But before she got to the far end, a side door banged open in front of her. She ducked behind a Dumpster right before the light from the doorway spilled out, spotlighting the alley as a train would a dark tunnel. An elderly woman in curlers and slippers shuffled out holding a plastic trash bag. But it was another figure, not more than ten feet away, that caught Lily’s attention. Hunched over a body, he raised his hands to shield his eyes from the sudden glare. But he didn’t cover his fangs, which dripped with his victim’s blood.
“Oh, my word! What in the world is—” The woman dropped the bag at her feet and the door slammed shut, trapping her outside. “Hon? Hon?” she called, not taking her eyes off the horror playing out in front of her.
Great. Just great. Guess I’ll have an audience.
Lily jumped over the trash bag, ignoring the woman’s gasp of surprise, and launched herself at the loser. Grabbing a handful of his hair, she yanked him away from the body. Her fist made such a satisfying sound when it connected with his jaw that she had to stop herself from doing it again just for the hell of it. Instead, she flung him onto the cobblestones. He landed at the feet of the old woman, who tried to scream but ended up in a coughing fit instead. Thank God for tiny miracles. She didn’t need any other human witnesses. One was enough.
The revert pushed himself up with one hand and defensively held up the other. Clearly, he wasn’t a fighter, just a run-of-the-mill loser—of which Seattle had plenty.
She repositioned the silver knuckle piece to the inside of her hand, the short spikes facing inward this time, and grabbed him around the neck. He shrieked and clawed at her hand when the metal pierced his skin. But it didn’t take long for the silver to do its thing and he became too weak to stand on his own. She restrained him with silver-lined handcuffs and dropped his ass to the ground.
As she took a step in the direction of the victim, the old woman’s coughing reminded her she needed to deal with secrecy issues before attending to collateral damage.
“Ma’am, it’s okay. I’m just going to—”
“Don’t— Don’t— Stay back.” The woman’s eyes widened even further in the dim light of the alley.
Lily ran the tip of her tongue over her fangs, which had stretched from her gums during the fight. Guess she couldn’t pass for a regular cop now. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I just need to—”
The woman screamed, and this time her voice found itself.
Lily was on her in an instant. She brushed a hand over the woman’s forehead, silencing her. “You saw two drunks in the alley. Nothing more.” Lily wrenched open the door as if it had never been locked. “Now get back to bed and stop this sleepwalking. Hon is waiting inside and wants a little lovin’ from you.”
The woman blinked a few times. A glassy, faraway look replaced the terror in her watery gray eyes. Clutching the front of her housecoat with a gnarled hand, she shuffled inside a little quicker than Lily had expected, a faint touch of pink coloring her cheeks. The door closed softly behind her.
Lily got to the victim just as two unmarked black-panel vans turned into the alley and screeched to a stop. A medic with a crash kit and a member of the capture team stepped out and jogged toward her.
“Over here, fellas.” She pointed behind her and strode out of the alley, thoughts whirling.
For God’s sake, this was a simple assignment. What was going on with her? She glanced over her shoulder as Kip followed her into the night. She might as well be a trainee, too, not an elite Class-A Tracker for the Governing Council.
“Ms. DeGraff, why are you walking that way? Your car is parked down the hill over there.”
She tossed him the keys. “Go ahead and take it back to the field office for me. I need the fresh air. Good job tonight, by the way. We’ll review things in the classroom later.”
IF THE GUY GOING POSTAL on him in the hardware store hadn’t been Region Commander Tristan Santiago, Alfonso would’ve let the two-by-fours over his shoulder “accidentally” smack the asshole in the head. Instead, he threw the lumber onto a flatbed handcart and headed over to the flooring department.
“Look, I told you everything I know. DBs are after Trackers. Don’t know how, don’t know where, although I assume it’s somewhere local since they mentioned the islands. Hell, I don’t even know if it’s true. It’s not like I got the information from a reliable source. They were greenhorns and, for all I know, they could’ve been blowing smoke.”
