As the agents filed out, ADIC Hernandez walked up to them. “Good job, Reyes. Harris. Rupert. I’ll let you know later how the legal eagles have fared with our wiretap requests.”
“David and Hank will be staying behind to finalize any last-minute details this morning. I’ll be gone for an hour or so—”
“To see Max Moreno,” Jesus interjected.
Diana nodded as she banged some papers on the tabletop to straighten their edges. “Maybe he’ll finally be willing to provide some information.”
“What about Rodriguez?” Jesus asked.
“The D.A. isn’t pressing charges.”
“What do you plan to do about de la Fuente’s lawyer?” David asked.
“We owe Martinez a visit. I want to make sure he knows he’s going down.”
Rupert shifted uncomfortably at her words. “Do you think that’s wise?”
Her voice was cold as she answered, “I want to break him, Hank.” Mainly because she suspected Sylvia’s partner had fingered Sylvia for execution.
“It is your case, Special Agent in Charge Reyes. It’ll be your ass that gets fried if we fail.” Rupert shrugged and walked away.
She stood there with her ADIC and partner, waiting until the CIA agent was long gone before asking, “Why do I feel that he isn’t necessarily on our side?”
Chapter 12
S tacia lounged on the ledge of the building, waiting for yet another glimpse of the woman Ryder had visited the other morning. She’d caught only the end of their very passionate display, but it had been enough to compel her interest, not to mention her already growing desire for the handsome vampire.
The scant show had convinced her that beneath Ryder’s exterior existed a passion such as she hadn’t experienced in many centuries. Not even Diego, one of her favorites, could match it. Especially not now, when despite her taking of him, lordly Diego had been pining for his beloved serving wench Esperanza. The vision they had shared during their interlude—the one of his lover’s desiccated remains—had been enough to drain all the enjoyment from the encounter and leave her wanting someone else. Someone who could give her more.
After thousands of years of existence, she craved unique experiences, uncommon lovers, to break the boredom. To fill the loneliness of the interminable days.
Ryder seemed to be just what she needed. On so many levels.
But there was one thing in the way—this human.
A car finally pulled up to the curb. Ryder must have bitten the woman, for her energy sang much like his. Strong. Resolute. Honorable.
She sniffed disdainfully. Honor was decidedly lacking in most of those who yielded to her charms. As for the others, like Diego and his human wannabes, she considered it a treat to suck the last remnants of virtue from them. To make them acknowledge the pleasure to be found in the embrace of the beast.
The woman below—heading now to the entrance of the building—was filled with not only that vile virtue, but with a rich opulent darkness Stacia had never sensed before in a mortal.
Delicious.
She better understood Ryder’s fascination now. This woman enriched his power.
Together these two…
Hunger rose up, sharp and demanding as she imagined them joined, making love, imagined feeding from them, fueling herself with their essences, with life, rich with passion and…Could it be love? Real love unlike any she had ever experienced in her undead lifetime?
She needed to know more.
Although the woman would shortly be within reach, Stacia sensed she could not be taken easily.
Ryder on the other hand…
Ryder, beneath the demon, was a man. Throughout the ages, men succumbed all too easily to the charms of a beautiful woman.
A man didn’t exist, either alive or undead, who could forego her allure.
With that self-assurance, she went in search of Ryder, certain he would be either at the Lair or the Blood Bank, licking his wounds after the human’s rejection. By the time the dawn came, she was sure he would be licking something else.
“Millions of people walking around. Millions of women, waiting to be relished and here we sit,” Diego said, slurping down a sip of blood.
Ryder nodded, understanding Diego’s frustration. “Stacia and you—”
“She’s a witch, that one,” Diego mumbled beneath his breath.
“I thought she was a vamp?” he teased his friend, trying to drag him out of his morose mood.
“You do not understand, mi amigo. When she takes you…It is like nothing you’ve ever experienced and yet…” His voice trailed off at the end, uncertain.
“But you went with her.”
“Afterward, it is something you never want to experience again. She leaves you…empty.”
Ryder laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I know it’s been hard for you, but there are other vamps out there. Female vamps besides Stacia.”
Diego laughed harshly. “Really? Care to join me in this quest, or do you plan on waiting for the human?”
Diana had made it clear she wanted it over between them, no matter how much they cared for one another. Would he ever be able to yank her from his heart? And if not, how long could he wait for her to change her mind?
“Forever is a long time,” Diego said.
Humans didn’t have forever, Ryder thought. In what might seem like the blink of an eye to a vamp, a human’s life came and disappeared. Then others were born and just as quickly dwindled away.
“Have you ever…loved a human?” Ryder asked the older vamp, convinced that he couldn’t be alone in caring for a mortal.
“No. Nunca. That will bring only pain.” Certainty colored Diego’s words.
