Red Night (Vampire Files Trilogy Book 1)

by RK Close

  Tres, you can’t go up against someone who outsizes you by that much if they know what they’re doing. You need to be in a position to outrun them.

  Quattro, if you followed one and two, you wouldn’t have to deal with three. Sounds like you’re lucky to be alive. Now take your position so I can kick some of that stupidity out of you,” he says, tossing his clipboard onto a gym bag.

  Eddie then proceeds to kick my ass for the next hour. Fun.

  ***

  I hurt from head to toe by the time I drive home. I have several new bruises that hopefully won’t show for my date on Saturday.

  I still can’t believe Gabe asked me out. I’m still humming the Walking on Sunshine tune when I pull up to my building.

  I stop humming at the sight of several police cars, an ambulance, and a crowd of people standing behind some yellow tape.

  I park my car, and make my way through the crowd. I have to ask permission to cross the yellow tape. “Officer, I live here. What’s happened?” I ask with a growing feeling of dread.

  “What’s your name, and which apartment is yours?” the officer asks.

  “My name is Samantha Lewis, and I live in 405. Can I go up to my place?”

  He motions to another uniformed officer, and says, “This officer will escort you in and ask you some questions. If you’re on the fourth floor, you’ll be able to enter.” Both officers refused to give me any more information.

  I spot Harold and his wife Mabel on the sofa in the lobby being questioned by a plainclothes detective.

  Mabel gives me a sad smile before turning her attention back to the detective. Her eyes are puffy and swollen.

  I’m shocked that something bad has happened in our building. Nothing ever happens here. It’s a pretty safe place to live.

  As I’m being escorted to the elevator, I spot a middle-aged man with a kind red face and a little too much weight around his midsection. He walks over to me and gives me a big hug.

  “I was tipped off that something happened at your building and rushed right over. My phone ran out of juice or I would have called to make sure you were okay. Let’s go up to your place to talk,” he says, taking me by the elbow and leading me to the elevator.

  Russell Thomas is old school so he and technology are not the best of friends. His phone is always dead. I bought him a car charger for Christmas last year, and he probably doesn’t remember he has it.

  “How have you been, Russell?” I ask as we step into the elevator.

  Russell was a dear friend to my father. He also oversaw my parents’ will, and stepped in to pick me up when I fell apart after their deaths. I always called him Uncle when I was younger, but he’s not actually related to me.

  “Better now that I know you’re not involved. I talked to some of my friends in the department, and they said Phoenix may have a serial killer on their hands. Victims are all attractive, blonde, in their early twenties, and all missing a substantial amount of blood,” he says, and takes a breath.

  “Some sicko is trying to make it look like a Hollywood creature did this instead of a psychopath. Two had puncture marks on their neck and thighs, the third was missing a pretty big chunk of her neck. You know this is not public information. You need to keep it to yourself,” he says.

  “Are you telling me that someone fitting that description has been murdered in my building?” I ask as we walk into my condo together.

  I sit on the couch because all the energy has left my body and I can’t stand anymore. I have a million thoughts and questions rolling around in my head at the moment. Adam is at the center of all of them.

  “Yeah, you could fit that description. That’s why I got here so fast. When I arrived they told me it happened in a third-floor apartment. I was still worried until you walked in,” he says, relief showing on his red face.

  He truly has become like a father to me over the last six years. He was my mentor when I graduated from college and chose to become a private investigator.

  Russell is a retired police detective, and he does private security and consultant work now. He wasn’t crazy about me going into this line of work, but he liked it better than me joining the police department.

  “Thanks for coming to check on me. Do you want to stay for lunch? I can make us sandwiches,” I ask, heading for the kitchen.

  “No thanks, Sam. I have some work that needs my attention. I need to get back to it. You call me if you need anything. And don’t go running at night or anything foolish like that until this guy is caught.” He gives me the stern father look now.

