Figured. The guy was smart enough to cover his tracks.
“He’s jonesing hard for another victim,” Santiago muttered. “In the message, he starts talking about their shared love of antiques, then the asshole cuts to the chase. Says he doesn’t usually do this, but he’d love to meet her for dinner, since they’re both in the same area.”
Slick asshole.
“Says she can meet him at a place called Mancini’s Grill at seven tomorrow night.”
A public meeting. One designed to make the woman feel safe. And she would be safe, until she made the mistake of letting Paul get her alone.
Then there would be no more safety.
“Tell him I’ll be there,” Miranda whispered.
His hold on the phone tightened. “We’ll be there.”
They’d have the place surrounded by cops and Bureau men and women. Roberts wouldn’t escape again.
The bastard had let his bloodlust bring him down, and Miranda had been right; she was, indeed, the perfect bait.
Bait that Roberts would wish he had resisted.
Cain ended the call. Glanced at Miranda. She was clutching the sheets tightly to her breasts, her skin was flushed, and when she shifted, just a bit, he caught sight of the faint mark on her shoulder.
His mark. From their fast and furious lovemaking session in the sheriff’s office.
“Do we need to go back to Cherryville now?”
He wrapped his arms around her. Inhaled and caught her scent. “Soon.” But not that exact moment. He wanted to hold her first.
Stay with her.
Pretend that a devil wasn’t waiting just beyond the door.
“Soon,” he repeated and pressed his lips to hers.
The damn devil could wait a bit longer.
Eight
“You’ll be monitored every moment,” Cain told her the next evening, right before her promised meeting with the vampire. Cain bent and gave her a quick, hard kiss. “Plainclothes deputies and some cops will be in the restaurant. Santiago and Delaney will be watching from the kitchen.”
“And where will you be?” Not too close, or she knew the vampire would catch his scent.
He smiled at her. “Baby, I’ll be watching your every move; don’t doubt it for a minute.”
Her lips curved and she nodded.
“Once you can confirm that the guy waiting is Roberts, then you give the signal.” They’d gone over the signal so many times that she almost rolled her eyes. “There’s a chance this isn’t our guy. We need you to verify ID before we bring hell crashing onto him.”
“Right.” Ah, jeez, but the butterflies in her stomach were doing some kind of wild dance. And her palms were wet. And her heart really, really needed to slow down.
It was almost showtime.
He caught her hands. Brought her fingers to his lips and pressed a hot kiss against her flesh. “It’s going to be over soon.”
Thank God. No more serial-killing vampire on the streets of her town.
“I’ll see you at the restaurant, baby.” His gaze was warm, tender.
And worried.
“See you then,” she repeated and felt her smile melt away. For her protection, two deputies were still stationed outside of her house. And Sam was on his way. He was going to be her tail to the restaurant.
Cain opened the front door. Hesitated with his hand on the knob. “Don’t drop your guard with him.”
“I won’t.” Not that she particularly needed that reminder.
He looked as if he wanted to say more but then he turned away and pushed open the old screen door. He called out a quick greeting to the men stationed near the foot of her steps as he hurried to his car.
Miranda stood in the doorway, her hands gripping the hard wood of the door. This was it. The time they’d been planning for had finally arrived.
She just hoped she could hold everything together.
Cain sped down the drive, disappearing in a faint cloud of dust and the flash of red taillights. After a moment, Miranda nodded to the two men and pushed the door closed.
She’d change. Put on a short black dress, as if she were going to meet a lover. A wig was waiting in her bedroom, the perfect piece needed to make her become Angie Phillips.
If things went according to plan, Roberts would be spending the rest of his night in a jail cell. Then the Feds would take charge of the vampire the next day. Cain had told her that the vampire wouldn’t burn in the daylight, but he would be weak.
The weakness would make him much easier to handle.
Miranda stepped toward the bedroom.
A floorboard squeaked behind her. It was all the warning Miranda got.
