Retribution

Makes me think of how much I have to lose if this turns out to be another wild-goose chase. I turn to Turnbull. Even small talk is better than what I’m thinking.

“What about you? Williams said you’ve lived in Denver for over a hundred years. How have you managed it?”

He looks surprised by the question, but then he smiles and shrugs. “I ‘kill’ myself off in various ways every forty or fifty years and introduce a new heir. A few makeup tricks, a change in hair color and styles, colored contacts. ” He pats his chest. “Padding to change body shape. It’s not so hard really.”

“And no one notices?”

“I have an entire gallery of ‘family portraits’ showing the remarkable Turnbull family resemblance.”

“And do you also keep a low profile?”

“I’m a philanthropist. Made my fortune in mining. I manage a foundation, attend a few charity functions, but mostly I keep to myself. I have a ranch outside of Durango. My house here in Denver is closed most of the year.”

“Sounds like you’ve made a good life for yourself.”

My voice must have a wistful ring to it, because Turnbull raises an eyebrow. No reason why you can’t do the same thing. A laugh bubbles up. Or not. Williams seems to think you have a death wish. Is that true? You really choose to live as a human?

“I think this is it, Mr. Turnbull.”

The driver’s voice saves me from either confirming or denying Williams’ charge. Death wish? Seems to me I’ve had to defend my life more since becoming vampire than I ever did as a human.

The driver has pulled to a stop at the junction to an unpaved road that skirts the back of several of the larger properties. Sophie Deveraux’s is one of them. I get out to take a look around.

The Deveraux property sits on about ten acres of rolling pastureland. I can just see the back of the stable from our vantage point. The same iron fence that surrounds the front of the house extends back this way.

Turnbull has gotten out, too, and comes to stand beside me.

“I’m going in,” I tell him. “Give me fifteen minutes. If I’m not back, call Williams and tell him there was trouble.”

Turnbull’s expression darkens. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?”

No. I’m not. If this Sophie turns out to be another dead end, I’ve squandered more than time. I’ve squandered the remaining hours of Culebra’s life.

“Fifteen minutes,” I repeat. “Then call Williams.”

If I don’t come back by then, I’m most likely dead. Culebra and Frey are, too, if Williams can ’t find a way to prevent it. The only consolation is that Ortiz’ death has given Williams a personal stake in finding Burke. If I can’t save them, I know he’ll try.

It’s a small comfort.

“We’ll be right here,” Turnbull adds, reading my thoughts but not commenting on them. “Be careful.” His voice suddenly has an edge, an urgency, as if he understands.

I wonder if he now questions why I choose to live as a human.

CHAPTER 41

IT TAKES LITTLE EFFORT TO JUMP THE FENCE. I RUN past a half dozen horses grazing in the pasture. They shy away from me, ears back, eyes wild. I can’t tell if it’s the human A

When I get close to the stables, I keep out of sight of the open barn door. I can’t hear or sense anyone inside, but I don’t want to take a chance. A hundred yards from the stables is a patio area. There’s a pool, a cabana and what looks like a guesthouse.

Nice digs.

I crouch behind a hedge and scan the roofline. I don ’t see a security camera back here. Curious, although I suppose if the house belonged to a vampire, he may not have felt he needed one.

The ground floor of the house is a long rambling affair. The only entrance seems to be a pair of French doors opening from the house onto the patio. There are two huge ceramic pots, one on each side of the doors, planted with five -foot-tall evergreens. Perfect cover to check out the inside.

At first glance, all I see is furniture. It ’s a living room, formal, with two oversized couches and a heavy, dark wood coffee table occupying the middle of the room. To the right is a fireplace. To the left, a credenza. Sunlight flashes off a silver tea set displayed on a lower shelf.

I move in to try the door.

That’s when I realize there’s someone in the room. I duck back but the woman is unaware of my presence. She ’s standing in the shadows under an archway in the back of the room, facing away from me. She ’s agitated, hands waving, shoulders stiff, weight evenly distributed on both feet as if ready to fend off an attack. I can’t hear what she’s saying and I can’t see anyone else in the room.

Is she on a telephone?

My fingers once again find their way to the charm around my neck. Nothing. No warning blast of heat.

Whoever the woman is, she’s not Burke, nor does Burke seem to be in the vicinity.

I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or thankful.

But it does spur me into action. I have about ten minutes before Turnbull calls Williams. I move to the door and knock.

Startled, the woman jumps and whirls around. She steps into the light.

I find myself staring at one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen. Not in the traditional sense. Her hair looks windblown, like she may have just come inside, and her features are far from perfect. But she has a glow about her. A natural beauty that radiates from within. It ’s captivating. It’s magnetic. It’s mesmerizing.

Turnbull said she might be a witch.

It’s probably magic.

I shake away the wonder and take a more dispassionate look. She’s not particularly tall, maybe five feet four, but well built and slender.

She’s dressed in jeans, an open-neck shirt of pale yellow and leather riding boots. Her hair is shoulder length, dark and straight, framing thick-lashed blue eyes and a generous mouth.

Right now the mouth is turned down at the corners. She comes to the door and yanks it open. “Yes?”

“Are you Sophie Deveraux?”

She’s staring at me. “Who are you? How did you get back here?”

Seeing her up close, I realize she couldn’t be more than twenty, yet there’s an old soul quality to her that comes through. A maturity of spirit that makes her seem older than her years.

It sends a tremor straight through me. Shit. Is she one of Burke’s customers? Is that why her number was in the file?

“Do you know Simone Tremaine?”

The frown becomes deeper, sterner. “Why do you ask?”

“Look, Ms. Deveraux, I need you to talk to me. If you’re one of Tremaine’s customers, you are in danger. The product you’ve been using has some nasty side effects. I can help you, but you’ve got to tell me if you know where she is.”

A subtle change comes over her. A stillness. She turns away from me and walks into the middle of the room.

I’m right on her heels. “Please. You are not the only one in danger. Tremaine ’s product has already resulted in three deaths, maybe more. She’s a monster. If you know where she’s hiding, you have to tell me.”

“Only three?”

She says it so quietly, I lean close. “What?”

She turns to face me. “Only three deaths? You mean human deaths, right? But there have been others, haven’t there?”

She asks the question as if already knowing the answer.

“Yes. Twelve.”

“Vampires? Like you?”

Her directness at first startles me, then I throw it back at her. “Yes. She tortured and killed them. She bled them. Do you know why?”

Now there’s another shift. Nothing overt, but it’s there in the slump of her shoulders, the softening lines of her mouth. Resignation? She looks away.

“For the cream.” I touch her cheek. “For the magic that turned you from what—a middle-aged housewife—to this. Was it worth it?”

Then Sophie Deveraux does the last thing I expect. She sinks into a chair and begins to cry.