by Jackie Ivie
“Uh…it’s really Miss University.”
“I know. I financed the real one. But come. Enough of that. You have come to me for a reason, and I am all ears. We all are.”
“I’d rather be alone.” The words were barely uttered. They felt like sacrilege against her lips.
“Good thing I was warned. Not sufficiently, but I’ll deal with that in time.”
Something about his smile changed. The strangest odor of burning filtered through the air system as well. From his open-collared shirt he pulled an enormous crucifix. Angelique barely had time to cry a warning before he slammed it against her forehead. It was Len saving her, pegging their target with a chest shot before disappearing. Pedro fell onto the floor. The cross didn’t. As if it got burned into position on her skin. Her last conscious thought was at least Akron wouldn’t have to refund anything.
o0o
The code didn’t work.
Garrick punched it in twice before moving rapidly to the corner of the house, sticking to the shadows, every bit of him alert. Nothing. Everything about the house looked derelict, exactly as intended. He’d helped set it up that way. There was one generator, and he’d secured it in the center of the basement. It sent power to the heart of the place, all of it hidden behind the fireplace. No smell. No lights. No sound. Nobody knew about the weak latch on the second floor window, except him. Or if they had found and fixed it, the knife he’d filched would make quick work of it. Once inside, he slid along the interior walls, always keeping his back to a surface until he reached the false wall, and discovered more emptiness.
The small fridge was gone. Desk and chairs. Cots. Closets full of clothing. Everything. Even the underground storage vault he’d designed and dug was empty. It had been recent, though. Two nubs from electrical cords stunted the wall leading to the generator shaft, and if he squatted and checked, there were marks on the floor. No dust. They’d deserted the place and closed it down in a hurry. It now felt sad. And lonely.
Garrick shook the fleeting emotions aside. Lonely was his life story. He left the same way he got in. No trace. Silent and deadly. Exactly as he’d been taught. The only thing that could prompt such a clean-up was a betrayal. In the highest of ranks. He wondered who it was and then shelved that thought, as well. He was getting hungry, it was a long hike to the next haven, and it wasn’t getting any nearer.
He hitched a ride to the next site from a commuter who took one look at him and must’ve felt sorry. She even offered him an energy bar. Sweet woman. He thought of asking for her number to send payment, but cancelled the impulse. She might put another inference on it, and he was having enough woman trouble lately.
He had to cease thinking of Miss Angelique. Every time he put down his guard, it felt like she was with him, speaking her sweet words, and pressing those incredible lips to him. Hell. He had to exorcise her somehow. Her, and this empty feeling that seemed to accompany the thoughts. He didn’t believe in love. Or soul-mates.
His personal code didn’t work at the new spot, either. He tried the over-ride numbers. The place didn’t look or seem deserted, but that didn’t signify much. He could hear and feel the electricity still humming through this safe house. This unit was in downtown Calgary, attached to an office building that thrived on power consumption. They didn’t even notice when Garrick had wired into their lines, causing a spike that never fell.
He had to scale the drainpipe to the fire escape and climb toward the roof, checking windows for gaps. He found one on the fifth floor, women’s lavatory. Got to love women sometimes. They probably thought it was safe to crack the window open way up here. Women. Curse to humanity. No matter how angelic they looked. Or how wondrous it felt just being near them… Stop that, Garrick. He was not thinking of her. He couldn’t be. There wasn’t such a thing as love. Or soul-mates.
Shimmying through the small window wasn’t easy, but from there it was nothing to sprint to the elevator shaft, jam the door, and get across to their access ledge. What was hard was getting through the alarm system. Good thing he’d taken copper tubing. Hunters could divert up to 100,000 volts through this perimeter wiring system. Garrick straightened the copper, formed a loop at one end and then dropped it onto the wire. It grounded the charge into the floor and sent enough sparks to divert attention from his race to the alarm box. He was just working the lock when the first bullet grazed his ear.
