Blake's Pursuit

by Tina Folsom

  Finn shifted from one foot to the other, appearing nervous. “Well, I’m not sure. But you told me if there’s ever a problem with Hannah Bergdorf, I should let you know personally.”

  Blake’s heartbeat instantly went into overdrive. Hannah, one of the many human drivers who worked for Vüber, a company that transported vampires around the city during daytime, stood under his personal protection. “Hannah? What’s going on?”

  “I’m not sure, but she hasn’t accepted any fares lately. And she didn’t call in sick or anything.” Finn shrugged.

  “How long has she not worked?”

  “Maybe two or three days.”

  Blake felt heat rise to his head. “And you didn’t tell me earlier?”

  “I didn’t even notice at first. I mean, the Vüber drivers don’t have fixed hours. They accept the fares as they come in. I figured she was taking a few days off, since she worked over Christmas.”

  “Did you call her?”

  “She’s not picking up her phone. Goes straight to voicemail.”

  “Has anybody checked her house?”

  Finn shook his head. “Can’t spare anybody right now. It’s really busy. And maybe she just forgot to set her app to the Away mode. I don’t wanna intrude if she’s just taking time off.”

  Blake nodded, worried and anxious. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to shoot the messenger. “I’ll take care of it. In the meantime, send the details of her last fare to my phone.”

  “Will do.” Finn turned on his heel and rushed away, clearly relieved at being allowed to leave.

  Blake didn’t waste time either. He marched to the elevator and pressed the call button. As he waited, he tried to calm himself. Maybe Hannah had just forgotten to tell Finn’s team that she wasn’t working for a few days. But as much as he wanted to believe in that scenario, he knew better.

  Hannah was too generous and charitable for her own good. She’d probably helped somebody and gotten in trouble as a result. Just like she’d helped him on that wet March day four years ago. The day he would have died, had it not been for Hannah’s fearless action.

  3

  Lilo towel-dried her blond hair, before reaching for her hairbrush to comb the damp strands into submission. Normally she’d let it air-dry, but since she was planning to go to the nearest police station and didn’t want to freeze, she bent down to the cabinet below the sink and pulled Hannah’s hairdryer from it. She was about to plug it in and switch it on, when she heard a sound coming from the other room.

  She froze mid-movement, her heart skipping a beat.

  Had Hannah come home? She listened, instinctively, hoping against hope it was her friend. If it was Hannah, she would see the suitcase and know she had a visitor. Judging by the stickers on Lilo’s luggage—stickers Hannah had sent her from her numerous trips—she would also know immediately who it was.

  Lilo waited another two seconds, but whoever was in the other room didn’t call out her name. It couldn’t be Hannah.

  It was an intruder, probably a burglar. It had to be. She’d written enough mystery novels to know how this would go down: he’d steal everything valuable in sight, including her handbag and computer, which would leave her stranded. And she already had enough problems to deal with. Getting her valuables stolen wasn’t on the agenda tonight.

  She stretched her hand toward the glass shelf above the sink, reaching for her phone, but stopped.

  Crap, she cursed silently.

  Her cell phone was still in her handbag in the living room, out of reach—which meant she couldn’t call the police for help. She had no choice. She’d have to take the initiative and surprise the guy. Most burglars, she knew from her research, turned tail and ran the moment they realized they weren’t alone. She’d just have to make enough noise to wake the neighbors should the guy not flee instantly.

  Gripping the hairdryer more tightly, she looked down at herself. It would help if she weren’t dressed in Hannah’s short pink bathrobe. Oh well. She’d have to confront the intruder dressed as she was. She’d left her clothes in the living room because there was no space for them in the tiny bathroom without risking getting them wet.

  Just pretend you’re Morgan West. The protagonist of her popular bounty hunter mystery series would definitely not be quaking in his boots the way she was right now. Then again, in her defense, she wasn’t wearing any boots. She was barefoot. Great, she was about to become the main character in a horror movie: a scantily dressed blonde, without shoes, running for her life. Could this situation get any more pathetic?

