Tall, Silent and Lethal Read online

  “Oh definitely, it was about a week ago.” She cocked her head to the side as she studied his cloaked figure. “You have really bad timing.”

  He chuckled. “Damn, I guess I do,” he said on a heavy sigh. He sat up and pushed the hood off his head, expecting her to act like every other mindless hormonal woman and fawn over him. It was too bad since he was actually enjoying her company.

  She didn’t bat an eye as she said, “Nice hair,” and went back to looking around the store.

  Self-consciously, he ran a hand over his hair only to discover that it was sticking up in places thanks to his hood. This was an unexpected pleasure. Not that he was shallow or anything, but women in his experience generally took one look at him and acted like lovesick fools. He rather liked her indifferent attitude.

  *-*-*-*

  “Your name?” he asked again. “You can tell me now since I'm no longer a cloaked stranger, but a man with a serious case of hat hair. Surely I’m harmless enough.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” she mused, trying to ignore the impulse to stare at him. He was far too handsome for his own good with short, golden blonde hair that reminded her of a perfect sunrise, bright laughing blue eyes and a chiseled face that made him hotter than any man that she’d ever seen or probably ever would.

  His eyebrows came together over that comment. “Why would you say that?”

  She looked pointedly around the suddenly quiet pharmacy. “Because you just gave every woman in this store heart failure.” After a short pause she added, “Except for one of course.”

  He looked around the store only to realize that every woman had stopped talking, shopping, and apparently breathing, just to stare at him. Great, just what he needed. He normally kept his head covered to avoid this kind of aggravation.

  “It’s really not funny,” he muttered when she laughed, a low, rich laugh that had him wishing that she’d do it again just so that he could savor the sound.

  “Oh, I beg to differ. It’s rather entertaining.”

  He shook his head in disbelief. Who was this woman?

  “I know that I’ve earned your name now.”

  She sat back and glanced at the women, who quickly pretended to go back to shopping. “I guess I do owe you something for the entertainment even if it was only for a moment.”

  “I rather think that you do.”

  “Cloe.”

  “Cloe?”

  “That’s my name. Do you prefer Christofer or can I call you Hoodie?” she teased with a sexy little smile that grabbed his attention and held it.

  He ran a hand through his hair again, trying to make it behave. “As much as I would love a nickname like that, I’m afraid that you’ll have to settle for Christofer.”

  She sighed theatrically. “Well, I guess I can’t get everything that I want in life. Damn shame too. I was really looking forward to knowing a man named Hoodie. Now the dream is over.”

  “You’re an unusual woman, did you know that?”

  “Wow, a charmer, too? Be still my beating heart I may perish.”

  He chuckled, earning more curious stares from their audience.

  “All set, Christofer,” Joe said, holding up two small white bags.

  “Well, that’s me,” he said, reluctantly getting up.

  He really hated leaving her like this. He discreetly scented the air and swallowed a groan. His knees nearly buckled in ecstasy. She smelled so damn good. Type B positive blood, but not like any B positive that he’d ever scented. She smelled mouthwatering. The only downside, she wasn't a virgin. Virgin blood was like fillet mignon to him and would have made a rather welcomed treat today.

  There was still something about her blood that drew him…..

  He inhaled again. Her scent was far more inviting than any virgin’s. Damn, as he forced himself to go up to the counter he actually contemplated breaking the promise that he’d made to his sister by taking this woman out back and draining her.

  It had been forty years since he’d promised not to feed from the source and he’d never come closer to breaking his word than today. He looked back at Cloe who was now reading a pamphlet on Alzheimer’s. If he drained this young woman his sister would never know.

  Cloe didn’t live in town. Otherwise he would have definitely noticed her by now. Maybe she was visiting someone? Or maybe just passing through town and stopping to fill a prescription? If that were the case then Marta would never know that he took her.

  Shit.

  He felt his eyes start to burn and his gums throb as his fangs slid down. Casually, he pulled up his hood as he signed for his sister’s medication. He could do this. Marta would never know. If she did find out he would simply explain about the draw this woman’s blood had on him and hope that she didn't go after him with that damn cane of hers. His stomach growled as her scent grew stronger.

  He didn’t need to turn his head to know that she was now standing next to him. Joe must have waved her over. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pharmacist push a small white paper bag towards her.

  “Thank you,” Cloe said as she signed for her medication.

  It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her out for coffee, lunch, anything to get her out of this store and away from human eyes when she said, “See you around, Hoodie. I mean, Christofer,” she added with a wink.

  He froze.

  She was staying in town?

  Shit!

  His stomach roared in protest, demanding a taste of the blood that was starting to drive him out of his fucking mind. Cloe playfully patted his stomach, sending a new awareness through his system and making his cock twitch in pleasure. It took him by surprise, robbing him of the ability to breathe as he struggled to get his body under control. He hadn’t allowed himself to react to a woman in nearly fifty years and he didn’t want to now, but it looked as though what he wanted no longer mattered.