“And Stacia?”
“Ah, Stacia.” Diego raised his glass and drained the remaining blood. “Stacia will twist you in knots with wanting her,” he said, wrenching his fists back and forth, almost angrily, in emphasis. “You will be on your knees, begging her to take you in. Begging for her bite, and when her teeth sink in…” Diego dropped his hands. “You want her to keep on sucking. To take all of you until nothing remains. Until you are just a big pile of bone and muscle waiting to turn to dust.”
When Diego whipped his head around, despair lingered in his gaze. He longed for the vampire he had loved, but also, for an end to his loneliness.
Ryder understood the loneliness well. Before Diana…
He wouldn’t think about what it had been like before or what it would be like after she died. Why borrow trouble? Laying a hand on Diego’s arm, he said, “It’s time to let go. To think about finding someone else.”
“And you? Will you let go of her, as well, amigo?”
Sorrow came quickly, wrenching his gut and his heart. Despite that, he knew his friend was right. He had to let go.
“Let’s get out of here.” He stood and surveyed Manhattan from the balcony ledge.
Diego shot an uneasy glance up at him. “Where?”
He thought about the Blood Bank, but Stacia was sure to be there. He wanted a safer venue. “The Lair. We’ll find our share of women there on a Saturday night.”
Diego snorted, but still he stood and, without a second thought, leaped off the ledge.
Ryder followed.
Being tall, dark and dangerous had definite advantages. Ryder wrapped an arm around the bare midriff of the young woman next to him. She moved easily, her svelte body graceful as she da
nced. Her dark shoulder-length hair shifted with the movement of her body. Hips swaying against his, she tried to entice his erection to life, but it wasn’t happening. Just as it hadn’t happened with the three other women he had danced with since arriving at the Lair.
When the song ended, he excused himself and left Diego on the dance floor. He needed wine to wash away the lingering taste of the blood he and Diego had shared earlier. Blood-bag blood. Nothing like…
He refused to dwell upon the sweetness of Diana’s blood in his mouth, singing through his veins.
As he approached the bar, he slowed. Stacia. He smelled her. The scent of orange blossoms.
They rubbed them into my skin and buried me with them, Stacia said in his mind.
He turned on his heel, looking for her.
Have you missed me?
No.
Her husky chuckle, ripe with promise, echoed through his skull.
Liar. She abruptly stood in front of him, but not in her vamp getup. Gone was the leather, replaced by a black halter top and sinfully low-rise black jeans. They exposed an enticing amount of skin and toned muscle. A ring of woven gold pierced her navel much like the smaller one threaded through her brow. She could have been any one of the young women crowding the club.
But I’m not anything like them, beloved. She laid a hand on his chest.
Much as he had been during every other encounter, he was fascinated. Especially since, with the leather gone…
She looked so much like Diana. So human.
I can be whatever you like.
As she said that, she opened the first button on his black cotton shirt and then another, enough to part the fabric to midchest. She placed her hand there and it was warm. Mortally warm.
You drained someone? He covered her hand with his. Her skin was soft and his touch roused the fragrance of flowers once more. But beneath that scent…He inhaled deeply. The aroma of her was intoxicating, musky femininity flush with need.
She closed the distance between them. “No draining, my love. I know how much you hate that thought. Just a little nip, here and there. Like a hummingbird sampling nectar.”
Her breath bathed his cheek. Mortally warm and with the clean scent of mint, not blood. When her lips slipped over the line of his jaw, to his ear, he placed his hand at her waist. Her skin was smooth, absent the chill of the undead. Her muscles toned and hard.
“You like this, don’t you?” she whispered. “You like that I look like her. That I’m warm like her.”
“You can’t ever be her,” he said, but despite that, he groaned as she eased her hand beneath his shirt and traced the edge of his nipple.
No, love, I can’t ever be her. But you can’t ever have her again, can you? She brought her hips to caress his, dragging another unwilling moan from him.
“Dance with me,” she commanded softly, her lips hovering over his mouth.
Just a dance, he thought, not wanting to anger her. She had too much power to risk that.
You can have that power, as well. You can feel that power in your hands. Surrounding you. Suck that power within you.
As if to prove her point, a wave of energy built around them and with a slight motion of her hand, it crashed over him, filling him with so much sensation his head spun and every inch of his body flared to life. It was like being drunk on some intoxicating liquor, everything alive and yet woozy, every part of his body craving more.
“Stacia.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, needing stability. It brought his aroused body against hers and she moaned, equally caught up in the explosion of energy she had released.
“That’s just the start, beloved. Imagine it.” She moved the hand trapped between their bodies downward until she stroked him slowly through his jeans. When she whispered into his ear, her voice was needy, on the edge of pain. “Imagine my warmth, Ryder. Like her, only forever.”
