“Let’s go,” Vincent said, once she was ready. He held out his hand, and she took it automatically, giving the two unconscious guards a puzzled look.
“Aren’t you going to tie them up or something?”
“Not necessary,” Vincent replied dismissively. “They’ll be out until morning.” Then he pushed open the gate and Lana got the surprise of her life. Beyond the gate was the main building, and in front of that a dirt courtyard . . . that was littered with bodies.
“Are they—?”
“Unconscious, just like the others,” he said.
Lana was having trouble breathing. She knew vampires were powerful, and that Vincent was ranked among the strongest. But this . . . it was one thing to take down a couple of guards, but there were twenty or more men in the yard, and those were only the ones she could see. Many of them were clustered around a big truck, as if they’d been in the process of loading it and had simply dropped where they stood. And there had to be others she couldn’t see, in the main building, in the big garage. But no one had come to investigate the sudden collapse of their fellows, and no one challenged Vincent and the others as they strode into the compound.
Vincent paused, which meant Lana did, too, since he was still holding her hand.
He went perfectly still again. Lana tensed and started to pull her hand away, but Vincent tightened his grip. “A moment only,” he murmured.
When he moved again, it was to pull her against his side as he headed past a pair of wide-open wrought-iron gates and straight for the big double doors into the main house.
“There’s only one other vampire on the premises, and I’m assuming it’s Carolyn,” he told Michael, speaking over Lana’s head to where his lieutenant walked on her opposite side. “I’ve put her and everyone else down for now. Let’s get inside and find someone who can tell us where to find the lord of the manor. Then we’ll go wake him up.”
Michael nodded, stepping ahead of Vincent, his posture alert, his gaze moving constantly. Lana heard, more than saw, the others close in at their backs, forming a circle of protection as they approached the front door, stepping around the unconscious bodies littering the broad porch.
But while the other vampires were tense and ready to fight, Vincent seemed more relaxed than ever. Holding Lana’s hand, he strolled up to the wide-open entryway as if the two of them were here on a house-hunting mission, inspecting a piece of real estate.
“That one,” Vincent said suddenly, pointing to a middle-aged woman lying just short of the front doors. Like the others, she looked as though she’d passed out in mid-step. She wore a simple, black blouse and skirt and sensible shoes, and was surrounded by a pile of sheets and towels which had been folded before they’d been dropped.
Michael went to his knees next to the woman and touched her shoulder lightly. She stirred, then woke with a gasp, her expression one of fear at finding a strange gringo kneeling over her. Michael offered his hand to the woman and helped her to her feet. “¿Como se llama, señora?” What’s your name?
“Dolores,” she said, her face pale as she took in the bodies surrounding her.
Michael smiled, looking like a nice all-American young man with no ulterior motives.
“Dolores,” he repeated. “Que bonito nombre.” Lovely name.
Dolores stared up at him silently, her fingers gripping the crucifix around her neck. Michael continued, his Spanish fluid and easy. “Do you know where Albert Serrana is right now?” he asked her.
The woman nodded.
“And do you know the vampire he keeps with him? The woman?”
Dolores’s expression dimmed. “The pretty one,” she said. “So sad.”
“You mean it’s sad that she’s here?”
“No, señor. She is sad. All the time. So pretty, but so sad.”
Vincent’s hold on Lana’s hand tightened almost painfully and she squeezed back, partly to keep him from breaking her hand, but also to let him know that she shared his anger.
“Where is he?” Vincent growled, and Dolores’s eyes shot to him in alarm.
“Tranquilo, Dolores,” Michael said soothingly. Take it easy. “We’re here for the pretty one. She belongs with us. Can you show us where she is now?”
“Si,” Dolores said firmly and gestured toward the stairs inside the front door. “Come inside.” Michael smiled and indicated she should lead the way.
Dolores went through the doors and up the stairs with Michael following. Vincent went next with Lana beside him, but she loosened her hand from his. She did it gently, squeezing his hand tight before letting go, but she had no intention of walking into a potentially hostile situation with her right hand filled with something other than her gun. Vincent glanced over as she drew her Sig and nodded his understanding. Carrying the weapon down along her thigh, she following Michael and Dolores up the stairs and along the mezzanine, then down another hallway that ended in a single oversized door of dark, banded wood.
Dolores stopped in front of the door. “Shall I knock, señor?” she asked, looking to Michael for direction.
“No, thank you, Dolores,” he said gently, then caught her before she fell. Lifting her easily, he kicked open the door to what turned out to be a small sitting room and laid her on an orange velvet couch. Leaving her there, he returned to the hallway and closed the door behind him.