My Familiar Stranger (28 page)

She learned that he would be arriving the next day to initiate his part of the cooperative effort. Monq’s research team had identified the epicenter of missing persons and established that the abductions were originating at or near a club at 39th and Broadway called Notte Fuoco.

Notte Fuoco was a megaplex playground for young singles with a sprinkling of divorced, middle aged men eager to spend child support money on younger women in exchange for a night of pretending they were still young and attractive. The club was a hot spot utilizing three floors referred to as street level, club level, and Underground. The street level section was a bistro with reasonably priced, nouvelle cuisine.

The club level featured the Millennium Room serving up the latest in chic cocktails and deejay dance music with a four-four beat, heavy on the snare.

The Underground offered live music, covers, and original bands. With the generous application of special sound proofing insulation in the floors and between the walls, extravagant acoustic design in the building renovation, and two heavy glass door foyers separating the glass elevator from the venues, each of the two below-street levels could contain its own musical experience without bleeding into the other.

Making fine use of Baka’s history with stringed instruments, The Order used some special contacts to arrange for him to work as the house bass player for the Underground. The former bassist was overjoyed with an all expense paid vacation until further notice.

It was an ideal situation for Baka. His constant presence wasn’t just explained, but expected. And, though it’s often an expression of mystique for bass players to appear bored, they don’t miss much from the vantage point of the stage. His only uniform consisted of gray lens glasses, light enough to see, but dark enough so that no one could follow his eyes and guess what caught his interest.

The contract stipulated that Baka would remain free while performing the duties outlined for a period of three months or until such time as The Order declared the assignment complete and recalled him, conditional upon strict adherence to a synthetic blood diet and checking in with his contact once a day. Said parole officer was to be Sovereign Sol.

After the additional dressing down by Sol, Elora was informed that probationary freedom was granted as agreed. Storm proved that he was over his mad by suggesting a trip into the city for a celebration dinner. Sol hijacked the plan saying he might as well make it a working evening; to take the rest of B Team and scout Fuoco Notte while he was at it. Storm was deflated since he had been thinking in terms of an evening alone with Elora, but a protest would have meant a public proclamation of intent to date. Which was premature. So he agreed.

Since Elora had not experienced night life in this world, or any other for that matter, she was at a loss as to what to wear so she sought help from Elsbeth who was the personification of party central.

They borrowed a short, red skirt from a friend of Elsbeth’s in the Operations Office which was even shorter on Elora because of her height. No one had high heels even close to her size, but Elsbeth insisted she could noir up the black boots with patterned stockings. Elora was doubtful about the look, but decided she had no choice but to trust the only one of the two of them who had experience with club clothes. She wore her black silk sweater that zipped up the front, but zipped it just to the top of her black lace bra.

Elsbeth had her bend over so that she could spray her hair upside down, then give it a blast of heat to keep it looking big and edgy for the duration of the night. As for makeup, she reluctantly agreed to some kohl around the eyes and blood red lipstick. The eye liner made her turquoise eyes pop like neon lights and Elora wasn’t keen on attracting too much attention. Elsbeth insisted that all attention is good attention, finished and hurried away because she had plans of her own.

Elora took a look at the results. "Hey. Who’s the slut in the mirror?"

It was too late to make changes because that was Ram knocking on the door right at eight o’clock as promised. She was tempted to tell him to go away, but knew he wasn’t good at doing what he was told. So she opened up and steeled herself for the laughter.

He stared for a minute, the blank look out of place on his very expressive face. “Excuse me. I’m lookin’ for Elora Laiken?”

Elora’s shoulders slumped and she rolled her eyes. “Okay so I’m out of my element. Elsbeth did a club night make-over. It’s all wrong, isn’t it?”

Ram’s mouth curled up at the edges as his gaze lowered to where curls fell gracefully between her breasts. She caught her breath when he reached in to gingerly lift a spiraling lock and rub the silky texture between his fingers. His eyes moved slowly up to her mouth. As her lips parted under his stare, his tongue peaked out to wet his bottom lip as his gaze continued upward until he locked her eyes on his. What she saw in those eyes was unmistakable hunger and she knew in that moment that no woman had a prayer of refusing Rammel Hawking if he ever got serious about down and dirty pursuit. He pressed closer and showed her what sex looks like in a smile.

“Let’s stay in tonight and let me show you just how very no’ wrong you look.”

Elora’s breath hitched as some possible scenarios played out on the screen of her mind. This was far from Ram’s usual light hearted banter and it caught her by surprise since she’d grown comfortable with their unspoken understanding of flirt, but not seriously. Or maybe they didn’t really have an understanding? All she knew was that he was close enough for her to feel the heat coming from his body and his gravelly rasp made her stomach quiver.

Wanting to dial things back to a manageable level, she stepped back and said, “So. Really. This is okay?”

He slumped, leaning his shoulder into the door frame with an indulgent, but slightly disappointed smile. “Perfect. Let’s go.”

They met Storm and Kay at the whister pad on the roof. Both did their share of staring. Storm made no comment, but Kay said, “Like the come-and-bite-me outfit.”

The Order maintained four rooftop pads on the island of Manhattan. Each had a private elevator going straight to the top that could be accessed by key or palm recognition. Tonight they were going to the location at 50th and 6th and would walk the rest of the way.

The flight in was a marvelous experience for Elora because she had never seen New York, in any reality, but the skyline at night by whister was a sight she wouldn’t forget.

It was practically balmy for a late Fall night in New York. The walk took fifteen minutes because Elora tried to take everything in. Amidst the lights, traffic, crowds, shops, markets, and cafes, she managed not to miss the fact that many passersby did double takes when they saw her companions. She supposed that it was unusual to see three such breathtaking men out walking the streets like mortals. If B Team noticed the attention, they were skilled at ignoring it.

