I guess I was about to find out.
4
After my talk with Tymon, I hauled it to my office where I accessed PHD’s database and everything I could find on Zacharias Wylde. I discovered that he was wealthy, intelligent, and reclusive. The guy owned everything from small businesses to large corporations, had five degrees—a few I had no idea even existed—made smart investments, and apparently, didn’t like to be photographed. After an hour of searching for a picture of him, and finding nada, I got my secretary, Barbara, on it. Barbara lived for this shit. If she couldn’t find a photo of the guy, then there wasn’t one to be found. Barbara searched for over two hours before coming back empty-handed. According to her, the man was a ghost. A vampire ghost—just what I needed.
A little before eight, I shut off my computer, grabbed my backpack, and headed for the elevator. My gut churned as I stepped inside, my thoughts on the upcoming meeting with the enigmatic Mr. Wylde. Depending on how I played it, this meeting could either make or break my career. It’s one meeting, I told myself. One meeting with an antisocial, old-as-dirt vampire who had the power to end my career in law enforcement with a snap of his petrified fingers. I pictured a wrinkled-skin, rheumy-eyed, thousand-year-old vamp with tobacco-yellow teeth and a bad comb-over and shuddered at the thought. There had to be a reason he was so reclusive. The whole thing put me on edge, and I couldn’t help but wish that Tymon or one of the other guys was going with me.
PHD headquarters reminded me of a small college campus. The ground floor, with its large windows and high ceiling, had an open-air feel about it. Add in the café with the French pastries and fancy coffee, and it was downright inviting. From there, one could either catch an elevator or ride the escalator to the second floor where the reception desk and conference rooms were located. The third, and top floor, housed our offices, and could only be accessed via key card. Within walking distance of the main building were four other buildings as well as an outdoor track and a state-of-the-art shooting range. One thing was for sure, whoever built the place had money. The only flaw that I could see, other than the job itself, was the damn parking lot. Located across the street from the main building, it was a pain in the ass to deal with during rush hour. As it was currently rush hour, I was going to have to take my life into my own hands and Frogger it across the two-lane street to my car.
My phone rang as I was exiting the building. When I saw Barbara’s name on the screen, I picked up the call. “Please tell me you found a picture of the guy, and that he doesn’t look like Willie Nelson.”
She laughed. “Sorry, I wish I could. Mr. Wylde’s office just phoned. He’s sending someone to get you. He said to expect a black Escalade. They should be waiting outside the main entrance as we speak.”
I glanced at the street and immediately spotted the Escalade. Irritated that I wasn’t getting to drive my own car, I thanked Barbara and ended the call. As I reached the side of the vehicle, the black-tinted passenger-side window slowly rolled down. A man in a dark suit leaned across the center console, and said, “Hello, Diana, I take it you got the message. My name is Carl, and I will be driving you this evening.” He motioned to the backseat. “Please, get in.”
With a muttered, “Thanks,” I opened the door. The car was so tall that I had to reach for the ‘oh-shit’ handle to haul myself inside the thing.
As I settled onto the plush, leather bucket seat, I discovered I wasn’t the only passenger. A man occupying the seat adjacent to mine was typing furiously on his laptop. This must be Tobias. I tried to recall what I knew about the guy. It wasn’t much. I knew that he was Zacharias’s right-hand man, that he was older, and that was about it. While fastening my seatbelt, I did a quick study. He didn’t look older. In fact, he looked about my age. The first word that came to mind was dark—dark hair, dark complexion, dark shades, dark clothing. Someone needed to introduce him to a color other than black, such as yellow, or even red. Red would go well with his skin tone. Aside from his colorless taste in clothing, he was nice looking. Who was I kidding? The guy was hot. He looked Latin American or possibly even Italian. The next thing I noticed was the speed at which he was typing. Barbara was the fastest typist I’d ever encountered, but Tobias put her to shame.
As the car pulled from the curb and eased into traffic, I tried to get a sense of him. Carl’s warm glow lit up the front seat, but old Toby gave me nothing. No glow, no chill, no tingle, no pressure—nothing. He wasn’t human, but he didn’t feel like a vampire either. Huh, strange.
My eyes dropped to his shirt. I had to admit, I was surprised to see a vamp that high up on the totem pole dressed so casually.
In an attempt to break the ice, I said, “Nice shirt.”
His fingers halted on the keys. His sunglass-covered eyes lifted to mine, and in a whiskey-deep voice that made my belly flutter, he asked, “You don’t like my shirt?”
I shrugged. “It’s okay, if you’re an AC/DC fan. I’m more of a Zeppelin or Eagles kind of girl, although, I’m not opposed to listening to something harder.” Still not getting a read on him, I went with a more direct approach. “You must be Tobias.” I held out my hand. “I’m Diana Duvail.”
A moment passed before he extended his arm across the center
