Holidays are Hell

Joseph Besud was a quiet man of middling youth—barely out of his twenties, hardly worth being called thirty—and while he had been educated in some of the finest schools in Europe and America, the most enlightening aspects of his life had come from moments such as the one, quite literally, at hand. There was nothing, after all, like carrying the dead weight of an elite counter-terrorist officer to make one appreciate the finer things in life. Like having a car.

He was rather less appreciative of the vampires hunting him, but he knew better than to complain about those parts of his life that could not be changed. And really, given that it was the holidays, he thought he could muster a little good cheer. He was still alive, after all. Whether he lasted long enough to make it home to his family's Spring Festival dinner was another matter entirely.

The woman was small, but heavy. All muscle. Joseph could still taste her lips. Kissing her had been unnecessary, but no one had to know that but him. Frankly, given that she was probably going to attempt murder or arrest after he released her, it was best that he take his chance while he still could. She was cute and tough. He liked that.

The wire taped between her breasts was no longer functional. It had been like that from the moment he stepped into the room. One look into her eyes and he had known what she was, why she was there. It complicated matters, though if Chenglei and his cronies had found someone else to do their dirty work—someone like him—then his life had surged beyond complicated into pure, unadulterated chaos.

No one paid Joseph or the woman in his arms any attention. He made sure of it. A simple mind trick, easy to accomplish given the festivities. No one wanted to pay attention to anything but themselves—or the small bombs in their hands. Firecrackers were technically illegal inside Shanghai, but as with most of China's regulations, the laws were merely guidelines unless someone said otherwise. And given the deafening blasts rocking the streets and sidewalks, no one was saying a word. Not one that could be heard, anyway.

He made it to the car—a tiny red Mini Cooper—beeped it open, and tucked the woman inside the passenger seat. Again, he tried to search her mind to find a name, but all he came up with was a number. Six. Nothing else. No memories of early childhood, unless images of some cold concrete dorm counted. To Joseph, they did not. He wanted warmth, love, some sign of normalcy. Anything to humanize this woman. All he found was solitude, duty, and an unbending sense of honor. Which meant one thing only.

She was going to be very difficult to deal with.

He got in the car, started the engine, and putted out of the alley beside Lucky John's massage parlor. Inside his head he sensed the edge of an inquisition: Six's team, growing restless with her silence. It was a sign of their faith in her that they had waited so long to check on her status. He could feel it. The men trusted her. Had learned to trust all the women in her unit.

Squad Twelve. China's first all-female counter-terrorist team. Twelve women, hand-picked, trained by the very best. Little had been spoken of them in the media, which made sense, but there was enough government pride in their formation that some publicity had been generated. Enough to instill fear. The women were dangerous. They meant business. Good to know he was skilled enough to take one of them down, though he suspected her distraction was the cause of that. A distraction that concerned him, in more ways than one. He was not comforted that a vampire had almost managed to get the best of Six. Not at all.

Not when the creatures were working with terrorists now.

Joseph drove fast, but traffic was terrible. Too much activity in the streets. The world was red—red lanterns, red lights, red banners etched in gold. New Year's Eve, the edge of Spring Festival. Time for a new start, time to chase the monsters back with sound and fury. Fireworks, making violence and beauty.

Joseph glanced at Six. Her face was more delicate than her body. High cheeks, large eyes, shining hair. A scratch on her cheek. Broken skin. Which was, to use the American colloquial, a real bummer.

He opened himself for a moment, checking the surrounding area for anyone following them, and when he found nothing, snapped his fingers. Six's eyes flew open. Her mouth moved. She could not turn her head, but her gaze flicked sideways to his face, and stayed there.

"Stop the car," she said hoarsely.

"Sorry," Joseph said. "It's not safe."

He felt her consider an impressive list of threats. "Where is Chenglei?"

"Dead. Really dead." Joseph gripped the wheel a bit harder. "I finished killing him."

"Alive would have been better." Six licked cracked lips. "He is a terrorist. He could have answered questions. I suppose you will have to do."

"I'm no terrorist."

"You were meeting one."