Watching the woman through the window, Lucien wondered what she was trying to prove and to whom. He looked back to the city, trying to decide if he should return to the hotel for a few hours or stay in front of the woman’s house. It wasn’t a hard decision. He climbed the oak tree again until he was hidden from view. He stretched out one leg upon a thick tree branch and let the other dangle while he propped his back against the trunk. It was uncomfortable, but he’d endured much worse.
Thirty minutes later, the house went dark. The woman breathed peacefully in a rhythmic pattern without the usual sleep restlessness of most humans. There was no tossing and turning, no troubled dreams. Why did her life seem so worry free? There must be something that caused her pain or sorrow. He vowed to find out what it might be, and then never return again, for surely she was just like the rest of them.
In just a few short hours, the woman woke. She took a quick shower and, faster than he thought possible for any woman, stepped out into the early morning light, looking radiant. Stray honey curls escaped her loose bun and relaxed around her face, and a dark blue business pantsuit followed the soft curves of her body. She carried a small briefcase.
Lucien expected her to open the garage door and get into a car, but instead she walked down the sidewalk. A few houses down, she said “hello” to a female neighbor who was rushing to get into her car. The neighbor gave her a weak smile and a brief nod in return. The woman continued walking, but stopped abruptly and turned back around, staring at the neighbor with an expression Lucien couldn’t read.
“I think your phone is ringing,” the woman said.
The neighbor gave her a frustrated look, but then glanced toward her own house as if deciding what to do.
“Really, I hear your phone. You better go answer it. It could be important.”
“Um, thanks.” The neighbor shuffled back into her house.
As soon as her neighbor’s back was turned, the woman reached into her purse and pulled out a switchblade. She crouched down and with one fluid motion, jammed it into the back tire of the neighbor’s vehicle. She stood up just as the other woman came out of her house.
“My phone wasn’t ringing,” she said, her voice cold and callous.
“I could’ve sworn I heard it. Sorry to trouble you.”
The neighbor lady jumped in her car but not without glaring at the woman who was hiding the knife behind her back. As she drove away, Lucien could hear the air escape from the vehicle’s tire.
The woman stood on the sidewalk with a satisfied smile as if she’d just cleaned up a big mess. Lucien couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. She didn’t seem the type to do something so malicious, but at the same time, the incident didn’t feel malicious, either. Then what?
Lucien leaned forward carelessly and lost his balance on the tree limb. He caught it with one hand on his way down, his legs dangling beneath him. He waited until the woman had disappeared around the block before he let go of the branch and dropped to the ground.
Her lilac scent made her an easy target to follow from a far distance, but after only a mile of walking, Lucien took a guess as to where she was headed. He took a different, shorter route through the city, moving quickly, unnoticed by humans, until he was back in front of the door labeled “Deific.”
He ducked inside the coffee shop across the street and sat by the streak-free window. Several heads turned in his direction, but he ignored them, his usual response. Lucien stared through his reflection toward the Deific door and waited for the woman to appear. He guessed he was maybe fifteen minutes ahead of her.
It used to bother him to be near humans, but after centuries of living among them, it no longer disturbed him. Even the smell of blood did nothing but tease his senses. When he was first turned into a vampire, he spent years unable even to be near humans without wanting to tear them apart. His blood lust had proved too great. But eventually he learned to appreciate blood the same way humans appreciated aged wine, as a fine and rare delicacy.
Across the street, several people entered the black door. They looked like regular, predictable people: same worried expressions, same nervous habits, and the same smell of fear for the future. Humans always feared the future, afraid time would bring them misery. He used to sympathize with this fear when he could still remember what it was like to be human. Over time, however, he came to resent the fearful nature of humans, along with their inability to simply accept whatever fate life had in store for them. The majority of humans would live their entire lives in fear of something they could never control. It was a pointless waste of time.
Another worried face—a blond-haired man—opened the door to the Deific and held it open while he talked to a woman who was also entering the building. Beyond them, just inside, was a black counter manned by two large men. Security guards. Lucien also took note of the cameras both outside and inside the building.
Within a few minutes, the strange woman appeared, walking alongside a tall thin man with short curly brown hair. The curly-haired man opened the door and watched her as she passed through it. The look was full of emotion beyond mere friendship. This man had feelings for the woman.
Once the door closed, Lucien removed his cell phone from his pocket and dialed the only number he ever called.
3
“How can I help you Lucien?” a man’s gruff voice said.
Lucien eyed the building across the street. “I need you to find out what you can about a place called Deific.”
“How’s that spelled?”
“D-E-I-F-I-C.”
“Are they here in Seattle?”
“Yes.”
“Call me later today. I should have what you need.”
“Thanks Scott.” Lucien hung up the phone.
Scott Clark was as dependable as both his father and his grandfather had been. They’d been Lucien’s attorneys for decades. Lucien knew he was going to need some connection to the human world, and after watching Scott’s grandfather for almost a year, he knew he’d found a man he could trust.
