"Then let me give you a visualization to tide you over. I'm lying on the bed upstairs in Hal and Darlene's room, in a Navy housing unit in San Pedro," she said, dropping her voice to a sensual murmur. "I'm looking out the window toward the ocean and Catalina.

At least, I could see Catalina in the daytime. Right now all I see is dark water with a streak of moonlight. What are you doing?"

"Sitting in my home office talking to you."

She laughed. "Oh, Roger, you're so literal-minded." He heard the creak of bed springs as she shifted position. The sound made his heart race. "There's something I wanted to run by you, anyway. Darlene's pedigreed Siamese just had kittens, and she offered to give me one. She'll have him shipped to me by air when he's old enough. I had to ask you about it, though."

"Why? Your cat, your house." He relaxed a trifle at the conversational reprieve.

"Would it be safe for me to have a pet when you're around all the time?"

"Well, I won't eat it for breakfast in a fit of absent-mindedness!" After weeks of intimacy, did she think he was that dangerous?

"Silly, that's not what I mean at all. I'm asking whether he would be too afraid of you or too hostile to adjust."

"Oh." Roger's annoyance was replaced by a pang of sadness at the thought of Katrina. "No, if the animal grows up in close contact with me, he won't mind."

"That's great. Now, your turn, why did you call?"

He took a fortifying breath. "I need to talk to you about an important matter that's come up, as soon as you arrive home Sunday."

Alarm crept into Britt's voice. "Not another murder?"

"No, nothing like that. It has to do with a patient, and it does need immediate attention." His nerves twitched under his skin; they felt as raw as if she could sense his deception over the three-thousand-mile gap.

Her voice lightened again. "Oh, I see. You're getting desperate, and you want to be sure I'll come right over for a bite."

Desperate? She was all too right about that. "Colleague, I wish you wouldn't talk that way over the telephone."

"Stop being paranoid, Roger. I'm alone with the door closed. Anyway, if Hal or Darlene overheard, they wouldn't give it a second thought. Now, can't you tell me anything specific?""I would rather wait until Sunday. It's too involved to go into right now." Surely she could hear the dishonesty in that excuse.

Sounding puzzled, Britt said, "All right, colleague. I'll drive right over to your place after I get home. I would have anyway.

Goodnight, then."

SAt.u.r.dAY AFTERNOON he went to confession. This time he had no need to exaggerate his contrition. For this sin, he was heartily sorry for his offense and sincerely intended amendment of life.If it's not already too late! The priest's absolution and the imposed penance did little to lift Roger's spirits. He wanted Britt's forgiveness more than G.o.d's.And if that's blasphemy, I suppose I've added a few more years to my term in Purgatory. Early morning ma.s.s on Sunday didn't help much, either. He hardly needed the reminder from the Epistle for the First Sunday in Advent that "love does no harm to a neighbor."

When Britt called Sunday night to say that she'd just arrived from the airport and would be over within twenty minutes, Roger almost yielded to panic and told her to stay away. All that stopped him was the certainty that she would ignore any such request.

Only one fact mitigated his anxiety about confessing to her-Alice had bounced back quickly from the pneumonia and had gone home that morning.

Roger prowled from kitchen to study to living room, seething with impatience. When he considered a shot of brandy to settle his nerves, his stomach knotted in protest. Perhaps some warm milk? No, only one thing could appease his thirst now.

He lost track of how many minutes pa.s.sed before the doorbell rang. Through the wooden barrier he heard Britt's heartbeat and breathing. When he opened the door, both quickened in antic.i.p.ation. One level of his mind automatically registered her clothes- tapered slacks and an emerald-green pullover, no bra-and the way she wore her hair, in a long ponytail as a compromise between her dress-for-success chignon and the unbound wildness that delighted him. But the deep pink of her aura and the intoxicating scent of her clean, healthy flesh overwhelmed his senses.

Britt waited for him to latch, bolt, and chain the door, then opened her arms to him. Her wounded expression when he drew back without touching her almost destroyed his resolve.

