The moment she spoke, another shot spurted from the dark, aiming for the gazebo roof. Forgetting to play human for Chloe’s benefit, Sam launched himself after the enemy, letting his feet fly over the rain-dampened grass. Wind rushed in his ears and stung his eyes, robbing every sense but that of smell. The vampire had come this way.
And then he realized he recognized the scent. The height and build were right, too, but he still didn’t want to believe it.
Mark Winspear! Against all Sam’s instincts, Carter had been correct. But why is he doing this?
Chapter 19
Chloe clung to the rock, fingers cold and stiff. It had been easy enough to get to this vantage point. She’d figured out how to get up here during her teens, when she needed a place to get away from adult supervision. Then, she’d been looking for trouble. Now, she’d found it.
She lowered the night vision goggles, letting them dangle around her neck. Their greenish glow was making her feel slightly sick, and she felt plenty nauseous already.
She’d shot someone. It had barely snagged his attention, but still. She’d shot someone. Hot tears spilled down her cheeks, her stomach roiling every time her mind replayed the moment.
A cold, practical part of her brain had taken charge and done the necessary thing. No hesitation. But all the training in the world couldn’t prepare a person for the reality of that moment. It terrified her. She terrified herself.
And now Sam was charging through the darkness after the two men, faster than she’d believed it possible to move. Would he stay safe? If she could pull a trigger, so could anyone else.
Her heart sped, racing on adrenaline until her head felt too light. Please, please be okay.
Night sounds seemed strange and muffled—her ears were still ringing from the sound of the gun. Chloe shivered, tightening her grip as she slid from the rock to the cedar shingles covering the gazebo roof. She’d picked this vantage point to take photos. She’d snapped just one before she’d drawn her gun instead. Now no one was around to shoot, in any sense of the word.
Time to get down. She inched over the shingles, hearing one crack as she wriggled to one of the corner posts. The gazebo had an ornamental facade that jutted above the roofline by just enough to give her a footrest. From there, she swung her legs over and crawled down its trellised side.
A body slammed into her the moment her feet touched the ground. She fell hard, her elbow landing on the edge of the gazebo’s concrete foundation. Chloe yelped, her gun arm dissolving into tingling pain, utterly useless. Her weapon fell to the ground with a thud.
Hands grabbed her, dragging her upright. “I should have killed you in your bed.”
Chloe’s spine slammed against the iron post of the gazebo. The back of her skull smacked metal, leaving her dancing on the edge of nausea. When her eyes finally focused, she saw a man looming over her, pushing his face close to hers. She tried to turn away, getting only an impression of a closely trimmed beard and stale fish breath.
“Did you miss me?” Crushing her into the iron post, he managed a full-body grope. He was taller, so his crotch ground against her belly. “I nearly had you, little princess.”
Sam shot you that night. Next time it’ll be me, and I’ll finish the job. Chloe clung to the thought, but her whole body broke into a trembling sweat.
He’d pinned her hands behind her, between her back and the post. Helpless. Or not. She had a knife in her ankle sheath. How do I get it into his ribs?
“Your friend has the dress. What do you want with me?” She forced the words to snarl, using anger to stave off tears.
“Guess.” He yanked open the zipper of her fleece jacket and grabbed for a breast. He squeezed hard enough to make her give a sharp cry. “That’s more like it,” he said in a hiss that was half a purr.
She took sideways glances at him, dodging his face as he thrust his just inches away from hers. Yet every time she moved, so did he, their noses nearly touching. “Get away from me!” she snapped.
“Baby, I’m the last thing you’ll ever see.”
Like hell. Her one advantage was the wound in his shoulder, where Sam’s bullet had struck. She could see the bandages showing above the collar of his sweatshirt. They were stained with fresh blood—all this running around must have opened the wound. Good to know. He favored that arm as he moved. His left side was weaker.
He was using his weight to pin her, which put him off-balance. He also assumed she was too petrified to fight back.
