A Vampire's Promise by Carla Susan Smith Page A

knocking—no, make that pounding—on the frickin’ door! But this was my dream and there wasn’t a door. I hadn’t asked for a door. Only a spectacular bed, Gabriel, and snow. Oodles and oodles of snow. And then I saw it. The white curtain of ice crystal flakes lifted just enough for me to see the outline of a door beyond the foot of the bed. The sight raised enough doubt to make me think this might not be my dream after all. Right on cue, the thumping sound came again. Louder and more insistent. I sighed. My lover was right; whoever it was did not intend to go away. I had no choice but to go answer the damn door.
    Reaching for me, Gabriel pressed his lips against the curve of my neck, the tip of his tongue tracing small circles on my skin.
    â€œWill you still be here when I return?” I asked, sliding free of his embrace.
    â€œYou think there is somewhere else I would wish to be?”
    For some reason his answer did not reassure me, and sensing my uncertainty, Gabriel took my face in his hands and kissed me. It was soft and gentle and very thorough. And all the reassurance I needed.
    Thump! Thump! Thump!
    I went to answer the door.
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    Rolling over, I opened one eye and saw the clock on my nightstand. The red digital numbers glowed 2:27, and the position of the red dot told me it was afternoon and not the early hours of the morning. I opened the other eye and confirmed I was back in my own bed. Queen size, blue cotton sheets with a white daisy pattern, and no precipitation of any kind inside my bedroom. I pushed down the covers, relieved to find myself wearing shorts and an Indianapolis Colts T-shirt.
    Thump! Thump! Thump!
    Shit! Whoever was at my door had better be bringing me news of an impending global catastrophe or wanting to tell me I’d won the lottery. I wasn’t about to forgive anything else.
    Thump! Thump! Thump!
    â€œAll right, all right—I’m coming!”
    Making my way downstairs, I figured it had to be Laycee. Who else would it be on a Sunday afternoon? And I decided that yanking me out of a fantastically hot erotic dream had earned her a verbal beat-down at the very least. Twisting the dead bolt, I yanked the door open, and my mouth formed a near perfect O of shocked surprise. I sure wasn’t expecting this type of company.
    The woman standing on my doorstep was a petite brunette wearing a pale lemon skirt and jacket ensemble trimmed with white piping. The swatch of lace modestly covering her cleavage told me these were Sunday church clothes. I found myself inexplicably drawn to the large sunflower earrings she wore, wondering if they hurt her ears. Her dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and tied off with a matching pale yellow scarf. She carried no purse, but the heels she was wearing were more suited to a strip joint than a house of worship. Definite CFMPs. Talk about sending mixed messages, but maybe I was reading too much into it. Yeah, the hooker heels were probably just because she was vertically challenged. She’d also been crying—a lot. It was hard not to notice. What had once been a carefully made-up face was now a train wreck of smudged mascara and eyeliner.
    I stared at Suellen DuPree.
    I’m not sure what she was expecting when I opened the door, but the tight, disapproving line that was her mouth said it wasn’t me in my pajamas at two-thirty in the afternoon with a bad case of bed hair. I came fully awake in an instant.
    â€œFuck me.”
    The words accidentally fell from my lips and were loud enough for my visitor to hear as one thought ran screaming through my head. She knows about Laycee and Jake .
    It was just a matter of time. In most small towns, secrets are community property, and ours was no exception. Someone had obviously decided it was time to check their own superior moral compass by bringing the sheriff’s wife up to speed. And now Suellen was on my doorstep wanting me to confirm that what she’d