The Clark’s were shrewd businessmen but unfailingly honest. Lucien entrusted his entire fortune to them, and as a result, each Clark generation had tripled his fortune, but Lucien didn’t care about the money. He only worked with the Clarks because they never asked questions and were hard working.
After the woman disappeared inside the Deific, Lucien walked back to her house and used the hidden key in the siding to open the door. The inside of the home was abnormally simple. No pictures hung on the walls or lay on tables. The living room consisted of one couch, a small end table and a black lamp. There was no television and no dining room table. In fact, most of the rooms were empty except the bedroom upstairs, which was completely opposite from the rest of the house.
The entire upstairs had been made into one giant bedroom. Dark paneled walls were ornately decorated with works of art, some of which he recognized from famous painters. A four-poster bed rested in the middle of the room; a shear black curtain hung around its top rail. The room reminded him of an 18th century manor. The only item out of place was a treadmill standing in the corner.
He searched the drawers of a heavy curved desk and found a letter with her name on it: Eve Andrews. After looking through several more personal papers, he discovered she had no debt and appeared to be extremely wealthy. He could find no personal letters from family or any work related documents. She was as much a mystery to him as the first day he’d met her, but at least he knew her name now.
He walked to the window and peered out. Eve. He pulled out his phone and called Scott again.
Before Lucien could speak, Scott said, “It’s only been a few hours, Lucien. I need a little more time.”
“I need you to look up something else—in addition to the Deific.”
Something shuffled in the background. “I’m ready.”
“I need you to find out what you can about an Eve Andrews. She lives at 141 Rose Ave, and I believe she’s an employee of the Deific.”<
br />
“You got it.”
“Could you also have a car pick me up at the address I just gave you?”
“Of course.”
“Call me when you have something.” Lucien hung up the phone. Of all the things he’d ever asked for, it was never information about a human.
When a driver arrived twenty minutes later in a black Mercedes, Lucien instructed him to drive to the Fairmont hotel. He wanted to stop by before he returned to the Deific.
Scott had purchased the historical hotel for Lucien over twenty-five years ago and had invested a lot of Lucien’s money bringing it back to its former glory. It was now one of the most popular hotels in Seattle.
Lucien pushed his way through the rotating door. The hotel manager, Ronald, gave him a thin smile. Ronald was a small man with balding brown hair. He stared at Lucien with beady, hateful eyes, reminding Lucien of a hungry vulture waiting to devour him the second the hotel failed. Ronald clearly thought he would be a better owner than him.
He kept walking toward the elevator, only giving Ronald a simple nod of his head. Lucien would’ve fired him years ago, but Ronald was Scott’s cousin, so he kept him on as a favor. Gratefully, there was no personality resemblance between the two.
Lucien approached the front desk. Molly, a reservationist with red hair and freckles, smiled at him as she leaned over on the desk, exposing cleavage.
“How are you doing today, Lucien?”
“Good. Any mail for me?”
“Just one. Brought in this morning.” She handed him a manila envelope.
“Thanks.” He turned to leave.
She called after him, “Don’t be a stranger!”
He raised his hand goodbye without turning back around.
Inside his hotel room on the top floor, he dropped the envelope on a small dining table. He liked his penthouse suite. The walls were a dark olive color with black wainscoting. A black leather recliner sat in front of a huge flat screen television hanging on the wall, and beneath it was a long bookcase that held his favorite books. The penthouse had two bedrooms, but he rarely used them.
After showering quickly and changing into jeans and a t-shirt, he went into the dining room and tore the top off of the envelope. Inside was a piece of paper with a single address on it. He would visit it later.
Lucien grabbed a black beanie off the counter and pulled it down over his head before leaving again. In the parking garage beneath the hotel, he unlocked the car door to his 98’ military issued Hummer. It still had canvas seats, and the inside was stripped of all personal comforts. The only change he’d made to it was to tint the windows. It was his favorite vehicle.
He turned the key in the ignition and pressed on the gas. A short time later, he parked near the coffee shop where he had a clear view of the Deific across the street.
It was three o’clock p.m. The inside of the car was hot from the beating sun, but it didn’t faze him. Over time, he’d trained himself to block out all outside stimuli. He could hold completely still for hours if needed.
Some time later, Eve left the Deific. The man who’d opened the door for her that morning walked with her. They moved side by side but did not hold hands. They looked like nothing more than coworkers, but Lucien couldn’t help but notice how the man’s eyes lingered on Eve. She, however, failed to notice.
The two crossed the street to the coffee shop and disappeared inside. A few minutes later, they reappeared and continued down the sidewalk toward him speaking about someone named Michael who lived in New York. Lucien also learned by listening in on their casual conversation that the man walking with Eve was named Charlie.
As they passed by Lucien’s car, Charlie stopped suddenly and gripped Eve’s hand. She stopped and looked at him questioningly. Then, as if nothing had startled him, Charlie continued walking, taking Eve with him.
