Dallas pulled out his cell phone and called the number for Rose Hill. Gillie was a different story. Gillie was the closest thing to a friend Dallas had. Gillie had long known what Dallas was and had accepted him from the first, without having been bespelled to embrace the situation. Any kind of vampiric power directed at a human over a length of time created a burden on the targeted mind. Unless that burden was lifted, compliance eventually disintegrated into madness. Gillie would not have lasted twenty-five years as Dallas’ servant without control of his own mind.
Come on, Gillie. Answer the phone. Be there.
Worry started to join the anger that burrowed deep in Dallas, surfacing only as an annoying muscle tic. Friendship aside, Dallas needed Gillie. Dallas didn’t like to acknowledge the fact, but he was vulnerable during the day. Gillie was his eyes and ears, took care of his business and his needs. If St. James had done any harm to Gillie . . .
The answering machine picked up, and Gillie’s recorded voice, even more staid than the live version, sounded lifeless and flat.
“Gillie, it’s Dallas. Pick up. It’s an emergency.” He paused and was rewarded.
“I’m here, Dallas. Sorry, but I was . . . indisposed.”
Dallas paused, for just a heartbeat. “Never mind, old man. I’m at the inn. Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course, Dallas. What’s happened?”
“I’ll tell you when I get there. I should be there in about fifteen minutes.”
“I’ll be here, of course.”
Dallas disconnected the call, slipped the phone onto his belt, grabbed the envelope, and bounded up the stairs with the lightness of a cat. Angie was still in the office with Tia. Both were seated close together and chatting like old friends.
“Sorry, Angie. Something’s come up. We have to get back to the townhouse.” He nodded toward Tia. “We have to go. Now.”
Thankfully, she didn’t question him, but took one last sip of her tea and rose from her chair to follow him. He exited the building first and, holding Tia just inside the doorway, examined the night around him. There was no scent on the wind save that of the flowering trees and shrubs surrounding the patio and the woman behind him. Good. He pulled Tia to the car, and still she said nothing until after he started the Lincoln’s engine. As if that were a signal, her questions poured forth.
“What is it? What’s happened?”
“Rae’s dead, and something’s wrong at the townhouse.”
“Rae?”
“One of my associates. St. James killed him.”
“How do you know?”
Dallas inclined his head toward the envelope on the seat between them. “Look inside the envelope.” He turned on the dome light so she could see the photo and read the note.
“Oh, my God. Dallas, you have to call the police on this.”
“And tell them what? The body’ll never be found. I guarantee that. I can’t do anything for Rae, but I can for Gillie. He’s at the house, but something’s wrong. I called him to make sure he was all right, and he called me ‘Dallas.’”
“So?”
“Gillie never calls me by my first name. Never. Always ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Allgate.’ It was his way of telling me he’s in trouble. My guess is that Flynne’s got him.”
“What are you going to do?”
He turned his head slightly until she did likewise. “Kill the bastard.”
She merely nodded, and he turned his attention back to the road, marveling again at the woman beside him. No foolish female theatrics, no moral indignation, not even an appeal to “let the cops take care of it.” This was something she understood as well as he did, and he felt her mindset without even reaching for her mind. This was a threat. It was danger. It was one of your own in trouble.
It was survival. It was what they were both best at.
“How?” she asked.
“What?”
“How are you going to kill him?”
“Any way I can.”
She shook her head. “That’s not good enough. We have to have a plan.”
He felt a smile threaten to surface. “Any ideas?”
“My Glock’s in the trunk of the rental car in your garage.”
“Your what?”
“My gun. It’s a Glock 23. Just like the duty weapon I used to carry, but a little smaller. I got so used to carrying a gun on the job, I couldn’t give up the habit. I always take it with me when I travel.”
“What size ammo?”
“It’s a .40 caliber.”
He considered. It wouldn’t kill Conner, but it would slow him down. “Are you any good?”
“Pretty good. I never missed a target during firearms training.”
“What about real life?”
She looked straight ahead. “I’ve never shot at anybody.”
He pulled the car over a block from the townhouse and turned to look at her. “Tia, can you do it?”
She met his gaze without a blink. “If Gillie’s life is in danger, or yours, or mine . . . oh, yeah.”
The smile tried harder to break through. “Got anything else in that trunk of yours?”
She did smile. “No bazooka, sorry. Just the gun and knife. That’s all I carry.”
He nodded. She was better prepared than he was. It would have been embarrassing if he felt such an emotion. I really must see to outfitting the Lincoln for such emergencies.
“It’ll be enough. Where in the trunk is the gun?”
“The gun is put up in a case. You’ll see it. Just bring me the whole thing. The knife is under the driver’s seat.”
“Give me your car keys.”
She pulled them out and pressed them into his hand. The feel of her warm skin only added to the rush his body was already feeling. “After I get out, slide over to the driver’s seat. Keep the engine running and the doors locked. If there’s any danger at all, you drive off, understand? Don’t worry about me.”
“I’ve got it.”
