He doesn’t object. Neither of us speaks until after we’ve crossed Mission and headed for the sidewalk that runs along the harbor. Here the view spans the San Diego skyline on one side, row on row of condos and apartments on the other. There’s a marina and a small park. We head for the benches in the middle of the park. We choose the one that faces a playground. The water is at our backs and we have a clear view of the sidewalk. It’s much quieter here.
“So talk.”
Max looks toward the sidewalk, eyes restlessly scanning the faces of the people moving at a Sunday- afternoon, warm-summer’s-day kind of pace. I look, too. But I know I’m not seeing the same things he is. He’s looking at them with cop eyes.
“I’ve been working a joint task force with the Mexican border patrol,” he says at last. “Drugs mostly. But in the last month, we’ve been finding something else on our patrols. Bodies drained of blood. Entire families killed and dumped in the desert. No clue as to who is doing it. At first we thought it was some local drug lord’s new and vicious way to intimidate.”
“But now?”
“The victims all had their throats slashed. But there’s never any blood at the scene. None. The tox screens we’ve run always come back negative for drugs. They’re not addicts or dealers. The victims have no connection to local law enforcement either, always a favorite target of the cartel. We’ve traced some of the victims to places in Latin America and as far south as Ecuador. A hell of a long way to transport bodies just to dump them. They’re from poor families. If they were carrying anything of value on them, it’s gone by the time we find them. All that’s left is the clothes they’re wearing.”
Max pauses, draws a breath. He hasn’t looked at me since we sat down on the bench. He does now. “I think we’re dealing with a coyote. I think he takes money from these people to get them across the border. Then he kills them and dumps them within sight of the border. Probably lets them know how close they are before he kills them.”
It doesn’t take much of a leap to know what Max is leading up to. “You think this coyote is a vampire.”
“I do. The slash marks are clumsy. Because the bodies are found in Mexico, we haven’t been able to do anything but drug sampling. But I’d be willing to bet if we could do the autopsies here, we’d find something under those slashes.”
He would. When I worked as a Watcher, I used the technique myself. A vampire can erase puncture wounds from a live donor, but not a dead one. Slashing the throat is a way to hide the fact that a body has been sucked dry.
Confirming that Max is right about this and how I know that he’s right is not something I want to share. I already know what he thinks of me. “What do you want from me?”
“There’s a pattern to the killings. We find the bodies on our patrols on Tuesday mornings. Always in roughly the same location.”
“If you know this, you don’t need me. Set a trap.”
“We did. Once. The guy slipped past us as if he were invisible. But not before leaving us another victim. A young girl. You have to realize, Anna, our emphasis is on stopping the drug trade. Not human trafficking. We don’t have the resources to conduct another undercover op. That’s why I’m here. To ask you to come with me tomorrow night. If I’m right, the only way we’re going to stop him is by fighting fire with fire.”
I snort. “You mean vampire with vampire.”
Max’s mouth tightens. “This isn’t a joking matter.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
His expression shifts, softens. “Sorry. I know I’m asking a lot. I don’t know what else to do. If we don’t stop him, he’ll go on killing. He likes it. He’s found an easy food source. And he takes money from victims desperate to make a new life.”
He pauses, draws a breath. “Culebra told me you’re some sort of
I push the thought out of my head. I can probably help Max. I’m stronger than other vamps. The question is, do I want to?
Stupid question. I choose my words carefully.
“I’ll do it. But not for you. I’ll do it because a vamp who acts like this is a rogue, a killer, a threat to all vampires. Sooner or later, what he’s doing will come to the attention of vampire hunters. Then none of us will be safe.”
Max lets his relief show in a tiny gesture of gratitude. He holds out a hand.
I let my feelings show by standing up and taking a step out of reach. The wound is still fresh. “Where shall I meet you?”
He stands, too, lets his hands fall to his sides. “The border crossing at San Ysidro. Tomorrow night. Ten o’clock.”
I nod. Max stares at me a minute, waiting for the ice to melt, I suppose. It doesn’t, and finally, he walks away.
For the first time, I notice.
Max was hurt in Mexico. A broken ankle. He’s not limping anymore.
At least one wound has healed.
CHAPTER 5
It’s a clear, quiet, moonless night. Max and I have tramped across two miles of barren desert. We’re both dressed in dark camo, ski masks covering our faces. I have a .38 strapped to my waist. Just in case Max’s coyote turns out to be human after all.
Max dons night-vision goggles. I don’t need them. The creatures of the desert are as clear to me in the inky blackness as they would be in the brightest sunlight. I see more than Max ever can, down to the tiniest scurrying insects he crushes underfoot as we trudge onward.
I hear more, too. The faraway cry of a bird of prey. The squeal of a rabbit as the jaws of a coyote snap closed around its neck. The pebbles pushed aside in the wake of a slithering snake.
Then, something else.
I touch Max’s arm. Signal him to stop. Point off to the north.
Too far away for him to see, there’s a dim shadow against the darkness. Moving toward us.
Max doesn’t question me. We seek cover behind the sloping bank of an arroyo, dry as dust in the summer heat. And hunker down to wait.
The shadow draws closer, divides into three. I probe, careful to keep my own presence hidden. The unmistakable psychic pattern of a vampire comes back like the blip on radar. At least one of them is vampire.
Then a feeling I’ve come to recognize swamps my senses. Revulsion. Rage. Bloodlust so powerful the vampire within bursts from its human cocoon with the gnashing of teeth.
Evil approaches.
Max seems to detect the change. He leans away from me, an involuntary, instinctive reaction to danger. “What’s wrong?”
I strip the ski mask from my face, let it fall to the ground. It takes effort to speak, to form words and force them through a throat that wants to howl. “Stay away from me. No matter what happens.”
I don’t wait for his reply. I leap over the embankment and head out to meet the monster.
CHAPTER 6
