To Catch a Vampire

by Jennifer Harlow

Great. He’s pretending I’m not even in the room. Classic. A moment later Nancy, Agent Chandler, Carl, and Agent Rushmore filter in as well. All make it a point not to look at me, especially Nancy. She has a huge crush on Oliver, so I guess I’m the enemy right now. She sits in the back, scowl affixed to her face. The rest take their seats around the table, all eyes on Will, who stands at the white board. I guess something finally happened.

  “Did we miss something?” Irie asks Carl as he sits next to her.

  “We got a call from the local police. They found a house matching Agent Alexander’s approximate description. Even has a basement, which is rare in this part of Texas,” Will says. “The cars Petra Bowers described were out front as well.”

  “Did the police raid it yet?” Agent Wolfe asks.

  “No, we advised them not to. They’re keeping surveillance until we arrive. Since Agent Alexander has not finished her report,” Will says with a hard edge, “she will stand up and tell us what we’re up against.”

  I will? Okay. I rise, smiling nervously. Nancy rolls her eyes. Will, still refusing to set eyes on me, stands like a sculpture with folded arms. Angry man in repose.

  “There should be ten people in the house, three human and seven vamps. One of the humans has a pistol, the other two are unknown in regards to weapons. As for the vamps, there are four men and three women. They’ve killed one person for sure, possibly many more. Chances are they sleep in the basement in coffins.”

  “‘Chances are?’” Will asks. “You need to do better than that, Agent Alexander.”

  “I’m just telling you what the witness told me, Agent Price,” I say, glancing at him. “As I was saying, per the witness, the house is isolated with at least three stories and a cornfield in the back. That’s all.” I sit back down.

  “Thank you, Agent Alexander,” Will says. “We need to be safe about this people, by the book. Let’s assume all the humans act as day guards and are armed. We enter in two groups, one taking the front and the other the back. We go in at the same time, neutralizing the humans before taking the basement. Irie, Alexander, and I will go down first, followed by Agents Rushmore and Chandler. Agent Wolfe will guard the top stairs and come down if needed. Carl, I want you there to assist Dr. Neill in the ambulance. We’ll have the locals keep the perimeter.”

  “What should we expect in the basement?” Agent Wolfe asks.

  “We’re doing this in daylight, so they should be asleep. But keep in mind they are just that—asleep. It’ll be just like the op in Tallahassee. Taking them out in tandem by cutting off their heads.”

  “And if they wake up?” Irie asks.

  “We’ll have shotguns and other weapons.”

  Nancy raises her hand. “And what should I do?”

  “You stay here. Keep an eye on our friend in the freezer.”

  “Shouldn’t his girlfriend do that?” Nancy asks.

  The whole room except for Will and me chuckle. I turn bright red, I know it. Will all but snarls at the group. “That’s enough!” he roars. The laughs cease. “We are about to embark on a highly dangerous mission. Keep your minds on that, not on the sex lives of your fellow teammates. Daylight is wasting, and that is a luxury we don’t have. Suit up, people! We leave in twenty! Dismissed!”

  All the cowed people around the table stand, looking at one another shamed to heck. Good. They whisper to each other as they file out. My ears are burning. Will passes me, scowl still there. I stand up. “Will?” He ignores me and keeps moving toward the door. “Will, stop!” I slide the door shut with my mind before he goes through it.

  “Open the door, Agent Alexander,” he says, not turning around.

  “No. Not until you let me explain.”

  He spins around. “Why?”

  “Because you want me …” His eyes dart to mine, anger replaced with surprise and a tinge of embarrassment. An electric current of I don’t know what shoots down my spine, “… to explain.”

  His eyes return to their neutral state before looking away from me again. “You don’t owe me an explanation. What you do after hours is none of my business.”

  I take a step toward him. “But nothing happened. Nothing! I swear on my mother’s ashes. I patched him up. I fed him. We fell asleep. That’s it. I would never …” I don’t even say it. “I didn’t even want to come here.”

  He doesn’t respond for a moment, just staring at the carpet. “Why didn’t you call me? Tell me what was going on? I could have …”

  “We both know there was nothing you could do. You were on vacation, I didn’t want you to cut it short or ruin it by worrying about me. I’m sorry, but … it’s my job. I go where people need me, and do what I have to, to protect them. This was no different.”

