One tug on the greasy string dangling from the bare-bulb light fixture in the ceiling and he’d seen why. The previous tenant had left only a beat-up sofa and a rickety table and chair. There was a hot plate. Shabby digs, but all he needed for the temporary stakeout. Dragging cumbersome items from a van into the building would have attracted attention, something Ty wanted to avoid.
He’d braced the table so it could safely hold his surveillance monitors. The rest of his gear—flash drives and micro-engineered spy stuff, including items designed specifically for Ana—weighed next to nothing.
He slouched comfortably into the chair in front of the monitors, touching a few keys to adjust certain settings. A half hour later, she arrived home.
For a second, Ana looked straight into a tiny camera she didn’t know was there.
Ty sat up, mesmerized by the catlike wariness in her brown eyes. He was relieved when she looked away. She moved around inside her house, her expression calm.
Ana was a natural beauty. Thin gold hoops were her only jewelry, piercing plump little earlobes that he wanted very much to nip. With flawless light caramel skin, she didn’t need makeup and she didn’t seem to use any besides eyeliner. Her fine features and dark, wing-like brows had a delicate symmetry, unlike her full mouth. Her lips were luscious, the lower noticeably more full than the upper. Made for kissing.
And that body was made for loving. Ana was petite and slender in an athletic way, with small breasts he longed to caress and a shapely ass that filled out her jeans. All that combined with her long, dark brown hair had him aching for her.
Tough luck.
She went into her bathroom and shut the door. Not that she had a roommate or a lover who might barge in. Ty had satisfied his curiosity on that score after hours of surveillance. Just as she kept to herself at the coffee shop, Ana lived alone and seemed to like it that way. Then again, it made sense that anyone who’d been in prison would come out with a compulsive need for privacy.
After a few minutes, he could just see wisps of steam curling around the edges of the door. Hot shower.
Thinking about what she looked like naked and wet made him a candidate for a cold one.
Frustrated, he leaned back, tipping the chair so that the two front legs rose from the floor. A sharp creak brought him quickly back down. He stood, bending to lift the loose floorboard where he’d hidden a compact nylon zip bag filled with several forms of ID and a reserve smartphone.
Ty was a true believer in backup, especially during a solo stakeout. He took out the zip bag to check on the contents. Even with the high-tech locks he’d installed on the door and windows, it wouldn’t do to be too cocky. Not in this neighborhood.
Everything was there. Real and fake driver’s licenses and passports, and several government-issued picture IDs.
His British passport was no more than a sentimental token by this point. He hadn’t been back in more than a decade. The picture resembled his father at the same age, a secret agent himself, but for MI6.
No one had known about Gil Duncan’s double life. He had been born into wealth and its attendant privileges, turning himself into a master of spy craft simply for the thrill of it.
Ty, his mother, and his sister, Naomi, scarcely saw him for months on end. They lived in luxury, but explanations for the absences were never forthcoming, and depression became a way of life for his mother, with her spending more and more time in bed, barely able to take care of herself let alone her kids. Just before Ty moved from London to the United States to attend university, his father had told him about his double life and advised him to get a desk job. To raise a family and spend time with them. To reject secrecy.
Too little and too late.
One learns what one lives. Ty knew that all too well.
Two months after his mother died, Ty was recruited stateside. Of course, his father hadn’t approved. Not that it was any of his bloody business. Ty could have forgiven the way his old man had treated him, but the way he’d ignored his mother’s and sister’s needs, leaving the burden of their care to Ty? He couldn’t forgive Gil for that. They were still estranged. Ty being a vampire simply made it a thousand times more likely they’d remain so.
He put the nylon bag back into its hiding place and glanced at the monitor. The steam was still curling out from around the closed bathroom door.
Ty forced away thoughts of his father, guilt about his own failings when it came to Naomi, and pleasurable fantasies of joining Ana. He went to the window and absently looked through the slatted blinds. When his mind continued to spin with images of death and blood and sex, he cursed. He had to get out—and walk faster than he could think.
On his way out, he took a last glance at the lighted windows of Ana’s house. Given how serious she seemed about leaving her past behind, he marveled that she’d chosen such a dangerous neighborhood to live in. Then again, she didn’t have much choice. Since she was an ex-felon, it had been a miracle she’d gotten a small business loan to start her coffee shop. After she paid her expenses, there was barely anything left for rent. Even so, she was making a life for herself, one symbolized all too well by the small house she kept well tended and freshly painted despite the punks who frequently vandalized it and the dilapidated shacks surrounding it.
She was trying so hard to be something better than what she’d been; he couldn’t help wonder—was he really going to fuck all that up for her?
Carly swore that wasn’t going to happen. She insisted that although Ana was going to be risking a lot to help them, she’d get what she really needed in the end—the better life she’d been seeking, but one unhindered by an unhealthy attachment to her sister, who was also living under an assumed name—Helena Esperanza. Ty hoped that would be the result, but despite Carly’s optimistic spin on things, he felt that a happily-ever-after probably wasn’t in store for Ana any more than it was for him. He’d damn well do everything in his power to protect her and the other female recruits, but he knew better than most that sometimes there were things you couldn’t protect against, things far worse than dying.
Unfortunately, Carly was right about the fact that they needed Ana. All their attempts to get inside Salvation’s Crossing had failed, including Ty posing as a wealthy man interested in funding Hispanic rights activities. His cover was extensive and airtight. Anyone checking into Ty Nunes would find ample documentation of his birth, privileged childhood, and even more privileged adulthood. There were several articles on the Web identifying him as a billionaire with a social conscience. There were also tons of pictures of him with gorgeous girls on his arm, hanging out with celebs, paparazzi flashing away. As far as Salvation’s Crossing should be concerned, Ty the famous philanthropist was a reality.
Even so, he hadn’t even gotten a return phone call or thank-you-for-your-interest email telling him politely to go to hell.
Because of Ana’s background and—though it was unknown to her—her connection to the cult, she could ultimately be the key to Belladonna getting inside.
One month from now, the public leader of Salvation’s Crossing, Miguel Santos, aka Miguel Salvador, the man who’d first introduced Ana to gang life, was going to make a rare public appearance at a fund-raiser for the Hispanic Community Alliance.