He slipped out of the car and waited, watching Tia to make sure she obeyed his instructions. She did, and he ran down the sidewalk at a pace that was slow for him until he was out of her sight. Then he accelerated to a speed that shifted into the plane of time and space unique to the Undead. A human watching him could not have registered his movement. He was at the carriage house in seconds and had the security alarm disabled and the service door unlocked just as swiftly. He found both the gun and the knife with no trouble, then spent a moment watching the house and testing the air with his senses. Nothing was visibly amiss, and he could hear no voices. But his sense of smell, as usual, aided him more than his sight or hearing did. Conner’s stink permeated the yard.
He was back at the Lincoln before another moment passed. Tia gave him a worried look when he got into the car beside her.
“What happened? Was someone watching the house?”
He shook his head and handed her the case and the knife.
“Wow. That was fast. This’ll only take a minute.” She took out the gun, inserted a magazine, and racked the slide to chamber a round. “All set.”
“All right. Keep the gun out of sight until you need it. If you need it, empty the whole clip into Flynne’s heart, in as tight a group as you can.”
“You don’t have to tell me how to do it. That’s how I was trained. Upper hydraulics.” She tapped her chest.
He felt the smile he had been suppressing finally rise to the surface. “Good girl. Just remember to stay behind me. Conner is a lot faster and stronger than he looks, so don’t be deceived.”
“What about if you go in first and I stay out of sight?”
He shook his head. “It won’t work. He’ll know you’re there. His senses are very acute.”
“He’ll be focused on you. By the
time he hears or sees me it’ll be too late for him.”
Dallas considered her words. Under normal circumstances, a seasoned vampire should be able to sense the nearness of a female like Tia. But Conner was young, and perhaps would be too distracted by Dallas to discern her presence. It might work. “All right. Just don’t shoot Gillie whatever you do. Ready? Let’s go see what game Conner Flynne wants to play.”
There was no point, though, in Dallas trying to take Conner by surprise. Dallas had no way to disguise the scent of the Undead any more than Flynne did. They walked through the back door.
“Gillie? Answer me.” Dallas kept one arm behind him to make sure Tia stayed put.
“In here.” It was Gillie’s voice. The spoken words were sparse not only in emotion but in strength, but Dallas didn’t care. The man was still alive. Tia remained in the pantry while Dallas followed the voice to the parlor, feeling too much like the proverbial fly.
There, in the center of one of Dallas’ prized Aubusson rugs, stood Conner Flynne. He held John Giltspur tightly against him like a shield, one arm around the man’s neck in a grip very close to a choke hold. No wonder the old man’s voice had sounded so thin and thready.
“Ah, Aldgate. Right on time.” Conner’s voice held a smugness that made Dallas want to slap him.
“Release him.”
“Now don’t disappoint me. Your house didn’t. I didn’t quite picture a commoner like you in such grand digs, but it’s really quite nice. So don’t you be less than I expect.”
“You’re no match for me, Flynne, and you know it.”
Conner wagged Gillie’s slim body back and forth in front of him like a dog with a toy in its mouth. “Dalys, Dalys, wake up. I don’t have to be. I have your servant, don’t I? You can’t kill me, and no matter how fast you are, you can’t save him. Pity you don’t have the girl. You could trade her for this worthless old man.” Conner suddenly raised his head and paused, like an animal testing the wind. “Dalys, you bad boy. You do have her, don’t you? She’s in this house. I can smell her. How about it? You can save one, but not both. Which will it be?”
Dallas saw no need to respond. The less he said, the better able he’d be to conceal his intentions. Only young fools like Flynne babbled on. This particular fool seemed to have no natural inclination to master or disguise his passions, and he wasn’t going to live long enough to learn the art. Dallas speared Conner’s eyes and penetrated his mind with the power of his years. It was not only skill that overpowered, but cunning. Not only imagination, but deception. He dazzled the younger vampire, watching the creature’s eyes widen with realization.
Conner tried to fight back with his own power, but in doing so merely exposed all his thoughts to Dallas.
“You see, Flynne? It’s not enough to understand. You have to not be understood. And I can understand you all too well.”
Conner’s eyes appeared ready to pop from his head, but suddenly his body jerked in opposition to the restraining power. His mouth worked like a fish’s, the points of his “fangs” popping in and out of view, and Dallas could feel the creature trying to combat the influence of Dallas’ eyes and mind. No sounds poured from the mouth that toiled uselessly, but in a final abrupt effort of defiance, Conner twisted Gillie’s body and sank his mouth to the man’s neck. A strangled cry escaped the choke hold, but louder than that was the plea from the old man’s eyes.
Dallas was on Conner in an instant—an instant he would have prayed was not too long, if he were one to pray. He ripped Flynne from his friend and hurled him into the fireplace. Gillie crumpled to the rug, but Dallas had no time to see to him. Conner was far from finished.
Flynne collapsed to the marble tiles, bringing all the antique mantel adornments to the floor with him. The heavy china clock shattered, and brass candlesticks landed with a dull thud to roll to the side, but a crystal vase filled with fresh cut flowers escaped damage by falling on Conner’s head. The water joined with the blood on Conner’s mouth and dribbled down to stain the collar of his shirt. He licked his lips, his eyes as glazed and wild as his face, while the camellias tumbled across his shoulders to plop into his lap.
