Out of the Night (13 page)

Lance Burton.

Lance checked the dials and adjusted the plane's altitude. Damn, it felt good to be in the pilot's seat again—literally. He laughed at his own private joke, wishing he could have seen Knight's face when he discovered his plane gone. He wondered how long it would take Knight to realize who'd stolen it. Probably not long, he admitted. Knight wasn't stupid.

This time, however, his former commanding officer had no idea what he was up against. Even without looking around, Lance sensed the presence of the professor sitting in the back, watching over the dead body of Hector Munoz. The two creatures were curled up farther back in the plane, resting quietly. The psychic bond that linked the adult chupacabra to Lance and the professor was an unexpected advantage. It allowed him to control the creature's actions. It was like having his own attack dog—only on a much more lethal scale.

Dr. Weber's theory was that during an attack, the chupacabra exchanged both venom and blood with its victim and that's what caused the psychic link between them. An added advantage, in Lance's opinion, was that the link extended to all victims of the same creature, so not only was he linked to the creature itself, Lance was linked to Dr. Weber—and he'd be linked to Hector, as soon as his old friend arose from the dead.

He only hoped they reached their destination before then. The memory of the gnawing hunger that had assaulted him on his awakening still plagued him, and he knew Hector would need a lot of blood, at first, to slake his own appetite.

He didn't really anticipate any problems arriving at their destination, though. They'd flown most of the way the night before. Tonight's trip shouldn't take long at all.

Lance banked the plane, his mind moving to his plans for the future. The key to success was not lamenting what happened to him, but turning what happened to his advantage. And Lance intended to do exactly that. Things that he'd only dreamed of before now suddenly seemed very possible.

Damn, it was good to be alive, in an undead kind of way.

Lanie sat in the back of the plane, too tired and stressed to worry about it crashing. Dirk's jet was government issue, larger and in better shape than the one she and Mac had flown down, which also helped allay some of her fears. She gazed toward the front where Mac sat, talking to the other man. Dirk had offered them a ride as soon as he learned what happened, but now they were headed to Washington, D.C., not Houston. There simply hadn't been enough time
to
make the detour.

Mac had spent the first part of the trip notifying both the U.S. military and the civil authorities about the theft of his plane, although he held little hope that they'd find it—at least not with Burton still aboard. Now Mac, Dirk, and the others were sharing "war" stories, which Lanie had listened to with interest, for a while.

Unlike Mac, who seemed full of energy, Lanie was exhausted, and it didn't take long before the steady drone of the engines and voices lulled her to sleep. She awoke sometime later to find that Mac had taken a seat across from her and was on his phone, speaking in soft, warm tones. A jolt of jealousy shot through her when she realized who he must be talking to, and she quickly fought to suppress the unwanted emotion. She had no right to feel that way.

When he'd finished his conversation and hung up, he looked over at her and smiled. "You weren't asleep very long."

She gave him a small smile. "I don't enjoy flying." "I happen to know that a couple of pain pills mixed with tequila will make you forget all about flying."

She laughed softly and shook her head. "Tempting, but I think I'll pass."

He shrugged. "If you change your mind…" "Thanks. So what happens when we get to D.C.?" "We'll make better time in this craft than in a commercial one, but it'll still be after midnight when we land, so the first thing we'll do is check into a hotel and try to get some quality sleep. Tomorrow morning, I want to meet with Admiral Winslow, and I was hoping I could talk you into going with me. I think I'm going to have trouble convincing him." For the first time, he seemed unsure of himself.

"Uncle Charles and my dad used to spend hours talking about cryptids and various theories to explain them. He might be more receptive than you think, but I'll be glad to go with you."

"Great. After we talk to him, I probably need to stick around a couple of days. There's still the matter of the inquiry, even if Burton isn't here to testify. I'll make arrangements to have you flown back to Houston. I was going to ask Keith, my partner, to come pick you up in that Falcon 2000 you admired back at my place."

She remembered the day they left, which now seemed so long ago. "You know, I really don't mind taking a commercial flight."

He gave an understanding smile. "Okay. I'll buy you a ticket."

"I can—"

He held up his hand to interrupt her. "I insist."

She smiled. "Okay. Thank you." A big yawn stole over her and she covered her mouth, embarrassed. "Sorry."

Amusement lit his eyes as he stood up. "I think I'm going to leave you alone so maybe you'll be able to fall back asleep."

She watched as he returned to the front where Dirk sat. Soon the sound of their joking floated back to her, but despite being tired, she couldn't seem to relax. Her mind worried over the little changes she'd noticed in Mac—the way he felt compelled to wear the sunglasses even indoors, the way he'd lifted her father's suitcase full of books as if it weighed nothing, the total absence of his limp, his two loose teeth. She didn't like the nature of the changes; they were too suggestive of what had happened to Burton and her father. If her fears were justified and Mac was turning into a vampire, she'd have to do something to deal with the situation. The question was—did she have it in her to put a stake through Mac's heart?

