Red Night (Vampire Files Trilogy Book 1) Page 2

  Works. Every. Time.

  So, I did overreact. Strange, I thought Rebecca’s evening was heading in an entirely different direction considering all that action happening in the garage earlier.

  My cat Wilbur circles my legs, rubbing himself against me until I scratch him behind the ears and feed him. This is our little routine.

  After pouring myself a glass of red wine, I sit at the kitchen table, tuck my legs under me, and open my laptop. I begin typing out all the pertinent details I can remember from my botched surveillance tonight, but I can’t stop thinking about the way Blue Eyes looked at me in the garage. The memory of his gaze causes my stomach to flip. What would have happened if he reached me, I wonder.

  Observations:

  Blue Eyes (most distinguishable characteristic)

  Short dark hair…nice hair

  Broad chiseled face w/ five o’clock shadow

  Would be incredibly handsome, if not for the homicidal tendencies and bad attitude.

  Nice dresser

  About 6’4” or 5”, 220 pounds?

  Could be late twenties to late thirties?

  Athletic build

  He must be an athlete by the way he hauled ass over to greet me.

  Questions:

  1. Who is Blue Eyes?

  2. How does Rebecca know him, and how are they involved?

  I think I know the answer to that one.

  3. Has Rebecca broken things off with my client’s husband?

  If that’s the case, then I’m not making much on this job.

  Leaning back in my chair, the events of the evening run through my head. Somehow, I’d screwed up. I’ve been in this line of work for five years. I’m pretty good at what I do, but tonight was an epic failure by the lowest of standards.

  My client, who I won’t name because of confidentiality reasons, hired me to gather proof that her bottom-feeder-CEO husband is seeing another woman. A woman scorned…equals work for me.

  It’s obvious that he’s been meeting Ms. Tanner regularly, and I’m ninety-nine percent certain they’re having intimate relations. I’ve learned never to leave anything to chance but that lesson came at a high price.

  In short summary, I was badly burned early in my career by jumping to the wrong conclusion when I followed a subject to a luxury hotel where he met with a pretty, young brunette. They proceeded to go into a hotel room for roughly an hour. My client suspected her husband was having an affair. In my youth and haste, it appeared to be a slam-dunk—easy money.

  Handing over photos of the subject entering the room with what turned out to be their twenty-four-year-old daughter wasn’t even the worst of it. The father and daughter were meeting to plan a surprise party for my client’s fiftieth birthday, to be held at that particular venue. Easy to guess how that played out. That mistake almost ended my career before it began. But, lesson learned, I no longer leave stones unturned.

  My stomach growls loud enough to make Wilbur lift his lazy head and look at me. Grabbing the leftover orange chicken from the fridge, I sit down on the couch and call my friend Dayna. I dial her number and she picks up on the first ring.

  “What time tomorrow?” I ask around a mouthful of chicken.

  “Hello to you too. I’m good for the eight o’clock class. Want to get coffee before or after?”

  “Gym first, feed our caffeine addiction after. How was your event?” I ask.

  I’m holding the phone with my shoulder, still rudely talking while eating at the same time. This is something you can only do with a good friend.

  “Mostly boring, although I did meet Josh Hutcherson! He’s staying at our hotel. He’s not that tall in person, but I got a hug and a kiss. Just another exhausting day rubbing elbows with celebrities. How was your thing?” she asks.

  Dayna’s a sales manager for a resort in Scottsdale, and much of her business revolves around big corporate events, marketing trips around the western half of the states, and entertaining clients to win over their business.

  She’s also one of the few people who know what I do for a living. To keep my clients’ confidentiality, and for my own personal safety, I tell friends that I do telemarketing for fitness equipment. It sounds so ridiculously boring that nobody ever bothers to ask me about work. It’s the perfect cover.

  My life is full of people’s bad choices. Most of the time those choices lead to negative consequences. When the shit hits the fan and I’m standing there holding the proof, I can become an easy target for their rage. It’s easier to blame someone else when your life starts to unravel.

