Midnight's Master (10 page)

Interested enough to get engaged. Stupid, stupid mistake.

Her gaze darted down to her left hand and to the bare ring finger that stared back at her.

Oh, yeah, stupid.

She’d thrown that ring back at him that last, fateful night. When she’d found him kneeling between the spread legs of one of his female grad students—right in his office.

Prick.

Her teeth ground together. Niol wasn’t like Zack. Not. One. Bit.

Zack had seemed so safe and steady.

When he was really a lying asshole.

There was no way Niol would ever be called safe—and she sure liked that, she—

“Uh, Holly?”

She blinked, and found Mac staring at her, a deep furrow between his now-bushy eyebrows. He’d plucked like a fiend when he was on-air. But no more…

“Hon, you all right? I’ve been calling your name for the last two minutes.”

And she’d been busy with lust and a pity party. Holly straightened behind her desk.

“Sorry. Thinking about a story.”

“Ah…” Sounded kinda like a bear’s growl. “Good girl.” His fingers curled around her open door. “That what you wanted to see me about?”

She pushed against her chair, letting the wheels rock back and forth just a bit. “Yeah, yeah, it was.” Holly motioned to the seat across from her. “Mac, I’ve got a lead.”

“Then you’ve got me.” He crossed the room and threw himself into the chair. “Talk.”

“Carl Bronx—”

“The guy who almost made you pass out on camera?”

He would remember that.

“Carl was one of my sources.”

Another bear’s growl.

“And the guy the cops found yesterday—Sam Miters—he was, too.”

No growl this time, just silence.

Holly exhaled. That beady stare he was aiming at her had made governors break.

“What the hell are you involved in?”

She bit her lip. Demon business. Did Mac know? The guy was sharp, the sharpest she’d ever met. Surely he’d realized what was happening around him. She wanted to ask him—

“Are you in trouble?” Quieter.

“I don’t—I was at the station, okay? I wasn’t there when he—” Was carved up. No.

“The cops pulled me in to identify Sam’s body.” She would not think about that scene again. It was bad enough that the images kept slipping into her dreams.

“Do they think you’re a suspect?”

Fair question. “Maybe.”

More intense staring.

She would not squirm. “Their deaths are linked, Mac, no getting around it. Someone’s out there, hunting these men—and no matter what the cops think, it’s not me.” Or Niol.

“I want to run this story, see if I can—”

“Scare someone,” he finished, rubbing his chin.

“Yes.”

“You scare the wrong person, you might just find yourself in a killer’s sights.”

I know. “These men deserve justice.”

“That’s for the cops.” Now his fingertips tapped on the arm of the chair. The guy moved a lot when he was in his deep-think mode.

“They’re looking in the wrong place for this guy. The trail’s gonna get cold. I want to go on the air.”

“With what? We’ve already covered the kil ings—”

But they hadn’t covered the link between the two men. They hadn’t been able to talk about the vicious attacks, the mutilation. “Just let me run with this. Schedule me a slot and let me run.” Her voice wasn’t desperate. Okay, maybe it was.

He exhaled. “The cops haven’t talked to the media yet.”

No, and they weren’t planning to have a chat fest. She knew the PD wanted to bury this story, and it was an easy bury. Not like the high-profile killings that had plagued the city months before.

A shiver slid over her.

The office down the hall waited, empty and silent, because of those killings. The door always stayed shut. Just walking past that locked door gave her the creeps.

“Get ’em to give you a statement, on camera, and you can run any damn place you want with this story.”

A smile broke her lips. “Thanks, Mac!” Sure, getting the interview would be a bitch, but she’d played nice with the cops—now it was their turn to play nice with her. “You won’t regret this—”

“Better not.”

A knock on the door frame.

Her head tilted. “Kim? What is it?”

One of the interns stood in the doorway, a manila envelope in her hand. Pretty, tall, slim, and only twenty-two, Kim was one that Holly knew had an eye out for her future.

“This was dropped off at the front desk for you.” She stepped forward, the envelope outstretched. “I don’t even remember when it was delivered—sorry, Holly. I think it might have gotten misplaced. It was under some papers…”

Holly took the envelope. “It’s al right.” Why was her stomach knotting? Her fingers trembling just the faintest bit?

