by Nancy Gideon
The elder man perched upon the edge of the bed to take up one of her cold hands in his. His painfully tight squeeze conveyed his own disbelief and sorrow.
"The others said they don't know how he did it. One minute, he was too weak to open his eyes, and the next he was vaulting out of the back of the truck to run into the forest. By the time they found him, it was morning and he'd—he'd been gone for some time."
"Where is he, Sam? I need to see him."
He looked away uncomfortably. “We put his body in the freezer. It was the only way to keep him ... until the authorities come for him tomorrow. The research center he worked for wants his body preserved."
Ice raced through Sheba's veins.
"Why?"
"They're taking him back to Seattle for study."
The irony of Paulo Lemos becoming part of his own research project was almost too much. Pain wrenched the objecting words from her heart as Sheba cried, “No. No, he'd want to stay here where he belongs. This is his home. He should be buried here with his family."
"I'm sorry, Sheba. It seems he signed some kind of waiver. The matter's out of our hands."
"You're saying Harper owns him?” The fragile tremor in her voice had Frank reaching to put his arm about her shoulders, but she flung it off, anger surfacing to supply the strength she needed. “That's ridiculous. I'm sure Ruperto will have something to say about that as his next of kin."
"You've seen that crazy old man?” Samuels’ question held a tinge of bitterness.
"We spent last night in his camp.” So much for the element of surprise. But Sheba was no longer thinking about traps and best laid plans. Not when her heart was breaking. “He's not going to let this happen. First they try to steal the country's antiquities and now its citizens. It's not right. I won't let them take him."
"Sheba, now's not the time for hysteria."
"I'm not hysterical. I'm mad. And I'm sick of organizations like Harper pushing us around. Harper doesn't care about Paulo. I don't even want to think of what they have planned for him. But you know, don't you, Frank? You know what kind of people they are and the kind of things they do."
He remained silent and stoic in the face of her question. But he knew. His failure to answer was his answer.
She swung her legs off the bed, blinking into the wooziness that still blanketed her brain. “I want to see him. I can't believe until I see for myself."
* * * *
An armed soldier stood outside the freezer.
Sheba frowned, wondering what interest Peru's intelligence community had in the death of an economic botanist. Nodding to Samuels, the guard stepped out of the way so she could pull open the heavy door.
Seeing was believing in the worst possible way.
Paulo Lemos lay stretched out and frozen on the floor of the Lodge's huge walk-in freezer, like a side of beef waiting to be quartered. Through the clear freezer wrap, his grey features were composed by death's waxy permanence. There was no question about the cause of his demise. Twin puncture wounds scored his throat with ragged savagery. The cross Cobb had fixed about his neck for protection was gone. It hadn't stopped the vampire from making his mark a second, fatal time.
Sheba's single sob expelled in a vapor cloud. Moisture gathering on her lashes crystalized. But she wouldn't weep for Paulo. She would avenge him by helping Cobb attain his goal. Tonight, they would go vampire hunting and perhaps kill two quests with one stone.
"Are you all right?"
Cobb's question struck her as ludicrous. Sheba halted her restless pacing of his room to confront him. Seated on the edge of his bed, he looked cool and unflappable, untouched by the newest tragedy to rock her world. And she resented the hell out of it. “No, I'm not all right. The best friend I had in the world is dead, and the last words I had with him were hurtful. I shouldn't have left him alone. I should have come back with him instead of insisting on going ahead with what turned out to be a useless trip. Now, Paulo is dead and I know no more than I did when I began."
"What can I do?"
"What you should have been doing was your job. You were supposed to be protecting Paulo. Isn't that why they sent you here?"
His expression never changed. He absorbed her attack like an emotionless blotter with no lasting impression to mar the surface. “There goes my resume."
The bland remark brought her up short to quiver with upset and the need to strike out. “That's all this means to you, isn't it? Paulo wasn't a person to you. He was an assignment."
