Flameout (25 page)

I handed Jackson his coffee then sat at the next desk as the messages rolled on. “Anything on the cameras?”

He shook his head. “Which doesn't mean they're not keeping an eye on the place.”

“Why would they even need to when everyone seems to know all our damn movements?”

He grinned. “As you said yourself, if they knew all our movements, they would have—”

The next message began to play, and he cut himself off to listen.

“Mr. Miller, it's Denny Rosen Junior. Sorry for ringing you so early, but I think I need your help. I just . . .” His voice trailed off, and when it came back, it was filled with disbelief. “My father's dead—we both know that. But I just saw him in the park, and he means me no good. Please call me urgently.”

As the machine beeped the end of the message, I
scrambled across to hit the
REPLAY
button and get the time he'd called. Eight thirty-eight. Twenty-two minutes ago. I glanced across to Jackson, but he was already on the phone, calling the number Denny had left.

“Denny,” he said, a couple of seconds later. “It's Jackson—”

He stopped, his expression grave as he listened. I walked over, trying to listen in, but could hear little more than hysteria.

“Denny,” Jackson snapped, voice harsh. “You need to take several deep breaths and calm down. I can't understand a word you're saying.”

He fell silent again, listening, while I fidgeted from one foot to the other, desperate to know what was going on.

“Are you positive it's your father?” Jackson said eventually. “It couldn't be someone who simply looks like him?”

More silence. I flexed my fingers against the urge to rip the phone from Jackson's hand.

“Okay, okay, we'll be there ASAP. In the meantime, keep an eye on him. If he makes a move toward your apartment, let us know then get the hell out of there.” He gave Denny our new number then hung up.

“He has no doubt it's his dad?” I spun, grabbed my purse then put the phone back on message.

“None.” He locked the door behind us and dug the car keys out of his pocket. “And given he's psychic, I'm prone to believe him.”

I jumped into the car and threw on my seat belt. “But why would Rosen want to kill his only son? It makes no sense.”

“I find it interesting you haven't actually commented on the fact that he's apparently alive.”

“Well, it's hardly the first time a dead man has walked out of the morgue.” That's what my boss had done, after all. “What I actually want to know is how the hell it happened. Last I heard PIT was keeping his body under strict watch.”

“Not strict enough, obviously.”

I grimaced. “I doubt PIT would be
that
lax. Not after everything else that has gone on recently.”

“Except that they're stretched to the limit—Sam said that himself.”

“Even so . . .” I stopped. Arguing was pointless. If Rosen had risen from the dead and somehow gotten free, then something bad
had
happened. The only way we were going to find out was by asking PIT directly—and they'd been less than forthcoming up until now. I doubted making us “official advisors” had changed that anyway.

“What if it's a trap?”

He frowned. “Luke can't possibly be aware that we know Rosen's son.”

“He could if he infected Rosen.”

“But not if Rosen's simply become a vampire.” He paused. “Which isn't possible given the time.”

“Exactly.”

Jackson thumped his hand against the steering wheel, the unexpected outburst making me jump slightly. “How many more people is this bastard going to take out before he's stopped?”

“As many as he possibly can.” My voice was grim. “And let's just hope that there's no lieutenant waiting in the wings to take over as queen bee.”

“Yeah.” He accelerated through an amber light then said, “How are we going to play this?”

“There's only one way in or out of Junior's apartment block from what I saw. If Rosen's not in the park, then we have no choice but to go in.”

“If he's in the park, I'm betting he's not alone. Luke wouldn't risk a prize like him.”

“That would depend on why he infected Rosen.” If he
had
infected Rosen, that is. It was always possible Denny was mistaken. I doubted it, but still . . .

We got over to Denny's place in record time. Jackson didn't stop, instead doing a slow cruise past the apartment. There was no one in the park opposite and the apartment itself was quiet. Which didn't really mean anything—after all, Rinaldo had mentioned he was having this place watched. The sindicati were probably doing the same.

“Do you think Rosen's left? Or that Denny was wrong and it wasn't his dad?”

“No.” He did a U-turn at the end of the street and stopped several houses away from Denny's. “The curtains are closed upstairs.”

Which didn't mean anything except for the fact that Denny had shown no inclination whatsoever to close them the last time we'd been there. And why would he, with the sort of views he had?

“If he decided to leave, surely he would have contacted us? He knew we were coming, after all.”

“Maybe he didn't have the chance.” Jackson leaned his arms on the steering wheel as he studied the building. “I could get into his place from the balcony next door.”

“And just how are you planning to get onto that? Fly?”

He grinned. “You forget my capacity to sweet-talk.”

“Hard to sweet-talk anyone if you're dealing with an empty house.”

“In which case, I'll just climb the tree.”

Said tree was certainly close enough to both balconies to be of use. “I'll go in the front way. If it's a trap, come running.”

“You can count on it.”

I climbed out of the car then slammed the door shut. The clouds hung low and made the morning appear so dark that it would be easy to believe night was closing in rather than a new day dawning. I shivered and zipped up my jacket, although I wasn't entirely sure if it was the cold or another damn premonition.

Jackson glanced at me over the top of the vehicle. “Give me five minutes, then go in.”

I nodded and watched him stride away. But my gaze was soon drawn back to the park, and I rubbed my arms uneasily. Though I still couldn't see anything untoward, the notion that this was another trap was growing stronger. Whose trap, I couldn't say. If Denny
had
seen his father, then there was a good chance that Luke—or, at least, his cloaks—were out there somewhere, waiting to attack. And yet . . . and yet I suspected not.

Why, I couldn't say. Maybe it was simply a matter of timing—surely even
he
wouldn't have the ability or the people to put something else together so quickly?