She spun around and found Paul smiling at her.
“Guess I won’t be making our date tonight, eh, love?” he whispered and licked his lips. “But neither will you.”
Oh, God.
Miranda screamed as loud as she could, hoping to alert the guards, and then she turned and ran.
He laughed. “Oh, dear, scream all you want. Those poor humans out front can’t help you now.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. He’d set them up.
“It was so easy to slide into your mind,” he snapped, sending the words flying after her. “So damn easy.”
The sadistic bastard had been on to them all along.
Had he killed the deputies? No, please no.
Her heart felt like it would rip from her chest. Paul was running down the hallway behind her now. The heavy thump of his feet hitting the wood echoed in her ears.
She shot to the left, dashing for the kitchen. The back door was close. A few feet away.
More laughter. Too close.
Now she knew his plan. Wished she’d figured it out sooner. A setup. For her, not him. Paul had just wanted to get her alone.
And now he had.
Her fingers fumbled with the lock. Managed to twist the deadbolt. She jerked open the door, sprang forward—
He tackled her, his body slamming into hers and knocking her off the back porch and onto the ground with a thud.
Another scream burst from her lips. One full of rage and fear.
She squirmed beneath him, managed to turn toward him, and her nails went straight for his eyes.
He pulled back, and she gouged deep lines into his face, feeling satisfaction well in her at the sight of his bloodied skin.
“Like that, do you?” He licked his lips, catching a drop of blood that had trickled onto his mouth. “I thought you might.” Then he brought his mouth crashing down on hers.
She bit him as hard as she could.
His head lifted and he laughed. “Oh, you’ll do just fine.”
“Help!” Another full-on claw with her nails. Then a hard punch with her fist.
He didn’t even flinch.
Paul shifted slightly, and the weight of his body pinned her torso to the earth. The starlit sky was over them, the night seemed incredibly still in that moment, and—
She didn’t want to die.
Her fist thrust up for another punch, right along that angular jaw of his.
Miranda didn’t make contact. He caught her hands, the right one, then the left. Then he jerked her hands over her head and pinned them in the dirt.
“I planned to kill you.” His breath was hot and rancid on her face. His eyes were as dark as the night. “That first time, I was going to drain your body dry.”
His hold was so tight the bones in her wrists ground together.
Sam. He was coming. If she could just hold the vampire off, he’d be there. With his gun.
“Dying is easy.” His voice was soft. Deadly soft. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. “I know. Flash of pain. Fear. Then it’s over.”
He smiled again, fangs bared. “It’s not going to be that easy for you.” His nostrils flared, and the smile tightened on his face. “I can smell that damn animal all over you.”
“Then get the fuck off me and you won’t have to!” she snarled, bucking beneath him.
> “Ah, but this is going to be fun.” He lowered his mouth to her neck. When his teeth raked her flesh, she let out a yell of rage and tried to jerk away.
“Relax.” The whisper of a lover, from the mouth of the devil. “I’ve decided not to kill you.”
Her breath caught and wild hope flared in her chest.
He pressed a kiss to her neck. She shuddered.
His head lifted and his eyes met hers. “Well, I guess you will be dead, but you won’t stay that way. Not for long.”
Oh, God. No.
“Tell me, Miranda, do you think your animal will still want you when you become the thing he hates most on earth?”
Something wasn’t right. Cain gazed across the street at Mancini’s Grill, aware of a sense of unease slowly trickling up his spine. A reservation had been made in the vamp’s name, so Roberts should be showing up soon.
And walking straight into their trap.
But Cain didn’t like the waiting. Didn’t like not having Miranda in his sights.
Didn’t like the feeling in his gut that things were slipping out of his control.
His cell phone vibrated with a silent ring. Never taking his gaze off the restaurant, he flipped open the phone, put it to his left ear. “Lawson.”
Static crackled over the line. “Guards…hurt.”