"Colleague, what's wrong?" she asked.

"We have to talk first." He led the way into the living room, and waited for her to settle on one of the twin sofas.

He sensed Britt struggling to suppress her anxiety and hurt. "I don't know that you're in any condition to talk," she said. "I doubt you can even think straight. I know you're hungry-why won't you let me take care of you?" She lowered her mental barrier, strong for an ephemeral's, enough to let him feel her eagerness for that sharing.

He hardened his own shield in resistance, painful as the effort was. Though the two of them had no telepathic rapport, Britt had developed enough empathy to sense Roger's withdrawal. She gave up and said briskly, "All right, I'm listening."

Pacing back and forth in front of the bare, cold fireplace, he told her of the past week's events in a brief, dry style, as if reporting any other case history. With no display of emotion, she asked a few pointed questions about the patient's condition. He answered them.

"You expect a full physical recovery, then?" she said.

"I don't antic.i.p.ate any problems there."

"And what are you planning to do with Alice?" Aside from the tightening of her lips, Britt showed no outward sign of the anger he knew boiled inside her. He heard her pulse racing.

"I'll turn her over to you, unless her parents choose to send her elsewhere," Roger said. "I've told them she's becoming too emotionally involved with me, and I can't do her any more good."

"Well, at least that's the truth!" Britt's calm facade cracked. "Roger, how could you? Couldn't you control yourself for one lousy week?"

He stopped, spun around to face her. The anger that flooded him took him by surprise; he had to choke it down before he could speak. "I regret what I did. However, I don't think your reaction is quite fair." He wanted to erase the words as soon as they popped out.Why did I make a stupid remark like that?

Her aura turned a smoldering red. "Fair! Are you implying that I shouldn't have left? That I have some obligation to chain myself to your side?"

He realized that his visceral reaction had implied exactly that. Good G.o.d, what was the matter with him? "Colleague, I didn't say that, nor would I ever-"

"You're implicitly blaming me for your failure. And I thought we'd developed some kind of mutual respect!"

He was tempted to grab her and shake her until she saw things his way. He restrained himself, trembling with the effort. If he touched her, it would be all over. He kept his voice icy. "Does it disturb you so much that I fed on someone other than you?"

Britt sprang to her feet, fists clenched at her sides. "You arrogant-monster! You don't even understand! She wasn't just anyone; she was your patient. And if professional ethics don't matter, you made a promise. You promisedmeyou'd stay away from the patients. I thought that meant something!"

He did understand, of course, and heartily agreed with her judgment. d.a.m.n, why had he blurted out that reckless, defensive remark? It was too late to explain; Britt was deafened by her indignation. "What are you going to do? Report me to the board?"

"I should. But you know I can't. d.a.m.n you, Roger, I couldn't expose you that way." Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes.

He took a step forward, reaching for her. Her heartbeat thundered in his ears. "Don't touch me," she said flatly.

A fresh surge of anger inundated him.How dare she! She belonged to him; she was his lawful prey. He could take her here and now, by force, feed on her pain instead of her pa.s.sion- What am I doing?Though she must have felt the searing rage spewing out of him, she stared him down, as fearless as ever. He stepped back, quivering with leashed emotion. What he'd almost done would have lost her forever.

"Get away from me," she said, blinking back angry tears. "I wish you'd-oh, just change into a bat and fly away!"

He had to get out before he did something unforgivable. "With pleasure!" He stalked out and slammed the door.

He ran blindly along the wooded roads. When the crimson fog cleared from his vision, he found himself approaching Route 50. For once its cacophony of blinking stoplights, the glare from fast food restaurants and used car lots, and the roar of traffic didn't batter his senses. Nor did the night air soothe him. His inner turmoil drowned out all external stimuli. He vaguely noticed a clump of blue- jeaned teenagers, their hands full of paper bags and c.o.ke cups, dodging out of his way. What must they think of a tall, ascetic- looking man storming along the sidewalk with the ferocious concentration of a tiger running down a gazelle?

