Delilah Devlin - My Immortal Knight 02

by Love Bites

A sick feeling of dread descended on him. “Well then, out with it, Emmy.”

  “You can’t turn Darcy. She’s pregnant.”

  * * * * *

  It was early evening and the sun still winked on the edge of the horizon. At the gate guard’s direction Captain Springer, Max, and Darcy exited their unmarked squad car.

  “I have to take your weapons,” he said, his expression unapologetic. “Mr. King’s orders.”

  At the Captain’s nod, Darcy reached beneath her jacket for the Beretta holstered at the small of her back and handed it to the guard. Max pulled a gun from his ankle holster, but the Captain merely shrugged. “I knew he’d shake us down.”

  They were instructed to leave their car inside the gate and walk to the front door. The house was split-level and long. The grounds were lush with vegetation. A flagstone path led to the front door where another guard held the door open for them to pass. “Go straight back to Mr. King’s office.”

  The interior of the house was more impressive than the exterior, if the long corridor they traversed was any indication of the rest of the house. Dark wood floors, white stucco walls and high ceilings were enhanced by a large heavy oak armoire and high-backed leather chairs. At the end of the corridor was an open door.

  “Drugs sure pay good,” Max said beneath his breath, halting in front of a large display case filled with baseball memorabilia. “Damn, he’s got a signed Sosa game ball.”

  Darcy gave him a gentle shove to keep him moving toward Rupe King’s office. As they neared the door, a large man with the shoulders of a linebacker held it for them, indicating they should pass. After they filed in, he stepped out and closed the door behind him. Darcy had no doubts he would remain just outside the door in case Mr. King needed him, and the bulge she’d detected beneath his vanilla-colored suit jacket had certainly been a gun.

  “Come in, come in,” a low, melodic voice, with a hint of Jamaican accent beckoned them inside.

  Darcy turned to see a tall, thin man wearing a long-sleeved linen shirt rising from behind his desk. His hair was close-cropped, his face a dark ebony, his mouth wide, and his dark brown eyes were wary.

  “Mr. King?” the Captain asked.

  “Indeed.” His gaze swept over the three resting on Darcy. “You and your people may take a seat here.” He indicated a brightly upholstered couch and two armchairs before a large picture window that looked out into the tall pines in the back yard.

  Her two associates took the armchairs, which left Darcy sitting on the sofa with Rupe King.

  There was a long silence, and then Captain Springer cleared his throat. “Mr. King, you contacted our department regarding a man who approached with a business proposition.”

  Rupe King’s lip curled in a sneer. “A vampire! A goddamn vampire wants a share in my operation. I’d as soon fuck with the devil himself.”

  “This particular vampire is of interest to us. He’s responsible for numerous deaths of young people here and in Seattle, where his string of murders originated.”

  “His name be Nicolas Powell,” Rupe all but spat the name. “And I too have particular interest in this vampire.”

  The Captain’s expression became intent. “I understand you recently lost your brother.”

  “Yes. One of Nicky’s minions devoured him before his companions’ eyes.” Rupe King’s eyes held a bitter rage. “I will see my brother avenged, whatever the cost.”

  “We’ve had one confrontation with him a couple of nights ago. We took out his followers, but Nicky gave us the slip. He’s wary of us now. We need a way to set a trap for him.”

  The Jamaican’s eyes glittered with interest. “I must admit that while I have a well-trained staff, I do not feel they are adequate for this challenge.”

  Captain Springer’s chin lifted toward Darcy and Max. “My unit’s been hunting killers like these for four years. We have the experience.”

  Rupe King gave Darcy an assessing glance.

  Darcy kept her expression impassive.

  “Will I be left alone, if I help you get him?” the wily drug lord asked.

  “For the duration of the op, yes.”

  Rupe King relaxed against the sofa. “I will sacrifice a shipment. It arrives tonight. Two of my trusted men will be aboard the boat to act as the deliverymen—they must be mine or he will smell a double-cross.”

  Captain Springer nodded. “Just tell me the dock. Also, I have a vampire of my own who will help with the sting. No harm must come to him.”