  “You might want to feed him,” Cloe said with a wink as she stepped past him. He watched as she bent over to pick up a red shopping basket and nearly growled. Did she know how delectable that little round ass of hers was?

  Without a backwards glance, she headed down an aisle. Damn it! If he stayed here any longer he’d follow her down that aisle and drain her. He wouldn’t be able to help himself. For a moment he stood there, struggling with the need to go after her. A not-so-discreet cough reminded him of the reason why he couldn’t. With one last glance in the direction that she’d disappeared, he grabbed his sister’s prescriptions and practically stormed out of the store. He jumped into his car and drove the usual five minute ride home in two.

  He slammed the car door shut, rocking the car, and headed for the back door of the large white farmhouse that could really use a paint job. Once inside, he dropped the medication on the kitchen table and headed for the basement. He hesitated at the door for a moment as he contemplated going out back and getting back to work, but the loud yawn that escaped him reminded him that he’d spent the better part of the last week working and could really use some sleep.

  “Christofer, is that you?” Marta’s scratchy voice called out from the living room.

  “Yes, it’s me. I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” he said as he closed the door behind him. Not that it mattered since he could still hear everything Marta said or did perfectly and she knew it. Well, as long as he was paying attention, which he did at least forty percent of the time.

  “I forgot to tell you that-”

  “Tell me later, I’m going to get some sleep!” he yelled loud enough so that she could hear him as he walked across the large finished basement to the refrigerator. He yanked the door open and grabbed two bags of blood and headed over to his bed where he flopped down on his back. He closed his eyes as he drank, imagining that it was Cloe’s blood, but it didn’t work.

  His stomach knew that it was getting a cold substitution. Disgusted, he tossed the empty bags aside and picked up a book, hoping that a little distraction would get his thoughts away from where they didn’t belong. When reading didn't help he tossed the book aside and closed his eyes, hoping that a nap would help ease the tension in his body.

  As he drifted off, he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to deserve such a fucked up existence.

  Chapter 3

  Twenty minutes later Cloe was pulling into the wide driveway of what appeared to be an old farm. It was actually very pretty even if the large white farmhouse looked like it could use some work. She looked around, noting the dirt road that continued ahead of her, winding past an old shed for a few hundred yards until it ended in front of a large white barn. The property was large and had a homey look to it that put a smile on her face. She’d always loved old houses.

  After taking a moment to check to make sure that her hair and clothes looked decent, she made her way up to the front door and knocked. A moment later an old woman with a slight curve to her back opened the door and greeted her with a welcoming smile.

  “Hello, Ms. Petersen?” Cloe asked, returning the smile.

  “You must be Cloe. Please, come in,” Ms. Petersen said as she slowly moved to the side. With a murmured, “Thank you,” Cloe stepped inside.

  “Let’s have a seat in the living room,” Ms. Petersen suggested as she slowly walked towards a small sitting room.

  All of the furniture was small, elegant with small patches of worn brown leather covering the barely-there padding on the back of the chairs and seats. In short, none of it looked comfortable. No wonder Ms. Petersen was hunched over. She would be too if she had to sit on this rigid furniture every day. Lace doilies covered all the tables as well as the backs of each chair, making the room look very old fashioned.

  Upon further inspection, she noted the layer of dust, stacks of newspapers, junk mail and dull floors. If the rest of the house was anything like this then it was going to need a good cleaning, which of course was one of the reasons that she was here.

  “Have a seat, dear,” Ms. Petersen said, smiling warmly. Cloe picked up a slight accent, but couldn’t quite place it. She sat down, but only after Ms. Petersen had.

  “I was hoping that my brother would join us for this, but it seems that he needed a nap,” Ms. Petersen said with an amused smile.

  If the man was as old as the woman sitting in front of her then Cloe could understand his need for a nap. Heck, she was only twenty-eight and she really could use a nap after driving up from Florida on only two hours of sleep.

  Ms. Petersen looked her over before giving her an approving nod. “You’ll do just fine,” she said softly.

  “Ah, thank you,” Cloe said, not really sure what the correct response to being perused over like a car for sale was.

  Ms. Petersen clasped her hands together. “Now let’s see, your room is on the second floor. You may have whichever room you want. My brother turned the dining room into my room several years ago, because I have such a difficult time climbing stairs,” Ms. Peterson explained as Cloe nodded in understanding.

  “My brother has the basement as his bedroom. That is the first rule actually now that I think of it. Please do not go down there. My brother likes his privacy and if he discovered that anyone was down there he would become very upset.”

