Darkness Calls
Caridad Piñeiro

To Samantha—

Thank you for understanding about Mom’s quirks

and time away to write, for your support in everything

I do, and for all the love that you give me.

You are the best, and I am very, very proud of you!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 1

His was a life filled only with empty dreams, if one could call those fleeting thoughts in a vampire’s sleepless nights dreams. His existence was without end and ruled by a loneliness that made each day harder to bear than the one before.

High above the crowd, Ryder Latimer smelled the sting of the alcohol as the humans drank and spilled it in copious amounts in their search for oblivion or nirvana. Acrid smoke from cigarettes floated high into the air, and in that hazy cloud were the underlying tones of sweat. Sweat laced with lust, he thought, sniffing the air and detecting the ripe pheromone the humans exuded as they played their pitiful mating rituals.

Scents, he had discovered, were important to a vampire. Musks and other aromas literally brought out the beast in him. He normally avoided the smells, but it was tough to do in a crowd as large as this.

This far up, the sounds of the band and the crowd were garbled. Indistinct. A low buzz, like static, and a heavy thumping vibration from the bass of the music. An insistent lub-dub lub-dub, like the beat of a heart.

Ryder closed his eyes, placed his hands on the metal railing of the catwalk and the vibrations traveled up his arms. He took a deep breath, absorbing the smells. Soaking everything up as if by doing so he could restore a small part of the life he had lost when a strange turn of events during the Civil War had condemned him to this solitary life. It was a fleeting moment, the human scents and sounds racing through him, enervating him as he stood near the ceiling of the club.

In no time, however, Ryder was back to normal, watching like a disinterested deity, bored by the repetition of the activity below. Every night the same scene was replayed. Until tonight.

He had discovered in this morning’s paper that there was some killing going on in that mob of humans. The murderer had struck last week and then a few nights ago. Maybe he would hunt another soon, Ryder thought, glancing down and wondering who might be the next one to be taken. Who might become another trophy for the psycho stalking his club. The papers hadn’t mentioned The Lair, but Ryder had no doubt it was here that the hunt was on.

Ryder had sensed something different in the last few weeks, that unique smell of bloodlust that had made him wonder if another of his kind had come to feed. A club like this would be an excellent place to select a victim and then cull them from the herd.

He looked down once more and he saw her, standing at the edge of the crowd, searching for someone.

It wasn’t possible, he thought as he hurried along the catwalk, keeping the apparition in sight. For nearly a century she’d been in his dreams. Or maybe it was better to describe them as his restless nocturnal musings.

Regardless, Ryder had stopped questioning why the spirit came to him. Sometimes she arrived at times of unrest, the visions she brought portents of things to come. At other times, when the monotony and uncertainty of his existence made him question why to go on, she’d come to soothe his soul and give him the peace he was unable to find elsewhere.

But tonight, she was no longer just an apparition—or was his loneliness deluding him?

He struggled to get a glimpse of her face, but even with his vampire night sight, he still couldn’t be certain his imagination wasn’t getting the best of him.

After all, for more than a century, he had been virtually alone with only a human keeper and his apparition to comfort him. Maybe that was why his mind and eyes were playing games with him tonight. It was just a trick, Ryder told himself, and yet he stood, poised on the edge of the catwalk. Watching. Waiting. Hoping.

The loud, driving beat of the bass pulsed through Diana Reyes’s body, the vibrations pulling at something deep inside her. On stage, a guitarist thrashed around, his arm wildly circling as he strummed chords in sync to the pounding of the band behind him. A spotlight focused on him, picking up the gleam of sweat on his lean torso and the dark, swirling artwork on his upper right arm and shoulders. With a final jump and strum, the song ended, but the band quickly launched into another, its rhythm and violence not much different from the first.

Diana withstood the assault on her eardrums, watching from the periphery of the large crowd. There was a crush of bodies trying to make their way deeper into the space. Beyond them, other patrons lounged at tables along the border of a dance floor that was so packed she wondered how anybody could move to the music.

It was dark in the club, nearly pitch-black in spots. Overhead, dangling from an irregular maze of catwalks, wires and ropes, was an assortment of lighting equipment and mirrored balls that shot off erratic spots of light to create a jarring visual display on the dance floor. The only steady sources of illumination were those directed at the stage and at the long metallic bar along the side of the building. The bar was bathed in red spotlights, making the metal of its stainless-steel surface gleam as if coated in blood.

Apropos given that two women had lost their lives here…or at least commenced their journeys to death in this place. Those deaths were the reason FBI agent Diana Reyes had offered to go undercover. Her profile of the killer indicated this was the place where he’d selected his victims. And Diana was his type.

The two victims she had seen in the morgue days earlier had been young and pretty until the killer had gotten to them. His sociopathic handiwork suggested he was someone who liked inflicting pain. Someone who knew how to make it last. The medical examiner had implied that at some point, the victims may have passed into a “no pain” zone, courtesy of the adrenaline coursing through their bodies.

Diana absentmindedly nodded and rubbed at the ridge of scar along her own rib cage. She had firsthand knowledge of just what someone could do when her body shut down from an excess of physical and mental pain. She had crawled to her father, cradled him in her arms and tried to stop the bleeding from the bullet that had ripped into his chest, courtesy of a gang’s drive-by shooting. Futilely, she had pressed her hand against the wound, watching his blood leak between her fingers as he died in her arms. It wasn’t until after his death that she realized she had also been hit.

Diana was certain that for these victims, the killer had made the pain a real living thing. And at the end, she thought with a shudder, the two women had likely realized death was close at hand.

She intended to put an end to the killer’s spree. She threaded her way through the crowd, in search of her partner and hoping to become visible to the murderer.

Her investigation had confirmed that both victims had planned to come to this establishment on the nights they were killed. Even before eliminating known acquaintances as suspects, Diana was certain she had a serial killer on her hands. One who would likely strike again, and soon. The second girl had been murdered only a week after the first. Tonight’s surveillance should give Diana a feel for the place before she intensified the investigation with more equipment and personnel.

The mark on her hand—the red bat used as proof that IDs had been checked and the entrance fee paid—confirmed that the victims had in fact been here. She traced the edges of the design with her hand, thinking how it marked her in another way—as prey.

A touch came against the bare skin at the small of her back. She turned and faced David, her partner. Like the others in the club, he was dressed in black, from his jacket and T-shirt to his jeans, but with his blond, prep-school looks, it was hard for him to seem tough. Even the scruffy beard he’d grown did little to help. It was barely a peach fuzz on his boyish face.

He grinned and moved his hand. Her backless halter exposed her right shoulder blade, and he traced the edges of the tattoo there. “Nice touch. Both the shirt and the tattoo. Shame it’ll wash off,” he said, and Diana didn’t correct him.

The tattoo was a very real reminder of a moment of thoughtlessness, courtesy of a night of too much drinking. She’d only been nineteen at the time and trying to recover from the heartache of a long-term relationship that had gone sour. Her younger brother had offered to help her get over it. After many a foul-tasting tequila shooter, it had seemed appropriate to commemorate her stupidity with a tattoo. She had chosen a dagger poised upright over a heart, symbolic of the pain she suffered and hoped to guard against in the future. She had been too drunk to realize the knot of pain she carried inside her had everything to do with her father and nothing to do with the cheating boyfriend.

She kept the tattoo to remind her not to act recklessly, though she battled her impulse to be rash more often than she liked.

The knife and dagger on her shoulder was just one of the thousands of designs in the sea of bodies adorned with art and swathed in leather, chains and denim. The three earrings piercing her one ear coupled with the two on the other was a minimalist statement in this rough-looking crowd.

The club appeared to be what their sources had described: a place for those who liked to play on the edge—although neither of the two victims’ lifestyles hinted at anything other than flirtation with dangerous elements. She was familiar with the allure of places such as this. In the year after her father’s death, she and her brother had spent many a night in bars with a hard edge. It had been her way of rebelling against a bureaucracy that had allowed her father to be killed by people who had passed through the criminal justice system only to be released onto the streets. She’d snubbed her nose at the time she had spent conforming and striving to be good when none of it really mattered. Bullets didn’t differentiate between good or bad. They were equal-opportunity killers.

