Quinn

by D. B. Reynolds

  Garrick shot him a quick look of surprise. “Say again?”

  Quinn stared straight ahead, thinking. “Look at the number of guards around the house and gate. That many vampires hanging around every night would attract too much attention, which means this isn’t business as usual. It’s a big meet. And what better way to command Sorley’s attention than to invite ourselves in?”

  “Or, get ourselves killed.”

  He grinned. “A little trust, please. I won’t let the big, bad vampire hurt you.”

  “Not intentionally, anyway.”

  Quinn laughed, but sobered almost immediately. “Look, we need to gain Sorley’s attention. If we walk in there uninvited, it tells him two things. First, we’re not afraid of him or his people. An asshole like Sorley will appreciate that kind of braggadocio.”

  “Not if you’re going to use five-syllable words like that.”

  Quinn made a face, but his cousin had a point. By all accounts, Sorley was over 200 years old, from a time when boys were put to work young. What education they got was from the priests, and that wasn’t much. It wouldn’t do to make Sorley feel as if Quinn was talking down to him. “Point taken,” he acknowledged. “But he will be interested in the second thing our arrival will show him.”

  Garrick gave him a questioning glance.

  “By now, he’s missing both vampires and guns. If we walk in there with answers, he’ll have to pay attention.”

  “Or he’ll just—”

  “He won’t kill us outright. He’ll want what we have, and what we know. And if it comes down to it, I can control Orrin Sorley.”

  “I’m taking my gun anyway.”

  Quinn smiled. “You’re a vampire. You don’t need a gun.”

  “It makes me feel better. Deal with it.”

  He shook his head. “I think we’ve driven past enough times. His guards are going to notice.”

  “Are we pulling into the yard?”

  “No, I don’t want the cargo to be that close.”

  They’d replaced the sedan which they’d driven home from the harbor in the wee hours of the previous night. The shocks had been destroyed, the vehicle almost dragging the ground from the weight of the guns they’d off-loaded from the smuggler’s boat, with the crates completely filling both the trunk and the back seat. The Range Rover they’d rented instead was both heavier and roomier. It was also more powerful, faster, and generally more of a pleasure to drive, which pleased both Quinn and his cousin so much that they’d gone out and purchased a second one just like it. No more discreet sedans for them.

  For this visit to Dublin, they’d flattened the back seat and spread the crates out through the cargo space, to prevent them from being easily visible through the tinted windows. The last thing they needed was some passing Garda to catch a glimpse and get curious before they could give Sorley his surprise gift.

  “Park a couple of blocks down and on the opposite side of the street,” Quinn instructed. “We’ll walk from there.”

  EVE EYED THE gaggle of giggling women as they hurried toward the back gate of Sorley’s estate. She was disgusted. They weren’t allowed to enter through the front door, but were being delivered through the back like dry goods from the grocer. Two bags of potatoes and a couple dozen silly women. They were dressed nearly identically in short skirts and tops with low necklines, all tight and revealing. And there was so much cleavage on display that it had Eve checking her own neckline in comparison before she realized what she was doing.

  “There’s no other way,” she muttered to herself, then slammed the heel of her hand against the steering wheel. Sorley’s big meeting—which she’d heard of by chance during a visit to a Dublin blood house—was a total godsend, a way to get inside his estate. Maybe the only way. She’d checked into his household staff, thinking to get herself a job there. Vampires considered themselves a step above humans, and there was no way they’d be spending their time dusting a house that big. But while she’d discovered he did, in fact, employ a human cleaning service, they were few in number, and, as far as she’d observed, they worked only in daytime, when the vampires were all locked safely away, sound asleep.

