“Stage it as what?”
“A drug deal gone bad at a meth lab. You did a hell of a job covering your tracks, by the way. Even I couldn’t find anything to link you to that house. Or the car in the garage, which was also destroyed.”
“And the Geo Prism?”
“We got it out of there before the authorities arrived.”
“Who exactly did the authorities think you were?”
“DEA, arrived too late to rescue an agent whose cover was blown and who subsequently died in the fire.”
How did everyone else pass themselves off as federal agents so easily when Roland couldn’t make it fly worth a crap?
“Do you want us to bring you a replacement car? We can have it there by sunset.”
“What happened to the Prism?”
“Nothing. I just assumed it was stolen.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Really? You should have put that hunk of junk out of its misery a long time ago.”
“It isn’t mine. It belongs to a woman who was caught in the crossfire.” Sarah no doubt would have already replaced it if she could have. “She’s here with me and, I’m sure, would appreciate getting it back.”
“A human woman?” Chris asked, his voice deadly serious.
Roland stiffened. Having never called upon Cleaners, he wasn’t sure how they dealt with humans who had been exposed to the truth. “Yes.”
“I’ll be there within an hour to pick her up.”
“The hell you will.”
“You know the rules, Roland. Any human who—”
“Fuck the rules.”
“Her knowledge puts us all at risk,” Chris reminded him. “At the very least I need to sit her down, have her sign a confidentiality agreement, and impress upon her what will happen if she ever violates it.”
The threat was obvious.
Anger welled within Roland as he listened. After all Sarah had been through since finding him in that field, there was no way he was going to let Chris intimidate and frighten her.
“I said fuck the rules and fuck you,” Roland snarled. “You stay the hell away from her.”
“Your ass isn’t the only one on the line here,” Chris said, his own irritation beginning to show. “Do you have any idea how many laws my team and I broke today cleaning up your shit? This is standard procedure, put in place to protect us all. If she wigs out and decides to tell—”
“She isn’t going to wig out, and my ass isn’t on the line. I know that because she saved it. Now if you have any interest in keeping yours intact, you’ll damned well steer clear of her!”
A long silence ensued.
Roland sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaustion beating at him. He really shouldn’t alienate this man after the help he had rendered them earlier.
“Look, Reordon. I don’t mean to bust your balls. It’s been a long two days. I’m tired. I’m irritable. And I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for Sarah. She saved my life—twice—and has been through hell. I’m not going to repay her by letting you strong-arm her and threaten her. She has enough on her plate now that she’s become as much of a target as I am.”
“A target,” Chris repeated, the antagonism in his voice melting away. “Why don’t you clue me in to what’s going on? I know you usually work solo, but if you’ve got humans attacking you by the dozen, I can probably be of some assistance. Were those at your house minions or independents?”
“Minions.” Though disclosing information to a perfect stranger made him uneasy, Roland filled Chris in on what had been happening.
“What’s the name of the vamp?”
“I only have a first name. Bastien.”
“Country of origin?”
“England.”
“Physical description?”
Roland gave him one.
“Vamps don’t have our resources, so they usually leave a money trail. If this one is lucid enough to organize and control an army, he can’t be too old. He also must live in the area. I’ve already got a guy tracing the license plate and VIN numbers on the SUVs the minions drove to your place. We took them before the fire department arrived and replaced them with a couple of crap cars. We’ll check them for prints and other forensic evidence, then let me see what I can come up with and I’ll get back to you.”
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Call me if anything else comes up.”
“I will.”
“Do you want me to send out a team to guard you and Sarah while you sleep?”
“No thanks.” He couldn’t extend his already shaky trust to anyone else.
At least, not yet.
“Okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I will.”
After hanging up, Roland put Chris’s number on speed dial.
“Roland?”
He turned, warmth invading him as Sarah shuffled into the room.
Her long hair was tousled from their lovemaking and framed her face in tangled waves. Her eyelids were heavy, her lips still swollen from his kisses.
Only his black T-shirt, which he silently admitted had never looked so good, covered her nudity. The sleeves that were short on him covered her elbows. The hem fell a third of the way down her pale, faintly muscled thighs.
Seeing her in the too-big plain cotton shirt stirred him more swiftly than the sexiest lingerie would. He was filled with such tenderness and affection. Such possessiveness.
Mine.
He wanted to shout it to the world, place his mark on her so everyone would know she was his.
Hell.
If he wasn’t careful, he was going to find himself falling in love with her.
And that way lay heartache and disaster.
It never ended well when an immortal fell in love with a human.
Only gifted ones could be successfully transformed. Those rare individuals with the extra DNA memo groups that bestowed upon them special abilities and enabled their bodies to mutate the virus so they would become immortal rather than vampire. So many gifted ones had been killed before they could procreate in centuries past by fools egged on by superstition, fear, or envy, that their descendants today were very few. The chances of an immortal finding and falling in love with one were astronomically low. Roland could number on one hand the times such had happened during his long existence (word tended to get around when it did) and those love affairs had ended badly when the gifted ones chose not to be transformed.
The fact that an individual could safely be transformed didn’t necessarily mean he or she would want to be transformed.
But even that hope had been denied him here. Sarah had none of the special gifts that would have indicated she was different. She lacked the black hair and dark brown eyes characteristic of all those who possessed the bloodline that would prevent her from turning vampire. A relationship with her could only end one of two ways.
At best, he would have fifty or sixty years with her before she died in his arms of old age. His ability to heal may extend that a decade or so if he were lucky.
At worst, they would have … maybe twenty years of happiness before the signs of her aging could no longer be staved off. And those signs would gradually increase. The first time someone mistook her for his mother rather than his wife or lover would devastate her. She would feel self-conscious about the changes taking place in her body (while his remained youthful) and insist they only make love in the dark under the covers, where she thought she could hide from his preternatural vision.
As various parts of her continued to wrinkle and sag, she would begin to question his love for her. His attempts to reassure her by pointing out that if he were human and aging alongside her, he would feel no different—his devotion unfaltering—would fall on deaf ears. Each night, when he left to hunt, she would suspect he was seeing a younger woman on the side. She would grow increasingly bitter. He would become weary of her distrust and constant accusations, her lack of faith in him.