Running in the Dark Read online

  Lalo beelined for Vega the second the doors closed behind Malcolm and his…what? Bodyguard? Associate? Freaking beautiful and deadly companion?

  The guards frisked me quickly and herded me back into the courtyard, where Lalo signed for the deliveries. He riffled quickly through the envelopes, then his upper lip curled when he saw the padded envelope from Goya Worldwide. He peered at Vega, then tossed the package to an attendant. When I had a moment, I needed to hit up Google and check out that company.

  My argyle shadow ushered me out the door and I stomped down the driveway to my sun-faded car. The limo was gone. I had to give it to Mal. He had top-shelf taste. I dropped the clipboard when I tried to shove it back into my bag, bent and picked it up. It still took two tries to stow it, and I fumbled the key as I unlocked the car. A spasm of chill energy from the end of the drive caught my attention. I glanced peripherally into the darkness but didn’t see anything vampire shaped. Vega probably had sentries prowling the grounds, and I’d grown far too sensitive to sucker energy. Being in the courtyard with so many of them, with them so agitated, left my skin feeling raw and tender, like I’d been windburned. Seeing that female touch Malcolm had been a sharp lash on top of that.

  I set both hands flat on the damp, cold roof of the car and took a couple deep breaths. Mal was working, doing what he was ordered to do, what his oath to Bronson required him to do. He couldn’t say no, maybe couldn’t even choose his company.

  The courtyard door swung open and two vampires stepped out, heads swiveling. My sweatered buddy and another male who’d been lurking in the back. They ignored me, but they were clearly on alert. The energy I’d felt at the bottom of the drive fluttered and vanished, replaced by the steady beat of the guards as they stalked down the driveway, one per side. Whoever he was, the interloper I’d sensed wasn’t welcome.

  And that was my cue to leave—you couldn’t pay me to get between suckers.

  The Tercel was sluggish and had spontaneously developed a new rattle while parked. I leaned toward the center of the car twice on straight stretches, trying to deduce the origin of the noise, fixating because the irritation was a nice distraction.

  I noticed the tail two miles later, the persistent shape of the headlights finally catching my attention. I couldn’t say whether it had been there when I left Vega’s drive or latched on later. Sloppy of me. It was a light-colored car, midsized, and just too far back to make out the unique characteristics of the grill.

  A couple of easy turns eliminated the car as a casual late-night driver. It stuck to the Tercel, a block back as we entered the city proper. A light ahead turned green. I floored the pedal, cranked the sluggish shifter and watched my pursuer gain ground in the lane beside me. When it was less than four car lengths back, I slammed on the brakes. Tires squealed, and the car split, dodging down an alleyway and out of sight before I could get a good look. I rolled through the light, eyes darting, checking the mirrors in a quick rotation.

  If Vega was in trouble, it was likely others knew, and floundering vampires are easy pickings for their rivals. It was probably a hijacker, trying to cap a runner. Cut off their flow of deliveries—information, payments, what have you—and you can topple a vampire. It’s why couriers are third-party, human and protected by human law. Once upon a time, vampires had their own runners, but they got picked off regularly, sometimes with the intention of stalling a rival, sometimes out of spite. It used to be that only the most desperate people would run packages. Now it was the skilled, the crazy and the ambitious.

  I finished the last deliveries on autopilot, stumbling over my limited Spanish and missing a turn I’d mentally mapped earlier. The pale car didn’t appear again. The Tercel tried to check out, barely turning over as I left my last stop, and I just made it back to the shop before it died.

  “You found Señor Vega,” Carla said as she reviewed the signature sheets I handed her. “How did the drop go?”

  “Fine.” I rubbed my eyes. “Hey, do you have a contract with this Goya Worldwide outfit? I’m running a lot of packages from them.”

  Carla shook her head. “Las sangijuelas are ordering things from them. UPS drops off parcels a few times a week. You know how they are. One vampire starts flashing something new. Pretty soon they are all pouncing on the trend.”

  “It must be exhausting to keep up with trends when you’re immortal.”

