Darkness Calls (2 page)

A
s they neared the bar, Diana glanced at the menu of drinks posted along the wall. What looked like the mummified remains of bats were affixed along the top edge. The uppermost section of the wall above held hundreds of bats hanging down, their bodies huddled tight together. Beyond that, there was nothing but the vague shapes and outlines of equipment high against a dark ceiling.

Diana looked back at the menu. All of the drinks' names dealt with the imbibing of blood, the imagined traits of bats, or the ever-popular rituals for transforming into mythical demons or monsters. The Blind as a Bat offered oblivion after only one drink due to a large amount of 151 proof rum. Maiden's Gift was a creamy concoction with Cherry Heering and other liqueurs. Vamp Venom was a variation of a Bloody Mary but laced with hot sauce for that extra burn.

She chuckled. The list was quite tongue in cheek, as if the inventor had thought the patrons somewhat silly in their dark fascinations.

Above the specials, in red letters embellished with dripping blood, was the name of the club: The Lair. Unfortunately, the crimson of the letters against the white of the chalkboard and the gleaming steel of the bar's surface were too much a reminder of the victims she'd seen in the morgue—and of the fact that someone didn't think this was all in the spirit of fun.

From beside her, David raised his hand to draw the attention of the bartender, who was dressed in a white T-shirt turned pale pink by the red lights. He scurried back and forth behind the bar, pouring and blending drinks, grabbing the money waved in the air by those fortunate enough to have snagged him. The bartender came over as they sidled up to some clear spaces at the bar.

“What can I get you?” he said, eyeing her and sparing only a quick glance at David.

“A sloe slayer screw,” she said, and smiled at the young man, who grinned back at her. He was cute and quite muscular, probably a wanna-be actor.

“You sure that's what you want?” he asked, reaching for a glass from the racks suspended above the bar.

Diana leaned on the metal surface and gave him her most seductive grin. “That depends,” she teased. She had his complete attention.

He leaned close, the drink and the glass in his hand forgotten. “And what does it depend on, sweetheart?”

“Is it the slayer who's slow, or the screw?” she said loudly enough to make a few heads turn and look in her direction.

“Make that two diet Cokes,” David said immediately, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

The bartender shot David a look of annoyance, then turned to Diana for confirmation.

Diana glanced at David and shrugged. “Two diet Cokes it is.” The bartender gave them a perturbed huff, as if he didn't appreciate being pulled into whatever game they were playing.

When he returned with the drinks, he slammed them on the counter, and despite David's presence, or maybe because of it, he leaned on the counter and favored Diana with a broad grin. “It's not too late. Sloe gin is just waiting to be slayed.” He dropped his voice and lowered his head until it was almost touching hers. In a voice he must have rehearsed hundreds of times in acting class and with a wink that broadcast his invitation, he said, “And who doesn't enjoy a good screw?”

David glared at him, took the two glasses and tossed a ten onto the bar. The bartender finally walked away, and Diana raised an eyebrow at her partner and the beverage he handed her. “I think I could have handled the sloe slayer screw and remembered to check out that bartender's background when we return to the office.” Despite her comment about the drink, she took a quick sip and appreciated the cool of the liquid as it traveled down her throat.

“Got to keep levelheaded, Di,” he said, his words tinged with both concern and reproach. It was so in keeping with his straitlaced personality that she had to bite back a laugh.

He might be dressed like the rest of the crowd, down to a small silver hoop and ear cuff in one ear, but beneath the rough clothes he was still the restrained partner she had come to rely on during the last four years. David was everything she wasn't and vice versa, which balanced their partnership perfectly. Her rashness, his calm. Her mind, which bounced all over in reaching conclusions, and his step-by-step way of solving things. Go figure, she thought with a shrug, and turned her attention to the dance floor.

Having gulped down a good portion of his drink, David chewed on an ice cube and faced the crowd. He motioned to the crush of bodies with the hand that held the glass. “Wanna dance?”

She leaned close to him and whispered in the ear without the earpiece, “Want to check out the wire so we know you can call for help?” She had on a small earpiece, the only way she could be wired, thanks to her clothes. Her low-rise black leather slacks were tight-fitting, and also precluded the use of her customary pants holster. Her gun, a small Glock 26, was strapped into place on her ankle, hidden by the slight flare of the pants leg. Not the best place for her weapon, but the only possible one.

David, luckily, had on his holster, and a traditional wire beneath the black leather jacket he wore. She was comfortable with that and wanted her partner to stay relatively near in case her equipment failed or she couldn't reach her weapon in time.

He chuckled and buried his face against her short-cropped hair. Placing a hand at her waist as he spoke in low tones into the wire, David made it seem to anyone watching that they were lovers sharing an intimate moment.

Only Diana knew better as she heard the echo in her right ear and met his blue-eyed gaze. She slowly nodded, confirming that the wire was working and that the other FBI agents and NYPD personnel in the crowd and outside in the van would be aware of what was happening.

Faking a laugh, she ran her hand along the edge of his cheek and strolled away from him. He followed for a moment, then grabbed her hard, turning her around. She resisted, yanked her arm away and launched into the fight they had rehearsed earlier, trying to draw attention. They exchanged a few heated words and a last little tug of war as she pulled free of David's grasp and headed for the mobbed dance floor.

 

Ryder lost sight of her and backtracked along the catwalks until he located her once more. She was pulling away from a handsome blond man, her strides angry as she moved toward the dance floor. Was she intent on losing her partner and finding another?

There was no doubt now she was the woman in his dreams. The resemblance was…eerie.

