Authors: Jean Lorrah
“Okay.” The sun was long since down, and their rapport was at its height. Dan spoke the truth—or at least the truth as he knew it. “I'm sure the FBI and CIA already know about Caribbean Enterprises,” Brandy said, “but as soon as I can figure out a way to get that information legally, I'll report it.” She sighed, realizing, “This could be a boost to my career, but it's no help with Callahan."
Dan nodded, and cut the connection with the Miami bank. “There's no way to track where the money he sent to Florida went. He probably has a new identity set up, with passport and credit cards waiting for him to fake his death here."
“Where do you think he'll go?” asked Brandy.
“It could be anywhere. If he gets away, all I can do is wait for some kind of offer I can't refuse in Timbuktu or Fiji!"
“That's assuming—” Brandy stopped as fear lanced through her.
“What?” Feeling her horror, Dan turned his desk chair and took her hands. “Brandy, what is it?"
“I can't see him taking the risk of having you trail after him again,” said Brandy. “Oh, God, Dan—Callahan will want to do what you've just done with computers. He has you in Murphy for the same reason he brought Everett Land here: he intends to—harvest—you."
“Well, he's not going to!” Dan said decisively. Brandy could not hear, see, or feel the least fear in him. “Before he makes his move, we've got to know what we're fighting—and that means getting the entire Numen manuscript."
“What happens when he discovers it's missing?"
“It won't be. We'll photocopy it—on his own copier! We're going to that ball. You get the plans showing where the vault is in his house—and what kind of security system it has. What better time than a party to break into the safe? Isn't that how cat burglars do it?"
“Only in the movies,” said Brandy. “Are you sure you weren't a criminal before you were a vampire?"
He laughed, that deep, sexy chuckle she now knew was purely himself. “No, but I was a risk-taker. Maybe that's why you appeal to me so much, Brandy: you're like the part of me I've suppressed for years.” He snapped off the computer and took Brandy in his arms for a soul-searing kiss. Then he carried her to their bedroom, where they made love for the first time since Dan had learned he was not acting fully under his own motivations.
Tonight he was in control, though—and happy, as if set free of a great burden. Brandy rejoiced as she shared his excitement, his anticipation, his love of a challenge. She thrilled to his pleasure as well as her own, in a unity she had never believed possible.
* * * *
The fundraiser for Judge Callahan was formal, so Brandy had to buy an appropriate dress. It wasn't easy to find the right one, appropriate but unmemorable, and allowing complete freedom of movement. How much easier if she could just rent a tux!
Dan studied the plans of Callahan's security system. This was West Kentucky, not New York or California; there were no walls around the Callahan homestead, no guards or electric gates. There were hunting dogs in a big run, who gave tongue any time someone came near, and a security trained German Shepherd who was the envy of the police department. Fritz was gentle as a kitten unless given the attack command. Having seen Dan's power over Sylvester, Brandy understood why Callahan's dog was perfectly behaved.
The judge's house had been built last century, a beautiful red brick two-story with columns and an entrance hall featuring one of those glorious curved staircases seen on Hollywood sets. As the Callahans grew wealthier, the house had been expanded by the addition of a ballroom.
The house had the traditional safe behind the painting in the library, and a security system that wouldn't do a bit of good when the place was full of invited guests. It was disabled, lest the silent alarm bring the police if someone looking for an unoccupied bathroom or a moment's privacy went beyond the rooms that were opened for the evening.
Rather than give up his reputation for hospitality or insult his guests with security guards, the judge had years ago installed a safe room. Dan had been in the cellar, in Callahan's office. “It never occurred to me to look for a hidden room,” he said as he studied the plans.
“Why should it?” Brandy asked. “The safe room was built from an old hiding place for runaway slaves. The house was a stop on the Underground Railroad.” It was one of the things she had been taught in the Murphy School System, something the community took pride in.
“How altruistic,” Dan said sourly. “I wonder how many people Callahan sheltered found their ‘freedom’ as his temporary vampires?"
Brandy shuddered. “What's in the office now?” she asked. “Which wall is the fake?"
