Death Takes a Holiday (19 page)

“Trixie—”

“If you don’t hear from me by eight my time,
then
come, okay? Make sure my family’s okay.”

“I will be there in two hours,” he says with finality.

“No,” I warn.

“But—”

“
It’s nothing
. I will be fine. Don’t. Come.”

“You are being ridiculous and idiotic. You require assistance.”

“No. I don’t, okay? I don’t want you here. Promise you won’t come unless you don’t hear from me.
Promise
.”

He’s silent for a moment then says, “I promise.”

“And don’t tell Will. That’s the last thing I need.”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Good. Thank you. I’ll call you before eight.”

I’m about to hang up when he says, “Trixie?”

“Yes?”

He’s quiet again. “Nothing. Be safe.”

“I will. Bye.” I shut the phone.

I turn the car onto my street. The only car I don’t recognize is a black sedan a few houses down. I glance in as I pass it, but it has tinted windows. I pull into my driveway and sprint into the house. Nobody attacks me before I get inside.

Nana sits on the couch in her pajamas watching the news as I come in, locking everything behind me. I go around shutting all the blinds as a concerned Nana watches.

“What on earth?” she asks.

I start shutting off the lights too. “You need to keep these closed, okay? And keep the lights off too.”

“Beatrice, there is nothing on the news about an escaped convict. What—?”

“Look, I can’t explain right now. I will, I
promise
, but right now I just need you to trust me, okay?”

Before she can answer I rush into my room, turning on the lights and reaching under my bed for my suitcase. In a tiny pouch is a small can of silver nitrate spray. That’s all I brought with me, and it was unintentional. Then I open my drawers until I find the next weapon in my arsenal. Black shirt, black jeans, black tennis shoes, and black leather half jacket. My big, bad monster-killer outfit. Bravado will be my biggest asset. I helped kill fifteen vampires in one day, including a Lord. I can show no fear.
That
is what will save me tonight.

Though I closed my door, Nana walks in without knocking as I get dressed. “Beatrice Suzanne, you need to tell me what is going on
right now
. Are you in trouble? Is it drugs?”

“Why does everyone think I’m a drug dealer?” I ask.

“Are you? Are drug people coming for you?”

“No!” I pull on my jacket and then put the canister down my cleavage. They never think to look there. “Look, I helped this girl last night, and it got kind of out of hand. I just have to go meet someone and explain everything. It’ll be fine. Steven’s going with me, okay?” I pick up my purse. “I have to go now. I’ll be late.”

I quickly wipe some powder on my face and apply red lipstick. I’ve found that vamps love the color; if scaring him doesn’t work, I can always switch to flirting. Every vamp thinks he or she is God’s gift, might as well use the fact to my advantage.

Nana folds her arms, watching me as I throw my wallet and cell phone in my purse from last night. I doubt a trained killer would show up with a daisy tote. “You’re lying to me,” Nana says.

I look at her. “I’m not. I swear I’m not. I just need you to trust me. When I get home, we’ll sit down and I’ll tell you everything. But I can’t now, okay? I love you.” I kiss her cheek. “Keep everything locked. Don’t answer the door for
anyone
. And don’t let anyone in, and if you don’t know someone
don’t
look in their eyes. No matter what.”

“Their eyes?”

“Yeah. I gotta go. I love you.”

I wait outside on the porch until I hear all the locks click then pull out my keys and start toward my car, keeping my eyes on the black sedan. But instead of getting in my car, I walk past it, my head back and a hard scowl on my face. Let the games begin.

I tap on the tinted window. After a second it rolls down revealing two huge bald men with matching scowls. “Hello. Just wanted to let you know I’m on my way to my meeting with your boss now. I’m thinking that you two need to follow me away from my grandmother’s house, otherwise I will turn back around and crush this car like a tin can with both of you still in it.” For effect, without moving a finger, I crush the soda can in the holder. Both men flinch, and then look up at my smiling face. “Try to keep up. Don’t want to keep his Lordship waiting.” As I walk back to my car with a spring in my step, I key their car. Childish, but effective.