“And you wasted them before you got any real intel.” Santiago’s voice sounded like he’d just chain-smoked a pack of bare-ass Camels, although Alfonso knew he never touched the stuff. “What the fuck is up with that?”
A woman pushing a shopping cart covered her child’s ears and flashed Santiago an indignant expression. For a moment, it looked as if she was going to scold him, but then she quickened her pace and sped down the aisle. That was nothing, Alfonso wanted to tell her. If they hadn’t been in public, the guy would be cursing in three languages.
With his eyes narrowed to slits and his own anger barely in check, Alfonso glared at Santiago. “What are you talking about? I had no choice but to—” Why the hell was he sitting here justifying what he’d done? He looked around and lowered his voice. “Listen. I don’t work for you any longer, remember? Pavlos is finito. My obligation to the Council has been met. I can show you the documentation if you don’t believe me. They did it up real nice. Parchment paper, fancy lettering. Hell, it even came wrapped in a goddamn scroll. Figured I was doing you a favor letting you know what I stumbled across. Guess I was sorely mistaken. Why don’t you go back to Vancouver and leave me the hell alone?”
Santiago’s jaw muscle flexed over and over, like he was chewing on what he was about to say. Or more likely, he was pissed off and trying not to flash fang. “You know, I let you have your time after everything that went down last year. Recoup from your injuries—that leg of yours looks fine now, by the way. I wanted you to decompress in peace and quiet—”
“How terribly considerate and thoughtful of you.” Alfonso threw a box of drywall screws on top of the lumber and resisted the urge to rub his knee. Maybe his limp wasn’t as noticeable as he’d thought.
Santiago continued as if Alfonso hadn’t spoken. “But that was a year ago—” more than that, but who was counting? “—and we could really use your help now.”
“So you insult me, then you offer me a job? That’s a funny way to conduct an interview. And why are you the one asking me, anyway? Why isn’t Dom? Isn’t he technically the Seattle field team leader?”
“Your brother’s in Australia, helping with the opening of the new Carpentaria field office down there. He’s not scheduled to be back up here until after the Night of Wilding. The baby’s not due till after the first of the year.”
Alfonso sighed. His brother’s wife, Mackenzie, had just started wearing maternity clothes the last time he’d seen her. He’d commissioned a few paintings from her that depicted the hill country of his ancestral home in Spain. As soon as he finished building his house, a smaller version of his boyhood villa, he planned to hang her artwork in the entryway.
Not that he had any illusions that this tribute could atone for what he’d done to his parents. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even be around long enough to enjoy it. Sooner or later his blood assassin was bound to track him, and he was far from confident that he’d survive that meet-up. Selected as youthlings by the Darkbloods’ inner circle, these vampires were raised in the art of killing and torture. Strong, fast and lethal, they didn’t make mistakes.
“If what you discovered is true,” Santiago said, “we’ve got a big problem on our hands. The Longest Night is only a few short weeks away.”
“Don’t you have a tech person who can break into that game forum to figure out what’s going on?”
“I’ve asked Cordell to look into it, but frankly it’s a wonder Darkbloods haven’t overrun the city by now. With Dom and Mitchell out of the country, we’re understaffed. We could really us
e you.”
Alfonso shoved a hand through his hair. The guy was so friggin’ dramatic.
“What part of no don’t you understand?” Alfonso looked over the various diamond blades, trying to find one that would fit his particular wet saw. His current blade was dulled from all the tile-cutting he’d been doing and needed to be replaced.
“I understand plenty, starting with the fact that you have nothing going on. What’s so important you’d turn this opportunity down? Tinkering on that house you’re building? A man needs goals in his life. Something to work toward. He needs direction.”
“Yeah, well, I do have goals. They all revolve around getting my house finished.” And finished quickly. Since those losers had guessed his identity, it wouldn’t be long until the assassin tracked him, too. Then he’d be on the run again. He’d always known it’d happen, that his assassin would eventually figure out he wasn’t living in Europe, that those leads Alfonso had meticulously created were false. But he really hoped to finish the house before that day arrived.
