Nightwalker

by Connie Hall

  “It is rare.” Striker watched her eyes flame up; the blue one lightening and turning almost green, and the green one darkening to a seawater blue. He liked vexing her, he realized ruefully, but not as much as he enjoyed seeing the myriad colors of her eyes. It was like looking into a kaleidoscope.

  “So, is she a killer?” Takala asked.

  “Yes, and she can lead us to a larger fish.”

  “Who’s the fish?”

  “You are on a need-to-know basis.”

  “I need to know.”

  “We do not discuss state secrets with civilians.”

  “Even if she could be my mother?” Takala stepped up into Striker’s face. She had to be all of five feet eleven, not as tall as his six-two frame, but she could look him in the eye. And she wasn’t backing down.

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” Striker said without an ounce of sympathy.

  “You can’t use her like that. Arrest her and get her somewhere safe.”

  “She’s been undercover for years. She’s my only lead. I shall deal with her as I see fit.”

  Silence tightened every muscle in her body. She crossed her arms over her chest and splayed her legs. Her gaze narrowed, steadfast, resolute, daring him to defy her. Scalding steam shot from those eyes.

  He watched her face go through countless expressions: mulish obstinacy, dogged determination, suspicion. Not one hint of submissiveness. Most human women sensed the threat in being near him when he was angry and kept their distance. Not this one. She openly courted danger by standing as close as she could to him and defying him by looking straight into his eyes. Worse, she didn’t seem to care about the risk. He’d never met a woman like her. He wanted her to be afraid. Wanted to grab her and overpower her and hold her until he felt her soften and tremble with fear in his arms.

  “I won’t let you.” She finally spoke, openly defying him.

  “Let me give you some sage advice, Miss Rainwater. Forget this need to reconnect with her. Forget you ever found her.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Then let me help you.” He made a move to touch her shoulder.

  She leaped back as if a spider had almost bitten her. “Keep those vampire fingers off me. I mean it.”

  “Then do not tell me how to run my investigation.”

  Takala glared at him. “Fine, run your show, but you’re not pulling rank on me. You may think you can order everyone around, but I don’t work for B.O.S.P. I’ve got a stake in Lilly Smith, and I’m going to make sure she’s okay.”

  “She is a wanted killer, and she will destroy you. For your own benefit, let it go.”

  Stubbornness and doubt flitted through her face. Then her eyes glazed over in confusion. “I want to believe what you say, but she told me you set her up to take the fall for those agents dying.” Her fists tightened at her side. “I don’t know who to believe.”

  “She lied to you.” Striker kept his eyes on her hands. He’d seen what she could do with them. He knew her confusion came from the suggestion he’d given her last night to not trust Culler. “She was the one who planned their deaths.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “Because I’m not in the habit of terminating agents with extreme prejudice.” Striker stared at her lips and wanted to kiss the pout off them.

  “Wait one minute.” Stress lines formed on her brow as she sniffed his collar and fixed him with a distrustful stare. “Butterscotch rum. This isn’t the first time we’ve been up close and personal, is it? You were on our flight.” She turned and looked down at Katalinga’s feline face. The upturned golden eyes hadn’t changed. They looked the same as when she was in human form. “Hey, I remember her. She was sitting in first class with us.” Her gaze whipped over to Brawn. “And you. I saw you in coach.” She made an angry circle in the air that encompassed the room. “All of you were there.” She glowered at Striker. “Did you glamour me last night? That’s what happened, isn’t it? I knew it.”

  Striker didn’t explain his actions to anyone, and it was beneath him to argue with pushy, overbearing females. He grabbed her shoulder and plowed into the barrier of her white magic. For a second, her dogmatic resolve fought his own. He rarely met an enchanted human who could resist him, and he could feel annoyance swelling inside his chest.

  “If you want to live, don’t do that juju thing again. I mean it.” Her fists shot up to push his hand away.

  His power broke through before she could fend him off. He gave her the subliminal suggestion to relax.

