sympathies.
Zack gets right to work. “Never met a lock I couldn’t pick.”
“Get a lot of practice, do you?”
“You should see my collection of chains and handcuffs.”
“Kinky.”
Within seconds, there’s a metallic click and he’s cracked it.
We slip inside.
This side entrance takes us to the private elevator that goes directly to Dr. Pierce’s suite.
“Now what?” I whisper. This door requires a key card of some kind.
He pulls something from his wallet, swipes it, and voila—green light.
“Do I even want to know where you got that thing?”
“Probably not,” he mutters, pocketing the card, then drawing his weapon.
Zack takes point. Since he’s the one with super-duper healing and I’m practical, I let him.
The waiting and reception areas are empty. We quickly move into position by the entrance to the back office. Gun in hand, I pull the door open. Zack leads the way. We proceed cautiously down the hall of exam rooms. At the end, a door stands ajar. According to the placard, it’s what we’ve been looking for, the office of Dr. Barbara Pierce. And it’s empty. Once we’re inside, the real chore lies ahead of us. Finding the hidden entrance to the lab.
There are floor-to-ceiling bookcases on all four walls.
“I should have asked Alan which bookcase,” I whisper.
“No need,” Zack answers, in a hushed tone. He crosses to the first bookcase, leans close. He straightens and moves to the second. Then the third. He gives me a thumbs-up. “This one.” Before I can ask how he determined it, he adds, “I hear the whine from a generator. It’s strongest here. Labs need power. A secret lab with its own operating suite needs its own power source.”
“You are so clever.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Any idea where the catch or lock is that will open this puppy?”
I’ve already holstered my gun. With both hands free, I begin to explore the bookcase, passing my hand under and over each shelf. Nothing. I reach behind the case as far as I can. Still nothing. On either side. I turn and look at Pierce’s desk. I remember Alan had the release for the front door of his office somewhere under the top of his desk.
I take a seat in Pierce’s chair and let my hands explore. No catch. I open the file drawers to the left and right, shuffle papers around so I can see the entire insides of the drawers. My impatience is growing along with my fear that if this takes any longer, we’re going to lose Isabella.
I sit back in the chair, sighing with frustration. The top of Pierce’s desk holds a blotter, a potted plant, a metal divider tray, a pen set.
An elaborate pen set.
I look up at Zack. “Couldn’t be . . .”
He shrugs. “Only one way to find out.”
He reaches over my shoulder and his fingers tighten around the first pen in the rack. It lifts free. Then he tries the second. This one doesn’t. He tugs at it and it levers down.
At the same time, there’s a gentle sliding sound. I spring from the chair to watch the bookcase swing forward on a well-oiled track.
Zack and I move through the door, Glocks in hand.
We find ourselves in what looks like a small laboratory. A long table holds an autoclave, a microscope, and a desktop computer, as well as racks of test tubes and blood samples. There are other machines I don’t recognize on a second table. The shelves above them are filled with supplies, including towels, sheets, and a stack of fresh scrubs. To my right are two closed doors. Directly across from us is a window. Through it, we have a clear view of the operating suite. On the other side of the glass are six coffins on stainless steel biers. Zack and I exchange glances. Pierce keeps the vampires in coffins? A macabre joke? Each casket has a large tank at the end of it. A coil of plastic tubing connecting them. I surmise that’s how the silver anesthesia Alan mentioned is administered. One coffin is open, but from this vantage point we can’t see inside. A woman dressed in scrubs stands in front of it, blocking our view. Her back is to us, but I know it’s Pierce. I recognize the upswept blond hair from last night.
We move in tandem to the adjacent door. Zack stands to the right, I, to the left. With a sweeping motion, he cracks the door open. The sound of a Rogers and Hammerstein tune spills out. Pierce is cheerfully humming along. The door opens as soundlessly as the bookcase. Pierce doesn’t hear us enter, doesn’t even look up as we move behind her.
She’s standing over a coffin, a syringe in her hand. The lid and sides of the coffin appear to be lined with silver. There’s a blanket that looks to be of spun silver pushed to the end and partially draped over the side. The coil of plastic tubing hangs disconnected from its tank at the end. From over Pierce’s shoulder, I can see inside.
Isabella. It’s horrifying to get my first glimpse of what has become of her. The wispy woman with the radiant smile I’ve been searching for is stretched out, nude, her body withering away. Her long brown hair looks like straw. Her lips are drained of color and peeling, her skin pale and pruned. Across her abdomen is a series of ghastly-looking scars that have yet to completely heal. She’s moaning softly, her eyes closed.
Pierce reaches inside the coffin and lifts Isabella’s arm. “This will put you to sleep for the final time. In a moment, it will all be over.”
Just as she touches the syringe to Isabella’s arm, I step forward, chambering a round. Zack has moved to my left, his gun trained, too, on Pierce.
“Drop the syringe,” I order, struggling to keep the emotion out of my voice. “Or don’t. I would
I expect her to whirl around, be startled, yell.
She does none of those things.
To my great disappointment, Pierce obeys. The hand with the syringe drops to her side. “You don’t understand,” she says, still not moving, not turning around to see who has invaded her private lab. “If you did —”
“Oh, but I do understand. Better than you imagine. We’ve just come from your son’s office.”
“Alan? Is he all right?” She’s staring into the coffin.
“He told us everything. Now, I want you to step away from the coffin and turn around, slowly.”
“I need to give Isabella a shot,” she says, remaining motionless. “She is recovering from a powerful sedative. If she is allowed to become fully conscious—”
She doesn’t get the chance to complete the sentence.
Isabella’s hand flies up from the coffin and fastens on Pierce’s throat.
“Isabella, no!” I shout.
Zack moves to intervene.
We’re both too late.
With one strong flick of her wrist, she’s pulled Pierce into the coffin. The doctor flails, trying to break away, but the promise of sustenance seems to breathe life into Isabella. She sits up, pulling Pierce to her chest. She fastens her jaws on the doctor’s neck and begins to drink.
I hate what Pierce has turned Isabella into, but there are strict laws in the vampire community about when and how a vampire feeds. And killing a well-known doctor and draining her blood might put Isabella in just as much danger from her own kind as she was from Pierce.
Zack grabs hold of Isabella’s hair in an effort to pull her free from Pierce’s body.
Isabella easily throws him off, jaws snapping at Zack’s throat.
“Find blood,” he shouts. “There’s got to be some around here.”
I’m already headed for the door across the way. When I push it open, there’s only one bed inside. It’s an operating suite, complete with monitors and an oxygen supply. The table is empty. My heart is pounding as I run for the second door. It also leads to a patient room. Again with one bed. This time occupied. Dexter is still and pale under the blanket tucked around him. Intravenous tubes in his arms connect to two overhead infusion bags— one containing blood, the other a clear liquid that I assume is keeping Dexter hydrated—and sedated. In this room,