Hope they don’t tattle on me.

EIGHT

GASLIGHT

E
VEN ON A
S
UNDAY
night parking in downtown San Diego is a trial. I’m stuck parking five blocks away in a poorly lit lot with rats scurrying between cars. And I get to pay twelve bucks for the privilege. At least my two new best friends are in the same pickle. Merry and Pippin stalk fifteen feet behind me all the way to the club. I’m strangely calm as the club comes into view. It’s nestled in the middle of the Gaslamp District. Tiny flames flicker in place of electric street lights with trendy boutiques, restaurants, and art galleries lining the red brick street. Gaslight stands right in the heart of the district. It’s three stories of red brick with the name
Gaslight
illuminated by the same flames as the street lights.

I’ve actually been to this club before. Five times. Three with April, once with some friends from college, and once with Steven. Clubbing was never my thing. Too many people. Too loud. Too expensive. Never in a million years would I have suspected that some of the
people I was grooving with were the living dead. Sure there were a few pale and black-clad people, but I never gave them much thought. It makes me wonder where else I’ve encountered vamps. The movies at night? The bookstore? It’s frightening, like finding out your next door neighbor is a serial killer.

The dark brown wood door is closed, and the place the bouncer usually sits is empty. They must not be open yet. Which means no civilians. Which means no pretending to be human, because no witnesses. That calm I had before? Just vanished. Raised pulse and shaking hands are back.

My escorts flank me on either side before the driver knocks. A moment later the heavy door opens. A skinny African-American vamp in black jeans and shirt lets us in. Like all clubs, Gaslight is dark even with the house lights up. The majority of the red brick walls are unadorned save for glasses of gaslamps, speakers, and strobe lights. It’s one of the classier clubs I’ve been to. There’s ample seating along the walls with huge dark brown leather couches and chairs. The empty dance floor is the same color with a wooden railing along it, the same kind that’s on the second level. It’s like an old fashioned bar or hunting lodge. And I do love the chandelier with the gaslights dancing like the people below it. Exactly as I remember it.

As I anticipated it’s empty except for the vamp staff. Off in the corner is a thickly muscled Native American man dressed in a black suit reading a newspaper. I recognize him from the last time I was here. He almost didn’t let us in until Steven “accidently” flashed his badge. Three stunning women in black skirts and red corsets wipe down the tables and seats. In the DJ booth another black-clad vamp leafs through his records. Behind the bar are a man and woman. Like the rest, they’re dazzling. The woman is petite and doesn’t fill out the uniform as well as the other waitresses. She cuts something, I guess the garnishments, with vamp speed.

Working beside her is a smiling wet dream come alive, relatively speaking. Wiry, lean body adorned in a plain white V-neck T-shirt, light blue jeans, and platinum onyx necklace. His wavy auburn hair frames a peaches and cream complexion on his feline face with a straight nose and rectangular jaw. Super yummy. He lifts three crates of alcohol onto the bar as if it was nothing. So it’s nine against one. Oy.

“Did you check her for weapons?” the vamp who answered the door asks with a Cockney accent.

“No,” my escort Merry responds.

“I’m not armed,” I say, as if the mere thought annoys me.

“Just in case, luv,” the doorman says as he snatches my purse from me. “Pat her down.”

Great. Getting felt up twice in two days. A new record. Rolling my eyes and sighing, I lift up my arms and spread my legs. As Pippin pats me down, and Cockney rifles through my bag, the yummy bartender watches with a smirk and raised eyebrow. The others could care less.

“Nothing,” Pippin says.

“Not here either,” Cockney says.

“Why would I bring weapons to a friendly sit-down?” I get my purse back. “Besides, I’m on holiday. I don’t usually pack my Uzi. So if you could get your boss, please? I’m missing
It’s a Wonderful Life
.”

