by Virna DePaul
No one at Belladonna knew whom to trust, but they’d had no choice but to keep moving forward, keeping their suspicions a secret, taking advantage of whatever resources and intel the FBI did provide, and following up leads on Rogue criminal activity. Barrett was taking the lead on the sex ring intel, while Collette and Justine worked on a variety of new developments in other areas of vampire crime. Collette had begun a complex investigation into the billion-dollar business of fake pharmaceuticals, focusing on blood products. Justine was staying with the field she knew: women who were in the business of voluntarily selling their bodies, figuratively or literally. Peter, the only other turned vampire in the group, stayed at Belladonna headquarters as their point person and direct link to Carly, Belladonna’s mysterious CEO.
Unfortunately, Peter wasn’t giving her anything at the moment that could help her, and that was making Barrett’s panic rise. Despite her reiterating her request that he buy Jane for her, Powell had refused, saying the asking price was far beyond his means. Which, given how rich Powell was, meant Jane was a valuable commodity indeed. He’d also refused to reveal anything about the people who ran SexFlash or how he’d met them. She’d been afraid to push for more lest she drew Powell’s suspicions and lost her ability to gather any information at all on vampire sex rings, but …
“Don’t tell me you’ve come up with nothing, Peter! We work for the FBI and you’re telling me no one can track down a sex ring site when I’ve given them the freaking URL?”
Despite his turned vampire status, Peter was tall and slim with light brown hair, chiseled features, and a smile that was potent when he chose to use it. He didn’t try to charm her now so much as calm her.
“You gave us the URL Powell let you see, Barrett, and clearly someone has swept that trail clean. Without more …”
A flash of anger blotted out her other thoughts. What did he mean by “more”? More than what?
More than befriending a blood-sucking pedophile like Powell? More than letting him drink from her? More than doing sneak searches of his place on multiple occasions, risking discovery and death, only to come up empty time and again?
How much more did she have to give before she caught a break?
Anything and everything, she reminded herself. She’d been willing to put her life on the line numerous times to rescue victims she didn’t know. She’d damn well do the same for Jane.
“I’ll go back to Powell’s,” she choked out. “Convince him to buy Jane.”
“Powell is gone. Might be dead, for all we know,” Peter said. “His house has been cleared out.”
Barrett’s body jerked, not in surprise but in despair. She’d known Powell had pissed off the brunette. She’d suspected they might retaliate. But not so fast. Not before Barrett could get something—anything—out of him that might help her rescue Jane. “How?” she choked out.
He shrugged. “We have no idea. All we know is that a moving company showed up a few hours after you left yesterday and took his belongings to the flea market.”
She put a hand to her forehead. “Powell made a mistake by letting Jane’s captor see me. Whoever runs SexFlash took care of the problem, rerouting the site and ‘relocating’ Powell. If they got to him so soon after I was with him …”
Peter said nothing but he didn’t have to. It was there in his eyes. The brunette had seen Barrett through the webcam. What if she’d had her trailed after she left Powell’s? Granted, Barrett always followed the evasive techniques Peter and Ty had taught them to ensure no one followed her, but she was still new at all the secret-agent bullshit.
“He was my only lead to Jane,” she choked out.
Her gaze focused on the intercom placed strategically near Barrett’s leather armchair. Carly, Belladonna’s leader, usually ran the show, so why hadn’t she spoken yet? None of Belladonna’s recruited female agents—Barrett, Ana, Justine, and Collette—had ever spotted a hidden cam in this room. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t one. When Carly still didn’t speak and Barrett again failed to find any sign of a hidden cam, she rubbed her eyes in frustration.
Maybe she’d been followed. Maybe not. In the end it didn’t really matter. And even if the brunette’s accomplices had rerouted the SexFlash site, they had to have left some bread crumbs behind. Tracing their steps couldn’t be that hard. Not with the might of the U.S. government behind them. Unless …
Her head snapped up. “The possibility of an FBI mole. Do you think—”
“Until we know for sure, we keep our eyes open, and we do what we need to do. We’re sworn to protect the citizens of this country. No sacrifice is too great.”
“Some of us sacrifice more than others, Peter,” she said in a low voice.
“Perhaps,” he answered evenly. His dark eyes, which she knew were actually black with silver pupils underneath the contacts he wore, blazed for a moment, reminding her that he hadn’t sacrificed his humanity—it had been viciously taken from him. He never whined or complained about it, and that fact suddenly made Barrett’s cheeks flush with shame.
She sure as hell didn’t like the feeling.
They all had their crosses to bear. She wasn’t up to keeping score right now. Rallying, she lifted her chin.
“Do you mind telling me how we’re supposed to keep going if someone in the FBI is truly conspiring against us? The seven of us alone—five with Ty still helping Ana through her turning—with a traitor in our midst? What can we possibly accomplish?”
“We don’t know there’s a traitor. Not yet. For now, we use the resources we have, limited as they are.”
His tone suggested they might be limited but that they also might surprise her. “Care to enlighten me?”
The intercom crackled as Carly finally decided to speak. “Nick Maltese is one such resource.”