Yeah, recreating Casa en las Colinas probably was a stupid dream. He’d been a fool to let his sister-in-law talk him into setting down some roots—even if it was temporary. Give him a chance to meet his niece or nephew. Attempt to repair his relationship with his brother. What had he hoped to accomplish by building this house, anyway? Impressing Dom? Earning his respect? Getting him to understand that he did honor their parents’ memory, despite everything he’d done? Maybe it’s time for a reality check—forget about the house and disappear. He could mail the keys to Mackenzie, and she could have it finished. Or not.
“And then what? You gonna take up fly-fishing?”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m serious, Alfonso. Your expertise on Darkblood matters is unequaled by anyone in the Agency here in North America. It’s a shame you’re pissing away that talent and knowledge while you swing hammers at a pipe dream.”
Alfonso gripped the handle of the cart so hard he was afraid it would bend beneath his fingers. There was a reason he preferred talking to Santiago on the phone: so he could hang up on him. Good thing they were out in public or he’d have the guy by the throat right about now, even though Santiago was one menacing vampire with a hair-trigger temper and a Dempsey-like left hook. The black military shit inked on his neck was just icing.
“What would my brother say if I suddenly became one of his Agents? He’d go ballistic on your ass, not to mention mine. It’s not like he and I are suddenly best friends. Centuries of thinking your brother is one of the bad guys isn’t rectified in one short year. Besides, I’m tired of Darkbloods. I’m tired of the Council.”
Santiago stared at him with those dark, piercing eyes, clearly not buying any of it. For chrissake, the guy never took no for an answer. How did Dom put up with this? What did he have to say to get through to him?
“Listen,” Alfonso continued. “I worked for centuries on the inside, trying to redeem myself in the eyes of everyone I cared about, and for what?” He pounded a fist on his thigh and a sharp pain pierced through the dull ache in his knee. “I’m permanently injured and my family wants nothing to do with me.”
Given that he’d been marked for assassination, it probably wasn’t safe for them to be around him anyway, but he wasn’t about to share that little tidbit with Santiago. Alfonso could hardly stand knowing what he’d pledged all those years ago.
And what it had cost him.
He sure as hell didn’t want to admit it to the Council. They could very well revoke his pardon.
“I’m tired of everything, and it’s probably time for me to move on anyway. You’re right. Maybe the house is a stupid pipe dream.”
“But—”
“Shut the—” He glanced around. Seeing an elderly man nearby, he lowered his voice. “You seriously think I’d want to come back? You wasted your time coming down here, Santiago. I’ve put in my time, so leave me the hell alone. Go find yourself someone who cares, because I’m done.”
“So then it makes no difference to you that Lily is back at the Seattle office?”
Like a shot from an air compressor, his heart slammed against his rib cage, and he struggled to keep the emotion off his face. He couldn’t have been more surprised if someone had doused him from behind with a bucket of ice water. “I thought she transferred down to one of the southern regions,” he said, his voice almost as gravelly as Santiago’s.
“She did for a while. Guess it was too hard commuting back and forth with her daughter up here in the Horseshoe Bay region with her parents. Getting to British Columbia was no longer an easy three-hour drive over the border.”
“But she and Zoe were together. I heard she was…trying to make a go of it with Zoe’s father again.” At least that’s what his sister-in-law had told him. Part of him just wanted Lily happy, but another part of him desperately wanted— Don’t go there, he reminded himself. Don’t do it.
Santiago shrugged. “I don’t get involved in my staff’s love lives. I’d need a damn social secretary for that. I’m just glad she’s back.”
My God, given this new DB intel, he’d have been keeping tabs on her had he known she was back in the area. “Does she know about this new threat against Trackers? She’s not going out alone, is she?”
“She’s in charge of on-the-job training for the rookies coming out of Tracker Academy. So, yes, she knows about the threat and, no, she’s not alone. Jesus, Alfonso, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you still had a thing for her. Still wish she was your Agency contact? Your handler? I’m sure we can arrange to have her handle something of yours, if that’s what it’d take for you to join the team.”
