Nine

DALLAS PUT ONE arm around her to draw her closer to him and focus her attention away from the view and back on his eyes. Her defenses were formidable. There was her persistent, quick mind, and her partial resistance to his power. And he couldn’t forget she was an ex-cop. There had been a whole lot in his two centuries of existence that had violated the laws of man. As sanitized as his story had been, she was seeing too much of him.

He gauged her eyes, and the emotions that slid behind them. The opposition was there. He didn’t want to lose her, but neither did he want to make the mistake of assuming she was no longer a danger to him. Her awareness was much too great. He had seen it earlier in the library, and he saw it now. It was the thread that bound them together, that made him want her in ways he hadn’t wanted a mortal female in decades. It was the attraction, but like a lure, it was also the danger. If she saw too much of him . . .

Snagging her hair with one finger, he brought her face to his. But short of his kiss, she pulled back.

“You didn’t answer my question. You couldn’t look at me. I know when someone’s not being honest with me.”

“Then look at me now. Everything I told you was the truth. I know it’s a bizarre story, but it happened.” He tamed his every passion that threatened to spring, sealed his will behind glass eyes, and concealed his intentions behind the seductive words. He compelled her to free her own desires in the looking glass he set before her. Discovering someone else’s emotions was like cracking the safe behind which they hid every strength. Discover someone’s hungers and hopes, and you’ve unlocked the doorways to their will. He could come and go as he pleased, as often as he wanted, and he would be safe.

“Accept the truth, Tia.”

She hesitated, and he kissed her, soft and deep. He released her only when the totality of his senses told him that her blood ran hot and fast, just the right temperature for that side of the vampire that deceived and seduced—the serpent. The stories were never dangerous, if told correctly. She was almost ready. The vampire continued. She would accept and believe. The serpent, after all, never lied.

She blinked and drew a long, shaky breath, taking a moment to compose herself. He let her. Finally she threw him a sideways glance that told him she was ready for him to continue.

“I think I’m safer with the stories than with you. So go on. You hadn’t heard from this St. James before? He just shows up now?”

“No, I hadn’t heard from him before. He found me through Marty Macklin, a private investigator.”

“You know who killed Macklin, don’t you.”

“I have a pretty good idea.”

“You should talk to the police.”

“You were a cop. You really think the police would want to hear what I’ve told you?”

“Good point. But surely you’re safe from St. James now. Even if you didn’t kill him, he’s probably laid up somewhere. You had to have injured him pretty badly.”

“I would hate to bet my safety on that assumption. Besides, there’s always Conner.”

“Conner?”

“Conner Flynne. St. James’ traveling companion.”

“The dark, thin man who was with St. James at the inn?”

“Ah, so you were spying on me.”

Tia shrugged. “I’m an ex-cop and a photographer. I guess that makes me even more nosy than your average female.”

And it’s going to get you dead, Tia, if you’re not careful. As if she could almost feel his thoughts, she visibly shivered. He raised his head, and the stink of a very young vampire wafted on the evening breeze. Speak of the devil.

“Come on, let’s go. Flynne doesn’t have St. James’ resolve, but even so, I don’t want to take him for granted. We’ll be safer at the inn.” Dallas had no doubt that St. James was keeping a very close eye on both him and Tia through Flynne.

He was on his feet and reached down to help Tia to hers. He could see her eyes scanning the shoreline on either side of them as well as the parking lot. Had she somehow sensed Flynne as well? Perhaps her extraordinary awareness was not just for him. A prick of jealousy bit at him like a stinging insect. It was the same feeling he had experienced when he found out that Tia had gone with St. James to the cemetery. Just as quickly, though, he slapped the feeling away. Jealousy and envy were not normal afflictions of the Undead. They were human emotions, and base ones at that, suited only to fools.

The thought made him rough with Tia, and he realized he was tugging on her arm too hard. He jerked her off balance, and her foot slipped on the gravel. He didn’t let her go, but instead pulled her into his arms. She didn’t fight him.

“You’re safe with me, Tia. Believe that,” he whispered against her hair.

“I do.”

“Good girl.” More and more he was realizing that the key to breaching Tia’s fortress was the promise of safety. He pressed a kiss against the warmth of her forehead, but instead of releasing her right away, his mouth lingered on her skin. His control interceded. “Let’s get out of here.”