  Stop it, she admonished herself silently. If only her imagination wasn’t so active; she could come up with all kinds of possible scenarios for this moment, all of them turning out badly. Sometimes it was a curse to be a mystery writer: she knew too much about the dangerous and evil elements of society. Elements like the burglar she could now hear clearly rummaging through the living room. In a few minutes, he’d be gone and with him, her handbag and computer.

  It’s now or never.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned the doorknob with her left hand while gripping the hairdryer tightly in her right. At least she could hit the guy with it if he approached her.

  Lilo eased the door open just enough so she could peer out into the short hallway. But she couldn’t see anybody from that angle. Cautiously, she opened the door wider and took one step forward. Beneath her bare foot, the old wooden floorboard creaked. The sound seemed to echo loudly, though that could just be the result of her nervous, overactive imagination.

  Another step and she was in the hallway. The part of the living room she could see was empty. Her suitcase was still where she’d left it, though somebody had rifled through the contents, tossing them onto the floor next to it.

  That proved it. It was definitely not Hannah who’d entered the apartment. Slowly and silently, she stalked into the living room, staying as close to the wall as she could, before peeking around the corner so she could see the entire room. It was empty. The small reading light she’d turned on earlier was still burning, but otherwise it was dark, probably giving the intruder the impression the apartment was empty.

  Another sound reached her ears. The burglar had moved on to the kitchen. Was that how he’d gotten in? Through the kitchen window she’d opened to get rid of the foul smell?

  As she approached the open doorway to the kitchen, she hesitated. If she surprised him in that small, confined space, he might panic and lunge at her. No, it wasn’t smart to corner him like that. What if he fought back?

  Her eyes fell on her handbag, the contents of which had been emptied on the armchair. If she could get to her cell phone, she could then sneak out the front door and call the police without the burglar hearing her, and everything would work out fine.

  She laid the hairdryer on the couch, then bent over the armchair, rifling through her possessions. She shifted involuntarily. Her foot landed on something soft. A squeaking noise ripped through the silence.

  Shit! She’d just stepped on one of Frankenfurter’s squeaky toys.

  Frantically she tried to find her cell phone, but it wasn’t on the chair. The intruder must have taken it.

  Damn it!

  Heavy footsteps behind her made her whirl around. It was too late. A strange man charged into the living room, glaring at her as if she were the intruder. Light reflected from somewhere, making his eyes appear red, as if he were the devil incarnate.

  Fuck! This guy wasn’t the type to just turn tail and run.

  Lilo lunged toward the front door, desperate to escape. She could always buy a new computer and get her credit card company to issue her a new card. Better run now and deal with the consequences later.

  Her hand was on the doorknob when she was jerked back by two strong hands gripping her shoulders. The guy flipped her around and tossed her in the other direction. She landed with her back on the old couch, legs in the air.

  She pulled herself up quickly, trying to get away, but he was already charging at h
er again.

  “Help! Somebody help!” she screamed from the top of her lungs, but in the next instant all the air was pushed from her lungs as the intruder pressed her back into the cushions as easily as if she were a toddler and not a grown woman.

  She knew instantly that despite the self-defense classes she’d taken in college, she had no chance against an assailant this strong.

  Her next scream for help was smothered beneath his broad palm and only came out as a muffled cry. Nobody would hear her.

  Shit! What would Morgan West do now? How would he get out of this predicament? Kick his attacker in the nuts? Yeah, if she could lift her knee, which she couldn’t, because he’d disabled her with his weight. Besides, Morgan wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.

  “Where is it?” he grunted.

  She ignored his question, not understanding what he was talking about, and instead tried to burn his face into her memory. No matter what happened now, she would do everything she could to be able to identify him in a lineup later.