Because there wasn’t a return address on the envelope. Just her name, scrawled across the front in big, loopy letters—a script she’d seen before.

Her index finger slid under the top flap and jerked back. She felt the sting of a paper cut, saw the well of blood, but kept ripping anyway.

Then the picture fel into her hands.

Niol, sitting in his SUV, watching her walk in front of the headlights.

A piece of paper fluttered onto her desk.

The impure will die.

“Holly?” Mac jumped to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

She was supposed to go live in less than an hour.

Can’t.

Holly grabbed the photo and slip of paper—and shoved them back into the envelope.

Her index finger pulsed. “I’ve got to leave, Mac.”

Kim was in the doorway now, shifting from her left foot to her right. Her black hair fluttered around her shoulders. “Everything okay, Ms. Storm?” Her blue eyes were wide.

No. “Get me the security tapes from today. Have them waiting on me when I get back.

I want to know exactly who left this envelope.” If the bastard’s face was on the tape, she’d have him.

The impure will die.

Whoever the sick freak was, he knew just what Niol was.

“Holly?” Mac demanded again.

But she was already grabbing her bag and brushing past him. “Mac, I swear, I wouldn’t do this if—” It wasn’t a matter of life and death. “Run the footage from yesterday’s interview—okay? It’ll cover my time.”

“What the hell?”

“I-I have to go.” She fumbled for her cell phone. Dialed the number Niol had given her. Listened to the relentless ring.

Die.

“I have to go…” She repeated even as the voice mail picked up. Then she was running into the hallway and muttering into the phone, “Niol, when you get this message—watch your ass! You’d better—”

The damn thing disconnected.

Her heels rapped against the tiled floor. She shuddered when she passed the locked door on the left.

And Holly realized she couldn’t get to her demon fast enough.

There was a line leading into the club, a long snaking line full of men and women, some folks dressed up, some in tattered jeans. It was Friday night, and though it was stil way early by party standards—not even ten—it looked like folks were ready for a wild ride in Paradise.

Holly passed the line and headed straight for the doors—

And was brought up short by a giant with tattoos swirling over his body.

“And just where do you think you’re goin’, princess?” His hand landed heavily on her shoulder. Behind her, she heard muttering, and caught a woman’s voice loud and sharp, yelling, “That bitch knows there’s a line!”

She ignored the crowd and focused on the bouncer. Really, really big bouncer. The muscles of his arms were so big they looked like they were in danger of bursting. And, Jesus, what was the guy? Like seven foot?

Holly rolled her shoulders, dislodging his hand. The giant raised a brow and pointed toward the end of that long, long line. “At the end, princess.”

No way. “I need to see Niol.”

The lines around the guy’s eyes tightened, just a bit. “You and everyone else.”

She rocked on her heels. “Don’t you guys have a list or something? Check it. Niol gave me a pass in here, anytime I want.” Okay, not really, but he should have. The cover story had been his idea and surely the guy had bothered to tell his muscle that his girlfriend would be dropping by—

“Oh, we’ve got a list.” A smal er man with greasy black hair sidled up to him. His nostrils flared, and he said, “Tell us your name and—”

“Holly Storm—and I don’t have time for this shit. I need to see Niol, and I need to see him now.” Big and mean and smal and greasy weren’t going to intimidate her.

No, someone else had already done the intimidating job, and she wasn’t stopping until she made sure that freak bastard hadn’t gotten to Niol.

The bouncers shared a brief glance, then the giant opened the door. “Sorry, Ms. Storm.

I hadn’t seen you here before—didn’t realize you were…you.”

She wasn’t particularly surprised he hadn’t recognized her from the news—most folks didn’t. Maybe it was the fact that she didn’t have a microphone in her hand that threw ’em off, or maybe the bouncers weren’t the news-watching types.

Holly managed a nod and stepped forward. So Niol had told his goons to give her free rein. Nice.

“Oh, what the hell?”

Holly ignored the woman’s shriek behind her as she stormed inside. The crowd was just as thick inside the double doors. Bodies packed tight. Music blaring.

Where was Niol?

His office was in the far back. She shoved her way through the men and women, humans and Other. Holly ignored the occasional flash of fang and the scrape of claws, moving as quickly as she could. Her heart seemed to pound in fast rhythm with the band.

