by Virna DePaul
“Right,” he said. “The ones selling humans as blood slaves. And, I’m guessing from what you’ve told me, selling teenage humans as sex slaves,” Nick said grimly.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I hooked up with a Rogue vampire named Joseph Powell. And he led me to Jane—virtually, anyway. And then I found my way to you.”
Nick nodded. He’d been right, of course. Her latest mission, not desire, had brought Barrett back to him. It seemed, however, that she was leaving a lot unsaid. Hell. If she wanted help, she was going to have to be more forthcoming.
“Fill me in on a few facts,” he said. He wanted to ask her about her reference to hooking up with Powell and what that meant, but he held back. He was no saint. There were a lot of things he wouldn’t tell her and he wasn’t going to judge her.
She gave him a mulish look that he remembered all too well. “I’ve told you the relevant facts. Why isn’t that enough?”
“This is the first I’ve heard of Belladonna,” he began.
“Then I guess we’re doing something right.”
Nick studied her set expression. He might be better off using his intuition instead of trying to coax further information out of her. So her fellow agent Peter Lancaster was a turned vampire—and apparently not the only one given Barrett had referred to “others.” That fact alone had his mind racing. The List specifically targeted those turneds who were a threat. It was a safe bet that since Lancaster was working for the FBI, he wasn’t one. Even so, Nick knew better than anyone that could change at any moment, and he didn’t like the idea of Barrett being around when it did.
“So,” she said in a light tone he knew was forced, before he could say anything further. “Are you in?”
Nick didn’t reply right away. “Back to Jane? Of course I’ll help you, but I can’t do it officially. Like I said, I have my own missions to accomplish.” Including finding out if Tim Murphy is still on my mountain, Nick thought.
“That’s fine with me. My superiors at Belladonna know what I’m doing, but the fewer people who do, the better.”
“Well, I’m happy to help, you know that. But I have to think about how to do it and I need a little time.”
He could feel her tense and draw back. Didn’t take much for Barrett to stop believing. But given that she wasn’t necessarily on the side of the angels, he had to cover his ass.
“You mentioned a superior?”
Barrett shrugged, a troubled look in her eyes. “A woman named Carly.”
“And this Carly—she’s okay with you officially following up on something that personal?”
A flash of anger lit up Barrett’s blue eyes. “I don’t care if Carly’s okay with it or not. I have to find Jane.”
He paused, thinking before he spoke. He couldn’t tell her that The List was a mandate to assassinate turned vampires. What if he eventually had to take out one of her colleagues? He chose his next words carefully. “Barrett, you know what could happen. In certain situations, emotional involvement can affect your judgment. You could shoot and miss—”
“Like you?”
Nick scowled, his lips compressed in a thin line.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Like me. Which is a good point, because we can’t forget that …
thing that attacked you is probably still at large on my mountain.”
“You keep calling it a thing, but I can tell you know what it is. Are you going to tell me?”
She didn’t miss a trick. Never had. “You tell me only what you think is relevant and I’ll do the same,” Nick answered. “That’s the way you want to play it, isn’t it?”
“Maybe I can connect the dots myself.”
He blew out a frustrated breath, ignoring the jab.
She winced, seeming to regret her sarcasm. “Sorry. But I would like to know.”
“If you need to know, you will. One thing at a time, Barrett.”
“I just wish there was a way to—” She broke off, thoughtful again. “Never mind. Maybe I am too close to the case.”
No kidding. Emotionally, she was all over the place. “While we’re on that subject, do you mind telling me who at Belladonna decides what’s a case and what’s not?”
“Carly. Sight unseen. She talks to us through an intercom.”
“Huh. So she doesn’t want to look anyone in the eye. Ever wonder why?”
“Sometimes. I don’t know why she does things that way. From what I’ve been able to piece together, I think she lost someone important to her. Someone named Ben Porter. Maybe she just has to hide her grief. Who knows. But can we stay on track, Nick? We seem to be having two different conversations.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. She desperately wanted only one thing: a guarantee of his help finding Jane, whereas Nick wanted to know more about Belladonna. Something about the operation didn’t seem to add up and he wasn’t sure how to ask Barrett for more information.
“Sure. You do the talking, I’ll do the listening.” He had an uneasy feeling that a trap had been set somewhere, somehow. Not necessarily for him. Maybe not even for Barrett. Fools rush in, he reminded himself silently. And fools fucked up.
“For starters, Peter was no help. They can’t pinpoint the website.”
Nick absorbed that information. “I might not be able to, either, not right away. URLs for sites like that sometimes change several times a day. They gotta keep ahead of the law.”
“When and if the law is looking.” She crumpled her napkin and threw it onto the table. “Doesn’t sound to me like you really want to take this on.”
“I want to help you,” Nick insisted in an irritated tone. “But, Barrett, you have to slow down. In a case like this, you have to consider every step you make. Jane could vanish forever if seeing you on the other end of that transmission scared them off. The only way we can narrow this down is by finding out where she is. So you talk to the last people who saw her. And they would be?”
