Suddenly the door opened, and Angus pointed his gun at the man entering.
Ian blinked. "Bugger. Not quite the welcome I was expecting."
Angus laughed and slipped the pistol back into his shoulder holster. "Ian, my old friend. How are you?"
"Verra well." Ian exchanged slaps on the shoulder with his boss. "I've just now returned from
Washington."
"Well, ye're back in the nick of time. Ivan Petrovsky is on his way. We may have a bit of trouble."
Ian grimaced. "We have a lot more trouble than that." He glanced at Roman. "It's a good thing I went to Langley. At least we have prior warning now."
"What are ye saying, man?" Angus asked.
"I did some investigation on Dr. Whelan's father," Ian explained.
Roman stood. "Is he CIA?"
"Aye." Ian nodded. "Last stationed in Russia, but three months ago he was brought back to
Washington to head up a new program. The files were heavily encrypted, but I was able to figure out most of it."
"Go on," Roman urged.
"He's in charge of an operation called Stake-Out."
Angus shrugged. "That's a common term in law enforcement."
"Not in this sense." Ian frowned. "They have a logo to go with the name. A wooden stake struck through a bat."
"Bugger," Angus whispered.
"Aye. They're compiling a list of targets for termination. Petrovsky and a few of his friends are on there." Ian regarded Roman sadly. "Ye're on the list, too."
Roman caught his breath. "Are you saying everyone on the list is a vampire?"
"Aye." Ian grimaced. "I'm sure ye know what this means."
Roman sat heavily in his chair. God's blood, this was terrible. His voice came out as a whisper, "They know about us."
CHAPTER 15
Ivan Petrovsky checked the address Katya had given him. "This is it, Vlad. Pull over."
Vladimir located a parking space not far from the safe house in New Rochelle. Both sides of the dimly lit street were lined with tall, narrow, wood-framed houses. Covered porches looked out onto tiny front yards. Most of the houses gleamed with light from their windows, but the safe house was dark.
There was no female vampire Ivan respected more than Katya, and once again, she'd proven herself worth her weight in gold. A longtime member of his Russian coven, Katya was every bit as vicious as he. She'd been the one to locate and seduce the U.S. marshal in charge of Shanna Whelan. With the marshal completely under her control, Katya had easily set this trap.
Ivan instructed Vlad to stay with the car, then zipped toward the safe house with vampire speed. He stopped at the back door and waited for Alek and his harem girl Galina to catch up. They slipped inside the house, their superior vision enabling them to see in the dark. They moved across the kitchen and down a narrow hallway. In the front room, Ivan found Katya and her U.S. marshal on the couch. She was straddling the man's lap, her skirt scrunched up to her hips.
"Enjoying yourself?" Ivan asked.
Katya shrugged. "I was bored. It's something to do."
"Do I get a turn?" Galina sat next to the marshal. His eyes were glazed over. Blood trickled from punctures on his neck.
Ivan waved a hand in front of the lawman's face. No reaction. He was tempted to stick a Post-it on the man's forehead. Room for rent. "So, where is the Whelan girl?"
Katya scooted off the marshal's lap and onto her feet. The hem of her slinky black skirt tumbled down to graze the tips of her black sandals. "Do you like?" She struck a pose, designed to highlight the slit that went up one side of her skirt to the square knot on her hip. With this skirt, it was obvious Katya was missing her panties. Her sleeveless white blouse draped in folds down to her waist, exposing much of her breasts.
"I like. Very much. But where is the Whelan girl?" Ivan glanced at his watch. It was eight-forty. They needed to leave in ten minutes. It would only take a few minutes to kill Shanna Whelan, but he had his heart set on playing with her first.
Katya gave Ivan's lieutenant a sympathetic look. "Poor Alek. Always seeing the boss with his women, but never having a taste for himself." She slipped her hand beneath her skirt and outlined the contour of her naked derriere.
Alek turned away, his fists clenched.
"Enough, Katya." Why was she trying to cause trouble between him and Alek? It was hard to find good help these days—strong male vampires who would follow his orders but leave his harem alone. Over the years, Ivan had executed too many vampires for messing with his women. He couldn't afford to lose any more.
