Sophia (Vampires in America #4)

Sophia (Vampires in America #4) Page 24

“You keep talking, Murphy. Somebody’ll buy it. Here we go.”

They rounded the last corner, bringing the café into sight across the public square. Despite the open space, the weekly marketplace was set up and if anything, the crowds were thicker here. He and Mac slowed even further. No one hurried in this town, and, like Mac said, they didn’t want to call attention to themselves. They weren’t supposed to be here. Hell, they weren’t here. Not officially. Only a couple more days and they’d be gone for real. Back to the States. For awhile anyway.

Which was why it was so important he talk to Sophie tonight. He didn’t want to lose her just because he was going home. It might take a few weeks, or even months, but he’d arrange an American visa for her, a tourist visa or whatever else he could get. She’d love it in California, where he was based with the SEALs. He knew she would.

They finally broke through enough to see the café, still halfway across the square. He searched the patio and balconies, looking for Sophie. Sometimes she waited for him there, waving through the crowds when he came into sight. But not tonight. Tonight—

He stopped, frowning. “Mac?” he said softly.

Next to him, his buddy edged away slightly, giving them each plenty of room to draw the weapons tucked into their waistbands in back. “Yeah. Looks kinda empty, don’t it?”

“Shit,” Colin swore softly. “I’ve gotta get in there, Mac. If Sophie’s wait—”

The rest of his sentence was lost as the world exploded around them. Burning debris was everywhere, flying through the air like shrapnel, landing on the tables of the merchants, starting new fires among the wares displayed there. Flames were shooting out of the small café, reminding him of a Roman candle on 4th of July.

And the screams. People racing around the square almost mindlessly, like pinballs in an arcade game, knowing only that they had to escape, but not knowing how to get there. Others running from the burning building, from the torched merchandise tables, some of them on fire, some chased by friends trying desperately to help.

“We’re outta here, buddy.” Mac grabbed Colin’s arm, tugging him back the way they’d come.

He allowed himself to be pulled a few feet, staring in disbelief, before reality crashed in on him. “Sophie!” he roared. He yanked his arm away from Mac and raced toward the burning building, jumping over injured people on the ground, their faces and limbs bloodied and burned, their clothing little more than blackened shreds.

“Sophie!” he shouted again, feeling the heat of the flames before he’d gotten within thirty yards of the cafe, sweat dripping down his face.

“Murphy!” Mac’s voice was right behind him, the snap of command slowing Colin’s headlong charge, but not stopping it. Not when the woman he loved—ah, Jesus, he loved her. Colin bent over his knees, the pain in his chest so great he thought he’d die from it. He lifted his face to the conflagration and knew no one was alive in there. Had she been inside? Had she arrived ahead of him like she always did?

“We’re gone.” Mac’s voice was hard, no room for discussion, no arguments. He grabbed Colin by the back of the neck, bending over to talk into his ear. “I’m sorry, bud, but we’re leaving. Right now.”

He tugged Colin upright, turning him with brute force until they joined the rest of the people streaming out of the square. Slinging an arm over Colin’s shoulders, he pulled him along, just one more walking wounded from what had surely been some drug cartel payback, a hit on someone or a message to someone else, and who cared how many innocent civilians died in the process?

Sophie! Colin dug in his heels. “I’ve gotta check, Mac. I gotta know—”

“You don’t gotta do nothin’ except keep walking. You’ll call her later, check to see if she’s okay, say all those sweet, Southern things. But right now, we’re leaving.”

Colin kept walking, putting one foot in the front of the other, Mac’s presence the only thing that kept him moving. They reached another street finally, a narrow alley that led who knew where. But it was dark and cool, a welcome relief from the overwhelming heat behind them. Mac would have hustled him into its safety, but Colin turned at the last minute and saw the flames, saw someone stagger out of the building, a black corpse of a figure, screaming when rescuers rushed to help. He stopped and stared. Was that Sophie? Was she somewhere in that flaming wreckage waiting for him to save her, waiting for—

The phone rang, jarring Colin out of the nightmare he hadn’t had in years. He wiped a hand over his face and found it soaked with sweat, just like the rest of him. He grimaced, shoved aside the damp sheets and climbed out of bed, naked as the day he was born. And the damn phone kept ringing. Who the hell was calling him so early? He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face, trying to wake up, listening to the phone ring, and in between the rings—

“Fuck.” He spat the word out with feeling. That damn hound dog of Art Collard’s was barking again. It drove the neighbors nuts, which was probably why his phone was ringing. Art went down into the city every once in a while and the dog didn’t like being left alone. And every time it happened, his phone rang off the hook with complaints.