Shock made Barrett’s eyes widen. Memories made her skin tingle and her heart clench with longing and regret. She and Nick Maltese had crossed paths just over two years ago in Eastern Europe, after Barrett joined the army. Barrett had been working as a liaison to women and children forced into refugee camps as a result of ongoing conflicts.
Her mind immediately zoomed back to the moment she’d first seen him.
Tall enough to make her feel short—and at five feet eight inches she wasn’t—with broad shoulders that stretched his army-issue T-shirt to the max. Dark hair, regulation short, which he’d scrunched into spikes somehow. Dark eyes that just fucking did her in. And that smile. Blazing white and wide when he looked at her.
He’d turned toward her, as if alerted by some sixth sense that he was being watched. Before that, she’d had just enough time to let her gaze roam up and down, from his dusty boots to cargo-pocketed camo pants that hugged narrow hips she’d instantly wanted —really wanted—to get a grip on.
Later, she’d learned Nick was in the region as a high-ranking noncombatant—a flexible term that basically meant you’re whatever we want you to be, soldier. Officially in charge of clandestine tech operations. Not black ops. More like gray. But he’d trained as a sniper and he ranked as one of the best. Unofficially, that was also what he did. Undercover and under the radar.
One of his inventions was a computer-tracking system to help locate trafficked children and teenagers in war-torn countries. There had been no way to save all of them, but Nick had put his own life on the line to get into the worst brothels, once rescuing two young girls who were barely alive. He’d pulled strings at the highest level and personally flown the girls and their mother to asylum and safety.
When not heading up humanitarian rescues, he sometimes took out the worst of the bad guys. Sanctioned kills, every one, never reported on either side of the conflict, accomplished with terrifying precision. His assigned targets were shadow killers themselves.
He was tenacious to a fault. Unbelievably intelligent. Arrogant as hell.
And so damn sexy, so damn tender when he’d wanted to be. He’d had the power to make Barrett forget her grief and her duty and simply
want to be a woman, one who could take shelter in his arms. Of course, it was because of those very feelings that she’d ended things between them. She’d always intended to end things. Being booted out of the army for failure to obey orders had simply speeded her decision along.
“How—how do you know that name?” she forced out, praying her shaky voice didn’t give her away.
Instead of answering her, Carly said, “Peter, Ty’s on line two. I’ll talk to Barrett about Mr. Maltese.”
“Of course,” Peter said quietly. He left, but not before placing an encouraging hand on Barrett’s shoulder. The gesture did nothing to reassure her.
“I apologize for joining the party late,” Carly said. “Ty called just as you walked in, then so did Mahone.”
“Is Ana all right?” Barrett asked, thinking of Ty’s lover, the woman she’d barely gotten to know before Ana had infiltrated the Crossing and been forced to kill her own sister, a turned vampire gone wrong.
God, sometimes Barrett couldn’t believe this was actually her life.
“She’s doing well. Ty says another month and they should be ready to join us again.”
That was good, Barrett thought. She was glad Ana had Ty to help her through whatever hell she was going through.
The four female agents of Belladonna—Ana, Barrett, Justine, and Collette—had been strangers before their recruitment, linked unknowingly to each other by a single tragic day and the vagaries of fate.
Seven years ago, Barrett had lost her older brother, Noah, when a gang shoot-out had started outside the ice cream shop they’d been visiting. He’d wanted to go straight home after the movie they’d seen, but no, Barrett had insisted on stopping for dessert. He’d suffered a heart attack and because of the gang activity outside, the ambulance hadn’t gotten to Noah in time to save him. Logically, Barrett knew Noah’s death wasn’t her fault any more than what had happened to Jane was. But emotionally …
Barrett rarely let herself care too much about others. Whenever she had, she’d suffered. Noah. Sarah. Nick. Now Jane.
No, it was far better to keep herself distant, because when she failed, when she couldn’t protect what was hers to protect …
An unseen vise gripped her heart and Barrett automatically winced even as she laid her palm against her chest.
The pain of losing Noah had never gone away. She’d just gotten good at pretending it wasn’t there. If she failed to save Jane, how much harder would the pain be to bear? What would stop her from collapsing under its weight completely?
But she wasn’t the only one who’d suffered tragedy, she reminded herself. In fact, it was for that very reason that Carly had brought Barrett and the other female agents together. Justine’s mother had died. Collette was dealing with some mysterious illness that could very well kill her. And Ana? Ana’s bad luck had started the day she’d been born to a prostitute mother and had continued well after she’d been forced to join a gang to survive. Ana had been smack dab in the middle of the gang shoot-out that had contributed to Noah’s death, and afterward she’d spent two years in prison only to subsequently lose her sister, the last close relative she had. She deserved some happiness and, despite the violent event that had turned Ana into a vampire, Barrett had no doubt Ty Duncan would provide it. Who knew, maybe the rest of them would find some happiness, as well. As for her? Barrett thought once again of Nick …
Of everyone who had brought her joy in her life only to leave her far too soon.
Then she remembered Jane and instantly stopped feeling sorry for herself.
“Nick,” Barrett prompted. “How—?”
“You told us about him,” Carly reminded her. “In your intake interview. You were lovers as well as fellow soldiers. And, I believe you parted on good terms after you were discharged?”
