Why would the murderer leave blood this time?
I gasped as it hit me—he’d been interrupted.
After a quick glance to make sure no one was watching—particularly the other journalists and the cops—I walked around the corner, looking for the alley behind the building. A serial murderer wasn’t likely to get caught in the act and run out the front door. He’d head out the back.
The alley was dark, and common sense told me I was an idiot for checking it out, especially if my suspicions were correct. But the fact that the murderer had used some sort of blade instead of a gun was reassuring. I could most likely handle a knife-wielding assailant. It was bullets I couldn’t dodge. I opened the flap on my messenger bag and pulled out a small LED flashlight. Flipped it on, kept the beam pointed at my feet.
I stopped and listened before I stepped into the dark, my ears trying to separate the sounds of the city from that of any threatening presence. When I was satisfied, I eased my way into the narrow space and made a shallow sweep with the flashlight beam, stopping when I heard a bang by a Dumpster twenty feet away. I picked up my pace and swung the light behind the Dumpster. The smell of burned flesh and sulfur hung heavy in the air, making my heart race. Then I caught sight of the man squatting in the beam of my flashlight, and it was as if my racing heart stopped in an instant. I would have recognized him anywhere.
“Derrick?”
As soon as I uttered his name, guilt and shame flooded through me. I’d deeply hurt this man the last time we saw each other, and I’d regretted it ever since.
His eyes squinted from the light shining in his face. He stood as I lowered the beam, looking just as shocked as I felt. Even so, he still looked just as good as the last time I’d seen him. His dark, almost black hair had grown longer and framed his face. Derrick had always been a good-looking man, and when you added in the fact that he was thoughtful and easy-going, it wasn’t difficult to understand why plenty of women fell all over themselves to meet him.
“I thought you were still in the Middle East,” I said. “What in God’s name are you doing in a New York City alley?”
His gaze traveled up and down my body, but not in the predatory way I was used to. “From the looks of you, I’m guessing we’re both doing the same thing: working.”
I’d first met Derrick Forrester seven years ago in Iraq. I was a green field journalist at the time, and he helped show me the ropes. Our paths crossed often during my years in the Mideast, but we lost touch about two years ago. All of that aside, Derrick had always been more interested in military operations than civilian crime. I couldn’t think of a single reason why he would be here.
“I’m checking out the murder scene. It seems a little out of your field.”
“Don’t be so sure about that.” His gaze lowered to the asphalt and mine followed.
The flashlight revealed a pile of ashes, still smoldering. That explains the smell. I inched closer, shocked to see the ashes were laid out in the shape of a body. “What the hell is that?”
He looked into my eyes. “Let this one go, Rach. You don’t want to get involved.”
I shook my head, my mind racing with questions along with a list of possible explanations, every single one of them absurd. “Too late for that.”
“Afraid I’ll scoop you?”
“Don’t insult me.” I snorted. “You’re the only person I’ve ever trusted, no matter what I said before you left. Two years without contact hasn’t changed that. Now tell me what’s going on here.”
Moving toward me, Derrick grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the ashes. “Rachel, I’m not screwing with you. This is dangerous.”
I let him pull me, keeping my eyes on his face as I tried to puzzle out what he could be working on that he would consider too dangerous for me. He knew dangerous situations didn’t scare me away. There could only be one reason he’d warn me off.
“The government,” I said as it hit me. “What the hell are you chasing?”
An engine whined at the opposite end of the alley, and a pair of headlights hit the pavement. My back stiffened. I’d recognize the sound of a military Jeep in my sleep. “Derrick.”
He looked down the alley, then back at me. “I’ve got to go.”
I grabbed his arm, panicked at the thought of losing him again. “But I just found you.”
“I’ll meet you at your apartment later.”
“But I didn’t give you my address.”
A smile softened his face. “Rach, I’ve known where you lived practically since you moved in.”
If any other man had just confessed that, I would have kneed him in the balls for stalking me, but Derrick’s intentions had always been honorable. If anything, I was shocked because I’d been searching for him since the day he’d walked away from me. If he had watched me that closely, he had to have been worried about my safety.
“I’ll come to you, but you have to pretend you don’t know anything, and for God’s sake, don’t tell them you saw me.” He spun around and sprinted for the street as the military Jeep’s headlights landed on me.
It screeched to a sudden halt, and men in fatigues raced around the sides, pointing machine guns at my chest.
I lifted my hands into the air, my heart racing. “Slow down there, boys. I’m no threat.”
“Down on your knees,” one of the soldiers shouted. “Hands on your head.”
If they expected me to argue, they were sorely disappointed. I knelt down on the pavement, rocks digging into my knees through my jeans, and placed my palms on my head. I knew the drill.
The passenger door opened and another man in fatigues rounded the front of the vehicle, blocking the beam of the headlights and casting me in shadow.
“Rachel?” a familiar voice asked.
A wave of nostalgia washed over me, followed closely by anger. What the hell? Was this some sick sort of impromptu reunion?
“Put down your weapons,” he said in disgust, then leaned over and helped me to my feet.