They hurried back to the Lincoln, and Dallas tuned his senses away from Tia to the falling curtain of night around them. A scent was not always a precise sensation to gauge. The air currents played with it, tossing it about until it was nearly impossible to pinpoint. Dallas doubted that Flynne was in the small parking lot. More likely he was up above on Silver Street in one of the parked cars or buildings there.

Even inside the Lincoln, there was no relaxation for Dallas. His eyes were everywhere.

“Dallas, what is it? Did you see Flynne?”

“No, but he’s nearby, I’m sure of it.”

“Will we be safe at the inn? I know it’s a public place, but would your townhouse be better?”

“Conner would be daft to try anything at the inn. He’s a fool, but not that great a one.”

They arrived at Bishop’s Inn moments later, and Dallas parked in his private space behind the building. As soon as he got out of the car Dallas knew something was wrong. The faint, lingering odor of the Undead still hung in the air, but it was more than that. Dallas had no real communication with Veilina, and yet the signs of an agitated spirit were hard to miss. A second-floor shutter banged incessantly, and the patio was empty of patrons in spite of the beautiful evening. They went in through the rear entrance, Dallas keeping a protective hand on Tia’s arm, and stopped at the bar.

“How’s it going tonight, Jaz? Everything all right?”

“Oh, Mr. Allgate, I’m glad you’re here. The Lady’s in a real snit tonight. I haven’t seen her this stirred up in a long time. Doors have been slamming, fireplace tools knocking against each other . . . ”

He interrupted her. “Anything else besides The Lady?”

“Well, Angie’s been waiting to see you. Something came for you that . . . ”

He broke her off again. “Get Angie and tell her I’ll be right back. I’m going to escort Miss Martell upstairs.”

Jaz gave Tia the once-over. “I remember you. The photographer from the night of the accident. Well, miss, I hope you have a strong constitution.”

Tia smiled at the girl, but it was not a friendly smile. “I’ll try not to let a slamming door upset me too much.” The dryness in Tia’s voice bespoke not only a disbelief but a disregard for something which all the employees of Bishop’s Inn took very seriously.

Jaz’s red eyebrows hitched up in a way that said that she was the expert, and Tia was the novice, but Dallas knew Jaz wouldn’t dare say anything derogatory to one of his guests.

Dallas led Tia up the narrow staircase to the third floor and unlocked the door. He preceded her inside and glanced quickly around the room. Everything was in its place.

“Make yourself comfortable. I have to see Angie for a few minutes. And don’t let Veilina scare you.”

“Oh, she won’t. She and I are old friends, remember?”

Dallas knew the absence of fear was because Tia was a nonbeliever. He briefly wondered what her reaction would be to undeniable proof of the spirit world of Midexistence. Would she still be so cocky in her fearlessness?

Angie was waiting for him at the bottom of the staircase, a large yellow envelope clutched in both hands. Her eyes still retained a glassy, bespelled look to them, as if she had just experienced something frightful and was now in shock. Damn Flynne! Beneath his anger at Flynne, though, was an even greater anger at himself. He should have been at the inn, attending to his business, instead of pleasuring himself with trying to decipher a mortal female.

“Angie, are you all right?”

The woman nodded, but Dallas was hardly reassured. “Come upstairs with me.” Angie’s pain didn’t need an audience, especially Jaz’s sharp little eyes. Angie faithfully followed him to the second-floor banquet room, which was rarely used during the off-season summer months.

“Here. Let me take that.” He gently reached out for the envelope and relieved her of it. “Sit down, Angie, and tell me who gave this to you.”

She sat, but the disoriented look in her rounded eyes grew even more evident. Her gaze jerked around the room, from one object to another, as if she were in a strange place and didn’t recognize anything.

“Angie, look at me.” The request was more than that. It was the vampiric compelling command. Angie’s gaze obediently settled on his, but her fear was still apparent in the wide-eyed appeal.

“You’re safe now, Angie. No one can hurt you. You have nothing to be afraid of. Do you understand?”

Her eyes stilled a little, and she nodded.

“Tell me who delivered the envelope.”

She swallowed. “One of the men who was here to see you the other evening. The tall one with the dark hair.”