  His eyes were still glaring red, though this was probably an illusion caused by her fear, since there was no way the light in the room could reflect off his irises at this angle. Deep lines ran across his forehead, and his mouth was set in a grim line. His dark hair was shaggy, his face clean-shaven. He had prominent high cheekbones, but no other marks that would make him easy to identify.

  The sound of a door opening made her shift her gaze from her attacker’s face and peer past his shoulders.

  Another man, one just as tall as her attacker, charged toward them.

  Oh fuck! Could her luck get any worse? The burglar hadn’t come alone. He’d brought an accomplice. Now there were two of them.

  4

  Blake lunged at the attacker. He’d heard a woman’s scream coming from inside Hannah’s flat just as he was picking the lock on her door.

  There was no doubt that the man was a vampire. Just as it was evident that the woman being attacked wasn’t Hannah, but a blonde in a skimpy outfit, her long bare legs sticking out from under her aggressor.

  Blake gripped the attacker by the shoulders and jerked him off his victim. The hostile vampire wheeled around, growling viciously, but Blake didn’t waste time and delivered a blow to the guy’s face. It whipped to the side for an instant, before snapping back. Now even more pissed off at having his fun interrupted, the asshole fought back.

  Fending off the guy’s punches, Blake didn’t get a chance to verify that the woman was unhurt. He only heard her frightened screams and saw a flash of something pink move in his peripheral vision. He had to keep all his wits about him to keep his attacker at bay. The stranger had an advantage over Blake, because he was heavier, though his fighting technique was less refined. That’s where Blake had the upper hand. Even so, the guy still managed to land a few minor kicks and blows.

  When the jerk’s fist came at him again, Blake ducked away and rammed him against the bookcase. Books and trinkets crashed to the floor, but the vampire didn’t give up. He grabbed the standing lamp to his left and flung it at Blake, who dove away, letting it slam harmlessly against the wall.

  But the attacker didn’t slow down. He pushed away from the bookshelf and reached for a chair that was covered with a stack of magazines. Blake knew exactly what the guy planned to do with the chair—the wooden chair. But he didn’t intend to give him the chance.

  “Nice try, buddy!” Blake grunted and jumped, knocking the chair out of the assailant’s hand before he could slam it against the wall and make himself a stake. As Blake wheeled back to deliver a punch to the attacker’s head, a balled-up fist hit him in the gut, making him fold over for a split second.

  But he’d had worse than this. Scanguards had trained him well in hand-to-hand combat. Nobody would defeat him that easily, not even a vampire who weighed a good thirty pounds more than him.

  He continued to trade blows with the assailant, avoiding as many direct hits as he could, though the attacker did land a few well-placed fists, just as Blake managed to deliver some decent blows to the guy’s increasingly agitated face. It wouldn’t be long before both he and the attacker would bare their fangs, despite the human in the room. Not knowing whether the woman knew what they were, he wanted to avoid that complication.

  It spurned him on to go even harder at the hostile vampire, and he now used his legs to deliver powerful kicks, moves he’d learned from various martial arts disciplines. But the assailant wouldn’t go down. He kept coming, kept punching and kicking more ferociously by the minute, as if the fight was replenishing his energy. There was no stopping him with ordinary means. Only a stake or a silver bullet would bring this determined jerk down. But that wasn’t an option right now, particularly since he wanted him alive.

  Blake gritted his teeth and drew on all of his reserves, pummeling the assailant with vampire force and speed. In return, the vampire turned even wilder. His eyes glared red now.

  A high-pitched shriek from the woman in the room distracted Blake for a split second. Had she seen the attacker’s glowing eyes?

  A fist connecting with his temple made him tumble back a step. Blake swung his arm back and aimed for the hostile vampire’s chin, but when he stepped forward again to use all his weight against his opponent, his foot got caught in something and he slipped. He caught himself in mid-fall and jumped back, but the other vampire was already heading toward the open doorway.

