Bond of Darkness (25 page)

"Plus, I'm wearing high heels so I can strut like all the other rich bitches here." She put her hands on her hips and waggled them at him. "See? I can do arrogant."

"Yes, you certainly can," he agreed drily.

Maybe even sexy? Risky thought.

"But we promise to keep you away from any bad guys, even if one stops by. Now come on, let's introduce you to the guys."

Steve threw back her shoulders and sauntered out of the bedroom beside him, into the sitting room. Only Ethan's men were there tonight, since she'd told Posada she'd gone to meet her CI. She could feed any information they found back to her task force.

A half dozen men came to attention when they entered, all of whom had arrived since she'd checked into the hotel. Although they were all dressed casually, none of them struck her as anyone to start a fight with, under any circumstances.

But Hollywood had it wrong: These vampiros were not pretty. Masculine, very tempting for a night of pleasure, but only Ethan could be described as pretty.

Unless she was more prejudiced in his favor than she cared to think about.

"Gentlemen, this is Ranger Stephanie Reynolds."

"Ranger," they chorused, nodding to her.

"Steve," she corrected them.

"Steve," they agreed after glancing at Ethan.

"Steve, this is Angus Rough Bear, my second in command. He's a vampiro, a few years younger than myself."

Angus? An unusual first name for an Indian, especially since he'd been born before there were many white men around.

A tall, broad-shouldered man with raven-black hair, strong features, and dark eyes, inclined his head, his expression very reserved. Her Cherokee grandfather had treated strangers the same way, with distant courtesy until he knew their intentions and capabilities.

She smiled warmly and acknowledged Rough Bear with a slightly deeper nod of her head, younger warrior to elder.

"Emilio Alvarez, a compañero who'll be nearby. He's as strong as most very young vampiros but can readily go out in daylight, should there be a very long chase."

"A pleasure, Ranger," Alvarez greeted her heartily. He had dark hair and eyes, olive skin, and hawk-like features. Compared to the others, he was very young, almost like a puppy, yet there was a wealth of bitter experience in his eyes.

"McAllister is a vampiro, as are these two." She shook hands with the indicated men, automatically memorizing their appearance. Ruggedly masculine, not coin pure perfection, but definitely deadly, especially around the eyes.

"Plus, Hennessy will be our sniper. He's already in position so you can't meet him in advance. But you'll recognize his voice over the air by his Irish brogue."

Brogue? She blinked. Just how long had Ethan and the Santiago Trust been recruiting men? Where did they find them? And was Hennessy from the IRA? She shrugged off such trivialities; there were more important issues to consider, like how to carry herself in this damn costume.

At least in a bridesmaid's dress, the skirt concealed any wobbles. Jeans gave her no such help.

"What about her Colt?" Rough Bear asked.

"That's why she's carrying an antique," Ethan drawled, packing a startling arsenal into a duffel bag. "It's her great-great's Colt 1911, which he was issued during World War I and carried throughout that war. He gave it to his son, who used it throughout the next world war."

"So what?" Steve demanded and pivoted, relearning the art of wearing high heels while walking through the suite.

"It smells of all those events, not a modern gun's fragile scents. In character, you have it for sentimental reasons, because it's handy and you've heard rumors of unusual events."

"It's an antique, which implies I don't really know how to use it." She grinned, warm mischief glowing through her veins. "Won't they be surprised?"

"Careful, Steve," Ethan warned. "If things go wrong, you probably won't have much chance to use it. You'll have to rely on us."

She opened her mouth, ready to attack misogynistic overprotective bastards, but caught his eye. He was watching her, those white lines cutting deeper around his mouth.

Good lord, he'd meant every word. Lovely, just lovely.

Her stomach promptly devoted itself to creating flip-flops and Gordian knots. Undercover work was always dangerous, but there was usually some opportunity to protect oneself. She fought to breathe steadily, reminding herself she'd be heavily protected.

"Steve." He wrapped his hand around hers, squeezing it warmly. "You're part of our team now. We've worked together successfully for a long time and tonight should go well."

