Whiteout (Aurora Sky (10 page)

 

The pinstriped suit Alfonso talked me into borrowing for our official visit with Senator John Davis felt surprisingly good. I looked like I meant business—the only way to look on such an officious occasion. With a few quick alterations, Artur had me fitted while Alfonso changed into a black suit that had been freshly pressed and laid out on the four-poster king bed inside his penthouse on the top floor of the Captain Cook Hotel. Alfonso and I were of a similar height and build. As weight conscious as my cousin was, I was still skinnier; an easy feat for a vampire who'd lost his taste for food long ago.

When we showed up at the Alaska State Legislature Building, the
senator
did not keep us waiting. As soon as we announced ourselves, his middle-aged
blond
secretary showed us into a spacious office with dark
wood furniture, a couple of framed landscapes, and a large potted plant in one corner.

Senator John Davis stood up to greet us. The
senator
—
in his mid-sixties, with receding gray hair, and extra padding
around the waist
—
looked about as original as his name
.

“Thank you for coming all this way to see me,” he said, hand reaching forward to shake first mine, then Alfonso's. “Please have a seat, gentlemen. Can Pam fetch you a drink before she goes? Scotch?”

Alfonso and I settled into wide leather chairs in front
of the
senator's
desk. I waited until Davis had taken a seat before looking him directly in the eye and saying an ominous, “I'm not thirsty.”

Senator Davis' body gave a slight jerk. His eyes darted from me to Alfonso, and finally his secretary.

Alfonso dr
aped his arm over the seatback
as
he turned to the secretary. “I will have a Scotch
,”
he said with gusto, as though the mere suggestion filled him with delight.

Davis' elbows relaxed into his armrests. “Make that two, Pam.”

Pam
walked over to a liquor cabi
net against the wall and filled two crystal glasses. She
handed
them
to Davis and Alfonso.

“
Grazie
,” my cousin said.

Once Pam left and closed the door behind her, Davis folded his hands over his desk. “I would like to thank your family again for your gener
ous campaign contribution last year and continued support.”

Alfonso held his drink atop the leather armrest
of
his chair. “
Sì
. You have Francesco to thank for that. He has taken a fancy to this exceptionally large state of yours.”

“Alaska is, indeed, a pla
ce without equal. I am delighted you share my love of this great land, Mr. Donado.”

Davis studied me. I leveled a gaze back. He might be one of the most powerful men in Alaska, but his time was limited. His funds were limited. He was limited.

My hands form
ed a steeple. My eyes locked on
Davis'
. “It is unfortunate my safety here has been compromised by a rogue agency within the United States military.”

The word
“
rogue
”
had the desired effect of making Davis'
left
eye twitch. Before he could respond, Alfonso
took up the baton, tossing words into the air with rapid speed and flare.

“We are most upset, Senator. Imagine our displeasure when we learned that the American government ordered assassins to keep watch over Francesco.
Signor
, he is irreplaceable, our
Mon
a Lisa
, our
Last Supper
, our
Starry Night
. He is our family's legacy, our most priceless possession. If he were destroyed…” Alfonso's lips split apart in a silent gasp. He placed a hand over his heart as though overcome by the mere mention of such a horror
. Once he'd recovered, he concluded, “He is a living, breathing masterpiece.”

The
senator
hunched over his desk. “Mr. Donado, let me assure you, I was aware of no such order, nor was anyone within this government. As I'm sure you can appreciate,
demonic
th
reats are a delicate affair. The agency's operations must be kept top secret for the continued safety of humanity. That said, the agency does not have license to infringe on a law-abiding citizen's privacy—a matter to which I have personally requested a ce
ase and desist.”

How elegant. One moment I was a
demon
, the next a law-abiding citizen.

To my right, my cousin's legs spread open. He leaned forward and rested an arm on his thigh. The laugh lines disappeared, replaced by the sharp angles of his dark brows
and pinched lips as Davis spoke. Cousin Alfonso, when not smiling, looked ruthless. Especially in pinstripes.

Never piss off an Italian.

“We desire more than a request,
Signor
Davis,” Alfonso said. “We demand the immediate release of Josslyn Taylor, in ad
dition to any agent forced to serve against his or her will.”

Senator Davis leaned into his desk and opened his mouth to speak, but Alfonso beat him.

“The men and
women
who serve in your armed forces do so voluntarily, do they not?”

“Of course,” Davis
said.

“Does this agency not fall under the same authority as your military forces?”

