Текст книги "The Watcher"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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CHAPTER 4

I LEAVE THE BAR AND HEAD BACK TO SAN DIEGO. I told Culebra that I was seeing Williams this morning. Warren Williams is San Diego's chief of police. Only he's so much more than that. Williams is a vampire, a very old vampire, who also happens to be San Diego's chief of police. The real-life, honest-to-god chief of police.

For weeks now, I've hauled my butt out of bed at four thirty to join him at his unofficial office in Balboa Park, a kind of secret headquarters for San Diego's supernatural community. I've started working for him as part of his "Watcher" brigade. We keep an eye on the supernatural community and step in when necessary to protect both creatures like myself and our human counterparts. Sometimes we do just what our name implies, watch, but other times…

I park in front of the Museum of Art and start up El Prado. It's a spooky place in the cold dark of early morning. The only thing breaking the shadows is the dim fluorescence of tall streetlamps bordering the parking lot. But fog snakes around the top of the lights and slithers at my feet. Even the towers and ornate cornices cast ghostly images on the walkway. Vamps aren't afraid of the dark. Exactly. But since becoming one, I am acutely aware that there really are things that go bump in the night. I quicken my pace.

Hide in plain sight.

The phrase pops into my head as I approach the mystical waterfall that separates the entrance to the underground hideaway from an unsuspecting public. I step through, not entirely a pleasant sensation unless you like walking through cold, wet spider webs. I don't know much about the magic that makes it work, but I do know that once on the other side, I'm invisible to anyone walking past.

I fish around in the bottom of my bag for the shiny brass key that allows me to open the door I'm now facing. On the other side is a reception area with a desk on which sits a computer. A few keystrokes and the entire "office" turns into an elevator that whisks me downward.

No matter how many times I do this, I'm amazed every time. It's Mission Impossiblemeets Stargate.

And the comparisons continue once inside.

The elevator opens onto a large, open space filled with desks and populated, even at this early hour, by the league of human psychics whose work funds the operation. Perched on the corner of one of the desks, head bent in conversation with a woman I don't recognize, is someone I do.

"Good morning, Sorrel," I say.

The woman turns and flashes a smile, her calm blue eyes taking their measure of me. She reminds me of Cinderella, tall, wispy, blond. But this Cinderella is dressed to the nines in a Donna Karan power suit and Jimmy Choos. Her expression reminds me of a cat's, testing the air, reading it, until she gets the answer she's searching for. "Good morning, Anna. Didn't get to bed last night, did we?"

Sorrel is blind, though you wouldn't know it to watch her. She's also an empath. "One of these days you're going to have to teach me that trick."

She laughs. “Trick? No. It's a talent. And like most talents, all it takes is practice and concentration." She flutters manicured ringers. "It's all in the air, Anna. You need only to channel it."

I mimic her fluttering fingers. "So my staying up all night was out there floating in the ether?"

"No, but your weariness is. That's what I feel. I can make it better, you know."

Her gift is to bestow serenity. She tried it on me once. It worked. It also erased the edge I need to do the things I do. For me to survive, that's not an option.

I don't need to explain this to her, she knows and understands.

Sorrel smiles. "It's always nice to see you, Anna."

Even without trying, her gift comes through. Her smile lifts my spirits.

She turns back to the conversation I interrupted and I make my way to the offices that line the rear wall. Williams' door is open and he looks up briefly at my approach and waves me in before returning to his reading.

Williams is seated behind a metal desk, his head bent in concentration. He's tall, lean, looks fiftyish because he has his dark hair professionally streaked with gray. Today he's not wearing cop clothes but jeans, a brown leather bomber jacket, a pair of worn Nikes on his feet and a pink polo shirt.

Apink shirt?

He looks up from the paper he had been studying and touches a hand self-consciously to his chest, frowning. It was a gift from my wife. What's wrong with it?