His body went stone-hard in an instant. “Sam?” he barked. “Sam, is that you?” The connection was piss-poor, as it usually was in Cherryville.
“Find…Mir…an….” The line cut off.
Understanding dawned too late.
It was one hell of a fine trap all right, but not for the vampire.
For Miranda.
He took off at a run, the beast growling and the man fighting back his fear and rage.
Sam cursed and threw down his phone. The thing had never worked for shit, and he would be in his civilian car—with no damn police radio. He felt for the pulse on Deputy Forest’s neck. Weak, thready. Just like Dunn’s.
The men had been taken down, hard.
But they were still alive. Was Miranda? God, she’d better be.
The flickering porch light shone down on the officers. Their radios and phones had been smashed to pieces.
Taking a deep breath, Sam rose. He’d go inside, find Miranda, and they’d call an ambulance and some serious backup.
He wanted to shout out to her, but he knew better. Roberts, because he knew that freak was behind this, had to be around somewhere and he sure didn’t want to give away his location to the killer.
His gun was in his right hand. His left hand reached for the handle of the door. Unlocked. He glanced down, saw the faint scratch marks near the keyhole.
A scream pierced the night then. A scream that had him turning and running with his heart in his throat and his fingers tightening around his gun.
A woman’s scream. His mom had screamed like that. Just before his asshole father had stopped her screams forever.
He rounded the corner of the house, gun up and ready, and found a man pinning Miranda to the ground.
“Sheriff’s Department!” he shouted, and the guy’s head jerked toward him. “Get the hell away from the woman, now!”
But the guy didn’t move. He smiled and the bastard had something wrong with his mouth. His teeth—they were filed or sharpened or something.
They looked like an animal’s. Light spilled from Miranda’s open back door, throwing a glowing circle around the struggling figures. Miranda was fighting. Squirming. Ramming her head against her attacker. Swearing.
And the perp’s smile was just getting bigger.
“I said get away from the woman!” He would put a bullet in the guy if he had to do it. He wasn’t in the mood to screw around with some cracked-up killer.
“Make me.” A taunting whisper.
One hand pinned Miranda’s wrists to the ground. The other lifted to her throat and, Christ—were those claws?
“Shoot him!” Miranda screamed.
The claws swiped toward her jugular.
Sam fired. The bullet caught the bastard in the shoulder, and his hand fell away from Miranda’s throat.
“Again!” she yelled. “Keep shooting, keep—”
The man leapt away from her. Bounded to his feet in a single move. The smile was gone. Black eyes glared at him. “That stung, asshole.”
Stung? It was a bullet, not a bee.
“And it really, really pissed me off.” His lips curled back as he snarled, and those freaky teeth of his looked even sharper.
Sam aimed his gun straight at the freak’s heart. “Get on your knees. Put your hands on your head.”
The man took a step forward. Christ, he really did look exactly like the photo of Paul Roberts. So the bastard faked his death. You knew that already.
The hair on Sam’s nape rose. Something was off here. Way off.
Behind the perp, Miranda scrambled to her feet. “Don’t talk to him,” she cried out. “Just shoot him!”
That wasn’t the way things worked, she knew that. He had a badge. The guy, well, except for the claws and teeth, looked unarmed. If he could take him down the right way, he would.
Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “On your knees!” he ordered again.
“I’m a god,” the man, Roberts, snapped. “I don’t kneel for anyone.”
God his ass.
He saw that Miranda had grabbed a broken limb and was holding it like a bat. At any minute, he expected her to slam it right into the back of the guy’s head.
“I’m countin’ to three,” Sam muttered, “then either you’re on your knees, or I’m shooting.” Ample warning. “One.” His finger tightened around the trigger. “Two.” Sam finally realized something weird was up with the guy’s eyes. They looked far too dark.
Empty. Like a dead man’s.
“Thr—”
He never finished counting. The bastard launched his body at him, growling. Claws raked over his face, slashed into his neck, and then Roberts’s mouth came at him, teeth bared.