He motioned to the zombie marshal. "I assume you have the Whelan girl in a similar state? Where is she? Upstairs?"
Katya stepped back, a wary look in her eyes. "She has not yet arrived."
"What?" Ivan advanced toward her.
Katya flinched, clearly expecting to be slapped.
Ivan fisted his hand. Tension coiled in his neck, the pressure building till it became unbearable.
When he snapped the vertebrae, there was a distinct pop. Katya blanched. Maybe she feared he'd do the same with her pretty neck. She bowed her head. "I am devastated to have disappointed you, my lord." She reverted to the old form of address.
"You told me the Whelan girl would be here by eight-thirty. What happened to her?"
"I don't know. Bob told her to come here, and she agreed."
Ivan gritted his teeth. "And yet she is not here."
"No, my lord."
"Has she tried to contact him?"
"No."
"I had planned to feed on her before the damned ball." Ivan paced across the room. His plan had been brilliant. Not only would he make a quarter-million dollars, but he'd have the pleasure of watching Roman Draganesti suffer. First he'd suck the Whelan girl dry, then he'd go to Draganesti's ball and toss the dead girl's body at his feet. While Draganesti and his feeble friends flew into a panic, Alek and Vladimir would sneak off to execute the grand finale for the evening. It was perfect. It should have been perfect. Where the hell was the girl? He hated it when his meals were late.
"Stupid bitch!" Ivan cricked his neck to the side.
Katya winced. "She might come. She could be running late."
"I can't wait all night for her to show up. We have to go to that stinking ball. It's our only chance to get inside Romatech without those Highlanders stopping us." Ivan paced to a wall and punched a fist through it. "Now I'll have to go to that damned ball hungry. And there won't be anything fit to eat there."
"I'm hungry, too." Galina stuck out her bottom lip. A former prostitute from the Ukraine, the sexy redhead knew how to pout and how to please.
"There's plenty of blood left in Bob," Katya offered. "I only had a snack."
"Mmm. Yummy." Galina straddled him, licking her lips.
Ivan glanced at his watch. "We have five minutes." He watched as Galina sank her fangs into the marshal's neck. "Leave some for me." The man had outlived his usefulness.
Gregori checked his watch. "Almost nine o'clock. We'd better get to the ballroom."
Roman rose from the chair behind his desk. He dreaded this ball. How could he party while Shanna was in danger? Just the thought of drinking Bubbly Blood made his stomach churn. And now this latest news—Shanna's father was the head of a group who wanted to kill him.
God's blood. Was history doomed to repeat itself? This was too much like the debacle he'd experienced in London in 1862. He'd met a pretty young lady named Eliza. When her father uncovered Roman's secret, he demanded Roman leave the country. Roman agreed, but he hoped Eliza would understand his dilemma and elope with him to America. So he confided in her. The next evening, he woke up with his casket open and a wooden stake resting on his chest.
He went to confront the father, but discovered it was Eliza who had left the stake. Her father had stopped her from killing him out of fear that other demonic creatures would wreak vengeance upon his family. Sickened by the whole affair, Roman erased their memories of him. Too bad he could not e
rase his own. He started a new life in America, but the sad affair haunted him. Never, he swore, would he risk another involvement with a mortal female. And yet Shanna had entered his life and filled the dark recesses of his heart with hope.
How would she react if she learned the truth? Would she, too, try to kill him while he lay sleeping? Or would she simply wait for her father to do the job?
How had the CIA learned the truth about vampires? Some fool must have performed a vampire trick in front of mortals without clearing their memory of it afterward. However it had happened, it constituted a serious problem. He, Angus, and Jean-Luc would spend most of the conference deciding how to handle the matter.
Roman walked toward the ballroom, accompanied by the men who had been in his office. "Ian, how much did you find out about the Stake-Out project? How many agents are on the team?"
"There are five of them, including Shanna's father."
"Only five?" Angus asked. "That's not too bad. Do ye have their names? Maybe we can get to them first."
Roman winced. Kill Shanna's father? Now that would certainly boost his chances for a happy romance.