Williams' wife is human. She knows her husband's true nature and accepts it. There are many in the supernatural community "married" to mortals, a concept I can't quite wrap my head around. Still, it strikes me as amusing that this powerful old vamp is concerned that I'm disparaging his wife over the color of a shirt. Amusing and touching, at the same time.

He reads all this because I let my thoughts project to him. I happen to like pink.His tone is just this side of defensive.

I raise an eyebrow and drop into a chair. It's definitely your color.

His expression softens. "Love," he says, "makes a vampire do strange things." Then he looks at me, really looks at me for the first time. He lets the paper drop onto the desk and frowns at me. "You need to feed. And you've had no sleep for twenty-four hours. I need you sharp, Anna. Particularly today. Now I'm not sure I can trust you with this assignment."

The hair on my neck bristles. Does he have a direct line to Sorrel? "I can handle any assignment you throw at me. I think I've proven that."

He holds up a conciliatory hand, but the grim expression remains unchanged. "The rogue I'm sending you after is powerful and crafty. He's attributed with many deaths. He's only been a vampire for ten years but he killed as a human and his taste for it has grown with his power. He is operating in San Diego now and attracting the attention of the Revengers. We need to get to him fast."

The Revengers are a secret organization of human avengers whose sole purpose is to seek out and kill vampires. If this rogue is in their sights, why not let them pull the trigger?

He frowns. That should be obvious, Anna. The Revengers don't discriminate between those in our community who are good and those who are not.

He's right. When I had been a vampire only one day, they almost got me.

And there is a second obvious reason: if we are seen as weak and unable to police our own, it strengthens their resolve that they should.

He's glaring at me again. "But this one won't be easy to kill, especially if you're not up to it."

This time I temper my reply. "All right. I admit I haven't had any sleep and I do need to feed. But I can use both to my advantage." I let him read what happened with our skip in San Francisco. "The blood drive is strong in me today."

Williams closes his thoughts to me, studies me with gray green eyes as fathomless as the ocean. You are waiting too long between feedings,he says at last.

I wave a hand. Perhaps. It 't be helped. I went to Beso de la Muerte, but there were no hosts.

He responds with a growl of disapproval. Anna, you must stop this. Get a human host of your own, male or female, and stick with the one. It's the only way to protect yourself and stay strong.

It's been three months since I was turned, and it seems like I've heard this same thing every damned day. It grows tiresome. Maybe after a hundred years, I'll be comfortable with the idea that I should keep a human around to feed from once or twice a month like some pet.

Maybe.

But I don't think so. I let my irritation show.

Can we please get back to the job?

I expect another heated torrent about my feeding habits. To my surprise and relief, however, Williams lets it go. An indication how important stopping this rogue must be.

He hands me a piece of paper with a police artist's sketch of a man in his late forties, light skin, dark eyes, gray hair brushed back from a thin face. "Simon Fisher," he says. "Five foot nine, 175 pounds. Wanted in three states. He brought his last two victims to the hidden caves in La Jolla. You know the place?"

I look up from the sketch and nod. "Can I find him there now?"

Williams glances at his watch. "If my sources are correct, he'll be there within the hour. He was spotted leaving his apartment with a female twenty minutes ago. He likes to kill them at dawn."

I fold the paper and shove it into a pocket in my jeans. I'd better go.

Williams rises when I do. Be careful, Anna. He's shrewd and he's powerful. And, Anna, you must leave his body.

His eyes are serious. He's telling me I can't stake the bastard. I've only had to do this once before and I remember what it was like.

Can you handle it?

I blow out a breath. I know why leaving a body is important. It allows the police to close the case and the victims' grieving families to get closure. But the cost to the vampire who is performing this public service is high. I feel my stomach start to churn.

Still, I nod. I do this to learn to control the beast and to understand the consequences if I should fail.

I'm at the door to the office when my thoughts turn to Max. I look back at Williams. "Do you have any contacts at the DEA?"

"I'm the police chief of a major metropolitan city. I have contacts everywhere."

I think I've offended him. Vampires, especially old ones, seem to be very thin-skinned. I frown an apology and ask, "Can you check on someone for me?"

