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CHAPTER THREE

“WHAT’S so interesting on the other side of that window? You’ve been staring outside all night.” Although Mel had first served the guy almost an hour ago, she’d not had the gumption to strike up a conversation with him till now.

Not that she was timid or anything—far from it—but he had that don’t-mess-with-me vibe, and she did her best to respect that. As a bartender in this joint for years, with the gray hair to prove it, she’d learned who was approachable and who wasn’t into chitchat. He fell into the latter crowd. But something about his expression made her ask tonight.

He pulled off his knit cap and ran a hand through his hair. Right now it was mainly dark blond, but some strands were much lighter. She’d be willing to bet that in the sun, it’d bleach out to a surfer’s golden blond.

She cracked open the longneck—only his second since he’d arrived—and slid it toward him, the wisp of escaping carbonation evaporating into the air. The guy nursed his alcohol like a first-time mother did her baby.

Not really expecting an answer to her question, she wiped a small water spot from the polished oak bar and grabbed his empty. But as she turned away, she was shocked as hell when he replied.

“Just keeping an eye on an old friend.”

She retrieved a fresh bar towel from the stack under the counter and flipped it over her shoulder. His leather bomber jacket, worn to a lighter shade of black around the wrists and neckline, creaked just a little when he lifted the beer and took a long swallow.

“Friend, as in friend? Or friend, as in an enemy you want to keep tabs on?”

“A friend.”

Having just tossed the bottle into the recycle where it rattled with the rest, she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. She lifted her eyebrows, waiting for him to say more.

Somehow he didn’t seem like the type to be pining over some woman, nor could she picture him as a stalker. More like the other way around.

The guy was working-class handsome, with rugged hands that no doubt knew how to swing a hammer and a slight limp he tried to conceal. He definitely wasn’t an accountant. A light stubble covered his jaw, and his eyes, despite their crystal-blue color, were intense and hinted at something a little frightening. Yes, his picture could seriously be in the dictionary next to dangerously handsome. She prided herself on being a pretty good judge of character. No, the guy wasn’t a stalker. But a heartbreaker? Oh, yeah.

He saw the question in her expression and tipped the bottle toward the window. “A woman I used to know is over there. In the Pink Salon.”

Ah, but maybe he was jealous. The Pink Salon wasn’t a place people went for a dart tourney with coworkers. “How long ago did you two break up?”

He narrowed his eyes. So her guess had been accurate. “Last year.”

“And she’s out with someone else?”

“No, working.”

“Yo, Mel,” called one of the guys at the far end of the bar. “Show us a little love down here.”

She filled a couple drink orders, and when she returned, Mr. Not-An-Accountant was still looking outside. Several club hoppers stopped on the sidewalk in front of the window. He scooted his barstool a few inches to the left to get an unobstructed view of the garish pink sign across the street.

As she polished nonexistent water stains, Mel scrutinized him further without making it appear she was. She knew if you looked a reluctant guy in the eye, he’d clam right up. But keep your gaze focused elsewhere, and he’d yap like an ankle-biter when the doorbell rings.

“She a bartender like moi or a waitress?” she asked, somehow doubting his ex was one of the high-priced hookers who frequented the place.

The left side of his mouth twisted up slightly, revealing a fleeting dimple. “No.”

“A cop then?”

“Sort of.”

She was dying to ask him what a sort-of cop was, but didn’t want to continue pressing her luck.

Noticing the time, she flipped the channel on the small flat-screen that hung at an angle on this end of the bar. One of the local stations replayed last week’s high school football highlights at midnight. She was a sucker for anything that reminded her of being younger, and watching those fresh faces who thought they were grown-ups always brought her back. She took a drink order from one of the waitresses and filled two glasses with Jack and Diet, but when she glanced at him again, she couldn’t resist another question.

“Some bad stuff went down over there the other night, but I heard they caught the guy.” What kind of a twisted SOB would have the cojones to kidnap a woman in front of all those people anyway? “Your ex involved in bringing him down?”

“It’s my understanding that she was. The main thing is, he’s off the streets and won’t be seeing the light of day for—let’s just say a long time.” There was that dimple again. But it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Mel nodded and turned back to the TV, still listening.