  I walk over to him and give him another big hug. If it wasn’t for him, I would have dropped out of school and who knows what else. He was there for me when I was at my lowest.

  We say our good-byes and promise to get together for Thanksgiving next week. I lock the door behind him and turn to lean on it. What am I playing with here? I should have told him about Adam, but I didn’t want to worry him.

  Is Adam capable of doing something like this? There are too many coincidences here to ignore.

  First, there was our encounter at the mall, and that same night there was a murder close by. I know he’s entered my condo at least twice, and now a woman was killed one floor below me. I need more information. There’s work to do.

  ***

  I’ve followed Rebecca and Mr. CEO into the Hyatt hotel downtown. I walk in and sit in one of the chairs in the lobby while I pretend to read my phone. I’m already taking pictures.

  They dropped off a small bag at registration, and then entered the restaurant connected to the hotel. I’m assuming they’re staying overnight. I’ll get more photos and call it a night. I’ve gathered all the evidence I need for this job. Time to wrap it up and get paid.

  “You must be reading something extremely captivating,” a smooth, deep male voice says to my left. I almost jump out of the seat. Either I’m a bit edgy these days or there’s a conspiracy to scare the life out of me.

  Standing a couple feet from me is a man with the second bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. His blond hair is almost white, depending on where the light hits his head. He has the face of an angel with the exception of a small thin white scar on his right cheek, right below his right eye.

  He’s wearing a fitted white t-shirt, jeans, and a black leather jacket. His clothes give him that sexy bad-boy edge, but they’re high dollar threads, so how edgy could he be? He’s also standing in the lobby of a high-priced conference hotel. It kind of shatters the notion for me.

  He is beautiful though—almost unnaturally so. I’m not sure why that thought came to mind.

  And he’s speaking to me. Crap.

  I recover from my surprise and say, “Sorry, I didn’t notice you. I’m checking my emails.” I smile, wave my phone at him, and then become engrossed with my phone again.

  He’s still standing there and I can tell he’s still watching me.

  “You’re far too beautiful to be waiting alone in a hotel lobby. My name is Zac,” he says, extending his hand.

  His accent is European; maybe Scandinavian? Hard to tell.

  “Hi, I’m Sam. It’s nice to meet you,” I say, placing my hand in his.

  He holds it a few moments longer than necessary. I almost have to pull it back from him. Odd. I don’t have time for this.

  “Ah, I’m meeting my boyfriend here,” I say, because it’s now obvious he’s hitting on me.

  Good-looking men are coming out of the woodwork these days. Zac’s eyes are remarkable, and the color reminds me of Adam, which only makes me want to get rid of him all the more quickly.

  “The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. It’s unfortunate that someone has already claimed you. I think we would be good together,” he says, and now there is a seductive promise behind the smile.

  I laugh nervously because I’m not used to guys being this direct.

  Maybe he’s a male prostitute. That might make more sense. Does Phoenix have male prostitutes?

  “Okay, Zac, that’s n
ice, but I’ve got to go.” I rise from my chair, move to the registration desk, and ask the woman several stupid questions, like how much a room is, how late the restaurant is open, etcetera.

  I plan to ask her as many questions as necessary until he’s gone. I glance over my shoulder, and see that he has already left. He must have taken the hint.

  Good.

  After Rebecca and Mr. Sleazy go up to their room, I have the final photos I need. They made my job exceptionally easy by tossing their printed receipt in the trash before entering the elevator.

  After fishing it out and receiving a concerned look from the hostess, I’m ready to call it a night.

  I walk down the empty sidewalk toward the parking garage. I’m relieved that Zac didn’t make another appearance while I was waiting. That would have been more awkward than it already was. Can’t wait to tell Dayna about that one.

  I begin thinking about how to make my condo “Adam-proof” when I’m grabbed and thrown over a large shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. All the air leaves my lungs, and before I can even think about screaming for help we are moving so fast I can’t tell what’s up or down anymore.

  If it doesn’t stop quickly I’m going to throw up.

