Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8)

by D. B. Reynolds

  Lana herself lived alone and had never been married. That particular detail pleased him, although why it should was still a mystery to him. She was an attractive woman. Fine. She was also a difficult one. Not so fine, at all.

  Lana dropped her backpack on the chair in front of his desk, then leaned across and offered a handshake. Vincent took her hand automatically, although instead of shaking it, he raised it to his mouth and touched his lips to the back, lingering a bit to savor what was very soft skin for a bounty hunter. Her muscles tightened perceptibly, and he released her hand before she could pull it away. But he’d been watching her reaction, and he’d caught the vaguely disappointed look on her face, the raised eyebrow that said he was being predictable and boring. Vincent hated to be predictable and boring.

  “Did you have any success?” she asked, dropping her hand to her side with a fidgety motion as if she was fighting the urge to rub it against her pants leg to remove the taint of his kiss.

  Vincent’s eyes narrowed, but he’d be damned if she’d out-cool him. “My lieutenant, Michael, spoke to two of the older vampires in town,” he replied smoothly. “They’ve agreed to meet with us.”

  “Can we meet tonight?”

  Vincent didn’t answer her question. “You seem eager for the hunt, Lana. Is there some urgency that I’m unaware of?” he asked, instead.

  “No,” she said quickly. “I mean not exactly. But we do like to make our client happy.”

  “Especially the ones who aren’t headed to jail, hmm?” he said, only half-joking.

  “Our client is never the one going back to jail,” she informed him, obviously not even half-amused.

  “Of course,” he murmured, then gave her a wink, simply to test the bounds of her reserve. She had to break eventually. “Well, you’re in luck,” he told her, “because as it turns out, both vampires are available to meet us tonight.” He didn’t add that he hadn’t asked them for a meeting at all. This wasn’t a fucking democracy. If he wanted to talk to a vampire, they made themselves available or they suffered the consequences.

  “Will they be coming here or—”

  “They’re on their way. Unless you object, we’ll all meet in the conference room and have a nice chat.”

  “That works.”

  “No pictures,” Vincent clarified immediately. “No video, no recording of any kind.”

  “Of course not,” she agreed. “I’ll just take notes if that’s okay.”

  “And you’ll share, of course.”

  She tilted her head, giving him a curious little smile. “Distrustful much?”

  “We’ve got good reason to be distrustful when it comes to humans, Lana,” he told her seriously, leaving out the fact that he was even more distrustful of his fellow vampires.

  She blushed in embarrassment—on behalf of her fellow humans?—and it was a sight to see. A rosy wash of color heated her lovely golden brown skin, the first crack in her armor. Vincent enjoyed the moment, then gestured toward the door.

  “The conference room is across the hall. How’s your Spanish?”

  “Not fluent, but more than conversational.”

  Vincent nodded. “If you don’t understand something, let me know. Don’t ask them directly, ask me. These are old vampires, and you’re both human and female. They’re very traditional, and from a time when women didn’t run things.”

  “They don’t run things now either,” she murmured and gave a little smile when he laughed. Another chink in the armor? Maybe.

  “Well, they don’t run everything, anyway,” he conceded, letting laughter color his words. “But it will be easier tonight if we do this particular thing my way.”

  “That’s why I’m here. You’re the expert,” she said.

  LANA WAITED FOR Vincent’s response.

  “Yes, I am,” he said smoothly. No real surprise there, despite his earlier reluctance. She was willing to bet he could be smooth as silk when he wanted to be, right up to the moment he seduced a woman off her feet. He directed her out of his office and across the hall, resting his hand on her lower back under the guise of guiding her to the conference room. It was an innocent touch, polite even. But he was a little too close for innocence. She could feel the heat of his body, smell his clean, masculine scent, and the polite touch suddenly seemed shockingly intimate. She stiffened, but managed to avoid pulling away. She needed Vincent’s cooperation to complete this job for Raphael, and insulting him by jumping at the slightest touch was hardly the way to gain that cooperation. And his ego didn’t need to know that he affected her that strongly.

  She entered the conference room to find Michael and two other vampires waiting for them. They were sitting at a heavy wooden conference table, another stunning antique that looked like it had once been a dining room table in some rich Mexican landowner’s hacienda. The leather chairs scattered around the table, on the other hand, were the height of modern comfort.

  Lana sank into one of the comfy chairs gratefully. Her body was beginning to get cranky in its demand for sleep, with each old injury starting to make itself known, from the arm she’d broken at the age of ten to the damaged muscles in her back from wrestling with a 250-pound fugitive last year. She swallowed a sigh of relief as she settled into the chair and studied the two vampires sitting on the other side of the table. Vincent had said they were old, but as with all vampires, their true age wasn’t clear. Both appeared to be in their twenties, one slightly older than the other, and they were both short and dark, with stick-straight hair and black distrustful eyes.

  Vincent didn’t bother with introductions. He strode into the room behind her, sat in one of the chairs and began speaking in rapid and somewhat archaic Spanish, snapping out what sounded very much like an order.