  Her arms fell at her sides, even as her eyes lost their luster, the gaze of someone who had spent too long in a bar with a bottle of cheap gin.

  “Now I’m the only person you can trust,” he said. “You’ll do exactly as I command.” He enjoyed this little victory more than he should. He had a feeling Takala Rainwater rarely lost contests of will. What she didn’t know was that he never lost them. “We’re going to walk through this airport without incident, and you follow my commands to the letter. Is that clear?”

  “Right, chief,” she repeated in a toneless robotic voice.

  Striker received a call on his phone. He recognized Hacker, a young vampire and B.O.S.P. agent. He must have been on the team Mimi had dispatched to the airport ahead of them. “Yes?”

  “We have the target. She’s getting into a taxi.”

  “Stay out of sight and do not engage. I repeat, do not engage. I want ten-minute updates on her movements.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Striker shut his phone, grabbed Takala Rainwater’s elbow and escorted her through the airport. “Ten minutes?” she asked distractedly, staring over at him. “We could lose her in ten minutes.”

  “I did not ask for your advice, Miss Rainwater.”

  “It’s free, so take it.” A flaunting smile lit up her face.

  “Free or not, keep it to yourself.” Striker tried not to look at her lips.

  Her brows rose slightly, as if she was having a hard time with that command. Then she said, “Okay. Where are we going?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Gosh, I’m hungry. Can we get a burger?” she asked in a candid, almost childish entreaty. She batted her long lashes at him innocently.

  Striker thought she was way too alluring when she was subjugated and compliant. His expression darkened. Now that he had her, what could he do with her? Culler knew what Takala looked like and her identity. She might want to tie up loose ends. He couldn’t just put her on a plane back to the States; she could be in danger. No, he’d have to keep her with him. He heard her whine again for food, and he frowned so hard his forehead hurt.

  Chapter 7

  “Get in,” Nightwalker pointed to the backseat of the Saab.

  “Sure, then can we eat?” Takala nodded a greeting to the driver sitting behind the wheel, a female with red hair and freckles. She looked all of sixteen, the girl next door, save for the pale luminous skin and the fangs that had jutted just below her upper lip when Takala sat down behind her. Takala was certain she didn’t like or trust vampires, but she wasn’t used to being rude, either, so she said, “How’s it going?”

  The woman said something in a foreign language. It sounded Russian, and the tone was not at all cordial. Nightwalker said something back that sounded like a reprimand, and the girl leaped out of the driver’s seat.

  “Move up front,” Striker said to Takala as he hopped out and took over the driver’s seat.

  “She one of yours?” Takala asked as she got in and closed the door. She watched the redhead disappear into a huge parking lot.

  “I do not like to hire them that young, but she was a waif and needed structure and purpose in her life.”

  “Didn’t peg you for a humanitarian.”

  “I’m not.”

  A loud ringing began in her ears. Something was pushing its way to the top of her mind. She leaned back against the headrest and clo
sed her eyes. It felt as if a tooth were being extracted from her brain, and if it didn’t let go soon it might implode.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Just tired,” she lied.

  Suddenly a bright light blinded her vision, the origin coming from inside her own eyes. What was happening? When her vision cleared, so had his chains on her will. They crumbled like old bread. Without a doubt, she knew she was in control again. It was like reaching the surface after having your head dunked below the water. She almost cried out from the sensation, but Nightwalker had his razor sharp gaze on her. At the sight of him, memories burst into her thoughts.

  What had he done to her so far? She remembered his glamouring her, first in the bathroom. That kiss. It hadn’t been bad, but the audacity of him to think he could control her like she was a puppet. Then he’d done that mind-bok-choy trick again in the airport. They’d been arguing about Culler or Lilly Smith or whatever her name was. It still didn’t change the fact she could be Takala’s mother, and she was in this one for the long haul.

  Why hadn’t his influence over her stuck? She’d been really mad at him both times he had controlled her with thought transference. Maybe that’s what made her magic strong enough to resist his power. Maybe being angry helped her build up a tolerance to it. She really didn’t care how it happened, only that the light bulb was on again.

