Calling for a Miracle [The Order of Vampyres 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) (23 page)

He could not leave any trail of evidence leading the police closer to the truth. He knew enough of English technologies from watching television that the English possessed incredible tracking strategies. They could find a villain based on nothing more than some powder brushed over a fingerprint. An immortal’s fingerprints were different from that of mortals. Because vampyres did not age, their skin did not wrinkle. While a mortal’s fingertips were padded with swirling indentations upon their flesh, immortals possessed no such markings. Like a newborn’s, their fingertips remained smooth and any markings were practically undetectable to the human eye, even with the aid of powders and other technologies.

He could not leave any evidence of his kind being here. Even if they were his foe, he must ensure that The Order resolved this situation. Mortal involvement would only complicate matters.

Once he had the area cleaned up, he looked to the darkening night and shut his eyes, willing the skies to open and wash away the sins of the world. The sound of random drops pelting the dry leaves of the trees slowly grew into a rushing spray of rain showering down. Cain stood silently, watching as the clay ground softened and water rose over its surface. Imprints faded and puddles filled gullies. Underground creatures burrowed deeper below the earth where it was dry.

By the time the rain had washed away all evidence, Cain’s clothing was soaked through. He slowly meandered out of the woods, having the storm follow his progress and remove any traces of him being there. By the time he reached the bottom of the mountain, it was dawn.

He walked to a visitors’ pavilion where a few vending machines sat and a small kiosk held brochures. Helping himself to one of the tourists’ guides, he sat on a bench where the sun would first shine and waited. It wouldn’t be long. If he stayed put, she would show eventually.

A few hours later Cain’s clothing had dried to nothing more than a slight dampness that clung to parts of his skin. He fixed his shirttail and adjusted his belt. Long gone were his Amish suspenders and hat. Cain much preferred the lackadaisical dress of the English.

At the sound of the news van approaching, he moved over to the kiosk and pretended to examine his brochure. The large van, with some sort of towering satellite peaking from the roof, parked close to the pavilion. The swish of the sliding door sounded and then was followed by a familiar female voice. “Todd, I want to get the shot over here today. I think the light will be better.” Bingo.

He watched as the reporter moved to the area she had suggested to the cameraman. While the man readied his equipment, the reporter looked over some notes and then began applying some sort of red gloss to her lips. She was much smaller in person than she appeared on television, Cain noted.

Her hair was very dark and her skin the color of mocha cream. Her eyes were too large and slightly catlike the way they angled upward. Her lips were very full as were her breasts. Her waist was narrow, but her hips were generous. She was quite a curvaceous little chit. This only made her presence more irritating in Cain’s mind.

Once the cameraman had his equipment set up, she stood in front of the camera, holding her microphone and waited. She seemed to touch her ear a lot and Cain realized she must have some sort of device in there that allowed her to communicate with someone unseen. She nodded and straightened, her features, wiping clear of any natural expression and becoming one of all seriousness.

The light on the camera switched from red to white and she began to talk. “Thank you, Michael. We are here again at the mountains of Jim Thorpe where another victim has been reported missing after venturing into the woods three days ago for some recreational hiking. While the trails of Jim Thorpe are known for their beautiful fall foliage and ideal peaks for bird-watching, the local police department has issued a press release, advising all visitors to travel in groups and be extremely precautious while visiting the sights here in Jim Thorpe.

“Local merchants are not enthusiastic about the negative press their town is receiving. They claim it is showing a notable dip in retail trends in comparison to last fall’s records. Unfortunately, there is nothing to be done to alter the circumstances so long as whatever is preying on these once-welcoming hills remains at large.

“Police are asking that if anyone has seen or heard from a Ms. Kate Lynn Hobs to please contact the number at the bottom of the screen. Ms. Hobs is twenty-eight, average height, approximately a hundred and twenty pounds, with medium-blonde hair and brown eyes. She has been missing for three days and was last seen purchasing some last-minute items at a convenience store four miles from here.”

Cain thought about the body in the woods. It matched the woman’s description. It somehow made it worse knowing the female’s name. He needed to find what was in the woods and destroy it before another person went missing.

Remaining in the shadows, Cain watched as the woman finished her report. As the light on the camera returned to red, she touched her ear as if listening for something, then said, “That’s a wrap.” Her arm holding the microphone dropped to her side and the cameraman began carrying equipment back to the van. The reporter reached down to the ground where she had placed a water bottle and picked it up. As she sipped from the bottle, she casually looked around. Cain knew the minute she spotted him. He gave her a mental push to come talk to him and waited as she screwed the cap back on her water bottle and slowly walked toward him.

“Hello,” she said, stopping a few feet away from him. “Are you planning on hiking the trails today?”

Cain casually tucked his brochure under his arm and faced her. “Perhaps. You’re that reporter, Destiny Santos, right?”