Dallas nodded his understanding and encouragement. “Yes, I remember, Angie. Go on. What did he say to you?”

“Just that I was to personally give you this envelope as soon as possible. He said it was confidential and that no one but you should open it.”

“Thank you, Angie. Anything else that he said or did?”

She looked confused for a moment, then shook her head. “That’s all I can remember. I’m sorry, Mr. Allgate.”

Dallas released the power of his stare in order to relieve some of the pressure from her mind. He considered sending her home for the rest of the evening, but thought better of it. She was safer at the inn.

“It’s all right, Angie. You did well. Try to take it easy for the rest of the evening. It doesn’t look too busy downstairs tonight.”

A smile tried to form on Angie’s mouth. “No, Veilina’s in rare form tonight for some reason. A few people came in, saw the fireplace tools swinging, and left.”

“Bring some sweet tea and warm muffins upstairs to Miss Martell, would you, Angie? I’ll be joining her shortly.”

“Right away.”

Only after Angie left and closed the door did Dallas lean back in the hard wooden chair and close his eyes. The inside shutters on the second-floor windows still swung open and closed, banging forcefully on the sash.

“Hush, my love. I’m here now,” he whispered, his eyes still shut.

The shutters closed with a slap of wood against wood, but then were still.

“I know, I know. You hate all the Undead, myself most of all. Well, you won’t have to worry about Flynne, my love. I’ll make sure he never comes here again.”

One shutter lazily drifted open, creaking on its ancient hinges. Dallas heard the small noise and smiled. He had learned long ago that an open shutter meant he momentarily held The Lady’s favor. “Ah, my fickle love . . . tomorrow you’ll hate me again.”

With that he opened his eyes and examined the envelope closely. It was a normal business type envelope, with the name “Dallas Allgate” handwritten on the front with the word “confidential” in large letters and underlined. The flap was not only clasped shut but sealed, and the envelope itself was bulky and heavy, appearing to contain more than just papers. Dallas ripped open the top and carefully slid the contents to the tabletop in front of him.

A man’s life poured out. A wristwatch, a man’s ring, a driver’s license, photograph, and a slip of paper spilled to the table. Dallas didn’t examine the jewelry. He didn’t have to. He was well acquainted with the expensive black and gold watch and the University of Mississippi class ring. The small photo on the license stared up at him, along with the words “Mississippi -The Hospitality State.” The solemn face in the photo was anything but hospitable, but at least showed life. The man in the larger photograph was quite dead.

The body was propped in a sitting position against a large graveyard monument shaped like an angel. The corpse looked like it had posed for the photo—its legs crossed, and its hands in its lap as if in divine contemplation. The face was colorless, and even the eyes, open and rolled up in a silent appeal, showed no tint of life. The man’s shirt was torn open to the waist, and the only color visible was a thin red pendant of blood that dripped from his collarbone like a gruesome adornment.

The note on the slip of paper was brief. Tell Miss Martell that I won’t be needing her services as a photographer after all. I believe I have the perfect cover art right here. Don’t you agree? After midnight, come to the town that’s as dead as your friend or your other lackeys will join him in providing me with an entertaining and satisfying evening.

Dallas swore long and loud, using profanities learned over three continents and two centuries, lowering his voice only when he heard Angie on the stairs below him.

Raemon Sovatri would do no more work for him.

“Mr. Allgate?” Angie’s voice floated up the staircase.

“It’s all right, Angie. Come on up.” He quickly dropped the items back into the envelope and just as swiftly hid his visible anger beneath the mask of his features. It wouldn’t do to upset Angie all over again.

Angie opened the door and waited at the entrance, carrying a tray. “Is everything okay?” She looked a little more herself. After all, anyone who worked on a daily basis in a building haunted by a very temperamental spirit learned to adjust to a little adversity.

“It’s been a rough day for all of us, I fear. Go ahead and take the tray up. Tell Miss Martell I’ll be with her in a few minutes.”

She nodded and continued up the stairs.

