“I’m not moving troops without more credibility than this. Close the door,” he said, then spun in his chair and picked up the receiver on a slim, silver landline phone sitting on his credenza. Pulling up the speed-dial list, he selected Anthony’s number and waited. This might be the age of modern technology, but international calls still endured a lot of clicking and dead air before finally going through. He was more than half-surprised when Anthony answered himself.
“Vincent.” Anthony’s rough voice was made more so by an unusually bad connection.
“Anthony,” Vincent greeted him in like fashion. “I just received your report.” He didn’t go into any details, waiting to see what the Southern lord would say. If this intel really had come from him, then he’d know what Vincent was talking about.
“My apologies. I intended to call before you received it, but the situation here is . . . difficult.”
Vincent figured that was one way to describe it. But he still wasn’t sure Anthony could be trusted. “Where does this information come from? I was under the impression that you were . . . lying low.”
“Hiding, you mean,” Anthony snapped. “I know what’s being said. But I know the truth of it. Christian Duvall wants my territory, and he doesn’t mind playing dirty to get it.”
“That’s not what I heard from Raphael.”
“Oh, yes, the bodyguard,” he sneered dismissively. “I altered five minutes of his memory, something we’ve all done a thousand times. It’s hardly a killing offense. Raphael’s being manipulated by Duvall and refuses to see it. But why are we wasting time on this bullshit? You got the intel. So what are you going to do about it?”
Vincent contemplated his reply, reluctant to admit that Anthony was right. Twisting Cibor’s mind wouldn’t usually be a killing offense. Except that Cibor was one of Raphael’s children, and he was in Houston on Raphael’s business. Even so, Vincent suspected Raphael’s wrath was motivated at least partially by his dislike of Anthony. He would never have ceded the matter to Christian otherwise. Now, Christian’s vengeance . . . that was quite justified. Anthony had tried to get his woman alone, with every intention of capturing her mind, and then raping her. If someone had done that to Lana, if they’d even contemplated such an outrage, he’d have ripped them to shreds.
And none of that had anything to do with this latest intel from Hubert’s camp. Assuming it was valid.
“Let’s say we put personal vengeance aside for the purpose of this discussion,” he told Anthony. “Where’d this intel come from, and how do I know it’s any good? For that matter, how’re you still getting reports at all?”
“I’m in hiding, not living in a cave. And I’m still Lord of the South, no matter what Raphael thinks. My people remain loyal to me, and I to them. More importantly, I don’t want my territory compromised by a war in Mexico. If Hubert gains strength down there, it endangers all of us up here. As for the intel, it comes from my man in Hubert’s camp. That’s why I faxed. I wanted you to see the full text of his report, and fax was the easiest way to get it to you, given my current circumstances.”
Vincent relaxed slightly. That actually made sense. “So the confidence level on this info is high?”
“One hundred percent. My agent is deeply imbedded, and well within the inner circle.”
He frowned. Anthony’s agent must be one hell of a liar, then, because it wouldn’t be easy to fool a vampire as old and powerful as Hubert was reputed to be. Still, he couldn’t afford to simply ignore this.
“Thank you for the warning, then. We’ll handle it.” As he hung up, he heard Anthony wish him good luck. He stared at the phone. Good luck? What the fuck was that? He looked up at Michael, whose vampire hearing would have picked up both sides of the conversation.
“My lord?” he asked.
Vincent glanced again at the intel report, then stood, reading off the name of the city where Anthony’s agent claimed Hubert was planning a takeover. “Patrizia,” he said, picturing the map of Mexico. “Ever heard of it?”
Michael shook his head. “No, but I Googled it, and I checked for landline phone listings as soon as this came in. There were several, and I called them all. No one answered. Not one.”
“Not a good sign, but it is the middle of the night. Where is this place anyhow, and how big is it?”
“About fifty miles south of Ciudad del Carmen. That’s the closest airport. It’s a fishing village of about 1200 people.”
“That ties in with what Christian said about Hubert, that he likes isolated villages as raw material for his zombie armies. That’s his word for them, but it fits. Raphael has reports from Europe. Hubert doesn’t make half-feral slaves like some of the old-timers used to create to feed their own power. He wants his creatures able to follow orders, to fight and kill for him.”
“They’ll still die like any other vampire,” Michael growled.
“Probably easier. They have to be low on the power scale in order for Hubert to control them. But if I can take out Hubert, they should fall like flies. The shock will kill them.”
Vincent stood, having made his decision. “I’m not taking any chances. If there’s nothing there, we’ll have wasted a few hours, and some helicopter fuel. But if Anthony’s right, then Hubert might have turned half the town by now. I want every warrior we can spare without degrading our security here, and I want all of my own security team. I need people I can trust at my back. Have the jet prepped for departure, and get someone working on transport at the other end. I want those helicopters waiting for us when we arrive.” He came around the desk. “I need to talk to Lana.”
“I’M COMING WITH you,” Lana said, yanking a black, long-sleeved T-shirt over her head and tucking it into the black combat pants that she favored. There was no sign of a wedding dress or the seamstress who’d been sticking her with pins.
“This is war, querida. You should remain—”
She was suddenly up in his face, snarling like a wildcat. “If you like your balls, you won’t finish that sentence.”
Vincent was stunned wordless for a long moment, but then he grinned down at her. “You’d never do that. You like my balls too much right where they are.”
“Maybe,” she admitted. “But the sentiment holds. I’m going with you.”