"Where's the Sire?" I asked.

  "Maybe still inside. I think there's another way out of there."

  "Stay right here. I'll take a look."

  She shook her head. "No, not on your life. This is payback. I'm coming with you."

  Chapter 88

  Jamilla and I searched the main ranch house, then we checked a large unattached bunkhouse. We didn't find anyone there, not a straggler, not William or Michael Alexander. And not the mysterious Sire. Jamilla was still shivering some, but she refused to turn back.

  "You're sure the brothers weren't out front with the others?" she asked. "Two blonds? Ponytails?"

  "If they are, Kyle has them by now. I don't think so. Let's check the smaller shack. You know what's in there?"

  She shook her head. "I didn't get the grand tour when I arrived. Just straight to the dungeon. Then they left me hanging, so to speak."

  I threw open the door of the shack and saw heaters and a water pump. The room smelled strongly of urine. A mouse scooted into a hole in the wall. I winced and shook my head at what I saw next. Two bodies lay sprawled and spread eagled against the far wall. They were teenagers, males. Both were naked except for a few face and chest rings.

  I bent over them and took a closer look. "Look like street kids to me. The blood's been drained from the bodies." There were bite marks — not just on the necks but on the faces and limbs. The skin of both was as pale as alabaster.

  I looked away from the clouded eyes that stared up at me. There was nothing we could do for them now. I noticed a reddish-brown hatch cover among the dusty machines that provided water, heat, and probably air-conditioning to the ranch.

  I moved across the room, bent down low to get a better look. The cover was loose, so I was able to pull it off.

  Darkness. Silence. What else was down there? Who else?

  I looked at Jamilla, then I shone a flashlight into the hole. The hole was wide enough for someone to get down inside. I saw metal stairs. A tunnel.

  Then I saw footprints in the dirt below. Several pairs.

  "Go tell Kyle." I turned to Jamilla. "Get some help."

  Jamilla was already heading out the door. She started to run. I stared down into the abyss and wondered if anybody was looking back at me.

  Chapter 89

  I waited as long as I could, then I lowered myself slowly into the black hole. I fit easily and started to climb down the sturdy metal ladder.

  There were several steps, steep and precarious. I pointed the flashlight around. I could make out a dirt floor, corrugated tin walls. The ceiling bulbs had been broken. A narrow tunnel stretched out before me.

  I didn't hear any sounds up ahead, so I began to make my way down the tunnel. I moved slowly and carefully. I had the flashlight in one hand, my Glock in the other. I kept looking back for Kyle and Jamilla. Where were they?

  I saw a discarded carcass a short way down the tunnel. I took a breath, focused my light on it.

  A single eye stared back.

  What I was looking at had been a small deer. Only the head and shoulders remained. I remembered reading that tigers eat their prey starting at the rump. They consume bone and all. There were more smudged footprints in the dirt. It looked like two pairs, but I couldn't tell for sure in the dim light. There were smaller animal tracks that might have been the cat's. Oh, Jesus.

  I kept moving, trying to adjust my eyes to the semidark-ness. There were shards of glass all over the dirt. Someone had purposely smashed the overhead lightbulbs.

  I heard the tiger roar and almost dropped the flashlight! It wasn't the smoothest move of my life, but I'd never been in a closed-off area with a tiger before. The big cat's roar inside the tunnel echoed off the tin walls. It was unexpected and terrifying. I didn't know what to do next.

  The cat roared a second time, and I found that I couldn't move. I felt nailed to the spot. I wanted to turn around and go back, but that wasn't an option right now. I couldn't outrun a tiger in this tunnel, or anywhere else for that matter.

  Somewhere in the inky blackness of the tunnel up ahead, the cat was watching me. I debated shutting off the flashlight, but I kept it on for now. At least I would see the cat coming. I concentrated, stared out into the darkness, kept very still, as if that would help me. I had the Glock pointed straight ahead. I wondered if it was possible to bring down a big cat with a handgun, even a powerful one. No way of knowing; no practice range for this kind of shooting. I had my doubts, though.

