“Ten minutes, Nicholas, and we’re out of here.” He threw the phone down and pulled on a pair of worn and comfortable denims. He was in no mood to play nice for the f**king FBI.
Chapter Four
South Dakota
Kathryn swore as she missed her exit on I-90. She took the next off-ramp, doubled back and took the correct exit as her GPS began recalculating for her mistake. Sheriff Sutcliffe had been right. Lucas Donlon had an address, but not much of one. She frowned as the nice GPS lady told her to take the next right turn. She slowed, eyeing the unpaved road that presented itself. There were no lights out here, just her headlights and the full moon, which was barely peeking over the mountains. And there was a lot more snow on the ground, big clumps of it piled against boulders and beneath the trees. The so-called road was two strips of dirt, visible only because they were paler than the rough fields of grass and ice-pocked rock that surrounded them. But it had to be reasonably well traveled, or the two strips wouldn’t be worn away at all. Sutcliffe had also warned her that Donlon didn’t welcome visitors. Maybe leaving this unpaved was his way of discouraging people.
Unfortunately for him, Kathryn wasn’t going to be put off by a little rough road. She switched on her high beams and made the turn. A quarter of a mile later, she was having second thoughts. The other reason she’d chosen to rent a 4-wheel drive SUV was because she’d assumed that, in this part of the country, there would be the occasional dirt road to travel. But even then, she hadn’t counted on driving down dirt trails carved through unlit, half-frozen fields of knee-high grass and unfriendly looking trees. What sane person intentionally left the main road to his residence in such a dangerous condition? Especially since most of the traffic out here was probably after dark? Even a vampire had to leave his ranch eventually, and he’d have to take this road, too. The myth that vampires could fly was just that—a myth.
And what about his employees? There must be somebody who worked for him. They’d have to navigate this impossible thing every day! Her car hit two potholes in a row, one right after the other, nearly jerking the steering wheel out of her hands. She growled beneath her breath, keeping up a steady stream of muttered curses. She should report the bastard to OSHA. Serve him right. Maybe he didn’t worry about the FBI, but he’d sure as hell worry about the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. The sheer volume of paperwork they’d demand would make Donlon’s life a living hell. She grinned at the thought, then hit a new pothole and swore, “Stupid damn . . . oh.”
With no warning, the road evened out, becoming smooth as silk, her tires virtually humming over the hard surface. She loosened her grip on the wheel, shaking out her hands to restore circulation, feeling the nerves in her fingers and arms still vibrating after—she checked her GPS—only five miles of that tortuous road? It had seemed much farther than that.
But it was behind her now, and she was making good time on what the nav system told her was the last leg before her destination. She saw a flash of white in the distance as the road rose briefly before dipping into a deep ravine. When she came up the other side, a white rail fence was paralleling the road, and about a mile farther on, there was a white arching gate with a name stenciled overhead.
Kathryn slowed and made a right turn that took her through the open gate. Looking up, she saw that it wasn’t a name on the wooden arch above her, but a stylized D. The kind one associated with livestock brands, although she was fairly certain they didn’t brand animals anymore. She seemed to remember seeing a report on TV, or maybe it was the Internet, about how ranchers had gone to something more technological, like implanted data chips or something. If the vampire had herd stock, maybe she’d ask him about it. Although she found it unlikely that a vampire would actually raise cattle. A sudden thought struck her, and she frowned. Could a vampire exist on animal blood?
She shook off the unpleasant image that question conjured, and focused on the road in front of her, which wasn’t at all a straight line. It looped around stands of trees and grassy humps, many of which had piles of jagged boulders buried on their hillsides. In the far distance, silhouetted by the pale moon, was the sharp peak of LookoutMountain, which she recognized from the research she’d done online.
After a mile or so, another open arch appeared over the road, but this one was sturdier, made of beautiful river rock with wood accents. That same stylized D was worked into the wood. Jeez, maybe the guy was afraid he’d forget his name unless someone reminded him at every turn.