  Since I don’t want to be an easy target, I use an alias. I hide behind the name Samantha Chase, which is simply a limited liability company and a P.O. box that’s difficult to trace. Samantha Lewis, my real name, sells fitness equipment and is not connected to any of my cases.

  Dayna knows the truth and keeps my secret. She knew I was doing surveillance tonight.

  “I guess you could say it was interesting,” I say.

  “Interesting can be good.”

  “Honestly, I messed up. This job may have blown up on me. I’ll find out more tomorrow,” I say, defeated.

  I set the empty container on the coffee table and pull a blanket around me.

  Dayna is silent for a moment, then suddenly explodes. “Are you freakin’ serious? They saw you? What did they do? What did you do? Did they confront you? This hasn’t ever happened before! Are you okay? Talk to me!” she says excitedly.

  I laugh out loud at her concern and enthusiasm.

  “Slow down! Yes, I’m serious. The guy tried to confront me but I got away before he could make a scene. I’m hoping my cover wasn’t blown. It’s going to be difficult to follow my target if she spotted me. I’m fine. Just shook me up a bit. I overreacted…somewhat.”

  Again, silence.

  “You overreacted? The Sam I know is a cool bean. She never overreacts. Are you sure you’re okay? Want me to come over?” she asks, all traces of humor gone.

  “I’m fine. Thanks for offering but I’m good. I’m going to call it a night. See you at the gym.”

  She says good-bye and I end the call. I turn on the TV and sip my wine. My favorite red table wine has a naughty name and I feel scandalous drinking it, even though I am far from the scandalous type. By the end of my glass, I feel some of the tension start to leave my body.

  A reporter is halfway through a story about a body that was found in a Scottsdale neighborhood that I know to be about a mile from the mall I was at earlier. I’m relieved it wasn’t Rebecca.

  Phoenix is the fifth-largest city in the US, which means that murder in the news isn’t that rare or shocking, sad as that may be. Because of our close proximity to Mexico and the drug cartels, we are also the “Kidnapping Capital of America.” At least we have the Grand Canyon, great weather, and all the outdoor sports and activities you could want.

  Snowbirds love us.

  I click off the TV and walk to the balcony to close the doors. It’s November, and finally the weather is cooling off a bit. It’s actually cold at night. In Arizona, we look forward to the two or three months a year when we can wear something other than tank tops and flip-flops. That look becomes old after eight or nine months.

  Wilbur is curled up on a deck chair, so I bring him inside before closing and locking the doors. On the way to my room, I turn off the fireplace, leaving a trail of clothing in my wake as I make my way into the shower.

  Warm water washes away the last of the tension from my stressful evening. Minutes pass as I stand under the warm flow of the shower. When there’s no warm water remaining, I get out and finish getting ready for bed.

  My last thoughts are of flaming blue eyes as my head hits the pillow, and my eyes flutter shut.

  Chapter 3

  It’s nighttime and I’m alone in a forest. The only light comes from the full moon hanging low in the sky. Mist covers the ground and flows through the forest floor as though it’s alive.

  I’m alone and absolute
ly terrified.

  No, not alone.

  Something is in the woods. It’s coming for me. I can feel it getting closer. Fear rises up through my chest, threatening to suffocate me.

  I start to run with everything I have. Branches, like gnarly claws, snag and tear at my clothes and hair. I can’t catch my breath, and my heart feels like it will implode in my chest.

  It’s getting close—the thing I can’t see. In my panic, my foot catches on something and I begin to fall.

  Suddenly, the mist clears and the forest is gone. I’m surrounded by cold hard concrete, but I’m no longer afraid. I’m in the parking garage again. I can see myself from the dark corner of the garage. I see the shocked look on my face as I lower the camera, but it’s not my fear that I feel. I’m seeing myself through his eyes.

  His emotions are foreign to me. It’s as though I’ve hitched a ride in someone else’s body. His body!

