can’t take those.”
Striker shoved the sunglasses down onto the bridge of his nose and eyed the kid who’d just accused him of stealing. He looked about sixteen, with freckles and red hair, too young and naive to know he was annoying a vampire. Normally, Striker would have stopped to purchase the sunglasses and baseball cap, but he couldn’t let Culler and the woman out of his sight. He held the boy’s gaze while his will seeped into the young man’s conscience.
“I have paid for these,” Striker said, hypnotizing the kid with his eyes.
“Right, sorry, sir.” Like a puppet, the boy moved back behind the counter of the little gift shop.
Striker shoved the glasses back up on his nose, made sure the cap covered his hair, then he picked up a USA Today on his way out. He stepped into the flow of people moving toward the various airline ticket windows.
He spotted Culler and her friend about fifty yards ahead. It was hard to miss her companion, not because the scent of blood was all over her and his predatory sense of smell could find her in a twenty-story building in seconds, or that she was tall and head and shoulders above the crowd, but because she dressed like a rock star. Thick ginger-blond curls hung down past her shoulders. Her long legs were stuffed into tight black hip-hugger pants. Several spike belts of varying widths hung around her slender hips. She wore a tie-dyed T-shirt that left three inches of her flat belly showing. A pink scarf, dotted with blood, draped her neck. And over it a black leather bomber jacket. Silver studs spelled “Virgin” across the back of the coat. Black cowboy boots covered her feet and calves. Lethal silver points jutted from the tips of her boots. She held a small carry-on suitcase, and she kept scratching at the scarf around her neck. He didn’t much care for women who dressed ostentatiously or had an I-own-the-world air about them. The modest feminine medieval fashion for women was his favorite style, but that look was long gone, obsolete, just like that part of his life.
They went through the line, and Culler bought Rock Star a first-class ticket to Paris. On their way to Gate 5, they stopped at a row of shops.
Rock Star turned and looked nervously around. Striker was leaning on the wall near a water fountain, pretending to read the newspaper. She glanced past him as they paused at Arlene’s Tid Bits, a woman’s clothing boutique.
He zoned in his sensitive hearing and listened to their conversation.
“Let’s go in,” Culler said. “I need a toothbrush and makeup and clothes. It’s not fair. You carry an overnight bag in your car. I had to leave home with nothing.”
“Sorry.” Rock Star shrugged her shoulders. “Hazards of my job. When following people, you have to be ready at a moment’s notice to leave.”
What was her job? How deeply was she connected to Raithe? Rock Star could be higher up in his organization. What was the connection between Rock Star and Culler? Maybe Rock Star was the ticket he needed to find Raithe. By the enticing odor of her blood, he knew vampires would kill to have a taste of her. He’d like to see below the scarf. Was she just covering the scratches Tongue had left on her neck, or was Raithe’s mark on her neck? The thought brought a sadistic grin to Striker’s lips. He’d like nothing more than to find leverage with Raithe by using one of his own blood slaves. If she had been just a regular human, Raithe could easily replace her, and she would be useless to Striker. But this woman was a cut above, her blood like manna. Striker could only hope she was one of Raithe’s obsessions. An object Striker could definitely use.
“I suppose so,” Culler said.
“Look, I’m just gonna pop across the hall there, to the fudge shop. I can still keep an eye on you.”
“Don’t let that cretin make you fat. He’s not worth chunky thighs.”
Culler actually sounded like she cared. Striker thought she was the most talented liar he’d ever seen. She had to be to fool Raithe.
“This isn’t breakup eating. I’m just hungry.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
Striker watched them part, Culler stepping into the clothing shop and her companion heading for the candy store. He kept an eye on Rock Star while she watched Culler. Kids and parents lingered in the store. The kids begged for everything. The parents picked and chose for them. Rock Star walked down the cases and found the fudge. She pointed to almost every type.
The clerk’s eyes widened in disbelief. He asked if he’d heard her correctly. She wanted three pounds of peanut-butter fudge, along with everything else.
“Yes, eating for two.” Rock Star patted her slender belly.
“Sure it’s not twins?”
“Sometimes I think so.” She smiled at the clerk, a dazzling white-toothed grin that mesmerized the man for close to half a minute, causing him to drop several pieces of fudge on the floor. Stunning didn’t come close to describing her face at that moment. It appeared she knew how to wrap men around her little finger with just a smile.
Even with all the airport noise, Striker could zone it out, tune his hearing into the blood pumping through her veins. He could detect the minutest abnormality, and he didn’t hear the heartbeat of an unborn fetus. She was pulling the clerk’s leg. Why that slightly amused him, he didn’t know.
His phone buzzed, and he pulled it out. Mimi’s smiling face met him. “Hey, boss. Got the info you wanted. This new player is one Takala Rainwater. She owns Rainwater Detective Agency in Richmond. She’s full-blooded Patomani. Her sister is Fala Rainwater, the Guardian.” Mimi paused for effect.
Striker knew of Fala Rainwater. Who in the supernatural realm hadn’t heard of the Guardian? The Guardians were legendary in fighting evil; even his own kind had suffered at their hands. Striker had let Meikoda, the previous Guardian, operate as long as she had stayed out of his way. Fala could prove to be more of a problem. He’d read the dossier on her, an ex-police detective, generally considered a hothead. Striker hadn’t had a run-in with her yet, but she already had one strike against her in his book: she’d stolen Stephen Winter, one of his best agents. Made the idiot believe he was in love. At the thought of love, Striker lifted one corner of his lip in a snarl.
Mimi continued. “Her youngest sister, Nina Rainwater, has phenomenal psychic powers. She recently wedded Kane Van Cleave. These three chicks are loaded with white-magic power. Takala, the middle sister, has off-the-charts strength. The seer assures me she’s not involved with Raithe.”
“He could have had her charmed, and the seer’s eye blocked.”
“Got a point there. The seer said Takala’s searching for her mother, Skye Rainwater.”
The name hit him. Culler aka Lilly Smith aka Simone Poindexter’s real name was Skye Rainwater. She’d changed it when she entered B.O.S.P. So, were mother and daughter both killers? Both involved with Raithe. Or was Takala Rainwater really just searching for her long-lost mother? If so, she’d wish she had never found Culler.
“I want this on high priority. Dispatch two teams of our most competent agents to Paris, and have them standing by at Charles de Gaulle Airport. And send two more to me now—not Tongue or Vaughn.”
“Right.”
Striker glanced up just as Takala Rainwater was leaving the candy store. Her arms were laden with a grocery-size shopping bag and her carry-on. She must have bought
