Circle of Death

  He stepped back. Sirens were wailing in the distance. They might not be headed here, but with the noise the zombie had made, they couldn’t risk staying any longer. Not with Rachel Grant lying dead downstairs. “We’d better get going.”

  She nodded. “With all the noise I made getting in the door, the neighbors are probably awake and standing out front, wondering what’s going on.”

  “Then we’ll go out the way I came in. Through the window.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “The windows are boarded up.”

  “Only the ones on the ground floor.” He caught her hand, entwining his fingers in hers. “Let’s go.”

  He stopped in the hall long enough to put on his shoes and pick up his coat, then continued on into the other room. Pain twinged down his side at every movement, but it wasn’t the sharp, excruciating pain of broken ribs. He was lucky, that was for sure.

  A quick peek out the window showed lots of lights but no cops, as yet. And while there were no neighbors standing on the sidewalk, either, that didn’t mean they weren’t around. It was going to be a little tricky getting out, but he’d certainly been caught in worse situations during his time as a thief.

  He raised the window. “Keep close to the wall,” he said. “And squat down, so you present less of a silhouette.”

  She studied him. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

  She was either very intuitive or she was reading his mind as easily as he was hers. “Done what? Been rescued by a pretty young woman from the hands of a zombie?” He gave her an easy grin. “It doesn’t happen as often as I’d like, I’m afraid.”

  A smile touched her lips, but annoyance flickered in her eyes. “You really won’t give me a straight answer about yourself, will you?”

  He hesitated. If he were ever going to be honest about himself, then it would be with her, for all sorts of reasons—not the least being the attraction he felt. But right now, they simply didn’t have the time.

  “Force of habit, I’m afraid.” He motioned toward the window. “Go, before the cops get here.”

  She eyed him a second longer, then climbed out the window and hunched down in the shadows. He followed her out onto the balcony, then carefully closed the window and nudged the latch closed again.

  “Thief,” she murmured. “You had to have been. You’re too damn good at that.”

  He slipped the pick back into his pocket. “I could have been a cop, you know. Cops learn all sorts of things.”

  She gave him a knowing look. “Yeah, right.”

  He grinned and slipped past her, moving to the end of the balcony. The shared wall between the two terraces jutted out several feet and would make climbing onto the next balcony awkward. At least all the windows in the neighboring house were still wrapped in darkness.

  He glanced at her. “We’ll have to climb around the wall to the next balcony. You ready?”

  She glanced down at the ground, then back at him. Fear flickered in her eyes. Afraid of heights, he realized. “I won’t let you fall,” he added.

  He held out his hand. She hesitated, then took it and climbed up onto the wrought iron. It wobbled under her weight, and she made a small sound of fear, grabbing for his shoulders.

  He reached for her waist with his free hand, steadying her. “Look at me, not the ground,” he said. Her gaze darted to his, wide and uncertain. “I won’t let you fall. Believe that, if nothing else. Now, reach around the wall and pull yourself across to the next balcony.”

  Though she was shaking, she did as he asked, and was quickly on the other side. He followed and pushed her into the shadows as headlights speared the darkness.

  “Crawl toward the next house in the row,” he murmured, as the blue and red lights of the police car washed through the shadows.

  “We can’t climb across the balcony,” she protested. “They’ll see us.”

  “Maybe. Just go.”

  She did. He followed her, somehow managing to keep his gaze on the police car more than the rather fetching sight of her jeans-clad rear. The cops climbed out of the car, putting on their hats as they walked across the road and disappeared under the balcony. Doyle moved past Kirby and checked the next house. Lights were on, but he couldn’t see anyone in the windows, and no one was moving around—not upstairs, anyway.

  “Go,” he said, catching her hand again. “Duck down under the windows when you get there.”

  Her expression was doubtful, but she climbed onto the railing and edged across. He followed her and pushed her forward again. They repeated the process until they reached the final house in the row.

  “Now what?” she murmured.

  “Now we lie down in the shadows and wait for the hubbub to die down.”

  She gave him another long look. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He shook his head and somehow managed to restrain his grin. He could certainly think of worse fates than lying down with her—even if it was for something as innocent as waiting out the cops. “Sorry, no. If we try to leave now, someone will definitely stop us. So we wait.”

  She crossed her arms and didn’t move. “Why can’t we just sit here? Why do we have to lie down?”

  “Because there’ll be less of us to notice. By lying down and lying still, we’re a part of the shadows. Believe me, it works.” He’d had many a narrow escape by doing precisely that.

  “I just bet you have,” she muttered. “And not all of them narrow escapes from thieving jobs, either.”

  She was reading his mind as easily as he was hers. Odd. He grinned and didn’t refute her inference, though he’d never been a womanizer. Far from it.

  “I suppose,” she continued softly, “that we have to stretch out beside each other, not lie toe to head, for the same reason?”

  “Afraid so.” Her raised eyebrow suggested she knew he was lying. Smiling, he stretched out along the wall, then patted the boards in front of him. “Come along. I don’t bite.”

  “I’ll reserve judgment on that,” she muttered, but lay down beside him—facing him rather than the road.