  We feel irritation at being disturbed, fury with the reality of being spied on, and then something else…hunger. No hunger that I’ve ever known. It feels strong and powerful. For him it’s as basic as breathing. An itch that must be scratched.

  Next thing I see; I’m looking down at myself. I’m on my hands and knees. My hair hangs over my face and I struggle to move it out of my way. I see the look of frozen terror on my own face as I must have appeared to him.

  My terror does not surprise him. He’s seen it on countless faces over endless years. Slowly, the hunger begins to change, shifting…blending, growing. Now hunger feels more akin to desire or lust. Maybe they’re one and the same.

  Hunger.

  Desire.

  It feels…primal, instinctual; elemental, yet powerful. I’m overwhelmed by these emotions. I feel him pause, taking me in. He’s surprised, caught off guard by this sudden shift.

  Before I can comprehend what is happening, I’m no longer in the garage, and my emotions and feelings are mine once again.

  So is my fear.

  It hits me like a violent wave crashing against the rocks. I’m in the dark forest once again, but now I stand at the edge of a cliff. Dark haunting woods behind me and an even darker chasm before me. My instincts hint that jumping to my death may be better than facing the thing in the woods.

  Before I can consider my options, something slams into me and my back is crushed against a nearby tree. All the wind is knocked from me, yet I couldn’t take a breath if I wanted to. The length of my body is pinned between the tree and something hard and unyielding. Sharp edges of bark scrape my backside.

  Slowly, I raise my head to see what has me trapped, and I’m looking straight into the eyes of the stranger from the garage. Eyes so blue they seem to glow in the darkness, but this time I know some of what is behind those eyes, and I…scream.

  I wake to the sound of my own strangled voice. My body is soaked with sweat while my throat is raw as though I’ve been screaming for hours. My hand is shaking when I reach for the water next to my bed and take a sip. My bedside clock says it’s midnight. All I can hear is my labored breathing from the most realistic nightmare I’ve ever had.

  Dragging myself into the shower, I once again let the warm water wash away the stronger emotions from the dream. I slip on a clean t-shirt and panties. Preparing to climb back into bed, I notice a cool breeze. As I walk into the living room to investigate, moonlight spills into the room from the balcony doors that stand open. The curtains and my hair blow softly in the cold breeze.

  Do I back into my bedroom for my phone to call 911 or run to the hallway and scream for help? I’m frozen by indecision for what seems like forever.

  Finally, I creep into the kitchen and pull my largest knife from the drawer. Looking around warily, I walk to the open doors before taking a cautious look outside. No one is on the balcony, so I check the front door and find it still securely locked.

  I re-lock the balcony doors and search the rest of my home, turning on all the lights as I go. I open all the closet doors, and even take a look under the bed. Nothing. I’m painfully alone.

  There is no way to reach my fourth-floor condo from outside unless you felt like rappelling down from the roof of this building. Sorry, but there are much easier homes to rob than mine. I dismiss the notion immediately.

  My body is humming with energy. The strange dream begins to swirl around my mind. I rarely remember my dreams, but this one felt so real that I can still feel the heat from his body when he was crushed against me. His feelings and emotions felt like a rush. The memory of his lust and hunger causes my cheeks to flush. A shudder passes through me. I’ve never felt anything like that.

  Hands down, the strangest dream I’ve ever experienced. I guess stress can mess with your mind.

  Maybe chamomile tea would have been a better choice to have before bed.

  Problem is, I know I closed and locked those doors…

  And there it is—an ever-so-soft scent that lingers in the air as I move through the rooms. A scent that shouldn’t be in my home. I know this smell. It was there, in the garage, when Blue Eyes descended on me. I caught it then, but didn’t remember or recognize it until now. It’s musky and masculine with a hint of expensive cologne. There’s something more underneath it all that I can’t quite put my finger on.

  I grudgingly admit to myself that I like this scent. Just not here, not now, and not him. There is only one way for that smell to be here. The room starts to spin as I realize: the doors, the smell, the dream.

