“Their eyes?”
“Yeah. I gotta go. I love you.”
I wait outside on the porch until I hear all the locks click then pull out my keys and start toward my car, keeping my eyes on the black sedan. But instead of getting in my car, I walk past it, my head back and a hard scowl on my face. Let the games begin.
I tap on the tinted window. After a second it rolls down revealing two huge bald men with matching scowls. “Hello. Just wanted to let you know I’m on my way to my meeting with your boss now. I’m thinking that you two need to follow me away from my grandmother’s house, otherwise I will turn back around and crush this car like a tin can with both of you still in it.” For effect, without moving a finger, I crush the soda can in the holder. Both men flinch, and then look up at my smiling face. “Try to keep up. Don’t want to keep his Lordship waiting.” As I walk back to my car with a spring in my step, I key their car. Childish, but effective.
Hope they don’t tattle on me.
EIGHT
GASLIGHT
EVEN ON A SUNDAY night parking in downtown San Diego is a trial. I’m stuck parking five blocks away in a poorly lit lot with rats scurrying between cars. And I get to pay twelve bucks for the privilege. At least my two new best friends are in the same pickle. Merry and Pippin stalk fifteen feet behind me all the way to the club. I’m strangely calm as the club comes into view. It’s nestled in the middle of the Gaslamp District. Tiny flames flicker in place of electric street lights with trendy boutiques, restaurants, and art galleries lining the red brick street. Gaslight stands right in the heart of the district. It’s three stories of red brick with the name Gaslight illuminated by the same flames as the street lights.
I’ve actually been to this club before. Five times. Three with April, once with some friends from college, and once with Steven. Clubbing was never my thing. Too many people. Too loud. Too expensive. Never in a million years would I have suspected that some of the
people I was grooving with were the living dead. Sure there were a few pale and black-clad people, but I never gave them much thought. It makes me wonder where else I’ve encountered vamps. The movies at night? The bookstore? It’s frightening, like finding out your next door neighbor is a serial killer.
The dark brown wood door is closed, and the place the bouncer usually sits is empty. They must not be open yet. Which means no civilians. Which means no pretending to be human, because no witnesses. That calm I had before? Just vanished. Raised pulse and shaking hands are back.
My escorts flank me on either side before the driver knocks. A moment later the heavy door opens. A skinny African-American vamp in black jeans and shirt lets us in. Like all clubs, Gaslight is dark even with the house lights up. The majority of the red brick walls are unadorned save for glasses of gaslamps, speakers, and strobe lights. It’s one of the classier clubs I’ve been to. There’s ample seating along the walls with huge dark brown leather couches and chairs. The empty dance floor is the same color with a wooden railing along it, the same kind that’s on the second level. It’s like an old fashioned bar or hunting lodge. And I do love the chandelier with the gaslights dancing like the people below it. Exactly as I remember it.
As I anticipated it’s empty except for the vamp staff. Off in the corner is a thickly muscled Native American man dressed in a black suit reading a newspaper. I recognize him from the last time I was here. He almost didn’t let us in until Steven “accidently” flashed his badge. Three stunning women in black skirts and red corsets wipe down the tables and seats. In the DJ booth another black-clad vamp leafs through his records. Behind the bar are a man and woman. Like the rest, they’re dazzling. The woman is petite and doesn’t fill out the uniform as well as the other waitresses. She cuts something, I guess the garnishments, with vamp speed.
Working beside her is a smiling wet dream come alive, relatively speaking. Wiry, lean body adorned in a plain white V-neck T-shirt, light blue jeans, and platinum onyx necklace. His wavy auburn hair frames a peaches and cream complexion on his feline face with a straight nose and rectangular jaw. Super yummy. He lifts three crates of alcohol onto the bar as if it was nothing. So it’s nine against one. Oy.
“Did you check her for weapons?” the vamp who answered the door asks with a Cockney accent.
“No,” my escort Merry responds.
“I’m not armed,” I say, as if the mere thought annoys me.