Dallas hadn’t exactly been truthful with Flynne when he told him that he cared naught for any human. It didn’t do to be truthful with an adversary. But to himself Dallas admitted that while he cared little for humanity in general, he possessed a feeling of responsibility for those humans he considered his. Dallas lived a more stable life among mortals than most of the Undead, remaining in a single place for upwards of twenty years before moving on. It was never natural for him to form long-term relationships with humans, but occasionally it happened. He had known Rae for twelve years, and while the man never knew Dallas’ secret, he had been a reliable, capable agent who questioned little and knew to keep his mouth shut. Raemon had been well paid for his efforts, as were all of Dallas’ employees. It was like having a fellow hunter shoot your favorite hunting dog.

Dallas pulled out his cell phone and called the number for Rose Hill. Gillie was a different story. Gillie was the closest thing to a friend Dallas had. Gillie had long known what Dallas was and had accepted him from the first, without having been bespelled to embrace the situation. Any kind of vampiric power directed at a human over a length of time created a burden on the targeted mind. Unless that burden was lifted, compliance eventually disintegrated into madness. Gillie would not have lasted twenty-five years as Dallas’ servant without control of his own mind.

Come on, Gillie. Answer the phone. Be there.

Worry started to join the anger that burrowed deep in Dallas, surfacing only as an annoying muscle tic. Friendship aside, Dallas needed Gillie. Dallas didn’t like to acknowledge the fact, but he was vulnerable during the day. Gillie was his eyes and ears, took care of his business and his needs. If St. James had done any harm to Gillie . . .

The answering machine picked up, and Gillie’s recorded voice, even more staid than the live version, sounded lifeless and flat.

“Gillie, it’s Dallas. Pick up. It’s an emergency.” He paused and was rewarded.

“I’m here, Dallas. Sorry, but I was . . . indisposed.”

Dallas paused, for just a heartbeat. “Never mind, old man. I’m at the inn. Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course, Dallas. What’s happened?”

“I’ll tell you when I get there. I should be there in about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be here, of course.”

Dallas disconnected the call, slipped the phone onto his belt, grabbed the envelope, and bounded up the stairs with the lightness of a cat. Angie was still in the office with Tia. Both were seated close together and chatting like old friends.

“Sorry, Angie. Something’s come up. We have to get back to the townhouse.” He nodded toward Tia. “We have to go. Now.”

Thankfully, she didn’t question him, but took one last sip of her tea and rose from her chair to follow him. He exited the building first and, holding Tia just inside the doorway, examined the night around him. There was no scent on the wind save that of the flowering trees and shrubs surrounding the patio and the woman behind him. Good. He pulled Tia to the car, and still she said nothing until after he started the Lincoln’s engine. As if that were a signal, her questions poured forth.

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“Rae’s dead, and something’s wrong at the townhouse.”

“Rae?”

“One of my associates. St. James killed him.”

“How do you know?”

Dallas inclined his head toward the envelope on the seat between them. “Look inside the envelope.” He turned on the dome light so she could see the photo and read the note.

“Oh, my God. Dallas, you have to call the police on this.”

“And tell them what? The body’ll never be found. I guarantee that. I can’t do anything for Rae, but I can for Gillie. He’s at the house, but something’s wrong. I called him to make sure he was all right, and he called me ‘Dallas.’”

“So?”

“Gillie never calls me by my first name. Never. Always ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Allgate.’ It was his way of telling me he’s in trouble. My guess is that Flynne’s got him.”

“What are you going to do?”

He turned his head slightly until she did likewise. “Kill the bastard.”

She merely nodded, and he turned his attention back to the road, marveling again at the woman beside him. No foolish female theatrics, no moral indignation, not even an appeal to “let the cops take care of it.” This was something she understood as well as he did, and he felt her mindset without even reaching for her mind. This was a threat. It was danger. It was one of your own in trouble.

It was survival. It was what they were both best at.

“How?” she asked.

“What?”

“How are you going to kill him?”

“Any way I can.”

She shook her head. “That’s not good enough. We have to have a plan.”

He felt a smile threaten to surface. “Any ideas?”

“My Glock’s in the trunk of the rental car in your garage.”

“Your what?”

“My gun. It’s a Glock 23. Just like the duty weapon I used to carry, but a little smaller. I got so used to carrying a gun on the job, I couldn’t give up the habit. I always take it with me when I travel.”

“What size ammo?”

“It’s a .40 caliber.”

