Acquainted With the Night (9781101546000) by Piper Maitland

saying that it’s random. But is it random to be drained of blood?”

CHAPTER 13
    WILKERSON PHARMACEUTICALS
EAST LONDON, ENGLAND
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    Wilkerson paced in front of the boarded-up windows. He’d demanded a rush order to replace the glass, but the Kent factory couldn’t promise a delivery date. Wilkerson missed his view, and the gloom was unbearable. Throughout the day, the overhead fluorescents blazed with a sour green intensity that left him headachy.
    The door creaked open, and the secretary led Mr. Underwood into the room.
    â€œWhat is it now?” Wilkerson asked.
    â€œSir, a woman has gone missing from Kardzhali.”
    â€œNot Caroline Clifford, I hope.”
    â€œNot directly, sir.” Mr. Underwood licked his lips, leaving behind a glossy sheen. “I’m mainly concerned about a Russian tourist.”
    â€œWhy is this my problem?”
    â€œBecause your operatives might be involved.” Mr. Underwood’s voice shook while he explained the fiasco at the airport, Teo’s arrest, Georgi’s solitary pursuit of the Clifford girl, and the missing tourist.
    Wilkerson blinked. “And you think Georgi snatched her?”
    â€œI asked him and got nowhere. He’s like China—he denies everything. I’ve arranged for his partner’s release.”
    â€œThat’s good—Teo calms him down. But make sure the Bulgarians don’t rape and murder Miss Clifford.” Wilkerson sat down on his desk and grabbed a pencil. “By the way, Underwood, how is your wife?”
    â€œShe’s quite well, sir.”
    Wilkerson wrapped his fingers around the pencil and leaned forward. “You’re married to a portly dominatrix who forces you to commute twice daily from Twickenham to London. I hear she has a lavish rose garden. Would you like her to keep it?”
    Mr. Underwood nodded. He was breathing so hard, his glasses fogged.
    â€œThen control your men.” Wilkerson snapped the pencil in half.
    Underwood stumbled out of the office and shut the door behind him. Minutes later, Wilkerson heard shouting. His secretary threatened to call the police, and a strident, Cockney voice told her to shut her cake hole.
    Wilkerson’s door banged open, and Moose limped into the room wearing a motorcycle helmet and a silvery, reflective jumpsuit. He threw a bulging garbage sack onto the conference table, then propped his leg on a chair. “Like my air cast?” he asked Wilkerson. “I got it when I dove through your window.”
    He pulled off his helmet. Damp red curls were plastered to his head. His hands and face were covered with zinc oxide, but scratches were visible through the white ointment.
    Wilkerson blinked. Some of the crazier vamps came out in daylight, smearing themselves with sunblock and piling on the protective gear. You’d think Londoners would have caught on by now—realized that immortals walked among them—but there were so many punks and weirdos in the city, the vamps slipped under the radar.
    The secretary stood in the doorway, clutching a folder. “Sorry, Mr. Wilkerson. I tried to make him wait.”
    â€œWhere’s Yok-Seng?” Wilkerson asked.
    The secretary pulled a face. “The loo.”
    Wilkerson picked up the phone.
    â€œAre you ringing the Zuba brothers?” Moose cried. “Let go of that phone or you’ll be making future calls with a stump.”
    Wilkerson dropped the receiver into the cradle and frowned. He wasn’t frightened. Not yet. “I thought I’d seen the last of you,” he said.
    â€œIt takes more than the Zubas to scare me. They might have caused me to break my blooming leg, but I can still get around. So don’t get ideas.” Moose winked. “You should be flattered. I came out in daylight just for you.”
    â€œI’m late for a meeting.” Wilkerson shifted his eyes to the boarded-up window.
    â€œSurely you have time for a