Darker Things (The Lockman Chronicles #1) (3 page)

“It's after noon,” she said. “How much longer are we going to wait?”

“Last time she was gone two full days before she came back. The time before that was a day and a half. She's only been gone since yesterday.”

She stared at him, hoping her expression showed how ridiculous a thing that was for him to say.

He squirmed under her scrutiny, looked away. “Kate, I'm just saying. She's holed up with one of her so-called friends and she'll come back when she misses regular meals, clean clothes, and a comfortable bed. Just like before.”

Her face grew warm. “So I should go about my day, not worry about a thing?”

“No.” He heaved another one of those sighs. How come she had never noticed that annoying tick before they got married? “But if we call the police, drag them into this again, and Jess shows up, we'll look like fools.”

He tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. “I'm not worried about looking like a fool. I'm worried about my daughter.”

He leaned back in his seat and played chagrined.

To Kate it came across false, condescending even. It was one of those rare times where she wanted to scratch his eyes out. How dare he belittle her feelings?

“I'm worried, too.”

“Not worried enough.”

“Look, I'm not going to panic every time your daughter pulls a stunt like this. You might be blinded to her faults, but what she really needs…”

“What, Alec? What does she really need that I don't give her?”

His shoulders sagged. “You'd give her the world, Kate. No matter what. You'd give her everything except the discipline she deserves.”

Kate felt her face muscles tighten, her jaw set. She spoke through clenched teeth. “When did you become the expert parent? I raised her on my own for ten years before you were ever in the picture.”

“Don't. This shouldn't turn into that kind of argument. We're together now. I'm here. Jessie is both our responsibility.”

“Except, I don't live up to your parental expectations.”

“I didn't say that.”

“Practically.”

“Don't put words in my mouth.”

“Don't tell me how to raise
my
daughter.”

She said it before she could take it back, with that slight-but-obvious emphasis on the
my
. Now it sat out there between them, as ugly as a hocked up glob of phlegm. His rigid expression showed none of the hurt she expected. Either he was holding back his feelings or he really didn't care.

You're staking your marriage to a solid man who’s done nothing but help you on this petty argument?

She exhaled slowly. “I'm sorry.”

“Forget it.”

“That was mean. I just wanted a reaction out of you.”

“I know.” One corner of his mouth twitched, almost as if he meant to smile and caught himself. “That's why I didn't.”

“Please.” She took his hand. “You're probably right about where she is, but what if she's not? What if she's in real trouble?”

“I still think we should focus on the trouble she's going to be in when she comes back.”

“Fine. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't call the police. Cover all our bases.”

He raised his hands as if in surrender. “I didn't say you couldn't call the police. If you want to do that? Fine.”

“What happened to Jessie being both our responsibility?”

“That still stands.”

“It feels to me like you've dumped this on me. If
I
want to call the police, than
I
can go ahead and do that. Not us or we. Me.”

“You're reading too much into things now.”

She stood. Went to the kitchen counter and took the phone off the hook. She returned to the table, standing over Alec, and set the phone in front of him. “Then call.”

He stared at the phone before him as if it were a slug he'd found in his breakfast cereal. “You're letting your emotions get the better of you.”

“Hey, at least I
have
emotions. You're sitting there like a cold stone. I don't even know what to think.”

“She'll embarrass us. It's like crying wolf.”

“So that's what you're really worried about. Your fucking ego.”

Alec raised an eyebrow.

She slapped a hand over her mouth. God, how long had it been since she had said the f-word? Her face glowed like an ember and she hated herself for it. Why couldn't she say
fucking
if she meant it? If she was really that
fucking
angry at her husband? She lowered her hand and stood straight.

“All right. You stay here and do…whatever you're going to do. But I'm not going to sit around and assume my daughter is safe.” She left the kitchen and retrieved her coat from the closet by the front door.

“Come on, Kate.” Alec stood in the archway to the foyer watching her. “Where are you going?”

She finished buttoning her coat and made sure her keys were still in the pocket. “I'm going to find Jessie.”

