Page 27 of Redeemed
Because yes, there’s traffic even at three a.m.
We go from the freeway to the Pacific Coast Highway to a smaller surface street to what appears to be a gravel road. There’s a turn-out a couple hundred yards from where the maps app says the house should be, and even though we haven’t seen it yet, we leave the car and go forward on foot.
We’ll attract less attention that way.
The house seems to rise up from its surroundings like a natural creation of wood and glass and stone. A handful of windows are lit from within, and when we get close enough, Brodie tosses a stone toward the corner of the house. It’s not a lot of motion, but enough to turn the light on.
“Hmph,” he grunts, and we share a glance. I motion toward one direction and point him in the other, figuring we can circle the perimeter and meet up on the other side.
He takes off and so do I, keeping to the edge of the lawn so I don’t trigger any of the lights. Not sure how we’re going to get inside, but we’ll deal with that later.
The opposite side of the house overlooks Malibu and, further out, the Pacific. I get there before Brodie does. On this side the lawn is terraced, with a paved trail leading to an infinity pool on the next level, and beyond that…
Beyond that I find Brodie, wrestling with a guy in a classic black tux. They’re well-matched in height, though Brodie’s opponent is broader. Even so, what Brodie lacks in size he makes up for in crazy. Tux has hold of a gun, Brodie has hold of Tux’s wrist, and neither is going to give up.
And Brodie’s laughing. Because of course he is. He tries a head-butt and Tux’s dress shoes slide on the sand, but he quickly scrambles back into the fight.
Pulling my own pistol out of its holster, I aim it at Tux.
“Don’t move,” I say.
“Don’t you move.” A voice, along with the sensation of a gun’s muzzle against my neck, freeze me in place.
“Enough, Leander. Let him go.” The person behind me jams the gun deeper into my neck. “This is the one we want.”
I share a glance with Brodie. He’s still got ahold of Tux’s wrist, although the starch has gone out of their fight. He raises his eyebrows and I swallow hard. On a mental count of three, I shift.
Instead of Connor, I’m a big, black dog.
At the same time, Brodie sets off a smoke bomb of some kind—his specialty and I don’t ask too many questions—and in the heartbeat it takes our opponents to adjust, we run full-tilt around the house and back down the gravel drive.
I get to the car before he does, and I’ve shifted by the time he arrives. We get in and he puts that big V8 to work, hauling ass down the winding road toward the Pacific Coast Highway.
Neither of us says anything until we’re a good two miles away.
“You okay?” I ask. Whatever was tying Brodie’s dreads out of his face got lost in the fight and they’re hanging heavy over his shoulders. There’s a scuff mark on one cheekbone, like maybe he caught part of a punch, and there’s a new hole in the knee of his jeans.
“Just like old times, man. Fuck, we weren’t even doing anything.”
“Maybe not, but I think we figured out where the vampire is hiding.”This is the one we want. The words are on constant loop in my head. How did they know? “They must have security cameras set up all along the driveway.”
Waves be damned. We’d definitely found the vampire’s hide-out.
Now we just had to figure out what to do with that information.
Chapter Ten
David
“HOW THE HELL long is a fortnight?” I mean, just because the lady vampire learned English in the nineteenth century doesn’t mean she has to show it off.
The vampire in question, some supposedly badass vampire sire, is doing a fine Morticia Addams imitation, with a grin that came straight off Uncle Fester.
And she’s apparently just handed Trajan a golden ticket, except I trust her about as much as I’d trust Fester. There’s gotta be a catch.
“A fortnight, young cub, is fourteen days,” the Morticia wanna-be says. Her name is technically Delia, but I like calling her Morticia. It reminds me that despite looking like a human cartoon character, she is dangerous.
“You’ll do it, then?” Gillian, a vampire who looks like she’d be happier baking a batch of cookies than draining someone, gives Trajan an earnestly hopeful look.
