Night Stalker

by Nikki Jefford

  “And why are you here?” Stan demanded, steely eyes locked on mine.

  “To help you apparently,” I said with a dismissive eye roll. “Maybe ol’ Ronny met up with a special lady friend who talked him into an underwater adventure.”

  Stan’s scowl made my chest shake with suppressed laughter.

  “Ronald would never go scuba diving,” Stan ground out between his teeth.

  Cassie glared at me. “I think we can rule out scuba diving.”

  Shrugging, I said, “That’s not what I read in the Bermuda Sun.”

  “The officials must have covered it up. Probably thought it would be bad for tourism.” Cassie huffed. She turned to Stan and softened her voice. “Were you able to track down anyone who’d seen him that night?”

  Stan nodded. “Tucker at the Blue Fin saw him chatting up a couple females, but he didn’t leave with them.”

  “How does Tucker know?” Cassie pressed.

  Stan frowned. “He didn’t see Ronald leave, but he remembers he wasn’t around for long. The females he’d been talking to stuck around until closing, though.”

  “Ouch, rejection burns,” I said, grasping my heart. “Maybe Ronny tossed himself into the sea after being rebuffed.”

  This comment earned me glares from both Stan and Cassie. Speaking of being burned—

  “Ronald wouldn’t go near the water,” Stan said, voice rising. He was too worked up to notice several patrons stare over at his sudden outburst. “He hated the water!”

  “Well, then, a Caribbean getaway makes perfect sense,” I returned, my brows jumping with amusement.

  The sun descended into the ocean as we made the journey back to St. Maarten. It might have been romantic if Cassie hadn’t expressed her irritation at me for baiting Stan the shmuck for the umpteenth time.

  If I had to hear “he’s one of us” one more time, I might just be tempted to throw myself overboard and backstroke the remainder of the way to the island.

  In the end, we made it back to the harbor dry and as clueless as when we’d left as to what had really happened to Ronald or the other two vampires who’d recently expired. But at least Cassie’s shoulders relaxed, dropping with the setting sun. We reached St. Maarten in the afterglow between sunset and nightfall. In that moment, a sense of serenity washed over us.

  “Stan was a bit of a sap,” Cassie acknowledged, eyeing the dock as Michael maneuvered us in.

  “But I’m sure Ronald was a real prince,” I said.

  She snorted, turned her head, and gave me an eye roll. “Well, anyway, we got the best information we could given Stan wasn’t with his friend that night. Nothing more we can do tonight besides enjoy Bastian’s bash.”

  “And I do enjoy hanging out having a good time,” I said with a wink.

  As Cassie laughed, all last traces of irritation left her body. “I hear that’s code for partaking in female companionship,” she teased.

  “Are you offering?” I asked in a husky voice, my gaze dropping to her lips.

  Cassie placed a hand on her hip. “You’ll forget all about me once you see the smorgasbord assembled tonight. A’s. B’s. O’s. Come hungry,” she added before jumping over the side of the boat onto the dock below.

  I threw a thick rope down to her. Cassie caught it easily and set to work winding it around the dock’s boat cleat. As I watched her bent over, looking as cute and sexy as ever, it occurred to me she would be the one to forget me that night, not the other way around.

  A heaviness filled me, like an anchor dragging me down. This felt like New Zealand all over again. We’d flirted and laughed, playing off one another blow by blow. The perfect pair. But Cassie couldn’t see it back then, and the present wasn’t improving my odds.

  I suppressed a sigh but couldn’t prevent a bitter smile from cracking over my lips. Luckily, Cassie still had her head bent and missed my look of disappointment.

  FOUR

  Never one to be spontaneous, Joss opted to stay in for the evening and read. A part of me wanted to skip the party, too. I’d never been the stay-at-home sort, but it was somewhat tempting to fly solo for a night. Not that I’d likely remain solo long. I loved meeting people, and I was good at it—meaning I didn’t need to rely on Cassie to introduce me around. But she was the reason I’d come to the islands and it seemed stupid not to spend time together, especially time that involved amusement opposed to amateur detective work.