"I can't do my job if I get involved."
"Well guess what? You didn't do the job anyway. Paulo wasn't supposed to die. He was supposed to go on to do great things. He was supposed to...” She took a hitching breath, unable to control the sudden rush of sorrow and regret that clogged her throat.
"Maybe you should go back to the States with him."
His soft suggestion slapped the grief from her. “I'm not leaving."
"You may not have a choice once Harper's people get here tomorrow."
"What? They're going to pack me out against my will?” Her sarcasm died a quick death beneath his steady stare. “Why is the SIN here?"
"Probably to protect Harper's investment."
"Paulo's dead."
"But that doesn't make him any less valuable."
"Talk to me, Frank."
"Tomorrow the troops arrive from Harper. While they ship Lemos back to Seattle to be studied, they're going on a vampire hunt for Alexander. And what you want or I want won't matter a damn to them. They, unlike myself, only follow orders. But now that they have Lemos, Alexander might not matter to them quite so much."
"What do you mean?” She didn't want to hear, didn't want to know, yet still had to ask. Cobb's answer laid it out like cold cuts on whole wheat.
"Why chase after a vampire when you've already got one on ice?"
"But Paulo isn't—"
His meaning took her between the eyes like a sledge.
"Come on, Doc. Think. Do your job. You're supposed to be the expert here. Killed by a vampire, become a vampire. Isn't that how it goes?"
"On the late show, yeah. But in reality, I-I haven't a clue."
"But I know who would. I've got some suspicions I need to follow up on. It shouldn't take too long.” He studied her pale features for a long moment, and finally, gratifyingly, his registered reluctance. That conflict of interest she'd been waiting so long to see as he considered his job and his involvement with her.
"Are you going to be okay by yourself?"
"It's daylight and dinner is in an hour. What could happen?” Her crooked smile dared him to name something. He pursed his lips, warning her not to get cocky with him. Then as he started to go, she placed a staying hand on his arm.
"Frank?"
"What?"
"I should have believed you sooner. Then maybe—"
"Then maybe, nothing. Don't second guess yourself, Doc. You did your best, what you thought was right."
There was more she had to say and no better time to say it. “What I said about you doing your job—don't listen to me when I'm being an idiot."
His hazel-colored eyes crinkled at the corners. “And I'm sorry for what I said about you being narrow-minded and self-centered."
"You didn't say that."
"Didn't I? Oh. Sorry.” He grinned and planted a quick kiss on the end of her nose. “Stay here."
"I'd look kind of funny coming to dinner in your clothes. I have to go to my room. I need a shower and my own underwear, thank you."
"Be careful. Most accidents happen in the home.” With that, he was gone.
Tomorrow. They had until tomorrow when the science Nazis arrived to take control. When that happened, she could no longer count on Cobb's support or Samuels'.
That left tonight to get her questions answered.
* * * *
A small, subdued group gathered for dinner. Because of Paulo's death, Peyton had canceled the incoming group of tourist and university students, a
nd most of the group that had come back with his body decided unanimously to travel to Lima where they would be questioned by authorities, rather than remaining at the Lodge, cut off from civilization. Where Paulo's body lay in state in the freezer. That left Peyton, Rosa Kelly, Frank Cobb, the two botanists who'd remained behind to gather Paulo's notes, and two newcomers. From their dark, unblinking stares, Sheba pegged them as Peruvian government.
Conversation stopped when she entered the room. It wasn't because she was wearing a short wrap skirt that displayed a goodly length of thigh with every step or the silky, sleeveless blouse unbuttoned to the center of her breastbone to reveal the hint of shadowed cleavage. She didn't kid herself. They were all looking at the medallion. Beneath the simple silver cross, it gleamed, old, valuable, unique.
And to someone at the table, worth killing for.
She slipped into the seat next to Cobb. His disapproval vibrated through his briefest touch as he tucked the chair in behind her. She met his flat stare.