  So, she’d become vampire food, instead. Or at least, give the appear­ance of it. Despite her barely-there clothes, she had no more inten­tion of allowing these bloodsuckers near her neck than she did the vamps she’d killed in Howth. This wasn’t a suicide mission. It was reconnaissance. She wanted to search for her brother’s killers, of course. But this was also her chance to observe vampires in their native setting. She’d learned enough about them to know they could be very tricky when it came to concealing their true nature. There were a few identifying characteristics she’d taught herself to look for—fangs being the most obvious—but, for the most part, a vampire could get away with pretending to be an ordinary human, and only another vampire would know the truth.

  Unfortunately, in order to get inside, Eve had to put herself on the menu. Or pretend to. Blending in with the crowd any other way wasn’t an option. Vampires weren’t only bloodthirsty killers, they were also misogynistic creeps. There were very few female vamps. In fact, though she’d read about them online, and had even seen pictures of one or two who served close to vampire lords in North America, she’d never identified a single female vampire here in Ireland. Which left the giggling women as her only entrée to Sorley’s party.

  “Shit,” she swore softly. Her skirt was as short and tight as any of them, with plenty of leg on display. And her shoes—a pair of Miu-Miu Mary Jane stilettos—were the most expensive shoes she’d ever worn and way out of her usual price range. She’d gotten them at a high-end thrift shop, where she’d gone looking for clothes, figuring a party at Sorley’s would bring in a higher class of dinner buffet participants. She’d nearly swooned when she’d seen the Miu-Miu’s in her size. She’d even felt a little guilty when she’d seen the price. But she’d bought them anyway, rationalizing that she was doing the human race a favor, and that the shoes were simply a weapon in her war against their common enemy.

  Brushing aside the guilt over her fabulous shoes, she returned her thoughts to vampires and what might happen inside that house. Her only weapon was a small knife, snugged tight on her inner thigh, almost touching her satin-covered crotch. She shouldn’t have allowed herself even that much, but the idea of going in there with no weapon at all had been more than she could handle. Her fingers fiddled restlessly with her sweater, fastening, then unfastening, the two top buttons, leaving the already low neckline to gape open farther and reveal the full curves of her breasts. It also left her neck bare, just as they’d expect. She was as ready as she could be, but now that the moment was upon her, she was nervous.

  The women’s laughter abruptly grew louder, and she looked up to see the back gate opening. It was now or never.

  Sucking in a breath, she slipped quickly out of her car. The door closed and locked behind her. She wasn’t taking anything into the house with her. No purse, no ID, not so much as a lipstick. She’d secured a spare key fob in one of those magnetic key holders that she’d placed in the front wheel well.

  The women were nearly through the gate, their progress slowed by their number and the fact that the entrance had never been designed for such a large group. Eve hurried to join the tail end of their parade, and even managed to exchange some excited titters with the other stragglers. She stuck to the center of the pack as they shuffled through the gate, avoiding the groping hands of the guards along the edges, her attention fixed on the forbidding house in front of her. Fuck, but it was huge. She’d never been in such a house. She could still back out, could claim a headache or a sick stomach. She could probably vomit on cue because . . .

  It was suddenly too late. The gate behind them closed with a hard crash of noise, and the house door ahead opened to cast a dim light on the now tightly-packed group of women.
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  “This is tonight’s lot?” The question came from nowhere, a gravelly voice with no person attached to it.

  “That’s the whole of them,” the guard from the gate announced.

  “Well, don’t stand there, you stupid bitches. The party’s not in the fucking yard.”

  The women were suddenly moving again, crowding against one another, no longer laughing. But Eve could still feel their excitement, like live wires scraping against her skin with every contact. She let herself be chivied along, dread growing with every step.

  She’d done a lot of stupid things over the last few years. But this might just top the cake.

  QUINN WAITED UNTIL the courtyard in front of the house had mostly emptied, until the gate guards were once again slumped at their posts, more concerned with every burst of laughter, every roar of approval they were missing from inside the house, than with watching the street against intruders. It was shameful, really. Quinn had seen what real security looked like—at Rajmund’s tower in Manhattan, or Raphael’s estate in Malibu. Even his own small guard troop was trained far better than these. Guards like Sorley’s wouldn’t last ten minutes in that company. Hell, they’d never have been hired in the first place.

