Vincent (Vampires in America Book 8)

by D. B. Reynolds

  “Is he—”

  “Asleep,” Vincent assured her. “And he won’t remember any of this when he wakes. Come on, you’re the one who wanted a quiet exit. Now’s the time.”

  Lana didn’t need to be told twice. She hurried through the gate, stopping several yards out to pull out her cell phone and determine exactly where they were. She had the SUV’s GPS location programmed in, so it was only a matter of . . . Yep. There they were.

  Jerry and Vincent both emerged quickly, with Jerry coming over to stand next to her, while Vincent pulled the gate back into position until it once again blended seamlessly into the surrounding wall.

  “We’re a little over a quarter mile from the SUV, as the crow flies,” Lana told him. “Unfortunately, we can’t fly . . .” Her words trailed off and she studied Vincent. “You can’t, can you?”

  “Of course not,” he said, appearing offended by the question. As if she hadn’t just seen him whammy a man with nothing but his voice and blow through a bolted door with a flick of his fingers. Not to mention the whole ripping out the throat part, but she supposed any strong man, with an equally strong stomach, could have done that.

  “Just asking,” she said mildly, secretly pleased to have finally irked him. “Okay, so with this terrain, our walk is probably closer to a mile, and at night like this, it will be fairly rough going.”

  “Darkness isn’t a problem for Jerry and me. Neither is the terrain. How about you?” he asked, eyeing her up and down.

  “I’ve survived a hell of a lot worse,” she told him flatly, hoping he understood that the hell of a lot worse part included the company, namely him.

  Vincent’s half grin told her he understood perfectly and rather enjoyed it. “Let’s get going then. You set the pace, Lana.”

  Lana tucked her cell phone into a jacket pocket. She didn’t need the map to tell her which way to go. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Vincent she’d hiked worse. Give her a direction and she would get there, come hell or high water. Flexing her fingers, she started up through the rocky hillside.

  Hours later, Lana was in a sort of Zen state as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not breaking an ankle in the process. She’d had to resort to using the small Maglite to see by. She was careful with the beam, shielding it with her fingers and keeping it aimed downward to avoid screwing with the two vampires’ night vision, not to mention the danger of spotlighting their position for any pursuers. But it had been that or breaking an ankle for sure, so she’d chosen the flashlight. They were on the downward leg of their hike, nearly to the flat of the desert floor, and she was beginning to suspect that Vincent’s taking up the rear position on the first part of their climb had less to do with letting her set the pace and more with putting himself between her and any pursuit. Because as soon as they’d crested the hill and started downward, he’d switched positions, leaving Jerry as a rearguard while he led the way, his attitude one of constant readiness.

  Thus far, it appeared that their escape had either gone unnoticed, or that Camarillo’s men were reluctant to chase down a vampire who could pull a man’s throat out. But even without anyone to fight, the idea that Vincent wanted to protect her made her want to like him. Or, rather, like him even more, since the like him ship had sailed long ago.

  Danger, Will Robinson, she reminded herself. It was bad enough that he was big and sexy and gorgeous and . . . had she mentioned sexy? For him to be a good guy on top of all that seemed like piling it on . . .

  “Heavy thoughts, querida?” Vincent’s deep voice was right in her ear, and she jerked in surprise. He’d been walking several feet in front and she hadn’t noticed him dropping back. Which only reinforced what a danger he was to her.

  She shot him an annoyed look. “Just thinking about getting out of this town and never coming back.”

  “There is one more thing we have to—”

  “Vincent,” she said warningly.

  “Lana,” he responded, mimicking her tone precisely. “The woman in the cantina.”

  “What about her?”

  “She has to die. You must see that.”

  “I told you she helped me. She told me where they were holding you. I wouldn’t have found you in time without her.”

  “You also said she only helped you to save her own ass. The bitch sliced my neck and bled me nearly dry, Lana.”

