Dangerous Master (22 page)
“Huh?” Sarah scrunched her brows.
“Zane thinks he’s a vampire. And he said fucking that man was foreplay before he bites him. According to him, he’s been feeding from Bob or Ben or whoever for forty years. Oh, and get this—he’s over two hundred years old.”
“Oh, gosh, and I thought I had it bad with Eric.”
Mandy clapped her hands over her face. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Probably both.
“I’m telling you, we should become lesbians,” Sarah said.
Mandy was beginning to think that sounded like a good idea.
22
M
andy checked the clock. Four-thirty.
andy checked the clock. Four-thirty.
It was Thursday night. Over the last couple of weeks, Mandy had started to get a feel for Nickerson’s schedule. Lucky for her, he was the kind of man who lived and breathed by a schedule. After talking to Mrs. Nickerson about loosening the purse strings, her husband went back to his usual routine. Thursdays, he took the little mistress out for dinner. Afterward, they spent some quality time at a local motel.
Ready to nail him—she’d prepared everything in advance this time—Mandy swung her purse over her shoulder and headed out to Sarah’s desk, expecting to find Sarah dressed and ready to go.
Sarah was wearing black, just like she had the last time she’d ridden along during a stakeout. However, instead of athletic pants and a sweatshirt, Sarah was sporting a little black fuck-me dress. And instead of the Shox, she was tottering on five-inch stilettos.
Mandy’s mood soured. She’d sort of been looking forward to having Sarah around on tonight’s stakeout. “Big plans tonight?” Mandy asked.
“Yes,” Sarah answered, blushing slightly.
Sarah was looking guilty.
“Tell me you aren’t going out with Valdez.”
Sarah averted her eyes. “Ummm ...”
Mandy checked her watch. She had no time to engage in a conversation about the hazards of dating married men. Sarah knew firsthand what lengths some wives would go to to catch their husbands cheating.
How ironic, here she was chasing cheating men for wives and her best friend was sleeping with a married man.
“Mrs. Valdez had better not come strolling into the office someday.”
“She won’t.” Sarah checked her lipstick with a compact. “We’re being very careful. Thanks to working with you, I know what not to do.”
“Great,” Mandy said, giving Sarah a dose of disapproving mean-eyes. She hoped she’d eventually somehow talk her friend out of seeing that man. There was no time to get into it tonight.
After muttering a silent apology to an unsuspecting Mrs. Valdez out there somewhere, Mandy headed to her car. She cranked on the radio and motored off, zigzagging through early rush-hour traffic to get to Nickerson’s office. Like clockwork, he came strolling out with his mistress at exactly 5:08. She followed them to a swanky restaurant a few miles away. She munched on a protein bar while she waited for them to eat, then took up the chase again when they left.
However, instead of heading straight to the hotel, as she’d anticipated, they drove twenty miles to a trendy nightclub. Fabulous, they were in the mood to party. The sun worked its way over the western horizon while she sat in the parking lot waiting for them to come out of the bar. Her phone rang just after sunset.
Sarah.
Mandy hit the receive button, answering with a, “Hey, what’s up?”
Sarah was crying.
“Sarah, what’s wrong?”
Sarah said something, but hell if Mandy could understand it.
“Where are you?” Mandy asked.
Once again, Sarah responded, but Mandy couldn’t make out what she’d said, not one word.
Mandy’s gut twisted. “Hon, take a few deep breaths and let’s try it again.”
“ ’Kay,” Sarah blubbered. She sniffed and snarfed and sobbed. Then she said something that sounded like, “Mfr-rrghdababreglafled.”
Of course, because Mandy was busy worrying about her best friend and trying to figure out what was going on, Nickerson and his mistress had to come strolling out of the bar, his arm slung over her shoulder.
Mandy pinched her cell phone between her shoulder and ear and started her car. “Sarah, I can’t understand you. You’ve got to stop crying.”
“I’m tryinggggg,” Sarah said, the word trailing off into another long series of sobs and hiccups and snorts.
Listening to her friend bawl in her ear, Mandy followed Nickerson’s car at a safe distance. After driving a few miles, it turned into the hotel parking lot. “That’s it, get her drunk and then fuck her brains out. What a class act you are,” Mandy said to herself.
“Huh?” Sarah responded.
“I’m on Nickerson’s tail. He’s at the Fairview Inn.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay now?” Mandy asked, cutting off the engine. “Do you need me to come over? Where are you?”
“I’m okay,” Sarah said, not sounding okay.
“If I left right now, I could be at your place in a half hour.”
“No, don’t. Go ahead and finish what you’re doing. Call me when you’re done.” Sarah sounded worn out, both emotionally and physically.
“Are you sure?” Mandy climbed out of her car, heading toward the hotel.
“Yeah.” More sniffles. Another snort. “I’ll tell you later. I don’t want you to miss the chance at nailing Nickerson.”
“I’ll get there as soon as I can. You’re at home, right?”
“No, I’m at your apartment.”
“Okay. I’ll be home within an hour. Hang on. And if you need it, there’s a carton of German chocolate ice cream in the freezer.”
“Already found it. Thanks.”
Standing at the hotel’s main entrance, Mandy hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. Go. Nail the son of a bitch. Cheating husbands suck.”
“Okay. I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”
“Okay, bye.”
Mandy shoved her phone into her pocket and headed inside. Nickerson and his girlfriend were at the front counter, checking in. Mandy pretended to be a guest, strolling right through the lobby and heading down a corridor that led to the elevators. A couple of minutes later, Nickerson and his girlfriend joined her at the bank of elevators, along with a pretty nice-looking man. Mandy inched a little closer to the man, hoping they’d think she was with him. Truth of the matter was, it was probably unnecessary; they were too wrapped up in each other to care who was waiting with them. Mandy pulled out her pen camera and snapped a couple of photos of them pawing at each other, then stepped into the elevator with them. The man followed her. Up they rode. The car stopped at the second floor. The man got out. Mandy stayed in, riding it up to the third floor with Nickerson and his grabby, horny mistress. Luckily for her, Miss Handsonhiscrotch made it easy. Mandy snapped shot after shot, then followed them down the corridor. They stopped at room 316. She kept on going.