He doesn't answer, but waves his hand in a "get on with it" gesture.

Quickly, I fill him in on Max and what he's involved in. "I'd like to know more about Martinez. He seems to be eluding both the Feds and the Mexican Federales. Maybe I can do something to help."

Williams tilts his head, his annoyance gone. "I'd forgotten about Max. He may be just what you need."

"Will you forget about what I need? I asked about Martinez."

Again, the dismissive wave of a hand. "I'll see what I can find out."

His attitude makes it obvious his only concern for Max is how he can be of use to me. I'm not going to argue the point now. There's a damsel to rescue, and this Wonder Woman doesn't have an invisible jet. I have to travel across town in a car.

CHAPTER 5

BUT IT'S A DAMNED NICE CAR. I DRIVE A TWO-YEAR-old, British Racing Green Jaguar XKR convertible. It makes the run between Balboa Park and La Jolla a snap, especially since it's too early for commuter traffic.

I know the spot where Williams is sending me. It's deep in Torrey Pines State Park where there is no convenient access to the secluded beach, only a steep path down a sheer wall of rock. Because of its isolation, it's become a popular "suit optional" beach, favored mostly by those who should never be given that option. But at this time of morning, and for a vampire who can climb like a mountain goat, it offers the privacy one needs for what Fisher has in mind.

I'm neither nervous nor anxious about what awaits me. I've done it before. For the last month, I've worked with Williams doing what the human justice system cannot, taking supernatural rogues to task for their criminal acts. Williams and others as yet unknown to me act as judge and jury. I am one of the enforcers, or executioners, as the verdict dictates.

It's simple. It's quick. It makes sense.

And I've found I'm good at it.

Not that the irony isn't lost on me. My day job is tracking bail jumpers and turning them over to a system that will likely release them back onto the streets to claim more victims. The otherworldly way offers more protection to the innocent and is a hell of a lot more efficient.

I pull as far into the park as I dare and cut the engine. I don't want Fisher to bolt at the unexpected arrival of a strange car. It's almost six, and the late fall sun will soon cast its bright, brittle gaze to the sea. I don't have time to waste.

Before climbing out of the car, I reach into the glove compartment. There's a knife there, in a nice little leather holster. I clip it to my waistband, at my back. If I turn my back on Fisher, he will see it. I don't intend to turn my back on him.

Then I step out, toss my jacket into the front seat, kick off the heels, and I'm off, running through the trees with an ease borne of belonging as much to the animal world as the human. I pass a dark sedan, tucked into a small clearing at the trailhead. I detect no sound from the car as I approach. It is empty. The keys are in the ignition and the doors are unlocked. I pull open the passenger door and release a heady bouquet of blood, lust and fear.

Fisher's scent, commingled with that of his victim. There are a few drops of blood on the headrest. I brush my fingertips over the stain and they come away wet. The taste of her blood is rich on my tongue, sends a thrill of anticipation through me. Tonight I'll head straight back to Beso de la Muerte. I'll have to.

Quietly, I push the door shut. Ahead of me is the path to the caves, still hidden by the deep shadows of predawn.

Head tilted, I listen. Below the ridgeline that hides the path from sight, I hear the rumble of the waves, the skitter of claws on sand as something big frightens smaller creatures back into the sea. That something is treading with heavy, certain steps—one set, not two.

I hope I'm not too late.

The path descends in a rocky, precipitous slope to the entrance of the first cave. I send out a silent, tentative probe, careful to mask my identity and close off my thoughts, seeking only to identify the thing below. Like a bat's radar, the echo bounces back—vampire.

It's all I need to know. I race down the path. I want to surprise this Simon Fisher. Give him something to take his mind off his victim. Something he'll want more than a mortal woman. Something better.

At the bottom yawns the entrance to the first sea cave. It's open, hollow, allowing a straight shot through the sand to the sea. It's the way most beach goers head. Unless you knew what else was down here, you'd miss it. To the left, behind a jagged outcropping of rock that looks solid, is another entrance. Invisible, dark, forbidding. Behind it, I pick up steady footfalls, heavy treads, someone carrying a burden. And soft, uneven breathing.

