Death Takes a Holiday

by Jennifer Harlow

  He doesn’t even take time to think before saying, “I am afraid that is not good enough.”

  I cross my arms and scoff. “Then what do you suggest we do, Captain Paranoid?”

  “As I see it, we have three options. One is that you leave town and never return.”

  “Not happening. Next?”

  “You stay, I keep both you and your family under close surveillance until I find cause to kill you. Exposure of the vampire world to non-essentials, including your family, would be enough.”

  Oh fudge. “I can keep a secret,” I lie.

  “That is just one example. There are at least a dozen laws where death or imprisonment are the punishment.”

  “Such as?”

  Connor smirks and his eyes crinkle. If he wasn’t threatening to kill me, I’d be turned on. “I want you gone, Agent Alexander. If you do not know, why would I tell you?”

  “Fine. And option three?”

  He leans back in the chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “You renounce all ties to Oliver Smythe and become my consort.”

  My mouth drops open. “Huh?” Okay, not expecting that. I was sure option three was a dual to the death, not what amounts to the vampire form of a marriage proposal.

  “This would, of course, mean cutting off any and all communication with him,” Connor continues. “You would have to vacate your current residence and spend at least six months of the year with me at my home. There would be some feeding involved, along with sexual relations at least once, but judging from the high level of lust I feel from you, I believe that would not be an issue.”

  I sit, dumbfounded for a moment, then say, “Huh?”

  “Your pupils dilated and your respiration rate changed when you saw me.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I do find you incredibly attractive as well,” he says. “More than I believed I would, which is a pleasant surprise.”

  “I’m glad?” I say awkwardly.

  “I am very particular about choosing my official consorts,” he says. “In the last hundred years, I have had only three.”

  Three ex-wives. Not a glowing endorsement. “What happened to them?”

  “We grew tired of one another. I provided for them afterwards, even the ones I turned.” He sits upright again. “I would give you almost complete autonomy and the freedom to take lovers if you so wish.”

  “Wow,” I say sarcastically, “a relationship of convenience. How romantic. Every girl’s dream.”

  “It could quickly grow to be more. You intrigue me, Agent Alexander. Not an easy feat. And I am excellent at reading people. I believe we could easily fall in love with one another,” he says with certainty. “If you desire fidelity, I could promise that, as long as I receive it in return. And you and your family would want for nothing until the end of your days.”

  “And all I have to do in return is quit my job, never see my friend again, and be your concubine?”

  “That or you are banished,” he says. “Here or there. The choice is yours.”

  My mouth opens to retort, but nothing comes to mind. Here or there. Him or me. Us or them. Why does this keep happening to me? I’m getting fed up with people forcing me to make life-altering choices to suit them. On my friggin’ holiday no less. “You do realize you’re forcing me to choose between my job and my family?”

  “Yes, I know,” he says, sounding genuinely upset. “But if you look at it logically, the choice is clear. I am familiar with the exploits of the F.R.E.A.K.S. It is harrowing, disgusting work where violent death is a true possibility. But here, you will have not only your family but wealth. And power.” He smirks again. “Not to mention a skilled and devoted lover who would do all in his considerable power to make you happy until your dying day. This I can promise you. Simply say yes.”

  Okay, is it bad that there’s a tiny part of me that is considering this? Very tiny, but it’s still there. He is hot, rich, and powerful. And … no. No. Get a grip, Bea. Don’t let the accent or animal magnetism win. “You’ve thought about this a lot, I can tell,” I say. And as the words flow I realize he has put a lot of thought into this. More than he’s letting on. This was his endgame the whole time. This proposal is why I’m here. But why?

  Before I can turn this over in my head, the telephone rings. Connor answers it. “Yes?” He listens for a moment. “Fine. We shall be right down.” He hangs up. “Officer Weir is demanding to see you. He is quite belligerent. We will have to continue this conversation later.”