  I couldn't see the cat, but I could almost visualize the thirty teeth in its mouth. I remembered the wounds a cat had made on the victims in Golden Gate Park.

  Someone called out; someone was there. Behind me.

  "Alex, where are you? Alex?"

  I heard Jamilla coming forward in the tunnel and I let out a breath.

  "Don't move," I whispered. "Don't do anything. The tiger's in here."

  I didn't dare move. I wasn't even sure I could. It was a standoff. I couldn't imagine the tiger being as frightened as I was. Was the Sire there? The two brothers? Anybody else?

  "Alex?"

  It was Kyle. He was whispering. But if I heardhim...

  "Stay right there, Kyle. I mean it. Listen to me. Stay where you are unless you want me dead."

  Everything happened in a terrifying instant.

  Suddenly, the cat rushed at me. Full speed? Half speed? Very goddamn fast. Shadows — a blur of fur.

  It seemed to leap straight up into the cone of light shining from my flashlight. The cat was tensed muscle, raw speed, gleaming teeth, and the widest, brightest eyes — tremendous focus. It was aimed at me as surely as a deadly bullet.

  Its upper body twisted athletically, showing off incredible strength. It seemed to be three to four feet off the ground, coming straight at me, unstoppable.

  I had no choice, no options, and no room for error. I didn't even have to think about my next move. It just happened. I squeezed the trigger of my Glock. I fired off three quick shots. All head and upper-body shots, I hoped, but I was just guessing.

  The cat kept coming at me. It didn't even slow down. The gunshots couldn't stop it, could they? I had no defense and no place to run, no place to hide.

  The big cat hit me hard, knocked me down like weak prey. I waited for the powerful jaws to clamp down on me, to crush my bones. I might have screamed. I don't know what the hell I did. I'd never been more afraid. Not even close.

  The cat kept going past me! It made no sense. I didn't understand. A few feet up the tunnel, I heard a loud thud. It was down. I had shot and killed a tiger.

  Chapter 90

  "Holy shit! Holy shit!" The words exploded out of Jamilla's mouth. Then she smiled. "Jesus. I don't believe it." She stared down at the huge, fierce animal that had tried to kill me and was now lying at her feet.

  I pushed myself up, forced my legs to move. I took tenuous steps back to where she and Kyle were standing. The cat lay twisted across the width of the tunnel. It didn't move and it wasn't going to.

  "Are they down here in the tunnel? The Lost Boys?" Kyle asked in a whisper. "The Sire?"

  "I haven't seen anybody. Just footprints, and the cat. Let's go," I finally said.

  The tunnel was much longer than I would have thought. I wasn't even sure which direction we were headed. Toward the road? The foothills? The Pacific Ocean?

  "I sent men toward the perimeters of the property, about five or six hundred yards out. It spreads us thin," Kyle said. "I don't like it."

  I didn't answer him. I was still shaky, not quite over my bad moment of truth with the tiger. My heart was pumping like an engine pushed to its limit. I wondered if I might be going into shock.

  "Alex?" Jamilla spoke. "You with us? You okay?"

  "Just give me a minute. I'll be fine. Let's keep going."

  Soon we could see the faintest glimmer of daylight up ahead. That was hopeful. But where were we coming out of the tunnel?

  "Can't tell how far it is," I said. "Or what's between us and the light."

  My hip brushed against something. Then my shoulder. I jumped back and my whole body shuddered. But it was only a valve sticking out from the tunnel wall. Nothing. Scared the hell out of me, though.

  Then I could see part of the scene outside — a couple of cypresses leaning away from the wind, a streak of soft gray sky.

  It wasn't far, maybe thirty or forty yards. Usually, the most dangerous part of a raid was breaking in, but now it was getting out of this dark tunnel.

  I turned to Jamilla and Kyle and whispered, "I'll go first."

  I knew I was better with a gun than Kyle, and I was physically stronger than Jamilla — at least I thought so. Besides, this was the way it had been the past few years: Gary Soneji, Casanova, Geoffrey Shafer, now the Alexander brothers and their Sire. I always go in first. How long am I going to keep it up? Why am I doing this?