“Her aunt and uncle. The Prescotts. Ginny and Malcolm.” Barrett pressed her lips together tightly, her eyes suspiciously wet. “Ginny tracked me down when Jane went missing. She gave me the information about Dante. When and where she last saw Jane. She gave me a current picture of her, which we distributed to law enforcement agencies all across the nation. Nothing so far.”
“Well you don’t have nothing anymore. You saw who has her. You know it’s related to SexFlash. Go back and interview Jane’s aunt and uncle. You know him well?”
“Not at all. I’ve always talked to Ginny when I called.”
He nodded, but she didn’t need him to tell her what was on his mind. Often young females were sexually abused by those closest to them. She needed to check into the uncle. She’d known it before, she just hadn’t had the chance to do it yet given her involvement with Powell.
“I need to talk to them. Both of them. Face to face,” she confirmed.
“Lucky for them you have such a beautiful one,” he said, with no hint of teasing in his voice but a whole lot of memories and regret.
The waiter returned with a leather folder holding the check and a pen, and placed it on the table. Nick opened it and signed using an alias, Josh Howard.
“Am I Mrs. Howard?” she asked, needing to lighten the tension caused by his compliment.
“For the night, yeah. Don’t worry. I’m not making any moves.” Maybe it was wishful thinking, but her eyes seemed to flash with a hint of disappointment. It made Nick draw a silent breath and reconsider what he’d said. After all, him wanting to make a move on her had never been in question—whether she’d want him to had been.
“I was just thinking that I need some fake IDs myself,” she said brightly. “I had a couple in another bag I left in the car. Those have to be reported as destroyed before I can get reissues.”
“Why wait? We can stop by the copy shop out by the college. They do good work.”
“Gee, thanks for the tip,” Barrett said dryly. “Sooner or later, I’m betting I’m going to have to go undercover for
this thing.”
“Is that step two? Got a location in mind?”
“You tell me, Nick.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you for help when I don’t even know how you can.”
“But you did,” he said calmly. “So let’s take it from here. Keeping in mind that I’m not going to always be available. I just can’t be. I—I have important work I’m doing. Work I can’t tell you about, so please don’t ask.”
Barrett looked like she wanted to argue with him but stopped herself. “Fine.”
“We’re going to have to wing it. I haven’t done this kind of thing stateside. And we both know that looking for Jane is going to be like looking for a wave in the ocean. You”—he pointed to her—“are going to be doing most of the work for starters. That’s how it has to be. Agreed?”
Barrett held her head high. “I don’t mind investigating on my own. I will if I have to.”
He held up a hand to stop her. “Whoa. I’m not done. I forgot to ask when you’re going back to D.C.”
She gave him a long look. “Soon. Maybe tomorrow.”
“All right. So we have tonight.”
“To recover. And regroup. That’s all.”
So there it was. Nick had been put in his place. Still, he’d achieved his immediate objective: getting her to set her emotions aside and focus on what needed doing. If she needed to give him a little hell, he could handle it.
He didn’t argue with her reply, just got up when she did and followed her out of the restaurant. He put a hand on the small of her back to guide her to the elevators.
Barrett didn’t seem bothered by the gesture.
In fact, it might have been his imagination again, but he was pretty damn certain she leaned in to his touch.
Nick unlocked the door to their suite and waved her inside. Barrett disappeared into her room and rifled through the big plastic bag from the gift shop. After everything that had been said, everything that had happened, all she wanted was twenty minutes in the pool. Not to swim but to float on her back. Looking up at the stars. Hearing nothing but the lapping of water. Just drifting.
Nick knocked on her door just when she’d slipped the gauze top over the bikini.
“Yes?”
“Hey. It’s me. I know you’re probably ready to turn in but—”
“I don’t think I can sleep, Nick. Not for a while. I was about to check out the pool, if you really want to know.”
“Oh.” There was a pause. “Mind if I join you? I’d just like to stay close. There’s a lot going down and a lot to think about. Your safety, first of all.”
Second time he’d mentioned that. Barrett could take care of herself, but under the circumstances, it would be a good idea to have him there. “Okay.”
“Meet you there in five, then.”
She padded barefoot down the plushly carpeted hall and pushed open the glass door that led to the outdoor area and the infinity pool. Its far edge was aligned with the terrace railing, giving the illusion that one could swim off the building into the air. There was no one else there. Barrett counted three security cameras, slowly panning the terrace. She was probably safe enough. But she was relieved when she saw Nick come through the glass doors.
He walked over to her, looking around. “Spectacular pool. You going in?”
She nodded.
“I can’t. No trunks. I’ll just take a chaise and watch, if you don’t mind.”
“Suit yourself.” She waited until he turned around to find one, then took off the gauze top, lifting it quickly over her head and dropping it onto the slatted surround.
Barrett went down the low ladder into the shallow end without making a sound. The rippling water enfolded her. She pushed away from the tiled wall, keeping her head high as she stroked out into the middle of the pool.
