by S. J. Harper
“She could do it over and over again.” Isabella, still wrapped in a sheet, places a hand over her abdomen where I saw the web of scars.
I wonder if even now the scars are becoming fainter, skin knitting itself whole.
Zack is speaking. “Until the silver poisoning made it impossible.”
Evan’s eyes are hard as he accepts his clothes from me. They are focused on Pierce’s body. “Is she the one who did this to us?”
I nod.
“Who killed her?”
I gesture toward Isabella. She and Amy are standing together, talking softly. “When Isabella awoke, she was mad from starvation. It was pure reflex.”
Evan looks me in the eye. “If she hadn’t killed the bitch, I would have.” He drops the sheet and quickly steps into his clothes.
I approach the women and hand them the scrubs. Neither looks uncomfortable as they both drop their sheets, too, and slip them on. Vampires have low inhibitions. I’m the one who turns away. Accepting sheets to cover themselves was obviously for my benefit. Certainly not Zack’s. He’s quietly speaking with a naked Owen as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. The only creature less modest than a vampire is a shifter.
Zack’s handed Owen four bags of blood.
“Thanks, man.”
The vampire still hasn’t made an attempt to sit up. He gulps the offered blood eagerly, draining the first bag in seconds. He seems to be fumbling with the second, and without hesitation, Zack breaks it open and hands it to him. This time, he drinks more slowly. Within minutes of finishing the second bag, he’s able to climb out of the coffin. Some of the wounds on his body where the silver blanket came in contact with his flesh have already started to heal. Owen stretches. He looks to have been in his midtwenties when he was turned. He has light brown hair and a sinewy build, which at the moment is prominently on display.
I toss the remaining clothes I have to Zack so he can give them to the vampire, then turn to Evan, who has been staring at Owen. “Does he need more blood?”
Evan doesn’t answer. He’s fully dressed now, down to the knotted tie and polished shoes, clothes wrinkled but presentable.
He heads toward Owen. “You still look like shit, my friend,” Evan tells him. Then to me, “He’s going to need one, maybe two more bags.”
“How do you two know each other?” Zack asks.
But Evan’s eyes don’t flicker from the younger vampire. “You were taken with me?”
Owen nods.
I leave to fetch more blood. When I return, Owen’s on his fourth. He finishes it off and tosses it to the side, wiping the blood from his chin with his forearm.
Then he sees the clothes in Zack’s hand. He grins and reaches over to grab the leather jacket. “I thought for sure this was toast,” he says. He pulls on the jeans, ignores the T-shirt, zips on the jacket. “I feel better already.”
Evan breaks into bag number five and offers it to him. His hand goes to Owen’s shoulder and gives it an encouraging squeeze. “You’re going to be fine.”
Zack looks from one to the other. “If you two were taken at the same time, why does he look so much worse?”
Evan doesn’t answer, his expression calm, expectant. I get the impression he knows, but considers this Owen’s tale to tell.
“I’d been detoxing . . . again . . . trying to kick drinking straight from the tap . . . again.” Owen tosses the empty blood bag onto the floor. “I hadn’t fed in seventy-two hours.”
Evan holds up the last full bag, a questioning look on his face.
Owen shakes his head. “I’m good.” Then to Zack, “Evan is my sponsor. He was going to take me to an Emporium. I was due to start back on the bagged stuff.” He turns back to Evan. “Dude, who the fuck did you piss off?”
“You saw what happened? You tell me,” Evan says. “I don’t remember anything except leaving the office two nights ago. I was on my way out when you pulled up.” He passes a hand over his face. “I never sensed anyone near me. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a coffin.”
“You were walking. There was a pop and you dropped, like a fly. I got out of my car and headed toward you. That’s the last thing I remember.”
“You didn’t see anyone?” I ask.
“Not a fucking soul,” Owen replies.
“When did you last see Barbara Pierce?” I ask Evan.
