“Well, this time concentrate on why we’re here. This is dangerous work.”
Don’s eyes flattened, hardened. “I was with you when we found Uncle James’s body, remember? Happy fifteenth birthday, Donnie. Instead of a real live vampire to stake, I get my uncle’s body buried in a pile of rubble. I know how dangerous it is.”
“Never forget that sight, boy, not ever,” Eugene cautioned. “Twenty-five years it’s been, and we still don’t have his murderers.”
“At least we made them pay,” Don pointed out.
Eugene’s eyes burned. “Not nearly enough. It will never be enough. We have to wipe them out. All of them. Wipe them out.”
Jeff Smith stirred and glanced at Don Wallace. The old man was crazy. If there really was such a thing as a vampire, Jeff wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to become immortal. They had killed fourteen so-called vampires, and Jeff was fairly certain a couple of them had been the real thing. No human could have taken the kind of punishment Wallace had so eagerly dispensed and survived so long. Most of the victims definitely had been human, though, Wallace’s enemies. Don had really enjoyed those sessions.
Jeff was also certain Shea O’Halloran was no vampire. He had researched her very carefully. She had gone to a regular daytime school, had eaten in front of other children. She was a bona-fide surgeon, respected in her profession. A child prodigy, all her professors spoke highly of her. Jeff couldn’t get her out of his mind. Her voice, her eyes, the fluid, sexy way her body moved. The crazy old man was obsessed with finding her, and Don always did what his uncle said. Don’s uncle, old Eugene Slovensky, held the purse strings, and the money was considerable. If they found the woman, Jeff was not going to let them kill her. He wanted her for himself.
“Why do you think she’s is this area?” Slovensky demanded.
“She always uses cash, so we can’t follow a money trail, but she often leaves her signature behind anyway.” Don grinned, an evil facsimile of a smile. “She just has to help people in these isolated villages. It’s kind of amusing, really. She thinks she’s so clever, but she always makes the same mistake.”
Eugene Slovensky nodded. “The brilliant ones never have any common sense.” He cleared his throat nervously. “I sent word to the Vulture.”
Don Wallace’s hand jerked, and hot coffee spilled over his wrist. “Are you crazy, Uncle Eugene? He threatened to kill us if we didn’t leave the mountains the last time he saw us. The Vulture is a true vampire, and he doesn’t exactly like us.”
“You killed the woman,” Eugene said, “he warned you not to. I warned you not to. You just had to have your fun.”
Furious, Don hurled the mug across the room. “We’re hunting a woman right now. We’ve followed her for two years, and now that we’re close, you call in that killer. I should have put a stake through his heart when I had the chance. He’s a no-good vampire like the rest of them.”
Slovensky grinned, shook his head in denial. “Not like the rest of them. He hates, Donnie, my boy. He hates with an intensity I have never seen before. And that can always be useful for us. He wants a certain woman this time, the one with the long black hair. He wants her and those close to her dead. He has their trust, and he’ll deliver them into our hands. He may be beneath contempt, a snitch, but he is powerful.”
“All their woman have long black hair. How am I supposed to know the difference?” Don pouted. “Do you remember the kid? The one about eighteen? He hated that kid. He really wanted that kid to suffer.” He smiled with satisfaction. “He did, too. Most of all he hated the last one we caught, the one with the black eyes. He ordered me to torture him, burn him. He wanted it to last forever, and I made sure it did. The Vulture is evil, Uncle Eugene.”
Slovensky nodded. “Use him. Let him think you respect him, that he is the one in charge, giving the orders. Promise him the red-haired woman, too. Tell him we’ll give them both to him if he will deliver James’s murderers. My poor brother James.”