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  But his scent was sweet. So sweet. She hadn’t allowed herself to use her senses in such a self-serving way for a very long time. She bit her lip and pressed her hands over her mouth.

  Somehow she found the strength to touch the brick again. To remind herself. To ground herself with the memory of Britt. She wouldn’t let this man corrupt her by using Britt who had believed in her. She shuddered and opened her eyes.

  “You have amazing strength,” he said.

  She gave a frustrated shake of her head. “Do you understand how close I just came to ripping out your throat?”

  “That was the test. You passed.”

  She stared at him, horrified that he’d deliberately provoked her into attacking him.

  “This isn’t a game. It’s deadly serious. You can’t play games with … people like me and win.”

  “That’s exactly what I intend to do, with your help.”

  She expelled an exasperated breath. “Who the hell are you?”

  Without another word he disappeared. In mid-blink. During the microsecond that her eyelids had closed, he’d vanished before her eyes!

  Not one iota of his scent remained. Not a whiff. He’d disappeared as if he’d never existed.

  Disgusted with her inability to track him, she leaned back against the brick wall and slid down until she crouched on the ground. She’d lost him. And in doing so, had lost Britt. Again.

  Her stomach protested violently for the first time in fifty-one years. She leaned over and vomited.

  The phone rang and Regent jumped. His nerves were on edge these days. He grabbed the receiver and wondered if the church’s inspector was listening on the other end. Probably.

  “Father Regent Vandermire speaking,” he said more formally than he would normally. Just in case Bishop Brooks was listening.

  “Regent?”

  “Yes? May I help you?” He didn’t recognize the voice. It was hollow and scratchy. Maybe one of his street people?

  “I know you,” the man said.

  The voice at the other end of the phone sounded strange. Maybe the caller was in pain or on drugs. Definitely someone in need.

  “I’m sure you do, son. Tell me your name so we can talk.”

  “My name?” The voice halted. Ragged breathing proved he was still on the line.

  “Hello?”

  “I don’t know my name,” he said finally.

  “Listen, who gave you my number? Is there someone nearby who can help you?”

  “No. I’m alone. And your number—it’s the only thing I remember.”

  Regent rested his forehead on one hand while they spoke. Only a select few had this private, unlisted phone number.

  “Why don’t we meet? Can you come to Saint Eugenia so we can talk? Maybe I can help you?”

  “I can’t. I can’t move my legs.”

  Regent lifted his head from his hand. “Are you physically hurt?” If the voice hadn’t been that of an adult, he would have thought this was a kid trying to play a joke on him. Maybe this was a psychiatric patient. He sometimes got calls to come see parishioners who were on the psych ward. “What if I come to see you, son? Where do you live?”

  “I’m not sure where I am. I just woke up and found myself here. It’s a strange place.”

  “Are you being held against your will?” Concern instantly stabbed at him. “Did someone hurt you?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I feel safe here.”

  A sigh escaped Regent. If he couldn’t find out where this person was, he didn’t know what else he could say. “How can I help you, then, my son?”

  “Regent?”

  “Yes. I’m here.”

  “I think my name is Britt.”

  Regent’s blood went cold and his fingers numb. He nearly dropped the phone. A prankster. Someone who thought it was funny to play stupid, hurtful games with an old priest. “That’s not funny!” he shouted, and slammed the phone back onto the cradle. He was still shaking a few minutes later when he heard a knock on his office door.

  Regent’s nerves were frayed enough these days without endless intrusions.

  He ignored the knock.

  Another knock.

  Then two more.

  There was only one other person in the Rectory with him tonight. Bishop Brooks.