  So, I took a catnap, showered, and spiffed up in a plain black tee and long khaki cargo shorts that were snug but not constricting.

  It was full-on dark when I returned to the docks. Cassie texted me walking directions to Bastian’s boat, The Sea Serpent, but I only had to use my eyes and ears to find the floating party.

  Reggae music drifted over the water and along the dock from a luxury yacht anchored at the far end. Cassie hadn’t exaggerated the size. The boat had two upper decks with wraparound balconies and a helicopter parked on the roof. Now that was what I called the cherry on top. My feet stopped momentarily and my head craned up in appreciation. I’d flown small planes before, but never a helicopter. I’d have to add that to my “to do” list.

  Overhead lights lit up every level of the boat. It was welcoming against the vast darkness across the ocean. As I neared, the sound of conversation mingled with the music.

  Partygoers dressed in strapless dresses and polos leaned against railings holding bottled beer and cocktails. The party was already in full swing as I walked up to the boat fashionably late.

  I stepped from the dock onto the lower deck. Two sets of well-lit stairs led up to the main level.

  Fragments of light flashed from a mammoth-sized flat screen playing a basketball game without the sound. The music was at just the right volume that got under my skin in a good way that coursed through my body while still allowing me to make out what people in my immediate vicinity were saying.

  No one intercepted me as I weaved my way through the crowd and surveyed the ice chest. I helped myself to a beer, not caring what I selected so long as it was cold. The brand was unfamiliar to me. I studied it beneath the bright lights. The label said 10 SAINTS with a halo above the “0.” Hand crafted beer aged in rum casks. Fitting. It was nice to see something more exotic than Budweiser or Coors.

  Snatching one of the brass bottle openers beside the ice chest, I popped the lid and took a swig.

  “Any good?” a guy in a cream tank top asked with a friendly smile. He held a dark beer in his left hand with a red-and-black label.

  “Not bad,” I said.

  We moved aside to make room for a small group of girls in bikini tops flocking to the ice chest. Sidestepping the giggling girls, we claimed a small opening between the drink station and crowd gathered in front of the flat-screen TV. My new friend sounded American and looked too tan to be a vampire. Either he was a bodybuilder or kept in incredibly great shape on his own. He had that all-American boy-next-door charm about him. No doubt the female vamps would want to eat him up—Cassie included. Or perhaps I’d steal Mr. All-American away from them first.

  I could practically feel the gleam in my eyes at the thought of competing for the same juicy morsel.

  All’s fair in blood and war.

  Mr. All-American cocked his head to the side. “Someone told me there’s a dozen different types of Caribbean beer at this party. I’ve made a plan to try them all before the night’s out.”

  “Ambitious,” I said, leaning closer and eyeing his neck. Before he had a chance to notice my focus had turned to one particularly bulging vein, my gaze dropped to the bottle of beer he held by the neck.

  Stallion the label read above the graphic of a red horse head.

  “Stallion,” I repeated with a satisfied nod. “My, my.” My eyebrows gave a jump, happy to see I hadn’t scared the stud off . . . yet. “How does it taste?”

  “Chocolatey,” All-American said with a lopsided grin. “Yours?”

  “Rummy,” I answered.

  He lifted his
head when he laughed, giving me an unobstructed view of all the lovely veins running along his muscular neck.

  With my next smile, I made a point of showing off my sharpened back molars. “My name is Francesco, but call me Fane. And you are—?”

  All-American did a double take. “Fane?” he repeated.

  I nodded, smiling my Cheshire grin.

  His eyes darted from side to side, then he stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Are you . . . you know?”

  I set my beer down without looking. I didn’t even know where it ended up, but suddenly my hands were free and I was moving closer to Mr. All-American.

  How long had it been since I drank straight from the vein? Months. Not since that holiday party in the Bronx. Way too long.

  My friendly companion watched me with a mixture of unease and excitement. He stared at my mouth, perhaps imagining my lips affixed to his neck sucking his blood. I wondered if it, too, would taste chocolatey.

