I didn't like the way this was heading. Searching for evidence of vampires in the USA was a major reason I'd been allowed out. Take it away and there would be an argument for returning me to the base and all that went with that.

"I understood it would take time," I said. I was their only detector, and what I used wasn't high tech or reliable. As the vampires had closed in on my squad in the jungle, I'd found I could sense them, in two ways. There was a feeling, like something you knew you'd forgotten as you were about to leave the house, or like the feeling you got when you just knew someone had snuck up and was standing right behind you.

The scientists had rolled their eyes at that. The second way was more to their liking; I could smell vampires. They gave off a sweet, coppery scent. Very few others thought they could smell it-and most of those changed their minds when challenged-but the scientists had been able to measure electrical patterns in my brain when I got a sniff of vampire. They'd used the bodies to provide the smell. They'd been less happy when whatever was causing the smell decayed away and disappeared, but at least they'd managed to verify their results. It was official; I could smell the vampires that had attacked and killed my team.

Smell and spidey-sense had to be the two least reliable methods of detection in a city full of people and its own smells. And I had to support myself with a job; I couldn't spend all my time wandering around sniffing b.u.t.ts. So we'd applied some more a.s.sumptions to narrow down the search. People believed vampires didn't exist, so vampires must be very secretive. But if they needed blood, they had to come out sometimes. Clubs and raves and fringe society seemed to be the likeliest places. So here I was, the only person in the world being ordered by the army to live it up in Denver's nightlife. Yay me.

Now, I had my first possible report to make. But my sense of smell had been overwhelmed by the trash, and the rest was inconclusive. I needed more before I raised it with the colonel.

What if I was wrong? Or worse, what if I was right? What would happen once I'd found them their vampires? Would my usefulness be over? Or would I be hauled back to the lab for comparison studies? Either way, I held off.

Instead, he had me go back over my routine reports for the last couple of weeks, just in case there was anything we'd missed. Then he surprised me again.

"I've taken on board some help for you," said the colonel. "An internet specialist is searching the web for places or people in Denver that need to be looked into, so we can become more focused." He pulled a slip of paper out of the folder and handed it to me. "This place seems to check a lot of boxes on our profile, and there's a special event going on tonight."

The paper was a printout from a website for Club Agonia. I'd heard of it, and the images confirmed everything. Whips. Chains. Leather. Handcuffs. Things that I didn't even want to know the use of. I couldn't keep the reaction off my face.

"Uh, Colonel-"

"I'm not asking you to join in, Sergeant. Just have a look at the place, and the owner." He handed me another sheet. "The club is common knowledge; the ident.i.ty of this person isn't."

The owner was apparently called Domine. There was a blurry image that could have been anybody, and just the one name, with someone's scrawled instructions on p.r.o.nunciation-Dom-in-ay.

To h.e.l.l with the boss. She was hardly likely to be trawling the floor of her club. My problem was with the club itself, and what went on there. How did he expect me to blend in? If he thought I was going to stride in there with a riding crop and a leather bustier, he had another think coming.

I tried again. "Colonel, this is a clique club. You get in by invitation. You get an invitation by joining in."

"Tonight may be different," he said. "There's an event called the Blood Orchid Market. It has a vampire theme." He had to have been laughing inside at this. He pa.s.sed me another printout, with emailed invitations to the event that his specialist had managed to copy. "There'll be a lot of ordinary people dressed up, but from what we've seen, we think this is worth a visit. I have absolute faith in your ability to get in and have a look. And get out, without getting caught up in whatever's going on. Simple, for a person of your capabilities."

He finished by handing me a slim file, including schematics of the club's layout inside.

Simple. Right.

My night off had just evaporated. At least I hadn't planned anything.

Outside, the colonel made a call and a couple of minutes later, a black car pulled up. He opened the door for me.

"I'm having a van converted for our future meetings. It'll make it more convenient to talk and run the tests," he said as he joined me in the back seat. "Where would you like to be dropped off?"

I gave the address where I'd left my car.

In the meantime, the colonel had done his commanding officer voodoo on me.

Don't give me excuses, just get on with it.

My concerns were not important.

I started planning. Success in this kind of op was all a matter of retaining the initiative. However, from his simple requirement, I'd picked up a slew of ch.o.r.es. I'd just have to get around all of them. There wasn't any slack. But at least being busy would stop me from worrying about Club Agonia.

He pressed a b.u.t.ton and a security screen slid up between us and the driver.

From a case at his feet, he took out a small box with straps.

