Bond of Darkness (35 page)

"Very well. Until my friends meet yours in Valencia, Templeton." Deaf Smith raised his hand and was gone.

His friends? But he was going alone.

HIGHWAY FROM DALLAS TO AUSTIN. LATER THAT EVENING

Steve drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and changed channels on the police scanner yet again. Nothing. Not that she'd expected to hear anything, given how far north she was from the action. But she would have liked to have known something—anything!—if only as a small payback for briefing the governor on their activities, while he was in Dallas on that fund-raising trip. After all, she'd kept him out of the team's hair while everybody else went off to the border in search of El Gallinazo and his drugs. Lucky them.

And she got to drive up to Dallas and back down to Austin. All in the name of executive oversight. Whoopee.

Nor did she get to see Ethan tonight, since he'd already called her, claiming all night sentry duty. He'd mentioned Devol would be taken care of soon, but he hadn't said how. Damn him for being a close-mouthed son of a bitch.

Given that she was guaranteed to be alone tonight, she'd chosen to return on the older, more scenic highway, rather than the interstate. Maybe she'd have enough peace to think about that new bike she wanted instead of another date with a batten' operated boyfriend.

Yeah, right.

She eyed the silent scanner again, shot a glance at its frequency display, and said a few extremely impolite phrases about folks who observed radio discipline all too well.

Her headlights flashed on a sign for Valencia Estates, the golf resort developing Valencia. "Final stage sold?"

But they'd been still laying the basic water and sewer systems when she and Ethan were out there a week ago. How could they have sold all their lots by now, given all their acreage?

She jerked her truck over to the roadside and reversed it rapidly, barely watching for either oncoming traffic or the deep irrigation ditch edging the highway. An instant later, she halted it with a screech of brakes, hopped out, and stared at the real estate sign suspiciously, her big police flashlight blazing like a searchlight.

Yes, it truly did say Valencia Estates had their final stage sold. But the lettering was a trifle ornate, almost calligraphic. Odd, very odd—and something cold sank into her bones, like a swamp's putrid damp reaching out on a wintry night.

She needed to find out what was happening, no matter what it was. Because if Devol was there, not where Ethan expected, there'd be hell to pay.

But before she went, she'd change the sign a bit, especially the directions on how to find Valencia. The development's owners could fix it tomorrow, if they chose.

And she'd put on her tactical gear—quickly, very quickly. Because her twisting, tightening gut wasn't happy spending more than a minute going without body armor.

VALENCIA. MIDNIGHT

The old town slept under the scudding clouds, its scattered buildings looking more like markers to a forgotten age than a current metropolis. A sturdy stone structure here, a leaning wood shack there, a curving oak tree in a corner, tombstones canted crazily, branches and leaves dancing in the wind, while all roads circled or led to the courthouse square. The old gray courthouse rose tall and strong in the waning moonlight there, its clock tower reaching for the light.

Green streaked the western sky, between banks of deep black and purple. The clouds were running fast before the wind, whipping each other in hissing fits of thunder and blinding light. The earth trembled when they ripped into each other, as if realizing its own turn was coming soon, when wind and water would lash it like saber blows and electricity would pummel it like a prizefighter.

The clock began to strike, its tone as rich and pure as it had been a century ago. One, two, three…

Ethan shifted forward another infinitesimal inch until he could see out of the attic window. The courthouse was the tallest building in town, especially situated on the low rise which took up courthouse square. He'd bugged it so Emilio and everyone else at Compostela could listen in to happenings in the square. Not that any of the compañías would return in time to help him, given how fast the bridge was likely to wash out in this storm.

Steve… What a joy it would be to have her beside him in this fight. Mercifully, she was safe in Dallas.

He could see everything—and he could smell almost everything, too, since scent rose—without worrying about being detected. None of his enemies were his age so his senses were keener.

On the other hand, if he moved another inch, they'd know where he was and they could see all of his possible exits.

So what? Sometimes a good first strike was worth everything.

Five, six…

A man dressed in black T-shirt and jeans stepped onto the courthouse lawn. Ethan's eyes narrowed and pure, liquid pleasure filled his veins. He started to purr, very softly. Devol.