The soldiers stood down and retreated to the sides of the vehicle.
My heartbeat pounded in my head as I stared into the face of the one man I’d allowed close enough to break my heart. Same sandy blond hair. Same dark brown eyes. Same irritating as hell smirk. Yeah, it was Sean Price, U.S. Army. Now Lieutenant Price, according to the insignia on his shirt.
His face searched mine. “What are you doing here?”
“Working a lead on a serial murder.” I nodded toward the pile. “But I could ask the same of you. Last time I checked, New York wasn’t a militarized zone.” Sarcasm drenched the last sentence.
He glanced at the ashes, his brow furrowed, and then returned his gaze to me. “Has Derrick snagged you into his madness?”
“Madness?” Derrick was the one who’d introduced me to Sean while the three of us were in Iraq, a fact I had chosen not to hold against Derrick given the way my relationship with Sean had ended. It was such a surreal feeling to see both of them in a matter of minutes after years of being out of touch. I was struggling to keep up, a feeling I hated. Now Sean had added another piece to the puzzle—he was questioning the character of his friend. Maybe former friend. “What the hell are you talking about?”
He shot a wary look at the soldiers, then ushered me over to the other side of the Dumpster. I followed, more confused than ever.
When I reached the corner of the huge bin, he pulled me out of the others’ view.
“Rachel, you have to listen to me.” His eyes were wild and desperate. “Derrick’s had a mental break, and he’s on some conspiracy theory quest.”
“What? That doesn’t sound like Derrick at all.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?”
I brushed back several stray hairs. “I don’t know. Two years ago? He told me he was working on something in Syria, but didn’t tell me what.”
“And tonight?”
Holding his gaze, I pretended surprise. “He’s here, in New York?” When he didn
’t answer, I continued. “I haven’t seen him.” Something weird was going on—Sean’s presence alone proved that. I had to trust one of these two men, and there was no hesitation as to which one I would pick.
He studied me, but I kept my cool. I was an accomplished liar, a helpful trait for a journalist. Too bad he was well aware of that fact. I saw a hint of disappointment wash over his face. “If he contacts you, please let me know.”
I narrowed my eyes. He’d said Derrick was obsessed with a conspiracy theory. If Sean, a military man through and through, was hot on his trail, that meant Derrick was really on to something. “What are you going to do to him?”
He released a groan of frustration and grabbed my arm, pulling me closer until our chests touched. “Nothing. I’m trying to protect him.”
The sincerity in his voice was convincing, but first-hand experience had taught me that he was an accomplished liar, too.
His hold loosened and his voice turned husky. “You look good, Rach.”
I wanted to be angry—and only angry—but I couldn’t ignore the heat washing through me. There was no denying that while we’d had multiple issues, chemistry had never been one of them. “You don’t have the right to say that any more, Sean.”
“I know it’s two years too late, but I’m sorry. I was shitty to you. You didn’t deserve that.”
I jerked out of his reach, pissed that one touch from him could almost make me forget the way he’d betrayed me. Almost. “You’re damn right I didn’t.”
“There’s nothing I can say that can make up for what I did.”
“You mean who you did?”
Regret filled his eyes. “I never deserved you.”
“Too bad you didn’t figure that out before you screwed me, Sean.” Anger billowed in my chest. “And I mean the literal first time and not the figurative last.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. “I deserve that and more. But right now we need to think about Derrick. If you see him, please convince him to call me. I don’t want him to get hurt.” His voice lowered. “He’s in danger, Rachel. Help me save him.”
I had to admit Derrick had been acting paranoid, which was completely out of character for him. I might have considered that Sean was telling the truth—if it weren’t for the Jeep full of military personnel behind him. I snatched the card and stuffed it into my jeans pocket. “I have no idea if I’ll ever see him. But if I do, I’ll pass along the message.”
Sean’s shoulders sank with relief. “Thank you. That’s all I can ask.”
I turned and started toward the end of the alley, but Sean jogged after me and blocked my path. “Be careful, Rach,” he said, handing me my flashlight. “Don’t buy into Derrick’s madness.”
I grabbed the flashlight and hurried for the street, irritated over Sean’s wasted words. Another military Jeep had barricaded the end of the street. Did he really expect me to believe Derrick was crazy? He should have warned me not to get sucked into his own madness.
CHAPTER 3
LEA
The blacked-out windows of the sleek Mustang made it easy for us to travel during the day, but it wasn’t the sunlight I was worried about. It was the U.S. border. We’d chosen a small, backwater crossing that should be quiet. Easy to get through. But I was getting a premonition that things weren’t going to go as smoothly as planned. I tapped my fingers on the back of Calvin’s headrest. “Old man, how are we getting over the border this time?”
His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. “What, you didn’t like sneaking through under the cover of darkness?”
I snorted. “That was at least thirty years ago. Things have changed.” The vamps had kept us north of the border for a long time. No, that wasn’t entirely true. We’d done some international work in that time, but the vamps in the United States had been flying under the radar for years.
