Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8)

by D. B. Reynolds

  “It does in Mexico, querida. Mine’s bulletproof. How about yours?”

  Lana scowled, but she had to concede that one to him. “Fine,” she agreed. “But we’ll switch off driving.”

  Vincent snorted dismissively. “I don’t think so.”

  “We’ve got a thousand miles to travel. You drive at night, I’ll drive during the day. We’ll get there faster.”

  “We’ll travel at night and stop to sleep during the day like civilized people.”

  “Civilized people sleep at night. And what if there’s no place to stay when the sun comes up?”

  “There will be.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I programmed the damn route, and I’m driving,” Vincent growled, finally losing his cool.

  Lana gave him a smug look, permitting herself a tiny smile of satisfaction. “Fine,” she said carelessly, as if the whole issue had never mattered. “Unlock the back.”

  “It’s unlocked,” he snapped.

  She didn’t say anything, but her smile widened as she turned and grabbed her duffel, then walked over and threw it into the Suburban’s cargo space. Going back to her Yukon, she gathered the rest of her gear—the backpack with her laptop, portfolio, and identification papers, plus her cooler which she’d filled with ice and Coke from the vending machine, along with some travel food. She frowned, thinking that the vampire probably wouldn’t be sharing her candy bars and chips, then wondered exactly what he would be eating. Not her, that’s for sure.

  She dumped everything in Vincent’s back seat, then climbed into the passenger side of the Suburban, sinking down into a seat that was far more luxurious than the one in her Yukon. Maybe it was a good thing that they were taking Vincent’s SUV, after all. Although she didn’t think it said much for their future working relationship that they couldn’t even get out of the parking lot without an argument.

  “I’m not sure this is going to work,” she said as Vincent made a tire-screeching turn south onto Route 15, which would take them almost all the way to their destination

  “What’s that?” he asked absently, cutting around and in front of the other cars, as if they were on the Daytona speedway instead of a public highway.

  “You and me, working together. We don’t seem to get along.”

  He swiveled his head to give her a long look, and his gold earring flashed in the lights from the dash. “We’ll get along fine, querida. You’ll see.”

  Lana rolled her eyes at the endearment, but didn’t say anything. She was determined to get this job done, which meant she was stuck with him for the next several days. But she was a professional. She could swallow a little bit of irritation if it meant finding this ghost vampire of Raphael’s, doing the job, and getting back home.

  It didn’t hit her until about a hundred miles later that she’d be doing a lot more than sitting next to Vincent in his big SUV. She’d be sharing a hotel with him, too.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Four

  LANA REACHED FOR her bottle of water, snatching her hand back when she brushed against Vincent’s arm that was resting on the center console. You’d think a huge SUV like the Suburban would have plenty of room for everyone, but Vincent was so damn big, and his shoulders so wide. It was no wonder that he was constantly draping himself over the console and shoving into her space. She slanted a look his way and saw one side of his mouth curled up in a smug grin. He’d noticed her reaction to their touch, of course. He noticed everything. She was beginning to question her original strategy for dealing with him. She’d thought cool and professional was the way to go, but her indifference only seemed to goad him into doing things to irk her.

  Things like . . . that! He’d just picked up her water bottle and brought it to his mouth, taking a mouthful as she stared in disbelief. Did he expect her to drink out of that now? She didn’t even share water bottles with people she knew.

  “So, Lana,” he said, putting the bottle back in the cupholder without looking at her. “How’d you become a bounty hunter? It’s not exactly a career choice most little girls dream of, is it?”

  Lana stared at him until he glanced over at her, his eyebrows raised in question.

  “We’re going to converse now?” she asked coolly.

  Vincent smiled slightly, his gaze once again focused on the strip of highway ahead of them. “Sure,” he said. “Why not? We’ve got hundreds of miles to kill.”

  Lana studied him a moment longer, then said, “Okay. A question for a question. I answer one, then you answer one.”

  He shrugged. “Fine by me.”

  “My father’s a bounty hunter,” she said, answering his question. “How did you become a vampire?”

  “Oh, no,” Vincent said, letting out a dismissive laugh. “That’s not how the game’s played. I already know your father’s a bounty hunter. I want to know why you became a hunter like your dad. What does your mother think?”

  “That’s two questions, but okay. I pretty much grew up in my dad’s office. My mom had a job, so the office manager was my babysitter, and the guys who worked for him considered themselves my uncles. Some of them still do.”

  “Your mother didn’t work for your father, like you do?”

  “No, she was in sales. She still is, but now she’s mostly busy being a wife to someone else. My parents divorced when I was eleven years old. They shared custody until I was twelve, when my mom married her lover and moved to California. They couldn’t agree on custody at that point, so they made me choose.”

  “That’s fucked.”

  “Yes, it was. I was twelve. At the time, I told myself it was because they both wanted me so badly. But now, I think it was because neither one of them cared either way.” Lana realized she was sounding more than a little bitter and moved on. “Anyway, the choice came down to what mattered the most to me. And twelve-year-old girls are pretty shallow. All I knew was that if I went with my mom, I’d have to change schools and make all new friends. And I wasn’t that good at making friends in the first place. So I picked my dad.”