He considered. It wouldn’t kill Conner, but it would slow him down. “Are you any good?”

“Pretty good. I never missed a target during firearms training.”

“What about real life?”

She looked straight ahead. “I’ve never shot at anybody.”

He pulled the car over a block from the townhouse and turned to look at her. “Tia, can you do it?”

She met his gaze without a blink. “If Gillie’s life is in danger, or yours, or mine . . . oh, yeah.”

The smile tried harder to break through. “Got anything else in that trunk of yours?”

She did smile. “No bazooka, sorry. Just the gun and knife. That’s all I carry.”

He nodded. She was better prepared than he was. It would have been embarrassing if he felt such an emotion. I really must see to outfitting the Lincoln for such emergencies.

“It’ll be enough. Where in the trunk is the gun?”

“The gun is put up in a case. You’ll see it. Just bring me the whole thing. The knife is under the driver’s seat.”

“Give me your car keys.”

She pulled them out and pressed them into his hand. The feel of her warm skin only added to the rush his body was already feeling. “After I get out, slide over to the driver’s seat. Keep the engine running and the doors locked. If there’s any danger at all, you drive off, understand? Don’t worry about me.”

“I’ve got it.”

He slipped out of the car and waited, watching Tia to make sure she obeyed his instructions. She did, and he ran down the sidewalk at a pace that was slow for him until he was out of her sight. Then he accelerated to a speed that shifted into the plane of time and space unique to the Undead. A human watching him could not have registered his movement. He was at the carriage house in seconds and had the security alarm disabled and the service door unlocked just as swiftly. He found both the gun and the knife with no trouble, then spent a moment watching the house and testing the air with his senses. Nothing was visibly amiss, and he could hear no voices. But his sense of smell, as usual, aided him more than his sight or hearing did. Conner’s stink permeated the yard.

He was back at the Lincoln before another moment passed. Tia gave him a worried look when he got into the car beside her.

“What happened? Was someone watching the house?”

He shook his head and handed her the case and the knife.

“Wow. That was fast. This’ll only take a minute.” She took out the gun, inserted a magazine, and racked the slide to chamber a round. “All set.”

“All right. Keep the gun out of sight until you need it. If you need it, empty the whole clip into Flynne’s heart, in as tight a group as you can.”

“You don’t have to tell me how to do it. That’s how I was trained. Upper hydraulics.” She tapped her chest.

He felt the smile he had been suppressing finally rise to the surface. “Good girl. Just remember to stay behind me. Conner is a lot faster and stronger than he looks, so don’t be deceived.”

“What about if you go in first and I stay out of sight?”

He shook his head. “It won’t work. He’ll know you’re there. His senses are very acute.”

“He’ll be focused on you. By the time he hears or sees me it’ll be too late for him.”

Dallas considered her words. Under normal circumstances, a seasoned vampire should be able to sense the nearness of a female like Tia. But Conner was young, and perhaps would be too distracted by Dallas to discern her presence. It might work. “All right. Just don’t shoot Gillie whatever you do. Ready? Let’s go see what game Conner Flynne wants to play.”

There was no point, though, in Dallas trying to take Conner by surprise. Dallas had no way to disguise the scent of the Undead any more than Flynne did. They walked through the back door.

“Gillie? Answer me.” Dallas kept one arm behind him to make sure Tia stayed put.

“In here.” It was Gillie’s voice. The spoken words were sparse not only in emotion but in strength, but Dallas didn’t care. The man was still alive. Tia remained in the pantry while Dallas followed the voice to the parlor, feeling too much like the proverbial fly.

There, in the center of one of Dallas’ prized Aubusson rugs, stood Conner Flynne. He held John Giltspur tightly against him like a shield, one arm around the man’s neck in a grip very close to a choke hold. No wonder the old man’s voice had sounded so thin and thready.

“Ah, Aldgate. Right on time.” Conner’s voice held a smugness that made Dallas want to slap him.

“Release him.”

“Now don’t disappoint me. Your house didn’t. I didn’t quite picture a commoner like you in such grand digs, but it’s really quite nice. So don’t you be less than I expect.”

“You’re no match for me, Flynne, and you know it.”

