“Vincent.”
It was a voice that was as familiar at his own, but one he hadn’t heard in a long time. He turned with a smile that conveyed all of the warmth and joy he felt at seeing her again.
“Camille,” he said, taking the final step to meet her, his hand cupping her elegant jaw. “When did you get here?”
“To Mexico City? Or to your headquarters?”
“Both.”
Her laugh was a delicate chime. More men than he could count had made fools of themselves just to hear that sound. He and Camille were siblings of a sort. Both children of Enrique—or so he’d thought at the time—they’d “grown up” together, having been turned around the same time.
“I arrived just this evening,” she told him. “Enrique had me shoved away on the coast. He always resented our closeness, and I’m sure he knows my allegiance is more to you than him. He won’t like it that I’m here, but I couldn’t miss the big finale. And, besides, I brought some friends.” She indicated the conference room with a slight shift of her eyes.
Vincent stroked the back of his fingers over the velvety softness of her cheek. “Thank you, bella. It’s good to see you,” he murmured. He was about to say more when a small noise drew his attention down the hall to his left. He turned and saw Lana standing in the open doorway of the condo, staring at him. She was dressed in sweats and carrying a towel, as if on her way downstairs to the gym.
She looked beautiful and strong, and he abruptly regretted his pride-driven confrontation with Harrington. He opened his mouth to call to her, but with a single unreadable look, she strode down the hall until she was close enough to touch.
Except she ducked his hand when he reached for her, holding her own out to Camille and taking a step closer.
“Camille,” Vincent said, stinging at Lana’s rejection. “This is Lana Arnold. Lana and I are—”
“Partners,” Lana interjected. “Vincent helped me with a job assignment I just finished.”
Vincent saw Camille’s eyes dancing with laughter, but he didn’t find anything funny. He turned his scowl on Lana and was about to make some excuse to Camille while he dragged Lana back to the penthouse and figured out what the fuck was going on, but before he could say anything, Lana was speaking again.
“Well, I’ll leave the two of you to your . . . consultations,” she said, backing away. “Nice to meet you, Camille. Vincent,” she said with a brisk nod, then she was gone before he had the chance to say anything, ducking into the stairwell with her human bodyguard in tow.
Vincent took a step to go after her, but Michael appeared at his side and said softly, “Sire, Camille brought Tulio.”
“I’m sorry, Vincent,” Camille said softly, her gaze filled with understanding for his plight. “But Tulio is waiting in the conference room,” she reminded him.
Vincent swore softly. Amado Tulio was a powerful master from Baja who hated Enrique, but would never be powerful enough to take him on himself. He was willing to support Vincent’s bid, but only if he could be convinced that they would win. Tulio wanted Enrique gone, but he wasn’t willing to risk his own neck to get it. If there’d been more time, Vincent would have said to hell with Tulio and gone after Lana. But there wasn’t any time at all. He needed to know tonight where Tulio would stand tomorrow.
“Make sure she doesn’t leave the building,” he growled at Michael, and then turned with a smile for Camille and headed for the conference room.
LANA HUGGED THE folded bath sheet like a security blanket as she ran down the stairs to the first floor. She’d been on her way to the pool even before seeing Vincent with his girlfriend, hoping to relieve some of the stress she’d been feeling ever since they boarded the plane for Mexico City.
That idea was blown all to hell now. She’d have to swim until she was exhausted to erase the image of Vincent and Camille, staring at each other with that look on their faces. All that picture needed was fairy dust twinkling around their heads, it was so fucking sweet.
The irony was that Lana had been happy to see him. She’d heard his voice even before the doors opened, and her heart had done the proverbial jump for joy. She’d known in that moment that, while she might not belong here, this was where she wanted to be. With Vincent.
Her first thought when Vincent had emerged from the elevator was that he looked tired. But then the woman—Camille—had said his name, and his exhaustion had seemed to drain away.
