But Lucy didn't think that was true. After riding Val and Val riding her six ways to Sunday, galloping off into the sunset for a happily-ever-after with some other man just didn't seem possible. Because—and this was a big because—when you've had the best, you couldn't try the rest.
"Look, Mom," she said, "I have to go out again on some business, and I need to get ready. I love you, and I'll call you on Sunday."
Lucy got off the phone and into her bathwater, but as she lay back, she thought about Val. Meeting and loving him had been like a wild hot wind had swept them up and tossed them into the eye of a tornado. And in the end he had been nothing but a heartache, a big old larger-than-life heartache that had taken her for one hell of a spin. "Fangs for the memories, Val," she grumbled.
Frowning slightly, Lucy soaped her arms. She'd suddenly remembered how Val was angry with her. Why? He was the lying, lecherous leech who had been unfaithful! She had been pure as the driven snow. But there was not the slightest doubt in her mind that Val was really ticked. Did that mean he felt slighted? Had he been slighted? She'd been thinking it earlier, and doubt reared its ugly head once more. Could she have been wrong in what she saw? Could he possibly have had a reasonable explanation for sipping on someone else?
Lucy sat up slowly, tiny droplets of water sliding down her back, making her shiver. Had she done the right thing in not listening to Val's explanation? Had she been hardheaded and stupid? Of course she couldn't have. When was she so stubborn?
Disgusted with herself, she stood up and grabbed a towel. Glancing into the mirror, she saw confusion staring back at her. Maybe she had been wrong.
No, she told herself. Maybe mountain oysters were really chicken livers, and cows jumped over the moon.
Chapter Twelve
Old Unfaithful?
As Lucy walked up the cobbled sidewalk to the House of Usher, she listened to the music that spilled out through the bars surrounding the old antebellum home. The structure had been renovated and turned into a club three years earlier, and it was now the hangout for the elite of the supernatural world—and it required a membership for all but special occasions like Friday the thirteenth or Halloween.
The music, rich and vibrant, was almost a living thing as it poured into the night from nearby bars. The air was fraught with sounds of zyedeco, jazz, and blues. Lucy loved that about New Orleans: the killer music and the mouthwatering food. Texas might be a state of mind, but New Orleans was a feast for the senses.
The inside of the club was cool and dark, and it smelled of incense and a hint of orange blossoms. A huge mahogany bar with brass rails stretched all along the ballroom floor. The floor was tiled in black and white marble, and couples were dancing and swaying upon it to a soft tune.
The club was packed to the rafters, and that made her search more difficult. Lucy sighed. "Everybody and their dog and cat is here," she complained. But she hadn't really expected anything else.
She spent the next half hour wandering through the house, studying the faces and looking for a creature with violet-colored eyes and a scar on one cheek. And perhaps she was also hoping for a detective with eyes the color of an arctic sea.
She also did as her boss had bade her do, mingling and mixing whenever she could with the elite of the paranormal world. After about twenty minutes, Lucy found herself chatting with one of the blues' undisputed kings. His name was Holiday, and he had a way with the sax that should be declared illegal. He was also a werewolf, the head of the Pirate Alley Clan. Maybe, just maybe, if she played her cards right, she could get him to do her show.
Unfortunately, Holiday had had too much to drink and was being a little too frisky for her comfort. As his hands latched on to her buttocks for the fourth time, Lucy tried to brush them away… only to feel a strong wrist and hand touch hers. Glancing back, she found herself staring into Val's face.
"Val!" she said, her heart pounding.
He gave her a look of angry disgust, then went about sending Holiday off with a flea in his ear about treating a lady with respect. Just seeing Lucy with the lecherous wolf made Val feel as if someone had poisoned his Bloody Mary.
Turning back to Lucy, he gave her a dark look. "What's gotten into you, cherie? Why were you letting that fur ball feel you up in public?"
"Letting him? A lot you know! I was removing his hands from my butt, you ass."
But he just gave her his inscrutable look—a look that had used to infuriate Lucy when they were going out.
He'd made it whenever she tried to make an important point that he felt was silly.
"I could have handled him," she growled.
Val nodded. "It sure looked that way. And he could handle you. Another few seconds and he'd have had your dress up to your waist." Val's blue eyes blazed. Seeing Holiday's hands all over the behind of the woman he'd once loved was bringing things to the front of his mind—feelings that were better left buried.
Glaring, Lucy pointed a finger at him, retorting, "I'm a big girl, Val. I can handle myself."
He saw the pulse beating rapidly in her throat. Once he had kissed that throat, bitten it. Her blood had been spicy rich, and he had never tasted anything so good. The thought made him angry. He was no fledgling vampire to be led by his emotions, by lust, but that was exactly what was happening.
"What were you doing with Holiday, anyway? Just because he can play a sax like an angel doesn't mean he is one. That wolf's a real dog when it comes to women. Strange, cherie, you used to have better taste." And you used to taste so good.
Lucy snorted. "I suppose you mean you?"
Val said nothing, just gave her a knowing smile.
The smile clearly made Lucy angry. "I know what Holiday is, and I wasn't flirting with him. I was just doing my job. My boss wants me to mingle tonight, to scare up some guests for the show."
This time, Val snorted. "Scare up is right—or dig them kicking and screaming up out of the grave."
"And just what does that mean?"
Val shook his head. "Well, you must admit your work's not 60 Minutes."
"It may not be now, but that doesn't mean it couldn't be if I got more serious-minded guests!" How dare he insult her show? Even if he was right—which he was—who did he think he was, judging her show like some Ebert and Roeper?
"No one of any importance in the supernatural community would be caught dead on your show—or undead," Val remarked.
His words hurt, because Lucy knew they were the truth. She'd said the same thing herself. And he not only knew it was the truth, but knew that she knew it was the truth. She knew her show could be better, and having him say so really cut into her confidence. She glanced away, managing to hold her tears at bay. She didn't want Val to see her cry again. He had seen enough of her pain.
Seeing Lucy's reaction, Val knew that his careless words had cut her deeper than he'd intended. He'd been through some bad, some truly sad times because of this woman, the heartache of losing her never completely dissipating. Still, Lucy had once been the light of his life. So why was he hurting her?
Touching her arm, he apologized. "That wasn't very nice," he admitted. "I've got my mind on a lot of things going down tonight. Friday the thirteenth is not a fun, crazy time for us cops. We're the ones who have to stop all the craziness."
Lucy nodded stiffly. She was glad for his apology, glad for the words, but his comments still stung. If only they weren't true. "You sound almost human," she murmured, not meaning anything negative.
"Can't have that, can we?" He grinned, much like his old self. She had a flash of memory, a flash of all the old reasons for loving him. "If I do anything human again, you be sure and let me know," he added.