Page 81 of Whispers at Dusk
But other young women might die. Dante remained a step ahead of them.
The hotel was beautiful. She and Mason had naturally been given separate rooms. They didn’t go up to their rooms in the charming old establishment at first. They managed to get food, even as the restaurant was closing, and sit with their unlikely team to plan the next day.
“Bright and early again,” Mason said, nodding at the others.
“But where—”
“A long trip. Across the pond. We’re going to New Orleans,” Mason said. Looking at Della he added, “Back to the bayou.”
“We don’t really know where he’s going. We’ve assumed—” Edmund began.
“Home. He wanted us to think it was Transylvania, and he did come to Transylvania and dupe a pathetic young man. When Alexandru and his people investigate this young man,” Mason said, “they’ll find out he’s recently had a heartbreak, perhaps lost a job, maybe lost a loved one or a pet. He thought the world was against him. Stephan Dante saw that in him and was able to recruit him in a flash. But Dante has talked about books—he’s read vampire books. Several in the last years have dealt with New Orleans. The great Anne Rice made New Orleans home for Lestat. Charlaine Harris used Louisiana for her Sookie Stackhouse novels. The area is famous for voodoo and more—though the voodoo practitioners I know today believe in the do-no-harm ethic. The point is in the fantasy, New Orleans is a great home for more contemporary vampires.”
“Back to the States,” Della said determinedly. “Of course, we have many agents in our unit there, so if you wish to return to your own countries—”
“We’re a team,” Edmund Taylor said, looking at Bisset and Lapierre.
“As you Americans say, you bet!” Lapierre said.
“Interpol. You may need help. Americans can be tough,” Bisset said.
He managed to make them all smile.
And there was better news to come. Alexandru called from the hospital. Once again, because of their timely intervention, a young woman was going to live.
Mason called their pilot so they’d be ready to head out in the morning. They walked up to their rooms, but Della didn’t bother to go to hers.
She looked at Mason and he smiled and pulled her to him.
“You okay? It’s been a long day,” he whispered.
“No, I’m filled with...adrenaline,” she told him.
“Enough to keep up with me?”
“You flatter yourself!”
“Well, I mean, someone needs to, right?”
She laughed. They closed and locked the door.
And fell into one another’s arms.
Eleven
The flight was long, broken up by a stop for fuel. But since the Krewe’s jet had been comfortable and furnished by their founder and philanthropist Adam Harrison, it was also a good place to go through everything they knew and to consider their actions before they landed.
It accommodated a place for the five of them, François Bisset, Edmund Taylor, Jeanne Lapierre, Mason, and Della to sit in something of a circle with a desk or table between them, filled with tech and using notepads to create a follow-up to the movements taken by Stephan Dante and his recruits.
Taylor shook his head as he placed two markers near the area on the table that was England. “We do know now Dante doesn’t do all the killing himself. When we find him, and we must, I wonder if he’ll roll on his subordinates. Or will we have to wonder whether he was the killer in England and France, or if those killers are still out there? When we began this and my superiors suggested a multination task force, we assumed we were chasing one man. Now...”
“If we can get him,” Della said. “I think he’s so consumed with his own importance that handing us anything will be like swatting a fly to him. What I’m afraid of here is his confidence is so all-consuming he doesn’t believe he’ll ever be caught. It’s frightening, too, to realize the extent of the criminal network behind him, as in those who create the kind of false IDs that have taken him around the world.” She reached across the table, setting a hand on Taylor’s hand. “Don’t worry—we will not forget England. Or France,” she said, glancing over at Lapierre.
“Merci,” he said softly.
“All right,” Mason said, setting out a few of his little scraps of paper. “Here we have the US murders that Kat suggested might have been his practice shots. Or those committed by someone he was trying to instruct. I never saw the bodies, but I read her reports.” He hesitated a minute and then glanced over at Della. “All right, before we left for Europe, Della and I were involved in the hunt and takedown of a man who wanted to immortalize himself as the Midnight Slasher.”
“Maybe he knows something,” Edmund said. “If—”