Chapter Four

“Or what?”

The vamp holding the gun to Lockman's head made a low gurgling sound that was probably supposed to be a growl.

Time to test how badly they really wanted him alive. “If I make a move, are you going to shoot me? Maybe you think you can wing me? Clip a leg?”

The vamp jabbed with the gun barrel. “Drop them.”

“Again, I ask, 'Or what?'“ Lockman slowly stood straight from his crouched position. The gun barrel remained snug right at the base of his skull. “To stop me, you will have to kill me.”

“I'll take pleasure in draining you before the bullet wounds let you bleed out.”

Lockman smiled. Oh, yeah. Definitely a vamp. As if he had any doubt. But that left the question hanging about why the crucifix didn't work for the girl.

“What would Dolan think if he saw my flesh between your teeth?”

“I don't worry about any human's will. If I want to kill prey, I kill.”

“Nice bluff.” Against every human instinct toward survival, he turned to face the vamp, the animal part of his mind wailing against his will while waiting for the bullet to pierce his brain. Lockman trusted his instincts, but neither did he neglect his intellect.

The vamp jerked back as if Lockman had cocked an arm to hit him. “Enough. Move again and you die along with the girl inside.”

The muscles in Lockman's jaw tightened. “See. That kind of talk just pisses me off.” He swung his left forearm in a traditional block meant for an incoming punch, but used it instead to knock the vamp's weapon aside. He lifted the gun in his right hand at the same time.

The vamp had the advantage of not being human, its reflexes twice that of even the best trained mortal. In a flash, it had Lockman's right wrist gripped and the gun pushed off target, making the two shots Lockman fired thump uselessly into the ground.

Good thing Lockman had another gun in his left hand. Like the best of stage magicians, he used what he did with his right hand to misdirect from his left. At close proximity, shooting from the hip, Lockman took no chances. He kept squeezing the trigger until the gun snapped dry.

Smoke hissed from the holes in the vamp's torso, but it must have worn some protective armor under the fatigues. It merely staggered back a few steps, its grip still firm on Lockman's right wrist.

Anticipating the next move, Lockman dropped his empty Glock and grabbed for the automatic weapon the vamp still held in its free hand. He tried to yank the gun free. The vamp tugged back, trying to loosen Lockman's hold.

They danced in this tug-of-war stalemate until Lockman let go of the weapon and snatched at the vamp's ski mask. He ripped it off in one fluid motion, the wrap-around sunglasses coming with it.

The vamp screamed and let go of both Lockman and its weapon to cover its eyes. With most of its face covered by its hands, the vamp could almost pass as a bald human with slightly disfigured ears. That is, until its skin began to bubble.

Lucky thing the house faced East, directly in the rising sunlight.

Lockman kicked the vamp in the stomach and shoved him out from behind the shrubs. The vamp stumbled back and fell to the sidewalk. Its head caught fire, the flames bright blue like a propane torch. In a matter of seconds the creature's skull caved in and the head blew away in flakes of ash. Only the burnt stump of its neck remained, and even that began to disintegrate as the exposed flesh met with the sunlight. The rest of the body, still clad in black, looked undisturbed apart from the sizzling bullet holes in the torso.

“Fucking vampires,” Lockman said, stomach twisting at the sight. Been a long time since he'd seen one, let alone watched one die. He'd had his fill, but two more came out the front door.

Lockman was ready for them. He used both hands on the Glock, took on a regulation shooter's stance, and nailed them both in the head as they rushed out. He'd lost count of how many rounds he'd fired from which gun, so he retrieved the gun he dropped, released the clips from both guns, and put the fresh clips in.

The approaching sirens now sounded as close as the next block.

Reloaded, cocked, and unlocked, he stooped low and crept back into the house. He walked right by all the dropped machine guns belonging to the vamps. Vamps wouldn't load their own weapons with silver, which meant the rounds would do little more than slow them down. Besides, if he wanted to get the girl out of there he couldn't very well spray the place down with bullets. That wasn't the way to get someone you wanted alive. Too bad the vamps hadn't figured that out before they took on Lockman.

