TheSmallPrint

by Barbara Elsborg

  Stupid man.

  She wanted to hate him but she didn’t.

  Stupid woman.

  Matty sensed him back again.

  “Are you all right?” he asked in a less gruff voice.

  “Yes.” She still didn’t look at him.

  He vanished, too blind to see yes meant no. Matty stood and straightened her skirt. George was right and wrong. Turner did need her, but not in the way Matty hoped for. She was worth more than a fuck on a hard floor, no matter how good it felt. Her shoulders slumped. It had felt good. She might have hoped for caring and gentle the first time, but strong, powerful and desperate had been pretty good. If only he’d said something kind.

  She looked toward the door to see him there again.

  “You need to leave. Pack your things and I’ll take you to a hotel. I’ll pay.”

  Matty’s heart clenched. “This is my home.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

  “I belong here. I don’t want to go to a hotel.”

  “Then stay with friends or relatives.”

  “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she whispered.

  “That’s not my fault.” Turner glared. “If you’re still here when I wake tomorrow, I’ll physically remove you from the premises.”

  He stalked off. Matty heard the front door slam and then the sound of a car engine. She turned to the shelves and began to reorganize the books alphabetically, by genre and author while she went over and over what had just happened. What had she done wrong? What was he so afraid of? She was no threat to him.

  Matty knew she’d never be able to persuade him to let her stay, so she had to find the contract to prove her case. Turner’s briefcase stood on the floor next to the desk and she stared at it. It seemed the obvious place. She walked over and unzipped the leather bag. The sight of a laptop brought an eager smile to her face, but Matty guessed someone anal like Turner would have a password. Probably some hideously complicated thing she’d never be able to guess. Everything inside the bag was neatly arranged in zipped pockets. She sat on the floor and went through the papers.

  Matty found his birth certificate. Nimrod Turner. Oh God, no wonder he calls himself Turner. Thirty-five years old. Thirty-six tomorrow. Wow. She could make him a cake, slip some arsenic inside. The idea cheered her up.

  The contract was there. It had been forced to the bottom of the bag and pushed into tight folds. Matty flattened it out and turned to the last few pages. There were loads of restrictive covenants—the house was a Grade II listed building after all, but it was a little paragraph slipped in after the list of easements that interested Matty.

  Special conditions of sale—

  The property owner will allow the local community to use the grounds of Milford Hall for their annual Winterval.

  The property owner will take an active role as a member of the Winterval committee.

  The property is sold on the condition that Matilda Hobsbawn is allowed to reside in the attic of said property for as long as she wishes.

  Matty laid the contract on the desk and pinned the curling paper down at each corner with heavy books. She didn’t want to be around when Turner saw it.

  Chapter Five

  Dava lounged on a revolting cream couch, in a disgusting apartment, composing a “Who to kill” list. The names of those doomed remained in her head. It wouldn’t do for any incriminating slips of paper to fall into the wrong hands. The powers that be would never believe it was her Christmas card list. Revenge would have to wait anyway. The last thing Dava wanted was to be sent back to prison.

  What she really wanted was for Gabriel to come. She’d waited a week and heard nothing, though her desperation to see him was tempered by a worrying thought. Gabriel couldn’t possibly hold her responsible for his imprisonment—could he? Was she on his list? Dava gulped.

  She presumed Gabriel was subject to the same restrictions as her, living under the supervision of the Vampire Rehabilitation Board, the VRB. They’d visited nightly for a week, though now that dropped to once a week. She’d served her sentence, promised to behave, why couldn’t they leave her alone? She was even being a good little vampire and drinking that revolting sludge Plasmix, generously supplied by the fridge-load by the VRB. Twenty years with one bag of Plasmix every other day had not endeared her to the stuff. The VRB had also provided her with this nasty light-proof home and clothes she could barely stand to wear. Polyester. Yuck. The only decent thing they’d given her was a laptop. Dava had yet to switch it off.

  How the world had changed in a mere two decades.