  Oh, yes, she’d play along. He was getting calls from his agents. They knew exactly where Culler was, and as long as she stayed with him, she’d have a better chance of finding Culler and discovering if Nightwalker had been right about her. Takala didn’t trust Nightwalker, though he had saved her life. But maybe that had been for nefarious reasons of his own, or to let Culler escape so she could lead him to Raithe. Then Striker could kill her on his own terms. Culler was in trouble, and no matter how rotten a person she was, Takala couldn’t leave her to the sharks. That’s what it felt like, swimming with sharks. And Nightwalker was the Daddy Jaws of them all.

  She gazed at his profile, his wide shoulders almost touching her seat. The dash lights cast an eerie blue shadow over his deep-set eyes and cheeks, and he looked even more deadly. He had a way of sitting so still he didn’t look alive. Even driving, his movements looked mechanical, reflexive. She found herself wanting to pinch him and see if he reacted.

  His phone vibrated. He pulled it out of his breast pocket one-handed. “Yes. I see. Keep her in sight. I’ll be there in…” He checked the satellite guidance system. “Eight minutes.”

  He sped up and flew around a corner.

  “Hey, do we have the target’s location?” she asked, worried now for Lilly Smith’s life.

  “Yes, and she could be in trouble.”

  Takala tried to hide her emotions and look like the brainless robot he thought she was. It took all of her willpower to remain silent and not ask more questions about Lilly.

  They drove down a street lined with bars. Hookers of all sizes and descriptions stood on corners, drumming up business by waving at traffic and passersby. Some were made up to look like Goth vampire impersonators, but Takala had a feeling they might be the real deal.

  “What’s this place?”

  “Among my kind, it’s known as Bloodstroll.”

  “Bloodstroll?”

  “A street to find a meal while taking a leisurely stroll.”

  “I’ll make sure to avoid it—if I’m ever back this way, Nightwalker.”

  “Please call me Striker.” He gave her one of his pointed disarming glances, those purple eyes as hard and sharp as tacks.

  She quickly glanced back out the window, feeling her pulse speed up from his scrutiny. “Okay, Striker,” she said, trying the name out. “I’m Takala,” she added for his benefit. “Is our target here?”

  “Yes, in the Petite la Belle.”

  Why would Lilly come to this seedy part of Paris? They had just passed the Petite la Belle. It was a sleazy pink bar with a huge naked neon woman sitting over the front door, her legs and breasts moving. Takala had seen something very similar to it in Vegas once, but it hadn’t been so tasteless.

  He killed the lights and pulled up into an alley. In seconds he expertly squeezed the car between two motor scooters with inches to spare. It was like having the car driven by remote control. No contemplating, no mistakes, just park it.

  He cut the engine and said, “Stay here.”

  “Please let me go.” Takala hated the pitiful begging note in her voice.

  “I will not have you harmed. Stay. Keep the doors locked.” He left without a backward glance; then he shifted into that speed-travel hyperdrive all vampires used and disappeared from sight.

  Takala still felt the sting from having been spoken to like a child. Well, he’d learn that she didn’t obey so well. One of the cleaners had picked up her carry-on at the airport and given it to her. She searched it for her gun.

  Gone.

  He must have taken it. Sly, arrogant dog that he was! She slipped out of the car, still cursing him.

  Cold air nipped at her face and body, but she had such a high metabolism she was always hot, and the fresh air felt good.

  The smell of oily food, dirty garbage bins, and city soot permeated the walk.

  Two men approached her and blocked her way. One had bad teeth and greasy ocher hair. The other wore taped black glasses and sported a crew cut.

  They spoke French. She caught bonjour and the way their gazes raked her body. Obviously they wanted more than just a friendly “Hello.”

  “Sorry, not interested.” She tried to step around them.

  One grabbed her arm.

  “Shouldn’t have done that.” Takala lifted him with one hand and tossed him on the hood of a parked car like he was a rag she was tossing away.

  The other one quickly backed off, wide-eyed with disbelief.

