“So, if this guy was living in Juarez, but moved—”

“He would probably let Ivan know, since Ivan is the point man in that area for the cartel that controls Mexico. Or he’d tell Ernesto, if he lived on this side of the border.”

Natalie sat up straight. “Wait, cartel? As in drug cartel?”

“Something like that. It’s complicated.”

She frowned but turned back to her notes. “You’re explaining that later.”

He muttered under his breath as he started to pace the room. “Of course you think I am.”

“What does—?”

Dez’s voice broke through the line. “Listen, Natalie. I know you want to follow this story—and I think we all agree whoever is doing this has to be stopped—but can you accept that even if you find out the truth, you may never be able to publish the results?”

She snorted. “Why not?”

A heavy silence fell over the room and Baojia turned to her. “Are you serious?”

“Hey, whoever is killing these women—human or vampire—they deserve justice.” She stood to face him, arms crossed. “These girls deserve to have their killer put away. I’m not going to be part of a cover-up. Forget it.”

“When we find who this is, he will get justice. I’ll kill him myself, but if you publish this story—”

“What? You’re just going to kill him?”

His voice rose again. “That’s the way it works in our world.”

“You just decide? No courts. No trial.”

He pointed to her notes. “What kind of trial do you think this monster deserves? If you’re right and he’s killed over fifteen women—”

“The world deserves to know!”

“The world deserves nothing!” he roared. “Those girls deserve nothing. They are dead. They are past caring. And if you publish a story that exposes our kind to the world, then you will be dead, too. You will be ridiculed by your own press and then someone, somewhere, will come and kill you. I am not threatening; I am predicting, Natalie. And you cannot die. It is not acceptable.”

She had turned pale as a sheet so the freckles stood out on her face and the color drained from her pursed lips. Still, her eyes didn’t waver. “It’s my job to find the truth.”

Baojia stepped closer. “And it’s my job to keep you alive.”

He finally heard something from the other end of the line. Matt said, “Then the two of you better figure something out. You both want to stop this, so compromise. But Natalie, I have to second what Baojia was saying. If you publish this, someone will come for you. Most vampires around the world just want to live in peace and be left alone, but if they’re threatened, they will protect their interests. And they won’t take kindly to any human who tries to expose them. Do you think you’re the first to try?”

Baojia didn’t back away. He couldn’t. Despite the fear in her eyes, he saw the resolve, too. She had a mission—a clear one—and part of him envied her that. He was a soldier by nature; he needed a purpose. It was just Natalie Ellis’s bad luck that his current mission conflicted with hers, because he was going to keep the stubborn human alive, no matter how her behavior set him on edge. From the corner of his eye, he saw Luis push through the office door with a note. He [h aliveheld his hand out and the human brought it to him.

Glancing down, he read it quickly, knowing as he reached the end that things were only going to become more violent before this was over.

“Matt, Dez, we need to go.”

The anger fell from Natalie’s face and she looked at the note in his hand. “What’s wrong?”

“Another body’s been found in the desert. And this time the location is no accident.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

The only illumination was the yellow headlights of the old black Camaro as they sped into the desert. No lights on the dashboard. No radio hummed. Even the clock seemed to have stopped. She glanced at the shadowed face of the driver, a vampire. A vampire her friend swore would protect her. A vampire who could make water behave like a pet. A vampire who was really good at being quiet.

She slipped her hand in her pocket and pressed the button on her phone, quickly scrolling through her playlists to find the appropriate accompaniment to driving through the desert with an undead, bloodsucking creature of the night. He looked over when he heard the music.

“Elvis?”

She shrugged. “Elvis is always appropriate.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Most humans hate silence.”

“Oh.” She glanced at her phone. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all. I saw him in concert a number of times.”

She tried, but she couldn’t stop the snort. “George, are you familiar with the term ‘mindfuck’?”

“Very familiar,” he said with a low laugh.

“This night—the last week, in fact—I’ve been swimming in one.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

Would she? She looked at his profile, barely discernible in the dark car. Glancing around, she asked, “So, all the lights and stuff in the car…”

“Shorted out at one point or another.” He shrugged. “It’s the only car I can drive without messing up the engine. I’m amazed the headlights still work. I don’t need the other lights or dials, and I didn’t want to bring Luis. Besides,” he said and ran a hand along the dashboard, “this is a pristine 1968 Chevy Camaro. Far more character than that Mercedes Luis prefers.”