  I swear after the past few days I’m thinking that joining an all-female convent is the smartest thing to do. Neil opens the door for me, and the two vamps follow me out, Connor keeping only a few inches between us down the hall and to the stairs. Not big on personal space, I guess.

  Everyone, including Steven—who must be on his lunch break as he’s in his uniform complete with gun and handcuffs—gazes up as we descend the stairs. Steven is fuming. He breathes so hard he could blow down a little pig’s house.

  “Bea, what the hell is going on?” he asks as I walk toward him.

  “Sorry,” I say. “Sorry. My meeting ran late.”

  “Your meeting?” he asks, eyeing Connor and Neil.

  I reach him at the bar and touch his arm. “Yeah. Sorry. Let’s go outside and—”

  “It is cold out there,” Connor says, his eyes narrowing a little. “And we have not finished our meeting.”

  Steven steps away from me toward Connor. “And who the hell are you?”

  “Steven!” I admonish.

  “Connor McInnis,” he says, not missing a beat.

  “He’s Moon Lipmann’s lawyer,” I say.

  “Who?” Steven asks.

  “He represents the man you harassed today,” I say.

  Steven glares at the unemotional vamp, sizing him up. “And why are you meeting him here?”

  “I own this establishment,” Connor says, “among others.”

  They are not making this easy for me. “Mariah,” I jump in, “called him after you threatened her. And then she called me. I came here to smooth things over so he wouldn’t report you. What the heck were you thinking going back there?”

  His fury at these words almost knocks me down. “Me? What was I thinking? You of all people have the fucking nerve to ask me that?”

  “Please calm down, Officer,” Connor says. “There is no need for that tone.”

  “This has nothing to do with you,” Steven says.

  “Miss Alexander is a guest in my club, therefore it is my business.”

  Steven’s attention whips toward me, flabbergasted and about ready to punch someone. “Are you kidding me with this bullshit?”

  “Calm down,” I say, “and let me explain everything.”

  Still on the verge of violence, he crosses his arms. “Fine. Talk.”

  “Everything I told you last night was true. I used to baby-sit Mariah, her boyfriend scared her, I went to get her. It was stupid. I should have asked for your help, but after what almost happened last night I didn’t think I had the right and, quite frankly, I just wanted to get as far away from you as possible. I shouldn’t have led you on like that, and I’m sorry. And that’s it. That’s all. I swear.” Please, for the love of God and all that is holy, believe me.

  Steven studies my face, that stony gargoyle expression not wavering. “This has to do with drugs, doesn’t it? This man is your supplier, isn’t he?”

  Oh for God’s sake. I glance at the amused Connor, who shrugs. My mess. Right. “Fine. Yes. Drugs. I’m into drugs. Lots of drugs. Millions of drugs. I’m a donkey or whatever they call it. I confess.”

  “I knew it.” Without missing a beat, Steven takes off his cuffs and grabs my wrist. I’m too shocked to say anything. “Beatrice Alexander, I am placing you under arrest for drug trafficking and distribution.” The good news is that I get to leave this club with all my limbs and not married to a scary vamp. The bad, jail sucks.

  But before he can slap the metal on, Connor m
agically appears beside Steven, grabbing his hand. “I am afraid I cannot allow you to do this.”

  Steven jerks his hand away as if death himself was touching him. “What the fuck?” Steven shouts, stumbling back a step.

  “Great,” I mutter. “Smart. What happened to not revealing your true self?”

  “Your approach was failing,” Connor says. “Memory wipe is the only viable option.”

  Steven glances at me, then Connor, then back to me, breath ragged. I used to do the same thing when Oliver did his super-speed thing, but I’m used to it now. “Bea, what the fuck is going on?”

  “Steven, calm down,” I say.

  He looks at Connor. “What the fuck are you?”

  “Nothing you will remember.” Connor steps toward him, trying to meet his eyes.

  Steven doesn’t give him a chance. He reaches down and grabs his gun, pointing it at Connor’s head. All the vamps that were pretending not to watch the ensuing drama all tense and stop what they’re doing. “Don’t move another step.”