Time to bait the trap.
And it almost broke her will to continue when Peyton was the one to snap it.
His stare riveted to the medallion. “Where did you get that?” Voice hoarse and without any polite preamble, he started to reach across the table before remembering himself. He withdrew the hand, but the question hung suspended.
"I've had it since I was a child. Why do you ask?"
"My wife had one just like it. The thieves who took her life stole it off her body. It was never found. I hadn't expected to see it again."
Sheba lifted the heavy oval, letting everyone get a good look at it. “Surely you're mistaken. It was in my mother's things. Perhaps something she inherited. It's very rare. I find it hard to believe there is another like it."
"I don't believe it, either. It looks like the same piece to me. She was always very protective of it. She even wore it while ... she never took it off."
"How odd. Ruperto Lemos seemed to think it was the same one he gave to Cipriana, too. He grew quite agitated when I wouldn't let him have it back."
"It should be in a museum,” growled one of the Peruvians.
"Perhaps I'll donate it in Paulo's name. He would have liked that."
She waited, but the topic seemed to fall away as the meal was carried in and served around. She found she had no taste for anything but a vengeful truth. Then Rosa blew the conversation wide open again.
"I hear you're leaving tomorrow."
"Where did you hear that?” Sheba asked in feigned surprise. Perhaps she wasn't the only one who learned things listening outside closed doors.
The older woman glanced at Peyton. “It's what the others in Paulo's group were saying. Now that there's no reason for you to stay."
"But Rosa, I have every reason. You see, my memories have started to come back."
Silence. Absolute silence.
"Isn't it amazing?” she continued, buttering her dinner roll while pretending not to feel their stares. Stares of surprise or shock? Or dismay? “After all this time. I guess Paulo was right. All it took was a trip back home. I wonder what secrets my mind has locked away? What a relief if they could put the mystery of my parents’ death to rest after all these years. That's what I'm hoping, anyway."
She nibbled on the roll as the silence thickened. Was it because they didn't know what to say or because they were afraid of what she might answer?
Either way, she was certain someone at the table was squirming. Someone or both someones. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to study in turn Peyton Samuels and Rosa Kelly. Her uncle looked stricken, as if a piece of pork had gone down the wrong way. Rosa looked pensive, amused, but at whose expense?
Well, she'd thrown down the gauntlet. Now, let someone pick it up.
Maria Ruis slipped into the room, bending to whisper something in Frank Cobb's ear. He placed his napkin next to his dinner plate and pushed back from the table.
"Please excuse me a moment. There's something I must attend to.” As he rose, he glanced at Sheba, the brief look conveying a single command.
Watch your back.
For the first time, she'd put a killer on the defensive, making herself their immediate target. And chances were good they'd strike tonight.
It was up to her to be ready.
* * * *
Peyton Samuels may have built himself a luxury palace of pretended isolation, but he was far from cut off from the outside world. His office boasted a state of the art computer system for marketing and research, linking to a publicist and an expensive advertising firm in New York.
Frank Cobb didn't care about those things as he sat before the keyboard. He was anxious to discover what the reply to his earlier e-mail would yield. Were his suspicions right or off the mark?
He knew of only one source for the research he had in mind, and he'd sent that question a world away, through a guarded system of locked doors and cautious barriers should anyone attempt to follow.
Have a question about a vampire, ask a former vampire.
Besides, Redman owed him. He'd gotten a new start in life and Stacy Kimball, to boot. And who would have a greater stake in catching Quinton Alexander than the man who'd been tormented by him for a century?
And there on the screen was his question in brackets.
Can they shapeshift into another physical form for an extended period of time?
And the reply.
Yes.
Cobb's smile was small and cold.
"Gotcha, you bastard."
