by Juliet Lyons
I raise a hand to silence them. “That’s what all this is about? Isaac, Roger Devine, Charlie?” The thought of Charlie’s death sends fresh anger coursing through my veins. I ball my hands into fists to keep from seizing George by the neck again.
His beady eyes narrow. “Yes and no. With Isaac, it was personal. He stole my son’s girlfriend. Roger was an accident. I liked him. He worked like a dog—loyal and professional. It was Roger who gave me the idea to become immortal.” He grins ghoulishly and holds a hand over his chest. “I have a heart condition, you see? Doctors say I’m a ticking time bomb. Besides, I’m tired of playing by the rules. If I were stronger and faster, I could be invincible—just like in my younger days.”
“Darling, no offense, but you’re really not our type,” Esme pipes up.
“Roger threatened to expose me,” he continues, ignoring her. “Initially I thought any old vampire could instigate the change, but when he told me only certain types were capable, I set about tracking one down. Roger claimed he didn’t know any of their whereabouts. I had my suspicions about this place and sent two girls undercover. When they returned, dazed and confused, I knew I must be on the right track. That’s when Roger got too big for his boots. He went on about some code of respect between vampires, said he’d come here directly and tell you about me. I couldn’t have that, could I? I needed a plan of action first. A more favorable introduction.”
I snort incredulously. “You call this favorable?”
He shrugs. “Threats are what it takes with your kind. Otherwise, I’d have only gotten the response Miss Whiplash over there gave me.” He jerks his head in Esme’s direction. “That I’m not good enough.”
Esme snorts. “It’s not just your looks, you know? Your personality isn’t really up to much either.”
“Where is Catherine?” I growl, growing impatient with all the time wasting.
Rubbing his throat with chubby fingers, he smiles. “What a stroke of luck it was when we found out you were involved with her.”
I grasp his chin roughly between my forefinger and thumb. “If you don’t tell me where she is, you die right now.”
He jerks from my grip, his dark eyes as hard as granite. I think back to Charlie’s note—that, in the past, George was a criminal with links to the mob. The man has nerves of steel, that much is clear. But not only that—I recognize authority in the square set of his shoulders, a certain arrogance. He’s like an aged version of me—or the old me—hungry for power.
“As we’ve said—no phone call at 5:00 p.m., no more vampire lady. I don’t really think you’re in any position to be calling the shots, Mr. Big.”
I narrow my eyes. “In your deluded mind, what do you believe will happen here today?”
“You’re going to agree to my transition. It’s all arranged. We’ll drive you from here to a safe house I’ve fully prepared. Roger told me all about the first few months of a vampire’s life, so I’m well aware I’ll need darkness. You’ll change me, and my men will bring you back here. After that, we’ll call the vampires who have your girlfriend, and they’ll release her unharmed.” He leans back in the chair, a smug gleam in his eyes. “Easy as pie.”
“What’s to stop Ronin returning to the safe house the next day and killing you then?” Esme points out.
George Whinny’s gaze flickers to her briefly. “He’ll be blindfolded during the journey. He won’t know where the house is. Then afterward, when I reenter society, I’ll use a new identity. Move abroad. There’s no way you’ll ever find me.”
“New York is nice in the spring,” Esme says sarcastically. “I’ll happily show you the sights.” She opens her mouth to bare her fangs, running her tongue over the sharp tips.
“What makes you think you could handle being a vampire?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Anything is worth a shot. It’s not just my health I’m concerned about. I owe a lot of money to a lot of dangerous people. There’s a price on my head, Mr. McDermott. A very large one. Even without the dodgy ticker, there’s only so much time before the past catches up. Won’t it be a lovely surprise for my enemies when they have me shot only to discover I can no longer be killed?”
He starts to laugh, a deep, chesty rumble.
“You’re fucking cracked,” Harper says, shaking his head.
“My ex-wife used to say that too.” He sniffs, staring around the room. “Shall we get on with it, then?”