Try again. She hooked a foot around his ankle and swiveled her shoulder to his left, using the post behind her for leverage. When he tried to step back, he fell.
She scooped up her gun, gripping it with both hands. Her elbow still hurt, but her fingers worked again. Chloe turned, pointing her weapon at the man who had tried to smother her in her own bed.
An arm grabbed her from behind. “Not so fast, little girl.”
This was someone new. She couldn’t see his face, but he had a long, shining bowie knife.
Chloe screamed, letting her voice rip through the darkness. Then she swiveled the muzzle of the SIG Sauer down and shot him in the foot. With a surprised yell, he flung her forward.
It wasn’t like the first guy knocking her down. This time Chloe flew through the air, as if an immense tennis racket was vaulting her forward. Instinct made her cover her face. Training made her bring her knees up, so that she landed in a roll.
It was not a good landing. It was hard and graceless and it hurt. The air left her lungs in a rush, but she managed to keep rolling until she slammed into a tree.
But she was alive.
Get up! Her mind screamed at her, urging her to run.
She couldn’t. Sick and dizzy and aching, Chloe couldn’t make her limbs obey.
Her eyes would only open to slits. The one who’d thrown her was braced against the gazebo, cursing and bleeding. The other was picking himself up off the ground. In about five seconds one of them would decide to finish her off.
“Kill her,” the second man commanded.
* * *
Sam was in a maelstrom of rage. Winspear had escaped. Sam knew he was faster, but Plague was resourceful and clever.
Leaping over a fallen tree, he scrambled up the next rise of ground, searching the darkness for any sign of the doctor. There was nothing. If he’d really wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have missed that shot to my head. Whatever his plan, Winspear was playing a longer game than just a diamond heist. Killing Sam and Chloe tonight wasn’t part of his script.
There were worse things a centuries-old assassin-turned-physician could do. Already, he’d effectively separated Sam from Chloe by making himself too immediate a threat for Sam to ignore.
Sam’s greatest fear was that Winspear had somehow doubled back to find her. He’d barely admitted this to himself when he had heard Chloe cry out. When he broke through the trees he could smell blood, both human and undead, but no one was in sight. Without breaking stride, he leaped to the top of the octagonal gazebo, landing silently on all fours.
He could see much of the garden, the winding paths like pale gray tracery through the dark lawns. He could smell vampire blood but couldn’t see one anywhere. Whoever was bleeding had left or was hiding. And where was Chloe? His gaze tracked in a slow arc, searching every shadow.
Then he spotted her, huddled under the low branches of a rhododendron. A man was reaching down as if to drag her to her feet. The same man who had nearly killed her in her bed.
Fury swept through Sam, a white-hot need to defend. It wasn’t just chivalry. There was a territorial edge to the impulse that sprang from his primal core. Baring his fangs, he surged into the air.
Bullets flew from west of the building, skimming the skin from Sam’s back. Pain licked past his spine, but was forgotten the instant he grappled with Chlo
e’s attacker. Momentum carried them into the bushes. Sam grabbed the human in one hand, tossing him back onto the paving stones as if he were no more than a sack of oatmeal.
Incredibly, the man rolled to his feet, lurching into a run. Sam sprang after him. The man was quick, charging up the side of the rocky hill, but Sam bounded upward, caught his ankle and yanked him back to the earth. The man landed with a hollow thump.
Sam’s first instinct was to bite, but Chloe was there, her eyes already wide with fright. Instead, he pounded his fist into the man’s face. Again. And again. He could have broken his neck, snapped it with one blow, but Chloe was watching. Muted violence would have to do.
Sam finally planted his boot on the man’s chest, pinning him to the ground. “Where did the vampire go? The one who’s hurt?”
“He’s gone,” the man croaked.
“He can’t have gone far. Someone shot at me just now, and it wasn’t you.”
“You’ll get nothing from me.”