A stone wall angled out to either side of the entrance, tapering down to a low decorative border before it disappeared altogether in the deep grass. Two figures appeared beneath the arch as soon as her headlights splashed over its surface. They stood in the roadway, blocking her access. From their formidable size, she assumed they were male. One was a bit taller than the other—six-foot-two to his buddy’s five-nine—but they were both heavily muscled and moved with an economy of effort that told her they had some training. Obviously, this was Donlon’s security, although that was some serious heft for gate guards. And they weren’t relying on muscle alone, either. Both men were carrying what, from a distance, looked like H-K MP5 submachine guns on combat slings over their chests, and she wondered if they were licensed to carry that kind of weapon. South Dakota had some very liberal gun laws, but she didn’t know if they included the personal use of submachine guns.
Not that this was her problem. She wasn’t even here on official FBI business, much less anything else. She’d come here to interview a vampire. She snickered as she thought the words and only hoped her subject looked like Brad Pitt.
Focus, Kathryn!
She wished someone had interviewed Lucas Donlon, or any of the vampire lords. There had been scattered pieces here and there on the Internet, mostly blogs devoted to the paranormal genre. But even those gave away very little about the vampires themselves. She supposed living hundreds of years made one an expert at deflecting questions from nosy interviewers, especially given man’s violent history toward things he didn’t understand. But the sum total of what she’d been able to uncover about vampires—and she’d had a lot of places to look, given her job access—was very little.
Vampires were almost a nation within a nation. They policed their own people, and from what she’d been able to find out, tolerated no dissent. And as long as they didn’t cause any problems, like littering the streets with bloody bodies, the human authorities didn’t seem to mind. At least no one complained. The vampires even had a new ambassador of sorts in Washington, D.C., Duncan Milford. He was more of a lobbyist than an ambassador, representing vampire interests in the halls of Congress. It was the public information on Duncan more than any other that had given her most of what she knew.
As far as the local vampire bar, the one where her brother had been seen last, the witness, who was now out of touch in Afghanistan, claimed to have seen her brother speaking to a known vampire. He also thought they’d left together, although he hadn’t personally witnessed that part of the evening. He had seen them walk out the front door, but since he’d been inside the club, he couldn’t verify what had happened outside. He was, however, certain that the person with Daniel was a vampire, because he’d been to the club before, and apparently it was pretty obvious who was and wasn’t. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a name. Sheriff Sutcliffe’s report had gone on to say that there was one more witness who claimed he’d seen Daniel leave the bar with the vamp, but his report was questionable. He’d admitted to being drunk at the time, so drunk that he had no memory of his own actions later that night.
It wasn’t much to go on, but it was all Kathryn had. So, vampire honcho or not, Donlon was going to give her some answers.
* * * *
Lucas strode into his office, still pissed that he’d been forced to rush back here for the convenience of the FBI. He slumped down into the chair behind his desk and watched sullenly as Nicholas called Magda for a situation report.
“Talk to me, gorgeous,” Nicholas said, then listened as Magda talked. He laughed abruptly. “Not happy, I can tell you that. Okay, see you in a few.” He disconnected and regarded Lucas warily.
“The FBI has landed, my lord,” he said. “She’s on her way up to the house as we speak.”
“Shit.” Lucas looked away, thinking. “Did Magda see her?”
“No, but she got a report from Kofi at the checkpoint. He says she’s right proper.”
“I swear that limey bastard just says stuff like that to piss me off.”
Nick chuckled. “I believe he means she’s buttoned up tight, stick up her butt, by the rules . . . Shall I go on, my lord?”
“No. Fuck. I know what it means. I suppose I have to meet with her.”
Nicholas gave him a disbelieving look. “I thought that’s why we rushed back here.”
“I know, I know. All right.” Lucas tapped one finger on the arm of his chair. “Have Magda meet her and bring her in. Tell her to take it slow, sit and chat a bit. And tell Maggie to play it human. Maybe our FBI visitor will give something away if she thinks she’s speaking to a sympathetic ear.”
Nick dipped his head briefly. “My lord.”