  “The tranny isn’t doing so good,” Mickey said, coming into the office from the garage. The tip of her nose was smudged black, and a heavy wrench dragged down one side of her too-large coveralls. “And the starter is toasted. I’ll order some parts. She’ll run for you tomorrow, but do not shut her off. Bring her to my shop when you are finished. I need tools I don’t have here.”

  “You guarantee she’ll drive? I’d hate to have to bum a lift from a sucker.”

  Mickey smiled and rocked back on her heels. She looked about fourteen. “If she doesn’t run, breakfast will be on me.”

  I smiled against the lump that hadn’t left my throat since Vega’s, and headed out into the night. I made a few quick loops, pausing twice in recessed doorways to check my six, but the streets were dead. No limping men on my trail, no pale shadows trolling the streets. In a way it was a letdown. Tilde’s route had me in before three, which meant I was wide awake with nothing to do. I cleaned up in my utility room and drove home.

  The house was quiet and still. No noise, no scent of secretly terrible cooking, no warm energy stretching through the air to wrap around me. I went upstairs, to the floor that Malcolm didn’t visit out of respect for the electronics and large windows, and fired up my laptop. I didn’t have any intention of quitting Carla’s shop, but information was as valuable as cash and could potentially save my life. Now that I’d actually visited the homes and hives, seen the condition of the roads, I could devise better routes.

  I searched Goya Worldwide and my eyes glazed over a couple screens into the Web site. The American pharmaceutical company was all about couples in color-coordinated clothing, and smiling models in lab coats, pretending to be scientists. They were privately held, based in Phoenix and had a lot of digits in their financials. They were also cheerfully zealous in that way that makes even people with good skin paranoid about dermatological problems. I didn’t see anything vampire related. It wouldn’t be the first time a drug was used for something other than its intended purpose. Probably Carla was right and it was a passing trend that some vampires celebrated, while others loathed it. Like how the majority of people passionately hate the combination of socks and sandals, and the minority just kept freaking wearing them.

  I pushed away from the computer, grabbed a box of cereal and ate by the handful while staring out through a gap in the gauzy curtains. I should have been out there, learning the streets, the dead ends, the speed bumps, the places where the cops hung out and the areas they didn’t bother with. Instead my thoughts circled Malcolm and that female. Did they sit together or on opposite sides of the limo? Was she only with him for that job, or did she stay at his side all night? He was cleaning up after Bronson’s negligence, and dealing with the fallout of public killings. The last thing he needed was a human girlfriend nagging him about his coworkers.

  And the last thing I needed was to alienate the vampire who’d saved my life and was a major power in the city in which I was working. I let my forehead fall against the glass. It wasn’t like I was dating Master Bronson, some fearsome creature. He was just Mal, and while he was in that position, it wasn’t due to his ambition to rule or build an empire. He was stuck. And if I wanted to stay alive, hidden from Richard Abel, I should stay stuck with him. That thought did nothing for my mood.

  Chapter Five

  I felt him approaching, causing the air to shiver as he moved through the tunnel between the houses. I tossed my iPod onto the table and trotted downstairs, stopping in the bedroom to make some sense of my hair. All I had to do was ask a single question about who she was, and I could move on.

  The door
at the end of the hall clicked closed. He appeared in the doorway and tossed his feathered mafia coat onto the chair in the corner.

  “Buenos tardes.”

  “What did they do to you?” he demanded. A flush rose fast and bright along his cheekbones. That was new. “Did they touch you?”

  I wanted to glance over my shoulder to see if there was someone behind me who’d had something done to her, but I couldn’t take my eyes off him. When he got upset, he went still and monotone. He didn’t flash chaotic energy, and he didn’t ask irrational questions. Maybe wearing really stupid clothes had been too much and he’d snapped.

  “Did who touch me?”

  He grabbed my shoulder and I flinched when his fingers bit in. With the other hand, he tilted my head back and to the side. My eyes widened when I realized what he was doing. I twisted my arm loose and stepped back.