“She’s doing routine stuff tonight.”

One of the kids on the highlight reel caught a flea-flicker, broke an almost-tackle, then ran it in for a touchdown. Beautiful. A little thrill shivered down her spine and the guys clustered at the other end of the bar cheered with gusto. Yeah, she wasn’t the only one who vividly remembered those Friday-night games, although from the looks of it, those guys weren’t going to be remembering much of anything tomorrow. She should probably consider cutting them off.

“That place sure gets its share of freaks. Seems like you’re worried about her even though she’s a cop. Can’t she take care of herself?”

He picked at the label on his beer, tearing off little strips and piling them on his coaster like a mound of confetti. “Cop or no cop, it’s no guarantee she’ll be safe. But she can take care of herself. Or at least she thinks she can.”

“And that’s why you’re here. Because you can do it better? Take care of her, that is?”

His bitter laugh surprised her. Clearly having had enough of the nursing, he drained the rest of his beer in one long guzzle. Unlike most of the yokels in this place, he didn’t belch when he set the empty bottle down.

“No, definitely not.” He pushed the stool away from the bar and stood. Peeling off a bill, he plunked it onto the counter and tapped it with his knuckle, indicating he needed no change. Holy criminy. She’d pegged him as a good tipper, but this was ridiculous. “She’s much safer with me out of the picture.”

A bad boy who knows he’s not good for you? Oh, to be young again. “Why? You got loser friends?”

He nodded as he turned to leave. “I suppose that’s one way of putting it.”

THE RED DIGITS ON THE ALARM clock confirmed it was late afternoon, and Alfonso cursed.

A hell of a day this was turning out to be. He’d kept Lily under surveillance most of the night, making sure she did indeed have someone with her at all times. That she wasn’t vulnerable to those responsible for poisoning his life. Not that it was foolproof, he reasoned, but there was safety in numbers. Sure enough, Santiago hadn’t been dicking with him; the entire night, she’d been accompanied by her trainee. He’d watched them head for the field office, confirming with Jackson that she’d arrived safely before he left for home.

He flipped the pillow to the cool side and shoved the couch cushions back into place beneath him. After all these months, he hadn’t expected that seeing her would affect him so profoundly. But hell, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And because the imported European tiles still hadn’t arrived, he couldn’t get his mind off of her by working on his house.

What had happened between her and her ex that had caused her to move back to Seattle? he wondered. A familiar ache formed in his chest as he thought about her living with another man.

He didn’t begrudge the fact that she’d started seeing Steven again. After all, the man was her daughter’s father. Almost ten years ago, shortly after he and Lily had begun dating, Alfonso’s work within the Alliance had required that he move back to Europe. They’d called things off because, at the time, Alfonso didn’t know whether he’d ever make it back to the States. A few years later, he had come back, only to learn that Lily had been engaged, had given birth to a daughter, and that her relationship with Steven had ended. She’d eagerly accepted the assignment to act as Alfonso’s handler within the Agency and they’d begun their relationship again as if it had never even ended.

And it had been great. While it lasted.

The explosion changed everything.

At first he hadn’t let her know—hadn’t let anyone know—that he’d survived the fire. The Alliance needed to believe that he’d died trying to save the Overlord. His plan was to wait till he recuperated before going back to Lily. During that time, the Alliance would forget about him as various lieutenants vied to become the new leader. Battles would be fought, people would be killed, and he’d be just another vampire who’d sacrificed himself for the cause.

Deep down he knew that part of his decision not to tell Lily had also been motivated by pride. He didn’t want her to see him until he was whole again. And he didn’t want her sympathy, either.

But when he’d discovered that his blood assassin had been activated, that the Alliance knew he was alive, all his hopes for the future had been shattered.

He recalled in painful detail the phone call where Lily had demanded answers. For days, he’d been ignoring her calls and emails, hoping to find a way out of this mess, but he couldn’t. After finally reaching that agonizing realization, he’d watched his phone light up over and over before he answered. He’d known what he had to say to her.

With this permanent knee deformity, he’d never be able to adequately protect her. The assassin would hunt him down and go after her as well. If he’d told her the truth, she would have tried to convince him that she could take care of both of them, that she was tough and a good fighter. But he couldn’t let her take that chance, so he’d lied, told her he’d no longer loved her, and hoped she’d stay away.

