She gasped, her hand flashing out with incredible speed. He grabbed her wrist. “Ah, ah. No hitting, remember? Besides, I didn’t mean it like that,” he added, grudgingly. “I know you vamps aren’t dead. But you died for me ten years ago, Soph, and you made damn sure I knew it. I see no reason to change that now.”
She looked up at him, all of her anger gone, replaced by a look so lost, so full of sadness . . . Shit. He felt like an ass. And he was pissed that she’d made him feel that way.
But before he could figure out what he wanted to say, her expression changed again, like a mask suddenly covering her face—a mask of pure, cold arrogance. Without looking away from him, she stretched her arm toward her boots where she’d left them beneath the counter. They came whipping across the room, passing so close to his head that he felt the air move, so close that he knew it had been on purpose. He narrowed his eyes at her, and she flashed a look of smug satisfaction in his direction, before tucking the boots under her arm and opening the door.
Before he knew what was happening, she was out of the house and inside the car, which was already gunning for the highway. Colin swore softly. He hadn’t seen her move, hadn’t even seen the damn car door open and close. She zipped by so fast, his front door was still swinging slightly in the breeze.
“Son of bitch,” he muttered. He shook his head and turned to go back inside, wondering why his dick had grown hard all over again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Raphael waited while the elevator made its smooth descent, his leather coat hanging over one arm. It was late. By the time he’d finished briefing Duncan and the Seattle vampires, his hunt teams had begun arriving back at the compound. Duncan could have handled those reports, but he’d chosen to sit in on them, to show his people that this matter was important to him, that his need for revenge burned as hotly as any of theirs. The truth was his desire for retribution was greater than they could possibly understand. It was his vampires who’d been taken, his children. Blood of his blood.
But vengeance would have to wait a few more hours. The sun was looming just below the horizon. He felt it in his blood and bones. It infuriated him. It wearied him.
The doors opened on a nearly dark room, only a small light near the bed playing across the nearly still form of his beloved Cyn. He secured the vault doors and crossed to the bed, watching her breathe for a few minutes and wishing he had the courage to send her back to Malibu, to brave her anger and her protests and keep her safe. But he couldn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t trap her in a cage of his making, a cage she would never leave because she loved him too much. But a cage that would eventually leave nothing but hate between them.
He sighed and stripped off his clothes, wondering at such dismal thoughts. He must be more tired than he thought. He lifted the covers carefully and slid into bed next to Cyn. She stirred, turning toward him instinctively, draping a leg and arm across his body without ever waking. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly, wishing he could protect her from . . . His heart stuttered in his chest as an alarming foreboding suddenly darkened his thoughts and a final, terrifying question filled his mind before the sun took him. Protect her from what?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Colin stood at the counter between his kitchen and living room the next morning, sipping his first cup of coffee and trying not to think about Sophia or her visit the night before. He scanned the list of e-mails that had come in during the night, studying it as if he expected anything to be there but junk. Holding the cup in one hand, he deleted one after the other until he came to a message from Loren. His fingers paused over the touch pad and he frowned. He didn’t think he’d ever received an e-mail from the vamps before. If asked, he wouldn’t have been certain they had his e-mail address. Not that it was a secret. Pretty much everyone in town had it, and it was printed on his business cards, too.
With a mental shrug, he clicked the file open and began to read the e-mail from Loren, swearing under his breath as he read the first few lines. Lord fucking Raphael had paid a visit to Hugh Pulaski last night. Not that Hugh was a model citizen or even a particularly decent one, but, damn, if even half of what Sophia had told him about Raphael was true, Hugh must have had a rough time of it. Colin was thinking he should probably take a trip out there, to make sure the aging woodsman wannabe had survived the encounter, but then he read the rest of the e-mail and decided Hugh could wait. The bastard had held out on him. Son of a bitch.
He checked his watch. It was just barely nine o’clock, probably too early for Leighton. He called anyway, waiting while the number switched over to voice mail.
“Leighton, Colin Murphy here. Check your e-mail. Your boyfriend apparently got us some new leads last night. I know the bar Hugh described. It’s a fair distance out of town, on a two-lane road that connects to the main highway eventually. We’ll probably find Curtis Jenkins there, too. He’s on disability right now—broken arm or something that hasn’t healed right—spends most of his time there. Anyway, I’m guessing he’s the “Curtis” Hugh talked about. Don’t know anyone who goes by “Junior,” though.
I’m gonna check out the bar later and thought you might want to come join in the fun. Robbie’s welcome, too, even if he is just a pussy Ranger. Can’t hurt to have some extra muscle on hand.
So, call me when you get this. I’m going to make some calls myself, see if I can’t figure out who “Junior” is. Could be an old nickname. Hugh’s been around a lot longer than I have. I’ll try to track it down before we hook up.”