She had let the anger and hatred take hold of her after her father’s senseless death. In that dark place of anything goes, she had given in to her pain. She had lost herself in alcohol and dances with nameless partners.

It was only after waking one morning to find herself facedown on the floor, with her eighteen-year-old brother passed out beside her from his own overindulgence, that she realized they were heading to oblivion. In her wallowing, she had dragged him down, as well. She had reached deep inside, where she still believed good could be rewarded, and she’d found the strength to take control of her life and to help her younger brother get on his feet.

She had survived, but that need for the dark side had never really left her. She had sensed it coming back to life the moment she’d walked back into this bar. It had almost felt like…home.

Maybe that was the allure for the victims and their hunter—the loss of restraint and identity that an ambience such as this provided. Perhaps the freedom of this place made the victims careless and the killer secure enough to hunt and lure his prey.

Diana inclined her head toward her partner and pointed her finger in the direction of the bar. It was time to mingle and act as if they belonged. Time for her to become bait, which might be impossible in a crowd this size, even though she fit the profile of the killer’s tastes. He liked them young and flashy. Both women had been dressed provocatively, in clothes similar to what she now wore. The problem was that many young women in the club were similarly dressed. From a talk with the victims’ friends, Diana knew that both of the women had been outgoing and liked to dance, often with more than one man. She intended to do the same and hopefully set herself apart from the crowd.

With David following her, she began to thread her way through the mass of people and over to the bar, but something made her stop. A presence? Someone watching? She paused, carefully looking around, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Writing off her unease to a case of jitters, she continued onward through the crowd.

Chapter 2

As 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.

It was a man. She squinted, but it was too dark to see his face even though he stood close. Too close for her to pull out her weapon. It was a true Mexican standoff, the two of them considering each other in the dim light, neither one speaking. In her ear, the running comments of various agents crackled and she tried not to let them distract her.

A few feet away, a small spot of moonlight appeared as the wind drove the clouds away. If the man across from her would only move that short distance, it might give her the answers she needed. “Step into the light,” she said, striving for a tone of authority despite the situation, hoping David and the others would hear.

The seconds of silence stretched out after her command and then came his short bark of a laugh. “And why would I want to do that?” he asked, his low voice gravelly, as if it had been a long time since he had used it. There was a trace of an accent. Southern, she thought. Louisiana, she confirmed as he issued his own determined instructions.

“Darlin’, if you have a lick of sense, you’ll turn right around and head back into the club.”

He surprised her with his tone of concern. She couldn’t take that statement at face value as the others might have done, turning their backs on this man and then finding themselves…

It was likely David would be here within minutes. His instructions were to keep her in sight, and he had known where she was heading. But she couldn’t wait for her partner. If this was the man, a delay might prove fatal and she had no intention of ending her life in an alley that stank of stale urine.

“Step into the light where I can see you and I’ll go,” she said calmly, not trusting that he would listen. Preparing for what she would do if he didn’t.

“Do you think—”

“You’re a fool?” she finished for him.

He expelled a harsh breath and challenged, “I’m not the fool who’s running around with a killer loose.” Despite his comment, there was resignation in his voice, as if he, too, recognized that there was little either of them could do. She wasn’t surprised therefore when he said, “On three, we both move where we can see each other.”

“On three.” She counted down. As promised, she took the few steps to her right, mirroring his movement.

As they both reached the safety of the light, she detected a note of surprise in his features before he carefully schooled them. He had a severe yet handsome face. His eyes were a flat, unholy black against the dark of the night. They were intense, unblinking. Soulless, she thought for a moment, but then abruptly, as her gaze finally met his, there was a moment of connection. Within her, there was a sudden strange sense of…recognition. She berated herself silently for letting her imagination get the better of her.

“Satisfied?” he asked, his voice still husky. He stood mere feet away, a commanding presence. Tall and strong-bodied, he was dressed all in black, like most of the crowd inside. Only, on him, it was more than just a color. It was an aura of dangerous energy that made her take a step back.

“Who are you?” she pressed, aware that they were still the only ones in the alley. She listened to the chatter on the wire. Nothing to indicate help was on the way.

Before Diana could register his intentions, he closed the distance between them and grabbed hold of her wrist, yanking her to him.

Years of training took over. An elbow to his face had him rocking backward and she followed with a jab that straightened him, leaving him totally vulnerable for a full-force roundhouse kick. She connected to the side of his head with a thick thud, and he tumbled to the rough cobblestones. Before she could react, he was on his feet and moving toward her once more.

Diana struck out with a quick chopping motion. He blocked her blow forcefully and thrust her away, which sent her flying into the brick wall.

Her head hit hard and stars danced across her vision. She fought off the dazing blow and pressed her hands against the rough surface of the wall, struggling to find purchase so she wouldn’t fall to the ground. The chatter had ceased in her ear, which meant the wire had stopped working, not that it had been doing much good up to this point.

As her assailant neared again, David finally called out, “Hold your position or I’ll fire.”

She closed her eyes and held her breath for a moment. When there was silence, she struggled to focus her blurry gaze on her attacker, his hands on the top of his head. David stood behind him, inches shorter, his gun pointed at the base of the man’s skull.

David looked at her and asked, “You okay?”

Her cheek was throbbing painfully and she realized that the man’s defensive block had caught the side of her face. She raised her hand to the back of her head. There was a lump growing there beneath her hair. Even though her head was swimming and her vision was unclear, she told herself the bumps and bruises were nothing but minor discomforts. “I’m okay,” she replied, and took a step toward the man.

“Who are you?” she asked, getting right next to his face, her nose nearly bumping the edge of his jaw.

He smiled tightly and was about to answer when the bouncer realized that something was going on in the alley. “Boss man, you okay? Should I call the police?” the muscular man asked her assailant.

David kept his bead on her attacker and Diana approached the bouncer. “You know this man?”

“That’s Ryder Latimer. He’s the owner of the club. Came out to make sure nothing funny was going on,” the bouncer explained.

Diana sighed harshly and glanced at her partner, who lowered his weapon, holstered it and then spoke softly into the wire, calling off the imminent arrival of reinforcements.

She walked up to the man and noted he bore an imprint below his left eye from one of the blows she had inflicted. Her satisfaction was tempered by guilt, the burning pain across her cheek and the pounding in her head. “I guess we all need to talk.”

“I guess we do at that,” he said, and turned on his heel, barking a command to the bouncer on his way to the door of the club.

David and Diana remained behind, staring after him in surprise. The bouncer moved his head in the direction of the door and held out his hand. “After you,” he said facetiously.

Diana gritted her teeth to hold back her comment. A mistake. The movement sent a shaft of pain up the side of her face and into her skull. She moaned, and David reached out to steady her as she swayed.

“You need to see a doctor,” he said as she closed her eyes and battled the swirling dizziness in her head. She reached for the wall and instead encountered a rock-hard body.

Opening her eyes, she met the sharp-eyed gaze of her unwitting assailant, who actually seemed concerned. It was the last thing she thought as she passed out into his arms.

Chapter 3

She tried to open her eyes, but the glare of the light forced them closed. Reaching for her forehead, she grasped both sides of her head and cradled it gingerly.

“It’s about time you came to,” Ryder said, and the words ricocheted around her skull, causing more pain.

Somehow she found the grit to face him. “Haven’t you done enough?” she said, surprised that all she could muster was a whisper. Each movement of her jaw brought fresh waves of pain. She moaned, and a moment later she was rewarded with the chill of an ice pack against the throbbing side of her face and the gentle pass of his hand across her brow.

“Lean back and try to stay still. I called for a doctor,” he said, and Diana chose not to argue with him. If she argued, the pounding punishment in her skull would outweigh any satisfaction she might get.