They stopped in at the club level long enough to look around. There were three men looking for vampire and one woman looking with wide eyes at various expressions of undress performing group bump and grind. She couldn’t have been much more scandalized if it had been a full on orgy and she was sure her face was glowing as red as an exit sign. The music was too loud for talking. So, when they were ready to move on, Storm pressed his hand into her lower back and motioned toward the elevator.

The Underground was much more subdued. The band playing was performing original music that was somewhat quieter, with a style that concentrated on lyrics and heavy blues influence. Elora’s gaze went straight to Baka. She judged that, of the two hundred people or so in that room, only four could conceive of a six-hundred-year-old vampire standing there looking for all the world like an exceptionally handsome thirty. There was no way to tell for sure with the gray lens glasses, but she thought he was looking her way, offering the barest hint of a smile in recognition.

Kay located a corner table. Elora listened to the music. B Team looked for intel. After a couple of hours, they were satisfied they had seen what there was to see and decided to move upstairs to street level for dinner. At the bistro, they settled into a red, leather booth and ordered enough food to make the waiter raise his eyebrows and chortle even though chortling is always risky behavior when tips are in the offing. The joke was on him when he came back to find empty plates looking like a plague of locusts had swarmed the booth on their way to a Biblical nightmare. Black Swan knights burn a lot of calories that have to be replenished often.

All that eating didn’t stop them from taking a look around. Elora took note of the fact that they turned supper as stake out, no pun intended, into an art form of dining and conversing while surreptitiously sweeping the surroundings, mentally cataloging every detail.

Storm paid the bill with a platinum American Express. Just when he finished signing, Kay said, “Two and a vic. Eleven o’clock.”

Ram leaned over, grasped Elora’s forearm to be sure he had her attention and locked her eyes with enough intensity to convey that he meant business. “Stay here. Do. No’. Move from this table until I come back.”

Trying to be as covert as the behavior she had witnessed all evening, she glanced toward the door. Two ice-eyed vampire and a young woman who looked strung out were leaving through the front door. Ram, Kay, and Storm followed. A few seconds later a third figure with impossibly pale irises was walking toward the door to exit the same way, clearly following them.

Suddenly, staying put in a snug didn’t feel like the right choice. The choice was: leave or lose the vamp. She left. When she emerged onto the street, she saw that he was already half a block away. She took off after him, grateful that she was wearing the riding heel boots instead of absurd platform stilettos like those she had seen in the club.

Other diners who had emerged from the bistro were strolling away on the sidewalk, reviewing service and cuisine. One of them was using a toothpick. On impulse she reached out and grabbed it on her way by with a, “Sorry. And thank you.”

She caught up with the vampire just as he turned into an alleyway. Hearing footsteps behind him, he turned thinking that perhaps he wouldn’t need to insist that the pair he was following share their meal. When he turned to see what supper looked like, he found Elora advancing in a red skirt and told himself it was his lucky day. He smiled a predatory smile.

Elora wasn’t sure how hunters normally confirm that a target is vampire, but straight forward generally worked for her. So, when she was just out of arm’s reach, she simply said, “Show me your fangs.”

Naturally, he was initially stunned by the request, but decided there was no reason to be shy. He opened his mouth wide and proudly demonstrated the descent of two very long, sharp, white canines. That was just before he was dispatched to hell or wherever his final destination might be.

Using a combination of the precision punch she had mastered over a lifetime of martial arts training, the extra strength she had gained at the price of being cruelly sucked into this dimension, and a toothpick snatched from a random mouth, she drove all two inches of the tiny stake into his heart killing him instantly. The force was sufficient to prevent either splintering or breaking the soft wood. The vampire’s eyes and mouth went wide with shock before he succumbed and crumpled to the cracked tar pavement of the alley.

Behind her she heard peals of gorgeous laughter, unmistakable in its unique, musical resonance. That could mean only one thing. Istvan Baka was occupying the same alleyway as herself and the departed.

“You took him out with a toothpick? Oh, God in heaven, as long as I have lived, I’ve never seen
anything
so priceless!” He was laughing so hard she thought he might cry. “Show me your fangs!” He repeated what she had said to the unlucky vampire with added incredulity and laughed all the harder.

“What are you doing out here, Baka?” Somehow, encountering him “in the wild” made him seem more appealing instead of more frightening which was disturbing.

“Following you of course,” he said with matter of fact ease looking down as he circled the corpse. “Although it seems there was no cause for concern, Lady Laiken.”

“You’re saying you followed me because you were worried? About me?”

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” His pale eyes sparkled in the dim light of the alley, still damp from a fresh shower that magically turned the entire city into a slick surface of reflecting light. Every couple of seconds his gaze wandered back and forth between the open ends of the alley before coming back to fix on her with a concentration that made her want to squirm and press thighs together. He knew he was having that effect and was enjoying it. Thoroughly.

“I like the costume. Especially the very red, very short skirt.” His gaze scanned her slowly and appreciatively, top to bottom and back again before coming to rest on her mouth. “And the lip stain. Enticing. Would you call that blood red?”

“Okay. Look. I’m kind of an amateur at this. I don’t know what they usually do about, er,” she glanced down at the dead vampire, “clean up. Do you?”

“Yes. They have people who take care of it. They conceal the evidence as best they can and call for pick up.” He grabbed the body by the arms, easily pulled it next to a pile of garbage bags stacked next to a trio of dumpsters, and sat it upright against the brick wall so that it looked like it could have been a drunk passed out.