  “I told her to leave town,” Lana said in a rush. “That you’d kill her if she stayed.” She met Vincent’s scowl with a shrug and added, “So there’s no point—”

  “But you know where she lives, yes?”

  Lana sighed. “Yes.”

  “We’ll see if she took your advice. If not, too bad for her. If so, I’ll leave a message guaranteed to give her sleepless nights for the rest of her life.”

  “We need to put some miles—”

  He stepped into her path and stopped, forcing her to do the same.

  “Remember what I told you about Camarillo? Why he had to die?” he asked, staring down at her.

  She studied him silently, then said, “To protect other vampires, so no one else would try the same thing.”

  “Exactly. And that goes double for that bitch, because she did it in front of witnesses.”

  She eyed him a moment longer. “I understand,” she admitted, although not without qualms. Because even though she’d warned Fidelia Reyes about what would happen to her if Vincent found her, she hadn’t really believed her own words until she’d seen what he did to Camarillo.

  Vincent’s expression softened the tiniest bit, as if he understood her conundrum and sympathized. Not that it would change his mind at all, she was sure. He nodded, then turned and resumed his lead position, moving down the even hillside with a grace that Lana couldn’t hope to duplicate. She thought briefly that it might not be so bad being a vampire sometimes. Then she caught herself.

  Not so bad? She must be delirious.

  They descended the last few yards, rocks crumbling underfoot with every step until they finally hit the flat desert floor. Lana sighed with relief, hurrying forward until she could see the tail end of the SUV sticking out from between the rocks where she’d parked it.

  Vincent grabbed her hand when she would have run for it. “Wait,” he cautioned. “Jerry, you and I will go first.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lana wanted to protest. Sure, she’d been pleased that Vincent wanted to protect her, but that didn’t mean she needed it. She did a dangerous job and worked alone most of the time. Unfortunately, arguing with Vincent would only waste time, so she lagged back, but only by a little bit, as they covered the final fifty yards and the SUV came fully into view.

  There were no bad guys waiting for them.

  She pulled the remote from her pocket, hit the button and the doors unlocked almost silently. Lana strode over, opened the driver’s side and folded herself onto the seat without even taking time to unload the contents of her pockets. That could wait until they were safely away.

  She’d just started the engine when Vincent loomed in the open driver’s door. He didn’t say anything, just stared at her expectantly.

  Lana shot him a sideways glance, her focus on programming the nav system for a quick exit. “What?” she asked absently.

  “I’m driving.”

  Lana threw him a dismissive look. “I don’t think so. You were nearly dead just a few hours ago. I’ll drive. Besides, you don’t know where we’re going.”

  “Isn’t that a navigation system you’re programming there?”

  “I’m programming our trip out of town, not to Reyes’s house. So there.”

  Vincent, damn him, grinned. “So there?” he repeated.

  She leaned and grabbed the door handle, looking up at him with an aggravated glare. “It may have
escaped your notice, oh powerful one, but we’re running for our lives. Now, move.”

  He stepped out of the way, but not before taking advantage of her compromised position to deposit a quick, hard kiss on her mouth. Lana blinked in surprise, and her heart double-timed a few beats. Danger, Will—Oh, what the fuck. That wasn’t working. She shouldn’t be attracted to him at all. He was arrogant and bossy and a killer to boot. She didn’t fall for killers, she slapped cuffs on them and brought them back to stand trial. So, why did she find Vincent so damn irresistible?

  No, not irresistible. She could resist him. She would resist him. One more day and they’d hit Pénjamo. They’d find this Xuan Ignacio fellow, deliver Raphael’s message, and that would be it. Vincent would go back to his life and Lana would go back to hers, their paths never to cross again.