“How about you bat your eyes and give the customs guy something sweet to dream about later?”
I rolled my head back. “And if they pull me out of the car and my skin blisters up like I’ve been dipped in boiling water?”
“Don’t let them pull you out of the car,” he said. Like it was going to be that easy. That was the only problem with Cal. Even though he was supposed to be the one helping me keep up with all the rapid-fire technological changes in the “outside” world, more and more, I was the one who had to point out the issues we faced. I knew it was time for a new helper, but I just couldn’t bear to let him go.
I closed my eyes. “Let me know when we get close. I’ll think of something.”
He grunted and flicked the radio on to a news station. The reporter was very excited, her voice giving off her emotions loud and clear.
“This is the seventh death in what the press has begun to call the ‘Vampire Murders.’”
I jerked forward, any thoughts of rest gone. “Turn it up, Cal.” I didn’t need it louder, but I knew his hearing was not as good as it once was.
“Already done.”
The reporter continued, now at full blast. “The chief of police will only say they have leads, but he has asked people in the Manhattan east and south sides to stay home after dark unless absolutely necessary. He will not confirm that the bodies were drained of blood, but several anonymous tips have come in from those who were at the scenes. The deaths have been described as ‘ritualistic, nausea inducing, and straight out of a horror movie.’”
Apparently that was the only real information she had, because she went on to interview a psychic named “Madame Dupree” about the crimes. Calvin turned the radio down. “Guess if there was any doubt that New York was our place, that wiped it out.”
I leaned back in my seat. “Seems rather like a calling card, don’t you think?”
“Like someone is throwing down a challenge?”
I flicked my tongue over one fang, a habit that wasn’t really my own. It was a tic of the vampire who’d made me, and whenever I thought of him, I couldn’t help but repeat it.
As if he could hear my thoughts, Cal said, “Could it be Peter? Or that asshole Stravinsky?”
“Madre de Dios, I hope not.”
Memories of Peter and Stravinsky washed over me the moment I closed my eyes again.
Sleep had been a matter of enjoyment when I was human. No longer. Each time I rested, my mind peeled through my memories, watching the past as if it were a movie rolling in front of my eyes.
Cazador. Vampire Hunter.
I stared at the image in the mirror reflection of my silver stake. My hair cropped short to my head like a boy’s, my body laced tightly in leather and light chain mail. Thin silver stakes strapped across my chest from shoulder to hip. I lifted my chin to look at the priest who was to be my guide.
“Father, let us find the demons.” I mounted my horse, settling into the saddle. The priest, a young man who looked to be in his early twenties, mounted his own steed.
“Cazador.” He nodded to me, but I caught the curl of his lip. The priests didn’t like women becoming Cazadors, but that hadn’t stopped me. I leaned toward him. “Do not let my gender fool you, Father. I am the best this group has because there is nothing left for the demons to take from me.”
His dark eyes flicked over me. “Except your soul.”
I snorted. “I will die before I let them turn me.”
“Easily said now. But none of the others fell on their blades when they were turned to the darkness.” We trotted our horses down a dirt road that wound through the hutches and hovels of a small outlying village.
My jaw tightened. “You are new to our group, and for that I will forgive you. A Cazador loses their mind when they are turned. It is torture for a hunter to become one of the demons they are sworn to destroy.”
“Then you’d best keep your eyes open.” He lifted a vial of holy water so I could see it. The water bubbled and slowly turned red.
I slipped from the horse’s back and pulled two of the silver stakes. “They come, Father.”
> “Hey, we’re within a mile,” Calvin said, breaking my memories apart.
Shaking off the memory, I sat up and peered ahead. The line was short. Damn, I’d hoped there would be more time to prepare. There were two guards waiting in the tiny booth, and when it was our turn, Calvin drove up and handed them our passports. Fake, of course, but that had never been an issue before.
“Sir, can you get out of the car please?”
I gritted my teeth, the pressure making my fangs drop. Calvin slid out of the car, exaggerating his limping gait. “Hang on, boys. I get stiff from sitting so long.” They didn’t touch him, didn’t offer him any help.
Not a good sign. I leaned back and slid on my arm wraps and the shrouded cowl that covered my head and lower face. Sunglasses last. The guard opened my door and I slipped out behind him before he even saw me.
Ignoring the heat of the sun on the few patches of exposed skin, I grabbed the guard around the neck and spun him. His body flew fifteen feet before crashing into a cement barrier.
Guards came running, far more of them than such a small border crossing warranted. Almost like they were waiting for something.
Or someone.
Hesitation kills in a battle. I’d learned that the hard way. “Cal, get back into the car. Now.”
He kicked the guard beside him in the knee, breaking it cleanly, then punched him in the throat for good measure. “You sure you don’t want help?” For an old man, he still had some good piss and vinegar. But I couldn’t lose him, and these guards would kill him without a thought.
“Get the car started.”
The guards lined up in front of me, forming a human blockade. “Either we’re going to play Red Rover, Red Rover, or you all want to shoot me.”
They lifted their guns as a single unit. All right then, message received.
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