Once the door shut, she circled back, snapped a shot of the room number placard, and headed back to the elevators. She punched the DOWN button, and the elevator’s doors instantly slid open. To her surprise, the guy who’d rode up with her was now riding down. She gave him a little nod of recognition, then stepped into the car. It rumbled to a stop on the first floor. She went into the lobby. He followed. Assuming he was going out to his car for his luggage, Mandy headed outside. She rounded the building’s corner, her car in sight, when something big and heavy barreled into her from behind. She went flying to the ground, hitting it so hard the air blasted out of her body. Struggling to reinflate her lungs, she rolled onto her side. Something smaller, harder, struck her back. Pain exploded through her.
What was happening?
She curled up as a second and a third impact struck her. More pain. Blinding pain. The world was a swirling mass of black and gray. She tried to see what was happening, who was attacking her, but she couldn’t. Every time she moved, she was hit again.
Darkness.
Cold.
Unbearable pain.
Just let me go unconscious. Please.
Icy fingers clamped around her neck.
I’m going to die. Oh, God. I’m going to die!
Pressure.
Her heart pounded in her head. Loud, like a drum.
No air.
She struggled.
Need air.
She fought harder.
Tired. So tired. Can’t fight anymore.
The fingers tightened.
Soon it’ll be over. Just let it be over.
Pretty white stars glittered all around her. She felt her body grow heavier.
Almost over.
Almost over.
The fingers disappeared.
She jerked in a huge lungful of air. Her throat ached. Her lungs burned. Pain. She pulled in another gasp. A third. A dull thump sounded close by. She dragged her eyelids open. A man was scrambling to his feet not far away. The man from the elevator. A second man was fighting with him.
That man ... looked ... familiar.
Zane?
Slowly, gritting her teeth against the pain, Mandy pushed herself upright. She was sitting in the middle of the parking lot, but she didn’t care. All she could focus on was the sight of Zane and her attacker punching each other, hurling each other against parked cars and trucks. They were both fighting with everything they had. And both seemed inhumanly strong. Her attacker caught Zane by surprise, rammed him like a linebacker, and Zane sailed at least twenty feet through the air, landing on top of a Mercedes. The car’s alarm screeched. Still the melee continued. Zane was back on his feet before the attacker reached him. They raced toward each other, met somewhere in the middle, and exchanged a round of bone-crushing blows.
Mandy wanted to stop them, wished the attacker would give up. She prayed someone would hear the car alarm and call the police. Time slowed as she watched Zane in horror. He took as many blows as he gave. And each time the attacker hit him, she was terrified it would be the final one, the one that would send Zane falling to the ground. She tried to push to her feet, but the pain in her back and sides took her breath away. She tried to cry out, but her throat was too raw. Barely a whisper came out. Her eyes burned, and she dragged the back of her hand across her face. Tears. She was crying.
Zane bent at the waist and caught the attacker in the gut. Off the ground he flew. Zane raced after him as he sailed through the air. The man landed, and Zane hauled him up, smashing his face with his fist once, twice, three times. The man’s legs folded, and he started to sink to the ground, but Zane grabbed him around the neck, holding him upright. He blasted him again and again. The sound of bones snapping echoed between the wail of the Mercedes’s alarm, creating a morbid symphony. Mandy tried to stand again, but the pain sent a rush of nausea through her. She sank to her knees, doubled over.
A strange sound made her jerk her head up. She looked through watery eyes at Zane. His head was bent, his face buried in the crook of the attacker’s neck. The sound was coming from the attacker. At least, that’s what it seemed like. Mandy couldn’t be sure. It was a high-pitched squeal, like the call of a seagull but creepier. Zane tipped his head back, and the halogen light overhead highlighted his face. It was covered in something dark.
The attacker’s limp, lifeless body fell to the ground.
Zane rushed to her.
Mandy gasped in horror when he came closer.
His mouth, chin, and neck were covered in some slimy substance. Blood, but a darker shade, perhaps. He said something. Mandy didn’t hear. She was too focused on how he looked, at the elongated fangs gleaming in the dim light. At the creepy red light seeming to glow from his pupils.
He was a monster.
She shrank away from his touch.
Someone shouted from the hotel’s door.
She twisted her head to see who it was. When she turned back around a split second later, Zane was gone. So was the attacker’s body.
Gone.
The Mercedes’s alarm cut off.
A man walked up to her. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m ...” Mandy glanced around. “Someone attacked me.” She wrapped her arm around her aching rib cage. “Please call nine-one-one.”
The stranger pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and made the call.
What felt like a lifetime later, a stampede of police, fire, and rescue vehicles descended upon her, lights flashing red and blue and white. She was questioned by a police officer. She was lifted onto a gurney and questioned some more. She told the EMS guys where she was hurt, and while they fought to put in an IV, she told her story to yet another pack of police officers. She told them about being jumped. About a second stranger coming to her rescue. And about them both disappearing. She left out a few details, however, figuring the police officers would think she was either delusional or on drugs.
She didn’t give them Zane’s name. Not when telling them about the fight. Not when she was asked who she’d like them to contact. When asked for an emergency contact, she gave them Sarah’s cell phone number without a second thought.
The area was cordoned off. She was put into an ambulance and was bumped and jostled to a nearby hospital.
Sarah was there, waiting for her, when she was wheeled into the ER. Sarah took one look at her and went ghostly white.
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