by Virna DePaul
It had to have happened after they’d both returned to the U.S. She put the photo back in its secret place, searching for the right words to make up for her blunder. “I’m so sorry. So so sorry. But you know how I feel, Nick. You know about Noah—”
“It’s not the same. Not at all.”
Barrett felt even worse. She should have kept her mouth shut and not offered those meaningless words as comfort. She had endured similar comments from wellmeaning relatives and friends when Noah died.
I understand exactly how you feel.
No one had. No one could.
I was just like you. I cried a river—surviving doesn’t always make you feel lucky, does it? Especially under the circumstances, with you right there and nothing you could do to save him.
A shake of the head. A pat on the hand and an offered tissue.
But I stopped crying. Like you will. Life goes on, Barrett.
Yes and no. Nothing was like anything else when you lost a beloved brother. Noah wasn’t replaceable.
“He was five years younger, to answer your question,” Nick said in a controlled voice.
“That’s right. But—but what were you talking about before? Why didn’t you want me to see his picture?”
“Because I killed him.”
She inhaled a soundless breath.
“I killed him,” Nick repeated. “He begged me to.”
Barrett went numb.
“Gary had been turned. He’d seen action before me. He’d suffered injuries to his back and PTSD. When the FBI went looking for volunteers for its turning program, he was one of the first in line.”
Oh, God. Oh no.
The List.
She thought of Murphy, the turned vampire that had attacked her, and the way he’d smelled. Rotting flesh. Nick’s brother, Gary.
“I didn’t even know about it. I’d been overseas, of course. He didn’t tell me. But when the FBI approached me, it wasn’t just so I’d kill a bunch of turned vampires. Gary said it was what he wanted. He’d talked about me. He told people that he—that he loved—”
Nick’s voice broke and Barrett started to move toward him.
His hand shot out, holding her back. “No,” he shook his head. “No! Don’t you see, Barrett? Gary was on The List. You think you’re to blame for Noah’s death. Bullshit. But me? I drove an arrow into my brother’s heart and killed him.”
Nick stopped. The silence seemed endless.
She didn’t want to, but her mind immediately went there, picturing what the scene must have looked like. Nick, reeling from the news that his brother had not only been turned but was going insane. Suffering. His brother needing to be put out of his misery. Wanting Nick to do it.
Oh, God. Oh, God.
Nick.
“Jesus.” Her mind was reeling.
He looked up at her, and her eyes were riveted on Nick’s dark gaze. It glistened with unshed tears.
“Baby,” she whispered. “Did your parents—did you tell them?”
“They died in a car crash a few months earlier. If they’d been alive …” The tears fell now, all the more poignant because he immediately tried to swipe them away. Only more followed. “I don’t think I could have done it. But I had to. I had to. I had to. He was suffering. I had to. If you could only have seen him. I had to.”
She couldn’t take it any longer. She took him into her arms.
His body shook with his low moans of despair.
She rocked him. She kissed his tears away. Tears she knew he hated her seeing.
Finally, she gave her heart to him, this man who loved so much, who wanted only to protect those he loved from harm.
“Nick,” she said. “Of course you had to. You did what you thought was right. You did.”
It took a long time, but eventually he quieted. She continued to hold him in silence.
Then she said, “You loved him, Nick. You did what you had to for him. Just like—just like you love me. I’d want you to do it for me if it came to that, and you would. I’d do the same for you. I’d want to die myself, I might even try to make it happen, but I’d do it. I would.”
He raised his face. Looked at her as if he didn’t quite believe her. Then he closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against hers.
Later that night, after they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms, Barrett thought about everything they’d said to each other that day. It was almost too much to process, but she had no choice.
Nick Maltese had killed his younger brother. And she’d chosen him to help her find a vulnerable girl.
Something should have been radically wrong with that picture.
But nothing was. She’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Nick had been Gary’s only salvation because only he could have done such a difficult thing. A man that strong was someone Barrett could rely on to protect her.
To protect her and Jane.
When she finally went to sleep, she had no doubts about her feelings for Nick or her trust in him. Dreams, however, plagued her. And when she woke, her heart thumping and sweat covering her body, suspicion was the first thing she felt. Suspicion that both she and Nick were being lied to.
Barrett shook Nick awake.
“What is it?”
“Nick, I know you’re tired, but I have to talk to you.”
He stared at her with sleepy eyes before his expression turned to dread.
She immediately shook her head. “No. Nothing’s changed, Nick. I didn’t suddenly decide that you’re a monster because you did what you did for Gary.”
“Then what?”
“I’ve been dreaming … and thinking … about Murphy. The possible mole in the FBI. About Gary.”
“So tell me.”
“First, I need you to answer some questions about Murphy.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Do you think Murphy had anything to do with the SexFlash operation?”
“I have no reason to think so. I can’t tell you anything for sure except he was halfway to dead—you got a whiff of him.”
“So he was like Gary?”
“Gary was nowhere near that far gone. Nor were the others that I killed.”
“So obviously the turneds you’re hunting are getting worse with time.”
