A Vampire for Christmas

chapter ONE





“DECK THE FREAKIN’ halls.”



The freezing Seattle cold made Eagan McHale’s words come out in short puffs of steam. With no one within listening range, he added a chorus of curse words just for the heck of it. He wasn’t a happy man and saw no reason to pretend otherwise. Even his fangs ached from the cold air.



When he ran out of obscenities, he started listing all the things he hated: his boss for forcing him to do this job on his own, the cold for making him miserable, and the twinkling Christmas lights just because. And, oh yeah, he hated anyone who would prey on young teenagers. Lately, several young men in this area of Seattle had been reported missing, and no one knew how many of the runaways had also disappeared.



He hated that, too.



Down the street a moth-eaten Santa rang his brass bell for all he was worth. Eagan took perverse pleasure in the obnoxious sound it made. Bells were supposed to chime; this one clunked. It suited his mood, so he dropped a twenty in the old elf’s bucket and kept walking.



The next turn brought him back to where he’d begun. For what seemed like the hundredth time in the past three nights, he paused to stare at the late-night diner across the street. Originally, it had drawn his attention because it looked way too warm and cozy, two things he usually avoided. Red-checkered tablecloths and lace curtains made his skin crawl, but tonight he’d put up with them if it meant he could get warm.



The place certainly drew an odd mix of people. Some were holiday shoppers. Others probably had trouble scraping together enough change to buy a cup of regular coffee much less the lattes advertised in the diner window.



There were even a few nonhumans mixed in the bunch. As usual the regular folks were blissfully unaware that some of their neighbors drank blood for dinner or sprouted fur and fangs come the full of the moon.



Right now the real object of his interest was standing at the counter and smiling at a pair of teenagers who’d just strutted into the diner as if they owned the place. Eagan recognized trouble when he saw it and automatically reached for the gun stuck in the waistband of his jeans. At the first sign of violence, he’d charge across the street to save the day even if it blew his cover. The lieutenant was already mad at him; one more transgression wouldn’t make much of a difference.



But in a matter of seconds, the diner’s owner had the two punks sitting at the counter with big sloppy grins on their faces with two hot drinks and pie in front of them. Problem solved. Amazing. He would’ve bet on the pair being armed and after some fast cash.



He didn’t yet know the owner’s name, only that she had a smile for every customer who walked through the door. As if sensing his gaze, she glanced in his direction. He swore he could feel her warmth all the way across to where he stood shivering in the cold.



Tamping down his brief adrenaline rush, Eagan considered his options. Maybe he should’ve accepted the flask his two-natured partner, Duncan, had offered him before leaving the precinct house. A stiff shot of straight whiskey would taste good about now, a bit of antifreeze for his veins.



He could make another lap around the block and hope that would warm up his blood while he hunted for any sign of his target’s presence in the area. Or he could simply call it a night.



He glanced across the street again. Okay, so there was another option. Without even realizing he’d made a decision, he stepped off the curb and headed straight for the diner door.





DARN IT, THAT GUY HAD CAUGHT her staring! Della Breit’s hand shot up to check her hair. Stupid, she knew. Nothing controlled her unruly curls, especially when she was working. Lipstick might have helped, but there was no time to slip out of sight long enough to apply some without being obvious about it.



She wished she’d worn something a little fancier than one of her holiday T-shirts. Tonight’s version was festooned with giggling snowmen dancing around a Christmas tree.



“Hey, Della! More coffee?”



She forced her attention away from the man outside and back to the one sitting in the corner booth. Old Harry usually only stopped in for a hot cup of coffee and a bowl of soup, all he could afford on his small pension. Tonight, though, with the temperature outside unusually cold for Seattle, she’d insisted he stay longer and eat a full meal before heading back to his apartment.



Harry hated any hint of charity. If he insisted, she’d let him work off the difference in price crushing boxes and tossing them in the recycle bin out back. With his arthritis, she hated to let him do even that much, but she understood pride.



The bell over the door chimed, playing a quick chorus of sleigh bells. She refilled Harry’s decaf before turning to greet the newcomer. When she realized who it was, she almost dropped the carafe on the floor. Biting back a curse, she pasted on a bright smile as she turned to face the hard-eyed stranger who’d been standing across the street.



“Hi! Pick any spot and I’ll bring you a menu and a cup of coffee.”



He didn’t say a word, responding only with a quick nod before heading over to the table next to the front window, which afforded him a clear view of the diner as well as the street outside. Somehow she doubted his choice was random.