  They served his purposes well, however. When he and Garrick strolled easily up to the gates, it took several minutes for the guards to realize the visitors weren’t stopping, but were pushing their way inside. And by the time they’d puffed their chests out in aggression and opened their mouths to protest, Quinn had seized their minds and convinced them everything was fine. No threat, no uninvited visitors. They went back to leaning against the gate posts, their eyes on the street, ignoring the two dangerous strangers now walking toward the house.

  “What’s the plan?” Garrick asked quietly as they started up the stairs.

  “There’s a plan?” Quinn repeated, then laughed at his cousin’s middle-finger salute. “It’s simple. We’re going to walk in there and wait to be noticed. And then I’m going to announce our intentions.”

  Garrick grunted his acknowledgment and pulled open the door.

  Quinn led the way, striding into the gathering as if he belonged there. One thing he’d learned from his many years in the courtroom . . . confidence was 90% of the battle. Most humans were followers. Give them a leader and they were yours. The same was true of vampires, maybe even more so, since vampires were hardwired to respect power. And that was something Quinn had in spades.

  He headed directly for Sorley, who was easy to find despite the crowd. He sat at the front of the room, separated from his guests by a few critical feet, and backed by four guards who were far more attentive than the two on the outside gate had been.

  Quinn walked up to the invisible demarcation line and paused, staring boldly at Sorley over the intervening space. It was blatant provocation, and the vampire lord rose to the challenge. Sorley might be an asshole of cosmic proportions, but he wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t weak.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he demanded. His guards took notice, closing in on both sides of his chair and glaring daggers at Quinn and Garrick, abruptly aware of the strangers in their midst. Strangers who were dangerous enough to warrant their attention, even though Quinn was concealing the true depths of his power. He and Garrick would both register as strong master vampires, even to Sorley’s radar, since the Irish lord had no reason to look more deeply.

  Quinn tipped his head to Sorley and said, “I’m a man with some­thing that belongs to you. Something you lost recently.”

  Sorley’s gaze narrowed, and Quinn could feel the vampire lord testing his shields and finding no weakness. “And what would that be?” he asked calmly. He was a vampire lord in the heart of his power, surr­ounded by his people. He had nothing to fear from a presumptuous and uninvited intruder.

  Quinn gave a slow, fang-baring smile. “Guns,” he said simply.

  Sorley’s attention sharpened. He glanced over Quinn’s shoulder and jerked his head sharply in a silent signal to one of his vamps. Quinn felt Garrick tense next to him, but he wasn’t worried. He’d have detected any hostile movement behind them. Whatever Sorley had his vampire doing, it wasn’t an attack. Maybe it was something as innocuous as trying to reach the two dead vampires by phone, or maybe some of the human crew from the boats.

  “I’ll ask you one more time,” Sorley said softly. “Who are you?”

  Quinn made a show of his answer, pressing a hand to his chest in mock dismay. “Where are my manners? My name is Quinn. And this is my cousin Garrick. We’re new to town and recently ran into a . . . business opportunity that, as it turns out, involves you.”

  “American,” Sorley said, practically spitting it like a dirty word.

  “Guilty as charged,” Quinn responded easily. “Though both born in Ireland, as it turns out. We’ve come back to advance our fortunes in the land of our birth.”

  “To rediscover your roots,” Sorley said mockingly.

  Quinn gave Sorley a cool look. “I wasn’t aware I’d lost them.”

  The vampire lord stared for a moment, then barked a laugh. “I like you, Quinn. You’ve got cast iron bollocks. Now where the fuck are my guns?”

  “Nearby,” he said simply.

  The vampire lord’s attention went over Quinn’s shoulder again, and he knew the same vampire Sorley had signaled before had returned from whatever errand he’d been sent upon. His mouth tightened perceptibly.