  “Three actually,” Darcy murmured. “Two more came in from Seattle last night to help. Friends of Quentin’s.”

  Captain Springer shot her a startled glance, then quickly recovered. “The three who work for me will not be harmed.”

  Rupe King did not look pleased. Obviously to him, the only good vampire was a dead one.

  Only a week ago, Darcy would have agreed.

  “So be it,” he said with a nod.

  While Rupe and the Captain finalized the details, Darcy’s tension grew. Things were heating up fast. Tonight they’d trap a killer and Quentin’s mission would be over. And she still had a choice to make. Leave the life she’d built for herself, or join with Quentin as his companion of the night.

  On one hand, she had a career. And she’d worked damn hard to be accepted by the guys, even earning a good measure of their respect for her fighting skills and dead aim. Although of late she’d taken hits due to her liaison with the vamp, she took great pride in what she had accomplished.

  On the other hand, outside of her work she had no life—and no one to share what she had built.

  Quentin offered her an eternity of companionship and love—oh, and mind-blowing sex. Although he drove her nuts with his insistence that he be the master of their relationship, she relished the challenge of shaking him up. Last night’s victory still had her grinning. If only inwardly.

  “You will not see me, again.” Rupe King’s voice drew her attention back. “My operation has been compromised by this business. Gentlemen, and lady, I wish you good luck this evening.” He rose signaling the end of their interview.

  As she passed Captain Springer, he captured her elbow and ushered her out of the room. When they were out of earshot of King and his associates, he leaned toward her. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep your mind on the operation, or do I need to replace you on this mission?”

  Darcy’s cheeks flamed. “I’m in, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  “When we get to the car, you’ll have to tell me how we acquired two new team members,” he said, his voice huffy.

  Darcy gulped, he really was pissed. Quentin was a distraction she could ill afford in her line of work. After tonight, whichever way she chose, she wouldn’t endanger others by her inattention.

  The three retrieved their weapons at the gatehouse and headed away from the drug lord’s estate.

  Darcy sat in the back seat aware of Max’s accusing glare in the rearview mirror. He continued to disapprove of her actions and it hurt her more than she was willing to admit. Max needed to get over it.

  Darcy ignored him, and instead, filled the Captain in on what she knew about Emmy and Dylan, which was embarrassingly little considering the two knew a whole lot about her—like what she sounded like when she came and the exact shade of pink her nipples were.

  “We’ll head straight to Darcy’s, Max. The team will be gathering. Is the van loaded up?”

  “Yes, Captain,” Max replied.

  “Well, let’s go nail this devil!”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Quentin sat quietly while the team entered Darcy’s home. He noted that Emmy took care of the introductions and proceeded to charm the pants off the hard-nosed bunch.

  Dressed in her version of night camouflage—a wrap-around black T-shirt that exposed her deep cleavage and black jeans that hugged her fleshy derriere—Emmy drew every male eye in the room. No one seemed immune to her artless charm.

  No one, that is, except Max Weir. The musc
le-bound man watched her with a cynical eye. While he appeared resigned that the three vamps were part of this operation, Quentin doubted Max would ever let go of his deep-seated prejudice.

  As had become the team’s habit, they brought food to share among the group while they reviewed what they had learned. Emmy’s plate was piled high with tidbits from every dish that was lined up on the table. The woman had an appetite.

  Quentin’s had disappeared. He felt like he was watching the group from a great distance. Since Emmy had made her announcement, he’d been reeling. Darcy was pregnant! And the child could only be Joe’s. That fact ate at his gut. A child was the one thing Quentin could never give Darcy.

  “Could you be wrong?” he’d asked Emmy after her bald statement.

  She’d shaken her head. “I can sense the difference. Smell the blood gathering in her womb.”

  “Couldn’t she be menstruating?”

  “This feels different.”

  “Well that’s definitive. It ‘feels’ different,” he’d said, knowing he sounded snide and small. “Isn’t it too soon for you to say? It’s only been a few days, since…”

  “Darcy’s body is already changing, Quentin.”

  Why hadn’t he noticed? Of course, the scent of her skin and hair, and yes, her arousal, tended to overwhelm his senses whenever she was near.