A thick silence presses down upon us while I weigh the options. If he’s telling the truth and vampires are holding Catherine, then she’s in danger. If there’s just one, she stands a good chance of escaping. But any more, and suddenly George Whinny’s threats become very real. A horrifying thought spikes my chest. What if she lets them kill her? A chance for her to finally be at peace with her lost love. The blood in my veins turns to ice as I contemplate the idea. She was fragile when I left—vulnerable. The whole time we argued I knew her strength was an act, that on the inside she was breaking. I should never have left her alone.
“How do we know for certain vampires even have her? I don’t know of any in London who would betray me for a snotty ruffian like you.”
“Money talks,” George says, nonplussed. “Besides, how do you know for certain they wouldn’t?”
“Give me names,” I demand. I cut Esme a quick look. It occurs to me that these two clowns might not even know she’s an ancient, which could work heavily to our advantage. “Who is it you have working for you?”
“Can’t say. They’d like their heads still attached to their bodies at the end of this.”
I twist my wrist to stare at my gold watch. It’s a quarter to five. If I can just keep him talking for another fifteen minutes, convince him I’ve agreed to his plan… As soon as he’s made the phone call, we’ll kill them and track down Catherine.
“Before I agree to anything, I’d like to know who’s responsible for Charlie’s death.”
George Whinny frowns. “Charlie?”
“The last vampire you took out,” I say in a low voice. “The one we found in a dumpster outside his building.”
“Oh, him. He was caught nosing around at Isaacs’s old place. I had another vampire follow him home. I didn’t realize you’d sent him. Put up a good fight though.”
From the way his gaze flickers toward the vampire in Esme’s arms, I know precisely who Charlie’s killer is. I will enjoy destroying the amber-eyed vampire when the time comes—which will hopefully be in about fifteen minutes.
“Do we have a deal?” Whinny asks, breaking me from my intense glare.
“Yes. But I can only turn you after the sun has set. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think there may be some daylight left in the sky out there.”
Esme smirks as the lie leaves my lips, and a wave of understanding passes between us. I can turn him anytime I like, but he doesn’t have to know that. As soon as the phone call is made, they’re dead.
“Harper,” I say with a jerk of my head. “Fix us some drinks while we wait.”
* * *
Cat
After Peter delivers his absurd you’re my hostage line, he begins hyperventilating, his breath coming out in short, sharp gasps as his face turns as red as a beet. Trust me to get a kidnapper with anxiety issues.
“For fuck’s sake, breathe,” I say, rummaging around in his messy glove compartment for a bag. Luckily, I locate an old McDonald’s wrapper down by my feet. I lean across the center console, holding the wrapper over his nose and mouth as he blows the paper bag in and out.
“Pull the car over,” I say, staring at the road ahead.
We’re off the motorway now, but there is still plenty of traffic around us. I should really be flinging the door open and diving out into the melee of cars, but curiosity—not to mention concern for the man falling to pieces beside me—keeps me rooted to the seat. He begins mumbling into the crumpled paper, and I tear the bag
away from his face. “I can’t pull over, Cat. Not here.” He shoots another frantic glance into his rearview mirror and wrenches at the steering wheel, turning us away from the stream of cars, onto a quiet residential side street. A white van with blacked-out windows veers around the corner behind us, tires screeching. Peter grimaces.
It’s the first time I’ve noticed the van, preoccupied as I’ve been with Peter’s panic attack. “That van—” I begin, a stab of anxiety pricking my chest.
“That van is why I can’t pull over,” he cuts in, his knuckles white as he grips the steering wheel. His usually placid, gray eyes are wild with fear, his jaw slack as he pushes the car into fifth gear, picking up speed.
I twist in my seat to get a look at the driver. There is a male driving, but with the dark sunglasses he’s wearing, it’s impossible to tell who he is.
“Who is it?” I demand.
Peter closes his eyes briefly, as if the words bring him pain. “A vampire. An associate of my father.”
“Your father?” I ask incredulously. If he weren’t driving, I would shake him like a rag doll. “Why is there a vampire following us?”
