Sophia

by D. B. Reynolds

  “You don’t gotta do nothin’ except keep walking. You’ll call her later, check to see if she’s okay, say all those sweet, Southern things. But right now, we’re leaving.”

  Colin kept walking, putting one foot in the front of the other, Mac’s presence the only thing that kept him moving. They reached another street finally, a narrow alley that led who knew where. But it was dark and cool, a welcome relief from the overwhelming heat behind them. Mac would have hustled him into its safety, but Colin turned at the last minute and saw the flames, saw someone stagger out of the building, a black corpse of a figure, screaming when rescuers rushed to help. He stopped and stared. Was that Sophie? Was she somewhere in that flaming wreckage waiting for him to save her, waiting for—

  * * * *

  The phone rang, jarring Colin out of the nightmare he hadn’t had in years. He wiped a hand over his face and found it soaked with sweat, just like the rest of him. He grimaced, shoved aside the damp sheets and climbed out of bed, naked as the day he was born. And the damn phone kept ringing. Who the hell was calling him so early? He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, trying to wake up, listening to the phone ring, and in between the rings—

  “Fuck.” He spat the word out with feeling. That damn hound dog of Art Collard’s was barking again. It drove the neighbors nuts, which was probably why his phone was ringing. Art went down into the city every once in a while and the dog didn’t like being left alone. And every time it happened, his phone rang off the hook with complaints.

  Oh, right, ma’am, sir. I’ll get right on that. Let’s slit the dog’s throat and barbeque it for dinner, how’s that? No more barking then, huh?

  Colin smiled in spite of himself, imagining the look on the neighbors’ faces if he actually said that to any of them. They all had dogs of their own. Everybody up here did. But somehow the only barking that ever bothered anyone was that big blue tick hound of Art’s. Although, Colin had to admit that old John Henry’s deep bellow did sound like the voice of doom.

  He found his jacket lying on a chair in the living room where he’d left it and dug his cell phone out of the pocket, catching it just before it went to voice mail. “Murphy,” he droned, checking his watch where it lay on the table. Okay, so it wasn’t actually that early in the day, after all.

  “Good afternoon to you, too, Murphy.”

  He pulled the phone away from his ear and checked caller ID. Cynthia Leighton. Perfect.

  “What do you want, Leighton?”

  “Goodness, you’re in a mood. I thought maybe you’d like to help me investigate a couple of murders here roundabouts, Sheriff.”

  “I’m not the damn sheriff, and what do you need me for anyway? I’m sure all your super vampires can handle it just fine.”

  “Stop sulking, Murphy.”

  “I have no idea—”

  “I’m coming over, so put some clothes on.”

  “Don’t—” But she was gone already. “Son of a bitch!” he swore loudly, catching himself at the last minute from throwing the damn phone against the wall. It was a nice phone, and besides, it was a pain in the ass to replace those things.

  He dropped the phone on the bar next to his watch and stood, hands on his hips, looking around his house. He’d put a lot of work into this place. The air still had that fresh wood scent from when he’d installed new kitchen cabinets just a month ago. Granted, there was a lot more to be done, but it was coming along. He liked it here. He wanted to stay here. Which meant he probably had to play along with that damn Leighton and do what he could to solve these murders. Not that he didn’t want to find whoever had done in Marco and make him pay. He just didn’t want to do it with vampires looking over his shoulder.

  Or maybe it was one particular vampire he wanted to avoid. One who came in a curvy package with big brown eyes.

  Yeah, he definitely should avoid that damn compound altogether until this was done.

  “Coward,” he muttered.

  “Damn right,” he answered his own accusation and went to take a shower.

  * * * *

  Colin pulled a black t-shirt over his head and slicked back his wet hair, grabbing a towel when water dripped down his back. He told himself he should get a haircut, but he’d gotten used to having it longer, especially during his last years in the Navy when they’d been out of the country more than not, and in places where a man with short hair and a bare face stood out. He’d shaved the beard as soon as he got back, but the hair was convenient.

  A knock on the door drew his thoughts away from his hair. Thank God. Maybe he’d been lost in the woods up here just a bit too long if that’s all he had to think about.

  He tucked his shirt into his camos, his combat boots making a racket as he crossed the hardwood floor to his front door. He saw the black SUV outside and pulled open the door.

  “Leighton,” he said and looked over her shoulder where a big black guy was giving him an appraising look right back. “Who’s the muscle?” he asked.

  “Robbie Shields, meet Colin Murphy,” she said briefly, pushing her way into his house. Apparently she was no longer worried about appearances now that her fucking vampire husband had sent someone along to bodyguard her. “You two have a lot in common,” she added.

  “How’s that?” Colin asked, eyeing the bodyguard. Robbie was an inch or two shorter than Colin, but made up for it in sheer muscle mass. The guy’s muscles had muscles.

  Leighton spoke without turning, too busy scoping out his house. “Special Forces, rah, rah, all that shit. Robbie was a Ranger. Robbie the Ranger.”