Camille was lovely, of course. Petite and delicate, with a tiny waist and overflowing breasts, her lush lips painted red, her black hair falling in graceful waves down her back. She’d laughed at something Vincent said and heads had turned at the sound. Vincent’s smile had grown wider and he’d brushed the back of his fingers over the woman’s elegant cheek, murmuring something for her ears only.
Lana had felt the touch of those fingers like a punch to her gut. She hadn’t meant to make a sound, but she must have, because Vincent’s head had turned, and in that first unguarded moment, she’d seen the guilt in his eyes. And suddenly, the whispering voice in the back of her brain, the one she’d convinced herself was wrong because she’d wanted so much to stay with Vincent, had become a warning shriek, reinforcing what she’d known all along. She truly didn’t belong here.
Lana had forced herself to walk down that hallway, to hold out her hand and be polite. But when Vincent had tried to touch her, when he’d given her that hurt look as she’d avoided his hand, she’d known she had to get away before she started screaming.
She’d mumbled something polite, then, taking advantage of the distraction provided when Michael whispered something in Vincent’s ear, she’d ducked into the stairwell and been gone, the heavy door slamming behind her.
And now she was racing down the stairs, expecting at every turn to hear him following, to hear his voice calling her name, but he never did. She had to decide what to do, where to go from here. Her best bet would be to wait until sunrise, go back to the penthouse, pack her things, and leave. She no longer believed Vincent would try to stop her from going. Now that his vampire girlfriend was here, he’d probably be relieved to discover she was gone, that she’d made it so easy for him.
She kept moving, her feet keeping pace with her thoughts which were running too fast and making no sense.
Before she knew it, the bodyguard was opening the door to the first floor, reminding her that he was still with her. She’d forgotten all about him for a moment. His name was Jeff Garcia and he’d been with Vincent for almost four years. What would Jeff do if she headed for the airport? Would he try to stop her? Go with her? Once she left Mexico, she wouldn’t need a bodyguard anymore. She wasn’t even sure she needed one now.
Lana paused for a moment, one hand covering her closed eyes. She needed to think about what she was doing. She was letting emotion carry her instead of reason, running scared. Running being the operative word. She needed to stop and think. She became aware of the smell of chlorine, the muted echo of water against tile. Opening her eyes, she realized that the stairwell opened directly into the pool area. Through a wall of windows to her right was the main part of the gym, with the usual equipment and a few hardy souls getting in a workout before sunrise. She assumed they were all vampires, but it was possible some of them were human guards like Jeff.
No one was using the pool.
She’d come down here to swim, and that’s what she was going to do. Without even thinking about it, she threw her towel on a chaise and stripped off her sweatshirt. She sat down to step out of the pants, not because she had to, but because she didn’t want Jeff to see that she had her little Spyderco knife tucked into the little inside pocket on the sweatpants. The pocket had been designed to carry keys and maybe a cell phone, but Lana had always thought a knife was more useful. And bodyguard or no, she wasn’t going anywhere without some kind of weapon. She folded the pants carefull
y, then stood up to survey the pool. She was wearing a simple black one-piece suit that she’d bought from a shop right next to the grocery store where she’d gone earlier. She tugged it down over her ass somewhat self-consciously. She was in good shape, but the suit was cut a little higher than what she normally wore.
She tugged on the cheap bathing cap she’d bought with the suit, then with a nod to Jeff, who had taken up a position at the door they’d just come through, Lana stepped up to the edge and dove in. Swimming was like meditation for her. After the first few strokes, she didn’t have to think about it anymore, didn’t hear the nagging voice in the back of her mind, didn’t see the affection on Vincent’s face, the softness of his words when he’d touched the woman, Camille, upstairs. She simply moved through the water, falling into the familiar rhythm of a forward crawl . . . stroke, breathe, stroke, breathe, hit the wall, turn, glide, and start all over again. She swam until her muscles began to burn, and then she swam some more, until her strokes were no longer smooth, her turns no longer graceful.