Conner wagged Gillie’s slim body back and forth in front of him like a dog with a toy in its mouth. “Dalys, Dalys, wake up. I don’t have to be. I have your servant, don’t I? You can’t kill me, and no matter how fast you are, you can’t save him. Pity you don’t have the girl. You could trade her for this worthless old man.” Conner suddenly raised his head and paused, like an animal testing the wind. “Dalys, you bad boy. You do have her, don’t you? She’s in this house. I can smell her. How about it? You can save one, but not both. Which will it be?”

Dallas saw no need to respond. The less he said, the better able he’d be to conceal his intentions. Only young fools like Flynne babbled on. This particular fool seemed to have no natural inclination to master or disguise his passions, and he wasn’t going to live long enough to learn the art. Dallas speared Conner’s eyes and penetrated his mind with the power of his years. It was not only skill that overpowered, but cunning. Not only imagination, but deception. He dazzled the younger vampire, watching the creature’s eyes widen with realization.

Conner tried to fight back with his own power, but in doing so merely exposed all his thoughts to Dallas.

“You see, Flynne? It’s not enough to understand. You have to not be understood. And I can understand you all too well.”

Conner’s eyes appeared ready to pop from his head, but suddenly his body jerked in opposition to the restraining power. His mouth worked like a fish’s, the points of his “fangs” popping in and out of view, and Dallas could feel the creature trying to combat the influence of Dallas’ eyes and mind. No sounds poured from the mouth that toiled uselessly, but in a final abrupt effort of defiance, Conner twisted Gillie’s body and sank his mouth to the man’s neck. A strangled cry escaped the choke hold, but louder than that was the plea from the old man’s eyes.

Dallas was on Conner in an instant—an instant he would have prayed was not too long, if he were one to pray. He ripped Flynne from his friend and hurled him into the fireplace. Gillie crumpled to the rug, but Dallas had no time to see to him. Conner was far from finished.

Flynne collapsed to the marble tiles, bringing all the antique mantel adornments to the floor with him. The heavy china clock shattered, and brass candlesticks landed with a dull thud to roll to the side, but a crystal vase filled with fresh cut flowers escaped damage by falling on Conner’s head. The water joined with the blood on Conner’s mouth and dribbled down to stain the collar of his shirt. He licked his lips, his eyes as glazed and wild as his face, while the camellias tumbled across his shoulders to plop into his lap.

Flanked by two ornate andirons topped with brass lion heads, Conner rose to his feet as if pulled, like a puppet, by invisible strings. The lions, while fierce, looked regal. Conner, mustering his most ferocious snarl, looked like a fool.

“I told you, Aldgate. Do whatever you want. You can’t kill me.”

“That’s what you think.”

Dallas was on Flynne again like a beast on wounded prey, one hand seizing the creature’s throat, the other reaching behind Conner for the poker that hung next to the fireplace. Flynne’s bug eyes widened ever more with the realization of Dallas’ intent, but it was too late. Before the wisdom of understanding could finally be his, Flynne twitched and shuddered as Dallas drove the poker into his midsection, just below his rib cage, then bore the hooked point upward toward his heart. Dallas twisted the poker, and Conner shrieked, feebly thrashing like a fish on a spear.

Dallas sailed from the parlor, his bloody cargo tightly in tow, until he was down the back stairs and into the cellar. He yanked the poker part way out of the body, then thrust it deep into Conner’s heart again, using the wide handle to rotate the poker’s head. A high keening sound slid past the blood in Conner’s mouth and echoed off the cellar walls, and the body became limp in Dallas’ arms.

“A misbegotten creature like you should have never risen from the mud of creation, Flynne, but I’m happy to say I’m going to rectify that mistake.”

With that, Dallas tugged the poker from the body. The iron stake clanged to the floor, followed by a more silent stream of blood. Dallas, with the strength of his kind, clawed his hand into the gaping wound and tore out Conner’s heart. Standing over the body, Dallas cast it to the floor and spit on the death mask of the truly dead. The glazed eyes were locked open in the horror of final understanding, and the varnish of water and blood on the lifeless face was already drying to a dull finish.

“Nothing more to say, Flynne? Silence indeed cures foolishness, does it not? That was for Gillie.”

