The Secret Night

by Rebecca York

  Nicholas Vickers was a vampire.

  And she had made love with him.

  She was still closeted in his bedroom with him now.

  Her hands squeezed into fists.

  Trying to fight down her terror, she dashed toward the door. But before she could leave the room, Nick stirred in the bed.

  “Where are you going, Emma?” he asked.

  Chapter Eleven

  Emma swallowed hard. If the…the man in the bed figured out she knew his secret, he could probably kill her as easily as he’d squash an ant.

  Somehow she managed to speak in an even voice, answering, “I need to use the bathroom.”

  “Hurry back and keep me warm. There’s a good wench.”

  He was talking like a character from one of his “historical novels” again. Historical novels—hah! Didn’t vampires live forever? Weren’t they the—she shuddered—“undead”? He’d probably lived through those historical eras!

  To her vast relief, he made no effort to stop her from leaving the room. Maybe he’d even gone back to sleep, because he couldn’t stay awake during the day.

  She hurried out of his elegant bedroom suite and into the unfinished part of the basement. Every muscle in her body vibrated with tension as she remembered being trapped like a caged animal on her first trip across that cement floor. No wonder she’d felt as if she were in a house of horrors. She was!

  She cringed at that harsh judgment. Yet, it was true, wasn’t it?

  Had he lied about the alarm system being off? Would he trap her again? No, likely he’d told the truth on that, figuring she might be accustomed to breakfast and lunch and would want something to eat before night fell again and he—it?—arose.

  Fighting back tears and sending up a silent prayer, she started across the open space. To her relief, no eerie lights glowed, and no gates crashed down to entrap her.

  She didn’t want to take the time to go to the bedroom she’d occupied earlier, but she was half-naked, and she didn’t want to return to Nick’s bedroom. So she dashed up two flights of stairs and pulled on the new slacks she’d purchased.

  She had no idea what Nick had done with the gun she’d bought after leaving the Refuge and dropped in his yard. No time to look now. She raced downstairs to the pantry and grabbed one of Nick’s.

  She was almost ready to leave when she remembered that her car was now in his garage. Which meant that she’d have to go back downstairs.

  Teeth clenched, she retraced her steps, expecting that at any moment he might burst out of his bedroom suite and grab her.

  But she made it across the basement and then into the garage without incident. She activated the mechanism that opened the door, then gunned her car out into the blessed daylight. The door closed behind her, and she shot down the driveway. She wasn’t even sure where she was going. All she could think of was that she’d escaped.

  She’d dreamed of Nick Vickers.

  She’d felt close to him, even before they met.

  Then she met him, trusted him—and made love with him.

  She’d been so wrong about Nicholas Vickers. Way, way wrong.

  But she’d managed to escape him.

  So why was she fighting back tears?

  She told herself he’d lied to her from the first. He must have. And he’d probably laughed at how easily he’d managed to dupe her into giving him exactly what he wanted from her.

  She stopped short, remembering how tenderly he’d cared for her when she was hurt. Dear Lord, he’d healed her after a gunshot wound that could have killed her.

  No. She couldn’t afford any sentimentality. Vampires probably had mysterious powers to heal humans so they could use them for…for food! She shuddered.

  She shuddered harder as another thought hit her. Did vampires also have mysterious powers to draw their prey to them? Is that why she’d felt she had to seek out his help to rescue Marg? Had he deliberately sent himself into her dreams, to lure her into coming to him, into trusting him before she’d even met him?

  No! It was all too much. And now she was thinking of Nick the way she thought of Damien Caldwell, a weirdo power junkie who used his charisma and strangely compelling powers of persuasion to get people to do his every bidding—and to do so with pleasure.

  Oh, God. Strangely compelling powers of persuasion? Was Caldwell a vampire, too?

  In the bizarre world she suddenly found herself in, it made perfect sense. They were both vampires.