The bartender full on smiles, his blue eyes crinkling. I am a sucker for crinkly eyes. Footsteps above draw my attention away from the eye candy. A red-headed man with short hair, goatee, charcoal gray slacks, white dress shirt, and gray vest steps into view.

“Matilda, can you bring me up last night’s receipts?” he asks with a clipped British accent.

That must be him. He merely glances at me as the female bartender stops chopping.

“They should be in the safe,” Yummy says with an Irish accent. I almost melt inside. Irish accents are my Kryptonite. I’ve watched all of Colin Farrell’s movies and interviews a dozen times just to hear him talk. Liam Neeson’s too. And I wore out my copy of
Once
. I really hope I don’t have to kill him now.

“Everything fine down here?” Connor asks the Irishman.

“Yes,” he says with that voice. I really must be hard up if my G-spot is tingling
now
. I’ll be rubbing up against trees in the middle of gunfights pretty soon. “We shall be up in a minute.”

Matilda the bartender locates the receipts and walks upstairs behind the departing Connor. He doesn’t look like much. The three bodyguards will be the hardest, especially the vamp one.

“Care to sit?” Irish suggests, motioning to the bar. I glance around the room, but nobody seems to care about me except my escorts, so I sit. As I get closer, I notice I was wrong about his eyes. They’re violet like Liz Taylor’s. I’ve never actually met anyone with real violet eyes. He smiles again reassuringly. “May I pour you a drink?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

He tsks. “You obviously have no Irish in you.”

Is he flirting with me? “Why is that?”

“We Irish will accept a drink even from our worst enemies.”

“Are you guys my worst enemies?”

He puts both hands on the bar and leans in toward me. “If we are, Special Agent Alexander, then you must not be doing your job well.” His eyes meet mine, and he smiles. Flirtatiously. And yes, a sliver of lust rushes through me.

I mask it by looking away. “Are you trying to capture my mind, Danny Boy?”

“I would never presume to do that, Special Agent. Why mar per-
fection?”

I swear this guy and Oliver must have studied under the same seduction teacher, Mr. Casanova de Cheesy. “Rein it in, Danny Boy,” I warn. “I’m here to meet your boss, not participate in Flirting 101.” Heck yeah! Go, tough Bea!

The vamp frowns. “I apologize if I offended. It is not every day I can enjoy a conversation with a woman of your caliber and beauty, and I mean that with sincerity. I simply could not help myself.”

Okay, maybe I could stand to hear a little more, but I don’t let him know that. “It’s okay, I’m used to it. I live with a vamp. I know if your mouth is moving, you’re flirting.”

He cocks one of those violet eyes. “You live with a vampire? Who is this fortunate man?”

“Special Agent Oliver Montrose. My partner.” Not technically true partners but close enough.

“And you live together?”

“Not like that,” I say. “We live in the same house. Separate bedrooms, though.”

“But it is true you walked unarmed into a room of twelve vampires to save him from true death?”

“I wasn’t unarmed, and it wasn’t twelve. More like eight.”

“But you were almost directly responsible for the death of the Lord of Dallas.”

“
I
didn’t kill him,” I say quickly.

“You may as well have wielded the sword yourself,” Irish says. “And is it true you dispatched, in a single twenty-four hour period, fifteen vampires, including two of whom were over three hundred years old?”

My spidey sense is tingling. “You know, for a lowly bartender, you seem to know a lot about me.”

“It is my job to know these things, Agent Alexander.”

Ugh. I’m an idiot. I fell for a classic bad guy move that anyone who’s watched a Bond flick should have seen a mile away. Now I’m really glad I kept the drooling to a minimum. I lean back in my chair with a crooked smile. “Lord Connor, I presume.” He bows his head and all the other vamps in the room chuckle at my stupidity. There goes my credibility. I am so going to die. “Nice one.”