An hour after they landed at Andrew's Air Force Base, their taxi pulled into the circle drive of their hotel. They checked in at the front desk and found that Dirk had already called ahead to make reservations. Apparently
Dirk was unclear about the exact nature of their relationship, so he'd played it safe and booked her and Mac connecting rooms. Lanie supposed that Dirk didn't know about
Babycakes
.

The bellhop brought up what little baggage she had—her duffel bag, her father's small suitcase, and the laptop. Mac tipped him and followed the man next door, leaving Lanie to stare about the room, feeling suddenly wound tight. Before she could decide what to do, a knock sounded at the connecting door.

"I'm starving," Mac said when she opened her door. "How about a real meal? My treat."

She knew she should say no, order room service, and enjoy a nice quiet meal. The last thing she needed to do was get to know him better. It was harder to stake someone you knew—and liked, wasn't it? "Okay."

"Great. The bar and grill downstairs is open all night—how 'bout we give that a try?" He glanced at his wristwatch. "Will it take you long to get ready?"

"No." Lanie wouldn't have known how to take hours to primp if her life depended on it. Besides, at two-thirty in the morning, the only thing that would make her look better was sleep.

Grabbing her purse off the desk chair, she slipped the strap over her shoulder and joined him at the door. "Ready."

He stared at her in amazement and then a smile lit his face. "Let's go."

They had no trouble finding a table, and both ordered drinks as they waited
for the waitress to take their food orders. Having been with Mac only under
unusual circumstances, it seemed strange to suddenly find herself sitting with him in a restaurant having a normal meal.

"I am really hungry," he said, staring at the menu. "I think the only food I've had in days was those sandwiches you made, not that I wasn't damn glad to have them." He glanced at her over the top of the menu, his eyes alight with a smile. "Know what you want?"

She considered her choices, thinking that she should do the ladylike thing and order the small salad.
Screw it
, she thought.

As soon as the waitress arrived, Lanie ordered a burger and fries. After handing the waitress her menu, she gazed about the room while Mac placed his order. Once the waitress had left, they resumed their conversation.

"So you retired after the bullet broke your femur?" she asked.

"Yeah—it was a self-initiated medical retirement. I regained the use of my leg after months of physical therapy, but it wasn't one hundred percent."

"You didn't have to retire, though, did you? Wasn't there something else you could have done?"

"Special-ops soldiers don't do so well in the regular military; it's a whole different mind-set and training. If I couldn't be a SEAL, then I didn't want to be in the Navy. So I retired."

She nodded. "I understand that. What made you decide to fly private charters, as opposed to something else?"

"Like what?"

She smiled. "I don't know. Don't you special-ops guys usually start your own security agency when you quit the military?"

He laughed out loud. "You really need to check out the nonfiction section of your library more." He winked to take the sting out of his words. "Seriously, I probably could have, but I wanted something that didn't make me feel strapped down. I had my pilot's license before I ever joined the Navy, and my old high school buddy, Keith Dey, was trying to start up the private charter gig, so I agreed to be his partner. I like it—there's a freedom to be found in flying. It's hard to describe."

There were so many layers to this man, and Lanie felt like she was just beginning to see them.

"What made you become a librarian?" He grinned, reminding her of when they'd first met and she'd blurted out what she did for a living. "You seem to be into this, what was it again? Crypto—"

"Cryptozoology. It's hard to make a living as a cryptozoologist. My father was a biochemistry professor at the local university for years. He taught classes and did consulting work for various drug and chemical companies. That's how he earned a living. He did the cryptozoology on the side. The expeditions to find the various cryptids were done, for the most part, during spring, winter, and summer breaks.

"Then, as he became better known in the industry, people started paying him to do the cryptozoological stuff, and he eventually gave up the biochemistry. I, on the other hand, am not well known in the industry, and I'm not sure I'm that interested, but I knew I couldn't live off my dad forever, so I needed to find something to do that I enjoyed, but that also paid the bills." She smiled. "Becoming a librarian seemed the obvious choice. I started doing research for my dad at an early age. In fact, I knew the Dewey decimal system even before I knew how to spell Dewey decimal system."

"What about the firefighter thing?"

She gave a half laugh. "How'd you know about that?"

He shrugged. "Dr. Sanchez told me."

"Well, as you can imagine, being a librarian is not the most exciting job to have and while I liked it, I needed something more in my life. One of my librarian friends volunteers at the local station. She used to come into work and tell me about the calls that came in the night before, fighting the fires, working accident scenes. It didn't take long before I knew I wanted to be a part of it—the excitement, the danger, but most of all, helping people who really need it."