Then she rolled over onto her back, making tiny motions with her hands to stay more or less where she was, looking up at the dark sky, thinking about nothing at all.
Chapter 5
High above in the penthouse suite someone else was watching her. Vladimir Ouspensky was mesmerized by the shimmering woman, her pale, slender body stark against the midnight blue of the water. He opened the window and leaned out slightly.
“What are you looking at?” His girlfriend—he disliked the childish American term but he had to call Tamsin something—came over to see for herself.
“Not what. Who. A woman. She is beautiful.”
Vladimir adjusted the thick towel wrapped around his loins, too vain to cover up his torso or legs with a robe. He was impressively built for his breed, smooth-skinned and muscular with glossy dyed black hair that reached below his shoulders. Both nipples were pierced with platinum rings. His tongue had been pierced, too, with several studs precisely placed to intensify female pleasure—or pain—depending on his mood.
Tamsin pressed past him, her scantily clad flesh warm with the heat of the bed she’d just left. “Think so? She’s a blonde. You don’t like blondes.”
She turned her cat-shaped face to him, pushing back the tumbling dark waves that framed it. Her sensual moves had been thoroughly practiced. Less than two weeks ago, she’d been crowned queen of a private pageant in Miami. For call girls only. There had been no swimsuit competition, of course. Just world-class naked women, strutting in impossibly high heels in front of rows of well-dressed johns.
There had been quite a bit of bending over and bouncing. The talent show was a lascivious extravaganza, topped off with a girl-on-girl threesome that had the men crazed with lust. Human males were conspicuously lacking in self-control in such an environment. He felt nothing but contempt for them.
His darling Tamsin had stuck to singing and come in fifth. But Vladimir had paid off the judges to boost her points in the most important category, Sexy Bitch, for an overall win and a crystal tiara. Then he’d paid her to fly north with him.
“My interest is purely professional, my dear.” Vladimir placed a cigarette between his thin lips and lit it. He blew the smoke out the open window. “That stupid manager has hired too many brunettes for Club Red and the opening is not far away.”
When it came to acquiring females for the club, he no longer had Daria and Oksana to rely on. They’d been picked up during some kind of raid on Salvation’s Crossing. Whatever bargain they’d struck with the cops and prosecutors, and he was sure they had, he knew they’d be smart enough not to mention him. Even so, since Vladimir could no longer count on them to provide fresh faces for his latest enterprise, he’d had to explore other “headhunters,” so to speak. This time, his best recruiter was a man—or to be more precise, a human male turned vampire—and he obviously didn’t like blondes. Vladimir had been meaning to have a talk with him about his shortsightedness, but unfortunately he had more pressing concerns to think about—like the fact Club Red had run wildly overbudget.
Even so, it ought to turn a profit soon enough given Vladimir was planning to cater to the überwealthy, human and vampire included.
For humans (or at least those who wanted to pretend they were human), the club’s main area was huge, with a vaulted ceiling and three levels for dancers to entertain the patrons. Private rooms were located on the uppermost level, where expensive whores—also paying a cut to the house—could see to clients behind closed doors.
As for his other patrons? The richest vampires of his acquaintance, though they were few in number, could safely indulge their guilty pleasures below the main level, in a hidden palace of vice. Betting on staged blood sports—with a generous cut taken by the house—would rake in hundreds of thousands per event, but the secret auction of teenage girls—Vladimir’s idea—would earn much more. The fighting arena was nearly completed and the machinery installed for the cage to be suspended above a pit. The stage for the auction of girl slaves, a separate and more intimate space, had been finished to his satisfaction. Every seat had an unobstructed view of the innocents who would be chained to the block for inspection and sale.
&
nbsp; He returned his attention to the woman in the pool, toying with the idea of installing something like it for an indoor swimming revue. Naked girls, their heads underwater, legs spread far apart in synchronized splits—lovely and a guaranteed moneymaker. Coins in the fountain.
“Why are you smirking?” Tamsin asked. “She’s probably not even a natural blonde.”
Vladimir was not inclined to argue, though he doubted that Tamsin’s snippy remark was accurate.
“What could she do that I couldn’t do?” Tamsin persisted. “Besides, you don’t know a damn thing about her. She’s just some chick swimming.”
“She has something special.”
“I don’t see it.” Tamsin shivered dramatically. “Ooh, I’m cold. Close the window.”
“In a moment. Go sit on the couch.”
She seemed about to protest, but obviously the flash of silver in his hooded eyes made her obey with obvious reluctance. For a few moments, she sulked in silence. Vladimir smoked a little longer, thinking that she might need to be turned over his knee and properly disciplined. Perhaps later. She did like it.
“Looking at her, Tamsin, I am reminded that we need a hostess. For the first level.”
“Not some stranger, Vladdy. What are you planning to do, swim out there and hand her your business card?”
“No. There are other ways.”
“Come on. I could do it,” she whined.
“You will be in charge of the VIP rooms and the bottle service. Just think of the money you’ll make off rich fools.”
