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With this permanent knee deformity, he’d never be able to adequately protect her. The assassin would hunt him down and go after her as well. If he’d told her the truth, she would have tried to convince him that she could take care of both of them, that she was tough and a good fighter. But he couldn’t let her take that chance, so he’d lied, told her he’d no longer loved her, and hoped she’d stay away.
And it had worked.
He sighed heavily and flung an arm over his face. Last night, he’d recklessly shadow-moved closer to her than necessary. But he couldn’t help it. He’d decided that he didn’t bloody care if she detected him or not. In fact, if she had, she’d have confronted him then and there. That was her style. Actually, maybe that was why he’d done it in the first place—to speak with her again, to see her up close, even if she wanted to kill him with her bare hands. He’d always loved provoking her.
Reaching down with his other hand, he cupped himself lightly and thought of how she’d looked last night.
With that trademark swagger and attitude that made confident men stand up and pay attention while weaker men shriveled, she had walked out of the Pink Salon, sauntered down the block and climbed into that red Porsche of hers. He’d held his breath, wondering if she’d scent him, but she hadn’t. Her trainee barely had the door shut before she’d peeled away from the curb. He could almost smell the lavender scent of her favorite soap on the night air as her car had sped past him in the shadows.
In a hotel suite they’d shared once, she’d walked toward him in much the same manner. Her jaw set, her eyes determined, focused. Except then, she’d been naked and focused on him. He’d waited for her on the bed, positioned as he was now, a hand behind his head, one knee bent, and the other hand around the base of his erection. Her hips had moved the same way, back and forth, back and forth, her blond hair skimming her shoulders—although last night her hair had seemed longer, pulled back into a high ponytail, the ends reaching to the middle of her shoulder blades.
He closed his eyes and was back in the hotel again. Her breasts bounced as she climbed onto the bed, inviting him to come play with them. And he did, for hours, while they made love and he nestled his—
Oh for chrissake. His cock was as hard as a baseball bat. Again. Kicking off the sheets till they bunched at the foot of the couch, he got up and took a quick shower. No use dreaming about something that could never happen. Things with Lily had been good while they lasted. Period.
Ten minutes later, he grabbed his laptop. If he wasn’t going to make progress on his house tonight, might as well make some progress on something else.
After a few botched attempts at playing Hollow Grave, he came to the conclusion that he at least needed a game controller, if not a few other accessories. He wasn’t about to ask Cordell because Santiago would find out and, if that happened, the guy would be all over his ass. He’d claim Alfonso did give a damn. No, Santiago didn’t need to know. If Alfonso found the location of the party, he’d inform Jackson and deal with Santiago then. But if he didn’t, at least he wouldn’t be giving the guy any false hopes that he actually cared.
A short time later, with his laptop tucked under his arm, he entered the computer store and headed to the help desk.
“What do I need to buy in order to play video games on this thing?”
“That depends,” said the kid behind the counter. He wore a name tag that said, I’m Kenny. Ask me, I know. “What game are you interested in playing?”
“Why does it matter? Just get me a game controller and a headset.”
“Depending on your laptop’s capabilities, it might not have the best graphics card for gaming. Or enough RAM. Or decent speakers. You might need a new computer in order to—”
Alfonso held up a hand. “No. I need to play it on this.” The laptop had been configured to make his online movements virtually impossible to trace. He certainly didn’t want to leave a trail; he worried enough about his blood assassin finding him without laying down a bunch of virtual bread crumbs.
“All right,” Kenny said slowly as he scratched his head. “How much memory you got? Are you interested in playing first-person shooter games, strategy, RPGs …?”
Oh for chrissake. Alfonso opened the laptop and typed in the URL of the Hollow Grave website. The screen went black for a few moments before animated trickles of blood dripped downward, and the sounds of blowing wind and a pipe organ echoed through the tiny speakers. “This game. What do I need to play it?”
Kenny’s face lit up as if he’d just stepped into Disneyland. “Dude, that’s totally sick. It’s like the forest in The Blair Witch Project. And the haunted house. What’s this called—Hollow Grave? How’d you hear about it, anyway? I’m a gamer and I’ve never heard of it.”
“From a friend. Now what?”
Kenny cracked his knuckles and excitedly rubbed his palms on his jeans. “Do you mind if I check out the system requirements to play the game?” With his fingers poised over the keyboard and his heart beating fast and loud enough for Alfonso to hear, he looked inquisitively at Alfonso.
“Go for it.”
Kenny’s hands flew over the keys and in a few seconds, he was smiling. “You’re lucky. Your machine is totally kick-ass. With just a few add-ons, I think you’ll be in business.”
He soon had the laptop outfitted with a controller, a headset and a pair of external speakers. Anxious to get home to start playing, Alfonso quickly paid and threw Kenny an extra fifty bucks.