She stuck her chin out and parked her nerves in her pocket.

"Damn straight it will." She gripped his fingers, her skin still a little chilly.

"Listen up, boys." Ethan's voice strengthened after he released her. "Remember, Peter has loaned us one of his Houston vampiros for tonight's dry run, who's fairly unfamiliar with the Dallas and San Antonio compañías. He will walk through the hotel's cafe, checking to see if Steve has an escort. If he doesn't spot anyone, our setup works."

"How good are his senses?" Alvarez asked, his dark eyes calculating.

"He's approximately the same age as most of Devol's bandolerismo." Ethan shrugged.

"Any of Devol's vampiros around? The River Walk is still the biggest tourist draw in Texas," Rough Bear pointed out. "At least after dark."

"Unlikely, after last week's dustup. They know we're watching it."

Alvarez nodded slowly. Steve was grateful for the reassuringly awkward presence of her family's Colt, deep inside her jeans' waistband.

"Any other questions?"

Men shook their heads, their expressions blatantly confident.

Steve stepped in. "Do you believe in group huddles before an op?"

"Of course." Rough Bear and Alvarez came forward first, quickly joined by the others. Everyone linked hands, pressing close together until they were joined at shoulders and hips as well, their heads bowed.

She leaned against them, savoring their closeness and drawing strength from it.

Rough Bear began to chant in his own language. The others hummed, thumping the beat with their feet. Although she didn't understand the exact words, somehow she knew he asked for blessings upon all of them during the coming hunt. She could almost feel her own Indian ancestors humming in approval.

Strength and calm flowed into her, plus coolness and confidence in the men around her.

After all these decades, this would be the first time a member of her family would fight for Texas justice, beside other law enforcement officers—with all of them under the Great Spirit's protection. She'd needed to step into the vampiros' darkness to reunite with her roots.

She was still smiling quietly when the last man slipped out to take up his position.

She sauntered out, head high, every inch the rich bitch suffering from insomnia, and headed for the cafe on the River Walk. Time to go down, have a couple of nonalcoholic drinks, eye the local scenery, and come back. No big deal, right? This was only a dry run. Even if they did attract a bad guy, they'd succeed in taking him out.

Except for Ethan a few paces behind her and her abiding hunger to haul his ass into her bed.

By the time she took her seat in the cafe, she'd convinced herself high heels were the only footgear for showcasing a girl's legs and ass. Maybe she'd try it again sometime, when she had a hot date. The few men still around certainly thought so, ogling her as if they'd never seen a female walking alone.

The cafe was full of leather and wrought iron chairs, gathered around wrought iron tables set with homemade tiles. Palms sprouted in every available corner and screened the cafe from the River Walk's sidewalk, giving the patrons a private view of the river.

She settled into her chair and ordered a club soda and lime. An abrupt wave of her hand permitted the waiter to bring a menu and she pretended to study the list of hors d'oeuvres.

Alvarez was reading a playbill at the nightclub next door to the hotel. Ethan and Rough Bear were nowhere in sight, but instinct, more confident than her eyes, told her the pattern was complete with them there.

"Thanks." She signed for the overpriced example of fizzy water and fruit and pushed the menu aside. "Chicken quesadilla, please."

Thank God this was going on somebody else's expense account. She couldn't imagine explaining triple the usual cost to Posada.

Now if that Houston vampiro would just show up soon, they could call this a day.

A man sat down at the table next to hers. He was Caucasian, with regular features, probably five foot ten and a slender build, wearing a corporate polo shirt. She'd seen men just like him a thousand times before in Austin, Dallas, and San Antonio. His head was bent, his eyes intently focused on the cafe's long list of specialty margaritas.

She glanced over at him, wondering if he was too close and she needed to move. But tables were always packed tightly together in tourist traps.

She sniffed and started counting all those overgrown bits of garden, screened by palm fronds. The after-hours sweep for drunks must be time consuming around here, if they had to comb all of the landscaping.

Time consuming. Maybe she could check her smart phone to see if Ethan or any of his men had left her message.