“I’d say that. Gary still had moments of lucidity. He could still ask. Beg.” He closed his eyes, obviously fighting off bad memories, before determinedly continuing. “Murphy seemed much farther gone. And batshit crazy. Full neuron-rage.”
“Nothing we’ve heard suggests born vampires have experienced anything like this.”
“It’s a result of the turning.”
“But not all turneds. My friends Peter, Ty, and Ana, they’re perfectly fine.”
She saw his expression close up. “For now. Doesn’t mean it’s not coming, Barrett.”
“I know that, but you’re assuming it will. Why?”
“I don’t understand.”
“You assumed it was coming because you trusted the FBI. Now we know there’s probably an FBI mole. If that’s the case, what if the turneds they’ve targeted are different from others? What if the FBI took their experimenting one step further, and gave a select group of them something to see if their powers could be enhanced?”
He seemed to be considering the possibility.
“Something that poisoned them,” she continued. “They’d need to get rid of the evidence, the same way they formed Belladonna to get rid of the evidence that Rogues are engaged in criminal activity so they could keep the Turning Program going.”
Nick stiffened. “What?” he whispered. “The Turning Program has been shut down.”
Barrett frowned. “Not according to what I know.”
“Then you don’t know shit.”
“Nick—”
“You’re wrong,” Nick said abruptly. “About the Turning Program still being in effect and about the FBI poisoning Gary. You’re grasping for straws because you don’t want to acknowledge
the possibility that your friends are in danger.”
“That’s one concern, yes, but—”
“Damn it, Barrett,” he roared, “it’s the only possibility. Or else I’ve been working for the same assholes who did that to my brother. Assholes who are continuing to turn humans into vampires, knowing the irrevocable damage they’re inflicting.”
“But you already knew that they’d done it to Gary. How is it different if they went a step further?”
“Because he volunteered for it. And the FBI admitted to it. If what you’re saying is true, they lied to me. They fucking fooled me and I’ve been doing their dirty work for them. No. It’s not true.”
He got up and swept into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. Barrett went to follow him when her phone rang.
She picked up her cell, barely able to see the screen. The number swam. “Hello?” Barrett said.
“Barrett? It’s me, Ginny Prescott.”
Barrett immediately tensed. “Hi, Ginny. What’s going on?”
“I don’t really want to tell you over the phone. Can we meet somewhere?”
She looked at the closed bathroom door. “Sure. When and where?”
She memorized Ginny’s suggestion: two days from now in the park along the Potomac. The walkway through it ran for miles and there were plenty of places to stop and sit down.
Barrett walked into the kitchen to conclude the conversation. She endured Ginny’s nervous chatter for as long as she could. The woman talked a lot for someone who essentially had nothing to say at the moment.
Ginny’s voice was tinged with fear and she hesitated often, stumbling over ordinary words. But she made it clear that she had something important to communicate. Polite reassurances from Barrett weren’t enough to get Ginny to reveal them over the phone.
They got through awkward good-byes and Barrett hung up.
When she reentered the bedroom, she realized Nick had left and she hadn’t heard him.
And he’d left not just the bathroom, but her apartment entirely.
She hated reminding him of his brother’s death and his part in it. Yet what she’d said was valid—it was entirely possible the FBI had experimented with a select number of turneds, including Gary. Given that, Nick’s reaction to her supposition had seemed a bit over the top. Moreover, while he’d obviously been torn up about Gary’s death, the fact remained that he’d killed his own brother and had been able to go on with his life. It had been less than a year. A year after Noah had died, Barrett had still been tormented by his death and her limited part in it. Sometimes she still had nightmares about it. If Nick could so easily get over killing his own brother, whom he’d clearly loved, it must have been easy as pie for him to get over Barrett’s sudden departure from his life. Maybe all the affection and care he’d shown her in the past few days wasn’t so much about truly lingering feelings but about convenience.
She shook her head to stop her runaway thoughts. What the hell was she doing, trying to analyze the depth of Nick’s feelings for her? Nick was helping her find Jane. That was all that mattered.
No matter how well adjusted he seemed now, she knew killing his brother had been difficult for him.
But he’d done it. And she had no doubt in her mind that if he had to kill Ty and Ana and Peter, all vampires that Barrett cared about, he’d do that, too.
Chapter 14
Club Red
New City, Georgia
Vladimir swung first, catching the beefy contractor off guard. The other man crumpled to the cement floor without a sound. A few hard kicks to the head with a polished, custom-made black boot finished him off.
Tamsin, who had been watching the fight from the shadows, came forward, stepping carefully around the fresh pooling blood. Her stiletto heels clicked against the raw concrete until she reached her lover’s side. She looked up adoringly.
“You still have what it takes,” she purred.
“I would rather not do such things.”
She slipped a hand through the crook of his elbow, smoothing the clingy material of her low-cut scarlet dress with the other. “What did he do anyway?”
“He talked too much.”
“In here?” Tamsin gestured around the small underground arena, which was empty except for them. The space echoed with construction noise from the much larger floor above. “Who would even notice?”