  The two men—monsters?—were, after all, locked in seemingly mortal enmity. Yet with all his own powers, Nick was obviously cautious about going after Caldwell. Did that mean Caldwell had “talents” even Nick didn’t possess?

  Nick had said Caldwell had had places like the Refuge in the past. Did Caldwell find ways to create his bizarre enclaves so that he would have a constant, ready and willing supply of human blood?

  What did Nick do to get blood on a regular basis?

  She shook her head violently. She didn’t want to know.

  But she knew one thing for sure. Caldwell was killing people. Making human sacrifices.

  And he had to be stopped. Her thoughts zinged back to Nick. She’d shared his dreams and she’d thought he was the answer to her prayers. What a laugh! She’d always known she was as bad a judge of men as her mother. Either she’d hooked up with a succession of jerks or she’d picked guys who were so bland, they faded into the woodwork.

  Well, that certainly wasn’t Nick. Not bland at all!

  If she hadn’t been driving, she would have lowered her head to her hands. As it was, she was forced to keep staring at the taillight of the car ahead of her.

  Another man’s image leaped into her mind.

  Alex Shane.

  Alex Shane, the other—the real—private detective with an interest in Caldwell’s activities. He said he’d been hired to rescue a woman from the Refuge. But would he believe her if she told him Damien Caldwell was a vampire? Or would he cart her off not to Baltimore, but to the loony bin?

  Alex would save her. But had she misjudged him, too?

  It seemed she’d have to take a chance on that. Because she had just run out of options.

  THE PRIVATE LINE on Damien Caldwell’s desk rang, and he glanced at the caller ID. It was “Trailblazer,” the man he’d had following Nicholas Vickers.

  His reports had been useful; the fellow had even called and told him to turn on his TV to catch the breaking news from the Baltimore crack house.

  Naturally, Trailblazer was also the one who’d warned the druggies inside that Vickers was sneaking up on them.

  Too bad Vickers hadn’t died. Apparently he’d managed to recover sufficiently from his injuries to return to his home. Trailblazer had seen him come in just at dawn. Probably with his skin burning.

  Snatching up the receiver, Damien said, “Now what? Do you have something more on Vickers?”

  “No. But Emma Birmingham just left Vickers’s house—on her own.”

  “Get her. And bring her back here.”

  HOURS LATER, Nick woke and turned toward Emma. But the bed was empty.

  Sitting bolt upright, he fought off a surge of panic. She was probably upstairs, getting something to eat. His gaze went to the clock on the wall. It was only a little after nine, early in the evening.

  He jumped out of bed and pulled on his jeans. As he did, he saw the jacket he’d left on the chair. The bloody shirt was sticking halfway out of the pocket.

  Staring at it, he went cold all over. Had Emma seen it? If she had, she’d have known instantly that he’d been lying to her. And she was smart enough to put two and two together and figure out he’d been lying to her all along, about a lot of things.

  Hoping he was wrong, afraid that he wasn’t, he searched his private quarters, then dashed up the stairs. She wasn’t in the kitchen, the living room or any other room.

  She was gone. She’d run away from him—because she’d figured out the deep dark secret he’d been hiding.

 
And he knew where she was going. He’d come to understand her well enough to be certain she wouldn’t abandon her sister to Damien Caldwell.

  So she was running from one vampire into the arms of another. He wondered if she knew it. Could she have figured out that Caldwell, too, was a blood drinker?

  It didn’t matter. The only thing that concerned him was how much of a head start she had—and how much chance he had of stopping her before she put her life in jeopardy.

  Quickly, he finished dressing, then checked the contents of a knapsack that he kept packed for emergencies. It had sunscreen, protective clothing, binoculars and a few other useful items. From a locked drawer in his office, he got one more thing, something he’d been planning to take with him to the Refuge, even before Emma Birmingham had come asking for his help.

  The idea of driving into Caldwell’s lair made his blood run cold. Long ago, when he’d gone up against the monster, he’d barely escaped with his life. Then he had been fighting to avenge Jeanette’s death. Over the years, though, his motivation for destroying Caldwell had changed. He was determined to stop the demon’s killing spree.