“Just in case, luv,” the doorman says as he snatches my purse from me. “Pat her down.”
Great. Getting felt up twice in two days. A new record. Rolling my eyes and sighing, I lift up my arms and spread my legs. As Pippin pats me down, and Cockney rifles through my bag, the yummy bartender watches with a smirk and raised eyebrow. The others could care less.
“Nothing,” Pippin says.
“Not here either,” Cockney says.
“Why would I bring weapons to a friendly sit-down?” I get my purse back. “Besides, I’m on holiday. I don’t usually pack my Uzi. So if you could get your boss, please? I’m missing It’s a Wonderful Life.”
The bartender full on smiles, his blue eyes crinkling. I am a sucker for crinkly eyes. Footsteps above draw my attention away from the eye candy. A red-headed man with short hair, goatee, charcoal gray slacks, white dress shirt, and gray vest steps into view.
“Matilda, can you bring me up last night’s receipts?” he asks with a clipped British accent.
That must be him. He merely glances at me as the female bartender stops chopping.
“They should be in the safe,” Yummy says with an Irish accent. I almost melt inside. Irish accents are my Kryptonite. I’ve watched all of Colin Farrell’s movies and interviews a dozen times just to hear him talk. Liam Neeson’s too. And I wore out my copy of Once. I really hope I don’t have to kill him now.
“Everything fine down here?” Connor asks the Irishman.
“Yes,” he says with that voice. I really must be hard up if my G-spot is tingling now. I’ll be rubbing up against trees in the middle of gunfights pretty soon. “We shall be up in a minute.”
Matilda the bartender locates the receipts and walks upstairs behind the departing Connor. He doesn’t look like much. The three bodyguards will be the hardest, especially the vamp one.
“Care to sit?” Irish suggests, motioning to the bar. I glance around the room, but nobody seems to care about me except my escorts, so I sit. As I get closer, I notice I was wrong about his eyes. They’re violet like Liz Taylor’s. I’ve never actually met anyone with real violet eyes. He smiles again reassuringly. “May I pour you a drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m fine.”
He tsks. “You obviously have no Irish in you.”
Is he flirting with me? “Why is that?”
“We Irish will accept a drink even from our worst enemies.”
“Are you guys my worst enemies?”
He puts both hands on the bar and leans in toward me. “If we are, Special Agent Alexander, then you must not be doing your job well.” His eyes meet mine, and he smiles. Flirtatiously. And yes, a sliver of lust rushes through me.
I mask it by looking away. “Are you trying to capture my mind, Danny Boy?”
“I would never presume to do that, Special Agent. Why mar per-
fection?”
I swear this guy and Oliver must have studied under the same seduction teacher, Mr. Casanova de Cheesy. “Rein it in, Danny Boy,” I warn. “I’m here to meet your boss, not participate in Flirting 101.” Heck yeah! Go, tough Bea!
The vamp frowns. “I apologize if I offended. It is not every day I can enjoy a conversation with a woman of your caliber and beauty, and I mean that with sincerity. I simply could not help myself.”
Okay, maybe I could stand to hear a little more, but I don’t let him know that. “It’s okay, I’m used to it. I live with a vamp. I know if your mouth is moving, you’re flirting.”
He cocks one of those violet eyes. “You live with a vampire? Who is this fortunate man?”
“Special Agent Oliver Montrose. My partner.” Not technically true partners but close enough.
“And you live together?”
“Not like that,” I say. “We live in the same house. Separate bedrooms, though.”
“But it is true you walked unarmed into a room of twelve vampires to save him from true death?”
“I wasn’t unarmed, and it wasn’t twelve. More like eight.”
“But you were almost directly responsible for the death of the Lord of Dallas.”
“I didn’t kill him,” I say quickly.
“You may as well have wielded the sword yourself,” Irish says. “And is it true you dispatched, in a single twenty-four hour period, fifteen vampires, including two of whom were over three hundred years old?”
My spidey sense is tingling. “You know, for a lowly bartender, you seem to know a lot about me.”