And Ethan was finally free to take action against the bastard.

Eight, nine…

Other men were stepping out onto the courthouse lawn. But how many would appear? He couldn't act until he knew what Devol planned and how great the danger was. He'd ordered Emilio to stay back at Compostela, assuming Devol didn't use mind-to-mind speech.

He bit his lip and waited, a single grenade in his hand, ready for use, his fangs pricking his lip.

Six men faced Devol when the clock finally finished chiming. Seven vampiros ready to attack Compostela—Devol, Yoshi the Fair, Gerald Hunter, Roald Viterra… More than enough to cause a damn sight of trouble for the few men there. Damn, damn, damn.

"Is this everyone?" Devol demanded.

Yoshi the Fair shrugged. "Directions were difficult, man. You didn't give us much time, in case we got lost."

"Imbecile!" Devol spat and Yoshi flinched.

Ethan grinned wryly, pleased despite himself to see somebody discipline that smartass psychopath.

"How much time can we afford to spend waiting?" Viterra asked, a more pragmatic killer.

Devol shot him a look of sincere dislike. "None," he admitted. "We need to leave for Compostela immediately."

"Compostela
Ranch
?"

"Where else would I be talking about?" Devol shot back.

The astonished chorus grew until Devol shut it down with a shout. "You will obey me or die! Do you remember what led you to join me or do we need to repeat the lesson?"

He glared at each of them until they dropped their eyes and begged forgiveness.

Ethan snarled deep in his throat. He'd have been happier to see one or two leave.

"Forget about the others," Devol snapped. "There are enough of us to carry out my plan and gain the full glory for its success."

That earned some wary nods.

"We'll go in on Yamaha Grizzlies."

What the hell? Big all-terrain vehicles?

"Satellite photos showed me an old horseback trail which cuts across the service driveway, climbing onto the mountain-top. It's very steep"—No shit!—"But the Grizzlies will take us in fast enough to get past the guards before they can raise the alarm."

Crap, that really could work. The Grizzlies were sturdy enough to carry the men and their armament up that god-awful trail. And Emilio didn't have enough men to completely block the entire mountainside against seven vampiros, even knowing they were coming.

"I've loaded my explosives in backpacks to cut down on the weight," Yoshi volunteered. "I'm only taking the minimum necessary, of course."

Shut up, kid.

"Good. After we're inside, we blow up the watch center and kidnap Don Rafael's bitch using mind control. She's very young, only a cachorra, so she can't resist any of us."

Doña Grania under Devol's control? You bastard!

"We get to enjoy her after that, right?" Viterra asked all too eagerly. Probably picturing her enduring some of his more legendary tortures, or inventing some new ones for her—and photographing their results.

Ethan's blood ran faster, curving his fingers into claws.

"After we steal jeeps and break out of Compostela, back to Louisiana," Devol corrected Viterra. "Then you can have her
after
I'm done with her."

The hell you will in my town. A soundless growl vibrated in Ethan's lungs. He silently pulled the grenade's pin, curled his arm back, and tossed the now-live grenade into their midst. A quick roll back into the attic's protection, and he waited for the ensuing explosion to announce their departure to the seven circles of Hell.

"Incoming!" shouted Devol.

Damn his quick eyes!

Somebody yelped in astonishment down below and feet scrabbled in alarm across the dirt. An instant later, the grenade exploded, shattering the courthouse's few remaining windows.

A brief burst of cordite's acrid scent touched the air and was gone, ripped away by the storm.

Crap, he hadn't gotten everyone—and Devol was probably one of the bastards who'd survived. But if the brute was here, he wasn't causing trouble at Compostela.

The front doors slammed against the wall.

Ethan came to his feet, his blood running cool and steady. He dropped into the old second-story courtroom through a gap in the attic's floorboards. It had been almost completely gutted in preparation for renovation, with the mantel, mirrors, statues, and chandeliers removed. Even the walls had been opened up to allow plumbers and electricians to work, including the heavy copper conductors for lightning protection. A few piles of debris stood near the corners, less on this floor than the lower ones.