The tear gas had dissipated enough for Lockman to stand it. His eyes watered a little. He refused to wipe the tears away until he had scanned the house. No sign of them up on the loft. But they could be standing back, out of sight. He peered into the kitchen. Undisturbed except for the open drawer where he had stored the crucifix.

The sound of police sirens spiked right outside, then wound down almost immediately. Lockman's ears rang from the gunfire, but through the broken front door and obliterated window he could hear car doors popping open. The tromp of hurried footsteps.

A parody of an old classic song ran through Lockman's head.

Cops to the left of me, vampires to the right, and here I am, stuck in the middle with…

With some little girl who claimed she was his daughter.

What the hell had he let himself get into? If the cops got hold of him, the red tape for the Agency to get him out would be horrendous. They might even let him hang to dry, State secrets and all. And if the vamps got him first, a life sentence served in solitary would look like a luxury cruise in comparison.

Only one answer. Don't get caught. Period.

He glanced at the stairs leading to the loft. If he went after the girl… No. He didn't have time to think this through. Act. Now.

He charged the stairs, both guns up and ready to fire. As he raced up to the loft, his view of the space opened. The exercise equipment came into sight first. Then he saw the girl lying on the weight bench, her hands bound behind her, her makeup a black mess across her face. He readied himself to take careful aim as he cleared the last step.

No vamps.

He froze at the top of the staircase, heard authoritative shouts from the front of the house. The cops. Lockman tried to make out specific words, but mostly heard the tension and panic in their tone.

“Where did they go?”

The girl, crying, looked at the open window.

Then he heard the barrage of gunfire outside. Then silence. Then a horrifying but purely mortal scream. Apparently the vamps had decided the police were a larger threat to their operation than Lockman. And they didn't have to worry about keeping the cops alive.

He rushed to the girl and found her wrists tied under the bench with a plastic zip tie. He dug his pen knife out of his pocket and sawed at the plastic band until it snapped. “They might be feeding on those cops, which will make them a lot stronger. We have to get out of here.”

The girl stared at him with raccoon eyes, her body limp. Lockman checked her exposed skin for signs that she'd been fed upon, didn't see anything.

He shook her. “Snap out of it.”

The girl's pallor had already looked sun-deprived when he first saw her. Somehow even more color drained from her face. Her mouth moved silently.

“Damn you.” He shoved the Glocks into his back pockets, lifted the girl from the bench, and threw her over his shoulder. “What did you do with the crucifix?”

He was mostly talking aloud, not expecting any response from her. But she groaned and said, “Dropped.”

Then he saw it on the floor in the corner by the window. He trudged over and retrieved it. Crucifix in hand, teen girl over his shoulder, he hurried down the stairs. “What do you think?” he asked and headed through the kitchen to the back door. “Is your dad everything you had hoped he'd be?”

She didn't answer.

Chapter Five

Cracked, dry asphalt with the occasional sprig of browning weeds rolled past Jessie's vision. He carried her through an alley. She could smell trash and saw garage doors and dumpsters if she looked to either side, everything turned upside-down while she rode on the muscled shoulder of this guy she thought could be her father.

She wanted to ask him where he was taking her, why there were people dressed all in black shooting at them, why the hell he had given her a metal cross like it might do something to stop them? Questions, questions, questions.

Instead, she hung limp and let him carry her. She didn't have the strength for much more. Not after what she'd seen…and heard.

Their voices. What was wrong with their voices?

They came out of the alley and all at once she was swinging off his shoulder and onto her feet. Her knees gave out from under her but he held her up with an arm around her waist and the bulk of her weight against his hip.

“I know you're in shock,” the man who may or may not have been Craig Lockman said. “But you have to move on your own. They'll smell our trail and be on us again soon.”

Then there were those weird things he kept saying. Like what was that about the gunmen
feeding
on the police?