“To keep you from escaping.” As soon as the last word leaves his lips, he smacks the steering wheel in anger. “Damn it.”
Just then, a phone begins buzzing. At first, I think it’s mine, ringing from wherever it ended up in the back of the car, but then Peter plucks a cell phone from a pocket of his jeans and holds it to his ear. “Yes,” he snaps down the line.
I look over my shoulder. Sure enough, the driver of the van has a handset pressed to his face, his heavy brow knotted.
“I know I’m going the wrong way,” Peter says, his voice quavering. “But I’m not ready yet. I just need five minutes alone with her, okay? Five minutes before I hand her over.”
I jolt in surprise. Despite the alarming presence of another vampire and Peter’s insistence that this is a kidnapping, I’ve been clinging to the naive belief that Peter won’t hurt me.
The phone call changes everything.
A surge of adrenaline races through me as I weigh up my options. I try to extend my hearing into the van, to check for a heartbeat, but with the noise of the engine and Peter’s labored breathing, it’s impossible to hear. If Peter’s lying—or mistaken—and the man is human, then he poses no more of a threat than an irritating fly. I can pop the door open, roll out onto the grass verge, and be home in time for tea. But if he is a vampire, then I’m in trouble. Serious trouble. His arms bulge from the sleeves of a black muscle shirt, and his neck is as wide as his head. Chances are he’s a lot taller than me too.
I dart a glance up at the sky, relieved to the see daylight fading into the horizon, a pink glow sinking behind the brick houses. My speed would be undiminished in this light.
My hand flies to the handle of the door just as Peter yells into the phone, “Five minutes!”
He tosses his phone behind him, onto the back seat, almost losing control of the wheel as he veers to avoid a parked car. “Cat,” he says in a strangled voice, noticing my grip on the door handle. “Don’t. Please. I won’t let any harm come to you. I promise. Let me explain.”
My fingers tremble on the door handle. If I’m in danger of finally meeting my maker, I’d at least like to know why. “Spill it,” I say, baring my fangs, “and don’t even think about lying.”
He nods, turning the car right onto Shore Road. The van corners after us, following closely behind.
“He won’t let up,” Peter says grimly. “Just in case you’re still thinking about making a run for it.”
I stare at him in horror. To think I once thought he was nice.
As we continue along the road, there’s a change in the air, the cloying aroma of salt and seaweed drifting through Peter’s half-open window. With all the drama, I’d forgotten we were close to the beach.
The street is filled with potholes, the houses lining the street an incongruous blend of decrepit and smart. Before long, the houses thin out, and we hit a dead end—a barrier of rusting, white-painted railings overlooking a foamy, gray sea. A breath catches in my throat as the white van draws up alongside us and kills its engine.
Peter turns the ignition off and twists in his seat to face me, raking his fingers through his messy, brown hair. He lets out a withering sigh. “My father is George Whinny. He owns the building we live in.”
I straighten in the seat. “What? You mean the freehold?”
He nods, darting a nervous look across at the white van. “Yes. He’s a businessman, but back in his day, he was the man in London. Everyone was afraid of him. He has criminal connections.”
I screw up my face. “Like a gangster?”
“Exactly like a gangster. Growing up was an interesting experience, to say the least.”
“But you said you went to private school, lived in a nice house.”
“Paid for by ill-gotten gains.” He pauses before meeting my eye. “The truth is, Dad isn’t a well man. He has an incurable heart condition. But that’s not the only problem. He owes money to a lot of people. His company is on the brink of going into bankruptcy.”
I give a derisive snort. “Well, I hope he doesn’t think I’m rich, because trust me—”
“No,” he cuts in. “This isn’t about money—yours or anyone else’s. The people he owes it to are the problem. They aren’t the type to apply through official channels. He’s afraid for his life.”
I follow Peter’s wide-eyed glare to the van, at the burly driver staring down at us. Now that engine noise isn’t an issue, I extend my hearing into the vehicle. A spasm of terror pulses through me the second I don’t pick up a heartbeat.
