She removed her bra, pulled the tank top back on, then turned to face him as she began working on her braid. “When it comes to women, men are easily distracted,” she said absently, as she threaded her fingers through her now unbraided hair and shook her head to loosen it over her shoulders.
Vincent straightened next to her, at least partly to ease the sudden tightness of his groin at the sight of her breasts pressing against the thin shirt. They weren’t large, but they were round and firm, with dusky nipples that were in plain sight beneath the nearly transparent fabric. He realized with a start that he’d just proved her point about easily-distracted men.
“Lana,” he said, her display also proving his point. “I won’t let you—”
“You’re not my master, Vincent. We’re partners. I don’t need your permission. Besides, this is the only thing that will work. You need inside that house and I can get you there.”
Vincent glowered down at her. It was much easier working with his vampires. They did what they were told.
“You’ll need to stay close,” she told him, crouching down to check the position of the hidden knife in her boot. Her hair fell forward in a wave of black silk, sliding along her bare arms and curling over her unfettered breasts, which did nothing for the growing pressure in his groin. “I’m going to be the ultimate helpless female,” she explained, adding her bra and hair tie to the pile of gear on top of her jacket. “My friend and I have been walking for hours. Our car broke down, we’re lost in the desert, and blah blah blah.” She tied everything into a neat bundle with the sleeves of her jacket.
“And if it doesn’t work?”
She paused in her preparations to give him an impatient look. “Well, I don’t know, Vincent. Why don’t you think of something? Or better yet, wish me good luck and carry my stuff so I can get dressed once we’re inside.” She shoved the jacket-covered bundle at him.
“You’re supposed to be helpless, querida, not bitchy.”
Her eyes widened in outrage, then narrowed. “You’re trying to make me angry so I won’t be scared. But I’m not scared. I’ve done this before. Not exactly like this because I wasn’t dealing with vampires, but close enough, when I’ve wanted to get inside a house where I thought my skip might be hiding.”
“The many layers of Lana Arnold,” Vincent said thoughtfully, accepting the jacket from her. “All right. We can’t see the entrance Poncio used, but there’s probably a courtyard through that gate, with the door to the house on the other side.”
Vincent started off across the yard, not bothering with concealment. He’d know if anyone was watching, and no one was. They approached the wide, wrought-iron gate that Poncio and the guard had used earlier. He opened it slowly, wary of making the kind of noise that would alert the guard. But it moved on near-silent hinges, admitting them to a narrow walkway surrounded by sweet-smelling plants. There were big leafy ferns, low crawling vines with tiny star-shaped flowers, and latticed stalks with big trumpet blooms that climbed both walls. It was probably a welcome respite from the hot desert sun during the day, but at night, it created a wealth of possible hiding places.
He and Lana paused at the far end of the passage, using the thick foliage for cover when they finally caught sight of the entrance to the house, along with more evidence that someone was inside. Now that they were closer, the shutter outline was bright enough to cast a dim yellow glow on the narrow courtyard, and there was an additional lamp burning behind the drawn shade in a window next to the door. As they watched, the narrow bars of light from the upstairs shutter blinked off and on as someone passed by the window and moved around the room.
“You think that’s Poncio upstairs?” Lana whispered.
Vincent nodded. “Likely. The guard probably stays downstairs.” He paused for a moment, concentrating. “There are no vampires inside, and only the two humans. But we don’t know how many are in the basement with Salvio. They could show up at any minute.”
“Then I better get started.”
Vincent stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Lana, remember, you can’t lie. If you get him to invite your girlfriend inside, it won’t work.”
She nodded. “But I can just call you a friend, right? Even though I don’t like you?”
Vincent grinned and cupped his hand over the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in her loose hair. “You like me, querida.” He kissed her mouth, holding it longer than he should have given their time constraints, but not as long as he would have liked. “Be careful.”
She licked her lips slowly, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “I will,” she whispered. “Stay close, okay?”
“Count on it,” he said and then stepped back, clenching his fists as he watched her move across the courtyard.
LANA DREW A DEEP breath through her nose, then tugged her tank top low on her breasts and crossed the open courtyard, stumbling slightly for effect, boots scuffing on the paving stones as if she was too exhausted to lift her feet properly. She searched her memories and called up the death of her friend Gretchen’s mother last year. She filled her mind with the image of Gretchen sobbing in her husband’s arms, of Gretchen’s three-year-old daughter crying, tears rolling down her soft cheeks, because her mother was sad and she didn’t know why. Lana had cried too, for her friend’s grief and for her own. Gretchen’s mom had been a warm and loving human being who’d always treated the motherless Lana as one of her own. The funeral had been the saddest day of Lana’s life, even including the day her mother had flown off to California and left her behind. And now she used that memory to bring tears to her eyes for a performance that would maybe save the life of a vampire she didn’t even know.
Tears swelled and spilled over as she forced herself to hyperventilate, taking fast and shallow breaths until she had to lean against the wall next to the door for support. Reaching out with one hand, she knocked on the door, using regular pressure first, then harder and more frantic until she was pounding with her fist.
The door flew open without warning and she nearly fell into the man who stood there. As soon as she saw him, she knew he wasn’t Poncio, which meant they’d been right about their target being the guy in the shuttered room upstairs. The guard facing her had a 9mm holstered at his hip and a shotgun in his hand. He was backlit by the interior light which was much brighter with the door open, but she could see that his hair and eyes were dark, and he appeared to be somewhere around forty. Vincent had said the man was human, and Lana had no reason to doubt him.
“Thank God you’re home,” she gasped, using her worst, broken Spanish. She bent forward to rest her hands on her thighs, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes and letting the top of her tank gap slightly to give him a better view of her braless breasts. “Please, sir, we need your help. My friend and I were almost out of gas, and we turned off the main road thinking we could find a station but we must have read the map wrong or something because there was nothing there and then we tried to turn around but . . .” Her breathless spiel ran out as she choked on her sobs, leaning weakly against the doorjamb as she struggled to catch her breath.
“Please help us. If we could just use your phone, we can call . . . Oh my God, is there even an auto club out here?” she wailed and began crying harder, daring to reach out with one hand to grip his arm. “Please . . .” She managed to squeeze the word out in between sobs, all the while watching the guard, who was so focused on her breasts that she doubted he was hearing a word she said. His gaze dropped briefly to her hips and belly, went even more briefly to her face, then right back to her breasts which were clearly outlined beneath the white tank top.
“Relax, chica,” the guard said in accented English, his gaze growing calculated as he reached out and lifted a lock of hair from her breast and wrapped it around his finger. “I’ll take care of you.”
“You speak English,” Lana said, her voice breaking with relieved emotion. “Oh thank God.”
“Come inside,” the guard said smoothly, taking her bare arm and stepping back. “Your skin is so cold, you must be freezing and thirsty too, yes?”
She started to follow him. “Water? Oh God, yes, I’d love—” She stopped abruptly and made as if to turn back, freeing her arm. “But I can’t,” she said, pretending to be torn between going inside and going back for her “friend.”