Garrick dropped, rolled, and had the assailant pegged mid-forehead with the knife, while the gun rocked with round after round until it ran out, all of the bullets soundlessly hitting the ceiling. Garrick didn’t watch. He honed in on the fellow’s partner, using the vampire senses to find him. They might have access to electricity in here, but they weren’t using it, relying instead on surprise and stealth. Stupid move. Every human gave off scent, especially if they were on an adrenaline rush from watching a partner just die.
That Angelique had been right. These were great pantyhose. Garrick yanked it from a pocket with the leap across the room, looped it around the guy’s throat, and was squeezing life from him before the gun finished cycling. Vampiric powers came in handy. He might not be able to fly, but he had extra speed when it counted. And now that the hunters had him marked, it was more than handy. It was damn near necessary.
The world had gone mad and forgot to let him in on it. He’d been gone two days. Maybe three. Did they think him that easily overcome by a beautiful face and an even more beauteous body? Even if she did claim him, didn’t the hunters trust him more than this? Bastards. He’d have given his life for the cause, and got an acidic reaction at the back of his throat at the payment he was now reaping. They’d put out an execution order on him. Without trial, and without notice.
Garrick looked about the room, silent now with the dead. For the first time in his life, he was adrift. Without purpose. Direction. From as long as he could remember, he’d been a hunter. Given orders and expected to follow them. He had no idea what to do. He could find Angelique. Take her in as proof of his loyalty. At the thought, an odd achy feeling radiated through his chest, annoying him until he flexed and worked it out. Then his head started thumping in agreement with every beat of his heart. None of it signified anything. He didn’t feel anything for her, or anyone else. Period.
CHAPTER TEN
“Where is she?”
The voice boomed from some hidden speaker, rumbling off padded walls that should absorb it better. It added to his headache, but that’s what he got for pressing the flashing red light on the console. Garrick sighed and opened another cabinet. Empty. Who would have a two million dollar plane and not stock at least an aspirin bottle? And why did he ask? He already knew the answer. Somebody who never experienced illness. Because they were already dead. Like a vampire.
“I’m not asking again, Garrick.”
“Go to hell. Enjoy the trip. And it’s Von Holstaad.”
He found a bunch of glasses, still wrapped in their manufacture paper. Women. He shook his head and moved to the galley sink. She had to have running water in here. That was a start. Dehydration always made a headache worse.
“Answer my question.”
“Why?”
Water, clear and cold and looking like heaven splashed into the sink. Garrick stuck his head beneath it first, and then guzzled from the spout. He was right. It helped with the headache. It didn’t do a damn thing to mute the feeling of pressure in his chest. “There’s no fit description for what I’ll do to you.”
“Stand in line. Got to sign off now.”
“What have you done to her?”
The man’s voice cracked. A ripple of something traveled Garrick’s spine, lifting hairs and whispering of emotion. He studiously worked at ignoring it, finger-combed hair that was already due for a trim, and then held to the sink, toiling to stifle whatever odd affliction was hitting him. His eyes widened as his hands started shaking.
“Well?”
Garrick looked over his shoulder at the wall of windows. There wasn’t much to
see. Not only was it night, but every one of them was shuttered.
“Me? I made her a woman.”
The loud growl carried every bit of Akron’s anger. Garrick should be enjoying it. Instead, it felt like the tips of his fingers were getting dipped in electrically-charged liquid. It was like the sensation he’d dealt with when trying to kill her. Ignore it, Garrick.
“I swear, if she comes to any harm. Any at all—.”
“Come on, give it a rest. I didn’t harm her. She’s my mate.” Garrick’s voice stopped. His breath caught. His eyes went wide. He couldn’t even believe what he’d just said.
“Well. Well. I guess Margolis gets to live after all.”
“Who?”
“Family history. Yours. It’ll wait. For now, I need your help.”
“I am not helping a vampire. I’ll die first.”