  “Am I what?” I asked huskily.

  He stared at me for a long time, a flush traveling from his neck to his face the longer it took him to say the word.

  “Not human,” he finally managed, unable to ask flat out.

  “You mean vampire?” I supplied, giving the poor guy a break. “Yes,” I said. “I am one of the undead.”

  All-American glanced from me to his beer then back to me. “Cool. Really. Don’t worry. I’m not going to freak out on you. My friend explained things to me before we arrived. You’re the first vampire I’ve met so . . . cool.”

  “Your first,” I repeated with delight.

  I should have been looking for Cassie, but this unexpected diversion was too delicious to walk away from. I wondered if the boat had designated areas for blood sucking. On first glance, I hadn’t seen anyone sucking out in the open. Most of the swankier parties kept it behind closed doors.

  I flashed All-American another smile. “Why don’t I grab us a couple more beers and we give ourselves a self-guided boat tour?”

  His shoulders relaxed as he grinned back. “I wouldn’t mind looking around. Oh, and I’m Todd,” he said, sticking out his free hand.

  I grasped it at once then let go, delighted to have met such an agreeable young man so quickly.

  “I know you’ve already tried the Stallion,” I said, moving toward the ice chest, “but let’s find a couple brands you haven’t yet tasted.”

  The beer reminder put Todd further at ease. He joined me at the ice chest, but before I could make a selection there came a scream from inside the cabin followed by a man in a striped polo thrashing about, running into furniture and people. Eyes bugging out from beneath a wide forehead, the man threw himself onto the deck as though in pursuit of oxygen. He fell to the floor beside us, thrashing and flopping around like a fish thrown aboard. From this close, I could see blood on his teeth.

  There were screams around us as people jumped back. In the confined space they had nowhere to go, and others rushed forward to see what was happening, packing in the deck and all those around them like sardines.

  Pinkish foam frothed at the corner of the man’s lips.

  “Hun—” he gasped. “Hun . . . Hun!” He tried one final time before giving into the convulsions that wracked his body from head to toe.

  “Is he having an epileptic fit?” a female voice asked urgently.

  “Can’t be. He’s undead,” a male voice answered.

  “What’s he trying to say?”

  “I don’t know. Should we put something in his mouth so he doesn’t bite off his tongue?”

  While everyone else speculated and stared at the thrashing figure on the floor, I lifted my head and scanned the crowd. That’s when I spotted her, the blonde beauty in the short white strapless dress. She cupped her neck with one hand and grasped a long silver sequined clutch in the other. Her hair flowed in smooth, subtle waves despite the humidity. She looked a bit like Taylor Swift glammed up and ready for the Grammys.

  With an air of urgency, she squeezed her way along the edge of the crowd, shoving her way through when people didn’t budge quick enough.

  It occurred to me then what the writhing vampire had been trying to say.

  Hunter.

  Could it possibly be? Could Glam Girl really be responsible for putting down three vamps twice her weight? And was life really so serendipitous to place her right here in St. Maarten, on The Sea Serpent, directly in our laps? Had she poisoned her victims? Was it happening right now?

  There wasn’t time to stand around pondering. The blonde was getting away.

  Thoughts now homed in on the fleeing hunter, I shoved my way through the crowd to the stairs. The blonde had already made it down and stepped barefoot onto the dock. So intent was she on getting away from the boat that she didn’t notice me following after her.

  Once her feet hit the wood planks, she lowered the slender hand that had been holding her neck and swung it at her side as she strode toward the glittering lights of town.

  I had to jog to keep pace.

  Soon, the music and din of the party faded, replaced by the soft lap of waves against the approaching shoreline licking the shallows beneath our feet. This far from the commotion, being stealthy proved challenging. No one milled around the docks. We were alone now. Even if she noticed me, there was no reason for her to suspect I was tailing her. I could simply have been leaving the party, heading back to my lodgings.

  Where would she go? To her own hotel? What then? Did I report her? Gather a group of local vamps to confront her?