  Lana translated in her head and knew she didn’t get every word, but the thrust of it was, You will tell this woman what you know of Xuan Ignacio. Definitely an order.

  The two older vampires nodded, their faces giving away very little. But Lana would have sworn she saw a flash of fear in their eyes before they turned their attention to her. They seemed to be waiting for her to ask a question. She gave Vincent a glance. He was the one who’d told her not to speak to them directly, after all.

  “¿Dónde vive?” he began. “Where does he live?”

  “Pénjamo,” the slightly older-looking one said in accented English. “On El Cero San Miguel. It has always been so.”

  “El Diablo,” the younger one agreed, nodding.

  Lana frowned. The devil? What the hell did that mean?

  “Fairy tales for stupid children,” Vincent dismissed almost angrily. “Have you met him?” he asked, directing his question at the older vampire.

  “Once,” he said. “He appeared as a man, but not like you or I. He is pale like a ghost, with white hair and eyes that are blind but see everything.”

  Vincent made an impatient gesture. “Where was this?”

  “I spoke truth, my lord. I never had words with him, and I saw him only once. On El Cero San Miguel. That’s where you’ll find him.”

  Vincent swung his chair slightly to give Lana a skeptical look. “Any questions?”

  “More than one,” she admitted.

  “Let me rephrase,” he said. “Any questions our visitors can answer?”

  Lana frowned. “I don’t want to insult anyone—” she said, stopping when Vincent shifted his attention to Michael and gave a jerk of his head toward the door. Before Lana had fully registered his intent, Michael and the two older vamps had vacated the room, closing the door behind them.

  “I wasn’t finished,” she snapped, irritated that he hadn’t given her a chance to question the older vamps. Why’d he bother to ask her if he was going to be such a jerk about it?

  “Yes, you were,” he said, raising her ire all over again with
his dismissive attitude. “Look, whenever a question starts with I don’t want to insult anyone, someone is about to be insulted. For all their centuries of living—or maybe because of them—those two remain unsophisticated and very traditional at heart. You’re both a woman and a gringa. If they took something you said amiss—and it wouldn’t take much—they’d clam up and refuse to help you any further. And they’d only be that polite because I was in the room with you. Besides, they believe every word they said.” He shook his head in disbelief. “It’s difficult to understand such persistent superstition.”

  Lana was somewhat mollified by his explanation, but couldn’t help retorting, “You seem to understand them just fine.”

  Vincent smiled, clearly choosing to ignore the sly insult in her words. “I know what they were talking about. I know where they’re talking about.”

  Lana sighed, fingers itching for her computer so she could Google this El Cero San Miguel for herself. Unfortunately, all she had was Vincent. She preferred Google, but Raphael’s clear intent had been for Vincent to be with her when she finally handed the message to Xuan Ignacio. Her original plan had been to find Xuan herself and bring him and Vincent together for the big finish, but she was beginning to think the whole thing would go more smoothly if she had a local guide along on the journey. And the most logical person for that was Vincent. She could kill two birds with one stone. If she didn’t kill Vincent first.

  “So you think they’re reliable?” she asked him.

  “They’re telling the truth as they know it. Celio, in particular, the more talkative of the two, is very reliable. If he says he saw Xuan Ignacio in the flesh, then he did.”

  “What’s this El Cero San Miguel he talked about?”

  “It’s in Pénjamo, a city in Guanajuato, at the foot of the mountains. El Cero San Miguel is essentially a big hill that’s reputed to be haunted. It’s something of a tourist destination for those interested in such things.”

  “That’s what the other one meant when he called Xuan Ignacio the devil. He thinks Xuan’s the devil who haunts this hill.”

  “I told you,” Vincent said with a careless shrug, “they’re superstitious.”

  “All right, well how do I—? Damn it, I need my computer. Can we return to the modern age now?”

  Vincent laughed, then stood and held out his hand. “Come on, we’ll go back to my office.”

  Lana ignored his hand. She didn’t need help standing, for God’s sake. She crossed back to his office, feeling his presence behind her again. She was much too aware of him, and he was much too intent on making her feel that way. If they were going to travel around Mexico together, she’d have to figure out a way to deal with that.

  Going directly to her laptop, she pulled up a map of Mexico, zeroing in on Pénjamo. Fuck. It was a good thousand miles from Hermosillo. A long drive. Especially with Vincent sitting right next to her.

  “That’s a long drive,” she observed out loud, testing the waters.

  “Especially for a woman alone,” Vincent commented.

  “I could fly.”

  “We could,” he said agreeably.

  She looked up to find him giving her a knowing grin.

  “Raphael wants me along when you find Xuan Ignacio. Deny it all you want, but I know Raphael’s your client, and you told me you like your clients happy. So, it looks like we’re going to Pénjamo, querida. But I’d rather drive.” He winked at her.

  Lana gritted her teeth. With every minute she spent in Vincent’s company, her attraction to him seemed to grow. He was like one of those oozing fungi in a monster movie that started out small, but eventually ate you up whole.