My heart rate spiked. c.r.a.p. I'd known it was coming, but still, c.r.a.p. I took it, strapped it on my arm and pressed the b.u.t.ton.

The colonel had asked the scientists' questions and I had given answers. I didn't know if the scientists even bothered to look at my answers. This, I knew, they paid attention to.

They had found chemicals in my body after my recovery: strings of proteins, which they called prions, for want of a better name. Prion was a name for proteins that caused devastating brain diseases. The prions they found in me hadn't done that, and the working concept was that the prions actually caused vampirism or were an indicator of it. The box measured the level of prions in my blood. If the readout was too high, I wouldn't be getting back out of this car until we reached the base.

The little readout showed 0.40. Higher than the last one. I stopped breathing.

The colonel took the unit back and carefully jotted down the reading.

"Within acceptable variance," he murmured.

I kept my face calm, let my breath out silently, and started to carefully relax some of the muscles that had tensed up.

Keep it all hidden.

The colonel packed the unit away as we arrived beside my car.

"Sergeant, the Observation team has no idea whether there is a psychological or biological trigger for finally becoming a vampire." He sighed. "You're here in Denver for a reason. Don't breach the terms, and so long as the reason remains valid, I'm not going to haul you back in for having nightmares or feeling stressed."

"Thanks, Colonel." Nice sentiments. I gave a small smile and let my guard down. Like h.e.l.l.

"You really don't think about 4-10?" he said.

"I think about the good times, sometimes."

Another lie. Ops 4-10 was my life for over a third of it. My friends and colleagues, all torn away from me as if they'd all died that night in the jungle. I thought of them a lot.

He looked almost disappointed, but he nodded and I got out. I watched as they drove off.

I hadn't told him how I really felt. I hadn't told him my suspicions about yesterday's murder. Whatever supportive things he said about good reasons, I couldn't afford for him to start thinking I was going flaky, or that the PTSD was out of hand and my paranoia was taking over. I wasn't going to give him any reason to take me back.

As for the murder, time enough to alert him if I found proof.

'You're here in Denver for a reason.' He hadn't been explicit about the catch in that. He'd even sounded sort of supportive, but he had to know I'd thought this through. The army needed me to find vampires. Once I'd found vampires, what else would they need me for? Certainly nothing that left me here in Denver. I could think of lots of things they might want from me, but they all involved being back under observation.

As for the colonel, we'd gotten along well in Ops 4-10. He was in overall command of the unit, and that meant he was where the buck stopped when I'd messed up, gotten my squad killed and gotten myself bitten. He'd lost the Ops 4-10 position and ended up running the small medical Observations team which was investigating me, Obs for short. I could hardly be surprised he wasn't my best friend forever, that he seemed to radiate disappointment in me.

His car turned the corner. I eased the tension out of my shoulders and closed my eyes. This morning had felt too close. I hoped tonight would turn up something that would take the colonel's attention off me.

I should have been more careful what I wished for.

Chapter 4.

My first stop was a thrift shop, where I bought a pair of coveralls. Then I had to go chasing for clothes that would suit a visit to Club Agonia's Blood Orchid Market later. That search took me all the way out to Candy's in Boulder. Every mile with the car threatening to stall if I went above forty. After that, I was downright eager to get fixing it.

It took way longer to find a suitable garage than I thought.

I'd bought a ten-year-old Ford from a guy who thought he was selling me a problem, with a price to match. I knew I had a bargain. The engine and drive train were sound. I knew what the problems were and I actually preferred the stick shift. But I needed to replace the alternator and fuel pump, and to do that I needed a proper workplace and tools.

By the time I reached Aurora Car Services, time was running out. The other garages had turned me away or wanted too much. If this one went the same way, I'd lose my chance of doing anything this afternoon, and the problems needed fixing before the car gave up and left me stranded somewhere.

The garage was a small, clean operation with two car bays. One bay was empty-good. There was a Harley outside, a chop job, and well maintained-also good. As I walked in, I noted the tool cabinets, all full but for the tools being used. I hoped I'd get lucky here.

The guy spotted my shoes and emerged from under the Honda he was working on.

"Yeah?"

Not exactly a welcome. His hair was black and wavy-wild, his eyes dark and his chin unshaven. He was about my height, skinny and strong. Tattoos showed at the edges of his coveralls.

"Hi, I'm looking to rent a s.p.a.ce to work on my car, and tools."

"What you got and what you doing?"

"Ford Focus. I need to replace the alternator and fuel pump. I should be able to do the alternator today. I'll have to come back for the fuel pump."