Dallas quickly rinsed his hands in the cellar’s sink, then ascended to check on Gillie. Tia was with the old man, but looked up when she saw him approach. Her eyes rounded with what appeared to be more concern than aversion.

“My God, Dallas, you’re covered with blood. Are you all right?”

He nodded. “It’s Conner’s, not mine. Is Gillie alive?”

It was her turn to dip her head. “It’s a bad wound. I’ve been keeping pressure on, but he really should have medical attention. I would have called, but I didn’t think he had the strength to keep pressure on the wound himself. I didn’t want him to bleed to death while I called for an ambulance.”

“You did right. No ambulance. I’ll be right back. I’m going to make some calls.” He glided to the next room, close enough to keep an eye on Tia and Gillie, but far enough away for her not to hear his phone call. He called Scott MacLaren, and waited through each ring with the hope that MacLaren hadn’t become another victim of St. James’ games. After Sovatri, MacLaren was the man Dallas trusted most to do his bidding effectively and without questions.

“Yeah,” came the answer on the other end of the line. Like Sovatri had been, MacLaren was more than a little lacking in the charm that made Natchez famous.

“Mac. This is Dallas. Can you come to the townhouse right away? Gillie’s been hurt. I need someone to take care of him for me.”

“I’ll be right there.” The line went dead. No charisma, but the man was efficient.

Dallas hadn’t wanted to give out the news yet about Rae. That would come later. Right now there were more important things to worry about. He returned to Tia’s side with towels and antiseptic.

“Hey, old man, are you still with us?” Dallas cradled Gillie’s head in one hand while he cleaned the wound with his other.

“I’m sorry, sir. He broke in through a window. The alarm went off, but before I could do anything . . . ”

“No apologies, Gillie. The varmint’s been dispatched.”

Tia looked at him. “Conner’s dead?”

Dallas met her eyes, then looked down at Gillie. “Truly dead.”

The old man nodded in understanding.

“Where did the two of you go? I wanted to follow, but figured Gillie needed my help more,” said Tia.

“You did the right thing. Conner’s in the cellar. Gillie would have thrown a fit if I’d gotten all this blood on the Aubusson or the cypress floors.” He gave her a wink, but it was for Gillie’s benefit.

Weak as he was, Gillie still managed to respond with a lift of one brow. “By the looks of it, sir, you’ve still left me a fine mess to clean up.”

“’Fraid so, Gillie. Mac’s on his way. He’s going to take care of you.”

“Why Mac?” A note of suspicion was lodged between the two words. Sometimes Dallas swore that Gillie had the Undead’s power of the mind.

“Rae’s dead. St. James killed him. What happened here tonight is just the beginning, I’m afraid.”

“Does Mac know?” asked Gillie. He knew as well as Dallas did that Rae and Mac had been close friends as well as associates for years.

“No, I didn’t tell him. And I won’t. I need all his attention focused on taking care of you tonight.”

“You’re leaving?”

Dallas nodded. “As soon as I give instructions to Mac and change clothes. St. James wants a showdown. More vermin that needs killing.”

“Drago . . . ” breathed Gillie.

“To Hell with Drago.”

Tia was doing an admirable job of not looking confused. “What about me? I want to go with you,” she stated. There was a defiant tone to her voice that hinted she already expected to be left behind and wasn’t going to accept it.

In truth, he didn’t know what to do with her. If he left her behind to help take care of Gillie, he had no doubt she’d try to follow him. Short of disabling her car, he didn’t know how to ensure she’d stay put. He doubted even Mac, who was as physically imposing as himself, could keep her here against her wishes. Even if she did stay with Gillie, she’d be in danger. There was the possibility that St. James’ invitation was just a decoy to lure Dallas well away from Natchez, leaving all those he cared about behind, unprotected and at St. James’ mercy.

On the other hand, if she went with him, and St. James was indeed waiting, he would be taking her straight into trouble. More than that, she would be a distraction to him. Every bit of worry he expended on her was energy not focused on St. James. Willingly giving an opponent an advantage was not a rule of survival.

In the end he decided to take her with him. She’d be a distraction whether he took her or left her, and at least this way he could see to her safety. “You can go if you do two things. Clean up some of this mess before Mac gets here. Then go change into your most practical clothes.”

“Where are we going?”

“To a ghost town. Hurry now.”