CHAPTER 5
BUT IT'S A DAMNED NICE CAR. I DRIVE A TWO-YEAR-old, British Racing Green Jaguar XKR convertible. It makes the run between Balboa Park and La Jolla a snap, especially since it's too early for commuter traffic.
I know the spot where Williams is sending me. It's deep in Torrey Pines State Park where there is no convenient access to the secluded beach, only a steep path down a sheer wall of rock. Because of its isolation, it's become a popular "suit optional" beach, favored mostly by those who should never be given that option. But at this time of morning, and for a vampire who can climb like a mountain goat, it offers the privacy one needs for what Fisher has in mind.
I'm neither nervous nor anxious about what awaits me. I've done it before. For the last month, I've worked with Williams doing what the human justice system cannot, taking supernatural rogues to task for their criminal acts. Williams and others as yet unknown to me act as judge and jury. I am one of the enforcers, or executioners, as the verdict dictates.
It's simple. It's quick. It makes sense.
And I've found I'm good at it.
Not that the irony isn't lost on me. My day job is tracking bail jumpers and turning them over to a system that will likely release them back onto the streets to claim more victims. The otherworldly way offers more protection to the innocent and is a hell of a lot more efficient.
I pull as far into the park as I dare and cut the engine. I don't want Fisher to bolt at the unexpected arrival of a strange car. It's almost six, and the late fall sun will soon cast its bright, brittle gaze to the sea. I don't have time to waste.
Before climbing out of the car, I reach into the glove compartment. There's a knife there, in a nice little leather holster. I clip it to my waistband, at my back. If I turn my back on Fisher, he will see it. I don't intend to turn my back on him.
Then I step out, toss my jacket into the front seat, kick off the heels, and I'm off, running through the trees with an ease borne of belonging as much to the animal world as the human. I pass a dark sedan, tucked into a small clearing at the trailhead. I detect no sound from the car as I approach. It is empty. The keys are in the ignition and the doors are unlocked. I pull open the passenger door and release a heady bouquet of blood, lust and fear.
Fisher's scent, commingled with that of his victim. There are a few drops of blood on the headrest. I brush my fingertips over the stain and they come away wet. The taste of her blood is rich on my tongue, sends a thrill of anticipation through me. Tonight I'll head straight back to Beso de la Muerte. I'll have to.
Quietly, I push the door shut. Ahead of me is the path to the caves, still hidden by the deep shadows of predawn.
Head tilted, I listen. Below the ridgeline that hides the path from sight, I hear the rumble of the waves, the skitter of claws on sand as something big frightens smaller creatures back into the sea. That something is treading with heavy, certain steps—one set, not two.
I hope I'm not too late.
The path descends in a rocky, precipitous slope to the entrance of the first cave. I send out a silent, tentative probe, careful to mask my identity and close off my thoughts, seeking only to identify the thing below. Like a bat's radar, the echo bounces back—vampire.
It's all I need to know. I race down the path. I want to surprise this Simon Fisher. Give him something to take his mind off his victim. Something he'll want more than a mortal woman. Something better.
At the bottom yawns the entrance to the first sea cave. It's open, hollow, allowing a straight shot through the sand to the sea. It's the way most beach goers head. Unless you knew what else was down here, you'd miss it. To the left, behind a jagged outcropping of rock that looks solid, is another entrance. Invisible, dark, forbidding. Behind it, I pick up steady footfalls, heavy treads, someone carrying a burden. And soft, uneven breathing.
Vampires don't breathe.
I may not be too late after all.
Another probe tells me that the vampire is only a few yards from the entrance. His thoughts are feverish, the blood-lust is high. He is looking forward to the kill. He will take the woman sexually first, he can barely contain his excitement. Then he will drain her, savoring an even greater sexual pleasure as her life flows into his.
I step around the rocks, into the open. He is too involved in his fantasy to notice. He lays the woman on the ground, strikes her cheeks with the palm of his hand. He knows the drug he used on her should be wearing off. He slaps her again.
She groans, stirs.
I send out the first message. Simon Fisher?
His body jerks toward me. His eyes glow with a savage inner fire, then become flat and unreadable. He stares at me. Tries to probe my mind.
I don't let him.
What are you? What are doing here?
As I step forward, he takes a reflexive step back. His hands are curled in fists at his sides. His face is familiar— the face of the animal that claims us both. The face of the vampire. He growls a warning.
I hold up a hand. My name is Anna Strong. I am a Watcher. I came to warn you.
Of what?
The police know you are here.
The woman on the ground takes a deep, gulping breath. Her eyes are open, but clouded in confusion. When at last she can focus and she sees Fisher, the vampire, she tries to scramble away.
He reaches out, grabs her wrist, yanks her back close to him. He applies pressure to her jugular until she slumps against him.
I take a cautious step forward. Let her go. It will be worse for you if they find her here.
He grins, presses her limp hand to his lips, licks her wrist. I will claim my prize first. The human police cannot hold me. You know that.
But the Revengers can. You have attracted their attention with your carelessness. They are sending one of their own with the police. He will be the one who takes you into custody. You will never be seen again.
Fisher considers my words. It is well-known in the vampire community that the Revengers have members on the police force. It's how they identify criminal activity that can only be attributed to a vampire. It only takes a few bloodless bodies to raise their suspicion.
The woman's eyes open. She struggles against Fisher's restraining hand. When his grip loosens, she brings a knee up into his crotch. But it's not a solid kick and instead of letting go of her, quick anger darkens his face and he raises his hand to strike her.
I'm there before he connects, stopping his hand in midswing with mine.
I pull him toward me. Let her go. I am offering you something better.
There's an instant when I think he's going to fight me.
But I take the chance and drop his hand, let him read what I am offering.
Interest sparks in the depths of his eyes. He keeps his thoughts closed to me but I can guess what's going through his mind. His eyes travel from my breasts to the hem of the miniskirt.
The sexual drive in a male vamp is powerful—more powerful even than in a human male. And sex between vampires is the best sex of all. The combination of blood and sex transcends anything experienced with or by mortals. His eyes still focused on the point where my skirt ends and legs begin, Fisher's mind opens to me in a heated rush of what he wants to do and how he wants to do it.
I nod agreement. Let the woman go first.
He glances down at her dismissively. There are more like her. It is no loss.
He releases his grip and takes one step back.