“Thanks, kid,” he called over his shoulder.
Before he got to the door, Kenny ran around in front of him, the money clutched in his hand, face flushed, eyes wide. “Want me to help you with the game? You know, set up your user name and stuff.”
“Nope. I’m golden. Just needed this stuff to get me going.”
“Are you sure, mister? I could show you some tips, get you started. It doesn’t seem like you’ve played many games before and I’ve played a lot.”
Alfonso took a deep breath and considered the offer. The tile delivery should arrive tomorrow, he reasoned, and after that, he wouldn’t have much time to waste learning how to play Hollow Grave. Alfonso could just wipe the kid’s memory clear of the website when they were done.
“All right then. Let’s see how fast you work.”
Soon they were situated in The Garage, the store’s gaming lounge, the screen open on the table before them.
“You’re going to need a screen name,” Kenny began.
“How about BlackNight?” He had to devise a new persona, someone who was looking to party at the Night of Wilding.
“Lame,” said Kenny. “Bloodsucker?”
Alfonso stifled a smile. “Too clichéd. There are probably many with that name.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. SoulEater?”
“Maybe. BloodySunday?”
“Ooh, I like it. It’s perfect.” Kenny held out his hand. “Now, we’re going to need a credit card.”
Ten minutes later, BloodySunday was the newest user on the Hollow Grave website, complete with a skeleton avatar dressed as a military operative, three starter grenades and a full syringe of liquid power, also known as Bleed.
“Now what do I do?” Alfonso couldn’t even get his character to move out of the foyer of the haunted house.
“Here, can I try?” Kenny twisted the laptop toward him slightly and with a few clicks, BloodySunday grabbed a knife inside a small cobweb-infested box sitting on a hall table, slit the throat of a zombie who stumbled out of the dining room, filled a second syringe with Bleed and headed down a long flight of stairs.
He glanced over at the redheaded kid sitting on the edge of the seat, his heart beating loudly enough to make Alfonso’s mouth water. That kind of enthusiasm for adrenaline-induced excitement reminded him of when he’d been a spirited youthling centuries ago. He and his friends had sought out anything that produced crazy, mind-numbing thrills. Wild rides on horseback through Spanish hill country at night. Masquerading as swordsmen for hire. Tormenting human grave robbers, which in turn had sparked rumors about the existence of vampires. That stunt had landed him in all sorts of trouble with his parents. Too bad he hadn’t obeyed his father, who’d been newly appointed to the Governing Council. Instead he’d chosen to frequent the gaming houses and brothels of Paris that summer, where nothing was more seductive than a pile of notes, the écarté tables and beautiful women well-versed in the art of male pleasures. He sighed and turned his attention back to the game.
They continued playing and a short time later, a message popped up in the corner of the screen, congratulating BloodySunday on his progress. Not only had he gotten past the Newly Anointed level, he’d achieved Grave Crawler status, which gave him access to the forums where players shared special tips and tricks, and could make teams. He was on track to learn the location of the Night of Wilding party.
Which meant it was time to go. He’d post something in the forums about wanting to party when he got home. He pushed back from the table and faked a yawn. “I don’t know how you guys do it, playing all these games, staring at a tiny screen all day. My eyes are about to pop out of my head and my ass is numb. Thanks again, kid.” He’d have flipped him another fifty—he really couldn’t have gotten this far on his own without getting completely frustrated—but didn’t want to draw more attention to himself.
“If you ever get stuck or need more lessons or anything, I’d be happy to help,” Kenny said.
Not knowing whether Darkbloods used the game to troll for human victims, Alfonso didn’t want to risk it. He gripped the kid’s outstretched hand firmly. “Thanks for helping me restore my computer. When it crashed, I thought I’d lost everything.” The kid’s eyelids fluttered a moment as the altered memory took hold.
“Uh, sure.” Kenny blinked. A confused look flashed across his expression, and then it was gone. “If you continue to have problems with that hard drive, bring it back and I’ll see what else I can do.”
In a half hour, Alfonso was back at the estate. He right-clicked on an icon Kenny had shown him and memorized all the screen names currently logged on, noting the ones highlighted in red. They were the forum moderators and, quite possibly, Darkbloods. He wasn’t sure if the whole game had been created by the Alliance or if they only moderated the forums.
He scanned the thread topics but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Taking a deep breath, he created a new thread asking if anyone knew of some good parties in the Bellingham area. Then he logged off and strapped on his tool belt.
AN AIR–CONDITIONED CHILL blasted Lily in the face when she pushed open the heavy double doors at the end of the tunnel that connected her condo to the field office facility. Housed several stories beneath the city, it occupied a large but secret portion of Underground Seattle. The city had been damaged by fire over a century earlier, but instead of demolishing and rebuilding the structures, city planners at the time had elevated the roads and constructed new buildings above the old ones. The Council had wanted to establish a Guardian presence in Seattle anyway, so they took advantage of the unused space. They blocked off areas, did their own excavating and eventually located the field office in the heart of the city, right under everyone’s noses. Later, when tours of the Underground started, no one had a clue what was on the other side of the charred brickwork.