  “Oh dear,” Quinn thought. “Bad news?” He was smart enough to keep the thought inside his own head, but couldn’t help the tiny smirk that crossed his face before his expression settled into a bland mask.

  Sorley came to his feet with a growl. “No more games. What do you want?”

  “The same thing we all do. Business. Money. A good life. Women to suck and fuck.”

  Sorley laughed again, then backed up and sat in his chair. He flicked a hand at one of his guards, who immediately produced a second chair and placed it next to Sorley’s.

  “Have a seat,” Sorley said, making it sound more like an order than an invitation.

  Quinn bowed slightly in thanks, but moved the chair so that it faced Sorley at an angle. There was no way in hell he was turning his back on the vampire lord’s personal guard. He sat, and Garrick immediately took up position behind him, no doubt exchanging glares with the other guards.

  “So, tell me,” Sorley asked. “How exactly did you get hold of my guns?”

  Quinn leaned back all casual like and began by telling him about the two vampires who’d been intended to meet the boat, and how they were dead. Eve had been the one who killed them, but he let Sorley assume it had been he and Garrick who’d done the deed. The last thing the beautiful redhead needed was a vampire lord on her tail. It was bad enough she was taking on regular vamps. Her luck hadn’t run out yet, but it would, sooner or later. And when it did, she’d find herself in a world of hurt with a pissed off, powerful vampire.

  “So, they’re both dusted?” Sorley confirmed.

  Quinn shrugged. “All I wanted was information. We’re new to town and trying to learn the set-up. But your vamps took it badly. They attacked. We won.”

  Sorley pursed his lips and made a soft grunting noise. “And the guns?”

  “Well, we could hardly leave the boat captain literally at sea, wondering what had happened to his contacts in Howth. So we met the boat, offloaded the cargo, and dealt with the witnesses.”

  Sorley stared. His eyes were cold and flat, and Quinn knew there’d be no second chances with this vampire. “You killed my boat captain?”

  “He was human and, thus, untrustworthy,” Quinn deflected easily. “I thought only to protect your secrets.”

  “Makes it harder to keep the guns flowing if you kill the fucking boat captain.”

  “True enough. But I have contacts of my own. Boat captain
s are easily replaced.”

  “You want the Howth import contract,” Sorley said flatly, and it wasn’t a question.

  That’s one way to describe a smuggling operation, Quinn thought. But all he said was, “Howth will be a good start.”

  Sorley froze, clearly picking up on the sub-text of Quinn’s response. Howth was only the beginning of what Quinn wanted. Sorley’s problem would be what came next. How high did Quinn want to go in the vampire lord’s operation? His nostrils flared as he studied Quinn, almost as if he was literally sniffing the air for dishonesty and duplicity.

  But Quinn had had decades to perfect his blank face, to control the small chemical changes that occurred when a man lied. Even before he’d become a vampire, he’d shown only what he wanted to the world, his emotions tightly contained well before he’d taken a career path that made such dissimulation a requirement. As a human, he’d been cold as ice in the courtroom. As a vampire, he’d been reborn with the power to rule, and vampire lords excelled at deceiving others.

  He and Sorley were equally still as they studied each other, but it was Sorley who broke the silent tableau. He nodded abruptly. “Done.” His reluctance was obvious, but it was the right decision, the only one that made sense businesswise. Quinn could almost discern his thought process, step by step. His first instinct would probably have been to kill Quinn, but he hadn’t gotten to be Lord of Ireland because he was stupid. Even a surface scan of Quinn’s strength would have shown that he’d be hard to kill. Not impossible, at least not as far as Sorley could tell, since Quinn was still camouflaged, but difficult. And in the final analysis, power was the one thing that vampires respected above all others. So, why waste such a potentially valuable underling? At the same time, he wouldn’t want Quinn running around Dublin where he could cause problems. Much better to give him Howth, to keep him far away and under his thumb.

  Not that Quinn planned to remain under anyone’s thumb for long. But Sorley didn’t know that.