Vampires don't breathe.

I may not be too late after all.

Another probe tells me that the vampire is only a few yards from the entrance. His thoughts are feverish, the blood-lust is high. He is looking forward to the kill. He will take the woman sexually first, he can barely contain his excitement. Then he will drain her, savoring an even greater sexual pleasure as her life flows into his.

I step around the rocks, into the open. He is too involved in his fantasy to notice. He lays the woman on the ground, strikes her cheeks with the palm of his hand. He knows the drug he used on her should be wearing off. He slaps her again.

She groans, stirs.

I send out the first message. Simon Fisher?

His body jerks toward me. His eyes glow with a savage inner fire, then become flat and unreadable. He stares at me. Tries to probe my mind.

I don't let him.

What are you? What are doing here?

As I step forward, he takes a reflexive step back. His hands are curled in fists at his sides. His face is familiar– the face of the animal that claims us both. The face of the vampire. He growls a warning.

I hold up a hand. My name is Anna Strong. I am a Watcher. I came to warn you.

Of what?

The police know you are here.

The woman on the ground takes a deep, gulping breath. Her eyes are open, but clouded in confusion. When at last she can focus and she sees Fisher, the vampire, she tries to scramble away.

He reaches out, grabs her wrist, yanks her back close to him. He applies pressure to her jugular until she slumps against him.

I take a cautious step forward. Let her go. It will be worse for you if they find her here.

He grins, presses her limp hand to his lips, licks her wrist. I will claim my prize first. The human police cannot hold me. You know that.

But the Revengers can. You have attracted their attention with your carelessness. They are sending one of their own with the police. He will be the one who takes you into custody. You will never be seen again.

Fisher considers my words. It is well-known in the vampire community that the Revengers have members on the police force. It's how they identify criminal activity that can only be attributed to a vampire. It only takes a few bloodless bodies to raise their suspicion.

The woman's eyes open. She struggles against Fisher's restraining hand. When his grip loosens, she brings a knee up into his crotch. But it's not a solid kick and instead of letting go of her, quick anger darkens his face and he raises his hand to strike her.

I'm there before he connects, stopping his hand in midswing with mine.

I pull him toward me. Let her go. I am offering you something better.

There's an instant when I think he's going to fight me.

But I take the chance and drop his hand, let him read what I am offering.

Interest sparks in the depths of his eyes. He keeps his thoughts closed to me but I can guess what's going through his mind. His eyes travel from my breasts to the hem of the miniskirt.

The sexual drive in a male vamp is powerful—more powerful even than in a human male. And sex between vampires is the best sex of all. The combination of blood and sex transcends anything experienced with or by mortals. His eyes still focused on the point where my skirt ends and legs begin, Fisher's mind opens to me in a heated rush of what he wants to do and how he wants to do it.

I nod agreement. Let the woman go first.

He glances down at her dismissively. There are more like her. It is no loss.

He releases his grip and takes one step back.

The woman is on her feet, confusion and fear casting a shadow on her face.

"There's a car at the top of the trailhead," I tell her. "The keys are in the ignition. Get out of here."

She shakes her head as if to clear it. "What about you? You are coming, too, aren't you?"

"No. I'll be all right. Just go."

Still, she hesitates.

I turn an animal face to her, growl the order. "Go. Now."

She gasps and bolts, stumbling on the wet sand. She doesn't look back.

While my attention is on the woman, Fisher makes his move. He grabs me. With one hand at my neck and one hand at my crotch, he forces me down on the sand. When I'm trapped beneath him, he rips at my blouse with claw-like nails, gathers my skirt up until it's bunched around my waist. His eyes glow yellow and for an instant, I'm transported back to a dark parking lot on a hot July night when another vamp claimed me.

This night will be different.

Fisher pauses, lets go with one hand to fumble with his belt. It's all the hesitation I need.