Good terms? On the surface, yes. They’d been fuck buddies. She’d encouraged the term even though she’d known he was far more than that to her—and they’d moved on after Barrett had returned to the States. Farewell and no hard feelings. At least, she’d played her part to make it seem so. But it had taken everything she’d had to walk away from him, and afterward, when she’d allowed herself to think of him, she’d missed him more than she’d ever thought possible. So much so that her heart ached just at the sound of his name.
“Yes, you could say that. So?” she forced herself to respond.
“Mahone remembered seeing his name when he reviewed your files. When Peter’s attempts to track down the SexFlash URL got nowhere, Mahone figured you having a special relationship with a techno wiz might come in handy. He went searching for him … and unwittingly found a gold mine.”
“What do you mean?” Barrett asked. She’d never actually met Special Agent Kyle Mahone before, but she knew the guy had spectacular contacts, including an “in” with Bianca Devereaux, the infamous Vampire Queen. That link had enabled him to obtain useful intel about vampires—like wearing gold to protect one’s thoughts, and the fact that one could kill a turned vampire by stabbing him or her in the heart with a blade coated in liquid nitrogen.
It was because of that intel that they continued to fully trust Mahone even if the same couldn’t be said for his superior, Director Rick Hallifax, or any other employee of the FBI.
“The details are sketchy. Mahone said he encountered security blocks he had a hard time bypassing, even with his clearance. But because Mahone’s familiar with the Turning Program, and the lingo and the way the Bureau gets things done, he’s put several pieces of information together. Looks like Maltese is doing contract work for the FBI right now.”
“You mean software development? Some kind of vampire tracking program?” If anyone could do it, he could. The only things Nick had been better at than computers had been hot sex. And cold killing. She couldn’t forget about that.
“That’s not something Mahone was able to uncover yet. But he’s still digging,” Carly replied, her voice tight. “Bottom line, it’s very possible Nick Maltese has information you can use. If not, maybe he’ll be motivated to help you find it.”
Barrett could take a hint. And it wasn’t lost on her that even as pimps and Rogue vampires were selling the bodies of girls like Jane to the highest bidder, Barrett had been, if not technically, at least essentially whoring herself for her country. But no regrets. Sex was just … sex. She’d learned long ago that men were willing to be led around by their dicks, and that she could take advantage of that to get what she needed.
Nick hadn’t been her first or last lover, but he’d been her best. It would be no hardship to give herself to him again if it meant convincing him to help her. Hell, she’d jump at the opportunity if only to wash away the memory of Powell’s touch. Only, Nick was a good man. She didn’t think it would come to that.
Even as her body mourned that thought, her brain rejoiced. It had been hard enough barricading her heart against him the first time. Now that she was reeling from the events of the past few months and the guilt of failing Jane, she had to be especially on guard.
“Is Nick here in D.C.?” Barrett asked. Had they been living in the same city? Not likely that they’d have met by chance, but the way she’d felt when she’d been with him … some part of her should have known.
“Mahone’s attempting to access the information even as we speak, Barrett. One moment.”
Barrett sank back into the plush armchair. The furnishings of the house were meant to impress. Not her taste, but awfully familiar.
Her great-grandfather’s fortune had multiplied many times over, but he and his descendants disliked show and put family first; a close second was service to one’s country. Her mother had different ideas. She would have adored this old house.
Expensive carpets muffled every step. Dark velvet curtains framed mullioned windows. A gilt mirror across the room over an antique side table added a discreet touch of sparkle. Posh and somehow suffocating, the decor never failed to remind her of similar mansions on Philadelphia’s exclusive Main Line. She’d grown up
in one before her father died and her mother had remarried and moved with her stepfather to Palm Beach.
She picked up an Architectural Digest and flipped through it, half expecting to see them on the pages showing off their Florida ocean view or their pied-à-terre in Paris or their twenty-one-room Newport “cottage.” No mentions in this issue, thankfully. She set the magazine back on the side table.
Now that Belladonna agents were past their initial training, they no longer lived at the Belladonna compound full time. Barrett “made do”—her mother’s condescending term—with a sublet apartment in Crystal City, across the Potomac from Washington proper. It was all she needed. She rarely set foot in it and had chosen it because it was near the airport. Home had always been an abstract concept to her.
Standing, Barrett walked over to the mirror and straightened the jacket of her cream linen suit. Her blond, shoulder-length hair held the crisp straightness of its classic cut, a look that required minimal styling. Her throat was pale and unmarked by Powell’s recent bite marks since she always insisted he lick the wounds closed before she left him. She looked subdued. Classy. Nothing like a woman who would fool around with a loathsome pedophile (vampire or not) in order to wheedle information out of him. Nothing like the passionate, uninhibited woman she’d been in Nick Maltese’s arms.
Carly’s voice crackled on the intercom again, prompting Barrett to return to her seat.
“I just texted you the info, including email and phone numbers. Nick’s living on a mountaintop in Tennessee.”
Barrett smiled. The mountains of Tennessee. Yes, that sounded like Nick. Smart and strong and sophisticated, but at heart a good ol’ boy. A man’s man.