  “You’re probably pretty busy here,” she objected. She might need his help, but she didn’t have to admit it too easily. His ego was big enough. “I’d understand if you couldn’t leave right away. I thought I’d locate Ignacio first, then—”

  “Being the boss does have it benefits, and I’d hate to disappoint the big guy.”

  He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. What a shock. All right, then, she’d suck it up. “You up for road trip?” she asked.

  Vincent’s grin widened. “Why, Lana, I thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter Three

  “I DON’T LIKE YOU going off like this, jefe,” Michael said the next night as he followed Vincent down to the private garage below his residence, where their personal vehicles were parked. In Vincent’s case, he had two. The first was a Venom Black, 2014 Viper TA, but that wouldn’t do for a trip across the Mexican desert. So he headed for the second vehicle, which was also black, but much more substantial. It was a Suburban SUV, with black-tinted and bulletproof windows all around, and a body that was armored right down to and including the undercarriage. Vincent was a powerful vampire, but even the strongest of them could be taken down by enough bullets. A wooden stake might be the traditional method of execution, but anything that tore a vamp’s heart apart worked just as well.

  “You’re just jealous that you’re not coming with me,” Vincent told his lieutenant as he pulled open the back hatch and threw his duffel into the cargo space.

  “Fucking A,” Michael agreed. “Why is that anyway? Who’s going to watch your back?”

  “Lana appears to be quite capable.”

  “Lana would just as soon stick a stake in you.”

  Vincent slammed the hatch shut and turned with a grin. “You think so? I think she’s quite taken with me.”

  “You’re delusional.”

  “So you don’t think I’m irresistible?”

  Michael snorted. “Seriously, jefe, why do I have to stay here?”

  Vincent stopped and faced him directly. “Because I don’t want it to be obvious that I’m gone. This is for Raphael. Do you understand what that means? I’m doing a favor for a rival vampire lord. And if that’s not enough of a reason to keep this mission on the down low, there’s also Enrique’s role in whatever went down in Acuña. It can’t be a coincidence that Raphael’s request shows up two weeks after someone tries to kill him with Enrique’s help. And who the hell is Xuan Ignacio that Raphael wants him so bad?”

  “Fuck me,” Michael swore. “You need someone at your back.”

  “What I need is for you to put pressure on your sources, find out what happened to Raphael’s sister. Is she dead? I need to know.”

  “I’ll let you know as soon as I find something, but, Sire—” He waited until his use of the honorific drew Vincent’s focused attention. “—do not go to Mexico City without me. No joke.”

  Vincent nodded. They both knew that there could only be one reason he’d go to Mexico City—to challenge Enrique for the territory. The confrontation was inevitable and had been for a long time. The two vampires had been dancing around it, neither sufficiently motivated to upset the status quo. It was only a matter of lighting the right match. And if Enrique found out Vincent was running all over Mexico at Raphael’s request, it might just be the spark that lit the fire.

  “No worries on that front, Mikey. If I get anywhere near Mexico City, you’ll definitely be there. I’ll need you with me.”

  Michael nodded, still unhappy. “What if something happens here, like at the club the other night? What do I tell the others?”

  “You could have handled the club without me,” Vincent said offhandedly and strode around to the driver’s side of the SUV. “As long as you’re here, the others will assume I am, too. But if anyone gets too curious, give me a call, and I’ll handle it. I’m taking the sat phone as well as my cell.”

  He slipped into the driver’s seat. “Don’t look so sad, Mikey. I’ll bring you a present.”

  Michael raised his hands in a double fuck you salute.

  Vincent laughed as he closed his door and turned the key, then lowered the window and waved as he drove out of the
garage.

  LANA LEFT THE hotel without checking out. She was registered for one more night and could have saved money by checking out early, but decided against it. In her business, it never hurt to leave people wondering exactly where you were. By paying for the extra night with an automatic checkout, no one would know she’d already departed for parts unknown. At least not right away. She’d put out the “Do Not Disturb” sign for extra insurance, but that wouldn’t fool a determined investigator like her dad or Dave Harrington. She didn’t think they’d gotten this far yet, but she preferred to assume the worst. It was the best way to be prepared when the shit finally hit the fan, and it always did eventually.

  She went down the back stairs, avoiding the lobby. Her Yukon was parked at the very end of the parking lot. She unlocked it, stashed her duffel in the back, and was standing in the open hatchway scrolling through her contact list for Vincent’s number, when a black Suburban rolled up behind her and stopped.

  Tossing the phone aside, she pulled out her Sig and turned in a single movement. The black-tinted window closest to her slid down to reveal Vincent behind the wheel, grinning like an idiot. A particularly handsome idiot, but one nonetheless.

  “You gonna shoot me before we even get started?”

  She gave him a cool look. “Don’t tempt me,” she said, re-holstering the Sig. “I thought I was picking you up.”

  “I don’t believe we discussed it,” he said cheerfully. “But since I’m already here, climb in.”

  “I think we should take my vehicle. It’s less conspicuous.”

  “Where we’re going, conspicuous is good. It makes you less of a target.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.”