And it had worked.

He sighed heavily and flung an arm over his face. Last night, he’d recklessly shadow-moved closer to her than necessary. But he couldn’t help it. He’d decided that he didn’t bloody care if she detected him or not. In fact, if she had, she’d have confronted him then and there. That was her style. Actually, maybe that was why he’d done it in the first place—to speak with her again, to see her up close, even if she wanted to kill him with her bare hands. He’d always loved provoking her.

Reaching down with his other hand, he cupped himself lightly and thought of how she’d looked last night.

With that trademark swagger and attitude that made confident men stand up and pay attention while weaker men shriveled, she had walked out of the Pink Salon, sauntered down the block and climbed into that red Porsche of hers. He’d held his breath, wondering if she’d scent him, but she hadn’t. Her trainee barely had the door shut before she’d peeled away from the curb. He could almost smell the lavender scent of her favorite soap on the night air as her car had sped past him in the shadows.

In a hotel suite they’d shared once, she’d walked toward him in much the same manner. Her jaw set, her eyes determined, focused. Except then, she’d been naked and focused on him. He’d waited for her on the bed, positioned as he was now, a hand behind his head, one knee bent, and the other hand around the base of his erection. Her hips had moved the same way, back and forth, back and forth, her blond hair skimming her shoulders—although last night her hair had seemed longer, pulled back into a high ponytail, the ends reaching to the middle of her shoulder blades.

He closed his eyes and was back in the hotel again. Her breasts bounced as she climbed onto the bed, inviting him to come play with them. And he did, for hours, while they made love and he nestled his—

Oh for chrissake. His cock was as hard as a baseball bat. Again. Kicking off the sheets till they bunched at the foot of the couch, he got up and took a quick shower. No use dreaming about something that could never happen. Things with Lily had been good while they lasted. Period.

Ten minutes later, he grabbed his laptop. If he wasn’t going to make progress on his house tonight, might as well make some progress on something else.

After a few botched attempts at playing Hollow Grave, he came to the conclusion that he at least needed a game controller, if not a few other accessories. He wasn’t about to ask Cordell because Santiago would find out and, if that happened, the guy would be all over his ass. He’d claim Alfonso did give a damn. No, Santiago didn’t need to know. If Alfonso found the location of the party, he’d inform Jackson and deal with Santiago then. But if he didn’t, at least he wouldn’t be giving the guy any false hopes that he actually cared.

A short time later, with his laptop tucked under his arm, he entered the computer store and headed to the help desk.

“What do I need to buy in order to play video games on this thing?”

“That depends,” said the kid behind the counter. He wore a name tag that said, I’m Kenny. Ask me, I know. “What game are you interested in playing?”

“Why does it matter? Just get me a game controller and a headset.”

“Depending on your laptop’s capabilities, it might not have the best graphics card for gaming. Or enough RAM. Or decent speakers. You might need a new computer in order to—”

Alfonso held up a hand. “No. I need to play it on this.” The laptop had been configured to make his online movements virtually impossible to trace. He certainly didn’t want to leave a trail; he worried enough about his blood assassin finding him without laying down a bunch of virtual bread crumbs.

“All right,” Kenny said slowly as he scratched his head. “How much memory you got? Are you interested in playing first-person shooter games, strategy, RPGs …?”

Oh for chrissake. Alfonso opened the laptop and typed in the URL of the Hollow Grave website. The screen went black for a few moments before animated trickles of blood dripped downward, and the sounds of blowing wind and a pipe organ echoed through the tiny speakers. “This game. What do I need to play it?”

Kenny’s face lit up as if he’d just stepped into Disneyland. “Dude, that’s totally sick. It’s like the forest in The Blair Witch Project. And the haunted house. What’s this called—Hollow Grave? How’d you hear about it, anyway? I’m a gamer and I’ve never heard of it.”

“From a friend. Now what?”

Kenny cracked his knuckles and excitedly rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Do you mind if I check out the system requirements to play the game?” With his fingers poised over the keyboard and his heart beating fast and loud enough for Alfonso to hear, he looked inquisitively at Alfonso.