  “I understand. I won’t intrude on his privacy,” she quickly agreed since she had no desire to walk in on a ninety-year-old man in his birthday suit. Not her thing. Seriously.

  “I should probably also mention that he would be very upset if anyone went in the barn,” Ms. Petersen added with an apologetic smile. “That’s where he keeps all his artwork.”

  “I understand,” Cloe said with a reassuring smile and a nod.

  “Let’s see,” Ms. Petersen said as she took out a folded piece of paper. “My friend Gladyce told me that I should write down the rules and what I expect so that there won't be any misunderstandings.”

  ‘That sounds like a good idea,” Cloe said encouragingly. The other woman nodded and smiled again, pleased that Cloe was so agreeable. From her experience as a live-in caregiver, Cloe knew all too well that a great deal of the elderly were treated little better than children and their opinions were often ignored. It was something that always bothered her and something that she strove not to do.

  “Hmm, where to start…oh! Okay, no smoking or drinking in the house.” She looked up to gage Cloe’s response. When Cloe simply nodded, she continued. “No men in your room.” That rule was more than fine with Cloe since men were the last thing she felt like dealing with at the moment.

  “Anything else?” Cloe asked encouragingly.

  Ms. Petersen frowned at her list. “That seems to be it for rules. Do you have a problem with any of them?”

  “Absolutely none.”

  “Good, good, okay now the chores…..the house needs a deep cleaning and then daily cleaning. Then there’s the lawn and you put down on your resume that you can do work as a handyman?” she asked, looking up at Cloe.

  “Yes,” Cloe hesitantly answered.

  She almost lied, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. More times than she could count, her employers or their family tried to squeeze as much work out of her for her base salary as they possibly could. That sucked, because if that happened she was out of here. She was done with being used.

  “Good! There’s plenty of things around here that could use some attention. Oh, especially the house. It needs to be scraped and painted,” Ms. Petersen rambled on about all of the things that could use some attention, oblivious to Cloe’s lack of enthusiasm.

  Somehow Cloe stopped herself from groaning her frustration. Well, it looked like she was going to have to accept that live-in position in Pennsylvania after all. “Ms. Petersen-”

  “Now, according to Bernice, that’s my friend, handymen make about fifteen to twenty dollars an hour. So, let’s just say twenty dollars an hour for every hour that you work as a handyman. Is that sufficient?”

  Cloe blinked. Then blinked again. “You want to pay me extra for doing handyman work?”

  Ms. Petersen’s smile slipped as her expression turned confused. “Of course, why would I expect you to do that for free when I hired you to be my helper? No,” she shook her head firmly, “if you’re going to do extra work then you’ll get paid for it. My brother will be more than happy to pay you for it, especially since he was supposed to do it himself for the past ten years.”

  Cloe felt her eyes widen at that announcement. “No, that’s fine. I’ll do it when the rest of my chores are done.” No way was she about to sit around while an old man climbed a ladder and fell, then had a massive heart attack and died. Yeah, she could live without the added guilt.

  Ms. Petersen looked back at her list for a moment before putting it away. “Let’s see, there’s also cooking, shopping, and running errands,” she said, worry taking over her features as she finished her small list with a distressed, “Oh, no!”

  She threw her arms up and tried to get to her feet. It took several tries and one of Cloe’s hands before she managed to stand up. “There’s nothing in the house to eat!” she announced as she grabbed her cane and headed towards an oversized black purse. “I’m afraid my brother forgot to do the shopping again,” she said with a weary sigh. “It’s one of the reasons why I finally decided to get a helper.”

  Cloe nodded, wondering just how much this woman expected of her brother. If he was anything like his sister he probably had enough problems with just taking care of himself.

  Ms. Petersen pulled out another list. “Would you mind terribly going grocery shopping? You can add whatever you want to the list for snacks.”

  Cloe took the list and placed it in her pocket. “That’s very kind, but it wouldn’t be right. Meals are one thing, but I wouldn’t feel right about having you pay for my snacks. I’ll pay for them and if I have something you like then we’ll share.”

  “Oh!” Ms. Petersen looked absolutely delighted. Then she frowned. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what kind of snacks they have nowadays. It’s been so long since I’ve been to the grocery store. Usually my brother takes the list and storms off.”

  Cloe’s heart broke at Marta’s wistful expression. She had no doubt that Ms. Petersen would prefer to go shopping for herself and get out of the house. Cloe didn’t know much about her brother, but the least he could do was take his sister out for a ride.

  “Why don’t you join me? That way if you see something that you like you can get it,” Cloe suggested.

  “Well, I don’t know,” she said, looking down at her cane. “I wouldn’t want to slow you down. That’s why my brother doesn’t take me.”

  Unless her brother was the Road Runner he had no business talking. No doubt he was just as slow.

  “That’s fine. I’m sure they have an electric scooter at the store that you can use.”

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