She glanced around, noting that among the dirty clothes were some obvious pieces of hiking gear. The single chair held Dan’s backpack, which appeared deflated and forlorn. His well-worn hiking boots, some really dirty pants and T-shirts, and several pairs of thick socks lay in a pile on the floor next to it. One thing Daniel had always told her was that he never stinted on clean socks when he was hiking. Everything else could be stiff with dirt, but he always took several pairs of socks.
She frowned, then stepped farther into the room and saw his camera equipment neatly stacked between the second bed and the wall, where it wouldn’t be obvious to someone standing in the doorway. Dan’s cameras were worth a small fortune, but even more than that, he’d told her they were irreplaceable. Not because he couldn’t buy another one, but because over time a photographer’s camera became a part of him, as if the physical characteristics of the equipment mutated with use to become unique to the photographer.
She dropped her things on the bed and crouched down next to the pile of equipment. She couldn’t tell if anything was missing. Maybe his agent Penny would have been able to, but she wasn’t here.
Kathryn went to stand and had to grab the wall when the room spun around her. She was beyond tired. She’d slept very little in the last two weeks, too worried about Dan. And then there’d been the flight yesterday—she could never sleep on planes—and the sleepless night in Minneapolis waiting for the morning so she could get here and start looking for him.
She sighed and began stripping off her clothes. The jacket came first, then her badge and her gun, which was the FBI standard issue .40 caliber Glock 23. She set both badge and gun on the table, placed her spare magazine next to the gun, then snapped her holster from her belt and threw it on the other bed on top of her jacket. Stepping out of her shoes, she left them where they were and skimmed off her jeans. She was about to toss them on the bed, then thought better of it and folded them instead. She hadn’t brought that many clothes with her. Knowing she’d be more comfortable wearing her usual work attire later tonight for the interview with Donlon, she pulled her slacks and blouse out of her case and hung them up in the closet, hoping to get rid of any wrinkles. She hated ironing, but didn’t want to present herself to Lucas Donlon looking like she’d slept on a plane, either.
Picking up her jacket and shoes, she shuffled over to the closet, dropped her shoes on the floor and hung up the jacket next to the pants and blouse. She eyed the bed warily, then yanked the bedspread down, piling it on the floor. She never slept on those things. They were crawling with bacteria. She was tired, but her mind was racing, and she knew she’d have to check out the witness interview from Sheriff Sutcliffe before she’d be able to sleep. Her knees sank into the too soft mattress as she dragged her laptop over and inserted the flash drive. She watched it all the way through, intending to go back and make notes on a second viewing. But when she reached across for her notepad and pen, her head spun dizzily. She put her head on the pillow, intending to close her eyes for only a moment. She registered that the sheets were surprisingly fresh and clean when she pulled them up to her chin. And that was it.
Chapter Three
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Lucas opened his eyes and stifled the immediate desire to groan. He was in Minneapolis. Not that this was a bad thing in itself. The Twin Cities were exciting and vibrant, and he maintained a residence here, which he visited several times a year. So, it wasn’t that he minded being in Minneapolis that made him swear with his first waking breath. It was the knowledge that he had to rush back to the ranch in South Dakota, because some damn FBI woman was coming to visit him tonight.
Visit. Huh. Interrogate was probably more like it. Lucas had never met a cop he trusted, and he’d met a lot of cops. He also admitted that this prejudice might have something to do with his misspent youth on the streets of Dublin and London, but that didn’t change the fact of the matter. Especially not when it came to cops and vampires. The people in charge never liked it when someone else was more powerful than they were. There was a level of distrust between vampires and the human authorities that would never go away, and he didn’t see that changing between now and later tonight when the FBI invaded his ranch.
A hot shower dispelled much of his bad mood, as did the memory of their successful hunt last night. He was standing in front of his closet, trying to decide whether to go with a business look for the FBI, or stick with jeans and leather, when his cell phone rang. He reached out and picked it up without looking.
