“So you are Vayl’s . . .” Disa raised an eyebrow, gave me
The one that said,
I gave her empty eyes as I said, “I’m his assistant,” then zoomed back in on Binns. He was beginning to relax. Starting to believe his
He staggered. Stared down at the bolt sticking out of his left shoulder. Looked up at me in shock. “Why did you do that?”
“Hair trigger,” I said.
Praise for Jennifer Rardin:
“Fantasy fans who love high-tech toys and
“Rardin proves she’s no flash in the pan with the second Jaz Parks adventure, which leaps from one exhilarating escapade to another.” —
BY JENNIFER RARDIN
Chapter One
I stood in the moonlit courtyard of a Greek villa so old and enormous it would’ve made me feel like Hera herself if I hadn’t been so pissed. I’d just pulled Grief, the Walther PPK that Bergman, my tech guru, had modified for me. So I had no problem keeping a steady bead on my target. Since he was a vampire, I’d pressed the magic button, transforming Grief into a crossbow. Which my mark was taking pretty seriously. The only reason he was still pretending to breathe.
Beside me, my boss played his part to perfection. He’d already made the leap from faked surprise that I’d drawn on one of our hosts, to faux acceptance that I’d once again dropped him into a socially precarious situation. Maybe Vayl slipped into the role so smoothly because he was used to it. I did tend to make his existence . . . interesting.
He turned his head slightly, his short dark curls indifferent to the late-April breeze coming off the mountain at our backs. Managing to keep an eye on my target, as well as whatever vamps might come pouring out of the sprawling sand-colored mansion to check on him, Vayl said, “Are you sure you recognize this fellow?”
“He’s the one,” I hissed. “I just saw the report on him last week. Name is Alan Binns. He’s wanted for murder in three countries. His specialty is families. The pictures were—”
The Vampere world might be all about superiority, which was why we’d needed to make a power play the minute we crossed their threshold. But I’d have popped this bastard just to erase another monster from our hit list. In fact, that we should personally benefit from his takeout made me feel almost dirty. I know, I know. As assistant to the CIA’s top assassin, I shouldn’t make moral judgments. But that had never stopped me before.
“You can’t prove anything,” snarled Binns, whose dirt-brown, shoulder-length hair did nothing to disguise his bulging forehead.
“I don’t
“What is the meaning of this? What are you strangers doing in my courtyard at ten o’clock in the evening!” demanded the woman who steamed out one of the villa’s blue-framed back doors, all four of which were flanked by solar lamps made to resemble antique streetlights. The elongated sleeves of her black chiffon gown batted the air behind her, making her resemble an enraged homecoming queen candidate—one whose friends had voted for the other, uglier girl. Though her mega-gelled version of beauty could have landed her a closetful of pageant tiaras, her psychic scent hit me between the eyes so hard I felt like I’d been drop-kicked into a garbage dump. What the hell kind of vamp
Vayl turned to intercept her, placing the tiger-carved cane he always carried firmly on the gray pavers between them. She stopped three feet from it, rearing back like she’d hit an invisible wall. Her eyes, the liquid brown of stale coffee, widened as a how-dare-you look tried to settle on her face. It faded almost immediately, as if she’d undergone a recent Botox treatment and couldn’t sustain any expression that might leave evidence of emotion.
I struggled not to stare. My job did require some concentration, after all. But her scent, combined with the eye-strafing she gave Vayl, tempted the busybody in me. I forced my gaze back to Binns. He’d taken half a step forward. I smiled at him.
“What are