The tingling sensation became an all-out surge, dropping him to the tiled floor. He put both hands to his head. He might as well quit denying it. He guessed what was wrong with him. He didn’t need every cell in his body revolting. She’d cracked his façade when he least expected it and found a heart. And it ached with something that only she could assuage. He could claim not to love her, but it was a lie. Damn it. He loved her. He hadn’t asked for it. He sure as hell didn’t want it. He got it anyway.
“Later. After we find her.”
Garrick groaned. The headache worsened, clouding his thinking and making even the soft glow of cabin lights hurt. It was being assisted by the solid thump of every heartbeat. Every single one carried pain. Love didn’t seem to be the lovely romantic emotion poets spoke of. It was brutal. There didn’t seem any way to fight it, either.
“All right. I’ll help. Where do I start looking?”
The pain eased enough he could sit upright. He only hoped there wasn’t a camera in the plane, filming this. Damn everything.
“Vegas.”
“You sent an angel to Vegas?”
“She had guards. The best.”
“Right.”
“I was betrayed. Surely you know how that feels?”
“I’m not fond of you, Akron. Don’t push it.”
The pain truly was subsiding. As if it was attached to his efforts regarding her. Senseless. He’d heard how emotion could fuel physical reaction. Make a strong man weak and give a frail one the strength of Hercules. He hadn’t believed it. Not to this extent.
“Hunters have her…and the Icelandic twins. Find out where.”
“I’ll need new identity, credit cards, at least one M.R.E., and cave climbing equipment.”
“Where?”
“San Gabriel airstrip. It’s near a ghost town. Know the place?”
“Done. Give me an hour.”
“It’ll take me five.”
“Four. Fly faster. I’ll be in touch.”
The high chirp ending the connection filtered through the cabin. Garrick got to his knees then gained his feet, keeping taut for a return of the lightning charge. Nothing. As if it had never been. He felt almost buoyant as he entered the cockpit and strapped in. He’d fly fast, all right. And low. Avoiding detection. Because he knew exactly where they’d be holding the vampires. He’d designed and built it.
o0o
They’d groomed the runway in their three hour wait, showing excellent time management skills. If he had to toss his lot in with monsters, at least they had some admirable attributes. Aside from the obvious reason he did it: he was in love.
Damn emotions. Damn her. Damn love.
He did a lot of cursing during the flight, pressing the plane to the high end of its tach, a lot of self-justification, some soul-searching, and more than a little time worrying while gnawing on a fingernail. Something he’d never done. He’d always been alone, but never felt this lonely. He’d never needed anyone, but didn’t care. He rid the world of monsters, and that was that. He’d never looked beyond current needs and aspirations, because there hadn’t been anything else in his future. And now, just like that, everything was changed.
The sun came up, searing his eyes with light. He could blame that for the moisture he kept blinking at, but he suspected differently. He wouldn’t be whole again until he had her in his arms. At his side. In his life. Whatever it cost and whatever he had to do. Damn love.
Garrick landed with a grace he rarely achieved, especially after that kind of solo flight, and without rest and sustenance. The landing meant nothing. He taxied into the hangar, and right up to where an open-frame 4x4 was parked. The man standing beside it wore khakis with a lighter toned button-front, short sleeve shirt. Non-descript desert wear. He had a hand out. Garrick ignored it.
“Welcome! You Von Holstaad?”
“Give me the stuff and get out of my way.”
“Well, they didn’t exaggerate your sense of common courtesy, and lack thereof. Name’s Len.”
There were three duffle bags in the back of the vehicle. Garrick grabbed two of them, and motioned Len to get the third. The hangar contained little but a fairly new soda machine, a folding chair, a dirt bike propped against the wall, and a glass-enclosed section that went for the office. It had a table. It would do. He placed the bags onto it, unzipped and started unloading. He ripped open the first M.R.E. he came to, and started shoveling lasagna into him. He didn’t waste time warming it. It was food, and it worked.
“We have coffee, too. Freshly brewed.”
“Never touch the stuff.”
“I’d heard that, too.”
Garrick raised an eyebrow and shoved another bite in.
“Your inhuman adherence to optimum diet. Exercise. Fitness. I have to thank you for the meals, though. Love these ready-to-eat things. You mind?”