A footfall alerted Diana to the entry of someone else. Diana opened her eyes to mere slits. An elegantly dressed young woman came into the room, followed by David.

“Your friend is finally awake,” she said, and Diana assumed this was the doctor the club owner had called. The woman’s voice was soft and cultured, colored with the accents of exclusive prep schools and money. Despite her easy tone, Diana’s pain increased.

“Easy,” her assailant murmured, and stroked a gentling hand across Diana’s forehead once more. The tips of his fingers were rough and yet somehow comforting.

“Ryder, you never cease to amaze me. Is this another lady you’ve charmed?” the physician teased.

Diana wished the doctor would shut up and examine her. “Please. Let’s get this over with,” she whispered. A second later the doctor pried open one of Diana’s eyelids, flashed a light in her eye, then repeated the same with the other eye. It was a small penlight, but it had the strength of a laser, burning away what little was left of Diana’s brain cells.

“Open those eyes and tell me how many fingers I have up?” the doctor asked.

Diana slowly eased her eyes open, letting them adjust to the light. It took a while, and she had to force herself to focus so she could count the fingers the physician was wiggling in her face. “Three,” she growled, then closed her eyes and leaned back against the cushions of the couch.

“She’ll live, Ryder, although she’s got a slight concussion,” the young woman proclaimed. “Next time, try to take it a little easier on the ladies. I thought you considered yourself a gentleman.” The doctor stowed the penlight in her pocket and reached into her bag. She took out a small foil packet of medicine and handed it to David.

“Here are some meds for your partner. She should be watched overnight. If there’s no one who can—”

“My brother can do it, David. I don’t want to go to any hospital,” she replied.

The young woman nodded and glanced at Ryder. “See you later, Ryder?” she asked.

“I’ll be by, unless the agents need to keep me for some reason,” he replied, but David shook his head.

“Great, then. Thanks for your help, Danvers,” Ryder said. The doctor walked from the room, mumbling under her breath as she did so. The calming, pain-killing chill of the ice pack returned, however, and Diana wondered why this man was being so solicitous. And why she was wondering what kind of relationship he and the good doctor shared.

She opened her eyes. This time it took only a few seconds for her to focus on his too-handsome face, which was filled with concern—and a trace of guilt. “It seems as if we should know each other’s names by now,” she said.

It was amazing that such a small hint of a smile could transform the harsh planes of his face, brightening his dark countenance. She sensed he didn’t smile often. “Ryder Latimer. Proprietor of this club. And you two would be—”

“Special Agent Harris.” Her partner walked up to Ryder, who sat on the edge of a low coffee table beside Diana.

Ryder stood as the other man approached and they shook hands. He sat down once more and faced her.

“Diana Reyes,” she answered, and held out her hand. He took it in his, and when he noticed the dull rose across her knuckles from their earlier fisticuffs, his lips thinned into a tight line. Smoothing a finger across the fresh marks, he gazed at her, his face hard. His touch sent a wave of heat skittering up her arm. “I’m sorry about hurting you,” Ryder said softly.

“You were watching me,” she pressed, disturbingly aware of him. This close, his face was striking, undeniably masculine. A sharp, straight slash of a nose. Those dark, nearly black eyes that made her feel as if she could sink into their depths to rest. And his lips—full and well-defined…

Maybe it was the blow to her head that was distorting her sense of things, but it seemed she had seen that face before. That she knew him somehow…and knew she could trust him.

“I read the papers the other morning,” he started with a shrug. “I was worried the killer might be here—”

“Maybe because of your clientele and the bar’s motif?” asked David, sitting on the couch by Diana’s feet.

Ryder shifted to face him, his legs spread. He rested his forearms on thick-muscled thighs and steepled his hands. He had capable hands. Large, with blunt fingers. Diana had to tear her gaze away from the sight of them. She was a sucker for men with strong hands.

“There are all kinds at the club,” Ryder answered. “For most, it’s a way to cut loose and be a little different.”

“Why did you follow me?” she asked, although she was quite certain he had been in the alley before she arrived.

“I didn’t. I was already out there. Beat you down from the catwalks.”

He caught her off guard with his answer. She had been expecting him to lie. Needing time to regroup and get a fresh perspective, she peered at her partner past the pack of ice she still held to her face and said, “I think I’d like to talk to Mr. Latimer in the morning. Bright and early.”

“First thing in the a.m.?” Ryder questioned, dread in his voice.

“Not an early bird, I gather,” Diana replied as she rose and handed him the half-melted ice pack.

“You can’t even begin to imagine,” he answered, and as Diana met his gaze, she sensed there was a wealth of meaning in those simple words.

“No, I don’t think I can,” she acknowledged, some extrasensory perception kicking in to warn her: Ryder Latimer was clearly not what he appeared to be.

Diana turned her attention to the lists of convicted sex offenders in the area, sipping an oversize cup of café latte she had picked up on her way to work. Her caffeine-and-sugar rush was humming nicely when David showed up at nine. He plopped himself on the sofa and she brought over the lists she had already reviewed. “I’ve flagged a couple who seem like possible suspects.”

David rubbed at his eyes, where a bleary network of red obscured the normally bright blue. “Tired?” she asked, dropping onto the sofa next to him.

“Hmm,” he grunted, and grabbed the lists from her. As he examined them, he asked, “How long do we give Latimer before we chase him down?”

Diana glanced at her watch. It was already nine-fifteen with no word from him. Latimer didn’t strike her as the type who would be late, which could only mean that he had no intention of showing up. She fought back the sudden disappointment and mustered righteous anger. He had not kept his promise. So much for the trust she had felt last night.

Trust being a funny and fragile thing, she thought as she ran her hand along her right cheek. It was still sore, and this morning she’d woken with a pounding headache. The medication the doctor had given her had eased the pain enough for her to concentrate on her work. Still, every time she moved her jaw, a slight sting reminded her.

She glanced at her watch again even though only seconds had passed. “At nine-thirty we go after him. If he refuses to cooperate, we’ll get a warrant.”

It was as if Latimer had heard; a moment later her phone rang. She hurried from the couch and grabbed it. Anger blossomed inside her as the secretary said Latimer’s lawyer was upstairs. “Bastard,” she mumbled under her breath as she hung up the phone, all of her earlier interest in him blown away by the call.

David picked up his head from the sofa back. “Let me guess—”

“Latimer sent his lawyer down. Probably to throw up roadblocks so we couldn’t question him.”

“Testy this morning, aren’t we?” he said, noting her irritation.

“I don’t like games. He said he’d be here. If I’d thought otherwise, I would have hauled him down here last night.” She walked to her desk, slipped her jacket off her chair and put it on.

“Especially after the little incident?” She shot David a glare as she headed for the door of her office. Of course she was mad about the “incident,” but she also felt betrayed.

That sense of betrayal fueled her anger as she and David arrived at the anteroom to the assistant director in charge’s office. His secretary nodded and gave them a tight, uncomfortable smile. “He’s waiting for the two of you.”

Diana took a breath and knocked on the door. After hearing the soft “Come in,” she and David entered.

In a chair opposite ADIC Jesus Hernandez sat a middle-aged man. Hernandez immediately identified him as Latimer’s lawyer and the man rose, offering his hand.

Diana and David shook hands with the man but continued to stand even though the lawyer motioned for them to sit. “Mr. Ruggiero. I wish I could say it was good to see you, but I would have much rather had your client come down as he promised last night,” Diana said.

The man glanced up at her and then at David. “My client has every intention of presenting himself—this afternoon.”

“He agreed to come down this morning. Is there some reason—”

“Mr. Latimer made that concession under duress, Special Agent Reyes. We both know that after the altercation—”

“Brought about by your client attacking—”

“My client advises that you struck first. He was only defending himself,” Ruggiero shot back.

“Your client has a foot and at least one hundred pounds over my partner, Mr. Ruggiero,” David said.