“All it took was one word, my dear. He said yes to an interview with a big Atlanta newspaper. I don’t want our building plans splashed all over the front page.”
“Who cares?”
Vladimir scowled at the offhand question. “I do.”
Tamsin did not have to know about the hidden floor beneath this one—or who was concealed there, though the subterranean cells were mostly empty, except for a wayward girl. And a restless monster. The contractor might have happened upon both, if he had gone beyond the Keep Out sign and somehow made his way through the locked door of the immense, climate-controlled vault where Vladimir stored living things who were apt to be noisy from time to time.
“Oh. Well, what is that saying? Any publicity is good publicity?”
“Dead men never are. And I understand that someone from the paper is still in the parking lot, waiting for this one”—Vladimir used the toe of his boot to push the man’s limp arm against his body—“to show up.”
He put a hand to the earpiece he wore and spoke softly to someone outside. “Get rid of the reporter. No, don’t kill him. Just tell him our construction supervisor is busy. Yes, all day. And give him a guest pass to our grand opening. The elite pass, idiot. We want him in our pocket, do we not? A private skybox plus two whores is something to look forward to.”
Tamsin leaned over a little to get a better look. The contractor’s sightless eyes stared upward, as if he were gauging the strength of the steel beams crisscrossing the space far above a square pit sunk deep into the floor. Then his head slowly tipped to the side as the muscles of his thick neck stretched with its weight.
Vladimir laughed. “He seems to be looking up your dress. Rigor mortis has not set in.”
She gave a ladylike shudder. “Eww. That’s so creepy. All I have on under this is a thong.”
“Since when are you modest? But if it bothers you—” Vladimir looked around and spotted a dirty canvas tarp. “Then cover him up.”
Tamsin sighed but she obeyed, dragging the tarp by a corner and throwing it over the corpse. She could have been making a bed. Badly.
She bent over several times to spread out the tarp, just to give Vladimir an eyeful, hoping that would net her a few good-girl points.
“Is it the thong I left in the drawer for you? With the hole in front?”
She tried to remember. She had an extensive collection of tiny G-strings and thongs. “Um—yes.”
Her answer was a little slow for his liking.
“Don’t lie to me.” Vladimir took command of her when she straightened and walked the short distance back to him, away from the draped body.
“I didn’t lie, Vladdy. I just had to think for a sec.”
“Stand still.”
He shoved a hand up inside her dress, feeling for the thong, then probing roughly, penetrating her with one finger. Then two. His dark eyes glittered, fixed on her lovely, bored face as he hand-fucked her. Hard and fast. He entwined his fingers in her tumbling hair, holding her in place.
Tamsin stepped her feet wide apart and let him have his fun, not into it herself. He satisfied himself as to the complete truth of her reply by lifting her dress and exposing her to his hot gaze. Her bare pussy was no longer covered by the gossamer thong, which Vladimir had pulled down.
“You sounded uncertain. You know better, Tamsin. Or do you need a taste of punishment to remind you to obey me in every way?” He withdrew his slick fingers and pushed them into her mouth.
“Yes. I do. You know how much I like it when you make me behave.”
“Hmm. Well, then. Lick.”
Dutifully, Tamsi
n licked his fingers clean, her pink tongue darting and swirling until Vladimir smiled faintly. He released her and undid his fly, forcing her to kneel in front of it.
He reached down to pull her breasts out of her dress. Propped up, they were spectacular, the dark red nipples standing out against her ivory skin. Vladimir had never understood the popularity of tanning salons. He preferred his women as pale as moonlight.
Staying on her knees, she bounced a bit to make her luscious tits jiggle as she did what she did best: suck him off. Her hard nipples, chilled by the cold air underground, touched his thighs. The friction of the expensive material of his suit seemed to excite her somewhat. Tamsin put more effort into pleasing him.
There was the off chance someone might see. She had once told him she liked the element of surprise.
No one appeared. He came explosively in her mouth. Tamsin was skilled. Not one drop of come spilled out as she swallowed several times.
His semen was as cool as his blood. Vladimir had found over the centuries that very few women gagged on it for that reason. He flattered himself that the taste was superior, as well.
He gave her a hand up as they both adjusted their clothes. She bent forward to brush grit from her knees and, when that was done, stood up and settled her breasts back inside the bra underneath her dress, glancing once in the direction of the dead man.
“You’re not just going to leave that there, are you?”
“No.” The blue-lit receiver in Vlad’s ear flickered as he listened to whoever had just called. He turned away from Tamsin, who took the opportunity to check her makeup in a compact. Perfect, she thought, except for the smudged foundation around her mouth. She moved away to a worktable and set down her purse. Time for a touch-up and never mind the sawdust. She knew better than to leave Vlad when he hadn’t told her she could.
“Send someone at once,” he instructed the caller. “I want the body to go into the framework of the rear staircase. The concrete is ready.”
Controlled by remote, a huge pipe coated with gray slurry moved to where Vlad was looking. The unseen being who was maneuvering it positioned the dripping mouth of the pipe between temporary plywood walls braced with rebar.