  Frantic, Blake disentangled his foot from the lamp’s electrical cord, in which he’d gotten caught, and raced after him. The kitchen was small, and from it a second door led back into the hallway. The assailant was heading for it, but Blake ripped him back and spun him around.

  But before Blake could deliver a punch, the attacker braced himself on the kitchen counter and kicked both his legs into Blake’s stomach, knocking him on his ass. It gave the hostile vampire enough time to hoist himself over the kitchen sink and lunge for the open window.

  Blake was already up again and charging toward the window, when something hard hit him from the side. Momentarily disoriented, he spun his head toward the open doorway, where the scantily-dressed woman stood with a hairdryer in her hand.

  “Shit!” he cursed and jumped onto the counter, lunging toward the window. But when he looked outside, the vampire was already fifty yards away from the building and mounting a motorcycle.

  He sped away. Despite his vampire night vision, Blake couldn’t make out the numbers: they had been obscured with dirt.

  “Fuck,” he cursed, slamming his hand against the wall, before jumping down and turning back to the woman. “Why the fuck did you hit me with that thing? I had him!”

  She lifted her chin. “You didn’t have him! He was beating the shit out of you. I was fucking helping you!”

  “Yeah, you were a big help!” he growled. “You should have stayed out of it.”

  “Oh yeah? And play the damsel in distress?” she griped.

  He stepped toward her, furious now. “You were the damsel in distress.”

  He took a deep breath, and for the first time really looked at her. Yeah, and what an utterly beautiful damsel she was. Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed. But he sure noticed now.

  She was a natural blonde, her hair the color of wheat. It cascaded down her shoulders and touched the exposed skin of her neckline, where her pink bathrobe gaped open. Beneath the fabric, her breasts heaved from the force of her heavy breathing, possibly from the effort of hitting him, certainly from the outrage over his admonishment. Well, he didn’t mind the view. Not at all, in fact. She was quite something to look at. Not petite, not fragile, but tall and athletic.

  His eyes wandered lower. The robe only reached to mid-thigh, and the legs that he now admired were trim and a little pale from lack of sun. But he could imagine that in the summer her skin would turn the color of bronze, accentuating her golden hair. Involuntarily he shifted, the sudden tightness in his pants forcing him to find a more comfortable position, before the beauty before him not
iced that he was sporting the beginnings of a hard-on—and that it was her fault.

  A huff made him lift his eyes to her face. Her cornflower-blue eyes scrutinized him with barely-veiled suspicion now. He could get lost in their depths, were they not narrowed at him now.

  “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “You mean apart from saving your pretty ass from that jerk?” He pointed to the window.

  A little bit of color rose to her cheeks. “Yeah, apart from that.”

  “I could ask you the same thing. ‘Cause for sure you’re not Hannah. And this is her flat. So what are you doing here?”

  “That’s rich!” she sniped. “You’re breaking in here, and you’re asking me what I’m doing?”

  Involuntarily, he pointed in the direction of the front door. “If I hadn’t knocked down that door, God knows what that guy would’ve done to you. You were screaming for help, so excuse me if I didn’t ring the fucking door bell!” Damn it, the woman could rile him up!

  She sucked in a breath, but instead of lashing out with another insult, she appeared to calm herself down. “I’m sorry, but so much has happened, and I guess I’m just a little agitated. I mean that burglar… it’s not as if I didn’t have enough on my mind already.”

  A burglar? That’s what she thought that vampire was? For now he’d let her believe that, but he was almost sure that the attacker had something to do with Hannah not showing up for work. Had the stranger been human, then, sure, he could have been an ordinary burglar, but a vampire, when Hannah worked with vampires? That was too much of a coincidence.

  Slowly, he nodded. At least the woman wasn’t acting combative anymore. He could work with that. “You’re a friend of Hannah’s?”

  “Lilo. Her best friend from back home. You live in the building?”

  “No. I’m a friend. Hannah and I work for the same company. Different divisions.” He offered his hand. “I’m Blake.”