  My stomach lurches. We’re dead. “Steven, put the gun down,” I say.

  He doesn’t take his eyes off Connor. “No way.”

  “Steven, you have no idea what you’re doing,” I say with the hysteria breaking through the calm. “Put the gun down!”

  “Listen to your friend,” Connor says.

  “Shut the fuck up!”

  “You can’t hurt him with that,” I practically scream. “Put the gun—”

  The doorman vanishes and reappears next to Steven, snarling to expose his sharp fangs. At the same time, he grabs at Steven’s gun. The jerking motion causes him to fire. A burst of blood explodes on Connor’s chest before he falls to the ground. I’m not sure which happens next, but my instincts take over. The doorman flies across the room into the bouncer, knocking them both down. Neil kneels beside the bleeding but conscious Connor.

  Steven whips his gun around toward the two oncoming waitresses and fires. The one he hits falls, but the one he misses vanishes a millisecond later, grabbing him by the neck when she reappears. His cop instincts take over. The moment she makes contact, he karate chops the butt of his gun onto her nose. I hear a sickening crack and blood gushes from her face. She releases him, and he punches her in the face again. She glides across the room from the force. I don’t think I was responsible for that. He must spend hours every day at the gym to get that strong.

  Before she lands, the DJ leaps over his turntables toward Steven. One of the chairs I toss across the room connects with him before he lands, knocking him into a heap on the dance floor. Not that it matters. The doorman and bouncer have recovered and appear in front of Steven. And that’s when I hear the cocking of a shotgun. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Matilda pointing its long barrel at my ex.

  It’s as if someone puts everything on pause and only I know it. They’re going to kill him. They’re going to rip his throat out and lap up his blood as if he’s a human drinking fountain. And it’s all my fault. Like it or not I brought him into this, and now he’s going to die because of it. He never would have touched this world if not for caring about me. I can’t let that happen.

  The world goes from stopped to slow. The two vamps inch closer toward Steven, who positions his gun at the bouncer, oblivious to the real danger behind him. Lucky for him, I’m not. As the two vamps grab Steven’s arms, I whip my head to the right. The shotgun lifts out of Matilda’s hands and sails into mine. I point the barrel down at the still prostrate Connor’s head. Neil raises his arms instinctively, but fear must not be in Connor’s repertoire because instead of scared he appears gratified.

  “Nobody move!” I roar.

  All eyes fall to me. The two vamps holding Steven tighten their grip. Steven groans and bucks against them. “Put that down, or we’ll kill him,” the doorman says.

  “No, you won’t,” I say. “Because if you do, first I’ll blow off your bosses’ head, then yours. Then, just by flicking my pinky, I will rip your spines out. Each and every one of yours. And since I’m sure you all know about the bloodbath in Dallas, you’ll know I’m capable of it. Right, Connor?”

  They glance at the now smiling and fully healed vamp. “Without a doubt.”

  “Good. Let Steven go. Now.”

  They glance at Connor, who nods. They release Steven and he jumps away. He picks up his gun and trains it on the men, his hands shaking. “Fuckers.”

  “Good minions.” I stare back down at Connor, meeting his eyes. “Now, I want you to listen to me and listen good, Danny Boy. I want safe passage for me and Officer Weir. There will be no reprisals for this incident. Both sides are at fault, so we’ll call it a wash. Agreed?”

  “Agreed,” Connor says.

  “Fuck that!” Steven shouts. “These assholes attacked me!”

  “After you shot an unarmed man!” I shout back.

  Steven walks backwards toward me, keeping his gun on the other two. “These are fucking vampires! We can’t let them live!”

  “Steven, shut up!”

  “Bea, we need to—”

  “Memory wipe,” Connor cuts in. “I must insist now.”

  Crap. He’s right. He’ll never let this go now. He could bring the entire force here with torches, pitchforks, and stakes. “Fine. But I want to hear what you’re putting in there.”

  “That is fair. Neil?”