“We’ll see about that.” Sam bent, grabbing the front of the man’s shirt. He gave a hard, sharp jerk that made the man grunt with pain. The cloth ripped, baring the man’s chest. There, just below the notch of his collarbone, was a tattoo of two blades crossed over a twining serpent.
The mark of the Knights of Vidon. Winspear is working with the Knights? It still seemed impossible. No one on the planet loathed the vampire slayers more. Sam swore under his breath. Whatever was going on, he was going to get to the bottom of it.
The man was watching Sam’s face, reading every expression. “I’m not telling you anything.”
“Oh, you will.” Sam knelt, leaning forward. He felt a cold smile curl his lips as his rage found a target. “Let me introduce myself. They call me War.”
Chapter 20
But Chloe was Sam’s first priority. His prisoner could wait. Within seconds, Sam had zip ties around the man’s wrists and ankles, then gagged him with a strip of his own shirt.
Chloe was sitting under the bushes, her face smeared with dirt. He knelt beside her, pushing a lock of hair from her eyes. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m a little banged up, but nothing’s broken.” Her voice sounded detached, as if she were shell-shocked. Her fingers were shaking as the adrenaline left her system. “I dropped my gun.”
Sam rose to his feet and looked around, found it within moments and put the safety on. He handed it back to her, his chest tight. She didn’t look good. “Are you sure you’re not injured?”
“Thanks.” With slow, awkward movements, she took the SIG Sauer and holstered it. “Uncle Jack said you should always know where your weapons are.”
In an almost unconscious gesture, her fingers went to an ankle sheath, and Sam saw the hilt of a respectably sized knife. He noticed she had night vision goggles, too, hanging from a strap around her neck. She’d come prepared. He had to admire that much, but by the nine hells this was no fight for a civilian.
Sam gave in to the impulse to check every inch of her for broken bones. He dropped to his knees beside her, checking along her arms and legs for bumps or tender spots, every sense tuned for the faintest whiff of blood. The feel of her soft, warm form under his hands roused his protective instincts. She’d risked herself. It was unthinkable. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss her or shake her until her teeth rattled. “What did you think you were doing?”
Chloe’s eyes snapped into focus. “I told you I need to know what’s going on. I told you that just hours ago, but apparently that doesn’t matter to you one little bit.”
Sam felt an answering spike of anger, struggled to bite it back. “If I didn’t tell you, there was a good reason.” He found the camera in her pocket and pulled it out. “Did you take any pictures?”
“One.”
He stuffed it in his own jacket, then zipped the pocket shut.
“Hey!” She grabbed for it. “That’s mine!”
He caught her hand. “Stop it. Just. Stop. Now.”
Her anger spiced the air. She was clearly furious, the pulse in her wrist pounding against his fingers. Guilt raked him, but he knew his reasons were good.
Sam sucked in a deep breath, reminding himself that yelling wouldn’t help. “You want information? How about this—if I’d been a minute later, I don’t know if you would still be alive.”
“And I shot the guy pointing a gun at your head, remember?”
Sam had to give her that. “Good shot, too, but that’s not the point.” With a slow sense of wonder, he realized this frail mortal woman had tried to save his life. She had done her best to save him. An uncharacteristic feeling of humility besieged him. “Thanks for that, all the same.”
All the tension went out of her, her forehead sinking to rest on her knees. “I’ve never shot a man before.”
He’d won their argument, but it didn’t solve a thing. Sam released her hand, tucking the whole of her under his arm instead. “Sucks.”
“Yeah.” She was softly crying.
Sam squeezed his eyes shut, feeling her pain all the way to his own heart. “I’m sorry.”
She leaned into him, the silk of her hair under his chin. He wished there was something he could do, but once a person pulled the trigger at another being, there was no going back. He kissed the top of her hair, smelling the sweetness of her shampoo.
“Following you was the stupidest stunt I’ve every pulled,” she muttered.
