Angels' Flight(40)

“Security cameras,” she asked Marco. “Did you record the fight?”

“No.” Self-disgust marred the handsome lines of his face. “I turned them off when I realized it was him—didn’t want anyone seeing how much of a fool I’d been. At least I wasn’t stupid enough to leave my gun behind. Shot grazed his head, knocked him out.”

That explained how Marco had gotten the vamp into the basement. “We need to talk to Silas.” Sara stepped forward, expecting an argument.

Marco got up. “I’ll take you—let’s see what the bastard has to say.”

Letting him go on ahead, they followed with weapons drawn. Silas was pounding on the door by the time they got there.

“Help me!” More pounding. “Help! I can hear you!”

“Quiet.” Deacon’s voice cut through the pounding like a knife.

Sara took the lead. “How’d you end up locked in the basement?”

They got pretty much the same story as from Marco . . . but with the roles reversed. By the time it was over, Sara’s headache had turned into a thumping monster. How in hell were they going to fix this? The wrong move and a lot more blood would spill.

She looked to Deacon. “Got handcuffs?”

He handed her a thin plastic pair. “They’ll hold.” Marco lifted up his hands without question when she turned. Clicking the cuffs shut, she led him back upstairs, stashing him on the stairway that led up to his apartment . . . after blindfolding him and tying his feet together, then redoing the cuffs to lock him to the railing. Hunters were extremely resourceful when it came to survival.

“I won’t run,” Marco told her, a broken kind of pain in his voice that hurt her.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I believe you.” If she was going to be Guild Director, she had to learn to judge her people. “But we need proof.”

“He’s smart. Part of his charm.”

Silas hadn’t sounded particularly charming to Sara, but then, she wasn’t in love with him. Patting Marco on the shoulder, she walked out, pulling the door shut behind her. “Rodney,” she said to Deacon.

“That’s what I thought.”

“But even if he can tell their voices apart, how seriously is anyone going to take him?” She pulled out her cell phone. Hesitated.

“It’s a start.”

As she waited for the phone to be answered, she found her eyes locked with Deacon’s. “I’m going to have to deal with messes like this all the time as director.”

A nod. “And you’ll care enough to find out the truth.” Bridging the distance between them, he touched her cheek. “We’re lucky to have you.”

The phone was picked up on the other end. “Yes?”

Sara dropped her head against Deacon’s chest at the sound of that voice. “Mindy, I need to speak to your master.”

“I got punished because you tattled.”





8


Sara didn’t have time to engage in a pissing contest. “You should’ve been more careful.”

“Damn straight,” Mindy said. “I’m four hundred years old and I can’t get rid of the twerp. Not your fault. Hold on.”

Surprised, and glad something was going right, she took a deep breath as Lacarre’s cultured voice came on the line. “Hunter.” A demand for why she was calling, and permission to speak, all in one word.

She explained. “If we could borrow Rodney for a few minutes, it might help clear things up.”

“Since the victims included two of my own, I’d be very interested in learning the identity of the perpetrator. We’ll be there shortly.”

Closing the phone, she hugged Deacon. “Think anyone would notice if I chucked it all in and ran screaming for the hills?”

Warm, strong hands rubbing over her back. “They might send the Slayer after you.”

“No flirting. Not now.”

“Later, then.” He didn’t stop the back rub. “I think this officially equals the oddest case of my career.”

“You and me both. I don’t know why I’m always surprised when vampires act as weird as ordinary humans. It’s not like they gain the wisdom of the ages with the transformation.” His heart beat strong and steady under her cheek. Solid. Calming. A woman could get used to that kind of an anchor.

They stood in silence for a long time, until Sara’s heart beat in rhythm with his. “Did you ever consider another career?” she asked in a low, private whisper, realizing she knew nothing of his past. It didn’t matter. It was the man he was today who fascinated her. “Aside from the Guild?”

“No.” A single word that held a wealth of history.

She didn’t push. “Me, either. I met my first hunter while I was living on a commune—don’t even ask—when I was ten. She was so smart and tough and practical. It was love at first sight.”

His chuckle sounded a little raw. “I saw mine after a bloodlust-crazed vampire destroyed our entire neighborhood. The hunter found me standing over the vampire, chopping his head off with a meat cleaver.”

She squeezed him tight. “How old were you?”

“Eight.”

“It’s a wonder you’re not a psycho vampire-killer your-self.”