Sam ran across Exhibition Street and fell into step several yards behind them. Though she kept an eye on the shadows surrounding the nearby buildings and shop fronts and listened to the sigh of the wind, there didn’t seem to be anything out of place. No sign of the vampire, no sensation of evil haunting the night.
And yet, something was here—a presence that itched at the back of her mind. A memory waiting to surface.
She frowned and eyed Wetherton’s group uneasily. The sensation was coming from their direction for sure—but what it implied was anyone’s guess.
Frown deepening, Sam tore her gaze from them and checked the night again. They were now distant enough from the theater and the crowd. So why hadn’t the vampire attacked? If they went much farther, there would be no witnesses, no press. No point.
A chauffeur climbed out of a white limousine when Wetherton’s group approached it. As the chauffeur walked around to open the passenger door, Wetherton stopped and looked around. His gaze fell on Sam before she could avoid it, but quickly moved on. Easily dismissed, she thought wryly, but stepped into the shadows of a nearby shop entrance anyway. She wasn’t supposed to be here, so it was better if she kept out of sight as much as possible.
Once the chauffeur had opened the car door, Wetherton climbed in, followed quickly by the two women and one of the men. The last man hesitated, one hand on the roof, his gray hair gleaming silver under the wash of the streetlights as he turned to study the night in much the same manner as Wetherton had.
His blunt-nosed profile sent shock crashing through her.
He was the man from her dream.
The evil man with the dead gray eyes.
FOUR
SAM PRESSED THE EAR STUD, quickly activating it. “I want a search done on the man with the gray hair,” she murmured. “All details, ASAP.”
The man in question hesitated a bit longer, then climbed into the car. The chauffeur walked back to the driver’s side and, within seconds, the car purred to life and was jockeying for position in the jam of other cars attempting to leave the theater district.
So much for Stephan’s spectacular attack. What the hell was going to happen now? Without the attack, there was no reason for her to become one of Wetherton’s bodyguards. No reason that wouldn’t look suspicious, anyway.
And that, in turn, meant a return to the broom closet.
“There’s never a vampire around when you bloody need one,” she muttered, as she stepped from the shadows, eyeing the car that now had its nose out into the street. “Someone had better contact me and tell me if this assignment is still a go.”
She touched the transmitter and switched it off. Then she resolutely turned away. A return to her hotel was her only option now.
She’d barely taken three steps when an explosion ripped through the night. As her heart leapt to the vicinity of her throat, a wave of heat hit, sending her staggering. She swore loudly, but the words were lost under the sound of screaming. She caught her balance and swung around.
What lay before her seemed more like a scene out of an action movie than something that could happen on a Melbourne street.
Wetherton’s car was up on two wheels, skidding through the line of cars under the force of the explosion. It spun the two closest away, then crashed into a car parked on the right side of the road and thumped back down, the back wheels on fire and the flames spreading fast.
People were scattering—some running back inside the theater and others running down the street through the line of now-halted cars—most of them screaming and obviously terrified. The paparazzi were in a frenzy, cameras flashing as they jostled for the best position. Wetherton had finally gotten the attention he’d missed earlier.
Had he lived to bask in it?
The chauffeur scrambled from the car, blood pouring down his face from a cut above his eye. Then a line of blue light bit through the night and hit him in the chest, and he dropped like a stone out of her sight.
Laser fire.
He’d been hit with laser fire.
That certainly wasn’t a part of Stephan’s plans. Sam drew her weapon and ran forward, using the cars as cover as her gaze swept the surrounding rooftops. The laser shot had come from the top of a building to the right of the theater, but the light glaring from the many signs prevented her from seeing if the shooter was still up there.
Only there was no reason to believe he wasn’t.
She glanced at the limo. There were no movements from inside. Maybe the occupants had seen what had happened to the driver and were staying put, despite the dangerous fire. Or maybe they were unconscious.
Or dead.
The answers to those questions were something she had to find out—fast. But the closer she got to the car, the more the heat lashed at her skin. Oddly enough, the heat seemed to concentrate on one side of her face—it almost felt as if she’d been burned. The smell of burning rubber damn near choked her, and thick smoke spun through the night. If Wetherton and his people were alive and didn’t get out soon, the fumes and the heat would kill them. Not to mention the growing danger of the gas tank exploding.
From across the road, a familiar voice yelled at people to get back, that everything was under control. She smiled grimly. Briggs—someone she’d worked with and trusted.