Flanked by two ornate andirons topped with brass lion heads, Conner rose to his feet as if pulled, like a puppet, by invisible strings. The lions, while fierce, looked regal. Conner, mustering his most ferocious snarl, looked like a fool.
“I told you, Aldgate. Do whatever you want. You can’t kill me.”
“That’s what you think.”
Dallas was on Flynne again like a beast on wounded prey, one hand seizing the creature’s throat, the other reaching behind Conner for the poker that hung next to the fireplace. Flynne’s bug eyes widened ever more with the realization of Dallas’ intent, but it was too late. Before the wisdom of understanding could finally be his, Flynne twitched and shuddered as Dallas drove the poker into his midsection, just below his rib cage, then bore the hooked point upward toward his heart. Dallas twisted the poker, and Conner shrieked, feebly thrashing like a fish on a spear.
Dallas sailed from the parlor, his bloody cargo tightly in tow, until he was down the back stairs and into the cellar. He yanked the poker part way out of the body, then thrust it deep into Conner’s heart again, using the wide handle to rotate the poker’s head. A high keening sound slid past the blood in Conner’s mouth and echoed off the cellar walls, and the body became limp in Dallas’ arms.
“A misbegotten creature like you should have never risen from the mud of creation, Flynne, but I’m happy to say I’m going to rectify that mistake.”
With that, Dallas tugged the poker from the body. The iron stake clanged to the floor, followed by a more silent stream of blood. Dallas, with the strength of his kind, clawed his hand into the gaping wound and tore out Conner’s heart. Standing over the body, Dallas cast it to the floor and spit on the death mask of the truly dead. The glazed eyes were locked open in the horror of final understanding, and the varnish of water and blood on the lifeless face was already drying to a dull finish.
“Nothing more to say, Flynne? Silence indeed cures foolishness, does it not? That was for Gillie.”
Dallas quickly rinsed his hands in the cellar’s sink, then ascended to check on Gillie. Tia was with the old man, but looked up when she saw him approach. Her eyes rounded with what appeared to be more concern than aversion.
“My God, Dallas, you’re covered with blood. Are you all right?”
He nodded. “It’s Conner’s, not mine. Is Gillie alive?”
It was her turn to dip her head. “It’s a bad wound. I’ve been keeping pressure on, but he really should have medical attention. I would have called, but I didn’t think he had the strength to keep pressure on the wound himself. I didn’t want him to bleed to death while I called for an ambulance.”
“You did right. No ambulance. I’ll be right back. I’m going to make some calls.” He glided to the next room, close enough to keep an eye on Tia and Gillie, but far enough away for her not to hear his phone call. He called Scott MacLaren, and waited through each ring with the hope that MacLaren hadn’t become another victim of St. James’ games. After Sovatri, MacLaren was the man Dallas trusted most to do his bidding effectively and without questions.
“Yeah,” came the answer on the other end of the line. Like Sovatri had been, MacLaren was more than a little lacking in the charm that made Natchez famous.
“Mac. This is Dallas. Can you come to the townhouse right away? Gillie’s been hurt. I need someone to take care of him for me.”
“I’ll be right there.” The line went dead. No charisma, but the man was efficient.
Dallas hadn’t wanted to give out the news yet about Rae. That would come later. Right now there were more important things to worry about. He returned to Tia’s side with towels and antiseptic.
“Hey, old man, are you still with us?” Dallas cradle
d Gillie’s head in one hand while he cleaned the wound with his other.
“I’m sorry, sir. He broke in through a window. The alarm went off, but before I could do anything . . . ”
“No apologies, Gillie. The varmint’s been dispatched.”
Tia looked at him. “Conner’s dead?”
Dallas met her eyes, then looked down at Gillie. “Truly dead.”
The old man nodded in understanding.
“Where did the two of you go? I wanted to follow, but figured Gillie needed my help more,” said Tia.
“You did the right thing. Conner’s in the cellar. Gillie would have thrown a fit if I’d gotten all this blood on the Aubusson or the cypress floors.” He gave her a wink, but it was for Gillie’s benefit.
Weak as he was, Gillie still managed to respond with a lift of one brow. “By the looks of it, sir, you’ve still left me a fine mess to clean up.”
“’Fraid so, Gillie. Mac’s on his way. He’s going to take care of you.”
“Why Mac?” A note of suspicion was lodged between the two words. Sometimes Dallas swore that Gillie had the Undead’s power of the mind.
“Rae’s dead. St. James killed him. What happened here tonight is just the beginning, I’m afraid.”
“Does Mac know?” asked Gillie. He knew as well as Dallas did that Rae and Mac had been close friends as well as associates for years.
“No, I didn’t tell him. And I won’t. I need all his attention focused on taking care of you tonight.”
“You’re leaving?”
Dallas nodded. “As soon as I give instructions to Mac and change clothes. St. James wants a showdown. More vermin that needs killing.”
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