“Go for it.”

Kenny’s hands flew over the keys and in a few seconds, he was smiling. “You’re lucky. Your machine is totally kick-ass. With just a few add-ons, I think you’ll be in business.”

He soon had the laptop outfitted with a controller, a headset and a pair of external speakers. Anxious to get home to start playing, Alfonso quickly paid and threw Kenny an extra fifty bucks.

“Thanks, kid,” he called over his shoulder.

Before he got to the door, Kenny ran around in front of him, the money clutched in his hand, face flushed, eyes wide. “Want me to help you with the game? You know, set up your user name and stuff.”

“Nope. I’m golden. Just needed this stuff to get me going.”

“Are you sure, mister? I could show you some tips, get you started. It doesn’t seem like you’ve played many games before and I’ve played a lot.”

Alfonso took a deep breath and considered the offer. The tile delivery should arrive tomorrow, he reasoned, and after that, he wouldn’t have much time to waste learning how to play Hollow Grave. Alfonso could just wipe the kid’s memory clear of the website when they were done.

“All right then. Let’s see how fast you work.”

Soon they were situated in The Garage, the store’s gaming lounge, the screen open on the table before them.

“You’re going to need a screen name,” Kenny began.

“How about BlackNight?” He had to devise a new persona, someone who was looking to party at the Night of Wilding.

“Lame,” said Kenny. “Bloodsucker?”

Alfonso stifled a smile. “Too clichéd. There are probably many with that name.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. SoulEater?”

“Maybe. BloodySunday?”

“Ooh, I like it. It’s perfect.” Kenny held out his hand. “Now, we’re going to need a credit card.”

Ten minutes later, BloodySunday was the newest user on the Hollow Grave website, complete with a skeleton avatar dressed as a military operative, three starter grenades and a full syringe of liquid power, also known as Bleed.

“Now what do I do?” Alfonso couldn’t even get his character to move out of the foyer of the haunted house.

“Here, can I try?” Kenny twisted the laptop toward him slightly and with a few clicks, BloodySunday grabbed a knife inside a small cobweb-infested box sitting on a hall table, slit the throat of a zombie who stumbled out of the dining room, filled a second syringe with Bleed and headed down a long flight of stairs.

He glanced over at the redheaded kid sitting on the edge of the seat, his heart beating loudly enough to make Alfonso’s mouth water. That kind of enthusiasm for adrenaline-induced excitement reminded him of when he’d been a spirited youthling centuries ago. He and his friends had sought out anything that produced crazy, mind-numbing thrills. Wild rides on horseback through Spanish hill country at night. Masquerading as swordsmen for hire. Tormenting human grave robbers, which in turn had sparked rumors about the existence of vampires. That stunt had landed him in all sorts of trouble with his parents. Too bad he hadn’t obeyed his father, who’d been newly appointed to the Governing Council. Instead he’d chosen to frequent the gaming houses and brothels of Paris that summer, where nothing was more seductive than a pile of notes, the écarté tables and beautiful women well-versed in the art of male pleasures. He sighed and turned his attention back to the game.

They continued playing and a short time later, a message popped up in the corner of the screen, congratulating BloodySunday on his progress. Not only had he gotten past the Newly Anointed level, he’d achieved Grave Crawler status, which gave him access to the forums where players shared special tips and tricks, and could make teams. He was on track to learn the location of the Night of Wilding party.

Which meant it was time to go. He’d post something in the forums about wanting to party when he got home. He pushed back from the table and faked a yawn. “I don’t know how you guys do it, playing all these games, staring at a tiny screen all day. My eyes are about to pop out of my head and my ass is numb. Thanks again, kid.” He’d have flipped him another fifty—he really couldn’t have gotten this far on his own without getting completely frustrated—but didn’t want to draw more attention to himself.

“If you ever get stuck or need more lessons or anything, I’d be happy to help,” Kenny said.

Not knowing whether Darkbloods used the game to troll for human victims, Alfonso didn’t want to risk it. He gripped the kid’s outstretched hand firmly. “Thanks for helping me restore my computer. When it crashed, I thought I’d lost everything.” The kid’s eyelids fluttered a moment as the altered memory took hold.

