Awakened (32 page)

“Hey, that was what he wanted to do to you, little girl. Just like that guard did.” He leaned closer. “Just like I do.”

His gaze dropped. She knew her flimsy dress was torn and she didn’t care.

“Too bad it would cost Vlad so much money if I fucked you. I can see why old Malcolm was interested.”

“I’m so glad Vlad scares you then,” she said snottily.

Gil just shrugged. “For now. Someday I’m gonna put him out of business. I know too much about him. And he doesn’t treat us turneds with a whole lot of respect. Then again, at least he’s not trying to kill us, not like the bastards in the FBI. Some of them have been trying to find you.” He smirked. “I’m not only hoping they will, I’m counting on it. Especially the bastard who lives on that fucking mountain and the woman who came to see him. Too bad my friend didn’t take care of her when he had the chance.”

Another vampire friend, he probably meant.

She frowned as memory returned. She’ been so out of it, but now she remembered she’d seen Barrett Miles on that computer screen. She’d been in the army. Was it possible she was working for the FBI and trying to find her? If so, did she realize she was being set up?

Thinking of the woman who’d once been such a good friend to Jane’s mother but who’d made little time for Jane since her death made her angry at first. But, God, she’d forgive her, if only she’d come and save her. She sucked back the pain with a breath so deep her ribs had to be showing under the thin dress. “How do you know her? Miley?”

“Like I’d tell you. Let’s just say we have … 
friends
 … in common. You might even get to meet one before too long. Or should I say, you will meet him in very painful ways unless you play nice with me.” He smiled and leaned closer. “You want to get on my good side by doing something for me?
To
me? Now’s your chance.”

“You’re supposed to guard my virginity, remember?”

“Like a hawk. But there’s other things we could do besides fuck. Open up.”

He put his hand on his fly and bent down like he was going to put his mouth on hers, for starters. Jane head-butted him. She got some satisfaction out of seeing him stagger back just before they heard someone calling his name from outside.

The door to her cell opened and the reserve guard stuck his head in.

Just in time, Jane thought, since Gil Mansfield looked ready to kill her with his bare hands. He jerked her closer to him and whispered into her ear.

“Payback is coming, you little bitch,” he whispered.

“I’ll die first,” she whispered back.

But she couldn’t deny the fear that flooded her, weakening her knees when he said, “You’ll wish for death. But I won’t give it to you. Not for a long,
long
time.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT

Vladimir Oupensky was pissed because the construction
crew was late. As it was, they barely had time to get in, do their work, and get out before the guests for the VIP event showed up. Barrett had been freaking out herself, pacing and keeping an eye out for Nick, who she knew wouldn’t arrive until he could meld with the rest of the construction crew. But several construction workers had arrived twenty minutes ago, so where—

Barrett looked up the second a familiar, broad-shouldered man pushed through the glass front doors of Club Red, a heavy tool chest in his work-gloved hand. Nick wore a hard hat with a bandanna under it tied around his hair, and a canvas jacket over a tank top, plus loose jeans and dusty work boots that weren’t laced up all the way. He looked hot, actually. Like she wasn’t nervous enough already. She told herself not to stare at his hunky getup. It didn’t work. She told herself to think of the Village People. That helped some.

“Miss? Could I leave this with you?” He held up a paper bag with a tightly rolled top and slid it across the top of the hostess station. “It’s a sandwich.” He grinned at her. “My buddy’s dinner, actually. I took it by mistake. He’s gonna stop by and pick it up.”

“Oh—okay. Not a problem.” She took the paper bag from him. The contents weren’t any heavier than a sandwich. She knew it was a gun and that it was for her. He probably had a small arsenal of weapons with him.

“Where do I sign in?” Nick set down the diamond-patterned metal tool chest he was lugging.

“You don’t have to. The crew boss already did for all of you guys.” She was faking him in, speaking more loudly than normal. It didn’t matter if what she said actually made sense. No one seemed to be listening.

“Great. Thank you, ma’am.”

That was a downgrade from miss. She mouthed the words
fuck you
. Nick grinned. It did break the tension to some degree. Obviously she felt it more than he did.