  Colin shared a long-suffering look with his fellow warrior and gestured for the man to come in. “Rangers?”

  “Yeah, man,” Robbie said. He took two steps inside and they shook hands.

  “I worked with a lot of Rangers during my time in. Good men.”

  “Leading the way,” Robbie said with a big grin. “Someone’s gotta clear the field for you Navy pussies.”

  “Well, isn’t this nice?” They both turned to regard Leighton who was eyeing them sourly. “Bonding over our bullets?” she asked sweetly.

  “Don’t mind her,” Robbie said. “She’s just pissed ‘cuz the big man won’t let her roam around and get killed.”

  “As if,” she dismissed. “I’ve got plenty of hours in the field when it comes to police work.”

  “Yeah? You gonna read your vamp killer his Miranda rights?” Colin asked, “Because I hadn’t planned to.”

  She winked at him. “I knew there was a reason I liked you, Murphy.”

  “So, why’d you quit the LAPD?”

  “You Googled me. I’m touched,” she said absently, wandering into his kitchen and looking around. “Police work is too much of a boy’s club, despite all the equal opportunity crap. Being a P.I. suited me better, let me work on my own. I’m not much of a team player.”

  “No kidding,” Robbie muttered.

  “You be nice, Robbie, or I’ll report you to Irina,” Leighton said, coming back into the living room.

  “Like that’ll work. Irina had nothin’ but sympathy for me when she heard about this assignment.”

  Leighton grinned and punched him in the arm, not lightly.

  Colin grimaced. “Speaking of significant others, Leighton, Raphael’s your husband?”

  Her smile disappeared. “Strictly speaking, he’s my mate. It’s a vampire thing. Kind of like a husband, though. Bossy like one, anyway. But I like to think of him as my boyfriend. It sounds cuter.”

  Her smile returned in full force, but Robbie started choking suddenly, covering it with a cough while Leighton pounded him on the back helpfully. Colin figured poor Robbie would have plenty of bruises to show for his bodyguard effort today. He also noticed Leighton had switched out the expensive diamond ring on her finger for a simple platinum band. Maybe she really did have some field experience, after all.

  “Besides,” she continued, brushing her hands together and propping them on her hips. “I like a
person’s first impression of me to be of me, not him. So . . . I’ve been thinking about how someone—someone human, that is—could find out where Marco and the others lived. They didn’t exactly advertise their whereabouts and you’re all pretty spread out here. It’s not like a person could just drive down streets until they found a house. You can’t even see most of these places from the main highway and half the roads go nowhere.”

  “Yeah, Coop’s just one of several unincorporated towns up here. There’s a few thousand people spread out over a couple hundred thousand square miles of territory. But property records are public in Washington state. Anyone with online access or a lot of time to kill could search to their heart’s content.”

  Leighton nodded. “But that would only tell them the owner of record, not who actually lives there. Plus—and I’m trusting you to be discreet with this, Murphy—most vamps own their property under an alias, or even several different ones. When you live a few hundred years, it’s sometimes necessary to make it look like the property’s been sold, or the owner’s died and the heirs have taken over or whatever. If nothing else, these recent murders prove the wisdom of that kind of subterfuge.”

  “I can see that,” Colin agreed. “But if we scratch property records, I don’t need to tell you that means there’s most likely a leak somewhere.”

  “Yeah, I know. Raphael’s got someone following up on that, too.”

  “And you’ll share what you find,” Colin said, giving her a flat look.

  “We’ll share,” she assured him. “Raphael’s not big on Miranda rights, either.”

  “Can’t say I blame him. Not in this case, anyway. On a separate track,” Colin continued, “Loren gave me a list of things missing from Marco and Preston’s places. Electronics mostly. Jeremy says nothing was taken from their place, but I figure that’s because they trashed everything looking for him, and then it got too late and they ran before the sun went down. I don’t think they’d been gone all that long when I showed up.”

  “Pawn shops?” Leighton asked.

  “Not here in town, but I’ve already got feelers out down in the city. A couple of guys on the force down there are former military. We get together once in a while, play poker, talk about old times.”

  “See? That’s what I’m talking about. Nobody ever invites me to play poker.” She sighed.

  “Aw,” Robbie crooned sympathetically. “We’ll invite you to our game, won’t we, Murphy?”

  “Depends,” Colin said thoughtfully. “Does she cheat?”

  Leighton grinned. “Only when I have to.”

  “You’re in.”

  “What about hate groups?” Leighton said, picking up the previous conversation thread. “You guys have any homegrown Nazis around?”

  “You’re thinking maybe they’ve added vampires to their list of Untermenschen,” Colin commented. “That’s certainly possible. Mostly, they’re over the state line, but we’re close enough to get a few outliers.”

  He walked over and picked up his Sig, checking the chamber and magazine before snapping it onto his belt. “Let’s go talk to some people, shall we?”