She’d been getting ready for bed but didn’t think she could sleep until she’d seen what Kip had put in his online log notes about tonight’s capture. In his last few reports, he hadn’t mentioned anything about her inability to track, but it was the third night in a row things had gone badly. First the alley with the human witness, then the nightclub, now tonight in the SoHo district. Recalling the look on Kip’s face a short time ago when she’d passed him the car keys again, she knew she couldn’t keep up the charade much longer.
Would anyone take note of the large chunk of time that had passed between when the original call came in and when the capture team was dispatched? She’d take a look at the capture team’s report as well in order to prepare herself for possible repercussions. Better to know now than to be blindsided later. And then she supposed she’d have to discuss her waning abilities with Santiago—if that’s what was really wrong with her.
She got to the security checkpoint and smiled at Francesca, who was sitting on the other side of a glass partition. The young woman looked up from her crossword puzzle and her face brightened.
“Forgot to tell you, but I finished that book you loaned me last week,” Francesca said. “Loved it.”
Lily smiled and placed her thumb on the reader. They often traded books, but with everything on her mind lately, she couldn’t remember which one she’d loaned her. “Awesome, that’s great,” she said generically.
Three tones sounded. She removed her thumb, inserted her key card into the slot, and Francesca buzzed her in.
“Got any free time?” Francesca tucked a pencil behind her ear. “It’d be fun to get together and discuss it. Someone told me about a new coffee shop nearby that caters to book lovers. Maybe we could check it out.”
“I’d love to, but I’m booked solid. Heading up to see Zoe and the fam. Can you wait till I get back?” Maybe by then she’d feel back to normal, and she could concentrate on something other than her problems.
“Yeah, sure.”
She waved to her friend, tucked the lanyard back inside her zip-up hoodie and strode down the hallway, apprehension growing with each step.
She didn’t want to speculate about what might be going on if her lack of abilities couldn’t be explained by a simple sinus virus. But then, what kind of virus lasted for this long and kept getting worse? Being a Tracker was much more than just a job. It meant that for the first time, she’d been respected for her talents and her brain, and not because she was Henry DeGraff’s daughter or because she looked good in a miniskirt. Sought after by other field offices, she’d located vampires and humans that no one else could track. But if she couldn’t get rid of that muddy scent clouding her ability to delineate smells—much like a filmy cataract lens obstructing one’s vision—she’d be worthless as a Tracker.
Which basically made her … worthless.
She poked her head into the gym and looked around. On the far side of the huge room, just past the juice bar, Cordell Kincade worked out on one of the rowing machines. Okay, perfect, she thought as she headed toward him. Since she only had access to the Tracker system, she’d get him to pull up the capture report, then she’d check out what was on the official record. If she was lucky, the long time-gap wouldn’t be noted and Kip’s report wouldn’t mention anything out of the ordinary. She’d be able to relax for now, and head up to British Columbia this evening. Maybe that and a few nights off were all she needed to get back on track. She was eager to see her daughter again.
She smiled at how far she’d come since finding out she was going to be a mother. At first, she’d been horrified. Hooking up with a player like Steven had only been meant as a fun distraction. It wasn’t supposed to get her pregnant. Not to mention that her job as a Tracker, with its unpredictable schedule and the frequent travel it required, was extremely demanding and very important to her. How could she possibly do that and be a mother as well?
God knew her parents had been excited about her pregnancy, even if Steven hadn’t, and they offered to do anything they could to help. But when she’d held Zoe for the first time and seen her chubby face, none of that had mattered any longer. She’d vowed to figure out a way to work as a Tracker, with or without Steven. As the mother to the most beautiful child on the planet, she was determined to make a good life for both of them.
“Hey, Cordell, when you’re done, can you get me into TechTran? I want to take a look at the capture reports from a few assignments.”
“You bet. Give me … a minute.” Eyes forward, concentrating on his workout, he spoke only when he exhaled as the seat slid backwards. “Last night’s report?”
“Yeah, that and a few others.”
His gaze flickered in her direction but he kept rowing. “You think … they entered … it yet?”
Damn. He did have a point. She’d already filed her activity summary, but had everyone else? Trying to act casual, she shrugged, but the knots in her shoulders tightened anyway. “Hadn’t thought about it.”
A few minutes later in the computer lab, with a white gym towel around his neck, Cordell pulled up the TechTran system as Lily leaned over his shoulder. She held her breath while he scrolled through the various field divisions, finally clicking on the capture team button.