Sam’s finger jerked, squeezing the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times.
Those creepy eyes widened. The guy’s mouth went slack. The bullets had been fired at point-blank range, and they’d thudded straight into his chest.
The claws fell away from Sam, and Roberts’s body hit the ground.
“Sam!” Miranda stepped forward. Hesitated. “Sam, come over here, now!”
He bent next to the body, searching for a pulse.
“No!” Her bellow had his head jerking up. “Get away from him! He’s not human, dammit, he’s a vampire—and he’s not dead! He’s gonna get back up, so move your ass over here, fast!”
A vampire? He blinked at that and slowly rose to his feet.
Impossible.
Fangs. Claws. A supposedly dead man on the ground in front of him.
Oh, hell.
He ran to Miranda’s side. Grabbed her left arm. Spared a moment to appreciate the pure bulk of the limb she was gripping with her right hand.
“We’ve got to get inside, call for backup.”
She nodded. Her lips trembled just the faintest bit, but her eyes were wide and determined.
They hurried inside, each casting fast looks back at the prone body of Paul Roberts.
Sam hoped the bastard stayed down. But if he didn’t, well, he had more bullets.
A fucking vampire. Christ. Just when he’d thought things in Cherryville couldn’t get more screwed-up.
“I need an ambulance and more damn backup at 101 Lakeview Street! I need—Shit.”
Miranda’s gaze snapped toward Sam. They were in her kitchen. They’d pulled the two wounded officers inside and barricaded the doors with her furniture. “Sam?”
His eyes lifted. “The line just went dead.”
Oh, no, that wasn’t what she wanted to hear right then. She took three steps toward the window. She’d just make certain Paul was still on the ground—
Glass shattered. She and Sam ran for the living ro
om at the same time.
But it was too late. The vampire was already inside. Paul crouched on the floor, shards of glass from one of her picture windows all around him.
Sam jumped forward, gun ready.
He fired.
Paul attacked. He was on Sam in less than two seconds. “I don’t fucking like getting shot!” Blood covered his chest. Dripped from his mouth. Paul grabbed Sam’s right wrist and twisted. The gun dropped to the floor with a clatter.
Miranda grabbed the limb she’d propped next to the couch.
Paul drove his teeth into Sam’s throat.
“No!” She swung the limb straight at his back, hitting as hard as she could. Again and again and—
The vampire spun around, caught the limb with one hand. “Dammit, bitch, do you want your turn already?” Blood stained his teeth. His blood. Sam’s.
He shoved Sam back against the wall and she heard the sickening thud of his head connecting with the Sheetrock.
“Leave him alone.”
Paul shrugged. Sam’s body slid to the floor. “Don’t like the taste of men, anyway.”
Fear had dried her mouth. She could see the blood trickling from the wounds on Paul’s chest, soaking his shirt, but the vamp seemed just as strong as before.
So damn bad for her.
She grabbed a lamp and threw it at his head.
He ducked, made a faint tsking sound. “I’m getting real tired of your shit, Miranda.”
It wasn’t shit. “This is my life, asshole!”
“And I’m going to let you live forever.” His eyes were so black. Soulless. “You should thank me. I’ve given no other this chance.”
Paul was stalking her as he spoke. Mirroring each step she took. “I’m not thanking you for killing me!”
“Death is brief. A bare moment when you’ll see heaven or hell and know that it has to wait.”
A moan slipped from Sam’s lips. Her head jerked toward him, and Paul struck. He grabbed her, pulling her tightly against him, drenching her clothes with his blood. His hand tangled in her hair, and he used his painful grip to yank back her head and bare her throat.
“We’ll see if he wants you now,” he rasped and his teeth sank into her neck.
She kicked him in the groin as a white-hot agony lanced her. Miranda twisted. Cursed. Scratched. Punched as hard as she could.
When He Was Bad Page 25