“Not that I’m encouraging you, but I’ve seen rookies do worse.”
“I thought I’d be safe.”
He heard the anger in her voice. Anger at herself. He knew she prided herself on being sensible, but she’d taken a bigger risk than she’d anticipated. He’d seen it before, people caught up in the heat of the moment. An unfamiliar queasiness passed through him when he imagined what might have happened.
But he kept that to himself. “You’re safe now.”
He shifted uncomfortably, adrenaline and his protective instincts colliding with a sudden wave of pure, primitive lust. Her breasts pressed into him, soft and warm, her pulse throbbing in her throat. Her top had pulled up, leaving a strip of bare, silken skin free to brush his wrist. The next kiss he gave her was on her lips. He shifted, knowing he had to end this. His fangs itched to come out.
There were too many primal emotions ricocheting through his blood to make holding her a good idea. Any moment, the hunger for her blood would blossom from a dull ache to an unbearable thirst.
He broke the kiss. She looked up at him, her eyes unfocused. Her small, pink tongue darted around her lips. They were swollen, glistening like ripe berries in the uncertain light.
The only thing that pulled him back to the present was the stirring prisoner. Sam sucked in a deep breath, clearing the confusion from his lust-addled brain.
“I get it. You’d be stupid not to wonder what was going on. But this goes far beyond a regular crime,” he said softly. “I can’t tell you much. I wasn’t briefed myself. I don’t have that clearance.”
“I get it,” she mumbled. “I think.”
“Good.” But if he held her much longer, he’d confess whatever she wanted to know. Nine hells, he’d make a story up if she just kept looking at him like that. “You need to get back to the house. And I’ve got to get this guy into custody.”
Chloe lifted her head, turning to look at him. Tears had made trails through the dirt on her face. He kissed the tears, tasting the salty echo of her blood. By the gods, she was sweet. Her lips found his, forgiving him, begging him to get closer.
He wanted her. By the changing scent of her skin, she wanted him, as well. Chloe’s lips were flushed, her eyes dark with desire. Sam felt his self-control slithering away like a soft, silken robe falling to the floor.
“Sam,” she murmured.
He teetered on the brink of losin
g himself utterly. He ached with a primitive need to take her right there on the dew-spangled grass. Mine. Now.
He cursed silently, struggling as a last vestige of good sense prevailed. Setting her aside gently, he moved before their prisoner got far more of a show than he’d bargained for. Chloe sank back on her heels, looking up at him as he rose. The dirt stains and disheveled hair made her look like an urchin, both innocent and wise beyond her years.
“There were more than just the man you caught,” she said. “There were two that found me.”
Sam frowned. “Our friend there said the other guy ran away. Did you see him?”
She shook her head. “He attacked me from behind. He was horribly strong. He threw me like I was no more than a dishrag.”
Winspear. Sam felt a grim foreboding. “I’ll kill him for that.”
Chloe blinked. “You literally mean that, don’t you?”
Sam didn’t answer, not trusting himself to sound like a mere human right then. Of course I mean it. You matter too much to make empty threats.
* * *
Chloe trailed a step behind as they returned to the house, Sam carrying the man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Sam’s face darkened with every step. He was obviously unhappy that she was anywhere near his prisoner, but he hadn’t been prepared to let her walk back to the house on her own. When they approached the door to the laundry room, she ran ahead to open it. Sam’s burden was awake and starting to struggle.
“Get me something to tie him up with.” Sam’s tone was harder than Chloe had ever heard coming out of his mouth. It startled her enough that it took a moment to obey.
“Now!”
The man thrashed in Sam’s hands. Sam thrust him into a folding chair beside one of the dryers. The chair’s aluminum legs skidded across the tile floor with a squeak. Chloe looked around desperately, then tore down a length of laundry line that had been strung from the ceiling. It was too long, but Sam used it anyway, winding it around the prisoner several times before knotting it behind the chair.
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