  “What in the hell? Don’t even look at me like you think I’ve been bitten. We’ve fucking been through that!” I shoved at him when he reached for me again. I couldn’t fight him off unless he chose to stop, which sent anger coursing through me.

  “This is different.”

  “Because last time you were ordered, but now you choose to stand there and tell me I’m some fucking blood zombie? Not winning any points, Mal.” I really wanted to hit him. Instead I pressed my hands flat against my chest. “I am not some idiot object that your flunkies cracked and put back on the shelf while you were somewhere else. I was doing my job, which I am good at. Got it?” He paced to the chair and back, his heel shrieking against the floor when he turned.

  “I had to see—”

  “If you want to know something, fucking ask me.” I waved a hand beside my head. “Look into my eyes, not at my neck!” And here I’d thought I’d be starting this confrontation. His gaze fixed on the door and my jaw threatened to drop. Oh, hell no. I stepped in front of him and he actually jerked back before I touched him.

  “We are not through.” I stabbed a finger at him. “You thought you could come home, yell at me, then just walk away? Not happening.”

  “I don’t want you to hate me.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Well, the way you’re acting is making that pretty damn difficult. I was doing my job, just like we goddamn talked about. What’s changed?” I took another step forward and he moved backward just as quickly. He went poker-faced in an instant, emotions disengaging and leaving a smooth, gorgeous mask behind. My anger elevated close to outright fury. How could he be so calm, when he’d pushed me to my boiling point?

  “Sydney.” His jaw clenched and his energy pulsed as it escaped his control. The lamp flickered. His eyes flashed on me for an instant before he raked a hand through his hair. I reached for him and he slipped away from my hand, backing up against the dresser. Intentionally moving away from me. And damn it all if that didn’t hurt. He’d let her touch him, but I wasn’t allowed?

  “You came here for a reason, Malcolm. Talk to me.”

  “If something happens to you now, it’ll be my fault. Mine. And if something happens to you…” His hands closed on the edge of the dresser, and the wood creaked under his hold. I glared back into the deep gold glow in his eyes, and as I watched him struggle, understanding dawned. He was such an idiot. I took a breath to yell at him again and a wave of memory crashed across my mind.

  I’d spent years watching my parents scream at each other. Sometimes they’d kept at it after they forgot what they were fighting about, and I’d sworn that if I ever ended up with someone, I would never act the way they did. Not with somebody I was supposed to care about. I raised my chin and spoke quietly, despite the angry tears prickling against my eyes.

  “That’s why you’re so mad? Not at me, but at the way you thought they were treating me?”

  His expression was too grim to be reassuring. “Yes.” His power was heating the room, and started having a similar effect on me. It sank into my skin, sizzling through my muscles. I was already amped and he filled me with so much energy, I nearly began vibrating. I got to see him so rarely. Now I had him in our bedroom and we were fighting. What a waste.

  “I’m fine,” I murmured. I moved closer, and this time he didn’t skip away, but his hands moved restlessly at his sides. He was solid, large enough that his body hid the light of the lamp from me, and he was so warm.

  His lips parted. Before he could say anything I drew his head down and rose up on my toes to meet his mouth with mine. His hand touched my cheek, stroking lightly. Not quite the reaction I was going for.

  I pressed myself forward while pulling him against me. His mouth became more insistent, and his hands slid down my sides. He picked me up, fingers digging into the backs of my thighs. Much better. My legs wrapped around his hips and we slammed into the dresser. Loose change skittered across the top and rained onto the floor. His hand snaked up the back of my shirt and unhooked my bra. He gripped my shoulder, grinding me against him as his other hand dragged the strap of my tank top down until the fabric slipped off my breast. I shivered in the churning air. And then his mouth was there, and I was moaning incoherent demands.

  And getting exactly nothing I asked for. He stopped, resting his weight on me so I had to support myself on my arms.

  “I could hurt you when I’m like this,” he said, his voice low.

  “You could.” I dug my heel into his backside until he pressed forward, arched until his mouth met my skin again. “But I bet you won’t.”