  The inspector was nothing if not insistent. As a common courtesy Brooks had given Regent the option to allow him into his private rooms. Most priests waved the courtesy, knowing full disclosure was always best. Regent didn’t go that route even though he knew it’d be another mark against him. He had no choice but to protect the hidden weapons and rooms in the basement that were only accessible from here. Brooks face had nearly turned purple when Regent had made the man swear to leave him alone in his private office, and bedroom. After all, this was not the office where he did church business’ that was at the front of the Rectory. And already irritated by the coldhearted phone call, it would be a bad time to have a conversation with this man whose single-minded goal made Regent wonder if the inspector remembered he was a priest, first and foremost.

  Priest! He was like a bloodhound. The man had even gone through the cupboards and documented the groceries coming into the Rectory.

  “Just a minute, Bishop,” Regent said through tight lips.

  When Regent opened the door, the inspector, probably in his late forties and wearing unusual black rimmed glasses that were too big for his face, stood on the other side of the threshold. His ear, in fact, was inches from the door when Regent opened it. Bishop Brooks would have stepped inside if Regent hadn’t immediately blocked his entrance.

  The man was a bulldog.

  “What can I do for you?” Regent said, making his irritation obvious.

  “I wondered if we could talk about this year’s financial statements,” he said, edging closer to the threshold but not crossing one toe over it.

  Regent forced Bishop Brooks away from the door by stepping into the hallway. He pulled the door shut behind him, much to the obvious frustration of his fellow priest.

  To make a point, he took a key out of his pocket and locked the door. If Bishop Brooks wanted inside badly enough, he could petition for permission from his superiors. Let him work for it.

  And if he found the hidden weapons cabinet or his stock of dried herbs and leaves that Regent used to dress Jess’s wounds, it would raise questions he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—answer. The door to Jess’s safe-room in the basement was inside his office as well. Thank heavens, so far, Bishop Brooks hadn’t even thought of scouring the basement.

  Feigning fatigue, Regent looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock in the evening. “I’m sure that when you were sent here, you were told that I have specific business hours? I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  Brooks fidgeted and looked irritated at being made to stand in the hall. “Of course, but I worked on the figures all day and I just finished. I wanted to ask you about them while the information is fresh in my mind. I thought we might be more comfortable in your office. After all, I assume you’d have your financial information at your fingertips in there.”

  “I’m sorry. A few years ago I realized I had to leave the office work for earlier in the day. I have sermons to work on after dinner, and if possible, I like to have time to myself in the evening.” He inhaled a long breath that was shakier than he would have liked. “In fact, I turned seventy-three yesterday, and today I feel that old.”

  “Who was that on the phone?” the inspector asked.

  Didn’t even wish him good health. He’d obviously forgotten his vows of brotherly love and respect.

  Regent moved down the hall. The priest followed closely on his heels.

  “A parishioner,” Regent said, positive now that Bishop Jason Brooks had been listening on the other line.

  “Obviously it’s someone with a serious problem.”

  “I’m surprised that you know anything about the private telephone conversation between a parishioner and me, Bishop.�
��

  Bishop Brooks looked nonplussed. “I simply picked up the phone to make a call and overheard a little of the conversation.”

  “You didn’t hear the phone ringing a moment ago? Surely you must have realized the phone line was occupied?” Not to mention the other phone had an extension light, he thought, but didn’t bother to point it out to the man.

  Bishop Brooks shrugged, then shuffled down the hall toward the kitchen. “No, I didn’t hear it ring.”

  “Well, obviously I can’t discuss what was said between me and a parishioner.”

  “Why not? It wasn’t confession.”

  Regent halted and frowned at the man, feeling his blood pressure rising. His hands fisted at his sides, but he kept his voice relatively calm, considering. “Dear me, you really did hear more than a snippet of the conversation, didn’t you?”

  Bishop Brooks didn’t make eye contact. Instead, he continued toward the kitchen, droning on and on about the importance of the financial report.

  Regent listened for as long as he could stand it. “Bishop, may we continue this discussion tomorrow?”

  Bishop Brooks stopped talking mid-sentence, his expression surprised. Apparently he’d been so wrapped up in his own words he’d barely registered what Regent had said. “Pardon?”