  "Don't forget, they're human," Jamilla said. "They bleed too."

  I wanted to believe she was right. I moved forward quietly, quickly. I hesitated at the mouth of the tunnel. Took a breath. OneMississippi, two… then out into the big, bad world.

  I don't know why, but I yelled at the top of my voice as I burst outside into the light. No words, just a loud scream. Actually, maybe I do know why — I was afraid of these two killers, of their merciless cult, of the Sire. Maybe they bled, but they weren't human. Not like the rest of us.

  I was in a pocket chasm surrounded by low-lying hills. I saw no one out there. No sign that anyone had been there recently. They had to have come this way, though. The tiger must have been in the tunnel with somebody.

  Jamilla and Kyle came out of the tunnel behind me. The looks on their faces showed their disappointment, their fatigue and confusion.

  I heardit before I saw anything.

  Then a black pickup truck came roaring around the side of one of the hills. It was headed straight for me, and I had a choice: dive back into the tunnel or hold my ground in the face of the blond killers. They were inside the truck. I could see both of them.

  I held my ground.

  Chapter 91

  The faces of the killers glared through the curved windshield of the truck. I raised my gun, held it as steady as I could. Jamilla and Kyle did the same. The black Ford truck kept coming fast, almost as if they were daring us to shoot.

  So we fired. The windshield splintered. Bullets pinged off the roof and hood. The roar of the guns was deafening in my ears. The acrid smell of cordite filled my nostrils.

  Suddenly, the truck stopped, then shot into reverse. I kept shooting, trying to hit the driver as the target distanced itself, the vehicle backing away, veering left then right then left. I took off running up the hill, my legs heavy, as if my shoes held lead weights.

  I couldn't let them get away. We'd come too far, gotten too close. These two would kill again, and again. They were madmen, monsters, and so was whoever had sent them on their mission.

  Jamilla and Kyle were climbing up the steep, grassy terrain a few steps behind me. The three of us seemed to be moving in slow motion. The pickup truck was weaving wildly, its rear end fishtailing. I was hoping, praying that it would flip as it climbed in reverse up the steep side of the hill. I heard the grinding of gears, and suddenly the truck flew forward. It was coming at us again, picking up speed.

  I went down on one knee, aimed carefully, and put three shots into the windshield. The glass was filled with bullet holes.

  "Alex, get out of the way!" Jamilla shouted. "Alex, move it! Now! Alex!"

  The pickup kept coming. I didn't move away. I put a shot right where I figured the driver had to be. Then another.

  The big black truck was almost on top of me. I thought that I could feel heat from the engine. My face and neck were in a hot sweat. I had the irrational thought that a vampire can only be killed by a stake, fire, or by destroying its domain, where it sleeps during the day.

  I didn't believe in vampires.

  I believed in evil, though. I had seen it enough times to believe. Thetwo brothers were twisted murderers. That's all they were.

  I jumped sideways just before the pickup would have run me down. I rushed down the hillside behind the truck. I was hoping it would flip — and then it did. I felt like shouting.

  The truck bounced heavily on its side, then on its roof — then continued to roll over several times. Finally it stopped, resting on the driver's side, teetering slightly. Black smoke coiled up from the engine. No one got out at first.

  Then the younger brother climbed out. His face was streaked with blood and soot. He didn't speak — just glared at us, and then he roared like an animal. It seemed as if he had gone insane.

  "Don't make us shoot you!" I shouted at him.

  He didn't seem to hear. He was in a blind rage. Michael Alexander wore long, sharp canine fangs, and they were bloody. His own blood? His eyes were red. "You shot William! You killed my brother!" he shrieked at us. "You murdered him. He was better than all of you!"

  Then he charged — and I couldn't bring myself to shoot. Michael Alexander was insane; he wasn't responsible anymore. He kept growling, frothing from the mouth. His eyes were wild, rolling in their sockets. Every muscle on his body was tightly flexed. I couldn't kill this tortured man-child. I braced myself to tackle him. I hoped I could bring him down.

  Then Kyle fired — once.