  The doorbell rang. That would be her VRB social worker, right on time. The silver-haired woman with flabby thighs had clearly never come to terms with her blood-sucking potential. Lois was so sweet she made Dava retch. Dava imagined the wimpy do-gooder wiping her mouth with a lace handkerchief after she’d fed. It had been easy to convince Lois of her intention to lead a law-abiding life. The idiot believed everyone was decent deep down.

  Dava pulled open the door. Oh fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck. No weak, silver-haired woman but a handsome hunk. She so loved blond guys. Gabriel was blond. And tall guys. So was Gabriel. Blue-eyed guys. Young guys. Well, she loved black-haired guys too, with dark eyes, but who cared? Any guy would do. Standing on her doorstep was six three of perfect blond male vampire, and since she was five seven of perfect blonde female vampire—what could be better?

  “Come in.” She widened her eyes and pitched her voice low.

  He pushed past her and slammed the door. “Cut the crap, Dava.”

  His low growl made her instantly wet. A vamp with attitude, how delicious. She followed him to the pathetic box that served as a living room and watched as he sprawled on the couch like a belligerent tomcat.

  “Your name?” she asked.

  “Catch Wilson.”

  Dava rolled it around in her head. Catchy. She bit back her smile. “What happened to Lois?”

  “Having surgery. She broke a fang.”

  Dava winced. Vampires healed from almost all injuries but fangs were tricky. Once damaged, they could pop out at the wrong moment.

  “Can I fix you a drink of Plasmix?” she asked. “Hot, cold, somewhere in between?”

  “How do you take yours?”

  “Holding my nose.”

  His face crinkled as he laughed, and then he became serious. “How many bags have you drunk tonight?”

  “Two.” She’d forced them down, taken her medicine like a good girl. One every other day had kept her weak and hungry, two every day was supposed to keep her sated. Hardly.

  Catch stared at her a moment and then nodded.

  “Why the interest in the number of bags?” she asked.

  “One of the conditions of your release.”

  He spread his legs and Dava’s gaze drifted to the impressive ridge on the left side of his zipper. Except he wasn’t hard, just a big guy. Twenty years of nothing but a memory of Gabriel and her fingers to bring her pleasure—she was ravenous.

  “The release form you signed. Remember?”

  She hadn’t read it. She’d have signed a petition to let werewolves piss in the park in order to get out of that hole.

  He cleared his lovely throat. “You’re to drink two bags of Plasmix every night immediately after you wake. From now on, you’ll be visited once a week by a VRB representative who needs to be satisfied you’re behaving. You make no attempt to contact any of your previous acquaintances. You stay away from those you wish to destroy.”

  Dava smiled. “I have no wish to destroy anyone. Twenty years in solitary confinement? I’ve learned my lesson.”

  The bastard laughed. “I doubt it. But put one foot wrong and you’ll be begging for solitary confinement after we’ve finished with you.”

  Yeah, whatever. “So what now?” Dava asked. “Want to—get acquainted?”

  “Fuck you? No thanks. You’re not my type.” Catch stood up.

  Dava clenched her teeth hard and tasted
blood. Shit. From the flare of his nostrils, she realized Catch knew. “I’m bored,” she whined. “Stay and play.”

  Catch walked toward her, caught a lock of her hair in his fingers and twisted it. A sexy gesture that evaporated as he kept twisting until it hurt.

  “Play on the laptop or find a hobby,” he said. “They gave you money. Go buy a jigsaw puzzle. A big one. Impress them with your dedication.”

  The door slammed and Dava scowled. They’d sent him to tempt her, taunt her. They’d— Dava frowned. He’d said they gave her money. She was to impress them. Not him? Figure of speech or something else? But his refusal to have sex with her rankled the most.

  Another name for her list.

  * * * * *

  Before Catch had knocked on Dava’s door, he’d pulled his vampire half to dominance. He didn’t want her to notice he was part shifter. Catch hadn’t expected her to react to him, but he was still relieved to see no flicker of recognition. Dava hadn’t wanted to kill him, only fuck him. He chuckled. Some things never changed.