  “I have an appointment tonight.” Regent looked at his watch. “It’s time for me to leave.”

  “But you just said that you don’t work in the evenings.”

  “It’s not work. This is something of a personal nature,” he said, again wanting to take his words back. He’d piqued Brook’s interest more than he’d wanted to.

  Setting his tea cup in the dishwasher he donned his coat which hung on a hook near the back door and said, “I’ll be more than happy to continue this discussion tomorrow. Good night, Bishop.”

  “Good night,” Bishop Brooks said in a faraway voice that suggested his thoughts had wandered off. He was probably still thinking about his financial report. Regent cringed at the thought of the discussion still to come about corpses found in the church. If Brooks was this dogged about finances, Regent couldn’t even imagine what the next step would be.

  Regent sighed with relief when he climbed into his SUV, he’d escaped for now. He’d left Bishop Brooks talking to himself in the kitchen.

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  Chapter Four

  Britt stared at the phone in his hand. Why had the familiar voice at the other end sounded so angry just before he’d slammed the phone in his ear?

  His head buzzed and throbbing ice-picks of pain stabbed over both eyes. What had made him pick up the phone and dial that number? How did he even know the number or the name of the person at the other end? A priest, no less. And since when had there been a phone in here? He couldn’t remember seeing one before.

  The gray stone walls in this tiny room felt like they were closing in on him, whenever the pain didn’t distract him. His cot had a thin, lumpy mattress with one sheet. Beside the rough nightstand, the only other things in the room were an ornate wooden cross on one wall and a picture of the Virgin Mary near the door. Was he in a monastery? Every now and then he thought he heard chanting down the hall. Prayers? Or services, maybe? And why had someone left him a phone? It didn’t make sense.

  He ran a shaky hand over his face, then lifted one arm and looked at it. His muscles were weak and atrophied. Had he been in a coma? He groaned as a wave of gut-wrenching nausea accompanied the building pain in his head. If only he could get some painkillers. It would be so easy to give up and lose himself in the agony, but instead he fought for the strength to ride the wave of pain.

  His gaze sought the wooden cross on the wall. If he could remember a prayer he’d say it right now. He had the feeling God would forgive him for not remembering in the face of the pain he was experiencing.

  He couldn’t move his legs under the rough sheet but he did have sensation in them, could feel the poor quality cotton that felt like a burlap sack. Again the thought that he might be in a monastery surfaced. Then he wondered how he remembered about things like monasteries and priests, if he couldn’t remember who he was?

  Had he been a priest? Was that why he knew a priest’s phone number? Was that why the cross meant so much to him?

  A renewed bout of pain racked his body. He groaned and pressed one arm over his eyes to blot out the glaring light emanating from the bare bulb in the high ceiling. There was no light switch in the room and no way to turn out the light, even if he could get his legs to move.

  Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside his door. He listened. Even though he remembered vague moments over the last few days—waking to glasses of liquid on his bedstand, voices talking outside his door—he didn’t remember ever seeing a person. But then his brain was so foggy.

  The footsteps usually passed by his door without stopping. Sometimes they slowed, but once a day someone stopped and left him a drink. Always when he was asleep. He never saw a soul.

  The only form of nutrition he’d had—a vile, viscous liquid. But it was sustenance. Without it, he’d be in worse shape. It kept him alive. He never saw who delivered it, but by the time he got it he was ravenously hungry and drank it without question. Right now he was so very hungry.

  Suddenly, the footsteps halted outside his door. A key turned in the lock. The door began to open and he jammed his hands into the mattress and tried to push himself up.

  Jess had to find James. Nothing would stop her now that she’d awoken from her bone crushing sorrow. Not even the blond man tempting her with lies about Britt. James had been her partner on the police force for years—ever since she’d bitten him and turned him into a vampire. She didn’t deserve it, but he’d long ago forgiven her for changing him.

