Awakened (20 page)

“He talked too much.”

“In here?” Tamsin gestured around the small underground arena, which was empty except for them. The space echoed with construction noise from the much larger floor above. “Who would even notice?”

“All it took was one word, my dear. He said yes to an interview with a big Atlanta newspaper. I don’t want our building plans splashed all over the front page.”

“Who cares?”

Vladimir scowled at the offhand question. “I do.”

Tamsin did not have to know about the hidden floor beneath this one—or who was concealed there, though the subterranean cells were mostly empty, except for a wayward girl. And a restless monster. The contractor might have happened upon both, if he had gone beyond the Keep Out sign and somehow made his way through the locked door of the immense, climate-controlled vault where Vladimir stored living things who were apt to be noisy from time to time.

“Oh. Well, what is that saying? Any publicity is good publicity?”

“Dead men never are. And I understand that someone from the paper is still in the parking lot, waiting for this one”—Vladimir used the toe of his boot to push the man’s limp arm against his body—“to show up.”

He put a hand to the earpiece he wore and spoke softly to someone outside. “Get rid of the reporter. No, don’t kill him. Just tell him our construction supervisor is busy. Yes, all day. And give him a guest pass to our grand opening. The elite pass, idiot. We want him in our pocket, do we not? A private skybox plus two whores is something to look forward to.”

Tamsin leaned over a little to get a better look. The contractor’s sightless eyes stared upward, as if he were gauging the strength of the steel beams crisscrossing the space far above a square pit sunk deep into the floor. Then his head slowly tipped to the side as the muscles of his thick neck stretched with its weight.

Vladimir laughed. “He seems to be looking up your dress. Rigor mortis has not set in.”

She gave a ladylike shudder. “Eww. That’s so creepy. All I have on under this is a thong.”

“Since when are you modest? But if it bothers you—” Vladimir looked around and spotted a dirty canvas tarp. “Then cover him up.”

Tamsin sighed but she obeyed, dragging the tarp by a corner and throwing it over the corpse. She could have been making a bed. Badly.

She bent over several times to spread out the tarp, just to give Vladimir an eyeful, hoping that would net her a few good-girl points.

“Is it the thong I left in the drawer for you? With the hole in front?”

She tried to remember. She had an extensive collection of tiny G-strings and thongs. “Um—yes.”

Her answer was a little slow for his liking.

“Don’t lie to me.” Vladimir took command of her when she straightened and walked the short distance back to him, away from the draped body.

“I didn’t lie, Vladdy. I just had to think for a sec.”

“Stand still.”

He shoved a hand up inside her dress, feeling for the thong, then probing roughly, penetrating her with one finger. Then two. His dark eyes glittered, fixed on her lovely, bored face as he hand-fucked her. Hard and fast. He entwined his fingers in her tumbling hair, holding her in place.

Tamsin stepped her feet wide apart and let him have his fun, not into it herself. He satisfied himself as to the complete truth of her reply by lifting her dress and exposing her to his hot gaze. Her bare pussy was no longer covered by the gossamer thong, which Vladimir had pulled down.

“You sounded uncertain. You know better, Tamsin. Or do you need a taste of punishment to remind you to obey me in every way?” He withdrew his slick fingers and pushed them into her mouth.

“Yes. I do. You know how much I like it when you make me behave.”

“Hmm. Well, then. Lick.”

Dutifully, Tamsin licked his fingers clean, her pink tongue darting and swirling until Vladimir smiled faintly. He released her and undid his fly, forcing her to kneel in front of it.

He reached down to pull her breasts out of her dress. Propped up, they were spectacular, the dark red nipples standing out against her ivory skin. Vladimir had never understood the popularity of tanning salons. He preferred his women as pale as moonlight.

Staying on her knees, she bounced a bit to make her luscious tits jiggle as she did what she did best: suck him off. Her hard nipples, chilled by the cold air underground, touched his thighs. The friction of the expensive material of his suit seemed to excite her somewhat. Tamsin put more effort into pleasing him.

There was the off chance someone might see. She had once told him she liked the element of surprise.

No one appeared. He came explosively in her mouth. Tamsin was skilled. Not one drop of come spilled out as she swallowed several times.

His semen was as cool as his blood. Vladimir had found over the centuries that very few women gagged on it for that reason. He flattered himself that the taste was superior, as well.

He gave her a hand up as they both adjusted their clothes. She bent forward to brush grit from her knees and, when that was done, stood up and settled her breasts back inside the bra underneath her dress, glancing once in the direction of the dead man.

“You’re not just going to leave that there, are you?”

“No.” The blue-lit receiver in Vlad’s ear flickered as he listened to whoever had just called. He turned away from Tamsin, who took the opportunity to check her makeup in a compact. Perfect, she thought, except for the smudged foundation around her mouth. She moved away to a worktable and set down her purse. Time for a touch-up and never mind the sawdust. She knew better than to leave Vlad when he hadn’t told her she could.

“Send someone at once,” he instructed the caller. “I want the body to go into the framework of the rear staircase. The concrete is ready.”

Controlled by remote, a huge pipe coated with gray slurry moved to where Vlad was looking. The unseen being who was maneuvering it positioned the dripping mouth of the pipe between temporary plywood walls braced with rebar.

Tamsin observed the action discreetly in her compact mirror. An open stare would earn her a vicious slap from Vlad. He considered it disrespectful, and had even told her once that it was a sign of aggression among his people.

She was
so
not looking forward to their upcoming clan gathering. She just wasn’t all about family, not after growing up in foster care until distant relatives had taken her in. Left to the mercy of her nasty boy cousins, Tamsin got an early education in rough sex.