Hernandez finally joined the fray and brought silence to the room with a sharply barked “Enough.”

Diana nodded and at Hernandez’s prompting, sat in the chair next to Ryder’s lawyer. David took a seat on the couch. As she sat and listened to her boss’s briefing, she wondered why Latimer had sent a shark rather than come himself.

The nattily dressed lawyer sat calmly as Hernandez advised them on Latimer’s concerns and his willingness to cooperate in any way he could, including presenting himself in the late afternoon for questioning. The lawyer nodded, confirming each of Hernandez’s statements.

Ruggiero must have taken fashion tips from an early Godfather movie—his brown hair was ruthlessly slicked back with gel and his silk suit was shiny, the oily sheen in keeping with the unctuous smile he had given her when they met. He had on an overpowering cologne that made her nauseous, as did his tight, ferretlike smile.

“My client will do everything in his power to cooperate,” Ruggiero replied in seemingly sincere tones, and she wondered how he could lie so easily. Latimer clearly had something to hide, and this man was here to help him do so.

“Tell me, Mr. Ruggiero. Does your client’s idea of cooperation include attempting to restrain a federal officer?” Diana countered, and gave the man some credit when he had the grace to blush.

“A misunderstanding, Agent—”

“Special Agent in Charge, Mr. Ruggiero,” David corrected him.

Diana shot her partner a glare, hating that he had paraded her title. In her book, titles alone didn’t earn respect. She addressed the lawyer calmly, her tone brooking no disagreement. “If your client doesn’t appear by this afternoon, he’ll leave me no option but to issue a warrant.”

“My client has rights—”

“And it’s well within his rights for us to ask him to answer a few questions. If he feels uncomfortable, he has the right to counsel and to refuse to answer. In which case, we’ll charge him as the suspect and hold him for additional proceedings,” Hernandez answered calmly, attempting to stop further disputes. “Do you think your client can come by this afternoon, at let’s say…”

Hernandez stopped and glanced at Diana to continue. “Four o’clock would be fine,” she confirmed.

The attorney nodded, rose and walked out the door.

After he was gone, Diana let out a stinging Spanish expletive. Hernandez whistled beneath his breath. David coughed uncomfortably.

“Well, what does he think we’re going to do? Chinese water torture or boiling in hot oil? The last thing we want is to lose a suspect due to a technicality,” she said hotly.

David shrugged. “You and Latimer got off on the wrong foot last night. Maybe that worried him.”

“And speaking of that, Diana, I understand from your reports that you and this suspect had a physical altercation. One in which you may have suffered a possible injury?” Hernandez glanced at a file as he spoke.

“Has anyone here checked you out?” he continued.

“I planned on going down—”

“As soon as we are done,” Hernandez instructed, and then quickly launched into a discussion of the case and their plan of action for the interrogation of Latimer.

Diana took a deep breath, her headache having intensified during the interview. She hoped Latimer wouldn’t mess around with them. They needed his cooperation at the club. But something told her that even though he hadn’t been on the up-and-up with them, it had nothing to do with the killings. He was hiding something else. Something more…personal.

When Hernandez dismissed them, she rose and followed David from the office, the pounding in her head intense and almost debilitating.

“Diana?” David asked as he noted her discomfort.

She nodded and forced a smile. “A bad headache. And even if Hernandez hadn’t ordered it, I’d be heading to Maggie’s, anyway, to have her check me out.”

David smiled a broad ear-to-ear grin at the mention of the staff physician. “Mind if I tag along?”

His eagerness was a balm. She had long hoped that her friend Maggie would get together with her very nice, but slightly inept partner. “Sure.”

“Great,” he said, and followed her as she walked down the hall and to the elevator.

Chapter 4

Diana entered Maggie’s office and found her friend at her desk, reviewing a file. Diana stopped and David nearly ran into her back. She shot him a look over her shoulder, telling him to cool it. “Hi, Maggie. Came by for a quick checkup,” she said.

Maggie rose and slinked her way around her desk. She had the kind of walk women envied and men drooled over. With her five-foot-ten-inch height and slim build, she looked more like a model than a physician. “Heard you had a small altercation,” she said, and then leaned forward, to take a better look. “I can see you had more than a little physical contact.”

Diana shrugged it off, but David piped in from behind her, “She was out cold for about five minutes.”

Diana glared at him again and he backed off, taking a seat on the sofa in Maggie’s office.

“Thanks, David. At least one of you has some sense,” Maggie said with a smile that had David blushing in response.

Maggie skewered Diana with her sharp gaze. “You and I obviously need to talk about what happened.”

Diana didn’t argue and followed Maggie into the examining room, where she jumped up onto the table and waited as Maggie slipped on a lab coat, grabbed some things and walked over.

“Were you really out for five minutes?” Maggie questioned as she plucked a penlight from her jacket pocket, flipped it on and shined it in Diana’s eyes. Like last night, Diana pulled away from it.

Maggie shut it down and placed her hands on her hips. “Sensitivity, huh? Bet you have a monster of a headache, as well.”

“Yeah, and a little fuzziness every now and then, but don’t worry. Another doctor took a look at me last night and said it was a mild concussion,” she reassured.

Maggie harrumphed, reached out and gently applied pressure to the area on Diana’s cheekbone and jawline where Latimer’s forearm had connected. Diana winced, but the pain was minor. “This doctor let you go home without—”

“She gave me instructions and my brother dutifully woke me every few hours. Needless to say, I’m a little wiped today,” Diana complained.

Maggie said nothing else, just grabbed a pad and wrote out a prescription. She roughly tore it off and handed the slip to Diana.

Diana eyed the paper with confusion and a little trepidation. “You’re not going to say anything? Not going to warn me about—”

“Doing something as stupid as taking on a man twice your size and failing to go to a hospital like any reasonable person should have? No, of course not. You’re a big girl, right? You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Mama Maggie, I appreciate your concern—”

“You’re as pigheadedly macho as any of those men out there, Di. And that’s not a good thing,” Maggie said as she began her tirade again. “And what kind of doctor—”

“Her name was Danvers. Melissa, I think,” Diana said.

“I had a professor named Danvers in med school. He had a daughter,” Maggie offhandedly offered.

“Think you could dig up a little more on her? Ask around?” Diana asked, and tucked the prescription paper into her jacket pocket.

Maggie sensed there was more to Diana’s interest. “For personal or business reasons?”

“A little of both. For business reasons—I want to know what kind of doctor she is. Whether she’s on the up-and-up.”

“And for the personal?” Maggie asked, one fine auburn-colored eyebrow raised.

“She’s involved with a suspect. How involved, Maggie? Would she lie to protect him?” Diana explained.

Maggie eyed her carefully and finally nodded. “The second question—the one about being involved—sounds like it’s still business? Unless of course…is he handsome?”

Handsome was an understatement, Diana thought but wouldn’t admit. She shrugged and said, “I guess.”

Maggie chuckled and shook her head, clearly aware of Diana’s subterfuge. “Must be major-league handsome, but despite that, or maybe because of it, I will ask around for you. See what I can find out.”

Diana slipped off the examining table and faced her friend once more. “Think you can do me another favor?”

Maggie let out a huff, but it was more playful than anything. “What now?”

“Do you think that liberated woman inside of you could talk to my poor partner? Ask him to have lunch or dinner? Put him out of his misery?”

“What makes you think—”

“I know you too well, Mags, just like you know me. Do yourself a favor. He’s a really nice guy.”

“Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment,” Maggie noted, and slipped an arm around her shoulders as she walked Diana back to her outer office.

David was still there, waiting patiently. He jumped off the sofa and grinned at them. “Ready to go?”

“. I just can’t wait to hit that computer and start mousing through all those entries,” Diana teased. “Eat lunch at my desk while I pore over a stack of details about sex offenders and murderers and, of course, review the ME’s reports again.”

“We could always go out for a quick bite,” David said, obviously not enjoying the prospect of eating over stomach-churning crime-scene photos.