  He finally looks at me. “I know,” he says with a trace of sadness. It vanishes a moment later. I take a step toward him, but he flinches. “Um, thank you for clearing that up, Agent Alexander. Fraternizing with, um, other team members is strongly frowned upon. People end up making mistakes in the field. I would hate for that to happen to you. Now, go get ready.”

  He opens the now-released door and walks out. I don’t follow.

  Okay, I wasn’t expecting him to take me in his arms or confess his undying love and threaten to cut off the hand of any man who touches me, but something more than company rhetoric would have been nice. Did he believe me? Does he even care anymore? I can’t get a handle on him. I sigh.

  And men think women are confusing.

  _____

  The hour drive to Venus is almost unbearable. Every person in the SUVs almost vibrates with fear and anticipation. It’s like this before every big op. We’re like the soldiers in the boats as they approach Omaha Beach. There’s no real way to know what to expect. Best case, we kill them all without a struggle and the rest remain asleep while we decapitate their friends. I know better.

  Will, Agent Chandler, Dr. Neill, and Carl all ride in the first car with Agent Rushmore, Irie, Agent Wolfe, and me in the second. Irie and Wolfe sit in the back, holding hands while watching the arid wasteland of Texas pass by. Brown plots of dirt followed by either herds of cows or tall corn with rotting farmhouses nearby. Lovely. Oliver and I drove this exact route last night in the dark. I couldn’t see anything then. Wish that was the case now.

  We’re decked out for battle. I even have my camouflage T-shirt and black army boots on over black jeans. This plus the bulletproof vest, shotgun, 9mm, silver combat knife, and Bette all make me feel a little better about fighting seven peeved vamps in a cramped space. Will’s SUV turns right down a dirt road, peppering us with so much dust Agent Rushmore starts the wipers.

  “Rush, the roadblock is about a mile away,” Will says over the walkie-talkie.

  “10-4,” Agent Rushmore responds.

  “Guess we’re almost there,” I say with a sigh.

  “You nervous, Bea?” Irie asks.

  “Heck yeah,” I answer.

  “Don’t be,” she responds. “I’ll protect you. This isn’t my first cabal. Just trust your instincts. If you think it’s beside you, don’t hesitate. Shoot to kill. Aim for the head. Just don’t hit one of us in the process.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  The SUV in front stops. As the dust clears, I see two police cars with flashing lights parked in front of a barricade. The bored, sweating cops holding shotguns wave us through.

  “Get ready people,” Agent Rushmore says as he drives through. I pull out the gold badge wrapped around my neck. It’s just in case the bad or good guys can’t tell who we are, even though the vests have “FBI” embossed on them in yellow letters. I yank my ponytail tighter as Irie and Agent Wolfe share one last deep kiss before the car stops.

  I’ll bet that every law enforcement officer within fifty miles has assembled in the field we’ve pulled into a mile from the house. There are easily a dozen police cars and thirty peace officers milling around in the hot sun. Some wait in their cars, others stand by the fire truck; two ambulances are also o
n standby. The largest sub-group assembles under a makeshift tent with fold-out table. As we pile out, the man at the center of the table breaks from the group on his way to us. He’s in a sweat-stained white dress shirt, khaki pants, black cowboy boots, and matching hat. The sunglasses hide half his face, but I’d put his age at around forty. He’s lean and his light brown skin glistens in the sun. There’s little humidity today, thank God, but it’s still in the mid-nineties. The people at the tent follow him, but the rest just watch, still talking to their neighbors.

  “Which of you is Special Agent Price?” Cowboy hat asks.

  “I am,” Will says, extending his hand.

  They shake. “I’m Chief Mitchell Montoya. We spoke on the phone.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Another man sidles up to Montoya, about ten years older than him. He’s sweating buckets in a khaki polyester uniform with silver sheriff’s badge. “I’m Deputy Sheriff of Johnson County, Clyde Page.” He shakes Will’s hand too. “The sheriff’s in Austin, otherwise he’d be here.”

