Trying not to think about him as a man with needs she’d like to satisfy, she turned her thoughts to how he’d ended up as one of her recruits. He wasn’t like the rest of the misfits and criminals, the dregs of society, she normally recruited to her team. She could tell Britt had been a decent cop just by looking at him. He was tough, but she had no doubt he had loved his job and performed it to the best of his ability. She understood that kind of thinking. Even a woman in her position had her standards. And she believed her standards were high considering what she was up against.
She looked at him again. His eyes burned into hers with the determination of someone who wanted to believe in himself but had been knocked down a few pegs. He had the stuff to be a cop again. He’d be a good man to have on her team. He knew about man’s inhumanities to man. But he had no idea there was another level of inhumanity out there, darker and more sinister. And much more inhumane.
How would he take the news that they were hunting vampires?
Chapter Two
“Do you think this new guy will be able to handle the truth?” Jess’s brother, Father Regent Vandermire, asked.
Jess watched a look of helplessness creep into her baby brother’s features.
“I don’t know, Reej, I just don’t know. He’s got some sort of a spark, something I haven’t seen in any of the others. I’m just not sure.”
Regent pulled off his collar and threw it onto the desk. Then he paced to Jess, putting his hands on her shoulders. “We’ve made it this far, dearest. We can do it.”
Jess looked at him and wanted to cry. If only crying was possible. She needed him, but his body was failing. He was seventy-two years old, and he’d aged while she’d remained young.
He’d fought vampires with her for the last fifty years. If it hadn’t been for him, she’d have been lost all those years ago when she’d been bitten. Only Regent wouldn’t give up on her. He had invoked every saint, said every prayer, and finally resorted to holy water, incense, scripture, and baptism. It was baptism that worked. It burned her flesh, but the prayers kept her body from evaporating. Somehow, through his belief and love, he’d managed to save her soul from total damnation.
“You look tired, Reej. Maybe you should go to bed early tonight. I can handle things on my own.”
Regent sighed and rubbed his emaciated face with bony fingers. “If only you could find someone to take my place as your protector. There are other priests who I could trust to do it, but they’re not much younger than I am. You need someone young, someone unfaltering; someone whose faith can keep you both strong.”
“I’m a big girl, I can look after myself.”
“It’s not that simple, love, and you know it. But I thank God every day that he lets you fight the vampire within so that you can battle the vampires without.”
Jess forced a laugh. “There’ll be a few vampires ‘without’ tonight, Reej. Without bodies! I’d better get going.” She crossed the room in a heartbeat and blew him a kiss. “I love you, baby brother. You’re the light in my life.”
She’d said that to him every night for the past fifty years. And she meant it heart and soul. Well, if she’d had a soul and a beating heart.
“I love you too, dear. Take care tonight. I’ve felt an unease these past few weeks. I can’t explain it. I’m worried.”
“There’s nothing that I’m afraid of, and you shouldn’t be worried. I’ll be cautious, just like you taught me. I won’t take any unnecessary risks.”
Regent sat down in his chair. He looked so frail tonight. She bit her lip. “Get some sleep, Regent. Dream lovely dreams for me and I’ll see you again tomorrow night.”
“Be safe, Jess.”
“I will.” She slipped through the window of the Rectory and ran across the rooftop. Then she somersaulted to the lower roof of the garage and dropped to the ground with barely a sound. Her hearing remained as acute as it had the first day she’d been bitten. She could hear cockroaches and other vermin scurrying around in the dark, as well as the cacophony of sounds that assaulted the city. Nighttime was always best. At least then the noises weren’t quite as offensive.
Suddenly, the dark heavens peeled back, producing a glowing orange moon. Full and powerful. The evil lurking inside her surged like a rush of adrenaline. The urgent need to drink blood came upon her quickly, but she squelched it. Even though it was a constant battle, she’d learned over the years how to control her dark needs.
She pulled out a small, specially created packet of blood from an inside pocket, ripped it open and drank the liquid quickly. Even that was abhorrent to her, but without it she’d die—or even worse, become one of those creatures of the night she hated. She walked a very fine line—one she hoped never to cross.
Britt got into his taxi. He still didn’t know if he wanted the job Jess Vandermire had offered him, but the hard truth was he did want the boss. Strange how lust could change a person’s perspective. No sense deluding himself though. He couldn’t have either.
His gaze went to his old cop’s badge pinned to the taxi’s dash. He kept it there it to remind himself of what he’d lost. His attention was so fixed on the badge he nearly didn’t see the guy step off the curb until he was directly in front of the taxi. Britt’s foot jammed on the brake. The car lurched to a screeching halt only inches from the guy’s shins.
He reached for the door handle, ready to jump out of the car and give the guy a piece of his mind, but then the guy bolted. At least Britt thought he’d bolted, until the taxi’s back door was wrenched open and the tall, thin man dove into the backseat, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Drive!”
“Buddy, you shouldn’t throw yourself in front of cabs in this part of New York,” Britt snapped at him. “You’re likely to get run over. If you want a cab, just hold up your hand and we’ll stop.”
“Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking. Please, can you start driving? Now!”
The fellow kept looking out the rear window. Was he in trouble with the law? Involved in something criminal?
“Everything okay, fella?”
The man looked at him. “What? Oh. Yes, yes, fine, fine. Just drive, will you. I want to go to Saint Eugenia’s Church. The quicker the better.”
John tightened his hands on the wheel and stepped on the gas. He glanced in his rearview mirror and noticed a set of headlights coming up behind them. The vehicle appeared to be following them, so he made a quick change into another lane and turned down a side street.
As soon as he dared take his eyes off the refuse strewn alley that doubled as a shortcut, he looked for the vehicle’s headlights behind them. They were gone. Either he’d lost the tail, or there hadn’t been one to start with. The latter was a definite possibility.
The man in the back remained silent. If they hadn’t been followed, why wasn’t this guy complaining about his driving? “We’re nearly at the church,” Britt said, for lack of anything better to say. Once again his fare didn’t respond. He just sat with his shoulders taut and his eyes staring straight ahead.
A few minutes later, Britt stopped in front of the church. Only a couple of lights were on inside. It might not even be open. Definitely not holding a service.
Britt turned to his fare with one arm draped across the bench seat. “Maybe you’ve got the time wrong. It doesn’t look too lively in there.”
“Thanks.” The man threw a twenty dollar bill at him. Then he jumped out of the cab, tore up the twenty steps to the church, pulled open the main door, and disappeared inside.
Someone must’ve been waiting for the guy, Britt decided, because these days, churches had to keep their doors locked due to vandalism. What would be so important to rate an after hours meeting at a church?
He knew there could be many good reasons, but his old cop instincts were stirring. Something wasn’t right.
Britt watched the building for a minute before slipping the gearshift into drive. Then, with a silent self-admonition about listening to his
damn instincts, he slammed his hand against the steering wheel, jammed the gear lever back into park, and yanked the keys out of the ignition.
He climbed out of the car and mounted the stairs two at a time. Grabbing the wrought iron door handle with both hands, he pulled the ten foot solid oak door open far enough to slip into the church.
Inside it was quiet. One small security light shone in the sacristy behind the altar, and a couple of small spotlights cast shadows onto the center pillars of the huge, century-old church. He couldn’t see a soul.
He almost laughed at the poor choice of words. There should be plenty of souls inside this building. Heavenly souls.
Then he heard whispering. He headed toward the back of the church. Out of childhood habit, he looked up at the crucifix, dipped his finger in the holy water and made the sign of the cross before proceeding down the aisle to the sacristy.
The sacristy door was open. Inside the illuminated room, altar gowns hung on the back wall, and a small oak desk that had seen better days was crowded into a corner. An ancient black telephone took up one whole corner of the old oak desk, and a burning cigarette lay in an ashtray. Since there was no one in the room, he moved back to the center aisle. It was then the little red light over the door of the confessional caught his eye.
So, his fare had been in a hurry to make confession. Must have friends in high places if priests kept their doors open for him to confess after hours.
What was he thinking, following the guy in here?
Treading lightly, an act that seemed to make his shoes squeak, he moved toward the church’s front door. The whispering from the confessional interspersed with bouts of weighty silence made him aware of the solitude and peace he felt here. Scoffing at himself, he attributed his gullible feelings to his childhood upbringing. He’d learned the hard way that life can turn sour and no amount of belief can help you.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, he dipped his head, closed his eyes for a long overdue silent prayer, then wrenched open the heavy door and stepped outside into the night
The church door shut behind him with a discernible click and he started down the stairs to the street. Before he got far, he sensed he wasn’t alone. He stopped in his tracks. The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He spun around to see who was behind him.
Jess stepped out from behind one of the church’s columns and simply stared at him.
His heart jumped and he took a couple of shallow breaths.
“What are you doing here, Britt?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
Too bad, really, because he liked the parts the leather outfit didn’t cover. For that matter, he also liked the parts the leather did cover. The knee-high boots with six inch spike heels looked impossible to walk in, yet as she walked toward him, she moved like a cat.
“Does a man need an excuse to be at a church?”
“Maybe. Why were you in there?”
He shrugged. “That’s between me and God.” He wasn’t about to tell her he’d been spying on a cab fare. She’d want to know why, and he wasn’t about to tell her it was because his instincts had started buzzing. Since the guy was just making confession, his instincts were obviously rusty. Not something you confess to a potential boss.
“I see.” She stopped and stared up at the opulent structure and sighed. “This is one of the most beautiful churches in the city. I used to come here when I was young.”
“Really? Why do I think I hear ‘not any more’ in that statement?”
“Because you do.” If he’d ever heard wistful, this was it. So why didn’t she just go back to the church if she wanted to? Not his business. And he certainly didn’t have the right to preach to anyone. He’d practically turned agnostic since becoming a killer. Somehow he felt the church would prefer it that way.
“I guess you and I are in the same boat. I haven’t exactly been a model Catholic myself.”
She looked at the church again. Then she shook her head slowly, turning to him and giving him an almost pleading look. “Maybe you should go back to the church.”