“No, not me. I’d like to get some things done before Latimer shows up this afternoon. But you two go ahead,” she said, and glanced at Maggie, who grinned and piped in with “If you don’t want to go alone, I’d be more than happy to join you.”

David looked from one woman to the other, a little flummoxed by Maggie’s offer. Then he grinned and nodded. “That would be great. We can bring Diana back a sandwich so she doesn’t have to eat fossilized food from the vending machine.”

“See you at twelve, then?” Maggie prompted, and after David confirmed the time, they returned to Diana’s office.

They talked over how they would handle Latimer’s interrogation later that afternoon, then put in a call to the local detective heading up the NYPD part of the investigation so he could join them. It was close to noon when they finished, and despite her earlier plans, Diana needed to fill the prescription Maggie had given her. “I’m going to get this,” she said, waving the small slip of paper in the air, “and grab a sandwich down at the deli. Meet me back here for Latimer’s interrogation.”

“Will do, Special Agent in Charge.” David waved as he left the room.

Diana grabbed her purse and headed out, picking up her medication at a local drugstore and buying a premade sandwich at the corner deli. Back at her desk, she popped one of the painkillers, slugged it down with a mouthful of Coke and laid out her sandwich so she could work while she ate.

She started with the crime-scene photos, reviewing those of the locations first while she ate her sandwich. Despite years of training and investigations, she hadn’t grown desensitized enough to eat while examining the more grisly photos. She then turned to the remaining evidence, carefully reviewing all the details of the injuries inflicted and the places where the killer had dumped the bodies.

The toxicology reports from the medical examiner’s office had revealed the presence of flunitrazepam residues, what was more commonly known on the street as a “roofie”—the date-rape drug. If the killer administered the drug in a drink at the club, he’d have had twenty or thirty minutes before it took effect. Enough time to convince his victim to leave voluntarily.

Where he took the women had to be as equally isolated as the places where he left the bodies. But the evidence pointed to a more populated location. She glanced at the comments about the sheets in which the victims had been wrapped. They were the kind that hotels used and bore the traces of commercial laundering. The ME indicated the sheets had been clean and contained no latent prints nor hair or skin samples other than those of the victims.

But they did have DNA from the killer. Body fluids had been found on the women’s bodies, although he had not sexually violated them.

She closed up the files, shut her eyes and leaned back in her chair, trying to create an impression in her mind of the kind of man who would do this. There was anger there, both at the women and at himself. He probably hated that he became aroused by what he was doing. When the arousal became too intense…It likely gave him a sense of control to be able to curb his response. It gave him a high to shame his victims and degrade them with their inability to stop him from taking pleasure. When that no longer satisfied him…

Could Ryder Latimer be that kind of man? she wondered. She didn’t doubt that he was capable of violence, although he had restrained himself during their altercation. But Latimer had lied and he was hiding something. Diana’s gut told her that it was a big something. And that she could easily have her answer by forcing Ryder to submit to a DNA test, only…

She wanted to believe in him. She wanted to think that he would show up that afternoon and provide the answers she needed. Restore the connection she had sensed last night.

Rousing herself, she shook her head and turned to her computer to run through all the databases at her disposal.

By the time she finished, nearly three hours later, her head was swimming. None of the materials had brought her any closer to the identity of the killer. Nor had they brought her any closer to eliminating Ryder Latimer as a suspect, although…

Her intuition kicked in again, screaming not to be ignored. Telling her that she had to keep an eye on him, but not because of the murders.

Ryder took one last look in the mirror, imagining as he had for over a century that there was an image staring back at him. It made shaving a bitch, not to mention straightening one’s tie.

Slapping on some Chanel aftershave, he inhaled the light, citrusy scent. It helped mask the odors of the people with whom he came into contact. Odors that sometimes caused him problems.

Diana wore no scent. Around her, all he smelled was the clean, enticing allure of a woman. Plus leather and oil, he remembered suddenly. In addition to the leather pants she’d worn last night, he’d caught the odor of a holster with a well-maintained gun.

Glancing at his watch, he noted he had to get going. Although it was a short subway ride downtown, the New York City transit system was sometimes unpredictable. The last thing he wanted was to go aboveground and grab a cab. Staying any length of time in the sun drained him of energy. After prolonged exposure, his joints and muscles grew excruciatingly painful and stiff. Leave him out in the sun way too long…He didn’t want to think about it, having once seen the shriveled remains of a vampire who had dared to think himself invincible.

No, he recognized his limitations all too well. That was why he had used his lawyer to stall the meeting. Early morning and midday sun were too much for a vampire of his age to handle, even with the protection of clothing. The late afternoon was infinitely better, and so here he was, on his way to see her. He had no delusions about his reasons for heading into the sunlight. He had told himself all night long that it was lunacy. The only way this could end would be badly. He didn’t want to be attracted to her. He couldn’t afford to be, he reminded himself and shook his head.

The things men did for women, he thought as he pulled the lapels of his jacket until they were flat, and walked to the door of his apartment. He grabbed a fedora from the coatrack next to the door and called his goodbye to Danvers, who was heading to the hospital for her late-afternoon rounds. “If you need me—”

“I’ll call you,” Ryder finished, and Melissa sailed out the door, perfectly groomed.

The brilliant doctor’s orderliness and control had helped him on more than one occasion. But he worried that as his companion she had no social life. He experienced a twinge of guilt; serving him kept her from enjoying a normal life.

Running out of the apartment, he grabbed an elevator and took it down to the subbasement level, a floor normally frequented only by the maintenance men who checked the building’s electrical plant. Dark, damp and almost always empty, it had a second door that led to an underground access tunnel near Lexington Avenue. The entrance was hidden in the recesses of the building, next to a bomb shelter.

Ryder had had both built during the fifties, at the height of the Cold War. The mason who had done the work had seemed to understand why Ryder wanted another avenue of escape in the event of a nuclear attack. The man had been paid well to do the work and keep the secret of the tunnel’s location and the fact that Ryder had a hand in the corporation that owned the building.

The building was just one of the many properties in which Ryder’s company had an interest. After his “death” he’d recovered some of the funds he’d hidden before the Civil War, leaving the bulk of the money for his wife. With his funds, he’d bought real estate and with the earnings from the real estate, he’d invested in other things. Little by little, his holdings had grown and now money was not a concern.

He stepped into the tunnel and secured the door behind him. The smell and heat in the tunnel was always bad and only slightly better in the winter. Thankfully, it was just a few yards to a similar entrance into a maintenance tunnel for the Sixty-eighth Street subway station. The subway would deposit him at the Brooklyn Bridge/City Hall stop. From there it was a short walk to Federal Plaza. Not enough exposure to the rays to do much damage, especially since the fedora helped shade most of his head and face and the sunglasses in his pocket protected his acute eyesight from the worst of the sun.

Once out of the tunnel, he was in a little-used passage to the main subway entrance. He walked to the turnstile, pulled out his Metrocard and swiped it through the reader.

Walking to the edge of the platform, he looked uptown into the tunnel, but there was no sign of a downtown train. Despite that, his body registered the subtle vibrations and sounds of something approaching. A few moments later, the rush of air from the tunnel confirmed the imminent arrival of the number six.

With the hiss and squeal of brakes that grated on his sensitive hearing, the train lurched to a halt. Except for a number of younger people, clearly students on their way to Hunter College, few passengers got off. Most were headed to the main commuter stations like Grand Central and Times Square, where they would make the necessary connections to other trains. Ryder packed onto the crowded car and the scents and sounds of the mass of people attacked him. He closed his eyes as he always did and began a mantra he had learned many, many years ago from a Japanese man interred at a California camp during World War II.

As always, the mantra soothed the anger of the animal within and brought him some measure of peace.