I jerk my hands free and fling him off, not giving him even a moment to recover before I've reversed our positions. He's beneath me now, his hands pinned behind his back by the weight of our bodies.

He's grinning. You like to be on top. That's okay with me. But you'll have to open my collar. I can't seem to reach it.

His words mock me. It's all right. I smile back and do as he asks.

He squirms, positioning his pelvis against the fabric of my panties. I feel his excitement. It sickens me. Just like the thoughts he's projecting and the lust that burns my skin like acid wherever his flesh touches mine.

Come on. Let me in.

His tone is the high-pitched plea of a demanding child.

Iwant to drink a little first,I tell him. Get in the mood.

Irritation sparks along with the beginnings of anger. He raises his head to glare at me. No. We fuck first.

I leverage myself against him, forcing his head back on the sand with the heel on my hand. No. I drink first.

For the first time, he realizes that I'm stronger than he is, that he is not in control. He reacts predictably, struggling and cursing.

Like a cat with a wounded bird, I play with him. Let him try to wriggle out from under me, to work his hands free. I want him to feel the same helplessness his victims felt, know some of their desperation and fear. He tries to probe my mind, asking if this is a game. I swat away his attempts to read my thoughts. He is baffled with the turn this thing has taken.

What are you doing?

A smile. Why, I'm playing with you. Isn't this what you like?I bring my knee up into his groin. Press down until I see his face twist. Pain. Terror. Helplessness. Isn't this what gets you off?

He gasps. Tries to burrow his body into the sand to release the pressure. When he realizes he can't, he bucks against me. You bitch. You tricked me. I'll kill you for this.

From far away, I hear the faint howl of a siren. It's time to end it.

His skin is salty to my tongue. When he feels my teeth at his neck, his body relaxes, his thoughts flash that this is more like it. He presses his engorged sex against me and starts to move to the rhythm of his heartbeat. I open his throat with a single bite and start to drink.

He thinks he's won. He tells me again to let him in, demands sex. It's not until I refuse, refuse to stop feeding, refuse sex, refuse to give him access to my neck, that he realizes what is happening.

By then it is too late. It doesn't take long. I'm caught up in the hunger. He grows weak, his thoughts diffuse, froth, like foam on the crest of a wave. All the pain and death he's inflicted on his victims flows into me. The horror trips a gag reflex, but I can't stop. Even when he's a shell, a brittle husk, I keep sucking until I feel it. The shudder as his soul is released. Only then can I stop. Only then is the life force gone. Only then do I sit up, climb off his body and collapse on the sand.

There is still one more thing. I roll on my side to look at Fisher's face. When a vampire dies the second death, by staking or burning, he dissolves into dust. There's nothing left. Being drained is different and results in a kind of fast-forward aging. If Williams were to die like this, for instance, his two-hundred-year-old body would shrivel into something that might resemble a mummy's. Fisher, though, had only been vampire for ten years. His face and body look like that of a forty-year-old man.

I have to make it look as if a human killed him. I draw the knife from the sheath at my waist and slice across Fisher's jugular. I work at the bite marks with the serrated edge, opening a wide gash to hide them. A few drops of some clear liquid bubble from the wound. I then grab his ankles and pull his body into the water. I wade out a few feet from shore holding onto him until the current catches his body and carries it away. I want the sea to batter the remains, though it won't be a problem if the police have enough to determine cause of death. I doubt they'll waste serious manpower over the demise of a serial killer wanted in several states.

Now it's over.

I'm wet, bone weary, and sick inside from the infusion of Fisher's blood. If I were human, I'd stick a finger down my throat and vomit until my system was rid of the poison. But vampire physiology doesn't work like that. His blood is already coursing through my system. I'm stuck with it until I can purge it another way.

Brushing sand from my torn clothes, I start up the path.

The sirens are closer. Fisher's victim must have called for help. I need to be gone before anyone arrives. But Williams and I are going to have a talk.

A stake would have been so much easier.