  He’d known a direct assault on his archenemy would only get him killed. In the past hundred and fifty years, he’d tried five stealth attacks. All had failed because Caldwell had made himself almost invincible.

  So Nick had gone back to the drawing board, using the considerable skill he’d developed as an engineer. Finally, he had invented a weapon he believed would eliminate the Master—believed being the operative word. There was no way to test the weapon. He had to get it right the first time or die trying.

  He glanced at the clock again. Most likely, Emma had left when she’d said she was going to use the bathroom and he’d fallen back asleep. She was hours ahead of him. Yet he had to assume she wasn’t reckless enough to try to sneak into Caldwell’s compound in broad daylight. Which gave him a chance to find her before she tried to go in on her own.

  If she did, she’d surely get caught, and it made him sick with fear to think that the silly chit might just be foolish—and desperate—enough to try it.

  Cursing the woman who had fled his protection, he stepped into his garage and threw his knapsack into the backseat of his Acura. It was a fast car, with an engine he’d had supercharged for emergencies. Usually he didn’t chance speeding. Tonight was the exception. His lips set in a grim line, he turned on the radar detector—another modern convenience that he greatly appreciated—and roared out of the garage.

  IT WAS AFTER MIDNIGHT, and only a few lights shone in the windows of St. Stephens when Emma drove into town. The highway turned into Main Street, which was lined on both sides with real estate offices, art and craft galleries, clothing boutiques and restaurants.

  She’d come here because she had nowhere else to go. She couldn’t simply run home with her tail between her legs and leave Margaret to die. Yet now that she was within striking distance of the Refuge, she was filled with uncertainty.

  When she’d left Nick’s house, she’d told herself she could ask Alex Shane for help. As her fingers closed around his business card, she felt a pang of guilt. It was bad enough asking him to go to the Refuge when she thought Damien Caldwell was a man. Now that she was convinced he was a vampire, she simply couldn’t do it. Shane had told her about his wife and kids and how he wasn’t free to take the same kind of risks that he’d taken when he was a bachelor. No, in good conscience, she couldn’t ask him to go with her to the Refuge.

  But he’d said he worked for the Light Street Detective Agency. Maybe they could put together a larger force, enough people who knew how to handle themselves, so that they’d stand a chance against Caldwell and his guards.

  She argued back and forth with herself for several minutes, then headed for the dock in the center of town, where people congregated and she wouldn’t be alone. Pulling up beside the public phone that sat outside the dockside restaurant, she looked around. Another car had stopped nearby, and she saw a man watching her.

  Did he know who she was? Maybe he simply wanted to use the same phone.

  He looked away, but he’d given her a bad feeling that made her reluctant to climb out of her car. While she debated what to do, two couples walked out of the restaurant together. Rolling down her window, she called to them.

  “Pardon me. I need some help.” When the couples stopped, she gave what she hoped was an embarrassed sort of smile. “The truth is, I’m having a fight with my boyfriend, and I need to make sure he’s not going to leap out of the bushes when I get home—or leap out of the bushes here, for that matter. I wondered if you’d watch my car for just a minute, while I make a phone call?”

  “Sure thing,” one of the men said.

  “Thanks a million.” Emma climbed out of the car, strode to the phone and dialed Alex Shane’s number.

  To her relief, he answered on the second ring.

  “Shane here.”

  Though his voice sounded crisp, she suspected that she’d awakened him.

  “This is Emma Birmingham. I’m sorry to call so late.”

  “No problem. What’s up?”

  “I…” She looked back at the couple who’d agreed to watch her car. “I can’t talk long, but I need to see you. Can you meet me at the place where you…ran into me the other night?”

  “Where are you now?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “Okay. Give me a minute.” He was silent for several seconds, then said, “I’ll meet you a hundred yards from where we met the first time. A hundred yards closer to town. You know where I mean?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  She exited the phone booth and thanked the couple for watching her car. Then she drove away.