Once it had been the stage for great legal duels. Now it would serve very well as the backdrop for his duel with Devol. The bastard's followers could look after themselves. Like a snake, his attack wasn't dangerous without head and fangs to deliver the venom.

ALONG THE RIO OSO BETWEEN GILBERTS CROSSING AND THE MEXICAN BORDER

Rafael waited patiently, or at least impassively, in the appalling storm. If he was being buffeted by a thunderstorm like this, his enemies were, too—and El Gallinazo's pet vampiro would not be able to smell them.

His gut wrenched, twisting itself like a moor's turban, more unsettled than it had been at any time since his first battle. Grania had been fearless when she'd said good-bye to him, as gallantly as Blanche had kissed him for the last time at Toledo. Blue eyes or brown—always the same expression, loving, direct, fierce with courage.

Grania's sweet heart and mind touched him again, warm with love and faith—and faded, leaving him free to concentrate on the coming fight.

He shook himself like a dog, ridding himself of stupidity and rain at the same time.
Dios
, what an arrogant fool he'd been to have separated himself from her wisdom, in order to protect her. Yes, she was a cachorra, but she was also his cónyuge and a proven duelist, thanks to having helped kill Beau, the vampiro mayor assassin.

Rafael pulled out and fiercely kissed the gold cross fleury she'd given him, its ornate curlicues digging into his hand like her eager grip. Ignoring any sidelong glances, he slipped it back inside his T-shirt next to his skin, under his Kevlar vest. He'd make very sure to live and return to her this time, no matter what it cost anyone else.

When he lifted his head, he deliberately looked around with more than his eyes. It had been decades since he'd been here and the land had been soaked by blood even then. Although he suspected watchers, they didn't seem unfriendly to him or his men. No use wishing he had vampiros with him, whose psychic senses might be strong enough to see or hear deeper than he could. In some ways, he was as isolated as he'd been at Ecija—just himself and a few good fighting men to face down a ruthless enemy on unfriendly ground.

Rio Oso cut through the mountains inside Texas's border with Mexico, marked now by waterholes frequented by goats and sheep instead of Comanches. Its steep sides were too unstable to be popular with hikers and photographers, keeping it remote and largely unknown to foolish modern men. The ground itself was largely gravel, although heavy boulders were scattered along the mountains' feet. The remains of an ancient landslide, now reduced to a small cairn, stood at the top of the pass. Even in this condition, it was enough to divide rainwater into interlaced fingers, rather than a single massive sweep of mud and water.

Another sheet of green fire lashed the skies, exploding into sheets of gold when it struck another black cloud. For a moment, it briefly revealed the mountain peak, hidden in a black cloud of rain. None of the prosaico warriors flinched, even the FBI agents from Washington.

A light flashed, long and low along the canyon wall. Could it be? But surely even El Gallinazo would not be so arrogant as to use headlights less than a mile from an official U.S. border crossing.

The beam split into two, and was joined by another, and another.
Madre de Dios
, he was driving his Toyota Land Cruisers along Rio Oso as though he were delivering groceries!

Worse yet, Posada had been correct: This convoy contained an immense number of vehicles, too many for the small number of Texas Rangers and federal agents to stop, should its commander decide to argue. Or if some of its gunmen went into the rocks to fight. And
The Buzzard
had never been known for docility, especially when faced with U.S. lawmen.

Rafael sniffed again, fighting not to gag.
At
least there were no slaves in the vehicles—only enough illegal drugs to make a carnival fun house seem completely logical.

Still, they had to try peaceful means first. Even so, Rafael was personally glad all his men had excellent credentials as deputy sheriffs. Those bits of paper had smoothed the way for their guns' presence, especially their M-15 clones. His lip curled, flashing his fangs.

The lead vehicle reached the three flimsy wood barriers scattered across the arroyo.

"Halt!" snapped Posada, standing between the barricades and a large boulder, only a few paces away from Rafael. "This is the…"

A violent shove bounced off Rafael's mental shields. El Gallinazo's pet vampiro had gone into action.