When she hit the wall on her next lap, she stopped, hanging onto the side of the pool, breathing in the chlorine smell of the water as the exhaustion started to creep in. She might not be a vampire, but she’d been living like one for the last week, which meant she’d been up all night and her body needed sleep.
And, at some point during her swim, her brain had reached a decision, or maybe it was her heart. As easy and uncomplicated as it would be, she didn’t have it in her to creep away without saying good-bye to Vincent, without any explanation at all. Maybe they were only partners, after all, but even a partner deserved the respect of a decent farewell.
Lana sighed, knowing what she was going to do, what she had to do.
“What time is it?” she asked Jeff, who was standing exactly where he’d been when she started swimming.
He gave her a crooked smile and said, “Nearly sunrise. The vamps have deserted the gym.”
Lana pulled herself out of the water. It took more effort than it should have and it occurred to her that she might have done a few laps more than her body could handle. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about her mind keeping her awake today. The only thought in her head right now was sleep.
She pushed to her feet with an effort and wrapped herself in the big towel, jerking off the uncomfortable bathing cap and tossing it in the trash. She thought about hitting the elevator without getting dressed, but there were a whole lot of people she didn’t know between her and her bed, so she dragged her sweats back on, not caring that her suit was still wet.
“Let’s go,” she told Jeff, pressing the towel around the wet braid of her hair.
Jeff was talking to someone on the Bluetooth bud in his ear. Lana waited patiently, leaning against the wall, because she worried if she sat down, she’d simply fall over, asleep, and not get up again.
Jeff touched the bud in his ear, disconnecting the call. “The elevators are locked upstairs,” he said, shaking his head in sympathy. “Some big vampire honcho getting ready to depart. You up for the stairs?”
Lana looked from him to the stairwell door, thinking, Hell, no. But what she said was, “Sure.”
He gave a sympathetic chuckle as Lana opened the door to the stairs.
“Lana,” Jeff said urgently and she remembered he was supposed to go first. But then a movement in the stairwell drew her attention, and she stared in shock at the person standing there.
“What are you doing here?” she asked as she heard Jeff curse, and then the jagged sound of a Taser filled the concrete stairwell.
Chapter Twenty-Four
VINCENT PACED AS the shutters deployed over the windows. Where the hell was Lana? He’d called her cell phone, but there’d been no answer. So he’d tried Jeff Garcia and got no answer there either. GPS on both phones told him they were in the building, but he couldn’t discover anything more specific than that, and now sunrise was about to take away his ability to go looking for them. He could still ask his daytime security people to find them, but he wasn’t exactly in a hurry to announce to everyone that his lover was avoiding him. His phone rang. It was Michael with a final check-in. His lieutenant was young as vampires went, which meant he’d crash into daylight sleep well before Vincent did.
“Mike,” he answered tersely.
“Building’s locked down. No one in or out until sunset. How’d it go with Tulio?”
“He’s onboard for now. But he’s hedging his bet. He’ll be at Enrique’s when we get there, but won’t visibly side with us.”
“So he doesn’t want to be seen with us until he knows who’s going to win.”
“Better that we find out now what kind of weasel he is. I’ll know not to depend on him in the future.”
“Lana?”
“Still in the gym as far as I know.”
Silence greeted this statement, and then, “She didn’t leave the building.”
“I know. Sleep well, Michael.” Vincent hung up without waiting for a response. Michael might be the closest thing he had to a friend, but he wasn’t about to discuss his love life with him. Not when it came to Lana, anyway. She wasn’t some pretty thing picked up in a bar and quickly forgotten. She mattered to him, but it was obvious that he hadn’t convinced her of that fact.