Alfonso’s gums ached as his fangs threatened to elongate. Santiago had no idea. The guy could laugh all he wanted, but he had no fucking clue. Not even Lily knew the truth about why he’d left her. He grabbed a saw blade off the shelf and shoved it into the cart.
“So what do you say? Can I count on you this time, Alfonso? Can we make an honest man of you yet?”
“On the contrary, I’m afraid you’ve given me the best reason of all not to come back.”
Santiago raised his brows, clearly clueless.
Alfonso pushed the cart toward the checkout stands. “Lily.”
CHAPTER THREE
“WHAT’S SO interesting on the other side of that window? You’ve been staring outside all night.” Although Mel had first served the guy almost an hour ago, she’d not had the gumption to strike up a conversation with him till now.
Not that she was timid or anything—far from it—but he had that don’t-mess-with-me vibe, and she did her best to respect that. As a bartender in this joint for years, with the gray hair to prove it, she’d learned who was approachable and who wasn’t into chitchat. He fell into the latter crowd. But something about his expression made her ask tonight.
He pulled off his knit cap and ran a hand through his hair. Right now it was mainly dark blond, but some strands were much lighter. She’d be willing to bet that in the sun, it’d bleach out to a surfer’s golden blond.
She cracked open the longneck—only his second since he’d arrived—and slid it toward him, the wisp of escaping carbonation evaporating into the air. The guy nursed his alcohol like a first-time mother did her baby.
Not really expecting an answer to her question, she wiped a small water spot from the polished oak bar and grabbed his empty. But as she turned away, she was shocked as hell when he replied.
“Just keeping an eye on an old friend.”
She retrieved a fresh bar towel from the stack under the counter and flipped it over her shoulder. His leather bomber jacket, worn to a lighter shade of black around the wrists and neckline, creaked just a little when he lifted the beer and took a long swallow.
“Friend, as in friend? Or friend, as in an enemy you want to keep tabs on?”
“A friend.”
Having just tossed the bottle into the recycle where it rattled with the rest, she wasn’t sure if she’
d heard him correctly. She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for him to say more.
Somehow he didn’t seem like the type to be pining over some woman, nor could she picture him as a stalker. More like the other way around.
The guy was working-class handsome, with rugged hands that no doubt knew how to swing a hammer and a slight limp he tried to conceal. He definitely wasn’t an accountant. A light stubble covered his jaw, and his eyes, despite their crystal-blue color, were intense and hinted at something a little frightening. Yes, his picture could seriously be in the dictionary next to dangerously handsome. She prided herself on being a pretty good judge of character. No, the guy wasn’t a stalker. But a heartbreaker? Oh, yeah.
He saw the question in her expression and tipped the bottle toward the window. “A woman I used to know is over there. In the Pink Salon.”
Ah, but maybe he was jealous. The Pink Salon wasn’t a place people went for a dart tourney with coworkers. “How long ago did you two break up?”
He narrowed his eyes. So her guess had been accurate. “Last year.”
“And she’s out with someone else?”
“No, working.”
“Yo, Mel,” called one of the guys at the far end of the bar. “Show us a little love down here.”
She filled a couple drink orders, and when she returned, Mr. Not-An-Accountant was still looking outside. Several club hoppers stopped on the sidewalk in front of the window. He scooted his barstool a few inches to the left to get an unobstructed view of the garish pink sign across the street.
As she polished nonexistent water stains, Mel scrutinized him further without making it appear she was. She knew if you looked a reluctant guy in the eye, he’d clam right up. But keep your gaze focused elsewhere, and he’d yap like an ankle-biter when the doorbell rings.
“She a bartender like moi or a waitress?” she asked, somehow doubting his ex was one of the high-priced hookers who frequented the place.
The left side of his mouth twisted up slightly, revealing a fleeting dimple. “No.”
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