He also kept on his long, leather duster as he stretched his legs out under the table with a grimace. His hand massaged his lower right thigh, kneading the thick muscle as if it were cramping.



She caught herself flexing her fingers and imagining what it would feel to slide her own hand over that tight denim. As if sensing her gaze, he slowly turned to glare at her from across the room. His eyebrows drew down low over his icy-blue eyes making it clear that her interest wasn’t appreciated.



Della, get your head back in the game.



Embarrassed at getting caught watching him again, she broke off the connection and focused instead on snagging a menu while she waited for the fresh pot of coffee to finish brewing. When it was done, she took an indirect route toward the table by the window, stopping to top off a few other cups along the way.



When she finally reached his table, she toned her smile down a notch, aiming instead for efficient and businesslike. She held out the menu and filled his cup and tried to think of something to say.



“Cream and sugar are already on the table.”



Like he couldn’t see that for himself. What was it about this guy that had her so badly rattled?



“I’ll be back to take your order in a couple of minutes.”



He waved the menu away. “No need. All I want is coffee. I’ve already fed.”



What an odd way to put it.



“Fine. Let me know if you change your mind or maybe want some dessert. The pie is homemade and the muffins are fresh out of the oven.”



She walked away, fighting the urge to look back. When she returned to her usual spot behind the counter, he was sipping his coffee and staring out the window. Even in profile, he was striking-looking although it was obvious his nose had been broken on at least one occasion.



She bet that it wasn’t a sports injury, either, although she had no idea why she thought that. Something about the guy just screamed loner, and the image of him being a team player just wouldn’t come into focus.



A movement over near the register caught her eye, dragging her attention back to those two teenagers who’d come in earlier. Great. One had his hand in the tip jar. For her own part, she didn’t care, but her staff depended on that money to help make ends meet.



“Gentlemen, do you need change for a dollar?”



The kid froze and then slowly withdrew his hand from the jar still clutching a handful of bills. Darn it, she thought the free coffee and pie had convinced the two not to cause trouble. So much for playing nice.



“I’m sorry, but put that money back and leave.” Della kept her voice even, injecting a note of quiet authority in it.



It didn’t work. One of the kids sneered and dipped his hand back in the jar. Fine, if it meant that they’d just leave, but she knew better. If she blinked now, they’d be back again for more.



“I said put the money back and leave, boys. I’d rather not call the police.” Like they’d bother to respond to a petty theft at this hour of the night.



Meanwhile, his buddy joined the conversation, his hand sliding into the pocket of his jacket. “That’s not happening. While we’re at it, we want what you’ve got in the register, too. Put it in the jar now, and we’ll leave all peaceable like.”



Did he actually have a weapon or did he just want her to think so? She couldn’t take the chance, not with a roomful of customers. As soon as she backed up a step, the boys knew they’d won. She opened the register.



They both stood up, ready to grab the jar and run. “Smart woman. You don’t want to tangle with us.”



“And you two don’t want to tangle with me.”



Della was so intent on keeping the confrontation from escalating, she didn’t notice someone else had joined the party.



Duster guy grabbed both of the boys and shoved them up against the wall, his hands wrapped around their throats and squeezing just hard enough to make it difficult for them to breathe.



His voice was deep, his words devoid of any emotion and all the more effective for it. “Now, put the money back and apologize to the lady, and we’ll call it even.”



He let the one loose who’d raided the tip jar.



The kid started to say something, but one look at his much-scarier opponent had him nodding like a bobble-head doll. When he dropped the cash back in the jar, her rescuer released the second one. He made a show of straightening the kid’s jacket and then brushing some imaginary dust off his shoulder.



“Apologize,” he repeated.



Their heads both swiveled in Della’s direction. “Sorry, ma’am. We was only kidding around.”



She accepted both the apology and the lie. They weren’t sorry; they were scared. Fine. Anything to get them out of her diner. Before they made it to the door, the man had one more thing to say.



“And boys, cause the lady any more problems, and we’ll dance, just the three of us.”



They both swallowed hard and fought to be the first one out the door. She watched to make sure they kept going. When they were out of sight, she turned around, intending to thank her hero. He was already back at his table doing the crossword puzzle someone had left behind and acting as if nothing had even happened.



Okay, she got it. The man didn’t want her gratitude or a fuss made over what he’d done. That didn’t make him any less of a hero in her eyes. She’d honor his desire for privacy, but maybe he’d at least accept a refill on his coffee instead.