  I’d never encountered a vampire hunter in all my long life. Their existence had always been more of a myth—a rarity on par with vampires themselves. More than anything, curiosity propelled me forward.

  The dock slanted ahead to the final climb up to the harbor’s pedestrian area. There were no boats anchored this close to shore and only dull intermittent lighting from lamps overhead. The dark waters seemed to still at the edges of the dock doing nothing to help cover my footsteps.

  The blonde only had a few more feet until she began the climb up to shore, but before her foot ever hit the ramp, she whipped around, cool blue eyes piercing mine as her shoulders drew up. She pulled a small dagger from her clutch and gripped the handle tight.

  “That’s close enough,” she warned.

  My heart slammed against my rib cage as I came to an abrupt halt. I’d only feared death twice in my life. The first as a human in Venice when my fingers turned black. The second time had been in a hot-air balloon over Egypt. After a leaky fuel line set fire to the basket, I’d watched the pilot jump out and had quickly done the same. The 30-meter drop had done a number on my poor bones and internal organs, but that was when I’d discovered how quickly a vampire could heal. The pilot hadn’t been as lucky, nor the other passengers who’d been swept up in a gust of flaming wind before the balloon exploded.

  I didn’t feel the same forsaken sense of horror I had the two times before, though my adrenaline spiked in anticipation.

  When the blonde took in my visage, she did something odd. She smiled, not with malicious intent but as though we were old acquaintances.

  “Francesco Donado,” she said warmly, sounding not altogether surprised. If anything, her tone held a note of intrigue. Her accent sounded American.

  In all my long life, I swear nothing had ever taken me aback more than the familiarity with which she spoke my name. I hid my surprise as only an Italian vampire can, with a lazy Cheshire grin. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

  “It does, indeed.” She smiled briefly then looked over my shoulder and took a step backward. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Am I on some kind of hit list?” I asked, curiosity overcoming my earlier fear.

  She hesitated for a moment before answering, “No.”

  “But you know who I am.” I doubted very much she’d give me her name, at least not her real one. Stuffing my thumbs in my pockets, I kept my distance while allowing my gaze to roam over her, resting on
a messy wound at her neck where blood streaked and pooled along her collarbone.

  She smiled again. “I am not supposed to talk to you.”

  “I’m no snitch,” I said. Even if I knew who to snitch her out to.

  “I have to go.” She turned again.

  I lifted my arms. “Wait. What did you do to the vamp on the boat?”

  “He’ll survive . . . for now,” she said, frowning.

  I leaned in, afraid a step toward her would hasten her departure. “You injected him with something, I presume.”

  “Trade secret.” She lowered her chin with a seductive slant.

  “And the vamp on Anguilla Island, Ronald,” I pressed, “that was you, too?”

  The assassin’s lips drew back. It was as though an invisible line had been drawn between us, one we peered across leery once more. All traces of playfulness drifted from her face.

  “Ronald.” She spat out the name as though it were Satan’s own. “He killed several girls in Miami Beach before running off to the Caribbean. Luckily, I caught up to him,” she said with a fierce grin. “Justice was served.”

  “So that’s your MO? Eye for an eye?” Seemed like a good thing to know. Killing turned my stomach. If murder was what brought about a visit from the vampire huntress, then I had nothing to fear.

  “Not always,” she said with a nonchalance that put me back on edge, which is exactly where I should have remained all along.

  What was I thinking flirting with a vampire hunter? A bloody vampire hunter! She knew my name—knew me by sight. Did they have flash cards or something? A database? How many of them were there? Who was their leader? They sounded way too organized not to have a leader. The phony newspaper story was a red flag if I ever saw one. How high did this thing go?

  “Word of advice,” the assassin said, piercing my eyes with her own, “go back to New York.”

  I folded my arms over my chest. “Is that a threat?”

  “More of a friendly heads up. Too many vamps have seen me. My replacements will arrive soon. Some of them aren’t as selective as I, and I’d hate for you to get caught up in the crossfires.”