"Just you?" he said suspiciously.

I nodded. He thought I was eye candy trying to get a good deal for my boyfriend. Flattering, sort of.

He strolled to the door to look at the car, wiping his hands on a rag. I followed.

"Great bike," I said.

"Thanks. I'm Rom." He stuck a hand out.

"Amber." We shook.

He waved at the empty bay. "Ten dollars an hour. Put the tools back where they come from. Pay for anything you break."

"That's a good price." I couldn't believe it. A frustrating day had made me as suspicious as him.

He shrugged. "I think you gonna have someone watching."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm not working with my shirt off."

Rom grunted. "Good to hear. Don't want nothing get caught in the engine. You get asked a couple questions, too."

He walked away without saying anything more about it. Take it or leave it.

d.a.m.n, I had to get started on the car and there was no time to find another garage. Without a replacement alternator, my battery would be dead before I got another day off. I had to risk it. This garage was off the main drag and out of sight. But if whoever wanted to come and watch me fixing my car was going to try something, they'd find that wrenches could be used for twisting all kinds of nuts off.

I quickly had my Focus up in the bay. With my hair tied out of the way and the thrift shop coveralls protecting me, I went to work. I had time, as long as it went without a hitch.

Rom wandered in and out, pretending not to look at the tools I picked and how I was using them. Apparently satisfied, he disappeared back under the Honda.

I'd barely got the coolant tank and steering hydraulics stuff out of the way when I sensed I was being watched from the doorway. She looked about fourteen or fifteen, and shared Rom's gypsy hair and eyes. She was frowning at me. I mentally shrugged and got on with my task. At least, if that was the limit of my audience, I didn't need to be concerned.

As I started to loosen the bolts on the alternator, she appeared beside the car.

I ignored her and while my hands occupied themselves, I visualized the exit doors and fire escapes from Club Agonia. Getting in was a problem I'd yet to solve, but my safety, in the event there was something sinister inside, depended on being able to get out again. What if they had locked the exits-completely against regulations, but something clubs were known to do occasionally. There were large windows on the top floor and skylights. I liked the idea of getting out through skylights, but they would definitely be locked and they were more likely to be toughened gla.s.s. Take some explosives in?

"Why you doing that?" the girl asked. It came out as aggressive, in the way shy people sometimes are without meaning to be.

I gave a mental sigh. I needed to focus on my plan for tonight. "Needs fixing," I said, trying for a tone that was off-putting without being downright mean. My fingers kept moving, automatically double-checking that the wrench was sitting neatly on a bolt I couldn't see clearly, before I put any force on it.

With door security at clubs these days, I'd likely be searched. Not a good idea to take a gun in, but there were other weapons I might use.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the girl had screwed her face up with that adults-never-understand-me look. "No, why are you doing it?"

"Doesn't fix itself," I said. What was it to her who fixed my car?

The bolt was rusted hard and I found a length of pipe to give me better leverage.

"What about your boyfriend?"

Oh, for heaven's sake. She had really come all the way out here to tell me that I was doing men's work? I was close to snapping out a comeback about the 1950s being long over, but then I heard Rom snort with laughter under the Honda.

Ah. This was part of the deal I had agreed to. I stopped working and took a better look at the girl. She had a look I recognized from my Army days-young women yearning for someone to tell them how much bigger their image of themselves could become. It had taken something for her to overcome her shyness to talk to a stranger. The least I could do was stop being so wrapped up in myself. I could almost feel my army instructors watching me. The unit's master sergeant, Top, he'd be standing there in a parade rest, rocking forward onto the b.a.l.l.s of his feet and glaring at me.

Just not good enough, Farrell.

I pulled my head out from beneath the hood and looked at her squarely.

"I haven't got a boyfriend, and even if I did, I wouldn't ask him to do it."

From the puzzled look on her face, my answer seemed to create a dozen more questions.

I tapped the alternator with the wrench. "See this part?" She leaned forward and nodded. "That's the alternator. It's supposed to charge up the battery, and this one isn't. If my battery doesn't get charged I can't start the car. It's a simple replacement and I can do it myself."

I could see her thinking that through before she came up with her next question. "Well, how come you know how to do it?"

"I learned in the army. Seemed a useful thing to know." I snorted. "Truth be told, it wasn't an option. Everyone in my unit had to know how to take an engine apart and put it back together again. You didn't get signed off until the instructor had driven it down to town and back. And heaven help you if it broke down."

And, joy, the test cars were Fords like this.

"Women too?" she said.