  “Thank you both for being here, and for all your efforts in finding our suspects,” Will says as he starts leading us all back to the tent.

  “They’re wanted in connection to kidnapped teens?” Montoya asks.

  “Yes. We know for sure they’ve killed one girl and kidnapped two others. And there is evidence they’ve killed at least five others. We’ve contacted our Dallas field office, and they’re standing by to collect evidence after we clear the house. We’re fairly sure there are bodies in the field in the back.”

  The police officers rally around us as we reach the table. Blueprints of a house sit on it. I’m enveloped by the smell of BO and bad cologne. I have no idea what I’m looking at but put on my studious face to match everyone else’s. “Once we spotted the cars from the BOLO, we pulled the blueprints from town hall,” Montoya explains. “Basement was a good catch. Definitely the Martingales’ house.”

  “Who are they?” I ask.

  “Lou and Roz Martingale. Lived here all their lives. Old timers. I haven’t seen either of them in months, only the granddaughter Kylie. They’ve always kept to themselves, though.”

  “The granddaughter. Is she very pale? Sickly looking of late?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Montoya says. “She said they were all sick.”

  I glance at Will. “This has got to be the place.”

  “You didn’t make your presence known, did you?” Will asks Montoya.

  “Clifford?”

  A man my age, face and body chubby in his uniform, steps forward. “I was making my rounds when I spotted the BMW in the distance. I called it in, and then the sheriff’s department sent an undercover car by to make sure. The house, the cars—they all matched the eyewitness reports. We called the house, but there was no answer.”

  “Tell me what you know about the layout,” Will says.

  “Three levels,” Montoya says, pointing to the blueprints. “Basement covers the entire base of the house. Only one way in or out. First level, two ways in and seven windows. Kitchen door in the back, front door visible from the driveway. One closet, living room, bathroom, and kitchen. Second floor has four bedrooms, two baths, one closet not counting the ones in the bedrooms.”

  “Okay,” Will says. “I want Irie, Rush, and Chandler to enter through the kitchen door. Wolfe, Alexander, and I will go through the front. The noise should bring the three guardians downstairs, where we take them down. Then we go down to the basement.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Deputy Page asks.

  “I need one man with necessary training to go in with us.”

  “I’ll do it,” Montoya says. “I was a Ranger. I can handle it.”

  “All I need for you to do is guard the people we bring out. Nothing more.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Everyone else, move the perimeter to fifty yards from the house the moment we move in. Keep it, and don’t move in unless we tell you to.”

  “We have a SWAT unit standing by,” Page says.

  “I understand your desire to go in with us,” Will says, “but we’ve dealt with these people before. They are the baddest of the bad. It would be irresponsible and downright dangerous for all of us if you went in. This is our raid. If we need you, we’ll call you in, okay? Carl?”

  Carl Petrovsky, all five-foot-six of him, steps toward Will. If the others notice the surgical gloves he wears, they don’t let on. When he touches someone or something, he gets their whole history, emotions, the works. He’s always wearing those darn gloves, even when it’s a hundred degrees. Will and Carl step away from the group but I follow, nosy person that I am.

  “Carl, I want you and the Doc to be in an ambulance when we go in, but the moment we do, I want you outside with a shotgun in case someone gets out. You’re our last line of defense. Can you handle that?”

  “Of course.” Carl nods before running off toward Dr. Neill and the two paramedics.

  “As for you,” Will says to me, “are you okay to do this?”

  “I’m fine. The blood transfusion last night—”

  “I didn’t mean that. I mean, will you be okay to do this?”

  Why does he always ask me this before an op? I’m not three. I straighten my back. “These monsters killed six people. They terrorized two teenage girls. They kidnapped me. I’m ready.”

  “Okay, then. You stay close to me at all times. You are my shadow in there. I move, you move. If I tell you to do something, no matter what, you do it. Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes.”

  I follow him back to the group. Irie is setting Montoya up with one of the hands-free com units we all have. I put my ear bud in and adjust the microphone. Montoya tightens his Kevlar vest. When they’re done, he grabs the nearest shotgun and unclips his 9mm. “Montoya,” Will says, “you ride with us. And you’re driving.”