Her hair was sleek and cropped close to her head, displaying the long, elegant column of her throat and the fine lines of her collarbones. He was too far away to see the color of her eyes, but he could tell they were almond-shaped and exotic, her most compelling feature. Her nose was straight and slim. Her mouth full, with mobile lips. A defined, stubborn chin hinted at her determination. She wasn't classically pretty, but all the elements combined were intriguing. Possibly beautiful.

Even in the darkness of the club, she radiated tanned healthiness. As she danced with another young man, a flush worked over her cheeks. The enticing amount of skin displayed by the small bib halter she wore glistened with her perspiration. The halter was a deep red that served her well, accenting the color of her dark brown hair and creamy skin.

She moved fluidly, gracefully, her body lithe and full of strength—a mortal warrior. One who would age unless death claimed her before her time. His throat constricted as he thought of all the people he had lost over the length of his existence.

He drove that fear away and returned his attention to the woman on the floor below. Her body was toned, but curvy. She moved well-shaped hips, and her unbound breasts swayed against the fabric of her shirt. Desire raced along his nerve endings. He hardened as what was left of the human in him remembered all too well the sweetness of a woman and craved her the way the demon inside hungered for blood.

As she worked her way toward the stage, through the crush of bodies on the dance floor, he hurried along the network of catwalks, stepping over wires, jumping from one shaky walk to another so he would not lose sight of her. The flashing lights of the club made it difficult, hurting his sensitive eyes.

Forcing himself to concentrate, he honed in on her. She seemed to be searching for someone. Maybe the blond man she had left earlier? Maybe she was realizing the folly of trying to find him in this group of misfits.

Or maybe she was looking for someone new, excited by the prospect of danger and to what it might lead. An unfortunate end, Ryder thought, thinking of the two other girls before her and how they had misjudged someone in the crowd.

She reached the edge of the dance floor and he was nearly straight above her, behind one of the spotlights illuminating the stage. The heat from the lamp was nearly unbearable, yet he stood there, anyway, watching from behind the safety of its light. Anyone looking up would be blinded by its intensity.

She raised her arms and ran her hands through the short strands of her hair. A slight breeze plastered the halter top to her damp body, outlining every curve. Her scent teased his nostrils, the air from outside blowing up and across the length of the room. She had a clean scent. She wore no fragrance. He closed his eyes, breathed deeper, and the animal in him memorized the smell.

When he looked down once more, she was on the move, heading toward the source of that fresh air—an open door by the stage entrance that led to a long deserted alley behind the club.

While he normally didn't get involved with the patrons in the bar, tonight would be different, for he
had
to follow her. And as he did so, he called himself a fool a thousand times over. He was certain she was a woman he would come to love and, like all the others in his interminable life, come to lose.

Humans after all, were born to die.

 

Logic. Reason. They were the cornerstones of her profession. Diana used them every day to solve the cases she was assigned. But sometimes there was intuition and a gut instinct that ran contrary to what logic or reason told her.

Like the feeling she was having right now that had raised the hackles on the back of her neck. An almost preternatural sense of something not quite right. It was stronger than the feeling she'd had before, when she first entered the club. So strong that she knew someone was watching. She looked around and, seeing nothing, glanced upward.

Above her, the catwalks and wires swayed. The movement was too great to be caused by the breeze. Someone had been there. The killer maybe? The high tangle of metal and cables provided a perfect observation deck.

She examined the area, but the glare of the spotlights made it impossible to see much besides the barely discernible lines and curves of the infrastructure close to the ceiling. When she lowered her gaze, the brightness of the lights left spots in her eyes, making it difficult for her to pick out anyone in the crowd who might be paying a little too much interest.

She blinked a few times, closed her eyes and experienced a kaleidoscope of color behind her eyelids. When she opened her eyes again, the sensation of being watched had passed. Still, she searched the crowd, hoping to meet a gaze or see a face that would trigger the feeling again.

Across the way, David was scoping out the crowd. For a brief moment their gazes connected across the length of the club. She motioned to him, pointing to where she was headed, and spoke softly to confirm it, hoping the wire would pick up her voice over the noise of the band and the crowd. In her ear, she heard David acknowledge her words and saw him nod. He would make his way across eventually.

She pressed through the bodies, shooting a glare at one young man who groped her as she inched past. Continuing onward, she finally reached the open door and the cool current of air she had savored earlier. There was a bouncer by the exit, sitting in a chair tilted far back on two spindly legs. She was surprised the metal chair could hold his weight.

Walking to the door, she stopped and he stared up at her, his gaze sharp and questioning. “Ya leave this way, ya gotta get back in line,” he said with a growl, obviously annoyed.

Diana shrugged. Getting back in the line wasn't a problem. She was here to see and be seen. While the bulk and attitude of the bouncer might put off many, it might not have been enough to discourage the two victims or the killer who had followed them.

She exited through the door into the chill of the alley. It had rained while she was inside. The dark stone walls and cobblestones glistened with wet, and water had puddled in various spots. The sky was dark with heavy clouds that obscured a half moon.

Goose bumps erupted on her skin from the sudden change in temperature. She rubbed at her arms and glanced at the back section of the blind alley. The shadows were strong, and unlike the area leading to the street, there were no lights.

With the lack of moonlight, it would be easy for someone to hide there, waiting. And yet, with no way out, they'd have to take the victims past the bouncer at the open door or the crowd at the far end of the alley. Unless the alley had a back way out.

She took a step toward the darkness, keeping the wall of the building behind her so as not to be surprised. She had gone deep into the alley, but had not yet reached the end when the eerie sensation from before returned. The hairs on the back of her neck tingled, as did those on her arms. As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, a colder, deeper silhouette took shape a few feet in front of her.