I asked you if Culebra brought you here?
He kicks one of the chairs away from the wall and drops into it. Culebra doesn’t bring me anywhere. I asked him to arrange a meeting with you. I told him it was important. I told him you wouldn’t return my calls. Yesterday he called me and said to be here this morning. That you’d show up to see Sandra.
Son of a bitch. But why such an elaborate charade? Why not just tell me to meet him here?
Williams’ smile is derisive, mocking, as he reads my reaction. He knows you, Anna. You’d walk in, take one look at me and walk back out. I don’t know what’s going on between you and Sandra, but obviously he used that to get you here. What did he say?
Don’t come? And what did you do? You came anyway. Right on schedule. Right after he asked you to stay away. Jesus, Anna, you are so fucking predictable.
Predictable? If I were so predictable, I’d give in to the anger scorching through the tissue of my control and have Williams’ head through the wall. Culebra tricked me. He sent me here to see Williams and made sure he was elsewhere when I found out so I couldn’t take it out on him. Did he really leave town? Or is he hiding out somewhere, waiting for me to go back to San Diego?
I don’t know whether to feel angry or hurt. Instead, I suck in a breath and let it out slowly before saying, “What is so fucking important?
Oh yeah. I forgot. You came with a warning. Deliver it and get out.”
A flash of dark rage sparks the depths of his eyes. For an instant, I read that he doesn’t want to tell me—that he would love to let me become the next victim.
Victim? Of what?
His anger still seethes, fighting to surface. He looks down and away, swallowing back his emotions, regaining control. When he looks at me again, his eyes are flat, hard, expressionless.
He says, “Someone is killing vampires.”
CHAPTER 7
THIS IS THE BIG NEWS? I BARELY CONTAIN THE snicker.
“Someone has been killing vampires since the dawn of recorded history. Tell me something I don’t know.”
My sarcasm is not well received. Williams has the look of a spoiled kid ready to take his ball and go home. At the same time, I pick up on the vibe that he’s not being over-dramatic in his concern.
“Okay, okay. Tell me. What is this about?”
Williams’ thoughts darken. Vampire corpses are showing up drained of blood. There have been six in the last week alone.
It’s not easy to kill a vampire.
The Revengers? I ask. They’re a group of human vampire slayers.
He shakes his head. No. The Revengers don’t leave corpses. They don’t want to attract attention to themselves any more than we do. This is something else—something different. These corpses are left in plain sight, for the human community to find.
By the human community, I know Williams is referring to the police. I also know Williams was recently forced to resign as chief of police—a position he held for many years until a case I was involved in turned public opinion against him.
It wasn’t my fault and it wasn’t his.
He follows my train of thought. It diffuses some of his anger and when he comments, it ’s surprisingly without bitterness. “It was time I resigned. The position was too high profile. It’s not the first time I’ve found myself in this situation. It won’t be the last.”
Vampires, like humans, are creatures of habit. Williams has been in law enforcement of one kind or another for two hundred years. He’ll undoubtedly follow that same path when it comes time for him to move on from San Diego.
“You know how the police are handling it?” I ask.
Old habits are hard to break. He goes into cop mode to answer.
“So far, the vamps have all been young females newly turned. Exsanguination is the cause of death. A small wound at the jugular made by a weapon of indeterminate origin. The bodies have been found in different jurisdic tions throughout the county. The only reason we know they are vampires at all is because our contact in the coroner’s office recognizes what the total absence of food in a digestive tract means.”
He doesn’t expound on any of these things, but I understand. Especially that the vamps are all newly turned. If a vamp is destroyed by stake or fire, he leaves nothing behind but ash. If he is killed any other way, by draining, for instance, his body reverts to its human age and an autopsy would reveal nothing but intact human organs. They no longer function, which would not be obvious, but neither do they shrivel or disappear. A newly turned vampire would appear normal.
“I haven’t seen anything in the newspapers about bodies turning up.”
“Not yet,” Williams replies. “The police are playing it quiet. So far, the victims all seem to have been young people who have fallen off the radar. No missing reports filed, no families have come forward to claim the bodies. Whoever is doing it is choosing his victims carefully.
That will change the first time he fucks up and a victim turns up who has been reported missing.”
Williams stands up. “I’ve done what I came here to do,” he says. The civility is gone from his tone. “I thought you should know what’s been happening. You may be in danger. You are slightly older than the others, but you fit the profile. You are newly turned and you have a penchant for pissing people off.”
“You’re telling me to watch my back?”
“I know your partner is out of town and your family is gone. I’d like to think you’ll live long enough to get over your childish refusal to integrate into your real community. Maybe you will, maybe you won’t. Frankly, I don’t care one way or the other.” But there are others who do. The thought is squelched the instant it forms in his head.
He watches to see if I caught it. I did. Same tune, different song. He puts his hand on the doorknob and twists. “You know where to find me.”
He walks out and I’m right on his heels. I’ll think about what he’s told me later. Right now, it’s one pain in the butt down, one to go.
Time to find out what put the bug up Sandra’s ass.
There’s a human behind the bar—a guy I’ve seen here before. One of Culebra’s gofers.
“Where’s Sandra?”
He shrugs. “Errands. She told me to tell you not to wait. She didn’t know when she’d be back.”
Terrific.
CHAPTER 8
THE ONE BRIGHT SPOT IN A SHITTY DAY IS THAT Lance is at the cottage when I get home.
He senses my mood the minute I walk in the door.
“So what’s up? Trouble with Culebra?”
He’s sitting on the couch, a magazine open on his lap. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans, no shirt, no shoes, and must have just come out of the shower because he smells of my soap and shampoo. Only Lance could make the citrus of my favorite Chanel fragrance, Chance, smell masculine and sexy.
I sit down next to him. “You smell good.”
He drapes an arm over my shoulder. “And you smell like cigarette smoke and stale beer. You’ve been in a bar?”
Two in fact. An image of that girl in TJ and her dead eyes makes me squeeze my own shut in exasperation.
He reads my reaction and the reason behind it. “Must have been hard, seeing that girl. I’m surprised Culebra would have chosen a spot like that to meet you. Why not Beso de la Muerte?”
I let him pick the story out of my head. “He set you up?” he asks in surprise. “With a story about Sandra?” Lance and I had just met when Sandra arrived in town the first time. He’s heard the whole story. He’s one of the reasons I made it through that period without going crazy.