned. Tears spilled down her cheeks onto his face. When her throat dried and exertion cut her vision, she collapsed next to him too weak, too human to do more.

She placed her hand over his heart. Nothing. Again she opened his mouth and forced air into his lungs. But his chest was so heavy and her breaths too meager to raise his ribcage. The next breath she took turned into a sob.

She heard a wheeze. From her? From Diego?

He coughed. “Diego,” she shouted, “keep trying. Breathe! Breathe!” He obeyed. She screamed with joy. “Take another! Another!”

His lungs filled. She copied the rhythm until their chests rose in unison. Then she lost the tempo.

“Diego, you’re back. Talk to me. How do you feel?”

He coughed and tried to sit on his own.

“Are you. . . all right?”

He nodded.

“Are you. . .are you. . .?” She couldn’t finish.

* * *

And
he couldn’t answer. He felt new. Not baby new, but freshly made. “I am mortal and life is . . .wonderful.” The sand itched his skin, he coughed making way for air he really needed, his limbs twitched but in a good way for this time they were under human power. Now he understood Teodoro’s words. They referred to Ma’Ta’s knife, the blade of life and death.

Luz became human when
he did. Perhaps that would be an improvement. She locked the knives away—the real and the fake--then she and Mercedes mixed concrete and sealed both in a basement wall.

If anything, Luz’s behavior, which ha
d always been on the edge, worsened. She was more teenager than young adult. As for Mercedes? Neither his human defects nor Luz’s antics dampened her generous nature.

“Diego! Hu
rry! You’ve got to see this!” His wife dragged him into the living room.

The announcer spoke in dramatic tones. “Remy Procteur, former treasure hunter and escaped thief, leaped from the roof of his high-rise condo late last night. Detectives refuse to give details saying the investigation is on-going.”

Their phone rang. He picked up.

“This is Detective Broome. Have you heard?”

He remembered the somber detective. He had taken their statements regarding their kidnapping. He’d left Diego with the impression that their responses had been unsatisfactory, but that had been months ago. “Yes, our former captor took his life.”

Brief silence.

“Maybe. I’ve been going through Mr. Procteur’s things and I’d like your input.”

“Of course. Would this afternoon be satisfactory?”

“Great. You’re in Suffolk. I could use the fresh air.”

Detective Broome arrived two hours later. Luz led him into the great room.
Diego had asked her to straighten it, but she had not, arguing correctly that the baby paraphernalia gave the place life. He closed the door when she left; her jaws busy with a wad of pink gum.

Mercedes arrived as he and
the detective settled into high-backed maroon leather chairs. The pillows were somewhere on the floor.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had to wash baby food off my hands.” She smiled at the detective. “How can we help you?”

“Like I told your husband, I’ve got a few questions. I read your article in the Times about the artifacts. A nice bit of detective work on your part.”

Mercedes flushed at the compliment
and pulled up a chair. “A bit of luck. We’d been trying to get out of the jungle and away from Procteur and ran into him.”

“Yeah, so you said.” He opened his briefcase. “We found some unusual items in
Procteur’s apartment.” Broome hesitated. “Some of the stuff is bizarre.”

“Artifacts?” she asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“
We’ll do our best to help.”

His
wife seemed eager while he wanted to tread carefully.

The detective
held up Teodoro’s notebook. “Ever see this?”

“Yes,”
Diego said, answering before Mercedes could form words. “It belonged to Teodoro.”

“Lab says it’s a diary. Want to know what’s in it?”

“Sure,” piped Mercedes completely unrestrained.

“Mumbo jumbo. Rituals using stuff no one ever heard of. Legends. Something about life and death, poison roots on a pitcher. Seeds. Guess he wanted to plant them. Stuff like that.”

He and Mercedes exchanged a glance. The pitcher. It should have been the biggest clue. She shrugged. “Well, he was nuts.”

“Maybe. Why do you think Procteur kept it?”

They shook their heads.

“Well, I’ve got more news. Procteur didn’t jump. What we’ve got is a homicide. Word is he failed to pay his debts. Know anything about that?”

Mercedes held Diego’s gaze. His clue that she would handle the answer. His vampire days were gone, but he could still read her mind.

“When Procteur visited the Pascuas Museum, a mobster type hung around with him. Maybe he wasn’t working for Remy, but pressuring him.”

“Would you recognize this guy?”

“Yes. Diego saw him too. Lots of people saw him. The museum or the street cameras might have him on video.”

“Good point.” The detective sighed. “One more thing. Procteur left notes. I think he planned to blackmail you, but the stuff was psycho material.”

“What do you mean?”
Diego asked.

“His notes say you’re a vampire. Said he’d expose you.”

Diego laughed. “I used to be a vampire, but I’m human now.”

Mercedes chimed in. “That’s true. Probably the first time Remy told the truth.”

Detective Broome snapped his briefcase closed. The man looked tired. He could be their first sleep-over guest. “Would you care to spend the night?” Diego asked.

Broome
glanced out the wall of windows at the ocean doing its thing. “It’s great here, real relaxing. I could sure use a walk on the beach, but I’m not going into any vampire crypt.”

Mercedes patted him on the shoulder. “We turned it into a sauna.”

He laughed. “Everybody’s a joker.”

The End

About the Author

Romance, mystery, paranormal happenings, including ghosts and vampires—all appeal to Catherine La Claire.
But heroines and heroes finding common ground and true love? They’re the beating heart of what makes a good read according to her way of thinking.

She started reading herself to sleep at an early age and continues to do so to this day. Eventually, she discovered she wanted her own characters in their own worlds.

She’s a former teacher who now concentrates on writing fiction and who is married to her own romantic hero.

Note from the Publisher

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Best Regards and Happy Reading, Jamie and Jude

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