He couldn’t believe she’d just said what he’d been thinking about her. He mumbled but didn’t really say anything—his trademark when uncomfortable. He couldn’t forgive himself for what he’d done to his partner. Going to church and asking for forgiveness might give him absolution according to church doctrine, but it would never be enough for him. He’d killed not only a partner, but a friend.
There was no going back.
He touched one finger to his forehead in a semi-salute. “I’d better get back to work. Be seein’ ya.”
“Wait.”
He stopped. All he wanted was to get as far away from his thoughts, this church and her, as quickly possible.
“You’ve got the job if you want it.”
He heaved a sigh. “I’d feel better if I knew what the job consisted of. I know I shouldn’t be telling you this, since you’re a prospective boss and all, but the problem is, I have anger issues. Maybe you haven’t heard?”
“My team members often have anger issues. Being a Special Ops member sometimes helps them vent those feelings. Get them out of their system.”
“And just how do they do that?”
She put a finger to her lips and whispered, “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
“Yeah, real funny. That’s the oldest one in the book.
“I’m not joking, though.”
He frowned and leaned back. Somehow he had the feeling she really was serious. Whatever this Special Ops team did, he was beginning to think he’d be better off as a taxi driver.
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Please don’t say no yet.” Even though she said it nicely, her eyes sparkled dangerously. Maybe she had some anger issues herself.
“Okay, look, I really don’t think I’m interested, but if you want me to take a few days and make up my mind, I will. But I’m not committing myself to you or your team. If you don’t like my parameters, just say so and I’ll walk away.”
“You’ll have to train first, anyway. You can start at ten tomorrow night at Saint Michael’s Gym. The training will be every night at the same time.”
“Just out of curiosity, and without risking sudden death, can you tell me what the salary is?” He rubbed two fingers against his temple. He still had his ex-partner’s widow and kid to help out—anonymously, of course. Lately, it seemed as if he did too many things anonymously. If he kept it up, no one would even know he existed.
“More than you ever got as a cop on the beat.”
A horn beeped on the street and he looked around to see what was going on. “If this job is so dangerous, why…”
He turned back to face her. She was gone. Frowning, he walked along the edge of the steps and looked down the sidewalk both ways. No one walked through the muted pools of light beneath the streetlights.
He looked back at the church and realized that except for the muted night lights on the pillars inside, the church was now dark. Where had the guy from his cab gone? Had he and the priest left by a back door?
And, why did Britt suddenly feel like crossing himself again? Maybe even saying a quick Hail Mary. Suddenly the night seemed darker. For the first time since he was a kid, he felt as if there were ominous shadows lurking at the edges of the darkness—watching him.
Chapter Three
Jess strode into the gym, aware of everyone’s scrutiny. She stopped in the center of the room and looked the recruits over. No sign of John Brittain. Too bad.
“Has everyone filled out their application forms?” she said, circling the haphazard group, trying to judge how far into the program each one would make it. The tall man, who looked like a Grizzly bear, probably weighed 300 pounds. She called him Griz. His wife and child had been killed by a neighborhood psycho, and he’d been on the path to becoming a vigilante when Jess found him. He had to get out his frustrations, and she had the perfect venue for him to do it. But could he take it when
he found out what he’d be fighting? Probably, though she’d seen the strongest of men crumble under the strain of fighting vampires.
Terry Grant, the only woman in the bunch, was slight, yet she was rough around the edges and had a black belt in a couple types of martial arts. Jess had seen the woman in action. She was impressive. Terry lost her husband to a vampire and, unlike most of the others, knew exactly why she was here. She wasn’t pretending to be hardassed; she’d make the cut.
Tat Brophy, the con slated for death row, hosted tattoos everywhere, even on his face. She still might cut him from the team. Sometimes they had to scrape the bottom of the barrel, and sometimes it paid off—sometimes it didn’t. She still wasn’t sure about this guy. When she eyed him, he sneered at her. Probably thought this was his road to freedom.
“What’s the gig here, babe?” Tat stepped forward. Or rather hitched himself forward in an attempt to look cool with that gang-style gait he’d probably grown up using.
“Mr. Brophy, you know information will be given to you upon acceptance of your abilities. I have to be sure you’re physically fit. If and when you get the job, you’ll be told what it is.”
Jess looked at her chart. Tat Brophy had murdered his parents and the next door neighbors because the power had gone out and he couldn’t finish his video game. Jesus! Maybe he should be working for the other side. Even though the warden had to release him from prison after his sentence had been served, Tat remained under strict security in a special kind of halfway house for violent offenders who were secretly used for special task forces. He wasn’t allowed out on his own—would never be. Officers picked him up for training with Jess’s team and brought him back to his room when they were done.
They needed killers though, and Tat would have no qualms about what they had to do. Bottom line, he’d be on a tight leash. The ethics of using someone like him bothered Jess. But seeing the good recruits die for the cause wasn’t any easier.
“Tat, friends call me Tat.”
“That’s nice, Mr. Brophy, you’ll address me as Ma’am from now on or Lieutenant Vandermire.”
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