  The hookers and drug addicts huddled nearby catcalled to her their approval of dispatching the men, giving her a host of thumbs-ups.

  She waved and smiled at them. After a backward glance to make sure the two men weren’t following her or bothering anyone else, she continued down the block and reached the Petite la Belle. The smell of cigarettes and the sound of techno rock blared from the entrance. The bouncer, a tall muscular woman sporting pixie-short pink and orange spiked hair, guarded the door. She wore a rhinestone-studded white pantsuit that could have made an Elvis impersonator jealous. Two rings rung down from her nose and at the end of each eyebrow. She whistled and winked at Takala and said something that sounded a lot like a flirtation.

  Takala couldn’t tell exactly what the woman was implying, but she was certain it wasn’t very nice. She stopped and tried to go inside.

  The woman blocked her way and pointed to a sign. It was in French, but an English translation below it said No Admittance Without a Membership Card.

  How had Lilly entered the place? Was she a member? That gave Takala a greasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. And Striker? He must have just vamped his way through. She didn’t have that luxury. Takala nodded that she understood and was glad to get away from the front door and the bouncer. She could feel the woman’s eyes following her as she kept walking.

  A taxi stopped near her, and a group of men hopped out. They looked as if they were in the throes of a bachelor party. They flashed their membership cards and entered the Petite la Belle, distracting the bouncer’s attention.

  Takala ducked down a tiny alley that ran the length of the building. She waded through trash and smelled the overpowering scent of urine. Several rats scurried out of her way, chittering at being interrupted. Nothing frightened Takala more than rats. Wererats were on her “yuk” list, too. Nina, her younger sister, liked rats because she could communicate with them. Takala had no desire to talk to rats or anything resembling them. She froze until she was certain they were back in their holes; then she hurried down the length of the building until she reached a back alley.

  It was narrow, the walls of old buildings crouched together. Seve
ral dim yellow bulbs cast creepy shadows over the line of an overflowing dumpster. Beyond the sphere of lights, darkness and shadows loomed.

  All she could think about was Lilly’s safety. Why would she come to such a place? She wondered where Nightwalker was inside and how she could avoid him.

  Takala tried the back door.

  Locked.

  She easily twisted it until the lock broke; then she slunk inside. She stood in a pantry with a large freezer. A rack held a line of dirty aprons. Near it were what looked like six employee lockers.

  Takala peeked through the swinging door and glimpsed a kitchen. Four cooks were busy slinging food and yelling over the music while a busboy emptied out a dishwasher. Bare-breasted waitresses came and went among the ordered chaos. The male cooks didn’t even seem to notice. Business as usual.

  Takala donned a dirty apron and slipped through the hustle and bustle of the kitchen unnoticed. She grabbed a French fry off a plate and ate it. Actually, it wasn’t bad.

  She ducked into a hallway near the bathrooms and slipped off the apron, tossing it into a tall ashtray. Then she stepped out into the packed bar.

  She had been in many strip bars before, getting dirt on cheating husbands mostly. The European strip joints seemed similar to their American counterparts. The cheap speaker system, the disco ball, the center runway, poles on the bars where the women undulated, doors behind which patrons and waitresses disappeared for a short time in pursuit of drugs, sex, or both.

  She surveyed the crowd. No Nightwalker. Where was he? She spotted Lilly at the bar. She sipped a pink daiquiri and was speaking to the guy sitting next to her. Lilly looked comfortable, completely at ease, at home in this place. Was she in her element? It hit Takala that there were a lot of sides to Lilly Smith’s character that disturbed her. She could imagine telling Fala and Nina about this. Fala would blow a gasket, and Nina would just say, “I told you so.” Nah, she’d spare them the ugly details. In fact, she might not even mention this whole episode. It would only hurt her sisters to know the truth, and Takala would never intentionally do that. Who knows—she wasn’t even sure she would make herself known to Lilly Smith. What would be the point if the woman was a cold-blooded killer? But one thing she couldn’t do in good conscience was leave Lilly in danger.