“It is my job to know these things, Agent Alexander.”
Ugh. I’m an idiot. I fell for a classic bad guy move that anyone who’s watched a Bond flick should have seen a mile away. Now I’m really glad I kept the drooling to a minimum. I lean back in my chair with a crooked smile. “Lord Connor, I presume.” He bows his head and all the other vamps in the room chuckle at my stupidity. There goes my credibility. I am so going to die. “Nice one.”
“I am afraid you caught me on my night off,” Connor says, “otherwise I would have greeted you in proper attire.”
“What? A tuxedo and cape?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of body armor and shotgun.”
“You’re cuter this way,” I say with a sly smile. “Shotguns don’t really do it for me.”
“And what does, pray tell?”
I lean in a little. “Irish accents and crinkly eyes.”
He grins back. “In that case, we should continue our conversation upstairs? With a bit more privacy?”
I lean in more so we’re close enough to kiss while meeting his eyes. “Thought you’d never ask, your Lordship.” And the Golden Globe for acting cool while really wanting to run screaming from the building goes to … the corpse of Bea Alexander.
I take the lead up the stairs, not the best defensive position, but there’s not much choice since Connor gestures for me to go first. He stays a step behind me, making his presence known but not crowding me, though his hand on the railing is millimeters from mine.
Inside the small office, the fake Connor sits at the desk punching numbers into a calculator. There’s nothing here but a safe, file cabinet, fax machine, desk, chair, and black leather love seat. Just from the décor I can tell Connor doesn’t spend much time here. It’s too drab for a vampire. They enjoy the finer things, and this place doesn’t even have a window. The fact he didn’t bring me to his base of operations tells me he’s cautious. That he’s afraid something might go wrong. Not good.
“I am almost finished here, sir,” the fake Connor says. He bundles the receipts with a rubber band then jumps out of the seat like a scared mouse as Connor approaches.
“Please sit, Agent Alexander,” Connor says as he takes his seat behind the desk. I take the plastic chair across from him. The other vamp lowers himself onto the loveseat so I can only see him out of the corner of my eye. “Will your police friend be joining us?” Connor asks. “I believe I requested both of you.”
“Requested?”
“You are not here by force, therefore you are here by your own accord.”
“You threatened my family.”
“I did nothing of the sort,” he counters, “and if you accuse me further, I wish to view proof.”
“What do you call those two men parked outside my house? Or reciting my address?”
“Perhaps I sent those men to escort you in case you were unable to locate the club? Or merely out of courtesy? Gas is quite expensive these days.”
This guy is good. “What? Were you a lawyer in your past life?”
He smiles. “No. This one. The Fifties were dull. I am a member of the bar and all.”
“Then you know the law, human or otherwise. I have committed no offense to warrant your threats, overt or not. I am a sworn officer of the law, and I responded to a possible crime scene. There was no excessive force used or harm done.”
“And your police friend?”
“He’s a civilian and therefore out of bounds. I did call him and told him to be here, but I have no control over him.”
“So you were not responsible for his actions today? He was not acting at your behest?”
“Huh?”
Connor glances at the other vamp. “Neil?”
“At one o’clock this afternoon, the emergency hotline received a call from one Mariah Turner, who identified herself as the consort of registered vampire Moon Lipmann. Two Chula Vista police officers, Weir and Rupp, arrived to her door and demanded entry. When it was denied, Rupp pushed his way in, and Weir followed. A litany of questions regarding both the incident the previous night and your involvement with both Turner and Lipmann followed. When she refused to answer, Weir threatened to arrest her. He punched a hole in the wall when she did not answer. The two officers then left, promising to return until their questions were answered.”
“Oh crap,” I mutter.
“You can see our concern,” Connor says.
“Look, I had no idea he did that. None. The only reason he was there last night was we were together when I got the call. He followed me without my knowledge.”
“Who is he?” Connor asks.
“My ex-boyfriend.”
“Does he know about us?” Connor asks.