  She hadn’t recognized him or his name. As a vampire-cross, part werewolf and part vamp, Catch was able to morph his features into an alternate face. Undercover work seemed an obvious choice, though Catch hadn’t been given one. He’d worn his other face twenty-two years ago when he’d infiltrated Gabriel’s organization. After Purelight came crashing down, he’d never used it again.

  After he’d left Dava’s apartment, Catch stood in the shadows and watched for a while. The VRB had surrounded her with temptation in the form of walking, talking food, and Catch wasn’t sure if that was deliberate or not. Leopards don’t change their spots, and greedy, psychopathic, blood-sucking bitches don’t happily settle in suburbia on a diet of Plasmix and reality TV. The laptop offered her a whole new world. While she had enough intelligence not to shit on her doorstep, Catch suspected no other doorstep was safe.

  He’d done his job, which was to check she was behaving herself. Box ticked. Well, it wasn’t actually Catch’s job. He didn’t work for the VRB, but one show of his badge had persuaded Michael, the assigned VRB vampire, to let him do this week’s interview. Lois really did have a broken fang.

  In a way, Catch was disappointed his undercover identity remained intact. If she had recognized him and attacked, he’d have been within his rights to kill her. One less monster to worry about.

  Catch saw Michael lurking in the shadows of the bus shelter, still waiting for him to emerge, which didn’t fill Catch with confidence. If he’d missed Catch coming out of the building when he hadn’t even been trying to be evasive, the young vampire had no chance of monitoring a conniving bitch like Dava. Catch sidled to the rear of where Michael stood and came up behind him.

  “Boo,” Catch said at his ear.

  The guy nearly jumped out of his skin. Fucking useless.

  “Oh hi. I didn’t see you come out. Is she behaving?” he asked.

  Catch wondered what he’d do if he said Dava was practicing tying knots with some guy’s guts.

  “So far,” Catch said.

  “Good. You want to take over next week as well? Lois will still be off.”

  “No.”

  Catch hoped this guy was brighter than he seemed, stronger than he looked, and that he was gay. He’d still need more than that to stay safe from Dava.

  “She’ll try and get into your pants,” Catch said as he walked away. “Don’t let her.”

  Catch had spent twenty years waiting to come face-to-face with the woman who’d wrecked his life. Now he wanted her to cock up so he had an excuse to destroy her. How could a weekly ten-minute visit over a couple of months by some naive social worker be enough to satisfy anyone that Dava had reformed? Only an idiot would fail to realize that after two decades, a few more weeks or months of waiting were nothing.

  Dava should never have been released. She should never have been imprisoned. That went for her sire Gabriel too. Catch had expected the pair to be eliminated after their trial. He suspected they had a powerful friend on the Vampire Council. He’d made some enquiries and Mike, Catch’s boss, had warned him off.

  No point hanging around. Catch was due to call on Gabriel, who’d been housed in a different city. As if that would make a difference. He cast a final glance at Dava’s window and went to get his bike.

  * * * * *

  Catch parked around the corner from where Gabriel lived. This time the VRB agent came to him.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” said the guy, holding up his badge. “Ken Burton. Nice bike. Honda Superhawk?”

  “Yep.” Catch showed his ID.

  “What excuse are you going to give him for me not turning up? Just so I know.”

  “Promotion exam?”

  Ken laughed. “In my dreams. Look, I’m not happy about not seeing him today. I won’t lie on my report. Tell him I’ll come round tomorrow instead.”

  “Fine.”

  “You’ll be okay getting in. The building has been cleared for vampire access. I’ll wait for you to come out. Number seventeen.”

  “What’s he like?” Catch asked.

  “Nice enough guy.”

  Catch held back his groan of despair.

  He walked around the corner and crossed the road. Gabriel had been housed in a place similar to Dava’s. Below the building, youths milled around outside a fish and chip shop, drinking beer and snogging girls who wore bum-hugging skirts and thin tops. Fashion held sway over the freezing temperature.

