Red Night (Vampire Files Trilogy Book 1) Read online

  RED NIGHT

  A Romance with Bite

  Vampire Files Trilogy, Book 1

  By R.K. Close

  RED NIGHT

  Copyright © 2016 by R.K. Close.

  All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: May 2016

  Limitless Publishing, LLC

  Kailua, HI 96734

  www.limitlesspublishing.com

  Formatting: Limitless Publishing

  ISBN-13: 978-1-68058-620-6

  ISBN-10: 1-68058-620-3

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  My family:

  Greg, Bailey, Collin, and Abby.

  Thank you for your love and support, even at the expense of clean clothes and occasionally meals.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

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  Chapter 1

  Dirty little secrets are my bread and butter. Everyone has them, and exposing what people try to hide is how I make my living.

  I’ve always liked to watch people, study them, and unravel their mysteries. Give me a few minutes and I’ll know if they’re happy, sad, needy, or insecure.

  People are easy for me to read and far too predictable. Money, sex, and power are prime motivating factors, at least for the people I’m hired to expose. Tonight, I’m doing just that.

  Busy shoppers move past me as if they’re running out of time. With the holiday hours at the Scottsdale Fashion Mall, they’re feeding their retail addiction late into the evening.

  Thanksgiving hasn’t even passed, yet Christmas sales and shopping have begun in full force. I’m not interested in the shoppers or the sales. My focus is on the Tiffany & Co. store across from where I sit. A certain female shopper named Rebecca Tanner stopped in there about twenty minutes ago and still hasn’t emerged. I’m tempted to follow her inside and see what the heck she’s doing, but keeping a low profile will make my job easier.

  The coffee in my cup is now cold and my stomach is rumbling loudly because I missed dinner. Just as I’m growing bored and restless, a tall attractive woman with long auburn hair walks out of the store. She’s on the arm of a dark-haired man wearing a gray tailored suit. Both look as though they belong on the cover of a magazine instead of shopping at the mall, but they do make a striking pair. He has movie star quality written all over him. It makes him stand out like a sore thumb.

  The redhead smiles and leans into him. Her eyes never leave him, but he appears preoccupied with leading her swiftly through the crowd. Her companion appears detached or aloof. Rebecca is my target tonight, but he’s the surprise.

  Where did you come from, Mystery Man?

  Tossing my coffee in the trash and grabbing my fake shopping bag from Victoria’s Secret, I begin to follow them.

  Mystery Man’s dark hair catches the light and gives him an unearthly glow. With broad shoulders that taper down to a slim waist, even his expensive suit can’t hide his long muscled legs. He has an air of confidence in the way he holds himself that causes shoppers to quickly part around him—many stopping to stare or catch a second look. Nobody is moving for me and I’m forced to dodge bodies in order to keep up.

  I’m not easily surprised. This evening may have developed an interesting twist, a bump in the road. I love bumps and twists because they make life and especially work, more interesting.

  The couple turns down a long hallway that leads to the public restrooms but they continue through metal doors marked, ‘EMPLOYEES ONLY.’ Without slowing my pace, I ditch the shopping bag and pull my long hair into a quick, messy bun. Before I reach the doors, I’ve pulled a solid black apron from my bag and slipped it over my head. This apron is the best ten dollars I’ve ever spent. It gets me into all sorts of places. Add a fake name tag and I’m unstoppable.

  Good thing I’m not wearing heels tonight.

  Through the doors is another dimly lit, industrial hall with many gray metal doors. There is a stark difference between the lights, color, and holiday music of the festive mall to the colorless, sterile feel of this corridor.

  Moving purely on instinct, I head left down the hall and around a corner. There I find a door marked ‘EXIT.’ Not knowing what’s on the other side, I stop to compose myself. Easing the door open, a burst of cool air hits me as I peer into a dark concrete jungle also known as the underground parking garage. I’m parked down here, but I can’t say where because I’ve never been to this area before.

  Lighting down here is worse than in the hallway I came from. There is no visual end, only a dark abyss in both directions. There are no bustling shoppers at the moment, and the cars are still. The silence is a creepy reminder that I’ve left the security of the mall.

  My head snaps in the direction of a slight sound, somewhere to my left. The sound may have come from one of the corners where the light doesn’t touch. Narrowing my eyes, I focus all of my senses on the blackness but I’m unable to make out more than inky shadows.

  They didn’t have time to leave, so where are they?

  I’m considering pulling out my small flashlight and shining it into car windows, when I hear it again: a slight scraping sound coming from the dark corner.

  Gotcha.

  In case I’m being watched, I pretend not to hear as I walk in the opposite direction. Turning a corner, I crouch behind a row of cars and work my way back. At times like this, I sometimes wish my legs weren’t so long.