But at least they didn’t drink blood. The vampires might just decide that she was the goddamn first course. She had only ever allowed Vlad to drink from her. The unusual sensation intensified her natural inclination toward submission, something she hadn’t explored much until Vladimir had introduced her to its pleasures. He did the thinking. She could just drift and enjoy herself. The way he handled her was seldom gentle once he was aroused—it helped her really let go. She was perfectly willing to get spanked, tied up, whatever he wanted to do.

He had hinted at other, stronger pleasures in her future. Tamsin was eager, in her lazy way. Vlad was older than she was—he never said exactly how much older—but he had a rock star body and a long, gorgeous cock to match.

And if she satisfied him properly, he could be quite generous. There was a lot in it for her in this relationship if she behaved herself. The occasional dead body underfoot was no big deal to Tamsin.

One of Vlad’s underlings was crossing the unfinished arena toward them, keeping his head down so as not to look at her.

That was something else Vladimir Ouspensky didn’t allow. She snapped the compact shut when she felt his dark gaze sweep toward her. Tamsin turned to him, totally focused on his face. He stepped in front of her, running a hand through her hair, stroking her cheek in a possessive way.

She couldn’t see the murdered man being rolled into the tarp. But she heard the dragging sound of canvas over concrete as Vlad’s terse orders were carried out. They had left the arena by the time the pipe disgorged a flood of cement and embedded the shrouded body forever.

Vlad guided her past the elevator to a private staircase tucked behind closed doors to which only he had the access code. He indulged himself once more in the pleasure of sliding his hand up her skirt, fondling her intimately as she mounted the stairs, staying in front of him. The high heels she wore made her hips sway temptingly under the filmy dress that clung to her bare behind.

He withdrew his hand to tap a code into a keypad and exit with her to the main level. He stopped and let her go on, wanting to experience what ordinary customers would see. A runway bracketed with footlights split the space in two, with front-row seats for the big spenders and cocktail tables for others. The strippers and the dancers would work the runway in timed shows. Above it were two balcony levels; with the second, higher level cantilevered over the first so that no one would miss a second of the constant action. Each level was glassed in, so that clubbers could see and be seen. Access was restricted to the attractive ones who made it past the velvet rope, of course.

All of that was for humans. The far more exclusive group of born vampires with wealth, his personal A-list, would not care to mingle with them. Vlad had built the underground level for his own kind, where no disturbing ray of sunlight could penetrate. Dark deeds could be carried out within its shrouded spaces and no one above would ever be the wiser.

“Looks super great,” Tamsin enthused, looking around like she was seeing it all for the first time. Vlad barely heard her.

They did need publicity. He hoped the media coverage of the preopening party would be favorable. He wanted to outclass every club in Atlanta, put Club Red on the map in a big way from day one. To do that, he’d spent a fortune to host a press junket, including dozens of plane tickets and deluxe rooms at the hotel and a charter bus to herd them all back and forth. And then there were the swag bags. Reporters and bloggers who posted glowing reviews would find ten thousand dollars cash tucked into theirs. They all gossiped. The critics would sing a different tune the second they found out about Vladimir Ouspensky’s generosity.

He had planned it all.

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

Barrett strolled beside Ginny along the river, sidestepping
an occasional jogger and rejoining the older woman at a wider part of the walkway.

Ginny kept looking around, as if someone were following them. Barrett didn’t push, knowing whatever it was Ginny had to tell her, she had to do it in her own time.

Finally, the other woman fumbled with the strap of the large tote over her shoulder and checked inside. Barrett glimpsed a file folder stuffed with what looked like legal documents and a closed paper bag.

The older woman looked up again, down the path to a stone bench in a secluded nook. “Let’s sit there. I—I found some papers in the attic that I wanted to discuss with you. That’s why I couldn’t meet with you at home.”

A few minutes later, Barrett was reading them quickly as Ginny’s nervous gaze darted up and down the path. No one seemed to notice them. The slowly flowing river, a dull gray-green, carried a few kayakers downstream.

Barrett turned to Ginny, her stomach churning with disgust. “These are dated a year before Sarah’s death.”

“That’s correct.”

“He wanted Sarah to die. Because he knew you’d get custody of Jane. Because he liked looking at her.”

“Because he wanted to do more than look at her,” Ginny whispered. It was as if the older woman had no rage left, only sadness. Her worn face seemed defeated. Yet she had come here to try and make things right.

“He was so controlling with her. I thought he was trying to be a good father figure. Not …” She pressed her lips together.

“You need to get these back into his files. And you need to pretend you never found it. Not yet, Ginny. Not until we have a better idea of what’s going on with Jane. If it turns out he had something to do with her disappearance, we don’t want to tip our hand.”

“I can fake like nothing’s wrong. I’ve had a lot of practice at it.” Ginny’s terse reply had the ring of truth. “Those are copies. You can keep them. A friend of mine has a second set. The originals are back in his study.”

The women exchanged a look of mutual understanding. Barrett knew she had an ally in Ginny.

“I stayed with Malcolm partly so that Jane would have a home until she was at least eighteen. Now? I hate that I didn’t see him for what he was. That he posed such a threat to Jane. But at least now I have no choice but to leave him, something I should have done long ago.”

The older woman reached into her tote and took out a new paper bag folded over several times at the top. She met Barrett’s curious look. “No, this isn’t evidence. Even though I saw on TV that they collect it this way.”

“Oh. What is it?”

Ginny handed the bag to Barrett. “Jane’s sleep shirt and sleep socks. They were under her pillow. In case you need them—” She broke off.

Her meaning was clear enough. Sooner or later in abduction cases, trained dogs were used to help find victims.