“Not at all,” I say.
“Will he let this go or do I need to speak to him?”
Meaning get inside his head and erase everything. Sadly this is the best option, but I can’t bring myself to serve up my ex to this monster. “He’ll let it go. I can get him to back off. If I can’t, then you can try.”
“That seems fair,” Neil says. “Better we have no exposure on this situation at all. It is the police.”
Connor mulls over this for a second. “Agreed. This is your mess, you clean it up.”
“Then I’ll be going,” I say with a smile. That was easy. I stand up. “It was very nice meeting you.”
“Agent Alexander, please return to your seat,” Connor says. “That was only the first issue in need of discussion.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Sit, please,” Connor says with an undercurrent of menace.
Neil stands up, folding his arms across his chest.
“O … kay,” I say as I sit. “Next topic?”
“Oliver Smythe, now Montrose.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course,” I say. “What about him? He owe you money? Sleep with your sister? Or brother?”
“Agent Alexander, I have held this territory for over one hundred and fifty years, longer than almost anyone in North America, save the King. Do you know how I managed this?”
“With a smile?” I ask. “Or torture. I’m gonna go with torture.”
“By perceiving potential threats and neutralizing them,” Connor says.
“How proactive of you. What does this have to do with me?”
“Your mere presence in my territory could be construed as one of those threats.”
“What?” I laugh. “I’ve lived here for years.”
“That was before you became the known consort of an elder vampire who, with your assistance, helped to slay a Lord. You have already made overt threats and bodily harm to one of my subjects. For all I know you are here doing reconnaissance in an attempt to usurp my position for him.”
“Um, or I’m here on friggin’ vacation to visit my family for Christmas! And for the record, and I feel like I need to make an announcement on CNN or something, I am not ‘consorting,’ ” I say, doing finger quotes, “with Oliver!”
“You registered as his consort on legally binding papers in Dallas under Oliver’s human last name.” Huh? “He has fed on you on m
ultiple occasions, even marking you. And you admitted to residing in the same house as him. Therefore, you are his legal consort and are thereby an extension of him. He can be held legally responsible for your actions and vice versa. It is vampiric law. Did he never explain this to you?”
I am going to … KILL HIM!
“No,” I say, trying to remain calm. Dead. He is so dead.
“Therefore, your presence in my territory, coupled with the fact you did not make said presence known as you are required to do by law, and your own known lethality at least warrants a conversation between us.”
Those violet eyes catch mine. There’s no malice or fear, just amusement. “I’ll bet you were top of your class in law school,” I say.
“Second,” he says with a smile.
“Well, I’m sorry for not registering with you. I didn’t know I had to.”
“Ignorance of the law is not a defense,” Connor says.
“Then I don’t have one,” I say, shrugging my shoulders. “Look, I’m not here to do anything but shop, go to the beach, and celebrate Christmas. Nothing else. I swear on my grandmother’s life. I don’t want to usurp anything. I am in no way a threat to you.”
“I wish I could take you at your word, but I cannot. I am sorry.”
“So there’s nothing I can say? You’ve just made up your mind?”
The telephone rings and Connor picks it up. “Yes?” He listens. “Provide him a drink on the house. We shall be down shortly.” Connor hangs up. “Officer Weir is here. Right on time.” My stomach tightens. It’s one thing for me to possibly be at death’s door, but the fact I dragged Steven here is ratcheting up my fear.
“Don’t hurt him,” I say.
“I have no intention of harming him,” Connor says.
“And me?” I shake my head. “Look, I’ve lived here for almost twenty years without incident. I’m a Federal Agent, and so is Oliver. We don’t want your territory, okay? The only way we’re a threat is if you do something stupid here. You want to talk law? Then let’s talk law. If you hurt me or mine without cause, the F.R.E.A.K.S. will descend upon you like a tidal wave and remove you by any means necessary. And I guarantee you, it will not be pretty. Just ask Freddy St. Clair. Bottom line: you stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours.”
Death Takes a Holiday Page 14