His eyes flick to her body. “At my office, when she visited the afternoon before the benefit. It was the only time I’d ever met her. I usually dealt with Alan directly. We had a lunch meeting scheduled and he was going to hand-deliver my tickets for the benefit. But he got stuck dealing with some last-minute details. So his mother stopped by to drop them off instead.”
“That’s the day you disappeared.” From Zack.
“Did you serve anything to eat or drink while she was there?” I ask.
“We all had tea.”
“Maybe she slipped some slow-working drug into your tea. Then waited for you to leave the building,” I suggest, saying it to calm Evan. To try to contain this. It’s Mager who brought the vampires down. I’m sure of it. But it’s not up to Evan or anyone else in the vampire community to exact justice upon him. Mager may be a despicable criminal, but he’s also human.
Unfortunately, Evan isn’t buying it. “Too much left to chance. Based on what Owen saw, I’d say she had help.” Evan’s jaw tightens as he looks around. “An operation of this size? She had to have help. Is Barakov in on this? Or Alan?”
He tone is sharp. He wants someone else to be involved. Someone alive on whom he can exact revenge.
I can’t blame him. But I can’t let him.
“No,” I reply. “Alan told us Barakov didn’t know anything about what his wife was doing. His only involvement was to give her the idea about silver’s effect on vampires.” I sweep my hand around. “This was all her own idea.”
“And you believe him?” Isabella asks.
“He couldn’t have lied,” I reply simply. “I know.”
“And yet Alan knew something, because here you are,” Evan says.
“He only recently found out what his mother was doing.”
“And he sent you here?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
My thoughts turn to Dexter. Is this the time to tell them, to tell Isabella, why she is here?
“Wait a minute,” Amy interrupts before I can speak. “Barakov? I know that name.”
“So do I,” adds Isabella. “And I know Alan Pierce. Are you sure they aren’t all in on this together?”
Zack steps forward. “We’re positive. She had help, obviously.” He’s choosing his words carefully. “But her husband wasn’t involved in your kidnappings. Neither was Alan.”
“You will find out who was, though, right?” Amy asks Zack, her green eyes flashing.
“We’ll do what we can. Now that you’re safe, that’s the priority,” he replies. He hears the threat in Amy’s tone, too. And he’s already seen Isabella in action.
Amy and Isabella seem to have recovered completely. Recovered enough in fact for Amy to fix Zack and me with a steely gaze and ask, “Who are you?”
Zack extends a hand. “I’m Special Agent Zack Armstrong. This is Special Agent Emma Monroe. FBI.”
She shakes both of our hands in turn, then looks at us from beneath lowered eyebrows. “What are you? Agents of the FBI’s X-Files Bureau?”
“I didn’t know they let the furry into the Bureau these days,” snorts Owen.
Zack glares at the vampire he’s just saved. “Even a young pup knows not to bite the hand that feeds it,” he growls.
Owen looks appropriately contrite. “Sorry, Agent Armstrong. That was out of line. I owe you both. Big-time.”
Evan looks around the lab. “Is anyone else here?”
Zack and I exchan
ge a quick look. His neutral expression and small shrug throw the question to me. He’s going to let me decide if we should tell them about Dexter. Tell Isabella that she was to be his donor. I don’t know if she was aware that he was sick. Or if Dexter is aware of anything that happened since Alan drugged him the night before. I don’t know how to begin.
Zack picks up on my hesitation and comes to my rescue, smoothly waving away Evan’s question by a skillful change of subject.
“Amy, Ms. Haskell is going to be very relieved to see you. She’s been worried sick.”
Amy’s eyes widen in surprise. “How long have I been gone?”
“A little over two weeks.”
She passes a hand over her face. “My show in New York . . .”
Zack and I look at each other. That’s the least of it. We have to come up with explanations—cover stories—for Amy, Isabella, and Owen.
And for our superiors. We certainly can’t report any of this to the Bureau.