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Cobb hadn't returned by the end of the meal, Sheba was forced to put her plan into motion on her own. Certain that he would not leave her for long, she began walking back to the bungalow as twilight stretched deepening shadows across the walk ahead of her. Her heart beat fast but not with fear. It was the aggressive rhythm of a hunter on the move. Only this hunter would sit and wait for the prey to come to her. Then she would have her answers and her revenge.
She left the lights off inside her cozy cabin, opting instead to touch off the wick of a single scented candle. The uneven flame sent odd shapes dancing along the walls as she prepared the snare for her victim. When she was finished, she stepped back to observe her handiwork.
Crude but effective.
With light low and the mosquito netting drawn about the bed, the blanket she'd rolled and placed beneath the covers resembled a sleeping shape. Her shape, any intruder would assume. She angled a chair into the corner by the door so she would not be seen by anyone coming in. Not until she had a chance to recognize them and greet them with the gun she'd borrowed from Frank's bedside table. If he had time to join the party, fine. If he didn't show, she'd just have to host it alone.
The waiting was difficult. She struggled to keep her mind clear of second guesses, those dangerous second guesses Frank had warned about. She wouldn't sit and blame herself for Paulo. She hadn't forced him to foolishly run off into the forest alone. She had not killed him.
Closing her eyes briefly to halt the burn of sorrow, she made a silent promise to her dear friend, the friend preserved by her memories. She would see his death avenged. She would not allow the unfeeling firm he'd worked for to make his death into a mockery. They would not use him in death as they had in life, without care, without an appreciation for the unique individual he was.
She checked her watch.
Soon.
The truth would be apparent soon enough.
The strain made her head ache, or perhaps that was the scent of the candle, burning low now as the hour grew later. It's floral smell, now strong, was almost overpowering. She blinked and rubbed at her temple. That smell. What was there about that fragrance? Her breathing labored. The odor permeated all her senses like a drug until her heart beat loud and fast in her ears. The way it had that night in the jungle when she was running from...
From what?
Not from what. From whom.
A soft click sounded. Alert now in every fiber, Sheba watched the
doorknob turn. Careful. She couldn't act too quickly, lest she spring the trap too soon and on the wrong person. It might be Frank coming to check on her.
She held her breath as the door opened slowly inward, momentarily blocking her view. All she could see was the shadow of a man detailed in silhouette upon the floor from the full moon shining in the night sky beyond.
He advanced into the room with a silent step, moving too easily, too silkily for a man of Peyton Samuels’ size. She expelled a relieved breath and lowered the pistol.
"Frank, it's about time. I was beginning to think you were going to miss everything."
She stood and started to close the door. Then got her first look at her visitor.
It wasn't Frank Cobb.
It wasn't human.
Red eyes glowed hot in the dimness as lethal fangs snaked toward her throat.
* * * *
Joaquin Cross stood in the Lodge bar making time with the lovely bartendress. As he was the only one in the room, she had no tactful way to avoid his conversation. Her smile was strained and her attention jumped to Frank Cobb with obvious relief.
"What can I do for you, sir?"
"Nothing, thanks."
"Would that she ask me that question. I could certainly think of something,” Cross grumbled into his glass.
"I was actually looking for you, Mr. Cross."
"Oh?” His gaze slid from the young woman's cleavage to Cobb. “More questions, Mr. Not a Policeman? I hope you have a fat wallet."
"Fat enough. Actually, it's not a question. If you're not too busy, I'd like you to show me where you found that woman, the one who was killed."
"I told you."
"But I'd like you to show me. It's important. Now."
The Indian sighed, giving the shapely bartender a last lustful ogling. “Pay my bar tab for me?"
"Sure.” A small enough price to pay. Cobb reached for his wallet, asking, “How much?"
"That's $87.50."
"You must be a thirsty guy, Mr. Cross.” He placed a hundred dollars on the bar and told the young woman to keep the change.
"Thanks, mister,” the young lady gushed, grateful on two levels—for the generous tip and for the removal of her creepy customer.