Len reached for a packet. Garrick slid it to him. Swallowed.
“You’re human?”
“The sun’s up, Bud, and I’m not turning to dust.”
Garrick placed the tray carefully on the table and fingered his razor. “I don’t like your tone, your words, or your looks. I ask something, I need precise and concise answers. Not sarcasm. Got it?”
“Got it.”
He had a new identity as David Big. Garrick smiled slightly at the Nevada driver’s license before checking the cash – he had an entire range of bills, two credit cards, and a faded picture of a dark haired woman. He stuffed the wallet into his back pocket. The duffle also contained a change of clothing. All black. The other held two handguns, binoculars, an unassembled long range rifle, and a rolled up paper that turned into a satellite map. Akron was proving to be a competent leader. Smart and prepared. Garrick repacked the bags with everything but the map.
“How old is this?”
“Four hours. Oh. And since you want precise, you should add twenty-three minutes.”
“You don’t listen, do you? Answer the questions. Keep it simple. You give away details with every word you utter.”
“Oh, really?”
“You just gave me locations. Your drive was twenty-three minutes. Desert terrain. No graded road. That gives me a radius of 15-18 miles from here. There’s nothing out here to hide anything above ground. Especially when you factor in tire marks. If you were my mark, you’d be dead. And you made it easy. I need a new map. Laptop?”
Len opened a cabinet. Not only did they have a laptop, they had a fully functioning communications site.
“Bring up…this quadrant right here.” Garrick pointed to a depression in the printed map. A moment later it appeared on the screen. “Good.”
“What are we looking at?”
“Air shaft. Underground silver mine. Abandoned. Converted to a laboratory, interrogation, and/or torture site.”
“You have all the comforts of home.”
“Meet me there tonight. Eleven. Bring the climbing gear.”
“Where are you going?”
“Hotel.”
“You’re leaving me here?”
“I need sleep.”
“What about the rescue?”
Garrick t
ossed the bags onto the passenger seat, and gestured for the keys. They came sailing over the top, with an easy toss and easier catch.
“Night works better all around. Cover for us and life for them.”
“We have sun-proof containers for them.”
“I’m here for my mate. Not the others. I’m told they’re large men. Two-sixty, maybe seventy pounds. Each. Heavy. Hard to lift and carry that kind of weight.”
“Right. Eleven it is. I thought you didn’t like sarcasm.”
Garrick was smiling as he shifted the jeep into reverse. It lasted almost to the tarmac.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The convoy topped one of the hills at exactly 10:30, the front vehicle the lone one using lights. Garrick tapped into his vampire senses in order to define the rest of them. Three. They obviously didn’t think him much of a threat.
Garrick inched closer, although it wasn’t necessary for sight. He needed to keep his body limber, and staying prone for half an hour after crawling to this position was bound to put something to sleep. The first vehicle was armored. Bullet resistant. Probably had bullet-proof tires, too. Garrick sneered. Sometimes he had to love human shortcomings. They’d taken the doors off, to gain not only easy evacuation but a bit of desert breeze. Self-serving. Stupid. And vulnerable. With any luck, he’d peg both driver and passenger with one bullet. All it required was patience, awaiting the perfect angle for a first-class marksman.
He wasn’t going to need the cave climbing equipment. Or Len’s dubious assistance. The man could just sit and think they were going in for the rescue. And wonder. He’d be waiting in vain. The map had shown they hadn’t arrived yet. No tire tracks. Besides, Garrick didn’t trust the man. He was beyond trusting anyone. Akron showed weakness in doing so – especially when he suspected a traitor. Scum of the earth. Traitors. Disavowing their sworn allegiances and changing sides—.
What was he thinking? He was a traitor now.
Garrick’s finger squeezed just slightly as he defined the second truck. If he was leading this capture and movement, he’d place all three vampires there, in a cage made of consecrated wood, draped with the religious icon netting. That would hold any number of them. Helpless. Powerless. Weak.