She stretched her hand toward her purse—but nothing happened. She couldn't even waggle her fingers.

She tried again, gritting her teeth.

Nothing, although her fingers ached until they burned.
Ethan
?

Her heart slammed against her chest then lurched into a panicked gallop.

She needed her gun. Get her gun.

She pictured it, every detail, including the serial number and the long, never explained scratch on its butt from World War I. Bend her arm at the elbow and slide it around, then down her back…

Her fingertips touched her chair and stopped. No, she needed to go farther!

Weight slammed into her brain like a sonic boom. Her eyes widened.

Heat flashed across her chest and throat but a glacier imprisoned her muscles in a wall of ice. A vise began to slowly move up her throat.

For the first time in her life, she could do nothing at all.

"Steve?" The beloved voice was in her ears.

Oh dear God, Ethan.
Please come
.

She demanded her mouth to open—but her lips remained stubbornly closed. Knives stabbed every muscle, like the pins to a marionette's strings. Although she fought every inch, the knives forced her to look at the closest bit of garden.

Shit, it was just big enough for two people to lie down inside.

Something—someone?—silently spoke to her somehow.
Stand up
.

No
! she retorted.
Never. Dear God, how was this conversation possible
?

The man sitting next to her chuckled very softly.

Was this what had happened to those poor girls?

She started to rise, sweat pouring down her face.

Something thudded into the man next to her and the weight disappeared from her mind and muscles.

Steve scrambled desperately away, knocking over her chair. When she had her back to the wall and her Colt in her hand, she dared to look back.

That corporate polo shirt was settling into the man's chair, a few pinches of dust atop its chest and shoulders. What the hell? Where had he gone?

Somebody was screaming but it didn't seem to be her. At least, she was very cold and her throat didn't hurt.

"He's dead, Steve. He's dead." Ethan wrapped his arm around her, completely disregarding her gun, and pulled her hard against him. Rough Bear and Alvarez raced in behind him, to pour soothing words over the cafe's uproar.

"Are you okay?" Ethan gently brushed her hair back from her face.

"I couldn't move." She stared up at him, tremors starting somewhere deep inside and building until they shook every bone and muscle. "It felt as if he could read my mind—and was laughing!"

Ethan flinched, his face turning gray.

"Oh crap, he could." She shoved her Colt back into her waistband, her hand vibrating like a cement mixer. An instant later, she buried her face against him and was clinging like a Victorian maiden.

Ethan handed Steve another cup of sweet coffee before sitting back down on the sofa beside her. Her apartment contained only a few pieces of furniture, all of them cheap. But the big sofa was comfortable enough, if they sat close together.

God damn Devol and his bandolerismo! Hell, when he'd seen her terrified face and realized she couldn't speak, his own veins had run cold. If anything happened to her, he'd personally destroy Devol and the hell with waiting for orders from Don Rafael.

Mercifully, everything had turned out well enough—but only because he needed to see her face every few minutes, regardless of what his plan said. If she'd been his hija, he'd have known sooner what was going on. But he couldn't give her El Abrazo, even if nobody except Don Rafael had a chance of pulling her through La Lujuria.

The cafe's occupants had noticed nothing except a woman drawing a gun—and a pile of clothing's sudden arrival. That was quickly smoothed over by claiming Steve had thought she'd seen her worthless ex-husband walk past.

Apologies over, Ethan had quickly taken her away, murmuring agreement with her insistence that she could take care of herself. Of course, she could—after she recovered from her shock. Poor darling. She'd only nodded when Emilio had offered to ride her Harley back to Austin, a very forward request at any other time.

He'd left Luis's men to destroy all video surveillance, of course. The siniscal's men knew where all records were kept, as befitted good householders.

At least they knew the basic plan worked. Steve hadn't slept with Ethan for more than a month so she didn't have even the faintest trace of vampiro scent left. Pity; it might have kept those brutes away from her. They were obviously preying only upon women in a blatant challenge to Don Rafael's protectiveness toward the gentler sex. Normally, even bandolerismo would feed upon both men and women, reflecting vampiros' usual bisexuality.