DANGEROUS COMPANY

  THE FREELANCE VAMPIRE™

  BOOK FIVE

  MICHAEL ANDERLE

  DON’T MISS OUR NEW RELEASES

  Join the LMBPN email list to be notified of new releases and special promotions (which happen often) by following this link:

  http://lmbpn.com/email/

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Sometimes both.

  Copyright © 2025 by LMBPN Publishing

  Cover by Mihaela Voicu http://www.mihaelavoicu.com/

  Cover copyright © LMBPN Publishing

  A Michael Anderle Production

  LMBPN Publishing supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact support@lmbpn.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  LMBPN® Publishing

  2375 E. Tropicana Avenue, Suite 8-305

  Las Vegas, Nevada 89119 USA

  Version 1.00, December 2025

  ebook ISBN: 979-8-89354-874-7

  Print ISBN: 979-8-89354-875-4

  THE DANGEROUS COMPANY TEAM

  Thanks to the JIT Readers

  Dorothy Lloyd

  Sean Kesterson

  Jeff Goode

  Zacc Pelter

  Christopher Gilliard

  Diane L. Smith

  Peter Manis

  Wendy L Bonell

  Jan Hunnicutt

  Dave Hicks

  Editor

  The SkyFyre Editing Team

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Michael’s Notes

  Books by Michael Anderle

  Connect with Michael Anderle

  CHAPTER ONE

  TATIANA

  Being the backbone of Sterling and Smith Security Solutions meant I often spent my Sunday mornings on the job. No late mornings with breakfast in bed for me.

  If I was the backbone, what was Jackson Dale Shade, my unflappable actor-turned-business-partner? He was arm candy, for one. I couldn’t get him off me sometimes, and not in the sexual way I’d denied thinking about him since the day he first came to work for me.

  I’d complained to his face to save mine, but inside, I’d wished countless times he’d do more than keep his arm looped through mine at events where we pretended to be together.

  However, this Sunday morning job was not one of those events. And like a ship in the night, JD was again skipping out on work.

  You used up your vacation days weeks ago, buddy.

  I meant the message to be half-teasing, half remember-I’m-your-boss.

  I find it adorable when you call me buddy. I’ll be in on Monday, darling. I promise.

  I swiped the text away without answering, wondering what he was doing with his Sunday. I couldn’t help but picture him in bed, eating an assortment of breakfast foods. Perhaps he was escorting a senator’s daughter to a gala later today or meeting one of his peculiar friends in the dim lighting of a club. The possibilities were innumerable.

  All thoughts of the enigma that was Jackson Dale were interrupted when the security guy sitting in front of me announced, “Here.”

  I stood behind his swivel chair next to Roxanna Soto, the museum curator who’d been chewing her lip long enough to make it bleed. A wall of jittery screens before us displayed different angles of the National Gallery’s many rooms, entrances, and exits. I leaned forward, resting my arms on the back of the chair, and peered at the footage of the 1778 Washington sword and scabbard behind glass during last night’s tux-and-diamonds gala.

  The security guy skipped forward several hours, past the gala and into the night. “Nothing happened between the gala and this incident. Not on camera, anyway.” The time on the screen read 2:00 AM.

  Within eight seconds, lasers flickered, pixels across the screens smeared, then only empty velvet remained. Sword gone, glass cut with precision that spoke of a highly skilled infiltrator. If this weren’t a real-life case on my docket, I’d be happy to watch the movie of how the guy did it. Or girl. As a female with a military background and the owner and operator of a security firm, I was not one to discriminate.

  We watched the footage a few more times before I turned to Roxanne. “Did anyone from last night’s gala show particular interest in the display or linger around it?”

  Roxanne stood a full head shorter than me, with dark auburn hair curling around her jaw. Her creased brow and lipstick-free mouth joined the worried look in her brown eyes. “Only one. Lola Park, but she had a perfect reason to. Her company is launching next weekend, and the sword was supposed to be part of a display there.

  “She’s the last person at last night’s event who would have stolen it. In fact, if she doesn’t get it…” She trailed off, lower lip wobbling. Poor lady. She recovered in the awkward silence that followed, then added, “I didn’t notice anyone else. I was so busy last night.”

  “I would like to see the guest list,” I prompted. Maybe it was a coincidence that the robbery had taken place after the gala, but it wouldn’t hurt to look into everyone who’d been there. Besides, it was the only lead I had. No footage showed the thief entering or exiting. No security guard on duty that night had noticed anything amiss until it was too late. Hell, we didn’t know how many thieves had been involved.

  “Of course,” Roxanne replied, her voice steadier. She’d been teetering between professionalism and total breakdown since the moment I arrived.

  “I would also like footage from outside, from the time guests began arriving at the gala until after the robbery.”