“That’s right. If you would have shown yourself earlier, I could have gotten a shot of you on camera. I didn’t see you until just now though.”

“Pity.”

She looked over his clothing, most likely noting that he was not dressed for a trek through the woods. Her eyes seemed glued to his leather dress shoes and tailored, black pants. “You’re awfully dressed up for being in the woods.”

“I am here on business.”

“What kind of business?”

“You do not need to concern yourself with that.”

She frowned, her little nose crinkling and her full lips falling into a partial pout. “Are you a reporter or someone here to investigate the missing persons report?”

“In a matter of speaking, yes.”

“Did the DA send you? If so, I’d like to get an interview.” Turning toward her van, she yelled for her cameraman who was out of sight.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“The public has a right to know if there have been any leads regarding this case.”

“As I am sure you will be sure to inform them of the second you are told of one.”

She seemed to bristle at the distaste for her profession he made evident in his tone. “Hey, I’m just doing my job.”

“And what job is that exactly? Tell me, Destiny Santos, how does chasing down two orphaned children in the middle of their mother’s funeral fall under any noble job description?”

Her posture became defensive. “You’re talking about the Foster children, Dane and Cybil. Their mother’s case remains unsolved. They were eyewitnesses. They may have seen something that could help bring their mother’s murderer to justice.”

“They are children. Children who had lost both parents. Children who were standing over turned-up dirt that had yet to even bury their mother. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“Fuck you, mister. You may not care what happens in these woods, but the people of this community do and if those kids can help the police catch what’s out there, then someone needs to look into it.”

Cain raised his eyebrow at her vulgar language. However he was not as sensitive to such terms as many of his fellow Amish brothers and sisters. “I did not realize you were qualified to aid victims in post-traumatic stress. Tell me, Ms. Santos, what did you find? No doubt a woman with your tact uncovered loads of information the police missed.”

She shook her head. “You know what? I don’t need to stand here and listen to this shit. Good-bye.”

Before she turned completely around, he said, “Wait.” She stilled and faced him once more. “Where are these children living?”

Her eyes glazed. “With their grandmother, Clara Barnes.”

“What is the address?”

“Twenty-two Forsythia Way.” She made a face as if she tasted something bitter. Shaking her head she cleared her throat and squinted her eyes. When she looked back at him, she said, “I’m sorry, what? I missed what you asked.”

He had somehow released her mind a second too soon. He made a mental reach for her mind again, but she stepped back as if she were physically avoiding his grasp. He frowned as did she. He reached again and she looked around. Her hand went to her hair where she curiously scratched the back of her head.

For some reason he could not get hold of her mind again. He figured he would simply fish for the information. It wasn’t like she was a woman of great scruples. Perhaps she would simply tell him what he needed to know and he needed the rest of the address. “Where does Clara Barnes live?”

“What? I can’t tell you that.”

“Yes. You can.”

“Why do you need to know? If you are on the case, you should already know. Obviously you don’t, so that tells me you’re a liar. Why are you here? Clearly it has something to do with Sharon Foster’s death.”

His jaw ticked. “Just tell me where she lives.”

She laughed at him. “No.”

He pressed his lips together and forced himself into her mind. He could not penetrate her wall, yet she seemed completely unaware that she was blocking him. “How are you doing that?” he whispered to himself.

“What? Look, are you a reporter? What station are you here from? I’ve been following this case since last year and this has been my location so I suggest once your crew gets here, you set up shop somewhere else.”

Feisty little strumpet. Still, it irritated him that she assumed he could lower himself to do what she did. Before he had the chance to correct her, she continued, “And if you want to know where the victims’ families live, I suggest you do your own homework. I don’t share my notes. Especially not with assholes.”

While he should have been outraged at the way she spoke to him, he couldn’t help finding it somewhat amusing. This aggressive side of her intrigued him, made him like her a little bit more when he was so determined to dislike her on principle. The girl had moxie.

So caught up in his revelations, he missed her turning away from him. He quickly moved after her as she bustled back toward the van. “Destiny, wait, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. You’re right, I did lie. I’m a reporter. It’s just…” He swallowed the bitter taste that accompanied the lie. “You are so seasoned and masterful at what you do, I found it intimidating to simply come out and ask you for help. Can we please start again?”

“Bite me.”

“Gladly.” The response left his mouth so quickly he had not even realized he thought it. His steps halted as the small, curvy ball of fire continued on without him. Gladly? Where the hell did that come from? When he heard the door to the van slam shut and the engine start, he quickly trotted after her, but he was too late. By the time he reached the lot, she was already pulling away.

Gladly? He shook his head and laughed out loud in the deserted lot. “Bite me…” Still shaking his head in disbelief at his words, he ran a tired hand over his face. What a pain in the neck that woman was.