  Chapter 9

  In what seems like mere seconds, we stop and I’m placed on my feet and held steady by strong hands. Good thing, because the world is spinning and I can’t focus my vision.

  Slowly, objects settle into place and I realize I’m clutching Adam’s arms as they hold me up. I look at him for a few seconds and then haul off and slap him so hard I want to cry. He doesn’t stop me, and barely flinches. I expect to see a nasty red mark on his cheek, but there is none. That is seriously disappointing. My palm is still stinging, and my wrist is throbbing from the blow.

  I look around and realize we’re on the roof of a tall building. I grab his arms again because my head is spinning as I try to grasp how this could be. Did I pass out or something? How could we be on the street one minute and on the roof the next?

  I let go, and step back when I realize I’m holding his arms again. “How did we get here?” My voice is shaky. I pull my collar up around my neck because the air is icy cold and the breeze is almost painful.

  Looking at me he says, “I carried you here. It’s important that you listen to what I’m about to tell you. I need to warn you—”

  “How did we get up here so fast? Did you drug me?” I ask with growing disgust. I’m watching his eyes closely, trying desperately to figure out if he’s a killer. My instincts tell me he isn’t, but this would be a bad time to be wrong.

  “You’re in great danger, Samantha.” He actually lowers his head a bit. “And I’m the reason you are now a target.”

  Does that mean he’s going to kill me? He’s going to kill me!

  I start frantically looking around for an escape route, but I have no idea how we got up here in the first place. Talking my way out of this may be my only hope.

  “How am I in danger, and by whom?” I ask.

  That is a loaded question, and maybe I shouldn’t be so direct. He moves closer and puts his hands on my arms. I flinch. He’s in my space again. Why does he always do that?

  “My name is Adam Blackwell. Don’t bother searching, because the name died with the man many years go. I’m in this city hunting a killer. You’ve seen his handiwork in the news.” He pauses. “I’m aware of the murder in your building. That was a warning to me,” he says, giving it a moment to sink in.

  He’s talking in riddles. Crazy people do that sometimes.

  “Who do you work for? Are you telling me you’re FBI?” That would explain a few things if he isn’t crazy. I’m leaning toward crazy.

  “I don’t work for an agency. I’ve been hunting this particular monster for a long time. I followed his trail here, and that is when our paths crossed.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off of me as though he’s waiting for something.

  “And why is this my problem?” I ask with as much anger as I can muster, but I think some of the wind has left my sails.

  I hug myself, trying to stay warm. He notices, and takes his leather coat off, and places it on my shoulders. I’m instantly warmer. I want to throw it at him, but my teeth are about to start making noise, so I keep it.

  “Somehow he has taken notice that I’m…interested in you.”

  “So now he wants to kill me? Because you are interested in me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we need to go to the police. I know someone, and—”

  “The police can’t help you.”

  “What do you mean? It’s their job. It’s what they do.” I’m swimming in his coat, but I put one hand on my hip in a show of frustration.

  “He can’t be stopped by guns, and a mere mortal would be no match for him. It would be a bloodbath. I don’t think you want to be responsible for that.”

  Now he has his hands on his hips, and he looks a bit frustrated. Good, that makes two of us.

  “What do you mean he can’t be stopped by guns? Anyone can be stopped by a gun, including you.” I’m pacing now.

  Did he say something about a “mere mortal”?

  “The killer isn’t human. He can’t be killed with a gun.” He says this as if he’s talking to a confused child.

  “You’re out of your mind. Do I look stupid? Stop wasting my time, Adam. Get to the point of why I’m here.” I want off this freezing rooftop so badly, but I’d rather it not be in a body bag.

  “Can we talk about this somewhere else? I’m going to get hypothermia, and so are you.” He doesn’t look cold, but he must be.

  “I’m not crazy, but I can see you require more persuasion.” He moves toward me again and I back up against a wall.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask, as he takes my arm and starts pulling me to a door.