  To keep an eye on him, he thought with amusement. Or rather, on what he was doing. Not that he could do much with the cops five doors down and the owners of this house moving around downstairs.

  He reached for his phone. She tensed, then relaxed when she saw it. He smiled and dialed Camille.

  “Don’t you be hassling an old woman,” she answered, voice tart. “I’m almost there.”

  “I’m calling to say don’t bother. When the murderer departed she left a rather large zombie to cover her tracks. I’m afraid we only just managed to escape, and the cops are crawling all over the place.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Stuck on a balcony five doors down. We can’t really move until either the cops or the owners of this house leave, and I have a bad feeling we should check on Russ before it gets too light.”

  “I’ll head over to Russ, then. Meet you there unless you hear from me in the meantime.”

  “Will do. And I’ll send you the pics I took.” He did so, then shoved the phone away and glanced past the curve of Kirby’s hip to the road. More cops were arriving. It was going to be quite a while before they could move.

  He met her gaze. In the warm green depths of her eyes he saw wariness and something else—longing. Desire.

  Without really thinking about the consequences, he leaned forward and kissed her.

  HIS KISS WASN’T WHAT SHE’D EXPECTED. SHE WASN’T entirely sure what she had expected, but it wasn’t this. There was a tenderness in his touch that was more than just passion, more than just desire. His lips burned heat through her heart, her soul, and sent common sense flying. All she could do, all she wanted to do, was respond.

  He whispered her name, his breath warm against her lips, then he wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her close. She could feel the strength of his arousal, feel the wild beat of his heart. Knew they were an echo of her own. She touched his face, his neck, then ran her hand
down to his hip. Lord help her, she wanted him as she’d never wanted another—right here, right now on the balcony. No matter how dangerous that might be or how much she might regret it later.

  Seize the moment, enjoy the danger, Helen had often preached. But until this moment, she’d never truly understood what Helen had meant.

  His lips left hers and moved to her neck, branding her skin with his kisses. She sighed and slipped her hand from his hip, down the outside of his jeans until she touched the hard length of him. She caressed him, teased him through the material, until she felt him quiver with need. She moved her hand away, slipping it inside his shirt, reveling in the hard, flat planes of his chest and stomach. He groaned softly, then his lips seized hers again and he kissed her urgently. He pushed up her sweater, thrust a hand under her bra, catching her nipple, teasing it, teasing her. Heat pulsed through her, and deep down the ache increased. God, it felt so good …

  Downstairs, a door slammed and voices rose. She froze. He pulled away, his breathing harsh and fast, staring past her, his body tense as he held her close.

  Footsteps clattered on concrete, moving away. A man and a woman, from their voices. Another voice broke the silence, calling to them in an authoritative tone. A cop, she thought, and she hoped Doyle was right—that the shadows would indeed hide them. She doubted the police would believe they were just an oversexed couple who couldn’t wait to get home.

  After five minutes or so, doors slammed and a car started up. Doyle relaxed and glanced down at her, a chagrined look on his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

  She studied him for a moment. “Liar.”

  A smile touched his lips. “While I don’t mind making love outdoors, believe me, I’m not an exhibitionist. Especially when cops are among the spectators.”

  With his dark hair tumbling across his forehead and his smile crinkling the corners of his blue eyes, he looked so damn sexy she just wanted to kiss him again. She pushed away instead. Now that the heat between them had died a little, common sense was returning. She wasn’t an exhibitionist either, but somewhere in the last few moments, both of them had almost become just that. Thank God the owners of the house had stopped them.

  She thrust a hand through her hair and rolled onto her back. Lord, what on Earth had she been thinking? While there was no denying her attraction to this man, she knew if she took it too much further, she’d end up getting hurt. Not only was he a total stranger, he was certainly more than a thief and an adventurer. Visions of him snapping the vampire’s neck flashed through her mind and her breath caught. And yet, deep down, she knew he wasn’t a killer. Yes, he’d killed to protect her, but it wasn’t something he’d enjoyed, of that she was certain.

  What she wasn’t so certain of was whether she could trust him—not with her life, but with her heart. She very much suspected the answer was no.

  Or was that merely cowardice speaking?

  He touched her face, gently running a finger down to her lips. She resisted the urge to kiss his fingertips and moved her face away from the warmth of his touch. “This is neither the time nor the place, and I think we both realize that.”

  “But the minutes did pass by rather nicely, didn’t they?” His voice was little more than a throaty growl and sent shivers of warmth running down her spine. “And you and I both know it won’t end here.”

  She glanced at him, more than a little terrified by his words. Because deep down she knew what he said was true. As much as she might deny it, as much as common sense told her to go no further, she knew they would finish what they had begun here.

  But what would happen afterward? Surely a fire so quickly ignited would just as quickly be doused. It wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last.

  Have fun and the future be damned, Helen would have said. Only she’d never been like Helen, as much as she’d tried. She couldn’t disconnect her emotions from sex, couldn’t have one without the other.

  And the fact that she was even thinking about such things when the man in question was very much a stranger scared the hell out of her.

  “I can’t play this game,” she murmured, looking away again. “I just can’t.”

  He touched her chin, gently bringing her gaze to his. “I never said it was a game, Kirby.”