“Let's see, you come down the stairs here. To the right is the old root cellar, used as a pantry. To the left is Callahan's office, desk in the middle, high ground-level windows behind it. Facing the desk, there are filing cabinets on the left. The desk has computer, telephone, and in and out trays. A small worktable in front of it holds a laser printer, a scanner, and the copier."
“No fax machine?"
“Fax/modem in the computer. The right wall is all shelves, some books, supplies, lots of file boxes. The vault has to be behind that wall."
Brandy studied the diagrams. “The lock is electronic. We might get into the office, but not into the safe room. We need one of those gadgets that runs through one combination after another until it hits the right one."
“I can build one,” said Dan.
“What?!"
“I'm still an engineer. But I have to see a lock like the one Callahan has installed. I assume it's programmable by the owner?"
“Yes. He can change the combination any time."
“Can you get me one of those locks, Brandy?"
“Uh, I don't know,” she said. The installer in St. Louis would require a police requisition to release the specs on Callahan's lock. Drive to St. Louis and pretend to be a wealthy couple building a safe room? There wasn't time. Ask the installer to come down and install one on her house? She didn't have a room secure enough to warrant such a device.
But she remembered who did. “I could lose my job and we could both go to jail,” she warned. “The only other such lock I know of in Murphy is on the hospital pharmacy."
“Mission Impossible,” said Dan. “I need the brand and model number, so I'll have some idea of what I'm looking for."
“What will the brand and model number tell you?"
“You'd be amazed at how much information on how many different things is available either in the library or on the Internet."
“Okay. Then what?"
“After I build the device, I have to test and calibrate it."
“By breaking into the hospital pharmacy?!"
“It's amazing what official-looking I.D. you can make with a laser printer and a laminator. I'll be from the manufacturer, there to perform routine maintenance."
“Dan—” she protested.
“The sun sets early in January. After sunset, I can influence anyone I encounter to accept me without suspicion—and not remember what I look like."
“Are you going in disguise?"
“Maybe just a little. Wouldn't want a fake mustache falling off in the middle of the caper. But some gray in my hair wouldn't be a bad idea, to give me more authority."
“You're enjoying this, aren't you?” asked Brandy.
“Aren't you?” was all he replied.
Brandy had to admit she was. The hardest part was waiting while Dan went off to the hospital a few evenings later. He dressed in a white shirt and tie, neat slacks, and a warm waist-length jacket. He carried the device he had built in his own well-worn briefcase, and looked like a typical computer repairman. Waiting and jittering, Brandy knew how Dan felt when she went into danger. He wouldn't even let her drive him to the hospital. “Suppose someone sees you, or sees me with you. Come on, Detective, you know it's safer if I work alone."
He was home within forty-five minutes, high on success. “Nobody was suspicious,” he said. “I only talked to the pharmacist and her assistant, and I left them with the suggestion that they not mention my visit to anyone."
“But did your gadget work?"
“Perfectly. I reset the combination several times, and it opened all of them."
“You did remember to set it back to the original?"
“Of course.” He gave her the smile that was no longer rare. “We've got it, Brandy. All we have to do is sneak out of the ballroom when the judge is occupied, go down to the cellar, and find and copy that manuscript!"
* * * *
Brandy took the afternoon of the ball off. When Church asked her why she was supporting Judge Callahan, she explained, “I have to support Dan. It's important that he not make political enemies until his tenure is confirmed."
“And of course you don't enjoy getting to wear a pretty dress and go to the ball,” her friend teased.
“Hey—if Callahan wins the primary he'll have to resign from the bench to run for governor. He won't be able to help his drug-pushing cronies, and we may finally be able to hold some of them and get them to implicate him!"
“Well, haven't you turned devious!” Church laughed.
“I wish you and Coreen were coming tonight,” Brandy said sincerely. She'd give anything to have Church running backup. But it was far, far too late for an explanation that would have to begin, “Church, you know the man I'm planning to marry? Well, it seems he's a vampire, and it was Judge Callahan who made him that way."
Oh, no. But soon, she hoped, her fiancé would trust her partner with his secret—especially as they would need all the help they could get to prevent Callahan from harvesting Dan before escaping to his new life.