  “Do you love your father?”

  “Of course,” Lana said, but it sounded weak even to her own ears. Vincent was silent for a moment, and she hoped he hadn’t noticed.

  “Do you get along?”

  “I became a bounty hunter, didn’t I? I work for the man.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  “What are you asking? You’re not my therapist, Vincent.”

  “Fair enough. What about your mother?”

  “We get along okay. We’ve never had much in common.”

  “Why’d you have trouble making friends?”

  “Too much of a tomboy, I guess. I was the son my dad always wanted.”

  “Who was your best friend? Girls always have those, right?”

  Lana smiled, remembering. “Gretchen Foster. She lived in the apartment building behind my dad’s office. We sort of bonded in our mutual misery.”

  “She was a tomboy like you?”

  “Oh, no. Gretchen was beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Lana blinked in surprise at that simple statement. He said it so matter-of-factly, not like a come-on, but as if he really meant it. She was silent long enough that he glanced over at her.

  “You are,” he said quietly, seeming puzzled by her response.

  “Yeah, well,” she mumbled, then finally said, “I definitely wasn’t then, but Gretchen was. And teenage girls can be mean. All the guys loved Gretchen. She never went out with any of them, but they hung around her anyway, and the other girls hated it. They started a rumor that Gretchen was easy, and that’s why all the guys liked her. That she’d put out for any guy who wanted it.”

  “But she wasn’t.”

  “The very oppos
ite. I don’t think Gretchen had so much as a date until junior year in high school. Her parents were very strict. She went to school and came home right after.”

  “So how’d the two of you get together?”

  “Like I said, her parents were strict. They expected good grades, and Gretchen had a problem with math. I was kind of a whiz at it, so we traded. She solved my problem and I solved hers.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She read all the fashion magazines, knew all about makeup and clothes and stuff. I didn’t have a mom, and my dad didn’t exactly keep Vogue lying around the office. So, Gretchen taught me girl stuff, how to dress, do my hair, my makeup. And I tutored her in math.”

  “What’d your dad think about his son learning girl stuff?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, once I sprouted breasts, he did a complete one-eighty. He decided he didn’t want me around the office as much. I think he worried about his guys getting ideas.” She almost added, At least until he picked out my husband for me. Thank God, she didn’t. Vincent would have been all over that one.

  “Where’s Gretchen now?” he asked.

  “We went to college together, and she met a guy. They got married after graduation and have two kids. They live in New York.”

  “Happy ending.”

  “Yeah, it was.” Lana lapsed into silence, then frowned. “And that was way more than one question. You owe me.”

  Vincent laughed with such joy that Lana forgot to breathe for a moment. Vincent scowling or smirking was gorgeous. But Vincent laughing? That went so far beyond gorgeous she didn’t have a word for it.

  “I guess I do,” he agreed, seeming unaware of her fascination. “Ask away.”

  Lana swallowed, giving her overreacting hormones a chance to cool down. Maybe she needed to get laid more often if a simple laugh could do that to her. How long had it been since she’d had sex? She frowned. So long she couldn’t remember exactly. She’d have to remedy that when she got home. But right now, she had to deal with the vampire next to her, and he was waiting for her to ask a question.

  “Okay,” she said. “I still want to know how you became a vampire. And . . .” And what? She had to say something before he noticed she was babbling. “And, I get a second question too, so how old are you?”

  “Those are pretty personal questions for a vampire, Lana,” he said, with no trace of his prior humor.

  “So was asking me about my parents’ divorce,” she countered quietly.

  He nodded. “You’re right. All right, then, settle back, querida, and I’ll tell you a tale of two brothers.

  Texas, 1876

  “PLEASE BE CAREFUL, mijo. And take care of your brother.”

  Vincent buckled the last strap on his saddle roll and turned to his diminutive mother. “Mama.” He hugged her carefully, like the delicate doll she resembled. Even with two giant sons and more than twenty-five years of living in sin with his father, she was still the most beautiful woman on the ranch. That might be a son’s love talking, but he saw the light in his father’s eyes, too, every time he looked at her. She’d been a poor girl from Guatemala, a maid in his grandparents’ big house, when she’d caught his father’s eye. Those same grandparents now refused to acknowledge Vincent or his younger brother because they were bastards. Born of love, but out of wedlock. His father was the only son and scion of his wealthy family’s cattle empire, but they’d sworn they’d disown him if he married so far beneath his station.

  They’d gotten their way, but so had Vincent’s father. He hadn’t married his Guatemalan lover, the mother of his sons. But he’d never married anyone else either. Vincent and his brother, John, had grown up on the ranch. Not in the big house, of course. Their parentage went unacknowledged, even though everyone on the ranch knew about it. Maybe their horses were a little better bred, their tack a shade more finely made, but as soon as they were old enough, they’d worked from sunup to sundown just like any of the other ranch hands.

