It was the vampire Stephan had unleashed to attack Wetherton and therefore give substance to her being his bodyguard. She drew her weapon and pressed the trigger, but he moved so fast the bright beam of the laser tore through his shoulder rather than searing his brains to dust.
The sharp smell of burned flesh filled the air. He snarled, a shrill sound of anger, then he was upon her, spindly arms flying, face gaunt, and pupils mere pinpricks. A junkie in need of a fix, she thought, and wondered if in this case it was just blood he needed or actual drugs.
She ducked his first blow and let fly with one of her own.
Her fist sank deep into his stomach but he didn't even grunt in response. Too far gone with lust, she thought, as he snarled, revealing elongated teeth.
A shout came from the direction of the club entrance. A call for them to stop fighting or else. She blocked another of his blows and hit the vamp over the head with her gun as hard as she could. He staggered back, shaking his head and spraying blood in the process. It splattered across her coat and face, stinging like fine acid. She ignored it and raised her weapon.
"Agent Ryan, SIU," she said, speaking loud enough that the rapidly approaching bouncers might hear. "Raise your hands and don't move, or I will shoot."
The vampire was obviously too far gone to hear or understand. He snarled and launched himself at her.
She pulled the trigger.
The shot hit dead center in the middle of his forehead and burned through his skull, cindering flesh and bone and brain matter along the way.
He dropped dead at her feet and didn't move. She didn't look down. She barely even dared breathe lest the smell make her lose the control she had over her stomach.
Instead, she wiped her face with the sleeve of her coat, then got out her badge and showed it to the two horrified bouncers. They stopped immediately, the aggression that had been so evident moments ago slipping away. She got her viaphone and made a call to the SIU.
"Agent Sam Ryan, badge number 1934," she said, when Christine came on line, "Clean up team needed at my current location. And please inform Director Byrne that the escaped prisoner has been dealt with."
"Clean up team three has been notified," Christine answered, her digital tones sexier than any computer generated form had a right to be, "and a message has been sent to Director Byrne."
"Thanks, Christine." She hung up and glanced at the bouncers. "You want to keep the gawkers back for me?"
They nodded and began to deal with the gathering crowd.
She stepped over the body of the vamp and opened the car door. "You all right, Minister?"
He nodded, his face a little paler than normal. "How did you know that vampire was outside?"
"I didn't. He was an entirely different threat than the one I felt before." She lifted her gaze and let it roam the street. No sense of anything evil or even out of place. Not until she looked past the crowd to the nightclub's entrance, anyway. Braggart was there, watching, a hint of amusement touching his thin lips. And if the tingle running across her skin was anything to go by, the redheaded stranger was there, too, even if she couldn't see him.
Not that she could do anything about his presence right then. She didn't dare leave Wetherton alone and give chase to the unseen stranger. After all, he might be nothing more than a decoy meant to draw her away from the minister's side. And though she wanted to get out of here as much as Wetherton did, she couldn't whisk him away until the SIU had arrived and the vampire had been dealt with. Protocol had to be followed, most especially in this situation.
She met Wetherton's gaze again. "I have to give my report to the SIU team I called in, and until then, I'm afraid we'll just have to wait here."
He scowled. "Why can't I just go inside and continue my meeting? Braggart hasn't left yet, surely."
"He hasn't, no. But we're being watched, Minister, and I prefer not to take a risk right now."
"Watched?" A hint of—not fear, not panic, but something in between—flitted through his eyes. He looked around briefly, and then met her gaze again. "By whom?"
"I don't know." She briefly toyed with the idea of telling him their watcher was more than likely military, but let it go.
Until she knew where, exactly, Wetherton's alliances lie, it was better not to give him too much information. For her sake, as much as his.
He grunted his displeasure, then reached forward and grabbed the car's phone. "Shut the door, please. I have a few personal calls to make."
Ungrateful bastard, she thought, as she slammed the door shut. Not even a damn thank you for saving his life. But then, he probably figured she was only doing what she was being paid to do—risking her life to save his lab-made ass.
When she glanced back at the gathered crowd, Braggart had gone. She studied the street beyond the club, but couldn't find any sign of him. Unusual for a human to move so fast in such a brief space of time—unless, of course, he was something more than human.
And she had a strange feeling Braggart was, even if she hadn't sensed him as such. Why she was so certain, she couldn't say, but maybe it was connected to the odd sensation that she knew him. Knew the "soul" of him, if not the outer layer.
Which in itself suggested a shapeshifter of some kind.