Damn. He really is a vampire.
“How long ago did vampires reveal themselves to the world?” Peter asks suddenly.
I flick my eyes back to his anxious face. “Over a decade ago.”
Peter lets out a ragged breath. “For the last decade, Dad’s been obsessed with vampires, wanting to know everything about them—how fast they can travel, what they eat, drink.” His worried eyes lock onto mine. “How they die.”
I shiver violently at the mention of death, struck by the realization that, in spite of everything I said to Ronin earlier, I categorically do not want to die.
“He took over a large investments company some years ago,” Peter continues. “Plowed everything into it. When he discovered that one of his employees was a vampire, his curiosity grew. He positively fawned over the guy—inviting him to our home, promoting him at work. When the past started to catch up and he found out about his heart problem, he decided the only way out would be to turn vampire himself.”
“And you agreed that was the best solution?” I ask in disbelief.
Peter shakes his head. “Of course not. It’s far from ideal. But he’s my dad, Cat. Mum’s not around anymore and I broke up with my girlfriend. I don’t want to lose him, no matter how flawed he might be.”
“Peter,” I say slowly, “you know I can’t make vampires, don’t you? I told you as much the other day.”
“Of course I know, and so does he. You’re not part of the plan in that sense.”
My stomach churns at the mention of a plan. “I’m part of a plan?”
He drops his gaze. “I’m afraid so. When Dad’s friend refused to introduce him to the person who could make vampires, he had to utilize…other means.” Peter gulps. Wherever he’s going with this absolute joke of a situation, I sense we’re getting closer to the punch line. “Then one day not so long ago, he got a letter from a woman living in one of his properties—Mrs. Colangelo.”
My brows shoot up. “Mrs. Colangelo?”
“She wanted to make the owner aware that there was a vampire living in the building.”
“That bitch,” I mutter.
“Dad had lost his vampire contact at this point. He needed a f
resh connection to the undead world. When he spoke to Mrs. Colangelo and she said you were young and beautiful, he decided to have me move in. To seduce fresh information out of you.”
“Seduce,” I repeat, thinking of that awful kiss in the park. “Sweet baby Jesus.”
The corners of Peter’s lips turn down in sadness. “In the end, it didn’t matter. Because as soon as I saw that man, that redhead in your apartment, I knew I’d struck gold for Dad. I could tell he wasn’t like other vampires from the way his eyes turned red, and I’d already overheard you telling Mrs. Colangelo about your sexual encounter with a demon. Who would have guessed that the fella Dad had been hoping to introduce himself to would just show up? Better still that he’d be romantically inclined toward my next-door neighbor.”
My jaw drops. My chest is so dangerously tight that I begin to wonder if it might be my turn with the McDonald’s bag. “You’re after Ronin?” My voice is little more than a whisper.
Peter straightens. “It’s always been about getting to the king, Cat. The rest of you are just pawns.”
I clench my fists, remembering how frantic Ronin had sounded in his voice message. “Where is Ronin now?”
Peter frowns. “I’m not exactly sure, but if it’s going to plan, he’ll be solving all of my father’s problems with immortality right about now.”
I laugh, shocked by how bitter it sounds, even to my own ears. “Wow. You really don’t know who you’re dealing with, do you? Your father is as good as dead. Sorry to be the one to break it to you, but Ronin doesn’t actually care that much about me.”
Peter shakes his head. “I see the way he looks at you, Cat. Trust me, he cares. He won’t want to lose you. I mean, he’s been trying to track down Dad all week after losing his doorman. Imagine how desperate he must be, thinking he’s going to lose you too.”
My heart skips a beat. “His doorman? How did you know about that?”
“Do the math. Like I said, Dad is no saint.”
“He’s behind those vampire decapitations?”
“Yes. I mean, not directly. Dad wouldn’t be fast enough. He had the help of an ally, a vampire much like the one waiting inside that van.”