"It doesn't make sense to me." Jean-Luc tapped his walking stick on the floor as he walked. "No mortal can attack us while we are awake. We can instantly take control of their minds."
Roman paused in mid-stride. Was that it? Shanna had shown remarkable resistance to mind control. And her ability to read his mind while they were linked was uncanny. It was very possible she had psychic ability. Inherited psychic ability. God's blood. A team of vampire slayers, sanctioned by the government, who could resist mind control—it was unnerving.
"They must be planning to kill us during the day," Angus said. "I'll have to train more daytime guards."
"Mr. Draganesti is working on a formula that would enable us to stay awake during the day." Laszlo glanced nervously at Roman. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it."
"Is that true?" Angus gripped Roman by the shoulder. "Can ye do it, man?"
"I believe so," Roman replied. "It hasn't been tested yet."
"I'll be your guinea pig," Gregori offered with a grin.
Roman shook his head. "I can't afford to have anything happen to you. I need men like you running the business so I can work in my lab."
Jean-Luc pushed open the swinging double doors to the ballroom, then with a gasp, he retreated back into the hallway. "Merde. It's that horrid woman from DVN. I think she saw us."
"A news reporter?" Roman asked.
"Not exactly." Jean-Luc shuddered. "It's Corky Courrant. She hosts the celebrity magazine called Live with the Undead."
Angus huffed impatiently. "Why is she here?"
"You guys are celebrities." Gregori gave them an incredulous look. "Didn't you know?"
"Yes." Laszlo ducked his head. "You're all famous."
Roman frowned. His inventions might have changed the vampire world, but he still spent long hours every night working in his lab. In fact, he sorely wished he was in his lab right now.
"Doona let her smile fool you," Angus warned. "According to my investigations, she once ran a torture chamber in the Tower of London for Henry VIII. She was called Catherine Courrant back then. They say she's personally responsible for wrenching the confession of incest from Anne
Boleyn's brother."
Jean-Luc shrugged it off in his usual way. "And now she works for the media. But of course."
"The lads and I call her Porky Implant." Ian was met with questioning looks. "Ye know, Corky Courrant—Porky Implant. Tis a jest."
"I like it." Gregori raised his hands like he was holding two casaba melons. "She has huge tits. They got to be fake."
"Aye," Ian joined in. "They're enormous."
"Okay." Roman gritted his teeth. "Thank you all for sharing. But the fact remains that regardless of the woman's questionable background or her even more questionable… foreground, we cannot remain hiding in this hallway all evening."
"Aye." Angus squared his shoulders. "We must face the dragon."
Ian took a deep breath. "We must be the dragon."
The double doors burst open.
The men shrank back without emitting a single puff of smoke.
"There you are!" the dragon lady announced, her dark eyes gleaming with victory. "You cannot escape me now."
Corky Courrant motioned for her crew to take their positions. Two men held the doors open. A large crewman wielded the digital camera, while a female crew member performed last-minute touches to Corky's makeup. Each of the crew wore black jeans and T-shirts emblazoned with white letters that read DVN. Guests, dressed formally in black and white, gathered in a crowd behind the reporter, effectively blocking off that means of escape.
We're trapped. The only avenue of retreat that Roman could see was back to his office, and no doubt the voracious reporter would simply follow him there.
"Don't even think about running away." She narrowed her dark eyes on the men. "You will talk."
That had probably been her favorite line as mistress of a torture chamber. Roman exchanged a look with Angus.
"Enough!" The reporter waved the makeup person away. She touched a miniature earphone in her right ear and tilted her head to listen to someone's voice. "We're on in thirty seconds. Places everyone." She posed in front of the cameraman, her black dress revealing much of her oversized bosom.
Implants, indeed. She must have gone to Dr. Uberlingen in Zurich. He was the only vampire plastic surgeon in existence, and for a large fee, he could help a vampire spend eternity looking young and beautiful. The reporter's implants had probably helped her nab one of the coveted jobs at DVN. The Digital Vampire Network was still fairly new and flooded each week with hundreds of hopeful vampires, each dreaming of being the next big star.