“Yo, Nicholas,” he said.
“My lord,” his lieutenant responded. “I just spoke to Magda. Klemens called your private line.”
“She didn’t pick up,” Lucas confirmed. None of his people were allowed to pick up that line as long as he was alive to do it.
“No, my lord. But when you didn’t answer, he called the business number, and Magda told him you were unavailable. Nothing more.”
“Ah. I’m sure he’ll be—” He was interrupted by the incoming call signal. He pulled the cell phone away from his ear long enough to check the caller ID and then said to Nicholas, “Speak of the devil, and he will surely appear. Klemens is on call waiting. I’ll get back to you.” Lucas switched over to the incoming call with the flick of a finger. Modern technology was a marvelous thing!
“Klemens, old chap, what can I do for you? Or more to the point . . . to you?”
“Cut the crap, you fucking Irish gutter rat. Who the hell do you think you are taking out a house on my fucking territory!”
“Your territory? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I disciplined one of my vampires last night, along with his fellow traitors.”
“Two of those vampires you killed were mine, and you know it.”
“Two of yours? How sad. Well, as my dear old Gran used to say, if you lie down with dogs, boyo, you’ll surely get fleas.”
“Your fucking Gran was a pox-riddled whore on the streets of Dublin.”
Lucas laughed. “Quite right, Klemens. I had no idea you’d met her.”
“I’ve never been to that useless country of yours and never will. It’s full of thieves and drunks.”
“And the thieves are drunk, too!” Lucas agreed cheerfully. “Ah, good times. But I don’t think you called to stroll down memory lane with me. So the house was yours? Things get a little muddled that close to the border. And speaking of borders . . .” he added, as if it had just occurred to him. “Raphael is quite vexed with you, I’m afraid. Apparently you took a shot at him, and in Colorado, no less. Terribly bold, Klemens. Hitting Raphael on his own territory.”
“Stop babbling, you fool. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Ah, but you have heard about it. From whom, I wonder? I’m sure Raphael would dearly love to know.”
“I don’t give a shit what that bastard wants. If someone took a shot at him, more power to them.”
“I’m afraid not,” Lucas commiserated. “The sniper missed rather handily, and, from what I hear, he’s no longer among the living.”
“You want me to believe Raphael shares that kind of information with the likes of you? You can’t be trusted to keep your own secrets, much less anyone else’s.”
“True, but since Raphael is convinced you were behind the hit, we’ve become quite close. The enemy of my enemy, you know.”
Lucas could hear Klemens breathing hard, either trying to control his famous temper, or trolling through his thick brain for something clever to say.
“In any event,” Lucas said, continuing the conversation, such as it was, “if the house was yours, I did you a service by burning it to the ground. It was quite bloody when we finished. And there was dust everywhere.”
“This isn’t the end, Donlon,” Klemens snarled.
Lucas dropped his guise of humor, his voice hard when he said, “No, it’s not. This is just beginning.” He disconnected, not waiting to hear what would no doubt have been some obscenity-laced threat from Klemens. He punched up Nicho
las.
“Ten minutes, Nicholas, and we’re out of here.” He threw the phone down and pulled on a pair of worn and comfortable denims. He was in no mood to play nice for the fucking FBI.
Chapter Four
South Dakota
Kathryn swore as she missed her exit on I-90. She took the next off-ramp, doubled back and took the correct exit as her GPS began recalculating for her mistake. Sheriff Sutcliffe had been right. Lucas Donlon had an address, but not much of one. She frowned as the nice GPS lady told her to take the next right turn. She slowed, eyeing the unpaved road that presented itself. There were no lights out here, just her headlights and the full moon, which was barely peeking over the mountains. And there was a lot more snow on the ground, big clumps of it piled against boulders and beneath the trees. The so-called road was two strips of dirt, visible only because they were paler than the rough fields of grass and ice-pocked rock that surrounded them. But it had to be reasonably well traveled, or the two strips wouldn’t be worn away at all. Sutcliffe had also warned her that Donlon didn’t welcome visitors. Maybe leaving this unpaved was his way of discouraging people.
