Dr. Nowak looked up at her. “That’s a cold way of looking at it.”
Layla shrugged. “That’s reality, doc. Tell me, when you call the local authorities, do they come here? Or do we take the body to them?”
“I don’t know,” the doctor said. “This is a first.” She looked over at Layla’s father who shrugged.
“I don’t think it’s ever happened before,” he said. “The vamps don’t usually die, and when they do . . . ” He made a phttt noise to indicate a vampire dusting. “As for the human population, they mostly choose cremation, which we do onsite. It comes from living with vampires, I guess.”
“Right, then,” Nowak said. “I’ll make the calls and let you know what I find out.”
“Thank you, Łucja. I know this isn’t what you signed up for,” her father said.
“Not true, sir. Death is a part of life, and I signed up for all of it.” With that, she pulled off her gloves, dropped them in the biohazard disposal, and walked over to her desk, turning her back on Layla and her father.
“Well,” Layla said, as she walked into the courtyard with him. “I believe we’ve been dismissed, Commander.”
“Ah, Łucja’s okay. It’s just the culture she was raised with. Not everyone lives in everyone else’s underwear like we do.”
“Papa! That’s disgusting. I think it’s time for you to leave for Barcelona.”
“Why? You want the dead body all to yourself?”
“No.” She pointed upward. “Because your wife is standing on the balcony surrounded by suitcases.”
He looked up and waved. Such a simple thing, a wave. But there was so much love on her father’s face as he waved to her mother. They’d been together nearly forty years, and he still smiled at her as if she brought the sunlight to his day. Layla wanted that. Wanted someone she could still love just as much after four decades as they had the first time they’d held each other.
She sighed and looked away. Fat chance she had of that.
THINGS MOVED QUICKLY after that. Layla’s mom made sure of it. She knew her husband, knew he’d delay until it was so late that he’d postpone their departure to the next morning. Fortunately, Ramlah was the one person who could order Ferran around and get things done.
Less than an hour later, Layla was waving at their car from her perch on the wall above the gate. And when they were finally swallowed by the dusty twists and turns of the road, she felt . . . empty. And alone. Fuck that. Every person in the Fortalesa was depending on her to do her job. And that didn’t include moping around like a teenager.
She headed for the stairs. She needed to check in with Dr. Novak, and then finish her review of the Fortalesa’s personnel. They’d been running the same duty schedule for too long. People became complacent and not as sharp as they needed to be.
And then maybe she’d call Brian, just to hear a friendly voice. Even if all he did was complain about France.
Chapter Seven
THE SKY WAS brilliant that evening. An entire palette of pink and red, with the occasional spike of blue sky shining through. It was the kind of sunset that tourists travelled to Barcelona to witness at the end of a long day of sightseeing.
Layla appreciated the beauty. Appreciated even more the end of a peaceful day, with no Rambo wannabes hiding in the trees, taking potshots at the Fortalesa or its people. The gates remained shut, as they’d been all day, and Layla had doubled the guard contingent on the gate controls so that no one person could admit the enemy. Some would call her paranoid for taking that step. But these attacks felt like a prelude to her—as if they were softening up the Fortalesa’s defenders, letting them think the enemy was nothing but some vampire-hating troublemakers.
But Layla believed there was something more. She just didn’t know what. Not yet. But she’d figure it out. And in the meantime, she wanted security tight and the guards on alert.
What she wanted, what she needed right now, however, was food. She’d skipped lunch and was starving. She could take thirty minutes for dinner, if she hurried. After that was the nightly briefing with Xavier, which she assumed would be more thorough, since this was her first day on the job.
She completed a final walk around the wall, and finding no immediate threats, met Danilo above the gate.
“The watch is yours,” Layla said, formally putting Danilo in charge. They’d agreed that Layla would take the day shift, and Danilo the nighttime, when only a few human guards remained, mostly to supplement the vampires who took over after sunset. Danilo wouldn’t have any authority over the vamps, but Layla would need a detailed report every morning on anything that happened during the night. Layla knew she’d be fighting her inner control freak the whole time, stopping herself from constantly checking by phone, or just dropping by for some cool night air. She’d read every page of Danilo’s file, and knew that she hadn’t seen the kind of fighting that Layla had. Nor anything close to the hostage rescues or bodyguard jobs that turned violent, which she and her team were frequently contracted for. The French vineyard was an aberration, not their usual duty.
But Danilo did have field experience, and had been promoted twice before completing her active service with the Spanish military. There was also the fact that Layla’s father had hired her, and she trusted his knowledge and judgment more than anyone else’s.
She checked her watch with a hissed curse. The thirty minutes she’d planned for dinner had somehow shrunk to less than twenty. But she had to eat. Xavier could just wait a few damn minutes. It wasn’t as if he had nothing to do while he waited. Hell, he could use the time to set up his own dinner for later on. Some buxom beauty who spent all her time looking beautiful and wouldn’t know what to do with a gun to save her life. She’d probably never cracked open a serious book either, but spent all her time studying fashion magazines.
Layla shook her head, amused by her own thoughts. She had no idea where Xavier got his blood fixes. She’d watched women come and go when she’d been younger, before she’d left for the U.S. But there’d been too many of them to pinpoint which one was Xavier’s. If he even had one. More likely, he selected from the buffet each night.
“Stop,” she said out loud as she walked into her parents’ apartment. It was odd being there without them. Plus there was no Mama at the stove, no wonderful smells filling the kitchen. Shit. She had to fix her own dinner. She hadn’t done that in years. Ever since graduating from university, she’d been living communally, one way or the other. And on the rare occasions when she had an evening all alone, she’d order take-out, or walk to the nearest bistro. Fuck.