  My hiding spot is roughly sixty feet away from the suspicious sound, behind a dark sedan. Two forms that blend into one finally take shape in the dense shadows. Rebecca Tanner is one busy gal. I guess having an affair with my client’s husband is not enough for her. We can add hooking up with random men at the mall to her resume.

  Cheating on the cheater is poetic justice at its finest.

  There was a time when spying on unknowing individuals would cause me embarrassment or guilt. After all, it’s like I’m digging around in people’s dirty laundry. Eventually, my skin got thicker and my sensibilities became…less sensitive.

  It’s not like I ask people to cheat on their spouse or steal from their company. Some people might call me a voyeur. I’m not, but I gain
a great deal of satisfaction finding answers to questions and giving my clients closure.

  I’m hoping this twosome doesn’t go X-rated on me, so I pull out my camera with a telephoto lens and set the aperture to pull as much light as possible without using the flash. I lift the camera to my eye, start to focus on the couple, and—

  What I originally perceived as a passionate embrace now looks suspicious. Rebecca’s back is toward me. Mystery-Man has a hand intertwined in her long red hair, holding the back of her head. His face is buried in her neck and the other hand has a death grip on her arm.

  That’s going to leave a mark. If he keeps this up, she’ll be wearing long sleeves and turtlenecks for weeks.

  All the popular Hollywood visions of vampires pop into my head and I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Of all the silly things to think about. Those types of movies have never been my thing, but I’ve seen a few.

  I prefer comedies.

  Pop culture seems to like its romance with a touch of horror and violence mixed in. I’ve never understood the attraction, myself.

  Still, my stomach feels uneasy, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. It’s not like me to let my imagination run away. I’m a professional, after all.

  I knew it was too late for that coffee.

  Still, I have the nagging feeling I’m witnessing a crime. Only I’m not sure what crime it is. Death by hickey?

  I’m cracking myself up tonight. Definitely too much caffeine.

  My current client hired me to prove that her husband is having an affair with another woman. He is, and Rebecca Tanner is the other woman. My client’s husband stands to lose his marriage of twenty-four years and a great deal of his wealth because of his affair with Ms. Tanner. How I would love to be a fly on the wall when the lawyer presents him with these photos! Revenge won’t mend my client’s broken heart but it might help that bitter pill to go down easier.

  Nights like these, I feel like an avenging angel—minus the wings.

  It may not be angelic making a living exposing cheaters, liars, and thieves, but the money is good. I set my own schedule, and enjoy most of the challenges that my career presents. Challenges such as how to get out of here before clothing items start to fly and this scene becomes pornographic.

  Click!

  Right as I press the button to take the first of many incriminating pictures, Mystery Man’s head rises a fraction as his eyes lock on me. I think my heart skipped a beat or two.

  Oh, crap! He couldn’t possibly hear that.

  But there he is, looking right at me. I’ve never felt so naked or exposed.

  With his lips still on her neck, his gaze never leaves me. Panic rises in my chest. Neither of us move for what feels like an eternity. Even without help from the telephoto lens, I can clearly see his eyes in the darkness. Some trick of the light causes them to glow.

  Without breaking our stare, I shove my camera in my purse as I prepare to rise and run for it. I only release his stare when I’m ready to run.

  My foot catches on my apron and I stumble, landing on my hands and knees, my bag still gripped in my fingers. My hair has fallen out of its messy bun and hangs in my face. I can’t see a damn thing. Frantically, I shove my hair out of my way but when I do, I see he’s reached me first. Somehow he’s breached the distance between us and stands a mere car’s length away.

  What the hell?

  He starts to move toward me with a lethal grace. Judging by his size and the way his body moves, my defense skills will only prolong the inevitable. I find his eyes are a distraction.

  They’re the bluest I’ve ever seen.

  A savage look on his handsome face tells me it’s about to get ugly.

  Did he growl at me?

  I’m reminded of a panther moving in for the kill from some nature show. Under any other circumstance, I would admire someone his size maneuvering this gracefully. His movements are fluid and perfect like a well-choreographed dance.

  Does Death dance? I’m about to find out.

  Like a deer in the headlights, I freeze. What a surprise that all my self-defense training flies out the window. My limbs refuse to move and my throat feels like I’ve been days without water. Frozen by fear, my traitorous body refuses to obey my mental commands. I can’t even scream.

  Like a predator, he senses my fear and reacts to it. Just when I think I’m dead, a group of young men burst from the stairwell laughing and talking loudly. “Blue Eyes,” as I’m naming him, stops his advance and slowly, reluctantly pulls his gaze from me to glare in the direction of the young men.