Ryder gulped in a breath and she filled his senses again. The orange blossoms, so heady. The musk of her arousal, so…human. Her dark hair brushed against his face. Silky. Soft.
When she shifted her mouth and put her lips to his, her fresh breath spilled against him, was alive in his mouth as her tongue darted in.
She moaned with a human need long unsatisfied. “Ryder, please.”
God help him, he was fighting a losing battle to ignore her plea.
Chapter 13
D iana couldn’t say no. It was part of her job to get whatever information she could for her team. Even if that meant meeting Alex in the safe house—a place that wasn’t necessarily so safe for her.
She couldn’t explain why she felt the way she did. It wasn’t a secret tryst or anything. So why had Alex stayed on her mind in a much too personal way since the other night?
Maybe because it had felt so normal, the voice of reason interjected.
It had felt right, she reluctantly admitted. Right in a way she could never have with Ryder. Another reason why she needed to forget Ryder and to get on with her life—a life not filled with the undead.
Being with Alex—it had almost been like before her father’s death and darkness had gripped her life, before she had left Alex and let her world spiral out of control.
A part of her reasoned that if Alex truly cared, she wouldn’t have been able to push him away quite so easily. But as memories filled her of just how many times he had tried to break past the walls she had erected, it occurred to her that it hadn’t been easy for him. He had battled hard for her, but lost.
She had expected it might be difficult to see him again after so many years. And yet once they’d gotten past that initial discomfort, it had been relatively painless to slip into the patterns of old. Maybe too painless. But it also felt different in a way that piqued her curiosity. Different because Alex was definitely not the same man he had been nearly a decade ago.
In the past few days she had spent too much time thinking about him during those very rare moments when she wasn’t concentrating on a case that was going nowhere. For every move they made, the CDA seemed to be one move ahead. Moreno hadn’t cracked. De la Fuente wasn’t talking. Martinez hadn’t broken a sweat when she’d visited him.
Luckily, Alex thought he had a lead and so here she was, waiting for him to arrive. Her stomach grumbled and she hoped Alex would think to bring dinner. He always seemed to know just how to satisfy…
She stopped herself right there. Instead, she set the table in anticipation of a meal. If Alex hadn’t thought to bring food…
He opened the door and stepped inside, a bag in his hand from another of the Cuban restaurants along Bergenline.
She smiled. “You read my mind.”
A dark, dangerous look crept onto his face. When he spoke, the tones of his voice were bedroom-low. “Can you read mine?”
Dios mio, but he couldn’t possibly be thinking that, she worried and bit her lower lip. Heat flared within her at the recollection of what that look used to mean.
A moment later, however, he grinned, his teeth white against his tanned skin, his green eyes sparkling with merriment.
“Gotcha. Actually, I was thinking of how cute it is to see you being all domestic,” he said as he sauntered over in another pair of wickedly tight jeans and placed the bag in the center of the table.
She playfully poked the hard muscle of his midsection with a fork. “Not fair, Alexito.”
Grinning again, he snatched the utensil from her f
ingers. “Alexito. No one else has ever called me that.”
Wanting to get even for his earlier little prank, she teased in a falsetto, “‘Oh, Alexito. Please, Alexito. A little more, Papi.’”
He shifted closer and brought his hand to her waist, inched his mouth near to her ear to whisper, “Not since you, amorcito. The rest wouldn’t dare.”
Even through the cotton of her shirt the heat of his hand enticed her. The slight roughness of his palm when it snagged the fabric made her think of his hand brushing over other places—sensitive places—as he busied himself with removing the takeout from the bag.
Danger, Diana. She was obviously confused and on the rebound. That was the reason for all these erotic thoughts.
“So what have you heard?” she asked, trying to force the discussion back to business.
Alex glanced at her shrewdly, obviously aware of her ploy. She also knew that for the moment, he was content to play her game. But only for the moment. That was also clear.
“Heard a rumor that Lopez loaned the weapon to the Colombians.”
“With the attack supposedly weeks away?” She joined Alex in opening up the assorted aluminum plates holding the food. No choices tonight, she realized. Just roast pork, rice and black beans with the obligatory sides of both ripe and green plantains. The aroma from the pork was heavenly, a mix of citrus, garlic and cumin. The beans had an earthier scent, but just as delicious.
“Lopez isn’t stupid. He’s got to have a reason why he would give up the weapon. A very good reason.”
“Which we don’t know,” she reminded him.
He paused with a forkful of rice and beans halfway to his mouth. “No, we don’t. What I do know is that someone is headed to Corona tomorrow to pick it up.”
“Well, that’s a start. Do you know where?” While Corona wasn’t very large, it might be difficult to track Lopez along the tight city streets.
Death Calls Page 9
