MatchUp by Lee Child
said. “I never expected to see a vampire.”
Lucan reached down and freed the man from under Lilliane’s heel. Holding him by the throat, he made sure Grainger got up close and personal with his razor-sharp canines and smoldering amber eyes. “Take a good look, because my fangs are going to be the last thing you see tonight. Right before they shred your carotid.”
“Oh, God, no. I’m begging you.”
“Then you’d better give us every bit of video you took tonight. And if I find out you already sold it to anyone or made a bunch of copies—”
“I swear, I didn’t.”
“I don’t believe him,” she said. “I vote you sever his artery anyway.”
Grainger’s eyes popped in horror. “I’m telling you the truth. You’ve got to believe me. The only footage is what’s on the card in my camera. Please, don’t kill me.”
Lucan wouldn’t murder a civilian in cold blood, no matter how tempted he might be.
He glanced at Lilliane and she arched a knowing brow. “Oh, come on, vampire. Can’t we just play with the mortal for a little while?”
He knew her well enough now to realize she was only kidding, but Grainger didn’t know that. He’d already pissed on himself once, but from the way he trembled now, Lucan wouldn’t be surprised if Grainger wet his pants all over again. Before his grin could betray him, Lucan reached out and pressed his palm to the human’s forehead.
The touch put the man into a deep trance.
“You’re no fun,” she grumbled.
“Remind me never to piss you off, Radiant.” He nodded to the video camera lying on Grainger’s desk. “You grab the memory card out of that camera and I’ll make sure we’re not leaving anything else behind here in the office.”
As she moved to carry out his instructions, Lucan called Gideon at the Order’s headquarters and explained what happened. “Grainger swears he didn’t make copies, but that’s not good enough for me. Can you wipe out all the video files he has on his computers?”
“You seriously did not just ask me that. I can do this blindfolded and with one hand tied behind my back.”
“Just do it,” Lucan said. “I’ll give you five minutes to make it happen. I’m overdue at home and I’ve got a plane to catch before sunrise.”
THANKFULLY, GIDEON ONLY NEEDED THREE minutes.
With the video camera memory card confiscated and Grainger’s hard drives infested with a virus that no one without a PhD in advanced computer science could untangle, Lucan and Lilliane stepped out of the private investigator’s office and locked up behind them as stealthily as they’d arrived.
“Mission accomplished,” she said as they paused together on the darkened street. She held the small video card between her thumb and forefinger. “To think this little piece of circuitry could’ve proven a disaster for us both.”
He arched a brow. “Not to mention for your candle maker and his unusual shop. And this Desire Exchange place.”
“You heard the man. The Desire Exchange is just about people getting together to have a little fun. It’s just about sex.”
“And whatever you do out there with your rich clients, that’s where the jars come from? And then you take them to this Bastian Drake guy so he can make more candles out of them. Even though it’s one of his candles that made you what you are.”
“I didn’t say it was a perfect arrangement. But what can I say?” She threw him a warm smile. “Extraordinary people have to find ways to work together. Right, vampire?”
“You’re working for the man who made you what you are. You’re working for the man who stole your ability to love.”
“Twelve hundred,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Twelve hundred people. That’s how many have accepted his little gift of candles. That’s how many people followed the instructions on the card and suddenly found the courage to embrace their heart’s desire. Do you want to know how many there are like me?”
He nodded.
“Twenty-three. Twelve hundred people find true love thanks to Bastian Drake and his shop. Twenty-three end up never aging another day in their lives and leaping seven-story buildings in a single bound. Whatever magic governs that shop, whatever Bastian Drake is, maybe it’s a fair trade-off in the end.”
“You really believe that?”
“Today I do. ’Cause I got my tape, thanks to you.”
She snapped her fingers and suddenly a light rain of gold dust showered down on his head and shoulders. He smiled despite himself, but by the time he went to brush it away, it seemed to be evaporating already.
“You must be eager to return home to your Gabrielle.”
“I am,” he admitted. “Two days is the longest I’ve been away from her since we mated.”
“Then you should go to her. Our work is done.”
“So it is.” He cleared his throat, holding out his hand. “Not that I don’t trust you with it, but I’ll take that video card now.”
“Of course. I have no use for it.” She dropped it into his open palm. “Consider it a memento of your visit to my city.”
He chuckled. “I hope you’ll understand if I’d rather burn it than watch it. I don’t need any reminders of the fact that both of us were nearly outed tonight.”