“Okay, let me make you a badge and you can join them on the third tier.” She consulted a list, again speaking loudly and rather vaguely. “Say, looks like Gil Mansfield is up there now. He wanted to make sure everyone’s on the same page.” She turned the hostess-station monitor around and pointed to the screen. “There he is. Just so you recognize him.”

Nick looked at the screen.
Good work, Miss Barrett
. He had to say it with his eyes. She’d hacked into the security cam feed on her own.

He couldn’t resist a single word of praise. “Cool.”

She turned the screen back so it was facing her with a touch of her finger and pulled out a self-stick badge. He watched her write a name she just made up, because they’d forgotten to agree on one, then hand him the badge.

Freddy George
.

“That’s me,” he confirmed cheerfully, peeling off the backing and slapping it onto his canvas jacket. “Thanks.”

No one was paying the slightest attention. Even at this early afternoon hour, the activity in and around the club was the best camouflage they could have. Barrett nodded to him and briskly turned toward two men in khakis and striped polo shirts.

“We have a private event tonight. We’re not open for business until tomorrow. But please come back. And just so you know, there is a dress code.”

Hidden at the top tier behind the nosebleed seats, Nick got set up. The work crew Barrett had mentioned was all the way on the other side of the main area. Good. He needed a little time to locate the wiring for the security system and the feed from this level. The system was nothing special. The wires could probably be reached in back of the electrical outlet nearest the camera.

There was no way to turn off the juice. He had to pick the connection apart with something really low-tech: a bamboo barbecue skewer. Barrett would laugh if she knew.

He took off an outlet cover and got to work. First try, the security camera stopped moving. Its blinking red light went off.

Done. He opened the tool chest and made sure everything was where he would need it. He lifted out an inside tray. Under it were the light clothes Barrett had given him in case Jane needed them, tightly folded into a small square, and a rolled pair of thin flats. There was a ball cap for him. The jacket reversed to a different color and, without the bandanna and hard hat, he wouldn’t look like the guy who’d walked in with the tool chest. Add in sports glasses that fit his face and he’d really look different.

He located another outlet and plugged a heavy-duty power cord into it. The nail gun was capable of banging roofing nails through six-by-six beams—or a turned vampire’s head—using compressed air. The clip looked like something off an AK-47. Every nail in the lethal row had been dipped in liquid nitrogen.

Gil had won the lottery from hell without knowing it, so he would be taken care of first. The question was how to lure him over. Vladimir’s second in command was on the other side of the main area, now on a different level.

Besides the nail gun, Nick had a pistol. The impact of a fired bullet would knock him back long enough for Nick to go for the nail gun.

It’d be nice if the construction crew would start hammering on things or busting up Sheetrock. A nail gun made a pretty big bang. He didn’t want to attract attention to himself, not when he had to rescue Jane from the lower level with no fucking backup. Once he iced Gil, he was heading for the stairs to the doors with keypads.

Nick attached the long stub of a silencer to his gun and smacked the ammo clip into place with his palm. He could admit it to himself now. Killing some of the vamps on The List hadn’t been easy for him. Easier than killing Gary, sure, but before each kill he’d been plagued by an inner voice reminding him the turned vampires had once been human soldiers. But here and now? Well, putting a bullet into a child-porn-selling vampire freak wasn’t going to make him lose any sleep.

He heard footsteps. Gil was on his level, walking toward him around a curve without seeing him yet. In another minute, they’d be face to face.

Nick waited. Then he called in a low voice when Gil was closer, “Hey, where’s the work outlet up here? Mr. Ouspensky asked me to check. Said it was sparking.”

Gil came closer, looking annoyed. “He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Who are you?”

“Freddy George. I’m with the electrician’s crew.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY-NINE

Barrett grabbed the arm of a dancer passing by, not one
of the airheads, and asked her to cover the station for fifteen minutes. The dancer was happy to oblige. Maybe she wanted the position. Barrett didn’t look back as she walked into the main room.