  “What the hell is a wipe?” Steven asks me. I hate to do this, but I knock his gun out of his hands with my mind. Simultaneously Neil is suddenly standing behind Steven, grabbing him from behind and putting him into a headlock. A stunned Steven struggles and gasps for air, but the vamp brings them both to their knees beside Connor. Neil forces Steven’s red face right into Connor’s. Eye contact is un-

  avoidable.

  “You will remember nothing about the past two days. You will not remember following Beatrice to the Lipmann residence. You will not remember Moon, Mariah, or coming to the club tonight. You will leave here and never return.” He breaks eye contact to look up at me. “What shall I replace the memories with?”

  “He met friends for bowling, took me out to dinner, dropped me off at home, went to work the next day, and was coming to meet

  me here for drinks.”

  Connor turns back to Steven and repeats my words verbatim. “And now you will wait outside for Beatrice.” He breaks the gaze. “Release him.”

  Neil releases the catatonic Steven, who stands up like a good puppet and walks past the seething vamps. The bleeding waitress snarls at him, but Steven doesn’t register her presence. He should come out of it when I meet him outside. Until then, he’ll be trapped inside his own head. I loathe taking his memories and free will, but he’ll be safer this way. The front door slams shut.

  “First that mongoloid, then Oliver,” Connor says. “You have abysmal taste in men.”

  “Oh shut up,” I say.

  “You are holding the gun,” Connor says. “But now that the not so good Samaritan has departed safely, what comes next? Do you prove my suspicions correct by firing? Or may we continue our conversation in more comfortable surroundings and with less firepower?”

  “You know, for a man with a shotgun to his head, you sure are calm, especially considering you’re so convinced I’m here to usurp your throne.”

  “I am over six hundred years old, this is not the first and will certainly not be the last time I find myself in this predicament.”

  “Still. We both know I’m not going to pull this trigger, so listen closely, Danny Boy.” I look into those violet eyes. “I want you to remember this moment. This is the moment I could have killed you. This is the moment when I probably should kill you for even thinking of threatening my family. But I won’t. I’m letting you live. I’m not even going to report this to the F.R.E.A.K.S. And the reason I’m doing this is to prove you have nothing to fear from me. I am not a threat to you. And I never was. So I’m going to walk out of here, and you’re going to leave me alone. If you see me on the street
, you walk to the other side. If I even get a whiff of you anywhere near me or mine, I’ll be back. And then you should be afraid of me. Do we understand each other?”

  He smirks. “Oh yes.”

  “Groovy.” I cock the shotgun, expelling all the cartridges to the floor and tossing the gun across the room. I pick up Steven’s pistol and cuffs, sticking them in my pants. “And just a little friendly advice? Next time you want to make an indecent proposal, send candy not goons.”

  “I shall remember that for next time, Agent Alexander.”

  “Good. Happy Holidays.”

  It takes all my willpower not to run like the Flash out of that club, but since it was bravado that’s more or less kept me alive in the past few minutes, I must keep up appearances. Instead I saunter out, narrowing my eyes at the bouncer and doorman who part to let me pass. I half expect an attack but make it to the door without incident.

  When I step out into the cold night air, the thin fibers holding me together give way. My breath comes out in ragged spurts, and my knees almost give out. My appearance has snapped Steven out of his spell, and he rushes over to me.

  “Oh my God, Bea! Are you okay?” he asks, putting his arm around my waist.

  “Can you please just drive me to my car?”

  His patrol car is only a few feet away, but I need to lean on him a little to make those steps. He opens the door and plops me in the front. I jerk when the door slams shut. I should be fine in a few minutes. The adrenaline will disappear, and I’ll regain motor control.

  Steven follows my instructions to the car, glancing at me on the way.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t drive,” he says when we pull up to the lot.

  “I’ll be okay,” I say. “I just felt nauseous for a moment.”

  “You’re not drunk, are you?” he asks. “I can’t remember. What did you order?”

  “A Coke. We both had Cokes. Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been kind of a space cadet for the past two days.”