Page 68 of Bad Luck Vampire

Aware that everyone was staring at her, she shifted uncomfortably and then glanced at Alasdair. His expression was inscrutable. She couldn’t tell how he felt about her statement. Still, discomfort moved her to say, “I mean, I like you. A lot. Even a lot, a lot. But we only met the day before yesterday. It would be crazy to say I love you already. Not that I can’t see myself loving you, but not yet. Not after forty-eight hours and two dates.”

Sophie shut up then, and silently berated herself for letting her mouth run away on her. She didn’t need to explain why she couldn’t possibly love him yet, and doing so just made her think of that old saying, The lady doth protest too much.

“It’s been more than two dates. At least three or four,” Inan said now, and then counted off, “Lunch and dinner yesterday, and then back here for dessert afterward. Then there’s today too. Well, yesterday now,” he added with a glance at the clock.

Sophie looked to it now and was surprised to see that it was after midnight. So, Sunday now. It had obviously been later than she’d thought when she’d woken up and decided to cook supper.

“So, really, it’s been four dates,” Inan continued. “Five if ye count the wedding.”

“The wedding?” she asked with disbelief.

“Aye. Well, I ken ye were on a date with Tybo, but ye spent half o’ it sat next to our Alasdair, so I’m thinkin’ it was as much a date with him as Tybo.”

An irritated sound drew their attention to a scowling Tybo. He’d put his phone away and was now leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and looking obviously annoyed at Inan’s words.

Sophie gave him a sympathetic smile, and then turned back to Inan. Trying for a lightly amused tone, she said, “Three dates or five, it still isn’t long enough to think I’ve fallen in love with him.”

“Ye keep tellin’ yerself that, lass,” Connor said with real amusement, and then his expression sobered as he continued, “But apparently the murderin’ bastard who’s been plaguing ye fer nigh on twenty years thinks ye do love Alasdair. And he’s determined to remove him from yer life. Ye can see we need to sort out who it is and stop him.”

“Aye.” Inan slid off the counter again and moved forward to stand next to Connor. “Who’s been in yer life for the last twenty years since yer ma and da died?”

“The parents’ death might not be part of this,” Alasdair pointed out. “Maybe you shouldn’t include it.”

“It was arson. Murder,” Connor argued. “O’ course we ha’e to include it.”

“But twenty years is a long time,” Colle pointed out, backing up his twin. “Her parents’ murder might be separate from all the rest of the deaths. A different killer.”

“Ye think there’re murderers hidin’ around e’ery corner?” Connor asked with amusement.

“No, of course not,” Colle said with irritation. “But—”

“Besides,” Connor interrupted him, “the brother and sister, Andrew and...”

“Beverly,” Sophie supplied when Uncle Connor hesitated.

“Aye, Beverly,” he said with a nod to her. “They both died just three or four years after the parents, and two weeks apart.”

“True,” Alasdair allowed. “But the parents’ death was arson, Andrew’s cause of death a head wound, and Beverly died from anaphylactic shock.”

Colle nodded. “Serial killers don’t usually change their MO. It’s possible Andrew and Beverly weren’t murder, but just accidental deaths, and the murder of Sophie’s mom and dad has nothing to do with the deaths of her fiancés and the attacks on us.”

Sophie stiffened at Colle’s words. Serial killers don’t usually change their MO. Serial killers? She had a serial killer running around bumping off the people she loved? Her gaze moved to Alasdair with alarm. Someone was trying to kill him because of her.

“I ken that’s the general consensus,” Connor growled with irritation, “but what if it’s no’ true? What if serial killers try different methods until they find the one they like best? The arson could ha’e been a first try. Expedient. But mayhap they didn’y like usin’ fire. Mayhap it wasn’y personal enough. They couldn’y watch them die, so mayhap the next time they tried bashin’ in the boy’s head.”

“And they didn’t like that way either?” Colle suggested dryly.

“Mayhap no’, or mayhap it was too risky to use on the sister, when the brother had jest died that way. So, he used the lass’s weakness, her peanut allergy, to do ’er in.”

“And they didn’t like that either so switched to vehicular manslaughter?” Alasdair asked, obviously not believing it.

The men continued to argue the matter back and forth, but Sophie stopped listening. Instead, she tried to wrap her mind around the possibility that she might have a very sick individual killing the people she cared about. A serial killer, they’d said, but she didn’t think that was the right term. Serial killers didn’t usually have a motive to kill their victims. Often, it was just a matter of opportunity and the victim perhaps having a certain trait. But if they were right, this killer had a motive, even if it was only to remove the people she loved. So, she supposed that made the motive hurting her.

Sophie frowned at her own thoughts. Someone was killing people she loved? Her gaze slid to Alasdair. He was a beautiful man. He was also sweet, thoughtful, and kind. He’d brought a selection of pizzas, salads, appetizers, and sodas to their dinner that must have cost him an arm and a leg, yet he’d done that rather than risk getting something she didn’t like. He had helped with cleaning up at the office before leaving, helped prepare dinner tonight, and was always insisting on carrying things for her, opening doors for her, making sure she was safely inside before leaving.

And then there was the sex. The man was not only amazing at it, but considerate. He saw to it she found her pleasure first. And often last, Sophie thought wryly, since she’d developed a penchant for fainting every time she came.

In truth, Alasdair was a wonderful man. Any gal would be lucky to have him, and she didn’t doubt for a minute that she could love him. She just wasn’t comfortable saying she did love him already. They just hadn’t known each other long enough to claim those feelings.

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