Unfortunately for him, Kathryn wasn’t going to be put off by a little rough road. She switched on her high beams and made the turn. A quarter of a mile later, she was having second thoughts. The other reason she’d chosen to rent a 4-wheel drive SUV was because she’d assumed that, in this part of the country, there would be the occasional dirt road to travel. But even then, she hadn’t counted on driving down dirt trails carved through unlit, half-frozen fields of knee-high grass and unfriendly looking trees. What sane person intentionally left the main road to his residence in such a dangerous condition? Especially since most of the traffic out here was probably after dark? Even a vampire had to leave his ranch eventually, and he’d have to take this road, too. The myth that vampires could fly was just that—a myth.
And what about his employees? There must be somebody who worked for him. They’d have to navigate this impossible thing every day! Her car hit two potholes in a row, one right after the other, nearly jerking the steering wheel out of her hands. She growled beneath her breath, keeping up a steady stream of muttered curses. She should report the bastard to OSHA. Serve him right. Maybe he didn’t worry about the FBI, but he’d sure as hell worry about the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. The sheer volume of paperwork they’d demand would make Donlon’s life a living hell. She grinned at the thought, then hit a new pothole and swore, “Stupid damn . . . oh.”
With no warning, the road evened out, becoming smooth as silk, her tires virtually humming over the hard surface. She loosened her grip on the wheel, shaking out her hands to restore circulation, feeling the nerves in her fingers and arms still vibrating after—she checked her GPS—only five miles of that tortuous road? It had seemed much farther than that.
But it was behind her now, and she was making good time on what the nav system told her was the last leg before her destination. She saw a flash of white in the distance as the road rose briefly before dipping into a deep ravine. When she came up the other side, a white rail fence was paralleling the road, and about a mile farther on, there was a white arching gate with a name stenciled overhead.
Kathryn slowed and made a right turn that took her through the open gate. Looking up, she saw that it wasn’t a name on the wooden arch above her, but a stylized D. The kind one associated with livestock brands, although she was fairly certain they didn’t brand animals anymore. She seemed to remember seeing a report on TV, or maybe it was the Internet, about how ranchers had gone to something more technological, like implanted data chips or something. If the vampire had herd stock, maybe she’d ask him about it. Although she found it unlikely that a vampire would actually raise cattle. A sudden thought struck her, and she frowned. Could a vampire exist on animal blood?
She shook off the unpleasant image that question conjured, and focused on the road in front of her, which wasn’t at all a straight line. It looped around stands of trees and grassy humps, many of which had piles of jagged boulders buried on their hillsides. In the far distance, silhouetted by the pale moon, was the sharp peak of LookoutMountain, which she recognized from the research she’d done online.
After a mile or so, another open arch appeared over the road, but this one was sturdier, made of beautiful river rock with wood accents. That same stylized D was worked into the wood. Jeez, maybe the guy was afraid he’d forget his name unless someone reminded him at every turn.
A stone wall angled out to either side of the entrance, tapering down to a low decorative border before it disappeared altogether in the deep grass. Two figures appeared beneath the arch as soon as her headlights splashed over its surface. They stood in the roadway, blocking her access. From their formidable size, she assumed they were male. One was a bit taller than the other—six-foot-two to his buddy’s five-nine—but they were both heavily muscled and moved with an economy of effort that told her they had some training. Obviously, this was Donlon’s security, although that was some serious heft for gate guards. And they weren’t relying on muscle alone, either. Both men were carrying what, from a distance, looked like H-K MP5 submachine guns on combat slings over their chests, and she wondered if they were licensed to carry that kind of weapon. South Dakota had some very liberal gun laws, but she didn’t know if they included the personal use of submachine guns.