Davis cleared his throat. “Clearly there have been oversights.”

“Which is why I, Alfonso Donado, volunteer my services reforming your underground taskforce in such a way th
at is both effective and just.”

“As do I,” I said, staring into the
senator's
expanding eyes. “I have great value, Senator, not only to my family, but to your efforts against unsavory vampires. The agency's informants can't even come close to the number of
contacts I have in Alaska alone. The question is, are you open to negotiation?”

Senator Davis licked his lips. “This is a generous offer. However, agency operations are not entirely up to me. I have, however, taken the liberty of discussing the situation
with my chief of staff. Together we have appointed Lieutenant Vince Pearlman to act as a go-between
for
our office and Agent Melcher's. Lieutenant Pearlman has agreed to escort you on base for a meeting with Agent Melcher, as well as oversee the relea
se of
Mr.
Taylor.”

Alfonso
leaned forward and
set
his
glass of
Scotch
on
the edge of the senator's desk
. “I trust we will not end up in cells or as test subjects or unwilling agents for the United States
government
.”

“Most certainly not,” Senator Davis sputtere
d.

The leather, stretched
taut
over the chair's frame, groaned as I stood up. I sent Davis a chilling
expression
. “Good, because our family would not take kindly to a hostage situation. Nor would our
country's
diplomats.”

Senator Davis blinked several time
s before rising to his feet. My family name seemed to put more fear in him than the fact that I'd rather suck the blood from his veins than drink his
S
cotch.

“On my honor, no harm will come to either of you,” he said.

Men like Davis bandied around
a
word l
ike
“
honor
”
as though it were a trading card.

Not much had changed over the centuries. Honor came with a price. Without money or connections, a person was royally screwed.

Luckily, I had both.

 

 

 8

Detour

 

{Aurora}

 

The next morning, we woke up to heavy snowfall. If we didn't head out soon, there would be no stealing snowmachines or getting supplies unless we walked out.

As soon as Dante looked
through
one of the unobstructed windows, he rushed into action. His feet
clomped over the floorboards at a quick tempo as he cleared the lobby. “We need to roll ASAP.”

“I'm ready,” I said. That was one of the great things about granola. It was grab
-
and
-
go food. Munch it sitting down. Standing. In a moving truck. It was all the
same.

Giselle emerge
d
from the west hall. She already had her backpack on.

“Let's go,” Dante said, charging toward the front doors.

Even Tommy seemed to understand we needed to vamoose as he clipped along beside us. On the way out, Dante grabbed a
baseball cap and pulled it over his head. We filed out, closed the door behind us, and headed straight for the truck.

As soon as Dante opened the door and pulled the seat forward, Tommy jumped into the backseat.

The short walk from the lodge to the truck h
ad dusted us all in big wet flakes of snow that melted on impact.

Dante started the truck, flicked on the windshield wipers, and put the vehicle into four-wheel drive. “Hold on,” he said as he floored the gas pedal.

We lurched forward, but the truck didn't
move fast at all. It chugged through snow. The back tires spun before getting a grip and propelling forward, the engine wheezing in protest. Dante alternated between the clutch and gas pedals, pumping, pressing and letting up, and pressing again.

The way
the truck rose and fell over snow drifts reminded me of a ship at sea. We'd been on some bumpy roads during our flight, but nothing like this. No one sp
oke as Dante navigated the road
...
or what used to be a road.

Dante yanked the wheel to the left and the
right, fighting with the truck to stay straight. If the truck stopped at any point, it
wouldn't
be
moving again. We'd be stuck walking the rest of the way and we'd be without a vehicle.

We entered the forested path and Dante pressed on the gas. When the t
ires started spinning, he let up. Winter driving
. D
idn't miss it. But if anyone could get us through, it was Dante.

It stopped snowing, and it took Dante a moment to turn off the wipers. His hands were occupied with the steering wheel and
gearshift
.

When w
e reached the plowed road adjacent to the highway, Dante gave a whoop of joy. “Made it!”

“Yeah, we're definitely not going back up in the truck,” I said.

We turned onto the highway
,
heading
north. Snow crept right up to the edges of the road on either side
. The particles lifted and floated around the truck like vapor as we zipped forward.

Dante slowed the truck to thirty-five miles per hour a short ways up as we entered a tiny town encroaching along the highway.

Out of the blue, a ringing filled the truck.
I gave a slight jump, realizing where it had originated when it rang again. Dante reached inside his pocket, pulling out the phone he'd gotten off our midnight visitor.