Then she was at the door marked PRIVATE. Raising her hand and pounding. “Niol?

Niol!”

No answer.

Dammit.

She wrenched the doorknob. Locked.

Holly spun around. Laughter fil ed her ears. Drunken, desperate, and wickedly amused.

All kinds were in Paradise.

But where was the club’s owner? If that prick had gotten him—

Her back teeth clenched. Holly’s gaze swept the place, but she didn’t see a handsome demon with black eyes staring back at her with a twisted grin.

Holly elbowed her way to the bar. Slammed her hands down on the cold marble countertop. “Niol.”

The bartender glanced up from the drink he’d been mixing. A tall guy, not like the giant, maybe a few inches over six feet. Red hair. Brown eyes. She’d seen him before—he’d glared at her the last time she’d been there. Right before Niol had let his pet guard throw me out.

Nice memory. One she didn’t have time for right then.

“I’m Holly Storm—” She stopped and tried to raise her voice over the roar of noise. “I

—”

“I know who you are.” He sent the glass sliding along the bar top and down to the waiting hand of a man in a long back overcoat. A guy with fangs, of course.

The guy winked at her.

Holly shook her head and turned back to the bartender. “I have to find Niol. Now.”

Okay, so she did sound like a demanding bitch right then, but, hell, she was scared. Yeah, Niol was strong, but he wasn’t invincible. And if he wound up like Carl and Sam…

No.

The bartender’s lips thinned.

“I can’t get him on his phone. He’s not here.” She leaned over the bar. “I need to see him.”

His gaze raked her. “Never cared much for reporters.”

Her nails scraped across the marble. “And I don’t care much for asshole bartenders.”

Serious understatement considering her history. “So I guess that makes us even. But the guys at the front knew about me. Niol had told them to let me in, and I’m betting he told you that I had the all clear in this place, too.”

Silence. The band had stopped playing. The crowd wasn’t talking. Holly glanced over her shoulder. Saw a woman with long blond hair and a tight black dress take the stage.

The succubus. The cop’s girlfriend.

Holly turned away, hunching her shoulders.

“I don’t buy the story.” The bartender picked up a shot glass and started cleaning it with a white cloth. “No way Niol falls for a reporter, not with his secrets.”

“Niol trusts me.”

“Lady, Niol doesn’t trust anyone. That’s why he’s the badass in town and all the other demons are just his minions.” He glanced up at the stage, almost helplessly, as Cara began to sing, her voice husky, bluesy.

Wasting time.

“He’s in danger,” she blurted. “I have to make certain he’s okay.”

“He’s always in danger. That’s the way the game goes.” Not overly concerned. His gaze drifted back to her. “You think you can save him?”

“I can try.” Prick. Five more seconds, just five, and she was going over that bar.

His lips hitched in a half-smile. One that showed a hint of his own fangs.

Great.

He crossed to the register. Picked up a pen and scribbled a note on a stray scrap of paper. Then he came back to her, walking slow, taking his sweet-ass time.

He lifted the paper. “I’m Marc.”

She was about to start snarling.

“If Niol wants to fire someone for giving you this, tell him to fire me.” He’d tucked the paper between his thumb and index finger.

Holly reached for it.

“Ah-ah.” He pulled back his hand. “Got to warn you about the house rules at this place.”

Holly considered smacking him.

“Only go to play…or to be prey.”

She snatched the note from him. “Heard that warning before.” Niol’s rule for Paradise.

“Didn’t keep me out of this joint, won’t keep me out of the next place, either.”

Holly pushed away from the bar, her eyes on the address. Montlith Court. That was a pretty ritzy street.

Laughter from Marc. “You’re gonna be in for one hell of a night, lady. One hell of a night.”

The house on Montlith stood, tall and elegant, behind a big stone gate. The home lay nestled between two houses that were each easily bigger than the News Flash Five station.

She hadn’t been sure what address Marc would give her.

Holly certainly hadn’t expected Easy Street.

She parked her car a bit down the road. Then she stalked up to the gate. Guards were stationed there. Uniformed guards with perfectly pressed pants and shirts, gleaming shoes, and wide-brimmed hats.