Picking up her jacket and shoes, she shuffled over to the closet, dropped her shoes on the floor and hung up the jacket next to the pants and blouse. She eyed the bed warily, then yanked the bedspread down, piling it on the floor. She never slept on those things. They were crawling with bacteria. She was tired, but her mind was racing, and she knew she’d have to check out the witness interview from Sheriff Sutcliffe before she’d be able to sleep. Her knees sank into the too soft mattress as she dragged her laptop over and inserted the flash drive. She watched it all the way through, intending to go back and make notes on a second viewing. But when she reached across for her notepad and pen, her head spun dizzily. She put her head on the pillow, intending to close her eyes for only a moment. She registered that the sheets were surprisingly fresh and clean when she pulled them up to her chin. And that was it.
Chapter Three
Minneapolis, Minnesota
Lucas opened his eyes and stifled the immediate desire to groan. He was in Minneapolis. Not that this was a bad thing in itself. The Twin Cities were exciting and vibrant, and he maintained a residence here, which he visited several times a year. So, it wasn’t that he minded being in Minneapolis that made him swear with his first waking breath. It was the knowledge that he had to rush back to the ranch in South Dakota, because some damn FBI woman was coming to visit him tonight.
Visit. Huh. Interrogate was probably more like it. Lucas had never met a cop he trusted, and he’d met a lot of cops. He also admitted that this prejudice might have something to do with his misspent youth on the streets of Dublin and London, but that didn’t change the fact of the matter. Especially not when it came to cops and vampires. The people in charge never liked it when someone else was more powerful than they were. There was a level of distrust between vampires and the human authorities that would never go away, and he didn’t see that changing between now and later tonight when the FBI invaded his ranch.
A hot shower dispelled much of his bad mood, as did the memory of their successful hunt last night. He was standing in front of his closet, trying to decide whether to go with a business look for the FBI, or stick with jeans and leather, when his cell phone rang. He reached out and picked it up without looking.
“Yo, Nicholas,” he said.
“My lord,” his lieutenant responded. “I just spoke to Magda. Klemens called your private line.”
“She didn’t pick up,” Lucas confirmed. None of his people were allowed to pick up that line as long as he was alive to do it.
“No, my lord. But when you didn’t answer, he called the business number, and Magda told him you were unavailable. Nothing more.”
“Ah. I’m sure he’ll be—” He was interrupted by the incoming call signal. He pulled the cell phone away from his ear long enough to check the caller ID and then said to Nicholas, “Speak of the devil, and he will surely appear. Klemens is on call waiting. I’ll get back to you.” Lucas switched over to the incoming call with the flick of a finger. Modern technology was a marvelous thing!
“Klemens, old chap, what can I do for you? Or more to the point . . . to you?”
“Cut the crap, you f**king Irish gutter rat. Who the hell do you think you are taking out a house on my f**king territory!”
“Your territory? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I disciplined one of my vampires last night, along with his fellow traitors.”
“Two of those vampires you killed were mine, and you know it.”
“Two of yours? How sad. Well, as my dear old Gran used to say, if you lie down with dogs, boyo, you’ll surely get fleas.”
“Your f**king Gran was a pox-riddled whore on the streets of Dublin.”
Lucas laughed. “Quite right, Klemens. I had no idea you’d met her.”
“I’ve never been to that useless country of yours and never will. It’s full of thieves and drunks.”
“And the thieves are drunk, too!” Lucas agreed cheerfully. “Ah, good times. But I don’t think you called to stroll down memory lane with me. So the house was yours? Things get a little muddled that close to the border. And speaking of borders . . .” he added, as if it had just occurred to him. “Raphael is quite vexed with you, I’m afraid. Apparently you took a shot at him, and in Colorado, no less. Terribly bold, Klemens. Hitting Raphael on his own territory.”
“Stop babbling, you fool. I had nothing to do with that.”
“Ah, but you have heard about it. From whom, I wonder? I’m sure Raphael would dearly love to know.”
“I don’t give a shit what that bastard wants. If someone took a shot at him, more power to them.”
“I’m afraid not,” Lucas commiserated. “The sniper missed rather handily, and, from what I hear, he’s no longer among the living.”
“You want me to believe Raphael shares that kind of information with the likes of you? You can’t be trusted to keep your own secrets, much less anyone else’s.”
“True, but since Raphael is convinced you were behind the hit, we’ve become quite close. The enemy of my enemy, you know.”
Lucas could hear Klemens breathing hard, either trying to control his famous temper, or trolling through his thick brain for something clever to say.
“In any event,” Lucas said, continuing the conversation, such as it was, “if the house was yours, I did you a service by burning it to the ground. It was quite bloody when we finished. And there was dust everywhere.”
“This isn’t the end, Donlon,” Klemens snarled.
Lucas dropped his guise of humor, his voice hard when he said, “No, it’s not. This is just beginning.” He disconnected, not waiting to hear what would no doubt have been some obscenity-laced threat from Klemens. He punched up Nicholas.