  “Coms check,” Irie says over the earpiece. “Sound off.”

  Everyone says their last name.

  “Deputy Page, are you on this frequency?” Will asks.

  “Yes. We hear you.”

  “Okay then. Let’s go to work,” Will says.

  Irie and Agent Wolfe share another deep, lingering kiss before starting to their separate cars. Carl climbs into the back of the ambulance, looking like a child holding a toy gun bigger than he is. All the police officers rush to their squad cars, kicking up as much dust as their vehicles. Agent Wolfe and I pile into the back, Montoya and Will in the front. The butts of our shotguns rest on the floor with the barrels up toward the ceiling. This thing makes me nervous. I prefer my machete.

  We pull out first, followed by the second SUV and ambulance. Agent Wolfe makes the sign of the cross. I just feel like puking. I can almost smell the tension and fear. Will stares out the window, deep in thought. I just keep my eyes on the shotgun. I can do this. I can do this.

  “Stop the car,” Will says. Montoya and the rest of the caravan do as he says. Without another word, Will jumps out of the car. Everyone else seems to know what’s going on, so I follow. We gather around the back of the cars. “We run the rest of the way. Can’t risk them seeing the dust. Weapons check, everyone.”

  Shotguns, knives, Mace are all examined. I pull Bette out of the back, fastening her black holster to my belt. Montoya’s brow furrows when he sees Bette. “Those aren’t standard.”

  “Neither are our bad guys,” Irie replies with a smirk.

  “Montoya, I need you to keep watch on the house as we approach. When we go in, bring the car to the front but do not enter the house. No matter what you hear. No matter what you hear, do not go in unless I call you in. No questions. Do you understand me, Ranger?”

  “I do,” he answers without hesitation.

  “Good.” Will hands him some binoculars. “Be our eyes. The rest of you, let’s go.”

  Irie nods and starts running toward the house with Agents Chandler and Rushmore close behind. The rest of us tail Will at a nice trot. I hate running, especia
lly in heavy Kevlar when it’s a hundred degrees out. The farmhouse quickly comes into view over the horizon. It’s just as Petra described it. Beige brown with cracking paint and blacked-out windows. I recognize the van and BMW from last night. I found you, you bastards.

  “I don’t see anyone in the upstairs windows,” Montoya reports over the walkie. “Downstairs windows are blacked out. You’re all clear.”

  Irie’s group veers to the left, but we continue straight toward the door at a crouch until we take cover behind the van. Irie and the men disappear around the house. We all take this time to catch our breath, or at least I do. Will peeks over the hood of the van to check for movement.

  “Irie, tell me when you’re in position,” Will whispers into his microphone.

  The shotgun starts shaking in my hands. Too much adrenaline, not enough food. I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe I’m doing this. If someone told me a year ago I’d ever storm a house full of vampires with a machete and shotgun instead of teaching fractions, I’d have called a psychiatrist for them.

  “We’re at the back door,” Irie says over the earpiece. “Movement in the kitchen.”

  Still crouching, Will starts toward the door again with me a foot behind him. As quietly as we can, we run up the steps to the front door. Will puts his ear to it. “One in the living room with the TV on,” he whispers. Gotta love werewolf hearing. “Get ready.”

  I square my shoulders, grip the shotgun tight, and try not to throw up.

  Here we go.

  Will steps back. “On my mark. Three, two … one!” He kicks the door so hard it falls with the hinges still on. He’s through the door first, shouting, “FBI! Hands above your head!”

  I’m next through the door, with Agent Wolfe a split-second behind. I swing the shotgun at the only moving thing in the living room. A girl resembling a living skeleton, who I assume is the granddaughter Kylie, lies on the couch, all eighty pounds of her. There are very few places on her arms that aren’t covered in bruises. She can barely lift them. Will is already pulling out the riot cuffs, a piece of adjustable plastic used to bind hands. As he yanks her off the sofa and cuffs her, the kitchen door swings open. I swerve my gun toward it on reflex, as does Agent Wolfe. A man in his late teens with spiky black hair, cargo pants, and T-shirt with a rainbow flag stumbles out. His hands are bound in the back. Irie pushes him out with the barrel of her shotgun.