  Once he looks away, something in me clicks and I immediately move into action. My body feels awkward at first, as though I’m moving through water. Finding my missing voice, I yell at the group of men, even as I begin running toward them. “Hey, you guys want to help a girl out?” My voice sounds raspy and hoarse.

  My unintentional rescuers look startled but alert. The foursome looks over my shoulder to see who I’m running from. Their faces register concern but not the reaction I’m expecting. Confused, I glance over my shoulder to find Blue Eyes is gone and so is Rebecca. I spin around in a circle but it’s as if they’ve vanished into thin air.

  So why don’t I feel safe?

  Chapter 2

  My heart is still racing and I slow my pace. I give the new guys a nervous smile in my feeble attempt to hide my fear—less to explain.

  “Is everything okay?” asks one of the guys.

  “I can’t seem to find where I parked my car, and it’s creepy down here. Would you mind staying with me until I find it?” I ask, trying to look as lost as possible.

  I’m not above playing the helpless-female card if it means I make it out of this garage alive. Priorities first, dignity will have to take a backseat.

  They all seem to visibly relax with my response.

  “No problem. I’m Chad, and this is Lee, Brad, and Greg.” He points to each one in turn. Chad has a warm, friendly smile and I like him instantly. Each one shakes my hand. Chad and Greg chat with me while we search for my car. In no time, I learn that they all attend college and play together in a band called Blue Luna. The band performs at several bars near the university. Can’t say I’ve seen them play, but I’ve heard of them.

  “You should come hear us play. We’re not half bad.”

  Chad’s not lacking in confidence. Each time I catch him watching me, he gives me a charming grin that makes no apologies for staring. I’m getting the impression he’s flirting with me.

  “I will for sure. I live near the university,” I say.

  “Can I have your number? I’d like to give you a call sometime,” Chad says before we reach my car. You’ve got to love college guys. They never waste time or opportunities.

  Chad is undeniably attractive and quite charming, but I think he’s a bit young for me. At twenty-six, I’m not interested in dating an undergrad. Even if he has a great smile, dimples, and dreamy brown eyes…hmmm.

  Not. Happening. Sam.

  Before I get into trouble, I let him down gently. “I’m seeing someone,” I lie.

  Lying is not something I do easily but it has its place and time. It’s part of the Girls’ Handbook of Gentle Rejection. He doesn’t need to know I might be too old for him, but unavailable will do nicely. I can’t help but be flattered by the attention.

  “My loss. Let me know if things change.” He smiles and hands me a business card with the band’s information on it.

  I take the card and read it. The band logo is a blue moon with the profile of a wolf in the middle. It’s a cool design. I’m guessing Chad hands these out like candy.

  Excited conversation erupts when we finally find my car. It’s a red ’67 Mustang. And it is beautiful. It originally belonged to my dad. He lovingly restored it while I was in high school. My mom would tease him and say that he loved this car more than her. Everyone knew that wasn’t true but she liked to give him a hard time. So now it’s mine.r />
  My parents have been gone for almost six years now. Driving Dad’s car gives me the feeling that he’s still close. Sometimes I think I get a whiff of his aftershave but I know it can’t be.

  “You guys are my knights in shining armor,” I say, blowing a kiss as I drive away. They may have saved my life tonight.

  Hope that kiss wasn’t too much.

  ***

  I arrive at my building a little before 10 p.m. and park on the street. After the night I’ve had, parking in the garage is out of the question. I walk swiftly toward my building. The sparse streetlights give me a false sense of security but I’ll take it.

  Waving a quick hello to Harold, our gray-haired building manager, I quickly make my way to the elevator. Normally I take the stairs, but not tonight.

  Once I’m safely in my fourth floor condo, I turn the bolt to lock the door as I let out a long, slow breath that feels like I’ve been holding it ever since I snapped that stupid picture. Mental and physical stress leaves me feeling spent, but my small home feels warm, inviting, and safe.

  Kicking off my shoes as I walk through the wide entry hall, I head right to my patio doors. I open the doors wide and feel a cool breeze blowing, which prompts me to turn on the gas fireplace.

  It’s so good to be home.

  I’m still worried about the redhead, Rebecca, so I pick up my phone and call the number I have for her.

  If she turns up in a dumpster somewhere, I’ll never forgive myself.

  A sleepy female voice answers on the fourth ring.

  “Hello?”

  I turn on a cheery sales voice. “I’m trying to reach Rebecca Tanner. Is she available?”

  “This is Rebecca. Who is this?” she says irritably.

  It’s all I can do not to laugh out loud with relief that she’s alive.

  “This is Samantha from World of Encyclopedia, and…” Click! The line is silent.