  So why the hell did that make him harder to resist, instead of less? The image flashed in her mind of Vincent as he’d leaned over her in that hot box of a prison, his eyes glowing a coppery gold, fangs slowly descending as he’d lowered his mouth to her neck. She could still feel the press of his hard body against hers, and she shivered in remembered pleasure of the most intense orgasm of her life. If he could do that with a single bite, imagine what he could do if he was actually making love to her. Her eyes drifted closed . . . and then flashed open as she intentionally called to mind the image of Vincent as he’d ripped Camarillo’s throat out, dripping blood and fangs bared. But even that didn’t work. Camarillo had been a monster, a purveyor of death and misery, one who no doubt had killed more than his share of innocents on his way up the ladder of success.

  The passenger door opened and Vincent slid onto the seat, filling up the vehicle with his bulk, his sheer presence. Lana felt a blush heat her cheeks. She turned away quickly and busied herself with adjusting the mirrors, then putting the SUV in gear.

  “Are you sure you want to—”

  He didn’t even let her finish.

  “I’m sure,” he interrupted, correctly assuming she’d been about to question if he really wanted to take the time to go by Reyes’s place.

  “Fine,” she snapped. “It’s your funeral. You ready back there, Jerry?” she asked, eyeing the other vampire in her rearview mirror.

  “Yes.”

  A man of few words. She liked that. She paused to scan the horizon carefully, looking for dust clouds or any indication that Camarillo’s troops were on the move. Seeing nothing, she pressed on the gas pedal and retraced her path, heading for the road that would take them into town.

  It was only a few minutes later that they entered Reyes’s neighborhood. It was darker than it had been the last time she’d been here, the middle of the night instead of nearly dawn. And there were no streetlights in this part of town. The only illumination came from whatever leaked out from inside the small and scattered houses, the pale flickering of a TV screen from those with satellite dishes on the roof.

  Lana avoided the short driveway at Reyes’s house, choosing instead to park on the street in case a quick getaway became necessary. Vincent was out of the car before she’d even turned off the ignition.

  When she finally hurried around the front of the SUV to stand next to him, he was eyeing the house unhappily.

  “Problem?” she asked.

  “No one’s in there.”

  Lana scanned the front of the small house. The windows were dark, but a porch light was on. She remembered it still being on the other morning, too, and figured it was probably on a timer. Reyes lived alone. Maybe she didn’t like coming home to a dark house after a long night of trying to kill vampires. The bitch.

  “Maybe she’s dead,” Lana commented and found she didn’t care either way. “She was in pretty bad shape when I left here.”

  “Let me rephrase,” Vincent said dryly. “No one alive or dead is in there.”

  “We can smell dead bodies,” Jerry supplied helpfully, having climbed out of the backseat to stand next to them.

  “Huh,” Lana said, wondering where her life had taken such a wrong turn that this knowledge didn’t even faze her. “She probably took my advice and left town.”

  Vincent shot her an unfriendly glance. Apparently he was still holding a grudge about that.

  “We should go,” Lana said, jiggling the keys in her hand.

  “Not yet,” Vincent said in a dark voice as he studied the empty house.

  “But there’s no one here, and we can’t hang around waiting. It’s only a matter of time—”

  A deep rumbling noise cut her off. She felt the first shiver of movement beneath her feet and glanced around nervously. Lana had lived through an earthquake once, during a visit to her mother in California. Everyone out there had assured her that, since it was only 3.9 on the Richter scale, it barely qualified as an event. But she remembered that deep rumble of sound and the awful sensation of feeling the earth moving beneath her feet.

  “Earthquake,” she breathed. She grabbed for Vincent’s arm, but froze at the sight of him staring intently at the house, eyes half-lidded, lips pulled back in a snarl that exposed his gleaming fangs.