Catching vampires on film had been impossible until the advent of digital cameras. Now digital technology had opened up a whole new world of possibilities and problems. In fact, Roman wouldn't be surprised if this was how the CIA had learned of their existence. They could have discovered the secret frequency DVN used for broadcasting.
Gregori's phone rang. He flipped it open and stepped away. "Hey, Connor," he spoke softly.
"What's up?"
Roman focused on the one-way conversation.
"A house in New Rochelle?" Gregori asked. "What happened?"
The cameraman cued the reporter, and she instantly brightened with a high-wattage smile. "This is Corky Courrant, reporting for Live with the Undead. We have a special treat for you tonight. We're live at the biggest vampire bash of the year! I'm sure you'll want to meet our celebrities for the evening."
She motioned to Angus MacKay and gave some facts about him, then did the same for Jean-Luc Echarpe. Roman turned away to catch snatches of Gregori's phone conversation.
"Are you sure?" Gregori whispered. "Dead? "
Roman gulped. Were they talking about Shanna? His mind visualized an image of her lifeless body.
No! Not his Shanna.
"Roman Draganesti!" The reporter moved in front of him. "I have thousands of viewers who would love to meet you."
"This is not a good time, Miss Implant." Roman felt Jean-Luc jabbing him in the back with his walking stick. "Uh, Porky. No, I mean—" Damn, what the hell was her name?
The reporter's eyes flashed like dragon fire. Her smile tightened into a snarl.
"Mademoiselle Courrant," Jean-Luc cut in. "May I have the pleasure of the first dance?"
"Why, yes, of course." Corky aimed a vicious grin at the camera as she curled her claws around Jean-Luc's arm. "This is every woman's dream—dancing with the grand coven master of Western Europe. Why, he's practically royalty!" She strolled into the ballroom with Jean-Luc.
Roman strode toward Gregori. "What happened? Tell me." Angus joined him, followed by Ian and Laszlo.
Gregori pocketed the cell phone. "Connor followed Ivan Petrovsky to a house in New Rochelle.
Ivan and his friends went inside. Connor thought they might be h
olding Shanna there, so he went around back, levitated to a second floor window and teleported inside."
Roman's nerves tensed. "Was she there?"
"No," Gregori replied. "All the rooms upstairs were empty."
Roman breathed a sigh of relief.
"But they did have a mortal captive on the first floor," Gregori continued. "Connor listened in on them. Ivan was furious that Shanna hadn't shown up. Then they killed the mortal. Connor was sore upset 'cause he could only listen. He knew he couldn't defeat four vampires by himself."
"Bugger," Angus muttered.
"Connor heard them receive a call, and then they all rushed out the front door. He went downstairs and found their victim. A U.S. marshal."
"God's blood." Roman grimaced. "He was probably Shanna's contact."
"Bloody hell," Angus muttered. "No wonder the CIA wants us dead. 'Tis vampires like Petrovsky that give us a bad name."
"I don't want to hurt anyone." Laszlo fiddled with a button on his tux jacket. "Can't we convince the CIA that some of us are peaceful?"
"We'll have to try." Angus folded his arms across his broad chest. "And if they doona believe we're peaceful, then we'll have to kill the bastards."
"Aye." Ian nodded.
Roman frowned. Somehow, their Highlander logic escaped him. "So where is Connor now?"
"He's on his way here," Gregori replied. "So is Petrovsky. Connor heard him talking about something he's planning to do here."
"Och, we must be prepared." Angus strode into the ballroom.
Roman waited by the door. The band was playing a waltz. Vampire couples swirled around he floor. Jean-Luc and the reporter danced by, the French coven master shooting Roman a pained look.
Angus was giving his instructions to a regiment of Highlanders in a comer of the ballroom. Ivan Petrovsky was on his way to cause trouble. At least they knew about it ahead of time. It was the unknown that made Roman sick with worry. Where the hell was Shanna?
The clock on the taxi's dashboard read eight-fifty. Shanna was running late, but at least she was no longer being followed. Thanks to the driving skills of her taxi driver, Oringo, they had shaken the black SUV off their trail.
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