Lewis, the bouncer who’d tried to get rid of Xecala, was pacing on the empty runway. Now and then he talked into a mike clipped to his shoulder. She walked in his direction. The long, white-silver gown she’d chosen fell in swishing folds from her hips. It was skintight everywhere else.

The folds now concealed a pocket in the seam into which she’d slipped the small, flat gun Nick had left with her. She’d run into a bathroom stall with her evening bag, which held a tiny sewing kit and manicure scissors as well as her newly issued club ID and basic makeup. It had taken her only five minutes to pick open a seam and cut the pocket out of her bag, stitching it into the seam. Only about an hour was left until the VIPs started arriving.

Seeing Sam, Barrett raised her hand, waved, then hurried to meet her. Her superlong fake ponytail had been replaced by a sleek cropped wig. Enormous gold hoops and a lot of eyeliner kept all the attention on her face. The rest of her clothes were casual.

“Hey, Sam. I love the short hair. What are you going to wear?”

Good thing Nick knew plenty about wiring, because Gil Mansfield didn’t. As Nick kept up a steady stream of chatter, Mansfield looked confused but determined not to confess his ignorance. The gun and silencer stayed behind Nick’s back. He gestured a lot with the other hand.

He should fan out a deck of cards for this fuck and tell him to pick one, then shoot. Pistol to drop him, nail gun to kill him.

Nick kept talking.

“Haven’t decided,” Sam told Barrett. “But you stick with that white dress, girl. That is a stunning look. Do you believe we still have work crews coming in up here? Now whose big idea was that? I can guess. It’s going to screw up tonight’s event.” She didn’t sound like that would bother her in the least.

“The guests are going to be here soon,” she confirmed. She wondered where Nick was, not wanting to be obvious about scanning the tiers. Then she glimpsed him, standing behind a balcony wall at the very top of the huge main room. He shook his head at her and ducked down.

She was glad he was there. Barrett forced herself to look elsewhere. Sam had already turned to help a bottle girl tug down her microscopic dress.

“Do you think it’s too short?” the girl asked.

“I can see your lace panties,” Sam replied mischievously. “But that’s good. The men have to know where to put the money.”

Barrett heard a dull pop from high above and checked her watch. Nine minutes had passed. If she guessed right, Gil Mansfield was dead. She knew what a silenced shot sounded like. The quiet club reverberated almost noiselessly for a few seconds longer.

Nick kneeled beside Gil’s twitching body to finish the job. The nail gun had a contact trigger and the poisoned nails had to be fired straight into his heart.

He paused, looking into Gil’s clouded eyes. If there was a trace of humanity in them, he didn’t see it. His brother … that had been different. Very different. Now, Nick felt nothing.

He fired once. Then stood and packed up. Except for the pistol, a lock-pick set, and the items for Jane, he had to leave everything behind. There was nothing in the tool chest that was traceable to him. He reversed the jacket to the dark side, then stashed the hard hat and whipped off the bandanna, sticking it into an inner pocket. The folded clothes got stuffed into one patch pocket, and the thin flat shoes went into the other. Ball cap. Sports glasses.

And presto. He was someone else. The door on the main level was his next stop.

Nick looked at the crumpled form of the man by his feet, knowing that the numbness he worked so hard to maintain never lasted that long. He’d taken a life. More than anything he wanted this to be the last time he had to do that.

But the hunt wasn’t over. He wasn’t free of this shit yet.

He searched his mind for a reasonable rationale. There were a few.

Another one could be checked off The List. The worst of them all, considering what Gil was doing on the side. The fact that Gil was turned, and the FBI had ordered him taken out, was almost beside the point. There was such a thing as a deserved death. And now there was one less obstacle in the way of Nick’s finding Jane.

He hunkered down by the body and closed the staring eyes, resting his hand over them for a little while until they stayed closed. Then he dragged the body into a corner, out of sight.

Barrett had heard the bang of the gun and, more recently, the fainter echo of the nail gun as Nick finished the job. No one else seemed to have noticed either. Sam and the dancer in the short dress had already left the room. She went back to the hostess station.

“Thanks so much,” she said to the girl who’d stood in for her.