Why These Two (7 page)

“Maybe a centimeter,” he admitted.

“Hmm. I suppose I should check. Nurse Fiskar? Is the scale still working?”

“Afraid not, Doctor.”

“The file’s accurate,” Darryl spoke up. “Although I might be a pound or two heavier. Muscle gain.”

The doctor readjusted his glasses and looked him over. Darryl probably appeared larger since he hadn’t shed his wool, tailored jacket in the outer office. On purpose. It hid the Beretta under his armpit and the Italian, museum-quality dagger on his belt. One thing about that Reika chick, she’d had his measurements dead on. Even the shoes fit perfectly, and he’d had seven pairs to pick from when he’d gone searching. After he’d awakened this morning. Alone. In that little cozy room of hers, just down the street from the club.

The squeezing sensation came again, just enough to catch his breath for a second or two. Nothing much. He ignored it.

There hadn’t been signs of any vampire this morn. Could’ve been because streams of sunlight filled the room. He didn’t know where she’d gone, and told himself again that he didn’t care. Although…if she’d cured him, he did owe her. They’d have to settle on a price; one that didn’t involve his soul.

“Yes. Well. We can move on, then. What can we do for you today? Go Nurse Fiskar? Fetch the exam kit. Yes. Gloves and a syringe.”

“I came for an x-ray,” Darryl inserted.

“I can’t order an x-ray without an exam, Mister Bailes. It would be against protocol.”

Darryl thought for a bit, and then sighed. He’d been avoiding thinking of that particular issue. His blood. The x-ray might not do anything except validate the bullet was gone…although he’d searched the floor over this morning and hadn’t found it. Didn’t matter. His blood was probably going to be weird. He’d rather know here what happened when they looked at it under a microscope. That might be the deciding factor between a return to the Black Elite or a future spent guarding drug-dealing scum or socialite sex-sirens like Miss Felicia Trent.

The nurse left, shutting the door behind her. The doctor stood, reaching pectoral height on Darryl. The man held the glasses to his nose while he looked up. It looked like a long way up, as he craned his neck.

“You wished an x-way of your back. Specifically your lower back. Yes?”

Darryl nodded.

“I assume this is to check on the foreign object lodged there?”

“I took a bullet. It’s still there. Or…it was.”

“Was?”

“I…uh.” How to explain this? And damn it all! Why did the fist sensation around his heart have to go into action right now as the man stared up at him?

“You can speak about it to me. I won’t laugh.”

“Uh…”

“You visited the Holy Church. Yes?”

Holy
Church?

Darryl nearly snorted. That was light-years away from what had really happened. He didn’t know whether to nod or not. So, he just waited. The doctor stepped back and placed Darryl’s file on his stool.

“We’re well known here in St. Moritz, for our Holy Church of the Mauritius Spring. Taking the waters has been known to heal the sick and aged. Cure disease. Mend the injured. You wouldn’t be the first man I’ve examined after visiting the spring. I actually published a case study last century on the actual miracles of the shrine.”

Darryl couldn’t believe his luck. He couldn’t imagine a better scenario. Who knew?

“And so, you tried our water despite your skepticism, and now you want validation of your miracle. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

He nodded. His heart felt another squeeze. He ignored it again.

“Very good. I’ll leave you for a bit while you change into our too-small gown, and when I return, we’ll begin.”

Shit
. He’d forgotten the gaping-back examination gowns. Darryl eyed the two of them hanging forlornly from hooks on the back wall. He should’ve known. Either of them looked like he’d shortly be running about in a backless mini-dress that left zero to the imagination. He hoped Nurse Fiskar had a stout heart.

The jacket went on the exam bed. He hung his holster from a peg, his belt beside it. He used the jacket to cover them over. He’d donned a mini cable-knit, off-white pullover this morning. That went on another peg. His undershirt followed, all of it making a nice wad of clothing that disguised his weaponry. He hoped. He’d just unbuttoned and unzipped his fly when the door behind him opened.

Darryl spun, nothing pained with the move, and then liquid acid got tossed on him. Every drop instantly pained. Sizzled. And then muted into nothing more than water that he brushed off. Thank goodness he hadn’t taken his glasses off. He glared through the water-specked lenses at the nurse who stood there, a specimen glass in her hand.