  He lifted me against his chest and I shimmied out of my jeans and underwear in a frantic maneuver that ended with me crashing to my knees on the dresser. His hand slid between my legs, fingers circling and sliding as I leaned forward to kiss him. My own fingers trembled on the buttons of his shirt, and I finally just tore the thing, shoving it back over his shoulders.

  He wrapped an arm around my waist, easing me forward. “Bed.”

  “Here is good,” I breathed, closing my eyes and trying really hard to forget everything in the world except his hand. Which he took from me. “Unfair,” I snarled. But I was done arguing. I gained my feet, kicked off and propelled him backward.

  He landed on his back and I fell hard on outstretched arms, one knee jamming into his shoulder. I slid it off of him, groaned when his mouth found my breast again, and crawled backward on loose limbs. He shifted beneath me and I smiled lazily at the sound of his belt coming undone.

  “I’ll have you know,” I said thickly, “that I am engaging in this act with you despite having seen you in your pimp clothes.”

  “Christ, if you want any act to take place, don’t mention those.”

  I lowered myself onto him, sliding slowly along his length. His head fell back and the last remnants of that awful mask disappeared. We surged together, and between my need, his touch and the liquid heat of his power running over me, I lost myself.

  At some point he pulled me down, wrapping a hard arm around me as I continued to move. I buried my face in the side of his neck, nipping until he turned away and bit into his own wrist. I heard it—the grind of teeth through flesh and sinew—and had the fleeting thought that he shouldn’t have to do that. And then my body dragged my mind over the edge.

  * * *

  “What’s with your wardrobe?” I asked. Malcolm let out an exaggerated sigh that ruffled my hair and made me smile.

  “Bronson’s last deputy, the one who handled affairs during the summer and when Bronson was elsewhere, was flamboyant. I was informed when I came here that it’s now the expected uniform for the job.”

  “To give the local dons a feeling of continuity?”

  “That’s possible. More likely, Bronson hopes this will be the indignity that finally breaks me.” He said it lightly, but I had the feeling that there was more to it. I covered his hand where it rested on my ribs.

  “Why does he hate you so much?”

  “He doesn’t hate me. I irritate him.”

  “Then why would he keep you around and assign you to something like this, running one of his te
rritories? Why not just let you go?”

  “Because then everybody else who owes him service or favors or money would expect leniency too.” He shifted and his hand threaded through mine. “Besides, I’m effective. It’s amazing what people will tell the Master’s proxy when they know I don’t actually belong to him.”

  “So…you’re spying for him?”

  “Not for him.” He sounded so smug, I squinted at him over my shoulder. The lights had gone out at some point in reaction to his presence, and since the candles were behind him, I could barely make out his expression. Just the faintest glow in his eyes, the straight ridge of his nose, and the curve of his lips as he smiled.

  He kissed me, his hand flattening on my stomach to hold me close. I broke away after my neck threatened to cramp at that angle. When Malcolm spoke again, his voice was low.

  “I told you, and myself, that I could handle you working. I even believed it. But seeing you there, with them all around you…” I rolled onto my back.

  “We’re really going to have this conversation now,” I asked. “Again? Not that I mind what comes after the conversation—” He covered my mouth and I bit his finger. I was gentle, sort of.

  “There’s a reason for my concern. I was there to review abuses that Vega is responsible for. We’ve had complaints of mistreatment of feeders, suspicions of worse behavior. He isn’t good at following certain rules.”

  “The rules for conduct with humans?” He nodded and I sighed. “I actually can handle myself. And it wasn’t all of them that were…disrespectful. Most of them seemed decent, except that Lalo guy. He may have some perv genes.”

  I ran my fingers in little circles over his chest, then crossed the rasp of stubble on his jaw and traced his lower lip. He dipped his head and kissed my fingertips. His energy had subsided, running beneath the surface now. I rolled toward him, squirming to make myself more comfortable and to scout for the potential of a second round, even though I had dresser burn on one knee.