  “Vincent?” she whispered, then spun, scanning the neighborhood, ready to confront whatever threat they faced and finding nothing, only to jerk back around in shock as Reyes’s small house shivered on its foundation and the air grew thick with dust. The shivering became a vicious shaking. Cracks spread like a spider’s web along the exterior walls, and the sound of breaking wood and shattering glass told the story of what was happening inside. The porch light burst with a sharp pop and Lana covered her eyes to protect them from any tiny pieces of glass flying incredible distances through the sudden darkness. Reaching into her pocket, she grabbed the mini Maglite and switched it on just in time to see Reyes’s wooden front door split down the middle as broken tiles showered from the rooftop. Seconds later, the exterior walls buckled completely and the structure gave way, until, with a final crash of cracking stucco and splintering wood, the entire house folded in on itself.

  Silence settled over the night. A cloud of dust and dirt drifted slowly over the remaining pile of debris. No one but the neighborhood dogs seemed troubled by what had happened—no doors opened, no people emerged to exclaim over the abrupt implosion of their neighbor’s home.

  Lana frowned, turning a full circle to study the undisturbed neighborhood.

  “What did you do?” she asked Vincent softly, her eyes still on the quiet houses. She felt more than saw him look down at her.

  “I left her and this entire town a warning,” he said, and there was such arrogance in his usually friendly voice that she twisted to stare at him.

  “Are they still alive?” she breathed.

  Vincent frowned. “Is who still alive? There was no one in the house. I told you that.”

  “I mean the rest of these people, her neighbors.”

  He gave her a disbelieving look. “What the fuck, Lana? Of course, they are.”

  “Then why—” She swallowed on a dry throat. “Why didn’t anybody—”

  “Because I contained the sound. Because you’re so all fired up to make a discreet getaway. Jesus, you think I killed all those people? What kind of monster do you think I am?”

  Lana studied the destroyed house and realized that for all the noise it had made, it hadn’t been as loud as it should have been. Maybe it was only because she’d been watching it happen that it had seemed so much louder.

  She looked up at Vincent in dismay. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  But he was already turning away. “Yeah, whatever. Let’s get out of here. I’ve had more than enough of this town. Give me the keys.” He held out his hand in impatient demand.

  “Vincent, I’m sorry,” she repeated, handing over his keys.

  “Fine.” He took them from her and headed around the SUV. “Jerry,” he snapped.
“In the SUV.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jerry climbed into the back and Lana slid quickly into the passenger seat, worried that Vincent might just be angry enough to leave without her. He jammed the SUV into gear and took off, tires spitting gravel as she pulled her seatbelt down and clicked it into place. She cut a few sideways glances at Vincent, but he ignored her. It wasn’t until he’d taken them back to the main highway and turned south toward Pénjamo once again that he spoke at all, and then it was only to call Michael, using the in-dash speakerphone.

  “Good evening, Sire,” she heard Michael say.

  “Michael, have the jet prepped for tomorrow night. I need you in Pénjamo.”

  “Yes, my lord. Should I bring—?”

  “Some muscle, I’ll leave the specifics up to you, and a daylight crew. We have some business locally, but after that you’ll be taking a pair of baby—” He glanced in the mirror at Jerry and changed what he’d been about to say. “—young vamps back to Hermosillo. Enrique’s doing things he shouldn’t. No surprise there, but this is low even for him. I’ll provide details when I see you.”

  “Right. Shall I call when we arrive?”

  “That’d be good. Anything else to report?”

  “Nada, jefe. Club repairs are proceeding nicely.”

  “Good. See you tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night, my lord.”

  Vincent disconnected without another word. In fact, he didn’t say or do anything other than stare straight ahead for the next 250 or so miles when they had to stop for gas. Lana had been just waiting for this chance, ever since the first hour passed in silence, figuring she’d swap with Jerry and let him sit next to the sphinx while she napped in the backseat. When they finally pulled into the gas station, she popped out of the vehicle almost before it stopped rolling. Normally, she’d have volunteered to pump or pay, but Vincent, being an old-school chauvinist—and by old school, she met literally, since he was closing in on his second century—had made it clear to her early on that such things were man’s work. And that was fine by her, especially when the man was in a pissy mood.