Her mouth quirked as she stared at him in the postmidnight darkness. “You know, I never thought I’d say this, but it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Lucan Thorne.”
“Likewise,” he said as he slipped the video card into his pocket. He extended his hand and smiled when she clasped his fingers in a firm grasp. “I hope you get it back, Lilliane.”
“Get what?”
“Your ability to fall in love.”
Her smile faded, but the light in her solemn, dark eyes seemed warm with acknowledgment. “Even if it means losing this?”
She vanished from view.
Then he saw her standing on the rooftop of the old house two stories overhead.
“Godspeed and a good life to you, Lucan Thorne,” she called down.
“To you as well, Lilliane Williams.”
She turned as if she were about to walk the length of the roof.
Instead, she took to the air and disappeared from view.
LUCAN HAD BEEN HOME FOR just over twenty-four hours, too many of them spent in the Order’s war room with his comrades, reviewing the fire he’d put out in New Orleans and gearing up to fight the even bigger problems taking shape in Boston. As critical as his work was with his fellow warriors, the only place he wanted to be was in bed with his lovely Breedmate.
As the meeting wore on, Lucan found his thoughts straying repeatedly to Gabrielle. He’d even go so far as to say his distraction these past few hours bordered on obsession. Every breath he drew into his lungs seemed wreathed with the scent of her. The elusive cinnamon-sweet fragrance tickled his nostrils and made his pulse hammer heavily, his veins drumming with the need to be as close as he could get.
“What do you think, Lucan? Do we take out the Rogue nest down in Southie first or chase down the lead on those skin traders over in Chinatown and ash the Rogues another night?”
The abrupt question from one of his comrades seated around the conference room table snapped him out of his sensory haze. He blinked at Tegan and the other Breed warriors, feeling embarrassed to have been caught daydreaming in the middle of the patrol review he was leading.
He cleared his throat.
“I want those skin traders stopped first. The Rogues are a nuisance, but we can flush them out anytime.” He stood, effectively adjourning the meeting. “I have something I need to take care of right now. Tegan, Dante, you two come up with a plan for the raid on the Chinatown location. You can run it by me later.”
With his orders dispersed, he stalked out of the war room and headed through the Boston compound with a purpose, all his thoughts and senses homed in on Gabrielle. Just thinking about her made his mouth water and his fangs punch out of his gums.
He sought
He found her in their living quarters.
Fresh out of her bath, she was sitting in their massive bed wearing just a frilly little bit of black lace.
God, she looked delectable.
He was so swept up in the sight and scent of her that he hardly noticed she held a book in her lap, which she held up as he approached the bed.
“Your package arrived from New Orleans a while ago,” she said, smiling. “A signed first edition of Interview with the Vampire? I have the best mate in the world.”
He frowned. “I didn’t send that book. The one I bought for you got ruined.”
Gabrielle’s auburn brows rose. “So this must be from your new friend, Lilliane?”
“Apparently so.”
“Does that mean she sent the candle too?”
“Candle?” A twinge of uncertainty arrowed through him. “What kind of candle?”
“That one.”
She pointed to the flickering flame.
For a second, he expected to see one of the burnt umber glass jars he’d spotted in that mysterious shop. But the candle resting on the bureau across the room came from some other, more ordinary store. The label said Cassidy’s Corner and the name of the fragrance was Orleans. He inhaled the air above its flickering flame and smelled vetiver, sweet olive, and a dozen other scents that reminded him of one of the most magical cities in the world.
“This came with the candle,” she said, pulling a delicate white card from between the pages of her book.
He took it from her and read the calligraphic script written on the back of the Feu de Coeur calling card.
Light this flame for your greatest passion and be grateful that your heart’s desire is already yours.
A slightly modified version of the card Lilliane had described to him, the one that had changed her life.
A custom-made version just for him.
And Gabrielle.
She was smiling when he looked at her. “I followed the instructions.” She patted the bed where they’d so often made love. “It works. I’ve never been so grateful to have you back.”
“Grateful,” he said, tossing the card aside to climb onto the mattress. “Gratitude is just the beginning of what I feel when I’m with you.”
And he found himself grateful for something else as well.
He’d lost many things in his immortal life, but never the ability to rest in the arms of a lover, to cherish the smell and feel of the one for whom he felt destined.
And he had Lilliane to thank for that realization.