  The door leads to a stairwell that must go all the way down. He still hasn’t answered me, but he suddenly picks me up and throws me over his shoulder again. I let out a little involuntary squeak.

  Once again we are moving faster than my brain can comprehend. This time I close my eyes. Just like that we are at the bottom of what must be fifteen plus floors. I hand him his coat and turn away to throw up in a trash can.

  When there is no more in my stomach and the dry heaves have stopped, I realize he’s holding my hair out of the way for me. That would be sweet if he wasn’t the reason I was puking in a stairwell.

  I don’t know what happened, but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t drugged, and that he’s not normal. I look at him wide-eyed and ask, “How do you do that?” He looks at me for a few moments.

  “I’m not human,” he says with a straight face.

  Well, what the heck do you say to that?

  He leads me to my car, and insists on driving me home. I stay quiet for most of the ride, and so does he. Should I let him continue discussing this fantasy of his or try to get him to come clean about what happened?

  My head is starting to hurt. “What do you mean, you’re not human?” I finally ask, breaking the silence between us.

  “You would call me a vampire.” He says this without taking his eyes off the road. I don’t even know how to respond to him. This night keeps getting freakier by the minute.

  I look out the window and lay my head against the cool glass. It feels odd to be in the passenger seat. I remember being fifteen and riding with my dad. We would roll the windows down, and my hair would blow in the wind. He would turn on my favorite radio station and blast it, even though he didn’t care for my music.

  I miss him.

  ***

  We arrive at my condo and I tell him he’s not coming up. “I don’t trust you, and I’m pretty sure you’re off your medications. We’ll have to finish this conversation tomorrow in a public place of my choosing.”

  “I understand.” He hands me my keys and leaves the parking garage.

  I’m a bit dumbfounded. I figured he’d put up a bigger fight than that. I realize too late that I’m
still wearing his coat, and I still don’t have a way to contact him.

  I wave at Harold, who barely waves back because he’s on his iPad again. Signs of the police investigation are apparent, but the people have all gone.

  Once inside, I lock my door and hang his coat in the hall closet. It smells like him, and I remember that I like the smell. I ignore poor Wilbur and head right for the shower, peeling off clothing as I go. After a long hot shower, I brush my teeth, and feel better. I towel dry my hair and dress for bed. Wearing a black tank top and pink panties, I head into the kitchen to feed my neglected kitty.

  I stop dead in my tracks. I feel the breeze even before I see the patio doors are wide open. With my heart in my mouth I turn to run, and collide with Adam’s solid chest. His hand muffles my scream before I can make a sound. His other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me tightly against him. I continue screaming behind his hand—unable to stop myself.

  “You and I have more to discuss,” he says into my ear.

  A shiver goes through my entire body. He tightens his hold on my waist and drops his head to my neck and shoulder.

  “You must stop doing that,” he breathes against my neck. He takes a deep breath before saying, “I will not harm you, but you must know the truth, if you want to live.”

  Oh God, this is how I die. I played with fire, and now I’m going to burn. He is going to kill me.

  With little effort he has my hands and mouth bound in duct tape—my duct tape. I know because it has a cute pink and green plaid pattern.

  Every horrific scenario is racing through my head. Even so, I’m cursing like a sailor from behind the duct tape, and I’m pretty sure he knows what I’m saying. My poor mother would be horrified by my language, but my father would be more upset that his bright little girl managed to get herself into such a stupid situation in the first place.

  I’m scared, but I’m also pissed off that I may die this way because of my own poor choices.

  He sits me in a living room chair while he sits on the edge of the coffee table. I am beyond exposed, sitting here bound, in nothing more than my t-shirt and panties. My legs are between his knees, and his hands are on my thighs. I’m hyperaware of his intimate touch and my own vulnerability in the moment. My body is shaking uncontrollably and I can’t stop it. I need to be angry because that’s the only thing holding back my total surrender to mind-numbing fear.