So where the fuck was she? Hiding out until he was asleep for the day? He wouldn’t have thought that was her style. In fact, he knew it wasn’t her style. But then, she hadn’t quite been herself ever since they’d arrived in Mexico City, and she’d seen the way he lived here, seen all the vampires courting him, heard them calling him lord. He hadn’t missed her reaction to the penthouse either. She’d walked through it like a museum instead of a home. Maybe because he’d never lived here. It was just the place he stayed when politics didn’t give him a choice. He’d bet if Lana had seen his place in Hermosillo, she’d have been completely at ease.
He simply hadn’t had enough time with her before all of this descended upon him. He hadn’t planned on confronting Enrique so soon. His hand had been forced on several fronts. First, by what Enrique had done to Jerry and Salvio, and especially Carolyn. How could he let that stand unchallenged? And then there was Raphael, making sure Vincent ran into Xuan Ignacio, so the old vampire could drop his little bomb of truth. Vincent might have been ready to challenge Enrique after Carolyn, but it was learning of his brother’s murder at Enrique’s hand that had sealed the deal. Just as Raphael had known it would.
If only Vincent could have had one more day with Lana, one more day with just the two of them, to prepare her for all of this, to let what he felt for her sink in and take hold.
So where the fuck was she? He reached for his cell phone, intending to call her one last time, but he staggered suddenly, nearly falling as sunrise asserted its inexorable control over him. Footsteps dragging, he barely managed to reach the bedroom before falling face first onto the big empty bed.
Chapter Twenty-Five
VINCENT’S PHONE WAS ringing when he stepped out of the shower. He picked it up from the tiled counter where he’d left it, hoping that Lana would call. She hadn’t come back to the penthouse during the day, not even to get her things, and the concern he’d felt upon waking this evening to find her gone had cemented into something much worse as the night deepened. Michael had assured Vincent that he’d personally checked every video feed and seen no sign of either Lana or Jeff Garcia, who’d been guarding her. But video feeds could be hacked, and their cell phones, which had been registering inside the building before dawn, were now not registering at all. They’d either been turned off and the batteries removed, or they’d been destroyed.
There was no reason for Lana to do something like that, and he knew, sure as hell, that Garcia wouldn’t do it. Not willingly. Jeff Garcia was loyal to Vincent. Michael swore it, and Vincent believed it. Which meant that whatever had happened to Lana had prob
ably happened to Garcia first.
Vincent laughed with no humor at all as he realized that his fondest hope at this point was that Dave Harrington had her. That he’d somehow managed to sneak out of the airport and back into the city in order to drag Lana back to the so-called safety of her familial bosom. That would explain the absence of a cell signal. Harrington would know how to avoid detection, and how to get her out of the country with no one the wiser. And if Lana was confused, or pissed, enough about her relationship with Vincent, she might not even fight it. But even as he had that thought, he rejected it. No matter how pissed Lana was, Vincent didn’t believe she’d leave without saying good-bye. Even if that good-bye was only telling him to fuck off.
The phone rang again and Vincent checked the caller ID, swearing when he saw the name of yet another of his vampire supporters. From almost the moment the sun had dropped below the horizon, they’d been calling him, as nervous as cats in a roomful of cactuses. He hadn’t answered any of them, letting Michael soothe their nerves, offer reassurances. He shouldn’t be expected to hold hands on the precipice of the most dangerous battle of his life. At least that’s what Michael was telling them. They didn’t need to know the truth of it. That he was afraid something terrible had happened to his lover and was fighting a battle with himself over whether to march into Enrique’s lair and offer a challenge, or to say fuck it all and go looking for Lana instead.
Unfortunately, he was beginning to fear that those two things were the same. That it was Enrique who’d gotten hold of Lana, and that he intended to use her against him.
The phone rang again, and Vincent nearly threw it against the wall before he saw Michael’s name come up.
“What?” he snarled.
“Sire,” Michael said formally, falling back on protocol in the face of Vincent’s anger. “Forgive me, but . . . I need to know what to tell your security team.”
Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8) Page 34