That was the one thing that terrified Brandy about tonight's work: if they were caught, wouldn't Callahan kill Dan then and there?
The only thing to do was not get caught.
Before her hair appointment, Brandy went with Church to lunch at Judy's, where they encountered Dr. Troy Sanford. The man had kept the neat appearance she had seen at his hearing, and had begun volunteer work with an anti-drug youth group. It was obviously good for him: Doc looked younger and healthier than he had since his grandson had first gotten into trouble.
He was full of plans. “I've got to stay sober for a year,” he said, “to prove myself—but then I'm gonna run for coroner again. You'll support me, won't you?"
“Sure thing, Doc,” said Church. “You're one of the best medical examiners I've ever worked with."
Brandy doubted Sanford could get re-elected. However, it would be cruel to discourage him when he was in the process of recovery. He sat straight as he had in the courtroom, and his eyes were clear and bright.
And, wonder of wonders, he said not a word about Judge L. J. Callahan.
I wonder if he was a secret drinker for years before we knew about it, Brandy thought as she noticed Sanford's eyes. It wasn't merely that they were no longer bloodshot. The grayish edges around the irises were gone, as were the bags beneath, features of Doc's face for all the years Brandy had known him. It was like looking at a different person. Still, she couldn't help wondering how he would react if he knew the secret she and Dan shared.
Brandy had to keep herself from snapping at the hairdresser, who wanted to do her hair in complex curls that would flop in her eyes with any exertion. “No,” Brandy insisted, “I want a nice, smooth French twist, an elegant look.” What she really wanted was a hairstyle that wouldn't get in her way, no matter what she had to do.
She nearly had a fight with Dan, as she did not want him to go into a sensitive situation without feeding first. “No, for three reasons,” he told her. “First, I can't feed until after sunset, you are wearing a low-cut gown, and it takes a couple of hours for the marks to disappear completely. What message would Callahan think we were sending if you arrived with my marks on your throat?"
Not giving her time to protest, he continued, “Second, my influence is at its strongest before I feed. While I'm at my weakest at the full moon, I'm not really weak; I'm just like anyone else. I'm far more likely to need to prevent someone from noticing what we're doing than to have to fight someone, or break down a door."
“What's the third reason?"
“You're supposed to be under my control. Any other full moon night he'd expect me to plan a spectacular end to a romantic evening, not spoil it by feeding before the party.” His best rakish smile. “He'd be right."
Brandy had chosen her silver-gray satin cocktail dress because it draped comfortably, didn't bind, and wouldn't wrinkle. Dan zipped it up for her, stood back, and said, “You look gorgeous."
So did he. Because he didn't have the bulky musculature currently in style, he looked elegant in a tux, like James Bond, Cary Grant, or Fred Astaire. That could be a problem, she realized—he would attract every female eye at the ball!
The Callahan home was decorated beautifully and staffed tonight with caterers who made everything run smoothly. Dan tendered their invitation; they gave up their coats, and then moved under the magnificent staircase, past the doors to kitchen and pantries, out to the anteroom and the reception line that led into the ballroom.
Brandy gasped in amazement. Standing next to Judge Callahan was Donna Tremaine, his campaign treasurer, and next to her, her husband Al. Then came the campaign manager, Vince Hamrick, and his wife. But there was one more person in the receiving line, the last person Brandy would ever have expected to see there: Dr. Troy Sanford!
They were still back far enough for Brandy to whisper to Dan, “Do you see—?"
“I see him,” Dan replied. “What's he doing here—and in Callahan's good graces?"
“What's Callahan doing in his good graces?"
Then they were too close to discuss it. Judge Callahan was in good ol’ boy mode, engulfing Brandy's hand in both of his. “How beautiful you look tonight, Brandy. And Dan,” releasing his right hand to shake Dan's, “I don't see enough of you, Son. Glad you could come. Do you know Donna and Al Tremaine?” The judge introduced them down the line, ending with, “And of course you know Doc Sanford. I'll bet you're surprised to see him here, aren't you?"
“We certainly are,” Brandy said firmly. “Doc, what's happened to change your mind?"