Lucien started the car and pulled away from the curb. He didn’t like the way the man had stopped as if he’d sensed something.
What I am doing?
His phone rang. He answered on the first ring. “What do you know?”
“Not a whole lot,” Scott’s voice said. “The Deific is registered with the state as an accounting agency. They also have offices in Los Angeles, Austin, and New York. They are also in Japan, Paris, London, Ireland—”
“Ireland?” Lucien asked.
“Yes, all over.”
“Is that normal for an accounting agency?”
“Not any that I know of, but that’s not the strange part. I couldn’t find the name of the person who started Deific.”
“Isn’t it registered somewhere?”
“Yes, but by another corporation called McCullin Industries based out of London. I called my contacts there and they said McCullin Industries started in 1845 or at least, that’s when they officially registered. And back then it wasn’t required to list the owner.”
“Do you know what type of business the corporation is?”
“Unavailable.”
“What about Eve Andrews?”
“Even more strange. The address you gave me of her home was purchased by a woman with that name. She has a social security number and a passport, but no credit history except for the house. I couldn’t find any school records, employment history. It’s as if she was born a year ago.”
“Has she always been in Seattle?”
“She only just came here a month or so ago. Before that she was living in New York City in the same building as their Deific office.”
“Anything else?”
“That’s it. I wish I could be more helpful.”
“Thanks for trying.”
Lucien hung up the phone and continued to drive through Seattle toward White Center, knowing he would eventually end up at the address written on the sheet of paper. Twenty years ago, White Center had been a hot bed of drugs and crime, but after enough time and a community who finally decided to fight back, the neighborhood once again became a fairly nice place to live. Part of White Center still had its problems, but overall, the large urban area thrived.
As Lucien drove down Roxbury Street, he thought about the Deific and the possibility of it being a legitimate accounting firm. There was no way an accounting firm would have the type of security he saw earlier today. Living for over three hundred years had taught Lucien many things, one of which was, if something didn’t make sense, there was a problem. He didn’t try to justify the possibility of an accounting firm having security guards and offices all over the world. It would be a waste of time. It was humans that did this. They were always trying to justify someone’s strange behavior because the truth was too hard to believe.
Somehow Lucien needed to find a way in, maybe from the roof. He decided to go there as soon as he completed this job. It wasn’t the best employment, but he’d volunteered. The work was often dangerous and illegal, but most importantly, it satisfied several of his needs. And for a vampire, that was number one.
Lucien located the address. He slowly drove past a small, bright green house that was in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint. One of the home’s glass windows was broken and the other two were covered in tin foil. Crowded in the driveway were three cars—one of them was a suped-up mustang, but the other two were old Buicks.
After a few blocks, Lucien parked in front of a large playground. It was the only place his Hummer would be safe as parks were patrolled by cops more frequently than any other area.
On foot, he made his way back to a bus stop that had a view of the rundown house. He was grateful for dark clouds that had rolled in within the last hour. It made waiting for nightfall more comfortable.
Just a few more hours.
During this time, Lucien watched several cars stop at the tiny house, all at different times from each other. People of different colors and ages disappeared behind the front door only to reappear minutes later after getting what they came for. Even without smelling the strong chemical odor, Lucien had no doubts this was a meth house. Once again, Joh
n—the Chief of Police—was right.
Lucien had met John through Scott. Scott and John had become friends over twenty-five years ago, because they shared a common goal and their jobs forced them to work together. John would catch the bad guys and Scott was the prosecuting attorney who put them behind bars. As they got older, and witnessed the court system fail time and time again, their frustration led them to alternative means.
Scott had introduced Lucien to John about ten years ago. Lucien liked him immediately. He was a tall man with broad shoulders. He had buzzed blond hair making him look more like a drill sergeant than a Chief of Police. John was well known for being actively involved in every case rather than simply barking orders from behind a desk.
When Lucien had first met him, John’s grip had been firm and he’d looked at Lucien directly in the eye, unafraid of Lucien’s intense gaze that could often detect the slightest deceit. But John was exactly who he said he was with nothing to hide. Other than John and Scott, Lucien had not allowed any humans to know his secret. And even contact with those two was kept to a minimum.
After that meeting with Scott and John ten years ago, Lucien’s life had changed dramatically. John would catch the criminals and Scott would try to prosecute them, but if that failed, Lucien received an address. They trusted him to become the judge, jury, and executioner in one fell swoop. The arrangement worked out well for everyone.
Lucien only received an address once or twice a month, and they only led to repeat offenders whose rap sheet included the worst kind of crimes. This was the only time he allowed himself to feed. Before their arrangement, Lucien remained holed up in his room, only coming out when his hunger proved too great. Sometimes, he’d feed on animals, but that was like eating dirt and barely gave him enough strength to walk. As for blood bags, he could only order or steal so many before people started asking questions.
The Devil's Angel (Devil Series Book 2) Page 2