LISA SCOTTOLINE AND NELSON DEMILLE
WHEN LISA SCOTTOLINE WAS ASKED if she would be a part of this anthology she said yes, but with a condition.
“I want to write with Nelson DeMille.”
Aiming to please, we contacted Nelson who said, absolutely, since he was a huge Lisa Scottoline fan.
And the team was born.
Both Lisa and Nelson are seasoned pros. They each have tens of millions of books in print worldwide, and they’ve each created a memorable character. Lisa’s Bennie Rosato is a tough-as-nails Philadelphia lawyer with a big heart, while John Corey is a former NYPD homicide detective, who still carries a gun and seems to have trouble keeping a job.
For Lisa, animals are a huge part of her life as she shares her home with a variety of dogs, cats, and chickens. So it’s not unexpected that animals are involved in this story. The challenge came with Lisa having to deal head-on with Nelson’s alpha-male protagonist, and Nelson having to work firsthand with an alpha-female hero.
Right off, they both agreed to help the other get the opposite sex right.
How this story was physically produced could be a tale in and of itself. By his own admission Nelson writes all his novels in longhand, on a yellow legal pad with a number one pencil. Lisa utilizes modern technology with a word processor. But though their techniques differ, their skills as writers are similar and the result is an entertaining and humorous encounter between two people who could not be more different.
The title itself is even prophetic.
Getaway.
GETAWAY
JOHN COREY, FORMER NYPD HOMICIDE detective, and former Federal Anti-Terrorist Task Force agent, sat in an Adirondack chair with his fingers wrapped around a glass of Dewar’s, contemplating the possible end of his third career—with the Diplomatic Surveillance Group—and his second marriage. Was it possible, he wondered, that his career and marital problems were of his own making? No. Shit just happens. He took a sip of scotch and stared into the gathering twilight toward Lake Whackamole. That wasn’t the name of the lake, he knew, but it was some gibberish Indian name. P.C. correction. Some melodious Native American name.
Whackyweed?
No, that’s marijuana.
Anyway, it was a lake. A small one in upstate New York, in the middle of nowhere, and the closest town was Nowheresville, about forty miles away.
It had taken him nearly ten hours from Manhattan to get to this godforsaken place in what was called the North Country, sometimes called God’s Country, and he wondered why he was there. He was a city boy and nature made him nervous. So maybe this wasn’t a good place to relax. It sounded good in theory but he should have known better. He sipped more scotch. The familiar smell and taste of it made him relax, even before the alcohol hit his brain.
He looked again at the darkly mirrored lake and the woods around it. He could make out a few other cabins set back from the opposite shore but they were dark. The only lit one, aside from his own, was the one he could see through the trees about two hundred yards to his left. He wondered who his neighbor might be. With any luck, he’d never find out. But maybe it was a hot babe on the lam from city problems, as he was. Or maybe it was a local girl, single or divorced, no kids, great cook, and looking for a drinking buddy.
And she drank scotch.
Most likely, though, it was some backwoods Deliverance psycho who had a collection of chain saws that he wanted to show his new neighbor.
Dick Kearns, Corey’s former police buddy who’d loaned the cabin, had assured him that no one would be at the lake in late October, and if anyone was, they’d keep to themselves.
Good.
So he sat back and stared at the trees.
There were a lot of them. More than in Central Park. In fact, he was actually in a park—Adirondack State Park, a sparsely populated stretch of land bigger than Vermont—and much of it was designated as Forever Wild, meaning he’d have a hard time finding a pub.
He’d been in this neck of the woods a few years before on a case involving a guy named Bain Madox who owned a lodge called the Custer Hill Club. Madox was a billionaire nut job who tried to start a nuclear war with the world of Islam, and the Custer Hill Club was his secret headquarters. In fact, this nearly uninhabited land seemed to be visited by a number of weirdos and bad guys—survivalists, antigovernment wing nuts, mobsters, Irish Republican Army guys in the old days, and more recently Islamic extremists who needed to test their weapons in private. The FBI and the Anti-Terrorist Task Force, as well as the State Police and park rangers, had long taken a special interest in the Adirondack State Park.
On a happier note, the aforementioned unwelcome park visitors were relatively rare and kept an understandably low profile, and he didn’t expect to bump into any of them while he was here. It was more likely that he’d run into a bear. He hated bears. And with good reason. Bears were dangerous. They ate people.