63.

Rain drizzled outside Kingsley's open French windows.

Water gurgled forth from the fountain with the breasts. Kingsley and I were sitting together on his leather couch. Our shoulders touched. There seemed to be a sort of kinetic energy between us. A sexual energy. At least, there was a sexual energy in me.

"Tell me how you figured out Sara was the shooter," he said.

"Three things. First, Horton was in constant contact with her, especially in the hours prior to each shooting. Second, she contacted me from her cell number, claiming she was calling from work, which I found odd. Third, I recalled the picture on her desk, the one taken at the office Halloween party. She went as a pirate."

Kingsley smacked his forehead with his palm. "The mustache. Good Lord, I've seen that picture a hundred times."

"It's the spitting image of your shooter."

"But why didn't you suspect her earlier? I thought you had some sort of ESP thing going on?"

"I do. But it's not an exact science. I sensed a lot of anger from Sara, but I assumed that anger was directed at her failed relationship with you."

"Granted most of my relationships have been failures since the death of my wife, but how did you know about Sara and me?"

"I'm an ace detective, remember?"

"Yes, but¨D"

"She hinted at it."

"Okay, yeah, we dated. We hit it off initially, but things didn't quite take."

"Ya think?"

We drank some more wine. Our shoulders continued touching.

"Speaking of dating," I said. "Danny's secretary dumped him."

"Is that why you can't wipe that smile off your face?"

"It's one of the reasons," I said. "Not to mention Horton has admitted Sara approached him with a proposal to kill you and your client. He provided the gun and surveillance. She did the shooting."

"Then why attack me in broad daylight, in front of so many witnesses?"

"That was calculated. The shooting was scheduled between security shifts; her getaway truck was parked nearby, the plates removed. Horton was waiting a few blocks away, where they swapped cars. The truck was then concealed in a parking garage." I paused and sipped from my Chardonnay. Even vampires get dry mouths. "Now, with Sara dead and the game up, Horton confessed to everything. He will stand trial as an accessory to murder and attempted murder."

We were silent. Kingsley reached over and gently took my hand. His hand was comforting. And damn big. The rain picked up a little and plinked against the French windows.

"You did good work," said Kingsley. "You were worth every penny."

"Of which you still owe me a few."

"When I get my new secretary I'll have her write you a check." He took my wine glass and walked over to his bar and filled me up. From the bar, he said, "I did some research on the medallion."

I perked up. "And?"

"The medallion is rumored to be connected to a way of reversing the effects of vampirism."

"Reversing?" I said, "I don't understand."

"The medallion," he said, "can reverse vampirism."

"You mean¨D"

"You would be mortal again, Sam. That is, if we're talking about the same medallion, which, by the way, is highly coveted, so you might want to keep this on the down low."

My head was swimming with the possibilities. To be human again. To be normal again. To have my kids again.

I looked over at Kingsley and there was real pain on his face. He was hurting.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked.

"You think that if I choose to be mortal..." my voice trailed off.

"I would lose you," he said, finishing. "And I wouldn't blame you for one second."

I stood and came to him, this beautiful, massive man who made me feel alive again, who made me feel sexy again, who made me feel human again, even when I was at my lowest. I sat down in his huge, warm lap and put my arms around his huge, warm neck. I leaned in and pressed my lips softly against his.

When I pulled away after a long moment, I said, "And what if I told you I was falling in love with you?"

"Then that would make me the happiest man, or half-man, on earth," he said. "But what about being mortal again?"

"We'll look into that another day."

"Good idea."

And he kissed me deeply, powerfully, his lips and tongue taking me in completely.

It was a hell of a kiss.

64.

Did I catch you at a good time, Fang?

It's always a good time when I hear from you, Moon Dance.

No girls over tonight?

No girls for awhile. So what's new in your world, Moon Dance?

So I told him. I wrote it up quickly in one long, mangled paragraph.

More type-o's than a blood bank, he answered when I had finished. I think Sara truly loved Kingsley, at least in her own twisted way.

Loved him and hated him.

And it drove her to a certain madness.

Yes, I wrote, remembering Sara's pirouetting body. Watching her land in a heap as a pool of dark blood spread around her. I had stared deep into that dark pool, and felt a hunger.

Fang wrote: She thought Kingsley morally reprehensible, which justified her attempt on his life. And she would have succeeded had he not been immortal. You immortals get all the breaks.

Some of them, I wrote.

Rejection can make you do some crazy things.

Like jump off a hotel balcony, I added.

Yes. But not everyone has wings.

So why no girls for awhile, Fang?

Because I was in love with another woman.

So who's the lucky woman?

There was a long delay. A very long delay. I wrote: Fang?

And then on my computer screen appeared a single red rose, followed by the words: I love you, Moon Dance.

I stared at my monitor. More words appeared.

I fell in love with you instantly. I know this sounds crazy because I've never met you, but I have fallen in love with the image I have created of you in my mind. There will never be a woman on the face of this earth who can compare to this image. All will fall short.

He stopped writing, and I read his words over and over again. Finally, I wrote my response.

We are both crazy, Fang. You know that, right?

Yes, I know that.

Goodnight, Fang.

Goodnight, Moon Dance.