I look from Amy to Isabella. “You two need to come up with a story to explain why you’ve been gone. Particularly you, Amy. Your disappearance hit the papers and there’s been a lot of speculation, especially since you missed the opening of your own show. Haskell has done a good job deflecting the press, but you’re going to have to come up with an explanation the public will buy.”
Amy nods. She shoots the others a look of resignation. “I’ll have to give it some thought. You’d think as a vampire, I’d be used to lying, wouldn’t you?”
There’s a general murmur of agreement.
I turn to Isabella. “Any ideas? You’ve been gone the longest, a little over two months.”
“Two months!” Her expression darkens. “That bitch stole two months of my life? How on earth am I going to catch up with school? Never mind my internship.”
She’s on the verge of tears, so I give her a minute. “You should know, Michael never gave up hope.”
Isabella’s face clears and her eyes brighten. “He wouldn’t. No matter what, Michael always seems to be there for me.”
“He knows you best,” I say. “He’ll be wanting an explanation and could be the hardest to convince.”
Isabella nods. “I’ll tell him I had to get away to clear my head. He knows how conflicted I’ve been about this whole vampire thing. He’ll yell and carry on, but he’ll accept it. That’s what best friends do.” She frowns. “What am I going to say to the people at school? They’ve probably dropped me by now.”
“I can pay the dean an unofficial visit and explain you were under our protection,” Zack says. “A witness to something we can’t discuss, but that it’s over now. I’ll flash my badge, be vague but officious. I can be very convincing.”
Isabella’s eyes sweep Zack, head to feet. “I’m sure you can be. Especially since the dean’s a she.” Isabella is smiling again. “I’m confident you’ll wrap her around your finger in no time flat.”
“I’m not sure I can do anything about your internship, though,” he continues. “Michael mentioned they couldn’t hold the position.”
She sighs, then steps closer to me, lowers her voice. “How is Michael?”
Her question jolts me back into facing the predicament I dodged before.
Her friend is in the next room, awaiting a transplant that isn’t going to happen. Should I tell her? How will she feel knowing her freedom may be his death warrant?
She’s wringing her hands. “His health had been failing.”
Once again, I’m torn between telling her the truth—all of it—and leaving it to Dexter to explain the gravity of his condition when they’re together.
I shrug noncommittally. “You’ll see him soon enough. He’ll be thrilled to have you home.”
Owen’s laugh makes Isabella turn away from me. Another reprieve. Zack has been questioning Owen, asking if he has a story ready. Owen’s response is a burst of laughter.
“I don’t need a story,” he says, grinning. “I’ve never been part of the mainstream. I’m forever disappearing, going off on binges. My sire seems to have infinite patience for my bullshit and accepts my comings and goings. I’ve only been gone a couple of days, right? I doubt anyone’s missed me. Evan, if you give me a lift to the nearest Emporium, I can take it from there. If I’m going to stay on the wagon, I’m going to need a good supply.”
Amy glances down at the scrubs. “There’s one problem. I can’t go home like this.”
“Me, either,” chimes in Isabella. “We’ll need clothes to make our stories stick.”
Evan holds out a hand to me. “Can I borrow your car? I’ll bring Amy and Isabella to Liz. She’ll be able to take care of the clothes.”
I drop my keys in his hand. “Leave the car in your guest spot and the keys in the glove box. I have a spare. When we’re finished here, Zack will drive me over to get it.” I lower my voice. “Don’t rush to get Isabella and Amy home. We’ll need some time to sort this mess out.”
“No kidding.” Evan smiles in sympathy, looking around. “I’ll drop Owen off first. You know Liz. She’ll want to know every detail of what happened. That should buy you a couple of hours at least.” His voice softens. “I can’t thank you enough, Emma. You’ve gone above and beyond. I hope you don’t get in trouble with your boss. I’m not sure how you’re going to explain—”
I interrupt with a wave of a hand. “Don’t worry about that, just get home. Liz has some news I think you’ll like.” I cast my own skeptical eye around the room. “But you’re right, Zack and I have a lot of cleaning up to do.”