  The museum wanted scalps, but they hadn’t gone to the police yet. They didn’t want a public spectacle. “After what happened at the Louvre with the crown jewels,” Roxanne had murmured to me an hour earlier.

  The board had instead decided to hire my private security firm, formerly Sterling Security Solutions. Now it was Sterling and Smith, with the addition of JD as my partner, Marcus Smith. When we started out, he only acted as my partner, helping to land deals we otherwise wouldn’t have secured.

  As it turned out, JD was more than a good actor. He had incredible instincts for holding his own in a fight and tracking down criminals. He’d turned out more valuable to my company than I could have imagined.

  Fine, he was my friend too. Maybe something more, if either of us could work up the nerve to talk about it.

  It had been a month since his birthday and slightly longer since he’d kissed me. The feelings were there, and the physical attraction was as apparent as a forest fire. However, my looking into his past and getting too close to uncovering something he didn’t want known had stalled any further romantic development.

  Maybe that was for the best. I couldn’t have a boyfriend whose age I didn’t know, whose past was so murky it was like looking into algae-infested water.

  “I’m familiar with your reputation. There is no one I would like more on this case,” Roxanne had told me over the phone early that morning. I’d answered the call halfway through my early morning workout, heard the sparse details, and promised I’d be at the gallery by nine.

  It was true I had a reputation. JD and I solved a case involving a senator and a gold-laundering scheme not more than a month ago. Before that, we’d worked one surrounding a missing diplomat’s wife and a cartel. We were careful about confidentiality, but word still snuck out.

  I had a growth plan I wanted to achieve by the new year. Failure with this new case could sink the budget ledger and hand ammo to my rivals. I could practically feel Dan O’Shay breathing his taunting remarks down my neck. Come on, Tat. Work for me. You know you want to. His insistence revealed that he saw me as a threat, which meant I was doing a good job.

  “I can get you the guest list in my office,” Roxanne offered as my phone pinged.

  I pulled it from my back pocket, half expecting a text from JD along the lines of, Miss me yet? It was from my mom.

  Friday dinner? Confirm Y/N.

  I could answer that later.

  I asked them to load the security footage on a hard drive so I could examine it more thoroughly. The security guy complied, and I followed Roxanne to her office down the hall. There, two people waited for her, both fretful members of the board.

  One, a tall, pu
dgy-faced man with broad shoulders, was beet-red and demanding answers. “This happened on your watch, Soto!” He waggled a finger in a way that made me imagine breaking it. The second man wasn’t accusatory, but his shifting gray eyes held judgment.

  Roxanne cringed. I doubted she’d had much sleep last night, if any. “I-I wasn’t here when it happened⁠—”

  “The event organizer was your connection,” the red-faced man cut in. “Those guests were on your list.”

  “We don’t know that the gala had anything to do with the robbery yet,” I inserted, commanding the men’s attention.

  The quiet man simply narrowed his eyes, but the pudgy one blustered, “And who are you, exactly?”

  I kept my cool and extended a hand. “Tatiana Sterling of Sterling and Smith Security Solutions. I am looking into this matter.”

  The red-faced man stared at my hand until I lowered it again. It took every fiber of willpower not to form a fist. He grunted. “We’ll see how you handle it. Soto, if this isn’t cleared up by tomorrow, we’re calling the police, or at least a detective!” He waved in my direction. “I don’t know how a bodyguard is going to help.”

  He’d have a point if I were merely a bodyguard. I didn’t bother rattling off my credentials or past work, or that while my company did provide bodyguards, we were a lot more. He stormed out, and the second man silently trailed after him.

  Roxanne dropped into the seat behind her desk, released a half-sigh, half-whimper, and covered her face with her hands.

  “Nice guy,” I remarked, sitting across the desk from her.

  When Roxanne moved her hands, her eyes were glassy, cheeks red. “Mr. Wentworth has always been a dickhead, but that was by far the loudest he’s been about it.”

  I imagined how the scene would have gone down had JD been here with me. He would have chatted up the two men, casually identifying the sword’s provenance and dropping a piece of lore that would’ve made me wonder, How does he know all this stuff? Actors memorized prop lore, right?

  But JD wasn’t here, and the board members treated me as I’d come to expect—with little regard. A woman heading up a security firm? How could I be trusted to handle it? My emotions might get in the way. I might get menstrual cramps when I needed to be at the top of my game.

  As the sarcastic thoughts ran through my head, I told Roxanne, “Dickbags like him will eat their words by the end of this. I promise.”

  Roxanne managed a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m going to get you that guest list now.” She turned to a computer and began clicking, tapping, and scrolling.

  Meanwhile, I sent a text to my old friend Jake Molina, lead intelligence analyst for the military and the guy I always called when I needed systems scanned for background checks or black market activity.