“What the hell?”

The words were rumbled. His mind answered. That was no nurse. Felicia Trent stepped into the room, shutting the door behind her saucy little ass, covered in a dress that probably came from an adult catalog advertising Halloween nurse costumes for strippers.

“Hi, Big Gun. Wow. Look at you. I had no idea. I mean…
wow
.”

Not good.

A moment later she was in front of him, her hand grazing the slight line of hair on his belly downward, and almost reaching his—

Darryl grabbed her hand and yanked it off him, lifting her from the floor with the move. He had to consciously command his arm muscles to release her back to the floor.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Saving you. I’m just glad I’m in time.”

“In time for what?”

“That was Holy Water. I was told—”

The door got kicked open, interrupting her. The owner of the heavy boots walked in, followed by six more men, packing the room. All strangely armed. All dressed in winter camouflage. Darryl had Felicia behind him against the back wall and his Beretta palmed and aimed at the first asshole. His move took two seconds. He watched the guy gulp. It was visible.

“Somebody better start talking,” he said. “You got three seconds.”

“Well. I think that answers our question,” the first guy said.

“What question?”

“She didn’t turn you yet…although it looks like she did a damn fine job with the partial job. And please. We’re harmless. You don’t have to shoot us.”

“One,” Darryl replied.

“Oh, stop. I’ll explain. Name’s Chester Beethan. I guess I’m Lord Beethan now, through the recent demise of my grandfather, the last title holder…although his death can’t be proven yet. There’s an issue with missing bodies, 4-D Teams being what they are. Have to wait for DNA results.”

“Two,” Darryl said.

“Very well. I’ll explain faster. I’m a Hunter. A vampire hunter. As are all the gentlemen around me. Please don’t shoot. We’re human.”

The fist about his heart went into over-drive, making it feel like barbed wire wrapped that particular muscle. Darryl wavered, and then lowered the gun barrel.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I want him found – and I want it done now!”

“Wow. Reika. This is so…rad. I’ve never seen you upset. Is that one of your blades stuck in the wall?”

Reika sneered at the laptop atop her travel trunk, and then turned. She’d already flung her knives into the walls before chucking furniture. The nightstand and bed where she’d found so much pleasure were right below her knives, resembling a stack of earthquake rubble. The wardrobe full of Darryl’s clothing was next. She picked it up and flung it, blinking rapidly against moisture that blurred and distorted. And burned. But did nothing to heal. Nothing soothed. Nothing assuaged.

She’d taken the day to rest after the most exquisite night of her life, and awakened to this: An empty room. No sign of her mate. That’s when the worry started. A quick trip to the club from last night turned up nothing but a dance floor full of humans. No sign of Darryl. That’s when the anxiety started, resembling a chill breeze running her backbone. A visit to Darryl’s hotel got her the information that he and his entourage had checked out – destination unknown. She’d never dealt with emotions, and was dealing with too many of them, too quickly. That’s when the anguish had started. The desk clerk with the smiling face was lucky the lobby had been full and the place crawling with humans. He wouldn’t have lived, otherwise.

“Get Akron for me! Move it, Nigel! Now!”

The large wooden wardrobe was solidly constructed. A nice piece of furniture she’d have to reimburse the landlady for…if she didn’t kill her first. Reika didn’t know how to deal with feelings, and since hers had now changed to anger, everything was tainted with a red-shaded hue. Nobody was safe. Nothing was off limits. The wardrobe thudded when it hit the wall, knocking the picture of the rustic cabin in the woods from its peg. Then, with a groan, the large piece of furniture settled atop the mattress, its door open and dangling crookedly from where she’d broken the latch, while shirts and jackets started sliding off the dowels, adding material onto floor, and fuel to her rage. She was just advancing on the shirts thinking to shred them might help, when Akron’s voice stopped her.

“Reika. Stop it. Now.”

“Make me.”

“Reika. Calm yourself. Don’t make me call in a 4-D Team. That’s a very nice inn. I’ve stayed there before.”

“He’s gone, Akron! You don’t understand! He…left. And I don’t know where. I can’t find him.”