Evan shepherds everyone out, the vampires leaving with repeated offerings of thanks.
Then Zack and I are alone. I take stock of the mess we’re in. We have a secret lab in downtown San Diego filled with custom-made silver-lined coffins. We have one very dead transplant surgeon. And last, but not least, we have a sedated and critically ill famous artist. I walk over to where Dr. Barbara Pierce’s body is lying on the floor. She’s looking up at me, her face drained of color, her eyes empty, her neck grotesquely twisted, mangled by a dozen frenzied bite marks.
It’s one thing for Isabella and Amy to come up with plausible cover stories. How are Zack and I ever going to come up with ours? I look over at Zack. “Got any bright ideas, Mr. Handyman?”
He’s at the sink. He’s just finished rinsing off his burned hands and is wrapping gauze around them. “Now that we have a body to get rid of, she appreciates me.”
“We don’t have much time. We can’t leave Alan sitting in his office forever. Somebody from the foundation might come in and find him.”
Zack joins me. We’re now standing across from each other, Pierce’s body on the floor between us. “Fast, foolproof, or free,” he says. “Pick two. You can’t have all three.”
“You’re going to charge me?” I ask.
Zack frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous. I can do free and foolproof, but it’s going to take some time. Or free and fast, but—”
I cut him off. I get it. “We need a cleaner.”
He nods. “I know someone in the area,” he says. “I can call in a favor.”
The tone of his voice tells me he will, but he doesn’t really want to. I understand. He’s trying to leave his old life, his old contacts, behind.
Still, what choice do we have? I can’t see any way out of the situation we find ourselves in.
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can make a sound, Zack holds up his hand to silence me.
I freeze.
He cocks his head slightly to the side and listens, his expression intent.
I listen, too, but I don’t hear a thing.
In short order Zack points to his ear, holds up three fingers. I nod. There are three people outside. He points to me, to himself, then with both hands to the walls on either side of the entrance. I already have my gun out. Together, we move, swiftly, sile
ntly. My back is flush against the left side of the door, Zack is on the right. I’m acutely aware I’m not wearing Kevlar and try to remember the last time I discharged my weapon at the firing range. It’s been a while.
I slowly release a breath and try to relax. My eyes connect with Zack’s. He appears calm, confident. His stance is relaxed. He holds his weapon as if it were a natural extension of his body. He senses what’s coming. Reflexively, his nose lifts, his nostrils flare, his eyes widen. I see the change in him, but not in enough time to react.
Next thing I know, I’m pinned to the wall. My feet are barely touching the floor. My arms are being held high above my head.
By an extremely old and pissed-off vampire.
CHAPTER 22
This vampire’s strength is like none I’ve ever encountered. The Glock falls from my hand and clatters to the floor. Before I can get a good look at him, his face is buried in the crook of my neck. His nose travels from the spot just behind my ear, to the top of my shoulder, skimming along the surface of my skin. He hesitates for a fraction of a second along the way, and I shudder. The involuntary response, a testament to his power and my fear, pleases him. I feel him smile against my collarbone.
He slowly pulls back, his face just inches from mine.
I realize I’ve seen him before. Twice.
First at Liz’s.
Then going into the Blood Eemporium in the Gaslamp District.
The man in black.
“A Siren. Remarkable,” he whispers, a quiet reverence to his tone.
That voice. A rumbling baritone. Familiar. Unmistakable. Simon’s “boss.”
He’s as tall as Zack, maybe slightly taller. His muscles are leaner, his face thinner, the cheekbones are more defined. Shoulder-length black hair hangs loose in waves framing his oval-shaped face and clear blue eyes.
My mouth is dry. He sees through the glamour. I swallow. “You know what I am?”
Behind me I hear Zack growling in frustration. Sounds of scuffling, as if he’s fighting to be released. But I can’t see him. My view is blocked by an expanse of chest covered in a very expensive black dress shirt under a leather jacket. The top two buttons of the shirt are open, hinting at the smooth, flawless chest beneath.