  Was he in my home tonight? Why would he be in my home? How does he know where I live?

  I don’t have any hard evidence but I feel like he was here. It doesn’t make any sense. I’m far too tired to think straight anymore. He isn’t here now. I’m alone. Leaving all the lights on, I crawl back into bed, tuck the knife under my pillow, and pull the covers over my head. Saying a little prayer, I count all the blessings in my life before attempting to sleep again.

  It takes some time before a dreamless sleep finally claims me.

  Chapter 4

  In the morning, my sheets are wrapped around my body three different times. I couldn’t be more tangled or constricted. The state of my bedding suggests that my sleep was restless, even if I don’t recall any nightmares.

  After lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for a while, I finally untangle myself. If I lay here any longer, I’ll be late to meet Dayna. I feel hung over, and my head is pounding. The knife I leave next to my bed because that’s where I’m keeping it from now on.

  Maybe I’ll get a gun.

  I need to discover if and how this guy managed to enter my condo so that it never happens again.

  What if last night was a trial run? What if I was so tired that I imagined I closed the doors but didn’t?

  I’m not convinced, so I decide to have a look at the roof. It’s a long shot but it’s the only way someone could enter my condo, other than the front door.

  He could be Special Ops., FBI training.

  It’s possible but improbable. Why would he bother? I’m reading too many mystery novels. Whoever he is, he’d have to be extremely resourceful and highly dangerous if he can enter my home with ease. Rebecca is my only connection to discovering who he is and that connection may be thin if their meeting was a one-night stand.

  According to my source, Rebecca should be home by six this evening. I’ll watch her house to see who comes to call. If Mr. CEO stops by—as is his habit on Saturday evenings—I’ll hopefully acquire some photographic insurance.

  If Mr. Blue Eyes shows up, I’ll follow him home, go through his garbage, or pull up property records to finally give him a name. There is power in knowing a name, and I need his. Digging through peoples’ garbage is one of the less glamorous, but extremely effective, aspects of my job.

  A thought occurs to me. Maybe he’s married. That would go a long way to explain his anger issues.

  Oh, the tangled webs we weave…

  I rush out my door because I’m running late for the gym. When I turn from locking
my door, I collide with Gabe, my incredibly attractive neighbor. Crap! We hit so hard that I fly backwards, landing on my ass in a most un-ladylike fashion. Running into him is like bouncing off a brick wall. He’s been hiding something under those sports jackets. I had no idea he was so solid. I’ve been secretly crushing on him since he moved in six months ago.

  “I’m so sorry! I should have been watching where I was going. Are you okay?” I ask, taking his offered hand. It feels warm and strong as he effortlessly pulls me to my feet.

  “I’m not the one on the floor. I should be asking you that question.”

  Gabe has this way of looking at me so intensely, and with such a direct stare, that I always get nervous. It feels like I’m back in high school when he’s around me. He makes good eye contact and seems rather…old school. Gabe has that studious look about him but he’s undeniably attractive wearing his glasses and sport coat.

  Our condos are on the same floor, so we do run into each other occasionally. Not literally. This was a first. I’m always too nervous to say anything clever or witty.

  Snap out of it, Sam. He’s staring at you, staring at him.

  “Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say. “Okay, so have a great day, Gabe. Sorry about running into you like that. I’ll try not to do that again.” Babble, babble, babble.

  I sound pathetic to my own ears. He smiles and pushes his glasses higher on his nose as he watches me. I wonder; does he know what he does to me?

  Gabriel Devereaux is the picture-perfect vision of a college professor except for the fact that he’s smoking hot. He has a newspaper tucked under his arm and a briefcase in his other hand.

  Gabe is an archaeology professor at Arizona State University. He doesn’t look a day over thirty, but I suspect he’s closer to his late thirties because of his position at the university.

  How old is the youngest professor, anyway? Damn, he’s beautiful!

  I can’t imagine how college girls sit through his lectures. Steamy fantasies are running through my head already. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t pass his class.