  A child certainly changed everything. No vamp—at least none with a conscience—would turn a pregnant woman. The results were too horrific.

  Thank God, Em had noticed.

  “Quentin, you aren’t eating,” Emmy said, taking a seat beside him. “You really should try these meatballs. Phil’s wife, Bets, made them. They’re barely cooked—in our honor. Wasn’t that sweet?” She used a toothpick to spear one of the sauce-covered balls and popped it into her mouth. She held up another and offered it to him.

  Rather than let her see how morose his thoughts had turned, he opened his mouth and accepted the offering. If Emmy sensed he was disturbed, she’d never leave him to stew in his own thoughts.

  The door opened suddenly and Captain Springer strode inside, followed closely by Darcy. Quentin wondered why the Captain had detained her. The Captain’s broad face held a look of determination that hardened his square jaw.

  Quentin’s gaze followed Darcy into the room, then fell to her flat tummy. Damn! Something hitched in his chest. Something he didn’t want to put into words.

  His desire to make her his mate for eternity was slipping through his fingers. She’d been ideal—with a passion strong enough to match his. For the first time in his undead life he’d been ready to commit to one woman.

  The right thing to do would be to give her up. Now.

  But despite her pregnancy, he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go.

  Darcy offered him a tight smile and waited for Emmy to scoot down the couch. Then she slid onto the couch beside him—so close his thigh heated with the contact.

  “Listen up,” Captain Springer called for their attention. “It’s going down tonight. Rupe King’s boat is coming in with a shipment of coke. When Nicky meets it at the dock, he’ll get a little more than he bargained for.”

  Having been filled in on Rupe King’s role in the bust by Max, Quentin listened as the Captain issued instructions to the team.

  “I’d like to extend a welcome to Dylan and Emmy O’Hara.” The Captain nodded to the couple, then glared at Darcy. “I’d appreciate your input as this goes down, but this is my operation. My team is trained and I wouldn’t like either of you to be hurt in the crossfire.”

  Dylan nodded his understanding. “We’ll be standing by to assist.”

  Unexpectedly, Darcy’s hand settled on his thigh and Quentin covered it with his own, giving her a squeeze. No one seemed to notice as all eyes were on the Captain.

  “We’ll go in with Kevlar, crossbows, and assault rifles. The Vero Beach PD have already cleared the dock of civilians.” The Captain paused and his gaze swept each of his team. “It goes without saying that we’re going to take out every one of Nicky’s gang. Give no quarter!”

  The team came to their feet and filed out the door. Quentin caught Darcy’s hand when she rose to follow.

  Her glance was questioning.

  “Perhaps, you should sit this one out, love,” he suggested quietly.

  A frown furrowed her forehead. “Not now, Quentin. You can’t wrap me in cotton wool. I’m part of this team and this is our biggest operation to date. This is my job.”

  Quentin knew she’d refuse. He should just tell her. Or better yet, tie her to her iron bed and let her rage at him.

  She tugged her hand from his, and Quentin sighed and stood up to follow. He hadn’t the right to come between her and her ambitions. But tonight, he’d stick close to her shapely ass and make sure she didn’t run into trouble.

  This would be her last dangerous assignment for a while. He’d tell her why later.

  * * * * *

  The radio crackled in Darcy’s ear. “Nicky and his crew just pulled into the marina,” the Captain said from the command post—the team’s van in the parking area. “Remember, we’ll wait to strike until he brings his men in to move the cargo.”

  Thank God! She’d been afraid she would disgrace herself. The wait had been interminable. The storm that threatened to break over their heads had whipped up waves in the inlet, setting all the boats tied to the dock bobbing in the water. Her stomach pitched right along with them.

  “I’m gonna barf if this doesn’t go down soon,” Phil moaned.

  Soft chuckles sounded from seven mikes. Darcy commiserated with Phil. Glad she hadn’t eaten any dinner, she kept silent beside Quentin, nausea roiling in her belly and clammy perspiration breaking on her forehead. This was one stakeout she’d be happy to see the end of.

