The woman they'd taken was Dawn Morgan, twenty-two, and had only worked at the club about three weeks. They had a picture of her up on their Web site and we'd all seen it. It was a publicity shot for a stripper bar, so we tried to look at her face. Brown hair, about shoulder length, and enough makeup that it was hard to really see her face. She was all blue eyes and red pouting lips. I didn't ask if the men had a harder time looking at her face than I did. She was covered by hands and a few well-placed pieces of cloth, but the illusion was that more skin was showing than really was. Distracting, and meant to be. I'm sure if Ms. Morgan had been told she'd be kidnapped by murderous vampires, she'd have left us a nice, less glamorous face shot. But you just don't plan for these kinds of things. We memorized the face of the hostage so we wouldn't accidentally shoot her during the action. Yeah, that would be bad.

I think that if I hadn't had my own dangerous toys to play with they would have taken me in unarmed. Most of the tactical team seemed to think I was a civilian and treated me that way. They weren't rude, just didn't like the idea of me having a loaded gun at their backs. I guess I couldn't blame them. I hadn't had their training. They'd never seen me use a gun. They'd never seen me do this kind of work. They seemed to consider me almost more dangerous than the vampires.

My biggest problem with the vest was that it made it impossible for me to carry the Browning and the Firestar in their current holsters and have any hope of drawing them. Officer Deny had thrown me a thigh holster with velcro straps. "It'll hold the Browning and an extra clip." Derry looked as Irish as his name, except for his coloring, which was dark.

I had to take the vest off to thread the upper part of the thigh holster through my belt, then the other straps went around my leg. The thigh holster wasn't bad actually, though I wouldn't have wanted to try it unless I had pants on to protect my thighs. My thighs rub together when I walk, thank you very much. But with jeans it wasn't bad. It was a different draw though, not just the angle, or where the gun was, but the actual hand movement was different. I wouldn't be as quick, because I'd have to think about it. Of course, for tonight's work, the handguns were secondary.

I had a new Mossberg 590A1 Bantam. Thirteen-inch length-of-pull, lighter weight overall. It meant more recoil, but, once you adjusted for it, it was the shotgun of my dreams. No more heavy barrel out there hanging while you tried to aim, leaving me feeling top heavy. I had a sawed-off that had started life as an Ithica 37, but now was just used for in-close vampire blasting. The Ithica had a strap fitted for it, so that it fitted across my body sort of like an awkward purse. To keep it from moving around until I wanted it for in-fighting, Edward, my friend and the only person I'd ever seen use a flamethrower, had helped me rig velcro to the thigh holster on my left thigh. That thigh holster was mine, but it was for extra ammo, not for holding guns. The velcro strap fit over the Ithica's shortened barrel, so that it was held tight against my leg, but not at an angle where if something went terribly wrong I'd shoot my kneecap off. One quick, hard pull, and the sawed-off would be in my hands, and it would be time to be very, very close with the vamps. The Mossberg had an Urban Ops sling from U.S. Tactical Supply. It had become my preferred sling for the bigger guns. Unfortunately, you couldn't carry two guns on two different Urban slings, because the sling was designed for switching hands, ease of movement. Which meant the gun would move around more. Edward, who was truly the assassin Hudson had accused me of being, wasn't as fond of the Urban sling as I was, but then he didn't do as much close in undercover work with the monsters. Most of the time he went in like a one-man demolition team. The sling also worked better if you had a heavier jacket over the sling to keep it from sliding off your shoulder. If I'd had broader shoulders, it would have stayed put better, and since most of the people who test this stuff are male, and thus have broader shoulders, I couldn't really complain much. It was still a sweet piece of equipment.

I had a stock mag attached to the butt of the Mossberg. I'd started carrying extra ammo in a thigh holder, but the Browning was on that thigh. I'd found that if I wore the extra ammo on my left thigh, it was harder to get to. It cost me a second, or three. If I couldn't have my right thigh for it, then the stock mag was the next best thing. I went ahead and put extra ammo in the left thigh holder. You know that old saying, I'd rather have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. That applied to ammo better than anything else I knew.

Derry said, "That's almost the exact same thigh holder as I gave you for your Browning. If you had it already, you didn't need to borrow ours."

"I have two set up for ammo. I don't have one for handguns. If it's comfortable I might get one."

"So glad Mobile Reserve could help you try out some new toys." He smiled at me.

I smiled back.

"He gives you a lousy holster, and you flirt with him. I loan you my whole second rig and nothing," Killian said.

"That wasn't flirting, Killian. When I flirt, you'll know it."

"Ooh," Derry said.

Hudson came up, in full gear. "You going to keep distracting my men, Marshal, or are you ready to execute that warrant of yours?"

"I'm through distracting, if you're through planning."

"I'm through," he said.

"Then me, too. Let's go kill some vampires."

"Not hunt, just kill?" he asked.

"Hunting vampires isn't a catch-and-release sport, Sergeant."

He laughed, a short surprised sound. "Either you're getting funnier, or it's fucking late."

"It's fucking late," I said. "There are dozens of people who'll say that I'm not funny at all." I made him laugh again, and when you're about to risk your life together, there are worse ways to begin.

77

It was one of those buildings downtown that had been rehabbed until outside it was an architectural wonder that had been saved from demolition, but inside it was ultramodern, ultrasleek, with carpet and almost empty halls, as if once they agreed on the two-tone paint job, they couldn't agree on anything else. The building still had vacancies, but was mostly full. Good news for the investors, but bad news for us. If the building had been mostly empty the chances of having collateral damage would have been less. Collateral damage, isn't that a nice phrase. It was why they'd had to evacuate so many people. There was no way the vamps didn't know something was up.

We were outside the condo. It still belonged to Jill Conroy. It felt like we'd learned that hours ago, but actually only about an hour had passed from the first recon to us being here in the hallway. We'd finally gotten a number for one of her fellow lawyers. Jill had been AWOL from her job for five days. Three of those days she'd called in sick, but the fourth day she hadn't answered the phone. Hmm, three days home sick, then no answer. I was betting that Jill Conroy had become the undead. The evil, wicked undead, not a member of the Church of Eternal Life, and I knew not Jean-Claude's people. The fact that we had a third player in town and neither of the other sides had figured it out, was bad. It showed either the master of these guys was very powerful, or we'd become careless.

I would have liked to have pushed my power through their walls and checked out how many were in there. I was capable of doing that now, but if they were as good as I feared, they'd sense it. I feared they'd try more vampire tricks if they knew I, or someone with my skills, was with the cops. If they thought it was just cops, they might rely on speed and strength. If they did, my money was on us. So I had to go in blind, again, shit.