  Need a favor. Keep an eye out and ear to the ground about an eighteenth-century sword appearing on the market.

  His response, a simple thumbs-up, arrived seconds later. If Jake pulled through on this, as he usually did, I’d owe him dinner. Probably a greasy burger and heavenly steak fries at this Brazilian place I loved.

  My mouth watered. I’d eaten a banana and downed a cup of coffee before arriving at the gallery. My morning had not allowed for a better breakfast.

  I ignored my grumbling stomach as Roxanne spoke up. She was still scrolling through emails in search of the guest list. “The thief also stole my thumb drive security key, which voided the insurance and threatens my career. If this doesn’t get resolved, my future in this field is over. Capital O. Even if it does, they may not let me stay on.”

  “This wasn’t your fault,” I insisted. “We will apprehend whoever did this and see the sword returned safely, all without public drama.” In the meantime, the gallery would remain open with extra security and an excuse about the sword being “on loan” to another museum. Roxanne would assure Lola Park that the piece would be returned in time for her launch.

  Leaving it up to me to find the damn thing.

  Roxanne’s dark eyes met mine. She relaxed a fraction, a slight slump of the shoulders and lines of concern smoothing in her face. “Thank you. I knew you’d be the one for the job. No doubt both of us have had a difficult time working our way up in a man’s world.”

  She was right. Same boat, same rocky waves. This was my first client who didn’t mind that I was a woman. The first time, I didn’t need JD as Marcus Smith at my side to land a big job. It made me feel good about myself, despite the situation and Roxanne’s distress.

  Still, some part of me I didn’t want to consider wished he were here.

  My phone alerted me to another message. It wasn’t my mother or JD, but good ol’ Jake Molina.

  This your sword?

  He’d attached a photo, scabbard and all. I sent back my confirmation.

  Jack’s second message pinged.

  Dark-lot auction listing confirmed. Bid already in the millions.

  My mouth tightened. The clock had already started. Game on.

  CHAPTER TWO

  TATIANA

  Later that night, around 10:00 PM, I crouched in one of the museum’s service tunnels. The after-hours meant I could roam this space without staff interrupting me. I straightened, aiming the flashlight at the open firmware panel. Sweat dampened my blouse. Why was it hot down here? I supposed it was better than the December chill outside.

  I examined the panels, eyes narrowing at the spot where someone had patched the laser grid from inside. An employee badge ID was stamped on signature lines of code.

  “Inside job,” I muttered, not exactly surprised. Something of this skill level needed an inside person. Roxanne’s missing thumb drive security key pointed to this, too. I snapped a photo with my phone, then strolled further through the tunnel, beaming the flashlight across the vacant space.

  The light caught something shiny in a corner. I bent to pluck it up, holding the piece to the light. I winced slightly as a sharp edge sliced my finger.

  It was a scorched mirror shard. Was this a dropped clue or simply bad janitorial work? Both? I took a photo, then slid it into a protective bag for later examination.

  My phone buzzed. Another message from my mother, this time asking about cake flavors for Friday’s dinner. Red velvet or lemon?

  Your father always LOVED red velvet.

  Dad wouldn’t be at dinner because he’d been in the grave for years now. Sorry, Dad. Might have to go with the lemon. I’m partial to citrus. My mother would end up picking both flavors anyway, and probably a third. Chocolate was a good guess.

  I ignored the message for now. I hadn’t responded to the first one yet. My mother was less concerned with cake flavor and more with me answering her. She’d get the message. I’m busy with something important.

  After losing one parent, I’d gotten better about answering her calls and texts. I didn’t want to regret not spending more time or talking to her more after she was gone, too. Yet some things, like cake flavors, could wait until these relic thieves were captured and thrown behind bars.

  I felt ruffled. It wasn’t my mother’s texts but the urgency around this case. Having a partner right now really would’ve helped. I hadn’t bothered reaching out to JD today, not wanting to interrupt whatever acting gig or friendly catch-up he’d planned.

  Instead, as I continued down the tunnel toward the loading bay, I considered the work I’d done this afternoon. I’d gone through the guest list and contacted the people who attended last night’s event. I’d had to work quickly without raising suspicion since the board didn’t want word of the robbery reaching the public.

  Since I couldn’t ask directly about the stolen relic, I’d pretended to be a journalist interested in knowing why each guest had attended. I’d asked questions about what art they appreciated, what eras of history they were interested in. I’d dropped in whatever I could about Washington’s sword.

  The calls unearthed nothing helpful. A few people hadn’t been available to chat, including Lola Park. Her assistant had answered, promising that Lola would reach out tomorrow, Monday. The other was a fellow named Victor Hume. No assistant had answered at his office.

  I’d try to call them again later if I didn’t pick up another clue. After my calls, I’d squeezed in a nap and dinner, then headed back to the gallery.