  “Too many of Bets’ meatballs, Phil?” Emmy broke in, her voice full of sympathy.

  “God, don’t mention it,” he groaned.

  Above the sound of the gathering wind, footsteps echoed hollowly on the wooden planks of the dock. Quentin crouched so close behind her she felt his body grow rigid. It felt right to have him watching her back even though she still missed Joe. They’d taken up a position on the cabin cruiser tied next to Rupe King’s. Hunkered down behind the gunwale of the boat, they listened tensely for the order to move in for the kill.

  Quentin had stuck to her like glue all evening. It was annoying, but sweet, how protective he was of her. And totally unnecessary. When things turned ugly—and they would—she’d be moving fast. She didn’t want to trip over him.

  The rumble of voices sounded in the next boat, but they were too low to make out their words. There was a sudden burst of laughter and a door opened, spilling light from the cabin onto the dock.

  Darcy rose up to peek over the rail, but Quentin’s heavy hand pushed her down. She turned to glare at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered angrily.

  “Shhh.” He lifted his chin in the direction of the other boat.

  Darcy saw one of Nicky’s boys on the bow with a radio next to his ear. “Tell them it’s clear,” the teen said.

  Ignoring Darcy’s glower, Quentin whispered into his headset, “Get ready. Nicky’s given the all clear. The others will be closing on the boat.”

  “Roger that,” Max replied quietly. “No one moves until I give the signal.”

  With the team in position on neighboring boats and inside cars in the marina, the gang would be encircled in moments.

  Darcy held her breath. Once the noose tightened, Nicky would react like a trapped animal. She’d seen the mayhem he was capable of when he held all the cards, now she’d get a glimpse of a monster in full rage.

  The heavy tread of half a dozen of Nicky’s “soldiers” echoed dully in the night. Darcy hugged her crossbow to her chest and concentrated on the sound of her breaths to make her racing heart slow its pace and give her thoughts focus.

  Slower, calmer, centered. She drew on her inner reserve of peace,
visualizing the team’s victory.

  She was ready.

  “Get cocked,” the Captain said.

  Darcy rose on her knees, lifted her bow, and sighted down the shaft of her arrow, and then rose a fraction higher to point it over the railing. In the dim light provided by the lamps strung from boat slip to boat slip, Darcy couldn’t sight on Nicky.

  “I don’t see Nicky,” she whispered.

  “Must still be in the cabin,” Max replied. “Take out the men on the dock you can see when I give the order.”

  With the deck of the boat pitching beneath her knees, Darcy struggled for balance. “I’ll take the first in line.”

  “I’ve got the second target,” Max replied.

  Once the team had selected their marks, the airwave was silent. The only sounds coming from boats nudging their slips and booted feet on wood.

  Suddenly, one of Nicky’s men lifted his nose into the wind.

  “Now!” Max shouted.

  Darcy pulled back on her trigger, letting her arrow fly. Her first target staggered, and then disintegrated. When she reached for her next arrow, Quentin leapt over the gunwale and landed on the narrow walkway between the two boats.

  The rapid tattoo of gunfire erupted and her team members shouted in their mikes as they took cover.

  Cursing beneath her breath, Darcy quickly pulled back her bowstring, latched it in the spring clip, and slid the arrow along the track. Armed, she slid over the gunwale, intent on following Quentin.

  From all along the dock came the sounds of the ensuing battle. Curses, and the sharp staccato of machine fire ripped through the night.

  “How many?” Max’s voice demanded.

  “I counted nine,” the Captain said, his voice sounding raspy as he ran along the dock to join the fight.

  “That means six to go.” Max grunted, and then roared. The sounds of fists meeting flesh filled Darcy’s headset.

  “Emmy, get back to the van!”

  “Dylan, I have a stake in this too. You’re not leaving me behind.”

  “God dammit to hell!”

  As she crept aboard the drug lord’s cruiser, Darcy ignored the voices in her ear and the flashes of gunfire that burst brilliantly around her. Getting Nicky was her sole focus. Oh, and saving Quentin’s butt. They were partners now. He shouldn’t have proceeded without her.