Holding on to the pole, he swayed and bounced as the train rocketed to his destination. Once there, he raced up the stairs, slid on his glasses and did what he could to avoid the direct rays of the sunlight until he was finally in the cool interior lobby of 26 Federal Plaza, home of the New York City branch of the FBI. Tranquilly, he got in the line necessary to clear the security barriers, and, after waiting almost interminably, he was allowed through and directed to someone who would take him to the interrogation room.

When he arrived, Diana was waiting by the elevator, her partner beside her. They were like the eternal yin and yang. Light and dark. Good and, well…still good but with a lot of other things thrown in that weren’t necessarily so straight. Things that roused something dark within him. He nodded and acknowledged their presence.

“Latimer. Nice to see you’re finally here. Where’s your Mr. Ruggiero?” Diana said icily, and beckoned him down the hall.

“I didn’t think his presence was demanded,” Ryder answered, sensing that her anger was simmering beneath the calm she was trying to present. “I have nothing to hide.” Well, at least, nothing pertinent to the investigation.

Diana shot him a glance that clearly said she thought otherwise and then opened the door to one of the rooms. Inside, two other men waited.

He walked in, and she quickly introduced Jesus Hernandez, the assistant director in charge, and a tall, very Irish-looking man by the name of Peter Daly, who was the lead detective from the NYPD homicide squad that was assisting with the case.

A moment later he was invited to sit and the interrogation began.

Chapter 5

Ryder answered questions about his background—a fictional account of his life in New Orleans and elsewhere before he moved to New York. It was well rehearsed after years of practice. The narrative was one that had enough detail to satisfy but nothing that could be tangibly verified. No colleges attended or professional degrees earned despite the fact that at one time he had been a physician. Those details would only force him to create a tangle of lies that would trip him up and have the authorities wondering why he was being evasive.

Detective Daly seemed to notice the lack of detail, for on more than one occasion he jumped in to ask a question that might lead Ryder on a path to that tangle. Ryder deftly avoided those inquiries, but it was clear the detective was not happy.

Like Diana, this NYPD cop was not all that he seemed. Beneath the calm and observant exterior, there was a determined mind that would not be satisfied until he had the answers he wanted. Answers Ryder was not giving him.

As the three FBI representatives moved on with the questioning, the detective said nothing more. He just sat back and whittled away at the explanations Ryder gave. When talking about the club it was easier for Ryder to go with the full truth, for it was a real establishment with real people. Plus, he ran a clean business and no investigation, no matter how deep or invasive, would find otherwise.

His willingness to elaborate and cooperate seemed to mollify the investigators, although Diana and Detective Daly were not totally convinced of Ryder’s intentions. It made sense. His intentions had only a little something to do with finding the killer and a lot more to do with protecting himself and his way of life.

He was smooth, Diana thought, observing Ryder as he answered another question about his past even though a moment before they had been discussing the club’s bouncers and any possible altercations they might have had with the patrons.

Ryder leaned back in the chair and adopted a very casual, laid-back stance. If he was nervous, there wasn’t a thing to give it away. His pupils were wide and open. His facial muscles relaxed. “As I said before, Detective, my mama home-schooled me—”

“In your place in the bayou?” Daly finished, but Ryder just shook his head.

“You Northerners don’t seem to understand, we don’t all grow up in the swamps, Detective. As I said before, my family lived in a small place on the outskirts of the French Quarter. That’s in New Orleans, if you didn’t know,” he chastised, adding a slow drawl to his voice that made the city’s name sound like Nawlins. Again, she had to admire him. He was either telling the truth or he was an exceptionally good liar. And his drawl…it made her think of sultry Southern nights and…She stopped herself from going there and concentrated again on the interrogation.

“And your mother—” Daly began, but Ryder cut him off.

“My mother was a waitress in various establishments, but died when I had just turned thirteen. I ended up on the streets, living however I could. Moving around a bit until I decided to leave for other opportunities,” he replied, his voice hardening as if it was painful to recollect that part of his life.

She couldn’t picture him as a street urchin. He was polished in a way that came from breeding and not from trying to prove he had made it in the world. The clothing he wore spoke of a man with innate taste, from the soles of his Gucci-clad feet to the Jhane Barnes suit and what she was certain was a hand-tailored Egyptian cotton shirt. This was a man used to elegant things and yet…There was a hardness under that graceful facade that only came with seeing too much of life. She had that same harsh aspect deep inside herself and recognized a kindred spirit. Maybe that was why she was drawn to him.

As he finished his explanation and met her gaze, he gave her a chagrined look as if he realized that she saw through all the polish and shine. She started to smile back, then reined it in. She was supposed to be investigating, not commiserating.

After a few more questions, the ADIC took charge. “Mr. Latimer, we thank you for your cooperation and hope you will have time to assist Special Agent in Charge Reyes and her colleagues with whatever they may need at your club or—”

“I’d be delighted to show Ms. Reyes around tonight, if she wishes. We’re closed, and it would be the perfect opportunity for her to get a feel for the place. Plus, we can discuss how I can assist with the investigation.” He gave her a devastating smile that warmed her with its intensity.

It was that response that had her hesitating to go anywhere alone with him, but she nodded at her ADIC and Colleagues. “That would be acceptable, although Special Agent Harris and Detective Daly have other plans for tonight.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ryder replied, although she sensed he was pleased. Did he think that by cutting her away from the others he might be able to gain some advantage? Maybe even charm his way out of any further role in the investigations? He’d be unpleasantly surprised to find otherwise. She intended to stick close…for business reasons only, she clarified to herself.

“Well, I think it’s time we all got moving,” she said, and rose.

She bid everyone in the room goodbye, and Ryder followed her out of the interrogation room and down to a smaller office at the end of the hall. Once inside, Diana slipped off her jacket and tossed it on the sofa near the door. She held out her hand, offering him the chair in front of her desk, and he sat, crossing one leg over the other and slouching down slightly.

He glanced around her office, his gaze sharp as if taking inventory and sizing her up. Diana wished her space was a trifle neater rather than boasting its usual clutter of files and papers. She refused to apologize for it, even though she detected condemnation.

“Comfortable?” she asked instead, slipping into her own chair, removing her holstered gun and locking it into her top desk drawer.

“No, but this will have to do, won’t it?” he challenged, finally vocalizing some of his displeasure over his involvement in the case.

Diana held back her comment, dug a fat manila file from a small pile on the side of her desk, and plopped it onto the desktop between them. Opening the folder, she rotated it so he could examine the contents as she began to fill him in on the background of the case. Of course, the folder was missing what few key pieces of information they had. Call it a test, she thought, wondering whether he would slip up and give away anything that might implicate him.

He didn’t. On the contrary, as they discussed the case his intelligence and observations impressed her as did his willingness to offer information on his various employees and, at times, himself. She stored away each nugget of information, using them to construct a better picture of the man sitting before her.

He was a loner. A man who had experienced great loss and still bore the weight of it in a heart that sought respite. She understood such loss. She had experienced it herself and, like Ryder, still carried scars within her that hadn’t healed. And, like Ryder, a part of her hoped someone would help ease the burden and heal the wounds. But two injured people…it didn’t bode well for a happy ending, she thought.

“Any ex-employees who might harbor a grudge? Maybe want to hurt you and the club by choosing its patrons as targets?” she asked, trying to pull away from what she was feeling and return to her role as investigator.

Ryder shrugged. To have enemies one had to have friends. Ryder had neither, only his companion Melissa Danvers. His employees were just that and nothing more, as were his lawyer and other business associates. “No one. I try to be fair, Ms. Reyes.”

Tired of her questioning, he asked, “What do you think this killer is like? What makes him tick?”

Diana leaned back in her chair, considering him as if she wasn’t quite sure if she could trust him. But he also sensed something else…interest. Unwanted attraction on her part. Her eyes narrowed and then she began her explanation. “He obviously has a lot of anger toward women. He acts out that anger by ritualistically torturing his victims.”

Ryder nodded. “I noticed the cuts from the pictures,” he said.