“Uh, sure.” Kenny blinked. A confused look flashed across his expression, and then it was gone. “If you continue to have problems with that hard drive, bring it back and I’ll see what else I can do.”

In a half hour, Alfonso was back at the estate. He right-clicked on an icon Kenny had shown him and memorized all the screen names currently logged on, noting the ones highlighted in red. They were the forum moderators and, quite possibly, Darkbloods. He wasn’t sure if the whole game had been created by the Alliance or if they only moderated the forums.

He scanned the thread topics but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Taking a deep breath, he created a new thread asking if anyone knew of some good parties in the Bellingham area. Then he logged off and strapped on his tool belt.

AN AIR–CONDITIONED CHILL blasted Lily in the face when she pushed open the heavy double doors at the end of the tunnel that connected her condo to the field office facility. Housed several stories beneath the city, it occupied a large but secret portion of Underground Seattle. The city had been damaged by fire over a century earlier, but instead of demolishing and rebuilding the structures, city planners at the time had elevated the roads and constructed new buildings above the old ones. The Council had wanted to establish a Guardian presence in Seattle anyway, so they took advantage of the unused space. They blocked off areas, did their own excavating and eventually located the field office in the heart of the city, right under everyone’s noses. Later, when tours of the Underground started, no one had a clue what was on the other side of the charred brickwork.

She’d been getting ready for bed but didn’t think she could sleep until she’d seen what Kip had put in his online log notes about tonight’s capture. In his last few reports, he hadn’t mentioned anything about her inability to track, but it was the third night in a row things had gone badly. First the alley with the human witness, then the nightclub, now tonight in the SoHo district. Recalling the look on Kip’s face a short time ago when she’d passed him the car keys again, she knew she couldn’t keep up the charade much longer.

Would anyone take note of the large chunk of time that had passed between when the original call came in and when the capture team was dispatched? She’d take a look at the capture team’s report as well in order to prepare herself for possible repercussions. Better to know now than to be blindsided later. And then she supposed she’d have to discuss her waning abilities with Santiago—if that’s what was really wrong with her.

She got to the security checkpoint and smiled at Francesca, who was sitting on the other side of a glass partition. The young woman looked up from her crossword puzzle and her face brightened.

“Forgot to tell you, but I finished that book you loaned me last week,” Francesca said. “Loved it.”

Lily smiled and placed her thumb on the reader. They often traded books, but with everything on her mind lately, she couldn’t remember which one she’d loaned her. “Awesome, that’s great,” she said generically.

Three tones sounded. She removed her thumb, inserted her key card into the slot, and Francesca buzzed her in.

“Got any free time?” Francesca tucked a pencil behind her ear. “It’d be fun to get together and discuss it. Someone told me about a new coffee shop nearby that caters to book lovers. Maybe we could check it out.”

“I’d love to, but I’m booked solid. Heading up to see Zoe and the fam. Can you wait till I get back?” Maybe by then she’d feel back to normal, and she could concentrate on something other than her problems.

“Yeah, sure.”

She waved to her friend, tucked the lanyard back inside her zip-up hoodie and strode down the hallway, apprehension growing with each step.

She didn’t want to speculate about what might be going on if her lack of abilities couldn’t be explained by a simple sinus virus. But then, what kind of virus lasted for this long and kept getting worse? Being a Tracker was much more than just a job. It meant that for the first time, she’d been respected for her talents and her brain, and not because she was Henry DeGraff’s daughter or because she looked good in a miniskirt. Sought after by other field offices, she’d located vampires and humans that no one else could track. But if she couldn’t get rid of that muddy scent clouding her ability to delineate smells—much like a filmy cataract lens obstructing one’s vision—she’d be worthless as a Tracker.

Which basically made her … worthless.

She poked her head into the gym and looked around. On the far side of the huge room, just past the juice bar, Cordell Kincade worked out on one of the rowing machines. Okay, perfect, she thought as she headed toward him. Since she only had access to the Tracker system, she’d get him to pull up the capture report, then she’d check out what was on the official record. If she was lucky, the long time-gap wouldn’t be noted and Kip’s report wouldn’t mention anything out of the ordinary. She’d be able to relax for now, and head up to British Columbia this evening. Maybe that and a few nights off were all she needed to get back on track. She was eager to see her daughter again.