The comparison snapped him out of his pa.s.sion-induced trance, and he moderated his pace. Unbidden, the memory of the thin flavor of Alice's blood sprang to mind. How could he have settled for a mere o.r.g.a.s.mic robot? He wanted only Britt.

Was it just wanting? What did he feel for her? He confronted the emotions he had so far avoided a.n.a.lyzing. Britt had become his life-and not only because her blood sustained him. He felt that without her warmth he would wither into an empty husk.

Across the street shone the logo of a restaurant highly regarded for gourmet seafood dishes at upscale prices. Roger charged through a crosswalk against the "Don't Walk" sign, darting past the b.u.mper of a Cadillac that screeched to a halt, its horn blaring.

He needed to wind down and think over his predicament; why not do it in the traditional spot for such ruminations? Though he'd rushed out without his wallet, he did have loose bills and change in a side pocket.

He walked around to the side entrance of the restaurant and into the c.o.c.ktail lounge. To his relief, the live entertainment consisted of a pianist playing un.o.btrusive blues tunes. Roger took a stool at the bar and ordered a shot of Glenlivet, which he gazed at for a couple of minutes without tasting.

Lost in his despair, he didn't register the woman sitting next to him until she spoke. "Not too bad, is he?" She nodded at the piano player. "Better than the deafening rock and roll a lot of bars have." She paused to sip her strawberry daiquiri. She didn't even pretend to wait for a reply to her transparent conversational ploy. "Would you like to dance?"

In spite of his distaste for this public soliciting, Roger allowed himself to be distracted. Anything was an improvement over his own thoughts. Automatically his predator's instinct evaluated the woman, Hispanic, buxom yet slim-waisted, with an upswept coil of glossy black hair. Though the pink in her cheeks came from blusher, her aura pulsed with rosy health. She didn't smell of smoke, drugs, or disease.

With no conscious intent, he snared her chocolate-brown eyes. Her patter trailed off into silence, and she stared at him unblinking.

In five minutes he could lure her into the parking lot and taste her blood. The image roused no appet.i.te; nausea welled up in his throat. "Get away from me!"

She jumped at his harsh tone and scurried to a table at the far end of the room.

He couldn't do it. Even when no ethical problem interfered, he couldn't feed on an entranced victim. Not after Britt's vibrant response.

Half-consciously he abandoned his drink, wandered out of the lounge, and headed toward home.Do I love her, then? Despite his lifelong study of human emotion, Roger still hadn't settled on a definite meaning for that word. Used in so many irreconcilable ways, it might as well be semantically null. He recalled Claude's litmus test for "love": "Do you still want her around when you aren't thirsty?"

By that criterion, Roger-cared-for Britt. He couldn't bring himself to use the more emotionally charged word. After all, as she'd justly accused, he hadn't even cared enough to resist temptation after giving a solemn promise.

Across the street near McDonald's, a teenage boy walked past wearing a T-shirt that read, "If you love something, let it go. If it returns to you, it is yours forever. If it doesn't return, hunt it down and kill it."That's what I almost did.

What now? Leave Annapolis, as he'd left his Boston practice?

Some example of caring that would be! She's right, Dr. Darvell, you are a self-centered monster.No matter how she justifiably scorned him now, she needed him financially. The only honorable course, Roger decided, would be to stay as her partner, behaving with distant professional courtesy. If the anguish of seeing her daily without touching her half killed him, so be it.

That was no more than he deserved.

He plunged into the woods again, crashing through the underbrush and seething with frustration. Dead leaves and pine needles rustled under his feet. When he slowed down, it was only from reluctance to go home and discover Britt had left. Flickering over his surroundings, his eyes registering the bluish auras of insects and the still paler haloes that surrounded live plants. He barely noticed, until the pink aura of a small mammal caught his attention.

His night vision picked out a racc.o.o.n waddling across the path several yards ahead. Doubtless used to dining on sc.r.a.ps from suburban garbage cans, the animal showed no fear. It gave Roger a bold glance and kept walking. Saliva pooled in his mouth. His jaws ached with the urge to bite-and here was a legitimate target for his hunger and fury.