“Mmm. He likes hurting them,” she continued. “I think he makes sure that they are aware of what he plans to do. That gives him power. That gives him the ability to…He probably can’t function sexually without that.”

“Not much of a man,” Ryder intoned, and stood, stretching out the kinks in his back from the hours of sitting. “Please continue,” he said. She described the motivating force for the killer, the likely age of the suspect and how she believed he spent time choosing his victims before he finally took them away to be tortured and killed. As she spoke, he walked away from her and paced the small open space to the right of her desk. His movement took him past the window, which faced the water and provided a view of the East River and the Narrows. At night, it would give her a glimpse of the Statue of Liberty and the ferries going to and from Staten Island. He suspected she had been there more than one night to see those sights.

On the ledge of the window there was an assortment of orchids, some in full exotic bloom. Fussy, fragile flowers. Not at all like their owner. She was strong and capable. Resilient and yet…wounded, he thought. He wanted to understand those hurts. Help heal them, he thought as he continued to listen to her report.

“Mr. Latimer?” she questioned. He realized she had asked him a question that he had obviously missed during his musings.

“First of all, let’s make it Ryder if we’re going to be working together,” he said, wanting to break down some of the barriers between them.

She hesitated but finally relented. “Ryder it is then, as long as you call me Diana.”

“I’m sorry, Diana, for ignoring you, but I think I need a break.”

“I asked if you wanted to get some dinner. There’s a little Italian place two blocks away where we can grab a bite and then head to your club.” She rattled off the name of the restaurant.

Ryder nodded, although the bite he intended to grab was way different than what Diana had just proposed. “I just need to make a call first,” he said, and she offered the use of her phone. He declined. “It’s personal.”

Her expressive gold-green eyes widened, and she surprised him by giving him an amused grin. “Sorry to make you cancel a hot date. I need to freshen up, anyway, so I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She rose and left the room, leaving Ryder in privacy, but not to cancel a hot date. On the contrary, he needed to make plans for an ice-cold bag of blood.

He reached to his side, removed his cell phone from the clip on his belt and picked up the framed snapshot of her family. Her mother, father and brother stood close to a younger Diana. All were smiling. He replaced the frame on her desk, depressed the number one on his phone and held it until Danvers answered with a soft, almost annoyed “Yes, Ryder.”

“I need you to bring a snack.” He gave Melissa the name and address of the restaurant. “I’ll try to stall for about half an hour or so to give you time to get there. Beep me when you’re ready, and I’ll meet you inside the men’s room.”

“Oh, come on. Not the men’s room again,” Melissa complained, but Ryder just laughed and reiterated his request.

“Yeah, although I think I should get paid extra for the men’s room,” she joked. Over the years of servitude Ryder had not provided visible remuneration to the various Danvers who had assisted him. They served Ryder as a family tradition and out of friendship. Occasionally Ryder provided funds for things like Melissa’s schooling.

“I’ll put something extra in this week’s envelope,” he answered, and heard her laugh before her tone turned serious.

“So how was she—” A knock at the door precluded any additional discussion. “Gotta run,” Ryder said, and pushed the end button on the cellular, cutting Melissa off midsentence. Diana waited hesitantly by the door until he motioned her in.

She entered, went immediately to her desk, unlocked her drawer, removed her holster and gun, and slipped them onto the back waistband of her pants. As she reached behind her, the fabric of her shirt pulled against her breasts, and Ryder couldn’t help but appreciate that though she was slender and petite, she managed to have curves in all the right places.

As her gaze met his, she colored a becoming shade of pink and quickly dropped her hands to work at tucking in the hem of the soft cotton top. Without saying a word, she stalked to the door and grabbed her coat, leaving Ryder to follow her hurried flight down the hall and toward the elevator.

She angrily punched the down button and waited, her foot tapping the floor in irritation. Her arms were crossed against those very enticing breasts, and Ryder couldn’t resist baiting her, intrigued by her passion. “Angry at something?”

“Mr. Latimer—”

“It was Ryder a few minutes ago, Diana.” She shot him a glare over her shoulder.

“Ryder,” she started, her tone brusque, “I don’t appreciate you ogling me, especially if we’re going to be working together.”

“Darlin’—” he began, but she cut him off by raising her hand.

“I am not your darlin’, or sweetheart, or whatever else it is that you good ol’ Southern boys call your lady folk.”

He laughed.

“Well, okay then, Ms. Reyes,” he said, putting undue emphasis on the Ms. “As a man, it is, unfortunately, an inherent part of my nature to notice a very attractive woman when I see one. So, my apologies for noticing you.”

Diana turned and faced him, searching for a way to counter his last statement without sounding like a total bitch, but he had effectively trapped her. “Touché, Ryder. I can see that I am going to have to watch myself around you.”

Ryder smiled, broadly and unrepentantly. There was something about his smile that tempered her anger and started a slow curl of warmth in parts she’d rather not have warmed.

“Darlin’, that is a shame,” he said, and again she found herself jumping as he pulled imaginary strings.

“And why is that, Ryder?”

“Because I was hoping you’d be busy watching me,” he replied without shame, leaving her standing there in openmouthed surprise as he stepped into the elevator. “Coming?” he queried, one dark eyebrow raised in challenge.

Chapter 6

Luigi’s was a local hangout for many of the agents and other employees of Federal Plaza. A medium-size, family-run Italian restaurant, it had been there for as long as anyone could remember. It was generally busy, even during the later hours when most regular workers had gone home.

The interior was dimly lit and cozy, with an assortment of tables and booths. The tabletops boasted paper placemats with maps of Italy and tidbits about Roman history. Small votive candles glimmered at each table in an attempt to create a more intimate mood, though they were wasted on the suits who made up the majority of the diners.

As Diana entered, the older woman at the hostess’s table threw open her ample arms, embraced Diana and let out a stream of Italian that could have been expletives or endearments for all Ryder knew.

Diana smiled and hugged the woman. When there was a break in the effusive monologue, Diana responded in a halting mix of Spanish and Italian, ending with “We’d like a table” in English. She glanced at Ryder as she spoke and shot him an awkward smile.

The hostess raised one pudgy, but well-manicured, finger and pointed it at Ryder. “A friend, yes. Il suo amico?” she questioned, putting undue emphasis on the word, which Diana was quick to clarify. Too quick, Ryder thought with amusement, secretly pleased that Diana was affected by him.

“Just a business acquaintance, Mama Isabel. We need to get some food. Good food,” she emphasized, and as she finished, Ryder’s beeper went off, alerting him to Danvers’s presence in the men’s room.

He silenced the beeper and glanced around. The men’s room was down a small hall to the right of where they were standing. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a call,” he said, and took a step toward the hall.

Diana looked at him oddly and pointed in the direction of the bar. “The pay phone is in there,” she replied, and then motioned to his belt where his cell phone was visible. “Or you can use that.”

Ryder glanced at his phone. “Oh, no. The beeper can wait. It was nothing important. I need to call on the facilities,” he explained. Diana mumbled an “oh” and nodded. “Get a table, and I’ll find you,” he instructed, fearing that if she waited by the entrance, she’d run into Danvers. If Diana recognized her, it might lead to a lot of unnecessary questions.

He didn’t wait for Diana’s reply. He knew Danvers was waiting in the bathroom, impatient and ill at ease.

“Hey, Ryder,” she greeted in an artificially low voice. The wealth of her blond hair had been tucked under a baseball cap that was pulled low over her forehead. An oversized jacket, one of his old ones, swam on her slim physique. Loose jeans hid her shape, making it possible for her to pass as a small man, but not if anyone made a point of looking at her. Melissa’s face was too feminine to allow her disguise to survive a more thorough examination.

Ryder motioned for her to wait while he checked each stall of the room. They were the only ones in the facilities. He held his hand out to his companion, wiggling his fingers with anticipation.

“Not even a thanks,” Melissa mumbled. She rolled her eyes and unzipped her nylon windbreaker, extracting a plastic bag of blood. “Even got it warm for you,” she groused as she slapped the bag into Ryder’s hand and leaned back against a sink as Ryder stepped into one of the stalls and closed the door.