She smiled at how far she’d come since finding out she was going to be a mother. At first, she’d been horrified. Hooking up with a player like Steven had only been meant as a fun distraction. It wasn’t supposed to get her pregnant. Not to mention that her job as a Tracker, with its unpredictable schedule and the frequent travel it required, was extremely demanding and very important to her. How could she possibly do that and be a mother as well?

God knew her parents had been excited about her pregnancy, even if Steven hadn’t, and they offered to do anything they could to help. But when she’d held Zoe for the first time and seen her chubby face, none of that had mattered any longer. She’d vowed to figure out a way to work as a Tracker, with or without Steven. As the mother to the most beautiful child on the planet, she was determined to make a good life for both of them.

“Hey, Cordell, when you’re done, can you get me into TechTran? I want to take a look at the capture reports from a few assignments.”

“You bet. Give me … a minute.” Eyes forward, concentrating on his workout, he spoke only when he exhaled as the seat slid backwards. “Last night’s report?”

“Yeah, that and a few others.”

His gaze flickered in her direction but he kept rowing. “You think … they entered … it yet?”

Damn. He did have a point. She’d already filed her activity summary, but had everyone else? Trying to act casual, she shrugged, but the knots in her shoulders tightened anyway. “Hadn’t thought about it.”

A few minutes later in the computer lab, with a white gym towel around his neck, Cordell pulled up the TechTran system as Lily leaned over his shoulder. She held her breath while he scrolled through the various field divisions, finally clicking on the capture team button.

“Nope.” he said, pushing back in his chair. “Nothing for last night yet. Protocol may dictate everyone file timely reports, Lil, but you’re one of the few around here who actually does it.”

She exhaled slowly, unsure whether she should be relieved or not. Maybe it wasn’t all bad, she reasoned. The longer they waited to submit the summary, the less detailed it was likely to be. But she’d still need to keep checking, which meant involving Cordell each time. Unless it was filed today, she probably shouldn’t head north tonight. Her heart weighed heavily in her chest at the thought of not seeing Zoe. With her piano recital coming up, Lily’s daughter had been practicing daily and was eager to play for her mom.

A shitty Tracker and a shitty mother. What a combination.

“Hey … you mind if I log into my account?”

“Knock yourself out. I’m hitting the showers.”

She waited until he’d left before she clicked into the Tracker section. That’s funny. She double-checked that she was on the correct page, but she was. All of Kip’s other reports were there. Neat, organized, just the way she’d taught him. The only one missing was last night’s. Surely he wasn’t slacking off already, was he? Was she the only one around here concerned about the rules?

Irritated now, she logged off and exited the computer lab. Kip had obviously been hanging around Jackson too long. His poor habits had rubbed off onto her very conscientious trainee. She ground her teeth together. All the screwups in the office seemed to revolve around Jackson. Well, things were about to change.

A fresh, vaguely familiar scent caught her attention when she stepped into the hallway. She inhaled, couldn’t quite separate it from the muddiness, and that too-familiar swell of panic gripped her stomach again. In an enclosed environment like this—undisturbed by the elements—a scent should be easy to identify.

Knowing that smell was closely associated with memory, she closed her eyes and pressed both hands on the top of the foyer table, careful not to lean in too close and get speared by one of the pointy orange flowers that looked like a crane’s head.

She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, focusing inward on the mental images and emotions stirring in her mind as she tried to pry loose the scent memory.

Apprehension. Disrespect. Inadequacy.

Then it dawned on her. Of course. Gibson’s here. I should’ve known. He’d assumed she’d gotten the job as a Tracker because of her father, not because she was qualified, so he’d never respected her.

Angry with herself for letting an ass like Gibby get under her skin, she squared her shoulders. Catching sight of herself in the reflective doors of the elevator, she made a quick appraisal. Not bad, but not perfect either. Much as she loathed being judged for her looks alone, around men like Gibby, her image was her armor.

“Good, you’re here,” said Jackson, startling her, his heavy footsteps beating a loud rhythm behind her. Subtlety was not one of his character traits. “I need to talk to you.”