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When he opened the back door, she laid the sack logo side down and piled her other packages on top of it.
"I guess I don't have to ask what you did today." Mike said, holding the door open for her.
She forced a laugh. "I went on quite a shopping spree."
"Any special occasion?"
"No," she said quickly. "Why do you ask?"
He shrugged. "I've known you quite a while and I've never known you to like shopping."
"Well, sometimes shopping's a necessary evil, like going to the dentist."
He pulled up in front of her condo a few minutes later. Being Mike, he offered to help carry her bags inside, and because she couldn't think of any logical reason to object, she let him carry everything but her dress. In the living room, she dropped her handbag on the sofa, then hurried into the bedroom. She hung the dress in the closet and then closed the door.
Pausing in front of the dresser, she picked up her brush and ran it through her hair.
"Mike, do you want some coffee before you go?"
Instead of an answer, she heard a heavy thud.
"Mike?" she called, walking toward the bedroom door, "You're in big trouble if you broke my new…"
Her voice trailed off when she reached the living room and saw Mike lying facedown on the floor. Concern for his welfare was swallowed up in stark fear for her own life when a tall figure stepped into view.
"You!" Her gaze flew to her handbag, lying out of reach on the sofa.
"Hello, Regan," Vasile said with a wicked grin. "I've come to take you home."
Santiago rose with the setting sun. He showered and dressed, then went out to feed before driving to Regan's apartment.
Regan was going to be his bride. It was a miracle, he thought, and he had long ago stopped believing in miracles.
He glanced up at the sky. He had long ago stopped believing in just about everything but his own abilities. Perhaps he had been wrong to stop believing.
"I will make her happy," he murmured, "every day of her life."
Happy. A small word. Mortals used it for so many things. Graduating from college would make them happy. A pizza would make them happy. A new car would make them happy. More money, a bigger house, a trip around the world, a nose job, a tummy tuck; all would bring them happiness yet never did.
But he would make Regan happy. He would grant her anything within his power to give no matter how large or how small.
Happy, Santiago thought. For the first time in hundreds of years, he, himself, was happy.
He was smiling when he pulled up in front of Regan's condo. Whistling softly, he got out of the car and ran up the stairs, eager to see his bride.
His steps slowed as he neared her apartment, his nostrils filling with a familiar, unwelcome scent.
Muttering an oath, he knocked on the door, swore again as it swung open and the smell of blood and impending death surrounded him.
"Regan!"
But it wasn't Regan's body lying in a pool of blood on the floor.
Kneeling, Santiago rolled the body over. It was the cop, Michael Flynn. His body had been badly savaged.
Flynn groaned, his eyelids fluttering open. "Regan…"
"Where is she?" Santiago demanded.
Flynn shook his head weakly. "A man…"
"Vasile? Was it Vasile?"
"Don't… know." Flynn's eyes closed. "Find… her."
"Do you know where he was taking her?" Santiago shook Flynn. "Where, dammit, where did they go?"
Flynn's eyes opened again and with his last breath, he whispered, "Home…"
Santiago closed Michael Flynn's eyes. He stared at the dead man a moment, then swore a vile oath. Vasile had taken Regan. Judging from Flynn's wounds and the way the blood had congealed, Santiago figured Vasile had a good head start—three hours, maybe four.
Rising, Santiago left the house. Outside, he closed his eyes and opened his senses. Sifting through the multitude of smells that assailed him, he sought for Regan's unique scent.
It was faint, hours old. It led him away from the city to the airport. Going into the terminal, he checked all the flights that had left in the last four hours. None were headed to Romania.
Going to one of the windows, Santiago smiled at the woman behind the counter. "Hi, Sarah," he said, reading her name off the badge she wore on her breast pocket. "I need to know if a private flight left here in the last five hours."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not allowed to give out that kind of information."
Santiago swore under his breath. He didn't have time for this. Capturing her gaze with his, he said, "I need to know, Sarah, and I need to know now."
"Yes, of course, sir, I'll find that for you right now." She typed a few words into her computer. "A private jet took off four and a half hours ago bound for Romania."
Santiago muttered an oath. "Do you know if there was a woman on board?"
"No, sir."
"Is there anyone here who would know?"
"The ground crew might have seen something, sir."
"Thank you, Sarah." Releasing her mind from his control, Santiago left the terminal and went outside to speak to the ground crew.
It took only moments to discover that a man and a woman had boarded a private plane on runway number eight.
"The woman," Santiago said, "what did she look like?"
"I'm sorry, sir, we never saw her. She was ill."
"The man," Santiago said, fear for Regan's life growing with every passing moment, "was he tall, with long blond hair? Spoke with a faint accent?"
"Yes, sir."
Santiago released the man with a wave of his hand and strode away, his fear and his anger growing as he returned to the terminal. He found a public phone and dialed information. Ten minutes later he had chartered a private plane to fly him to Romania. The flight was scheduled to leave tomorrow at dusk.
He only hoped he would reach his destination before it was too late.
Chapter 33
Regan woke with a headache, a horrible taste in her mouth, and a sense of disorientation.
Where was she?
Glancing around, she saw that she was in a small bedroom. The walls were a forgettable shade of beige; the curtains at the single window were brown. A glance to the left showed a closed door; a large dresser took up most of the wall to her right. She lay on a canopied bed. Feeling as if she had been asleep for a week, she tried to sit up, only to discover that her arms were drawn above her head and her hands were tied to the bedposts.
Fear was a cold hard knot in the pit of her stomach.