“Nope.” he said, pushing back in his chair. “Nothing for last night yet. Protocol may dictate everyone file timely reports, Lil, but you’re one of the few around here who actually does it.”
She exhaled slowly, unsure whether she should be relieved or not. Maybe it wasn’t all bad, she reasoned. The longer they waited to submit the summary, the less detailed it was likely to be. But she’d still need to keep checking, which meant involving Cordell each time. Unless it was filed today, she probably shouldn’t head north tonight. Her heart weighed heavily in her chest at the thought of not seeing Zoe. With her piano recital coming up, Lily’s daughter had been practicing daily and was eager to play for her mom.
A shitty Tracker and a shitty mother. What a combination.
“Hey … you mind if I log into my account?”
“Knock yourself out. I’m hitting the showers.”
She waited until he’d left before she clicked into the Tracker section. That’s funny. She double-checked that she was on the correct page, but she was. All of Kip’s other reports were there. Neat, organized, just the way she’d taught him. The only one missing was last night’s. Surely he wasn’t slacking off already, was he? Was she the only one around here concerned about the rules?
Irritated now, she logged off and exited the computer lab. Kip had obviously been hanging around Jackson too long. His poor habits had rubbed off onto her very conscientious trainee. She ground her teeth together. All the screwups in the office seemed to revolve around Jackson. Well, things were about to change.
A fresh, vaguely familiar scent caught her attention when she stepped into the hallway. She inhaled, couldn’t quite separate it from the muddiness, and that too-familiar swell of panic gripped her stomach again. In an enclosed environment like this—undisturbed by the elements—a scent should be easy to identify.
Knowing that smell was closely associated with memory, she closed her eyes and pressed both hands on the top of the foyer table, careful not to lean in too close and get speared by one of the pointy orange flowers that looked like a crane’s head.
She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, focusing inward on the mental images and emotions stirring in her mind as she tried to pry loose the scent memory.
Apprehension. Disrespect. Inadequacy.
Then it dawned on her. Of course. Gibson’s here. I should’ve known. He’d assumed she’d gotten the job as a Tracker because of her father, not because she was qualified, so he’d never respected her.
Angry with herself for letting an ass like Gibby get under her skin, she squared her shoulders. Catching sight of herself in the reflective doors of the elevator, she made a quick appraisal. Not bad, but not perfect either. Much as she loathed being judged for her looks alone, around men like Gibby, her image was her armor.
“Good, you’re here,” said Jackson, startling her, his heavy footsteps beating a loud rhythm behind her. Subtlety was not one of his character traits. “I need to talk to you.”
Three boxes of sugary cereal balanced precariously in his bulging arms, along with spoons, a half gallon of milk and two bowls large enough for popcorn. Without waiting, he brushed past her and headed toward the game room.
“Listen,” she said, following him. “I’d appreciate it if you’d try to be a good example for the new guys. I know it must be hard, but for godsake, you’re the acting field team leader. They look up to you. The least you could do is encourage them to follow procedure. They’re in place for a reason.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Kip, that’s who I’m talking about. He used to be so responsible, but hanging out with you, he’s—”
“Hold on. All this … it’s slipping.” The snake tattoo on his biceps, with its open mouth, fangs and forked tongue, looked eager to be eating Tony the Tiger as Jackson juggled everything.
She grabbed the bowls from him. “And why didn’t you give me a heads-up that Gibby was here? You know I can’t stand him.”
“What? I figured you knew. Sensed him or smelled him or something. Sorry.” With a snap of his head, Jackson flicked his hair out of his face, blond and gold highlights mingling with the brown, the splayed-out ends settling back along the top of his shoulders. Ever since he’d dated that chick who worked at one of Seattle’s top hair salons, the guy had been addicted to funky highlights. Two weeks ago they’d been various shades of blue.
“I did, but … not soon enough. I’ve got a head cold. I would’ve changed into something else before I came over.”
He gave her a quick head-to-toe. “What are you talking about?”
How could she explain it to someone so obtuse? No use beating around the bush with him—he’d never get it. “Because you’re all used to seeing me like this, eh? We hang out together and have a good time. But the guy’s a total Richard. Sorry, he is. It makes me uncomfortable when I know I could look better.”
“That’s dumb. You look hot.”
Oh man, why had she even bothered?
She followed him into the game room, half expecting to see Kip inside. Without looking up, Val Gibson leaned over the pool table and took a shot. He didn’t bother to acknowledge her, so she returned the favor and stayed silent.
After setting the bowls on the wet bar, she leaned against the doorjamb and absently flicked the tiny chain hanging from her navel while her annoyance grew. This better be fast. I’m sick of him already.
Jackson held up two boxes and looked at the cartoon characters on the front as if trying to decide which was more worthy. Evidently he couldn’t make up his mind because he dumped some of each into his bowl.