Not that this was her problem. She wasn’t even here on official FBI business, much less anything else. She’d come here to interview a vampire. She snickered as she thought the words and only hoped her subject looked like Brad Pitt.
Focus, Kathryn!
She wished someone had interviewed Lucas Donlon, or any of the vampire lords. There had been scattered pieces here and there on the Internet, mostly blogs devoted to the paranormal genre. But even those gave away very little about the vampires themselves. She supposed living hundreds of years made one an expert at deflecting questions from nosy interviewers, especially given man’s violent history toward things he didn’t understand. But the sum total of what she’d been able to uncover about vampires—and she’d had a lot of places to look, given her job access—was very little.
Vampires were almost a nation within a nation. They policed their own people, and from what she’d been able to find out, tolerated no dissent. And as long as they didn’t cause any problems, like littering the streets with bloody bodies, the human authorities didn’t seem to mind. At least no one complained. The vampires even had a new ambassador of sorts in Washington, D.C., Duncan Milford. He was more of a lobbyist than an ambassador, representing vampire interests in the halls of Congress. It was the public information on Duncan more than any other that had given her most of what she knew.
As far as the local vampire bar, the one where her brother had been seen last, the witness, who was now out of touch in Afghanistan, claimed to have seen her brother speaking to a known vampire. He also thought they’d left together, although he hadn’t personally witnessed that part of the evening. He had seen them walk out the front door, but since he’d been inside the club, he couldn’t verify what had happened outside. He was, however, certain that the person with Daniel was a vampire, because he’d been to the club before, and apparently it was pretty obvious who was and wasn’t. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a name. Sheriff Sutcliffe’s report had gone on to say that there was one more witness who claimed he’d seen Daniel leave the bar with the vamp, but his report was questionable. He’d admitted to being drunk at the time, so drunk that he had no memory of his own actions later that night.
It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all Kathryn had. So, vampire honcho or not, Donlon was going to give her some answers.
* * * *
Lucas strode into his office, still pissed that he’d been forced to rush back here for the convenience of the FBI. He slumped down into the chair behind his desk and watched sullenly as Nicholas called Magda for a situation report.
“Talk to me, gorgeous,”
Nicholas said, then listened as Magda talked. He laughed abruptly. “Not happy, I can tell you that. Okay, see you in a few.” He disconnected and regarded Lucas warily.
“The FBI has landed, my lord,” he said. “She’s on her way up to the house as we speak.”
“Shit.” Lucas looked away, thinking. “Did Magda see her?”
“No, but she got a report from Kofi at the checkpoint. He says she’s right proper.”
“I swear that limey bastard just says stuff like that to piss me off.”
Nick chuckled. “I believe he means she’s buttoned up tight, stick up her butt, by the rules . . . Shall I go on, my lord?”
“No. Fuck. I know what it means. I suppose I have to meet with her.”
Nicholas gave him a disbelieving look. “I thought that’s why we rushed back here.”
“I know, I know. All right.” Lucas tapped one finger on the arm of his chair. “Have Magda meet her and bring her in. Tell her to take it slow, sit and chat a bit. And tell Maggie to play it human. Maybe our FBI visitor will give something away if she thinks she’s speaking to a sympathetic ear.”
Nick dipped his head briefly. “My lord.”
“And, Nick.” Nicholas stopped in the doorway, looking back. “Make sure you come back. I want you with me.”
“Aw, come on, Lucas.”
“Fuck that. I’m not suffering alone.”
* * * *
Kathryn braked to a stop with the front end of her SUV just beneath the arch of the stone gate. It was either that or run over the big guy standing in the middle of the road glowering at her. And his finger looked a mite too twitchy on the trigger for her peace of mind. She caught movement in her side mirror. The second guard had circled around her vehicle and was coming up on the driver’s side from the back. Probably hoping to surprise her, maybe watch her jump when he tapped on her window unexpectedly. Not gonna happen.
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