The life energy of the liquid burned the palm of his hand, starting the unwelcome change. His heartbeat accelerated as his fangs elongated in expectation of puncturing the thick skin of the bag. Hands shaking, a fine sweat breaking out over his body from the heat of his bloodlust, he brought the bag to his mouth and closed his eyes, still disgusted by his need after more than a century. As he bit down, the plastic resisted at first, and then the sharp points of his teeth found entry and the warm earthiness of the blood spiced his mouth as some of it escaped the hollows of his fangs and spilled onto his lips. He greedily sucked down the liquid, draining the bag dry in a little over a minute.

When he was done, he was breathing heavily and was light-headed with the strength that flowed into him, enervating every cell in his body. Leaning his head against the metal of the stall, he sought to control his thirst for even more blood. In the beginning, the first Danvers had had to restrain Ryder until he had been able to restore his human self. But after many, many years, he had learned to garner his control.

His restraint had slipped slightly tonight, and he wondered if it was because of Diana. Maybe the hedonistic animal in him recognized the sweetness, the pleasure to be had, in taking a woman.

A very beautiful, very alive young woman. Being with Diana…He didn’t want to harbor any long-lasting thoughts of what being with Diana would be like. He couldn’t deal with that.

Ryder closed his eyes and took a deep breath to quell any other unwelcome ideas. With his reenergized senses, the heavy lub-dub of Melissa’s heart reached his ears. His hackles rose in recognition of her as prey.

He wrapped his arms around himself, his body not his own as he struggled against his violent urges. Against the creature that emerged whenever he fed. Slowly, through the force of his will, the animal in his body quieted, but it was a battle he always feared he might not win. Especially when temptation waited outside in the restaurant.

He unrolled a piece of toilet paper and wiped at his mouth, grimacing as the paper came away with streaks of red. He rubbed vigorously until there were no remnants of his meal and then flushed the evidence. Exiting the stall, he handed Melissa the empty bag. “You okay?” she asked, lifting the brim of her cap so she could get a better look at him.

Nodding, Ryder stepped to the sink, turned on the cold water and bent, splashing his face repeatedly. He cupped his hands and used the water to flush the last of the metallic taste of blood from his mouth. When he stood once more, he met Danvers’s worried gaze in the mirror. “I’m okay. Really.”

Melissa hesitated, and in his energized state, Ryder detected the slightly faster beat of her heart. The smell of fear coming off her skin. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“Are you sure about this, Ryder?” Melissa queried, and inclined her head toward the door leading to the restaurant. Had Melissa noticed his attraction to Diana Reyes?

Ryder shrugged. “I need to have some control over where this investigation is going. I have to befriend this woman.”

“You’re interested in her?” Melissa asked in surprise.

So she hadn’t noticed. And he’d almost given it away. He tried to cover it up by saying, “No. I’m not. But…what were you worried about?”

“Not the investigation or the woman, that’s for sure,” she corrected quickly, and Ryder couldn’t hide his own confusion.

“Really?” he asked.

“No way. It’s the restaurant. There’s enough garlic here to kill an army of you,” Melissa replied, clapping Ryder on the back in a forced attempt at camaraderie.

Ryder shook his head. She was trying to bring him back to a more human level with her humor. Danvers had learned of his secret only a few years ago, and she was still a novice at dealing with his unusual condition and its demands.

“I’ll make sure to watch out for it,” he answered. Taking a step toward the door, he turned, wanting her to be aware of how much he appreciated the risks she took. “Thanks, Danvers.”

Melissa smiled and waved him off. “No problem, but you’d better get going. The fettuccine isn’t going to wait for you all night.”

Ryder forced his own smile and stepped back into the restaurant. When the hostess noticed him, she took his arm and guided him to a booth only a few steps away from the main entrance. They approached the table where Diana waited with her back to the entrance, allowing Melissa to leave without notice.

“Sorry I took so long,” he apologized as he slipped into the bench across from her.

“No problem,” she replied. A waiter approached and slid a small, napkin-covered basket onto the table. Diana flipped open one side of the napkin and held out the basket to him. “I took the liberty of ordering some garlic bread to get us started.”

The scent assailed him, and Ryder barely controlled the urge to rear back from the table. He managed to shift away only slightly and hold up his hand in refusal. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Gives you agita, huh?” she replied, then set the basket in the middle of the table and grabbed a piece of garlicky, cheesy bread.

Ryder watched her take a bite and winced. “If agi-whatever means it’s time for Pepto-Bismol, the answer is ‘yes,’” he lied.

Diana glanced at him as she quickly devoured the first piece of the bread and reached for another. “No self-respecting New Yorker, even a transplanted one such as yourself, doesn’t know what agita means, Ryder. So I guess you haven’t been here long.”

He shrugged, picked up the menu sitting on the table and answered her from behind the protection of the paper. “I’ve been here awhile. I just don’t get out much.”

“Mmm,” she murmured, sensing evasion in his voice. “Too much work and not enough play has made Ryder a dull boy?” she teased, and wondered where the playfulness had come from. She should not come on to a possible suspect.

He put down the menu and faced her straight on, a challenging grin on his face. “If anyone would know, it would be you, Diana. I suspect you spend more than your share of time at work.”

She shrugged, thinking it was because she had yet to meet someone who interested her as much as work did…until now. Shaking off the thought, she snagged another piece of the bread and took a bite, hesitating before answering. “I work hard, that’s true. But I have my group of friends and my family,” she evaded. “How about you?”

“Is your family in the area? I thought I detected a slight accent,” he said, ducking her question, as the waiter stepped up to them, his pad and pen in hand.

“The usual, bella?” the handsome teenager said with a wink.

She nodded and returned her menu. “The usual, Rocco.”

When the waiter turned to Ryder, he ordered the fettuccine alfredo. He pressed Diana again once the young man was gone. “So, family in the area?”

“A brother who moved up to New York a few months ago. He’s a computer whiz who was working for a new Latino Web site down in Silicon Beach—”

“Where’s that?” he jumped in.

“Miami. That’s where we grew up,” she answered quickly.

Ryder nodded. “Explains that slight singsong I hear in your voice. English wasn’t your first language,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“No, it wasn’t. I’m Cuban-American.”

He nodded again and motioned for her to continue with her story. “So why do they call it Silicon Beach?”

“Lots of new dot-coms down in Miami are geared for Latinos, so they’ve dubbed part of the area Silicon Beach.” She stopped only long enough to take a sip of water and finish her piece of garlic bread. “Anyway, he got lured away by more money and a better title. Some new Latino Web site that started up in New York.”

“It’s nice that he’s close to you.”

Diana nodded. “He lives with me,” she clarified, and hated how easily that statement had come. Ryder’s grin made it clear that he had taken it to mean she was available. She quickly tried to deflect any further queries into her personal life. Or rather, her lack of one.

“Your mom is gone, but how about other family? Are they nearby?” she asked, and regretted it as a fleeting glimpse of sadness washed over his features.

“I was an only child. My father never acknowledged me, so I had no other relatives to speak of,” he lied, feeding her the story that, after so many repetitions, had almost become truth. In reality, he’d had a loving wife and family, but they were long gone. It had been too painful to keep track of his descendants only to watch them die.

“That’s a shame,” Diana said, and motioned in the direction of the hostess at the front door. “You see Isabel over there? She and Luigi have three daughters and three sons, one of whom was our waiter. They all work here and, eventually, their kids will work here, as well.”

Ryder laughed in disbelief. “You mean there really is a Luigi?”

Diana chuckled and leaned closer to him over the width of the booth. “Yes. His great-granddad, Luigi number one, came from Italy with his wife and opened this place. His only son, Luigi number two, couldn’t cook to save his life, but married a nice Italian girl who could. That son made sure there would be another generation to keep it going by having Luigi the third and five daughters.”

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