  Instead of making right for the spot where Alex was going to meet her, she circled around town, watching her rearview as she drove. It didn’t look like anyone was behind her, but she spent several more minutes making unnecessary turns, traveling sidestreets and alleyways through St. Stephens, before heading toward the road along the river.

  WHEN THE PHONE rang again, Damien snatched it up even quicker than before. “You have her.”

  Trailblazer hesitated.

  “Spit it out.”

  “She gave me the slip.”

  “You moron.”

  “Do you have any men on this side of the river?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, tell them to be on the lookout for her.”

  “I will,” he growled, thinking about how he was going to punish his operative for screwing this up—if the man was stupid enough to return.

  EMMA LOOKED FOR a place to park. She could have pulled onto the shoulder, but leaving the car in the open didn’t seem like a great idea. So she drove slowly down the two-lane highway until she found an old side road where she could pull off into the woods. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best she could do.

  Once she’d gotten out, she looked around. It was pitch-dark, not a streetlight in sight, isolated, scary. To add to the eerie atmosphere, a low-lying mist was drifting up from the river to cover the road. It was the perfect spot for an ambush—if anyone had spotted her in town and followed her.

  With a shiver, she reached into her purse and retrieved the gun she’d taken from Nick’s pantry. The cold metal felt reassuring in her hand. She’d never shot at a living creature, but she was an excellent shot on the practice range. She knew how to handle the weapon, and she kept it down by her right leg, with her arm straight, as she started up the road toward the spot that Alex had indicated.

  Her footsteps rang hollowly on the blacktop. Then she thought she heard a crunching sound behind her. Whirling, she raised the gun, but she saw no one.

  “Get a grip,” she muttered as she started up the road again. But now she felt the hairs prickling at the back of her neck. With the gun clutched in her hand, she picked up her pace, then darted into the woods. It was dark under the trees, and something clawed
at the legs of her slacks. Brambles, she told herself. Only brambles.

  She yanked her leg away and kept going. Straining her ears, she heard it again—the sound of someone or something behind her.

  Praying that Alex would come along soon, she quickened her steps. But she’d gotten only another few feet when a pair of arms grabbed her around the neck and waist, cutting off her air and clamping her gun hand to her thigh.

  “Scream and you’ll be sorry,” a man’s voice said as he brought her left arm up at an angle that sent pain shooting through her shoulder.

  She went very still.

  “That’s right. Come along nice and easy.”

  She recognized the voice. It was a guy named Gordo, one of the men who worked for Caldwell. Silently, she cursed herself for coming back to the river road. It looked like Caldwell had men patrolling the area. Maybe even looking specifically for her.

  He held her fast, twisting her left arm behind her back. He hadn’t yet realized, though, that she had a gun in her right hand. Unfortunately, she couldn’t get off a shot at anything but the ground.

  “Please, you’re hurting me,” she moaned, still playing for time.

  “Shut up!”

  When he jerked on her arm, she fought not to scream in pain.

  Despite his superior size and strength, she vowed she wasn’t going to go down without a fight. Because there was nothing else she could do, she went limp. Gordo lost his footing on the slick road, which gave her the chance to duck down and raise the gun. But he was back on her before she could catch her breath, cursing as he lashed out an arm and smacked her across the face.

  She gasped from the pain as her teeth cut the inside of her lip.

  He grabbed her gun hand, keeping the gun barrel pointed toward the ground. “Drop it, before I break your arm.”

  She wasn’t about to follow orders. If she could just get the gun up into firing position, she still had a chance….

  A chance she never got.

  Out of the night, a whirlwind materialized, shooting past and knocking both her and Gordo to the ground. He screamed in terror, and so did she as a force she couldn’t see lifted Gordo into the air and tossed him into the woods like a sack of garbage. Then a blur took off after him, something moving so fast that she still wasn’t sure what was happening.