Her voice softened. The shirts ended up clasped to her breast. Then shoved to her face, concealing what couldn’t possibly be grief. Reika shook with sobs she couldn’t remember ever experiencing, wetting the fabric near her face, while the newly awakened heart just kept pounding away within her breast. The area pained. Ached. Each beat sounding like a lost echo in a huge cavern.

“I had no idea you held our talents in such low esteem. Please.”

Reika wiped at her face, and fought for the stoicism that had been second nature before. And somehow found it. She looked over at the laptop, dark now with its ‘saved’ mode. Reika dropped the shirts and walked over to the trunk, going cross-legged onto the floor. She rolled her finger on the pad, brought her screen back to life, and looked at a desk containing a large screen laptop and a shadowy alcove.

“You know where he is?”

“Yes and no.”

“Damn it, Akron—!”

“A temper, too? This mating thing is totally over-rated in my opinion. That’s actually the problem here.”

“What?” She didn’t have to pretend confusion.

“This mating thing…it creates all kinds of entanglements, when all I want is a bit of clean operation and profitable kills. Last night, for instance. This entire situation started because Invaris invoked what I’m going to call
The Mating Card
.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That’s what happens when one of my associates wants a special favor, deems it necessary because they’re mated, and then reminds me that I don’t know what it’s like. That’s
The Mating Card
.”

“How does this relate to me?”

“Oh. That’s how this particular debacle began. Invaris asked for some time off last evening. Seems it’s the one year anniversary of his mating with the lovely, Rori. He bought her something extra-special. He wanted time off to give it to her, as if he isn’t in the same grave with her every day. Oddly enough, when I reminded him that he has an eternity of anniversaries to buy for, he tossed
The Mating Card
, and told me I don’t know how it is. I actually thanked him without too much sarcasm. I did.”

“He knows where Darryl is?” Reika asked.

“Probably not. Impossible to check. I gave him three days off.”

“Then what does he have to do with anything?”

“I’m getting to that. Whenever Invaris gets time off, his replacement is Nigel.”

“So?”

“Well. Nigel is supposed to monitor every aspect of every communication network. Worldwide. We’ve got access to every network, because the moment anyone starts toying with designing one, we’re hacking in the back door. By the time they go live, we’re already connected. Immortality does have its uses, you know.”

“Can’t you just tell me where Darryl is?”

“I’m getting to that. Patience…is a virtue. Remember?”

“What am I going to do?”

Her back sagged. Her eyes watered up again. Her heart felt like it was getting squeezed, making every beat an effort.

“Listen and learn, Beautiful. I have a very good reason for taking my time, so you might as well listen to my brilliance while I wait for the ducks to all line up.”

Reika made a face at the screen.

“And pretend to be in awe at my insight and ability. Is that too much to ask?”

She almost smiled.

“Very well then. I’ll continue. It all started this morning, a little past midnight. That’s when someone using a cell phone assigned to Trent Conglomerate used a search engine to look for Vampire Hunters. They found several websites, but honed in on the one for The Hunters. There was some back and forth communication. Want to hear it?”

Reika shook her head.

“No? Very well. It’s rather straight-forward messaging, anyway. And to be fair, nobody named names. And Nigel didn’t have an alert on Trent Conglomerates. His alert was for a Miss Felicia Trent. He also had an alert on a certain Darryl Bailes, mercenary/bodyguard. And, as always, he had an alert on Chester Beethan. All of which he should have been monitoring rather than playing that damn video game. Which he is now grounded from for at least a fortnight. Listen to me. Grounding my associates. Somebody should’ve raised that kid right in the first place, but it’s too late for regrets. His father is now deceased, courtesy of Grimm Bradley down in Texas. All of that aside, I’m afraid Nigel will never grow up. But to be fair, it does match his appearance.

“And I’ll cut him some slack, but don’t tell him. He didn’t know Darryl Bailes was connected to Miss Trent. He didn’t know about any connection to you. And there are millions of searches done on vampires and hunters every day; practically every hour. Add to that, Chester Beethan flies all over the planet for virtually no reason that we can decide more days than he stays at his home in Manchester. Just because Beethan picked Switzerland for a destination didn’t mean much. Not to Nigel. He didn’t know you were there. We had no live assignments there. No reason to be interested at all. And that explains how the Hunters managed to get to your mate before we could.”