Capturing the racc.o.o.n's eyes with his own, he forced it to stand paralyzed until he crept close enough to grab it. He flipped the limp animal onto its back and plunged his teeth into the spa.r.s.ely-furred belly. Hot blood gushed, almost too fast to swallow. Roger gorged in a frenzy, dropping the corpse only when the arterial spurting ceased.

Although not exactly satisfied, he felt in control again. If Britt hadn't left, he wouldn't have to face her halfmad with need. He accelerated to a brisk trot. When he reached the town-house complex, it occurred to him, with a flash of grim amus.e.m.e.nt, that he had let a guest throw him out of his own home.

To his surprised relief, Britt's car was still there.

Chapter 18

He paused, hand on the doork.n.o.b, listening. Britt was still in the living room, her breathing ragged. He heard her leap up when he opened the door. She hadn't bothered to lock it-d.a.m.n careless.

When he emerged from the foyer into the living room, she stood in front of the fireplace waiting for him, her shape outlined by the pulsing glow of her aura. She had started a fire in the hearth. Though her eyes were pink-rimmed from crying, her challenging "Well?" was crisply controlled.

"You should have locked the door," he said, halting a few yards away. "You should take better care of-"

"Your property?"

The word stung, for it cut too close to his occasional impulses. "Never that, colleague. I simply want you to exercise reasonable caution. Sandor hasn't given up on us. He seems to be hara.s.sing Alice Kovak."

"She did mention that." Britt's voice held no shade of emotion. All that gave Roger hope was the absence of open hostility. She stared at him in the dim light of the fire and the single lamp he'd left on. "Whose blood?"

He hadn't realized how disreputable he must look. "Racc.o.o.n. Excuse me, I have to clean up."

He retreated to the bathroom. In the mirror he found a streak of drying blood on his chin. A few dead leaves clung to his clothes, not to mention racc.o.o.n hairs on his shirt.I'm surprised she didn't run screaming for her car. He tasted not only blood but the fur he hadn't been able to avoid. He brushed his teeth, washed his face and hands, and grabbed a clean shirt from the bedroom.

In the living room, Britt was still pacing. At a gesture of invitation from him, she sat stiffly on the edge of one of the couches.

He sat opposite her, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "I was afraid when I got back, you wouldn't be here."

"And I was afraid that if I left, you might not follow me." She almost, but not quite, smiled. "I overreacted. Oh, there's no excuse for what you did, but blowing up at you won't help. And I didn't quite mean all those things I said."

"Listen, please-I deeply regret breaking my word, and considering the disastrous consequences, I think you can count on its not being repeated."

She folded her arms and said warily, "I accept that."

"I won't desert you professionally, and if that's the way you want it, our future-a.s.sociatio- need not be any more than professional."

Her stiff pose melted along with the ice in her voice. "Oh, Roger, I don't want that! I don't want to end our relationship; I want to fix it."

"So do I." He packed all the sincerity he could into the words, without violating her by hypnotic coercion.

"Then why are you sitting over there?" Her voice quavered, and her cheeks reddened from emotion as well as the fire.

He joined her on the other couch. "I'm afraid I won't be able to hold back-that if I touched you, I'd try to influence you."

"I trust you that far." She clasped one of his hands in both of hers.

"What can I do to convince you that I won't repeat this-" "Mistake" was a flabby, self-serving word. "That I won't violate my promise again?"

"Listen, Roger, I can't be your conscience." Her voice hardened again. "You have to straighten up and fly right for your own sake, not just for me."

"I know that." What he didn't know was how. Only his union with Britt stood between him and the life he'd led for nearly two decades. He squeezed her fingers, relaxing his grip when she winced. "I don't have just professional ethics to motivate me. I've got the memory of how completely-inadequate-" Her heartbeat accelerated, making him lightheaded. "Britt, I don't want anyone but you."

She caught her breath in a gasp. "Roger-I had no idea."

"What?"