“Here, answer it,” he said, handing it to me.

“What?” I asked in disbelief.

My fingers
closed around the phone. That didn't mean I'd answer it. As it rang a third time,
I saw
the name “Pierce”
on
the screen.
Hearing the phone ring was like listening to my own language after an extended sojourn in a foreign land. It had been far too long sin
ce I'd heard the familiar
jingle associated with the civilized world.

“Here,” Giselle said, holding out her hand. “Give it to me. I'll toss it out the window.”

That decided it. I touched the answer button just to spite her. Giselle scowled but said nothing
. We were all silent as I pressed the phone to my ear.

“I got your message,” a man said impatiently. “What is so important that
you wanted me to call right away
?”

I held my breath, waiting.

“Hey! Nelson, I'm talking to you.”

“This isn't Nelson.”

Two
seconds of silence followed before the man said, “Pixie?”

Pixie? Seriously? Who named this chick? Sarah Palin?

Sure, why not?

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Where's Nelson?”

“He's, uh, indisposed at the moment.”

Creases appeared across Dante's cheeks as a beguiling
smile formed over his lips. His grin trigger
ed
my own, as though we were sharing a private joke or prank calling some fool vampire out in the boonies. The whole thing was ludicrous.

“Well, he must have been on a bad trip the other day because he left me a
whacked out message about a guy wanting his help tracking down some hunters.”

My heart sped up, absorbing and storing the information in my head.

“I don't know anything about that,” I answered with nonchalance. “But he has been extra paranoid lately. I tol
d him to go easy on the grass, but you know how he is.”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing. Bullshitting wasn't usually my thing, but something had come over me and I couldn't stop myself. This was the best entertainment I'd had in weeks.

Pierce
sighed through the phone. “Nelson needs to get his priorities straight. Speaking of which, have you lined up more girls?”

My previous humor dissolved faster than snow over a hot iron grate.

“Lined up girls?” I repeated.

“Are you stoned too?” Pierce asked
in a
n
exasperated
tone.

More like disgusted by the implication of his words. Was Pixie a vampire or a traitor to the human race rounding up girls for vamps to feed on? Because that's exactly what
it
sounded like.

“I'm fine,” I answered coldly.

“So did you
find some girls or not?”

“One girl,” I said between clenched teeth.

One girl who wanted to smash this
sucker's
face in. I'd almost forgotten how depraved the underworld could be. I didn't like vampires preying on humans any less than Dante. Most young wom
en didn't have the advantage of poisoned blood or combat training.

“One's plenty,” Pierce answered.

“She won't get hurt?” I asked.

“Not if she keeps her mouth shut. The last girl wasn't our fault. I thought you said she was cool.”

Ice filled my veins. “I
thought she was too,” I said, disgusted by the charade. I wanted to reach through the phone and remove every last one of P
ie
rce's teeth so he'd never be able to bite anyone ever again… and take out his tongue while I was at it. Maybe rip out his throat.

An
d whoever this Pixie was, I wanted to grind her to dust. What kind of sick bitch rounded up women like cattle for vampires to feed on? Everything inside me twisted in on itself.

“Where do you want her?” I forced myself to ask.

“
We're switching locations. A
rlo found a cabin that hasn't been occupied in at least six months
.”

Guess we weren't the only ones breaking and entering our way around the backcountry.

“What's the address?”
I asked.

“Nelson has it.”

“Nelson's baked.”

“Nelson needs to lay off the weed.”

“I'll tell him you said so.”

Pierce sniffed. “Fat
lot of good that will do.
 
When can you deliver?”

“I can pick her up right now,” I said.

“Where does she live?”

“In town.”

I figured the less detail the better. The conversation had turned into a verbal
game of ping
-
pong. My objective: keep the ball on the table long enough to extract an address out of Pierce. This he did
with his
next serve
;
he
took it one step further by providing directions.
The
place turned out to be a cabin roughly thirty miles from
where we'd taken down Nelson.

I listened carefully, repeating the number
1451
in my head. The address was
spray
-
painted on a rock at the end of a wooded driveway with reflective markers. Sportsman Road.
Apparently Pixie was like an overzealous sheepdog rou
nding up victims before throwing them to the wolves.
Not this time. This time the predators would become the prey.

“Will you be there?” I asked almost eagerly.

Pierce must not be very close to Pixie to not recognize her voice. The phone could be deceiving,
but I wouldn't have been at all surprised if his contact with the woman was minimal. I hardly recognized my own voice since answering the phone.