Oh, right, ma’am, sir. I’ll get right on that. Let’s slit the dog’s throat and barbeque it for dinner, how’s that? No more barking then, huh?

Colin smiled in spite of himself, imagining the look on the neighbors’ faces if he actually said that to any of them. They all had dogs of their own. Everybody up here did. But somehow the only barking that ever bothered anyone was that big blue tick hound of Art’s. Although, Colin had to admit that old John Henry’s deep bellow did sound like the voice of doom.

He found his jacket lying on a chair in the living room where he’d left it and dug his cell phone out of the pocket, catching it just before it went to voice mail. “Murphy,” he droned, checking his watch where it lay on the table. Okay, so it wasn’t actually that early in the day, after all.

“Good afternoon to you, too, Murphy.”

He pulled the phone away from his ear and checked caller ID. Cynthia Leighton. Perfect.

“What do you want, Leighton?”

“Goodness, you’re in a mood. I thought maybe you’d like to help me investigate a couple of murders here roundabouts, Sheriff.”

“I’m not the damn sheriff, and what do you need me for anyway? I’m sure all your super vampires can handle it just fine.”

“Stop sulking, Murphy.”

“I have no idea—”

“I’m coming over, so put some clothes on.”

“Don’t—” But she was gone already. “Son of a bitch!” he swore loudly, catching himself at the last minute from throwing the damn phone against the wall. It was a nice phone, and besides, it was a pain in the ass to replace those things.

He dropped the phone on the bar next to his watch and stood, hands on his hips, looking around his house. He’d put a lot of work into this place. The air still had that fresh wood scent from when he’d installed new kitchen cabinets just a month ago. Granted, there was a lot more to be done, but it was coming along. He liked it here. He wanted to stay here. Which meant he probably had to play along with that damn Leighton and do what he could to solve these murders. Not that he didn’t want to find whoever had done in Marco and make him pay. He just didn’t want to do it with vampires looking over his shoulder.

Or maybe it was one particular vampire he wanted to avoid. One who came in a curvy package with big brown eyes.

Yeah, he definitely should avoid that damn compound altogether until this was done.

“Coward,” he muttered.

“Damn right,” he answered his own accusation and went to take a shower.

Colin pulled a black t-shirt over his head and slicked back his wet hair, grabbing a towel when water dripped down his back. He told himself he should get a haircut, but he’d gotten used to having it longer, especially during his last years in the Navy when they’d been out of the country more than not, and in places where a man with short hair and a bare face stood out. He’d shaved the beard as soon as he got back, but the hair was convenient.

A knock on the door drew his thoughts away from his hair. Thank God. Maybe he’d been lost in the woods up here just a bit too long if that’s all he had to think about.

He tucked his shirt into his camos, his combat boots making a racket as he crossed the hardwood floor to his front door. He saw the black SUV outside and pulled open the door.

“Leighton,” he said and looked over her shoulder where a big black guy was giving him an appraising look right back. “Who’s the muscle?” he asked.

“Robbie Shields, meet Colin Murphy,” she said briefly, pushing her way into his house. Apparently she was no longer worried about appearances now that her fucking vampire husband had sent someone along to bodyguard her. “You two have a lot in common,” she added.

“How’s that?” Colin asked, eyeing the bodyguard. Robbie was an inch or two shorter than Colin, but made up for it in sheer muscle mass. The guy’s muscles had muscles.

Leighton spoke without turning, too busy scoping out his house. “Special Forces, rah, rah, all that shit. Robbie was a Ranger. Robbie the Ranger.”

Colin shared a long-suffering look with his fellow warrior and gestured for the man to come in. “Rangers?”

“Yeah, man,” Robbie said. He took two steps inside and they shook hands.

“I worked with a lot of Rangers during my time in. Good men.”

“Leading the way,” Robbie said with a big grin. “Someone’s gotta clear the field for you Navy pussies.”

“Well, isn’t this nice?” They both turned to regard Leighton who was eyeing them sourly. “Bonding over our bullets?” she asked sweetly.

“Don’t mind her,” Robbie said. “She’s just pissed ‘cuz the big man won’t let her roam around and get killed.”