  The shot struck him where his nose had been just an instant before. A dark, bloody hole appeared at the center of his face. There was no surprise or shock — just sudden obliteration. Then he crumpled to the ground. There was no doubt he was dead.

  I had been wrong about Kyle — he could shoot. He was an expert, full of surprises. I needed to think about that, but not right now.

  Suddenly, I heard another voice. It was coming from inside the pickup. Someone was trapped. William? Was the brother alive?

  I approached the overturned vehicle slowly, gun in hand. The engine was still smoking. I was afraid the truck might blow.

  I climbed onto the teetering wreck and managed to pull open the bent door. I saw William — shot to death, his face a sorry, bloody mask.

  Then I found myself staring into the angriest, most arrogant eyes. I recognized them immediately. It was almost impossible to shock me anymore, but this was another jolt. "So you're the one," I said.

  "You killed them, and you will be killed," a voice threatened. "You'll die. You willdie, Cross!"

  I was looking at Peter Westin, the vampire expert I'd met weeks before in Santa Barbara. He was cut up, injured, and bleeding. But he was in total control, even with my gun aimed at his face. He was cool and superior, so confident. I remembered sitting across from him at the Davidson Library in Santa Barbara. He had told me he was a realvampire. I guess I believed him now. I finally found the right words. "You're the Sire."

  Chapter 92

  I tried a couple of sessions with the creepy and surreal Peter Westin that night in the jail at Santa Cruz. Kyle was attempting to get him transferred to the East Coast, but I doubted he would be successful. California wanted him. Westin wore a long-sleeved black velvet shirt and black leather pants. He was as pale as paper. Thin blue veins were visible under the translucent skin of his temples. His lips were full and the pigment appeared redder than most people's. The Sirealmost didn't seem human, and I was pretty sure that was the effect he wanted to convey.

  It was emotionally disturbing and draining to be in the same room with him. Jamilla and I had talked about it briefly, and we both felt the same thing. Westin had none of the usual qualities that we associate with humans: conscience, sociability, deep emotion, sympathy, empathy. His entire persona was that of the Sire. He was a killer, a ghoul, a real-life bloodsucker.

  "I'm not going to try and scare you with interrogation room threats," I said in a low-key way.

  Westin appeared not to be listening. Bored? Indifferent? Smart as hell? Actually, as the Sire he was an extraordinary person to encounter: haughty, superior, intense, physically striking. He had the most piercing eyes. He'd put on an act for me in Santa Barbara — the harmless scholar with books about vampires to recommend.

  He cocked his head and stared intently into my eyes. Westin was looking for something; I couldn't tell what. I held his gaze, and that seemed to irritate him. "Fuck off," he snapped.

  "What is it?" I finally asked. "What's on your mind, Peter? Is it that I'm not worthy to question you now?"

  He smiled — and there was even a hint of warmth in it. He could be charming, I knew. I'd found that out in the library in Santa Barbara.

  "IfI talked to you, ifI told you everything that I feel and believe, you wouldn't understand," he said. "You would be even more lost and confused than you are now."

  "Try me," I said.

  He smiled again but said nothing.

  "I know that you miss William and Michael. You don't show it, but you loved them," I said. "I know that much about you. I know you feel things deeply."

  Then Peter Westin nodded, almost imperceptibly. The gesture was regal. He did miss William and Michael. I was right about that. He was sad that they were dead.

  He finally spoke again. "Yes, Detective Cross, I feelmore deeply than you can begin to imagine. You have no idea. You have no clue how someone like me thinks."

  Then he was quiet again. The Sire had nothing more to say. We mere mortals just wouldn't understand. I left him like that.

  It was over.

  Part Five

  Violets are blue

  Chapter 93

  I was feeling partially relieved, better anyway. The murder case seemed to be solved, at least. Peter Westin was in jail. We'd done everything we could about his cult. The pressure had been eliminated. We'd stopped the bleeding.

  Jamilla had left the previous night; we promised to keep in touch and I knew we would. I was headed up to the airport that morning to catch a flight from San Francisco to D.C. I was going home, and that felt good.