  The stupidity in imagining a vampire like Gabriel would reform was mind-boggling. Catch knew what the man was capable of, and yet he hadn’t even been called to give witness against him at the trial. For Catch’s protection, he’d been told. Yeah right. Now Gabriel was back in circulation and no doubt getting ready to start again.

  Pinning the pair out in the sun would have been a more suitable punishment for what they’d done. They’d built up hopes and dreams, sucked up money from those who could least afford it and ruthlessly disposed of anyone who got in their way. Time after time Catch had begged his boss to bring Purelight down before something really bad happened. Catch had been increasingly concerned Turner was going to open his mouth and get himself killed. But the answer was always to wait, that they wanted bigger fish.

  They’d never caught them.

  In the end, it had been something simple that had undone Gabriel. A tax inspector on a surprise visit had found what he shouldn’t, and Dava had killed him. The guy’s partner ran the Vampire Times newspaper and began asking difficult questions about his lover’s disappearance. Catch had been in Paris on Purelight business when the newspaper guy disappeared. Things quickly began to unravel. On Catch’s return, he found almost everyone gone from Purelight. Some sixth sense of trouble brewing before he’d left ensured Turner was safe, following up a false lead in Leicester, but after Gabriel and Dava were arrested, fifty vampires connected with Purelight remained unaccounted for. Catch felt responsible for every one of them.

  Only Gabriel and Dava went on trial. Others either slipped through the cracks or were dismissed as dupes, caught up in the scam through lack of intelligence or inexperience. Catch didn’t think justice had been done to all, but pushing the issue would open up a route to Turner, and Catch wanted him kept out of it.

  So, had Gabriel spent twenty years planning his revenge? If so, on whom? Was he planning to start Purelight up again? Or was he working on something else?

  Catch walked up the stairs to the second floor. It was Gabriel’s failing and thus Catch’s weapon that Gabriel wasn’t the sort to let a good deed go unpunished. Catch suspected Gabriel would wait until the VRB thought he was behaving and then strike like a fucking cobra.

  But at who? Please not Turner.

  Vampire dominant, his wolf tucked away, Catch knocked on the door.

  When it opened and he saw Gabriel standing there, Catch felt his fists clench and had to force his fingers apart. The guy looked no different, and despite everything he knew
about him, Catch couldn’t help but find Gabriel compelling as well as disturbing.

  “Michael’s taking an exam. I’m Catch,” he blurted. Nervous? He took a deep breath.

  Gabriel smiled. “Come in.”

  Catch saw no sign of recognition, but he’d have to be careful. Even with a different face and his own voice, rather than using his undercover persona’s drawl, it was impossible to disguise every nuance of his speech and quirk of mannerism. One tiny thing could trigger Gabriel’s memory.

  Gabriel was well named. He looked like an angel. Tall and muscular with sleek blond hair that fell to his shoulders, and always fucking smiling. Catch was more of a dirty blond and “why use a comb when fingers worked fine” type. Gabriel had the sort of face that made even those who weren’t gullible want to like him, love him, trust him with their last penny. Catch’s face made people cross the street. He wasn’t bad-looking but he oozed “keep off” from every pore.

  “I’m delighted to meet you,” Gabriel said, and held out his hand.

  Catch shook fast and let him go. Powerful as Gabriel was, Catch didn’t think he could read a were-vamp’s mind, but he didn’t want to give him the chance to try, particularly when Catch had to keep pushing his wolf down so he didn’t give himself away.

  “Any problems?” Catch asked.

  “No, everything is wonderful.”

  Catch wanted to vomit. “Drank your Plasmix?”

  “Yes. Very tasty.”

  Now he really wanted to vomit. “What have you been up to?”

  “Still finding out about this fantastic new world. We’ve so much to be thankful for.”

  “And are you?” Catch snapped.

  “What?”

  “Thankful?”

  Gabriel smiled, and Catch saw nothing in it and yet saw everything.

  “I’m very thankful. I want to devote my life to showing how thankful I am.”

  Catch asked a few more inane questions, got a few more inane answers, told Gabriel that Michael would call the next evening and left. He repeated what Gabriel had said to Michael and then rode home.