I glanced at my watch and shifted my weight from one foot to another. After another minute, I pushed away from the car and walked toward Rosen's building.
It was modern in design and rather resembled a series of cantilevered glass boxes stacked on top of each other. It was the sort of design that was rather out of place in a street filled with older, more regular-looking brick buildings, and I couldn't help wondering what the hell the planners had been thinking when they'd allowed this apartment block to be built.

I opened the gate and strode up the steps to Denny's, undoubtedly looking far more confident than I felt. I might be able to defend myself against most things, but that didn't mean I was immune to danger. And I certainly wasn't immune to fear, even if I stepped into the path of dangerous situations more often than was wise.

I raised a hand to press the intercom button, only to pause midmotion.

The front door was open.

Trepidation hit like a punch to the gut. I pressed my fingers against one of the glass panels and pushed the door all the way open. The lobby was bright, white, and—like the last time we'd been here—almost entirely filled with expensive-looking bicycles and helmets. I lifted my gaze, following the glass and chrome stairs up to the first floor. Light splashed across the top couple of steps, and the only noise to be heard was the soft whoosh of air coming from the heating vents and the clacking of a fan.

I pressed close to the left wall and moved upward. The delicious aroma of bacon touched the air, but underneath it, there was something else. Something that smelled . . . not wrong, but definitely out of place.

Heat flitted across my fingertips, tiny fireflies that could at any moment become so much more. But was there anyone upstairs to even heed the warning? That was the question that now needed answering.

I slowed as I neared the top step and swept my gaze across the large open-plan living area. Like the downstairs foyer, it was all white, from the walls and ceilings to the kitchen units and furnishings. The only splashes of color came from the large photographic canvases that dotted the walls. At the far end of the room were the drawn white curtains, which hid the wall of glass and its million-dollar views of the beach.

Anything?

Jackson's question whispered into my brain and made me jump.
Nada,
I bit back.
But something smells off
.

How off? Rotten or wrong?

I stepped onto the landing, my back still pressed against the wall.
Wrong.

Still no movement; still no sign of Denny. But there was bacon sitting in a pan on the stove, and a plate with poached two eggs already on the bench. And people didn't usually up and leave breakfast unless something untoward had happened.

Want me in?

I hesitated.
No. If this is a trap, it might be better to spring it first.

I took a careful step forward. Tension crawled through my limbs and flames shimmied briefly across my skin. Maybe Jackson wasn't the only one needing lessons in control.

I took several more steps but kept close to the
banister—and not just so I could see anything that might be creeping up it. If I
was
attacked, then it would provide a very useful escape route.

I kept moving forward. Still nothing happened. My gaze swept to the doors leading off the main room. Both were closed, but I presumed one was a bathroom and the other a bedroom.

I didn't want to enter either.

I licked dry lips then said, “Denny? Are you here?”

No answer came, but the air seemed to sharpen and expectation spun around me.

It
wasn't
an emotion that was coming from me.

I clenched my hands against the rising heat and edged toward the first door. “Denny?”

I pressed back against the wall to the right of the door then reached across and flung it open. It crashed into the wall behind it, the handle biting so deep it sent plaster and dust flying.

The room beyond was a bathroom. An
empty
bathroom.

The fan making all the noise was above the shower, which was still running. Denny had obviously been getting ready for the day when he'd sensed his father's presence.

I glanced at the remaining door. Whatever was going on, the answer would be found in there. I was certain of that, if nothing else.

I just wasn't sure I actually
wanted
that answer.

I forced my feet forward. I'd been many things over the years—even a coward—but in this particular case, if I didn't explore, Jackson would. I wasn't about to let him step into danger just because I was afraid to.

I stopped to the right of the door again, but as my fingers closed around the handle, something—someone—stirred in the room beyond. A single footstep, one so soft I shouldn't have heard it over the clacking of the fan. But given my hypersensitive state, I'd probably hear the fluttering of a butterfly's wings.

I clenched the handle tight but got no further. The door was ripped from my fingers and a mass of hair and rage hit me hard and sent me tumbling. I came to an abrupt halt against the back of the sofa and had a brief vision of feet.

Lots of feet, all coming straight at me.

I swore and flung up a wall of fire. One of them hit it hard and his body went up with a whoosh. He didn't even have time to scream. But the heat of my flames was so fierce the fire alarms began screaming for him, and the noise was deafening.

I rose to my feet and glared at the five remaining men—and realized that at least
one
of them had been involved in the ruckus at the graveyard. Which meant they were from De Luca's lair and that my message had
not
gotten through.

There was a scrape of noise from the balcony; then Jackson stepped through the curtains. Two of the vampires reacted instinctively and launched at him. I raised a hand, but Jackson stopped me with a quick shake of his head and simply took several steps sideways—sweeping the curtains with him. The morning might not be very bright, but it was still very dangerous to vampires—and the younger the vampire, the quicker they went up.

Which they did. Like torches. It was a sickening sight to behold.

“Anyone else want to try that?” Jackson's voice was pleasant. Unfazed. “Or are we all going to be sensible from now on?”

The remaining vampires didn't actually look as if they knew the meaning of the word, but they made no further move to attack. As ashes began to stain the pristine carpet, I glanced back at the remaining lot and said, “What have you done with the man who owns this apartment?”

I didn't bother raising my voice to be heard over the still-screaming alarm; the nearest vamp was close enough to my firewall that his skin was beginning to turn pink. He'd hear me, even if the rest couldn't.

Even so, I lowered both the size and the heat output of my wall. Hopefully, it would be enough to stop the damn alarm.

The vampire didn't answer. He simply snarled, revealing canines that were not only extended, but also bloody.