  * * * *

  They took Colin’s Tahoe. It was a familiar enough vehicle that the man they were going out to visit wouldn’t disappear at the sight of it. Everyone in Coop’s knew there was a big contingent of vampires in town. If someone involved in these killings saw that big, black SUV of Leighton’s pull up, they’d either take off into the woods or start shooting. Either way, it wouldn’t get Colin the answers he was looking for.

  Hugh Pulaski’s place was buttoned up as tight as a drum when they finally maneuvered their way past the several gates he’d installed to block traffic along his mile and a half of private road. None of the gates were locked. That would have been pretty pointless, since a determined visitor could simply walk around. But they were an inconvenience, requiring a driver, or a passenger if he had one, to get out of the vehicle at every gate and find something to prop it open, since they were spring-loaded to close automatically. Hugh liked people to believe he had motion sensors and cameras all over the place, too. But Colin had firsthand knowledge of those kinds of devices, and he was pretty sure they only existed in Hugh’s survivalist fantasies.

  “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Robbie commented from the back seat. He’d been the one who’d gotten out at each of the four gates, complaining that he felt like he had a bull’s eye painted on his back after each one.

  “He’s home,” Colin said, jerking his head at a beat-up old pickup off to one side.

  “That?” Leighton said, disbelieving. “I thought you good ol’ boys took care of your trucks.”

  “We do,” Colin agreed, pulling up next to the pickup. “But Hugh isn’t exactly a good ol’ boy. He’s a trust fund baby—or old man now—with a BS in chemistry from Harvard. You might be wondering if we have ourselves another Ted Kaczynski, but I don’t think Hugh graduated anywhere near the top of his class.”

  “So why are we here?”

  “Hugh’s not a danger by himself, but he is clued into the white supremacist movement. Hangs around the fringes mostly. Anything else would take too much effort. If something’s going on, he’ll probably know about it, though.”

  “Think he’ll talk to us?” Leighton asked, climbing out of the truck.

  “I think he can hardly wait,” Colin said, lifting his chin in the direction of the house where he could already hear the rattle of multiple locks sliding open. As they came closer, the heavy door swung inward to reveal a skinny figure in khakis and a flannel shirt, both of which were brand new and a size too big. But what caught Colin’s eye was not Hugh’s version of woodsman apparel, but the shotgun he was aiming straight at the three of them through the screen door.

  Leighton stopped in her tracks, snarling at Robbie when he stepped in front of her, placing himself between the shotgun and his primary, just like he was supposed to do.

  “Put the damn gun down, Hugh,” Colin said, letting his impatience show, even as his hand drifted over to the Sig Sauer .9 mm on his right hip.

  “What’re you doing here, Murphy? And who the hell are they?”

  “Put the gun down,” Colin repeated. “And we’ll talk.”

  Hugh lowered the gun, but didn’t put it down. Staring at Leighton and Robbie, he pushed open the screen and stepped out of his house, taking the two steps down to the ground, which still left several feet between him and his visitors. “Don’t want those people in my house,” he said, spitting to one side.

  “I’m crushed,” Leighton muttered, coming out from behind Robbie. She would have stepped closer to Hugh, but the bodyguard touched her arm in warning. She frowned, but took his advice.

  Hugh couldn’t have heard what she said, as far away as he was, but he narrowed his eyes at her anyway, before addressing Colin. “I’m asking you again, Murphy, what do you want?”

  Colin eyed the other man. Hugh was mostly posture and bluff, pretending he was some sort of survivalist living out here in the woods with his rickety truck. The truth was his so-called rustic cabin boasted every amenity modern life could offer and the trust fund checks just kept coming.

  “You heard about the murders.” Colin made it a statement, not a question.

  “A‘course,” Hugh responded, puffing his chest out a bit. “Good riddance to bad trash if you ask me.”

  Leighton didn’t like that. She stiffened, one hand easing aside her jacket to give clear access to her own weapon. Colin held out his hand toward her, low and open, in a placating gesture.

  “Why would you say something like that?” he asked Pulaski. “What’d Marco or Preston ever do to you?”

  “Fuck,” the old man said slowly, dragging out the word. “They’re vampires, ain’t they? Unnatural. Can’t even walk under God’s good sunlight.”

  “You do a lot sunbathing, Mister Pulaski?” Leighton asked, eyeing him up and down. “Looking a little pale to me.”

  “That’s ‘cuz I’m a whit
e person, missy. Not like that gorilla you’re hiding behind there.”

  “Enough, Hugh,” Colin snapped. “I’m sure we’re all very impressed by your bullshit attitude and what a tough guy you are. Now, answer a couple of questions for me, and we’ll be on our way.”

  “Ask then. Can’t get rid of you soon enough.”

  Leighton turned her head to give Colin a disgusted look. He just shrugged and looked back at Pulaski. “Word is you’re familiar with any white supremacist groups operating in these parts,” he said.

  “A‘course,” Pulaski said again. “Ain’t much I don’t know.”

  “You know if they had anything to do with these murders?”

  “Like I’d tell you if they did?”