  And today, the two brothers were off on their first cattle drive, heading for Abilene and the giant livestock markets there. Normally, they’d have gone on a cattle drive a long time ago, but their darling mother had objected, saying it was too dangerous, and their father could deny her nothing. So, year after year, her sons had remained behind.

  John hadn’t minded so much. He was content on the ranch, apprenticed to the cattle doctor, which was why he wasn’t here enduring their mother’s tears as her sons went off to Abilene. John was on the other side of the ranch helping the doctor load supplies. Vincent, on the other hand, wasn’t content to live his entire life in one place. He wanted to see the world beyond the ranch, to visit the big city of Abilene, to see the wide plains of Kansas and beyond. Anywhere and everywhere that wasn’t the ranch where he’d grown up.

  “We’ll be careful, Mama,” he assured her, kissing her forehead. “We always are.”

  “Si, I know. I will wait for you.”

  “Take care of Papa.”

  “Pfft.” His mother made a dismissive gesture, but Vincent saw the love in her eyes, too.

  The drive boss shouted the order to mount up, and Vincent sucked in a relieved breath

  “I have to go, Mama. We’ll be careful, and we’ll see you before the Nativity.”

  “Oy, such a long time, mi hijo,” she whispered fervently and hugged him tightly. She was strong for such a tiny woman.

  Vincent extricated himself with another kiss on her forehead. She’d keep him here all day if he didn’t break it up now. He swung up onto his horse and, with a jaunty salute, bid farewell to his beautiful mother, not knowing it was the last time he’d ever see her.

  “CAN’T WE JUST go home?” John asked months later, throwing a stick at Vincent from his seat on the other side of their small fire. “Wasn’t Abilene enough?”

  The cattle drive was over, and it had been nowhere near as exciting as Vincent had hoped. Their big adventure had been nothing but months of dirty, hard work, long days in the saddle, and bad food. On the other hand, he and his brother were now free to make their way back home at their own pace, and Vincent was determined to make the most of it.

  “One Mexican cantina, little brother, a few miles out of our way. That’s all I ask. This might be our only chance.”

  “The cattle go to market every year, Vicentillo.”

  “But who knows if we’ll be allowed to go? If our grandfather dies, Papa will own the ranch, and he’ll never send us again. Mama won’t let him.”

  “If Grandfather dies,” John snorted. “That old man is too mean to die.”

  “Even the devil gets his due, Juanito.”

  “Very well, one cantina, but you—” He broke off suddenly, spinning to stare into the darkness. “Who’s there?” he called, raising his voice as he scrambled for the gun belt he’d set aside earlier.

  Vincent stood at the same time, his Smith and Wesson already in his hand as the bandits rushed their small camp—filthy, hard-looking men who came in shooting, muzzles flashing in the darkness. Vincent watched in horror as the first bullets tore into his brother’s chest. John flew through the air, driven by the force of their impact. Vincent’s finger jerked on the trigger, his weapon exploding with heat, but it was too late. A searing pain tore into his gut, and he found himself slammed backward onto the hard dirt of the Texas plain. He twisted, searching for John, reaching for the brother he was supposed to take care of, the brother he’d promised to bring home to their mother for Nativity.

  Jagged pain sliced into his chest. And suddenly, he knew that neither one of them would ever see home again.

  Chapter Five

  Mexico, present day

  “THAT’S HORRIBLE,” Lana said, staring at the vampire sitting next to her. He’d recited his story with no emotion, as if it had all happened to someone else. He didn’t say anyt
hing, but stared straight ahead, his gaze seeming to be riveted on the narrow white strip that was all they could see of the road in their headlights. They were on a particularly barren part of the highway, so he was traveling well above the speed limit. But he handled the big SUV as easily as he might have something low and sweet and built for speed, one hand on the steering wheel, the other draped over the center console, fingers tapping a rhythm to music only he could hear.

  Lana could understand his need for emotional distance from such painful events. And she kept forgetting that, although he looked like a man in his mid-twenties, he was much, much older than that. Maybe what to her was a terrible tragedy, because she was just hearing about it, was for him a distant memory. She might even have believed that, if he wasn’t trying so hard to pretend it didn’t matter.

  “I’m not that familiar with guns from back then, but if they shot you in the chest, why didn’t you die?”

  He glanced over at her then, but only to scoff. “What? You don’t think vampires are dead? Isn’t that what all of you humans believe about us?”

  Lana forgave him for being a rude jackass, given the terrible events he’d just relived for her.

  “I don’t know about humans in general, but I know you’re not dead,” she told him. She didn’t say anything else, because while she knew they definitely didn’t rise from the dead the way some popular fiction had it, she had no idea what did happen to make them vampires. The only person who might have been able to fill her in was Cynthia Leighton, and while Leighton had passed on quite a few helpful tidbits of information over the course of their business together, the two of them were exactly that—business associates rather than friends. They exchanged details and results, not gossip.

  That was partly why she’d agreed to exchange information with Vincent. He’d been curious about her—although Lana couldn’t imagine why, other than to fuel what was, no doubt, his need to charm every woman he came into contact with. But since her history was quite ordinary, she’d been willing to trade the humdrum facts of her life for the far more intriguing details of his.