He started to disconnect, then added, “And I meant hook up in a completely nonsexual way, so don’t get all riled up and tell your boyfriend on me. Later.”
He poured himself a second cup of coffee before making the next call. He and Garry McWaters went back a long way. Back to BUD/S when Garry had been an old man with several years seniority and Colin had been a raw recruit. It had been Garry who’d pulled him out of that town in South America, who’d dragged him back to base camp and made sure he made their pickup out of the country the next night.
Cooper’s Rest was Garry’s hometown. He’d been raised here by his grandparents, and they’d been among the first founders of the independent community. His grandmother had died while their SEAL team had been out of country. Garry hadn’t even been able to attend her funeral. His grandfather had lasted longer, dying less than a year after Garry and Colin had shown up in Coop with little more than their duffels and their Navy regulation haircuts.
The old man’s death took something out of Garry. He didn’t want to hang around after that, even though Colin had decided to stay. Garry headed back to California and signed up with a corporation that provided private armies to the U. S. Government. It was lucrative work, especially for someone with SEAL training and experience. He’d tried more than once since then to recruit Colin into it, but the money wasn’t enough to make up for a job that was too much like the one he’d left behind. Besides, Colin had discovered he kind of liked the laid back lifestyle he’d found in Cooper’s Rest.
He pulled up Garry’s number on his contact list and hoped his buddy was in-country. If not, Colin would have to—”
“Yo, Colin!” Garry’s voice boomed loud enough that Colin pulled the phone away from his ear by a few inches. “What’s up, dude? Ready to make some money at last?”
“Sorry, Mac, you’ll have to find some other sap to bail your ass out.”
Garry made a dismissive sound. “Think you got that a little backwards. Must be all the rain up there. Speaking of which, how’s old Coop doing?”
“Same as always, slow and easy, just the way I like it.” Dead silence greeted this announcement and Colin frowned, wondering if they’d been disconnected. “Garry? You there?”
“What? Oh, yeah, Colin. Sorry, I dozed off.”
“Fuck you,” Colin drawled.
“In your dreams, my man. So what’s up?”
“We’ve had some trouble up here and a name�
��s come up. One I’ve never heard before. I figure since you’re old as dirt—” He kept talking over Garry’s profane reaction. “—and know just about everyone around here, maybe you could help me out.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Vampire trouble.”
“Vamps? We never had any problems with—”
“It’s not the vamps causing the problem. Someone’s killed a couple of ‘em—”
“Fuck me. Who?”
“I’m not sure you knew them. Marco and Preston? Don’t think they had last names, not that I knew anyway.”
“Marco’s the guy with the horses, right? On the short side, dark hair? He was living there when I was just a kid. Man, he’s dead? How?”
“Someone broke in, blew off the door to his . . . bedroom, I guess you’d say. More like a vault. But they killed him. It was daytime, so no resistance. Happened maybe a week ago. I didn’t even know about it until some vampire big shot showed up to investigate. They killed Preston the same day and hit Jeremy and Mariane two days later. Couldn’t find Jeremy, so they savaged Mariane instead.”
“Jesus. I’ve got the next month free. You need me to come back and give you a hand?”
“I appreciate the offer, but the vamps brought in their own army to hunt down the killers. I’m not big on vigilantes, but in this case, I’m not inclined to protest too hard.”
“I see your point.” He breathed deeply. “So what’s the name you got?”
“Junior.”
“Junior? That’s it?”
“That what I got. Supposedly a nickname, but not one the person particularly liked to be called. I don’t know any juniors. You?”
“Junior,” Hugh repeated. “I’m thinking back to grade school, maybe? High school?”
“That is a long way back,” Colin said with mock seriousness.
“Damn you, Murphy. There’s only something like six years between us.”
“Yeah. Let’s see, when you were doing BUD/S, I was in eighth grade.”
“Fuck you. And I don’t remember any juniors off hand, but I’ll think on it. Anything else?”
“Nah. I’m going out to Babe’s later this afternoon, following another lead.”
“Rough place.”
“There’s a human P.I. in town, a woman who works for the vamps. Former cop. She’s not military, but she knows her stuff. She’ll be with me.”
Garry laughed. “Better than nothing.”
“I get the feeling she’s tougher than she looks.”
“I’ll let you get to it, then. And I’ll get back to you on that name, maybe drag out my old yearbooks or something.”
“Jesus, Chief, you’ve still got your high school yearbooks?”
“I keep flowers from freshman homecoming pressed in the pages, memories of my first lay.”
“Didn’t get any until then, huh? I’m sorry.”
The silence on Garry’s end was complete. His friend had hung up on him. Colin laughed briefly, already thinking about the trip out to Babe’s when the phone rang.