  “But what else could it be? Once this case is solved, you’ll be heading home, back to America, won’t you?” He didn’t disagree, just watched her with that all-too-knowing gaze of his. She pulled her chin from his grip. “You don’t really want someone like me.”

  “You have no idea what I want.”

  Her gaze flashed to his. “That’s right,” she said, an odd surge of anger rushing through her, constricting her voice. “I don’t. I know nothing about you, because you won’t tell me anything. You want me to trust you, and yet you won’t offer me the same.”

  “I have my reasons—”

  “Yeah, well, so have I. Now, let’s get the hell off this balcony and out of here.” Before she did something stupid—like give in to the desire to touch him again.

  He studied her a second longer, then nodded. “Stay here.” On hands and knees, he moved back to the window. Pulling the sliver of metal from his pocket, he thrust it up between the windows, wriggling it around for several seconds. Then, as easy as that, he opened the window.

  “Are you sure there are no alarms?” Surely it couldn’t be that easy. Surely people wealthy enough to own a terrace in this part of Carlton would be wise enough to put in a security system.

  “There’s an alarm on the house two doors down from this one, and on the one three doors past Rachel Grant’s. But there’s nothing on the rest, which is why I retreated this way.”

  “Oh.” He had to be a thief. Normal people didn’t notice things like that. She certainly hadn’t.

  He climbed in through the window, then looked out. “You coming?”

  She followed him through and looked around. She was oddly relieved to see it wasn’t a bedroom, but some sort of sitting room. Antique-looking furniture filled every corner, making the place appear too crowded, too formal, for her liking.

  “And mine,” he said, catching her hand in his. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  His fingers were warm against hers, the palms callused. Not what she’d expected from the hands of a thief. “Won’t the police question us when we leave?”

  “They won’t even see us if we leave quietly. We’ll probably have to abandon the car for the moment, though.”

  “I don’t think walking is a good idea.” Especially if someone kept sending monsters after her.

  He squeezed her fingers, then released them, working his magic on the dead bolt barring their exit through the front door. He had it open in a minute flat.

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Don’t try to tell me you’re a locksmith when you’re not rescuing damsels in distress or tracking bad guys, because I just won’t believe it.”

  He gave her that cheeky smile again, and her stomach did odd flip-flops. “You could say I’ve had a somewhat shady past. But it’s all behind me, I promise.”

  “Yeah, it looks like it,” she said dryly.

  Smile widening, he placed a hand at her back, ushering her through the door. His touch burned into her skin, and for some reason, hurt. She frowned, flexing her shoulders, wondering what was wrong. Pain twinged, running down her spine like muted fire. Maybe she’d twisted something when the door had blown her off her feet. Maybe she hadn’t felt anything until now because she’d been too scared for Doyle. Or too aroused by him.

  Swallowing the thought, she moved down the steps and into the street. A crowd had gathered around Rachel’s gate, watching what was happening. An ambulance had pulled up, its lights still flashing as two paramedics ran inside. But they were far too late to save Rachel—as she and Doyle had been far too late. She crossed her arms and shivered, remembering Helen’s words. One more woman to go, and she had to save her. But how, when she couldn’t even save herself? God, she was o
nly here now because Doyle had rescued her.

  His gaze swept her as he walked down the steps, flushing heat through her body. “Make it casual,” he said and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close as they headed down the street.

  “Where to now, Romeo?” she asked, voice tart. He might want casual, but right now, when her body still sang to the tune of his touch, casual was the last thing she wanted—or needed. “Right now, we disappear into this mist and get as far away as we can. Then we catch a cab and head on over to the government facility that housed you and Helen.”

  She glanced up at him, startled. “Why?”

  “Because Camille believes that’s where all this started.”

  She frowned. “But that was closed down years ago. What do you hope to find there now?”

  He shrugged. “All I’m hoping to find at the moment is my friend, Russell, alive and unharmed.”

  She raised an eyebrow. If his friend was at the center at this hour, he obviously hadn’t gotten in through any normal means. “He’s a thief, too?”

  “No. Actually, he’s a vampire.”

  She stopped and stared at him. “A vampire?”

  He glanced behind them, then nudged her forward again. “Yes. Vampires aren’t all bad, you know.”

  They weren’t? She blinked several times. Lord, it was hard enough to believe vampires were real, let alone the fact that some of them were actually on the side of the angels. “But … they have to drink blood to survive. How can he be good?”

  “He doesn’t take human blood.”

  “So he dines on animals?” Somehow, she found that even worse.

  He glanced down at her, an eyebrow raised. “You eat meat, chicken and fish, don’t you? What’s the difference?”

  He sounded so damn logical it was annoying. “But I don’t actually kill them. They come in ready-to-eat pieces all wrapped in plastic. I don’t have to think about where it comes from.”

  “Russ doesn’t kill them, either. And it’s mainly cows and horses he takes from.”

  “Oh.” She wasn’t entirely sure that made her feel any better about meeting this friend of his. She frowned. “If he’s a vampire, how did he get into the center? Don’t vampires have to be invited over thresholds? Or is that all a load of Hollywood tripe?”