  Adrenaline spiked. Where could he be? Nothing would keep him from Britt’s funeral!

  The fact that he hadn’t been around and she hadn’t noticed salted raw wounds. Too many catastrophes for a vampire balancing on a delicate wire between partial salvation and full-out vampirism.

  Her cell phone rang. She whipped it off her belt and answered. “Captain Vandermire speaking.”

  “Jess!” Regent sounded so relieved to hear her voice she felt terrible about not calling him more often.

  “Regent. I’m glad you called. Have you heard from James?”

  “No, I haven’t, and I’ve phoned his house about a hundred times. And they haven’t brought Sephina for her blessings for two days. They sometimes miss one day, but two is bad. You know the baby needs daily prayers if we’re going to have a chance at healing her vampirism.”

  “Look, I’m on my way to James’s place right now. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “Don’t bother, dear, I’m phoning you from my truck. I’ll meet you there.”

  She glanced at her watch. “In your truck? At this time of night?”

  “Long story,” he said. “The inspector is driving me crazy. I had to get out of there to clear my head. Since you weren’t in your apartment, I decided to track you down.”

  “Oh, you poor man.” Jess’s renewed guilt slammed into her. “I’m sorry you have to go through this over and over again, and all because of me.”

  “This isn’t your fault. And as long as there are vampires on the hunt, they’ll interfere in our lives. There’s nothing we can do about that.”

  “That inspector really has been bothering you, hasn’t he?” Her shoulders tensed. “I’ll meet you on the sidewalk outside James’s place.”

  “Sounds good. Can’t wait to see you in person,” he said, then hung up his cell without another word.

  Jess made her way quickly across the city. Regent’s SUV pulled in shortly after she arrived. He got out and gave her a long hug.

  She let him take whatever time he needed. She used to tell herself vampires didn’t need affection, but she’d long since learned that wasn’t true.

  When he let her go, they looked up at the building, nestled in a row of houses with brick st
eps leading up to the main door.

  “Why aren’t there any lights on?” And why did she have such a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach?

  She pressed her index finger on the doorbell. They could hear it ringing inside, but no one came to the door.

  “Push it again, dear,” Regent said.

  She pressed the bell and held her finger down longer. It seemed as if there was no one home. She didn’t believe it for a minute. Something was wrong.

  Regent reached out and turned the doorknob. The door opened. “It’s not locked,” he whispered, worry evident in his voice.

  As soon as the door cracked opened, inside air wafted out. Jess’s heart stuttered. “There are vampires inside. Wait out here for me.” She held up a hand to block his attempted entry into the house.

  “But you need backup,” he protested.

  “I don’t want you to get hurt. I can’t lose you, too,” she said. “There are vampires inside.”

  “Two vampires live here, Jess,” he whispered. “Any chance it’s just them?”

  She shook her head. These odors were from older vampires. Much older. And there were at least two of them. Other scents mingled with the strangers odors, residual scents from James, Terry and the baby, but they weren’t as strong.

  “I’ve been doing this with you my whole life. If you think I’ll now wait out on the sidewalk while you go in there alone, you’re wrong.”

  For the first time she regretted not having backup, if only to keep Regent safe.

  She yanked out her cell phone and called one of her men. When she hung up, she said, “Listen, Jukes Lundren’s on his way. You wait for him here. If anything happens and we need more backup, Jukes will be able to handle that. Plus, he’ll protect you until I come back.”

  She walked Regent back to his vehicle where he slumped against the fender and said, “I understand dear. I’ll pray for all of you.”

  “Yeah,” Jess inhaled and again scented the presence of the undead inside. She didn’t even dare think about James, Terry and Sephina.

  Regent had been trying his best to save the baby, and his efforts were working. Babies had more resilience, had a more favorable reception to prayers and scripture. Sephina was a beautiful little one-year-old with big blue eyes and light brown hair, and sweet little cherub lips that turned everyone to putty whenever she smiled at them.