“Leighton,” he answered after checking caller ID. “I wasn’t sure you’d be up.”
“Up is a relative term. I’m vertical, if that’s what you mean, but awake will take a couple more cups of coffee. So what’s going on?”
“You check your e-mail yet?”
“I’m doing it now. I’m guessing you mean the one from Loren. Let’s see . . . Oh shit.”
“You didn’t know Raphael was going out there?”
“No. Robbie the fink told him about visiting Pulaski in all its gory detail.” She sighed audibly. “What can I say, Raphael’s a very protective guy.”
“I’m not complaining. He got more out of Hugh than we did. Like I said, I know the bar and I know Curtis. I’m going out there today. You wanna come with?”
“Sure, sounds fun.”
“And Robbie?”
Leighton made a dismissive sound. “Like they’d let me out of this place without him. We’ll come by your house. Give me an hour.”
“Bring all your guns, Leighton. You’ll need ‘em.”
* * * *
Colin was loading the magazine for his Benelli when he heard the truck coming down the drive to his house. He secured the shotgun in its combat sling, set the whole thing down and pulled open his front door. Leighton was standing next to one of the big Suburbans, talking on her cell phone, while Robbie walked around back and reached into the cargo compartment, emerging with a huge, black duffel bag. He slung it over his shoulder, strolled over to Colin’s Tahoe and dumped the bag on the ground.
Colin nodded to Robbie and leaned back inside to grab his keys. Beeping the locks open on his truck, he grabbed his gear and walked out onto the porch, closing the house door behind him. Robbie had already tossed the black duffel into the Tahoe. Colin eyed it curiously as he dropped his own gear next to it, but Robbie didn’t offer and Colin didn’t ask.
The two men leaned against the truck, watching Leighton on the phone. Colin didn’t know with whom she was talking, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t girl chat. She was listening carefully and responding with short, terse sentences he couldn’t hear.
Colin wondered again about the duality that was Leighton, with her model’s good looks and her concealed weapons. He wondered if she’d always been this way, or if Raphael had somehow molded her into what he needed.
“What do you think it’s like?” he asked Robbie thoughtfully.
“What’s that?”
He nodded in Leighton’s direction. “Having a vampire lover.”
Robbie’s dark eyes crinkled with amusement. “You’ve never . . . indulged with a vamp?”
Colin frowned and shook his head. “Hell, no.” Not intentionally, he added to himself. After all, he hadn’t known Sophia was a vampire back then.
Robbie laughed, teeth flashing. “Once they draw blood, the sex is terrific, man. But it’s more than sex if you’re actually mated to someone, like Cyn.” He gave Colin a challenging look. “Or like me,” he added.
Colin drew up in surprise. “You? Shit. I didn’t mean anything. I was just curious.”
“De nada,” Robbie said casually. “My wife Irina is Vampire. A tiny little thing who runs Raphael’s household with an iron fist.”
“She runs you pretty much the same way,” Cyn interjected, having joined them without either of them noticing.
Robbie grunted in agreement, looking like a very satisfied man. “You hear me complaining? So, what’d you find out?”
Colin quirked his eyebrows in question.
“That was an old contact of mine. A gun seller. Not altogether legal, but not a bad guy either. His business gives him a certain amount of access to his customer’s activities. Sometimes he has a problem with those activities and he’s willing to talk, including the white supremacist groups operating out of Idaho and parts west. He tells me there’s a whole lot of ordinance being trucked this way, along with the people to use it.”
“Damn. Let’s hope they haven’t arrived yet,” Colin muttered. “I hope you guys came prepared. What’s in the duffel?”
Robbie grinned and unzipped the black bag, pulling the two sides wide. He reached inside and pulled out an Uzi submachine gun, tossing it to Colin. He then dug farther in the bag and produced a Point Blank ballistic vest for Leighton, handing it to her with orders to “put it on.”
Colin inspected the matte black Uzi. He was familiar with the weapon, but preferred his Benelli. He handed it back to Robbie who was watching a grumbling Leighton don her vest. It was a concealable model, the same thing worn by most police departments in the country. It was also probably the only kind she’d be willing to wear. Anything heavier would weigh her down and restrict her movements.
“Where’s yours?” she asked Robbie, giving him a narrow look.
“In the bag. I’ll put it on if I need it.”
“Why can’t I—”
“Cuz I promised Raphael I’d take care of you. But mostly because
you’ve got a piss poor sense of self-preservation.”
“I do not,” Leighton objected, but she was laughing when she said it.
Colin shook his head. He wasn’t even going to try to figure that one out. “Let’s roll,” he said out loud. “We’ve got a fair drive ahead of us.”
* * * *
“Colin here’s a virgin.” Robbie was leaning forward from his seat in the back, his substantial presence inserted between the two front bucket seats.
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