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Vampire Deep (Vampire for Hire Book 30), page 1
VAMPIRE DEEP
Vampire for Hire #30
by
J.R. RAIN
The World of Samantha Moon
VAMPIRE FOR HIRE® SERIES
Moon Dance
Vampire Moon
American Vampire
Moon Child
Christmas Moon
Vampire Dawn
Vampire Games
Moon Island
Moon River
Vampire Sun
Moon Dragon
Moon Shadow
Vampire Fire
Midnight Moon
Moon Angel
Vampire Sire
Moon Master
Dead Moon
Lost Moon
Vampire Destiny
Infinite Moon
Vampire Empress
Moon Elder
Wicked Moon
Winter Moon
Moon Blade
Sasquatch Moon
Wild Moon
Moon Magic
Moon World
Vampire Deep
Moon Matador (coming soon)
SHORT STORY SINGLES
Teeth: Fang’s Story
Vampire Nights
Vampire Blues
Vampire Dreams
Halloween Moon
Vampire Gold
Blue Moon
Dark Side of the Moon
Vampire Requiem
Moon Love
Vampire Alley
Moon Musings
Moon Beast
Vampire Widow
Moon Maze
Silver Hammer
When Sam Met Santa
One Swallow
Vampire Reich
Little Moon
Leprechaun Moon
Vampire Fly
SAMANTHA MOON ADVENTURES
Banshee Moon
Moon Monster
Moon Ripper
Witch Moon
Moon Goddess
Moon Blaze
Golem Moon
Moon Maidens
SAMANTHA MOON CASE FILES
Moon Bayou
Blood Moon
Parallel Moon
SAMANTHA MOON ORIGINS
New Moon Rising
Moon Mourning
Haunted Moon
SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS
Moon Tales
Moon Extras
Moon Vacation
Moon Shots
Moon Cases
Spin-off Series
ALLISON LOPEZ
The Witch and the Gentleman
The Witch and the Englishman
The Witch and Huntsman
The Witch and the Wolfman
The Witch and the Hangman
ALEXIS SILVER
Silver Light
Deep Silver
Silver Quarrel
Silver Crucible
Silver Heart
Silver Kingdom
J.R. Rain’s Vampire for Hire World
STANDALONE TALES
Fire Warrior
Fang
I, Samantha Moon
Vampires She Wrote
Dragon Lessons
Dead Ahead
Wolf Moon
Crystal Moon
Vampire Apocalypse
CHRONICLES OF THE IMMORTAL COUNCIL
Vampire Abduction
Vampire Exodus
Vampire Sovereign
Vampire Magic
Vampire Vacation
Vampire Reflections
Vampire Enigma
Vampire Spirit
Vampire Regent
Vampire Intuition
VAMPIRE CRIMES SPECIAL UNIT
Moon Hunt
Moon Gone
Moon Crimes
Moon Castle
BROTHERHOOD OF THE BLADE
Burning
Afterglow
Radiance
SAMANTHA MOON, GUARDIAN VAMPIRE
Twisted Sister
Harvest Moon
Moonbow
Vampire Deep
Published by Rain Press
Copyright © 2023 by J.R. Rain
All rights reserved.
Ebook Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. All rights reserved.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Also Available
Reading Sample: Silver Light
Reading Sample: The Witch and the Gentleman
About J.R. Rain
Vampire Deep
Chapter One
Her name is Roxy, and she’d been crying.
“Have a seat,” I say, gesturing to one of three client chairs in front of my desk. One might say three is excessive. Many of my cases are quite personal, resulting in only one client making an appearance. But sometimes a husband and wife come in, or life partners, or a client and his attorney. I’m pretty sure I’ve never had all three chairs filled at once.
One can hope. So, why three chairs? They happen to fit neatly before my desk.
She takes the middle seat, which almost everyone does. I offer her a tissue as she sits, which she accepts and dabs her eyes.
“That obvious, huh?” she says.
“I’m a trained observer.”
“I tried collecting myself outside, but I only ended up crying more. Figured I might as well come in before it got worse.”
I point to the tissue. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
She nods and dabs some more, then drops her hands into her lap as if they’re just too damn heavy to hold up a second longer. She sighs loudly, her lips making the smallest of raspberry sounds. “I’m just so lost and overwhelmed. No one seems to know what to do next. I mean, they’re all trying like hell to find Roy—my brother.”
Though I can no longer read minds, I seem to pick up on something from her. Maybe the way she looks past me, toward the sea, ten miles behind me.
“Was your brother lost at sea?”
Her gaze flicks in my direction, seemingly surprised. “You’ve heard about it, then? His disappearance?”
I nod. “It’s been in the news.”
“They called off the search today, you know.”
“I’m so sorry.”
She wrings her hands. The woman is in her thirties, dressed in jeans and a pink t-shirt. There seem to be zippers placed randomly on both her jeans and shirt. With that setup, she could sneak a helluva lot of food into the movies.
“Officially,” she adds, “the search hasn’t been called off. They said something like ‘active search suspended, pending further developments.’ They also used some damn formula to determine the likelihood of survival.”
“How long has it been?”
“Six days. They claim the water is too cold off the coast of Southern California for most people to survive even just two days without aid.”
“Ah. The Cold Exposure Survivability Model,” I say, trying not to sound like a know-it-all. I happen to have a degree in criminology; plus, they give you some serious homework back at The Farm where I trained in Virginia to be a federal agent.
“Yeah, that. Can you believe it? They called off the search because of a freakin’ computer program.” She stops wringing her hands and opens and closes them instead, looking down at them—and looking a little like she wants to wring them around someone’s neck.
I know search and rescue places a lot of value on the computer model, whether the families agree with it or not. Basically, it can determine whether rescuers are looking for a living survivor or a dead body. The program factors in everything from time of year, miles from shore, ocean temperature, weather conditions, and even the kind of clothing the lost person is wearing. A person lost at sea in a wet suit will survive a good deal longer than without one. Anyway, it’s a fairly complex program, and it’s one the Coast Guard puts a lot of stock into.
“They say he’s dead. That they’ve even extended the search period a day longer than the computer calculated. They tell me there’s no way he would still be alive at sea, and that I have to accept it.”
As gently as I can, I ask what she hopes I can accomplish that the United States Coast Guard hasn’t.
She nods to herself, which has me wondering if she’d convinced herself that she was barking up the wrong tree by coming to a landlubber for help to find a person missing at sea. I’m sure it’s not looking like a great idea in hindsight. I genuinely want her to answer my question. Why did she come to me, of all people? Surely, a skilled skipper out there with a charter boat would have been a better choice than a landlocked detective. I suspect there is more here than meets the eye.
“First off, he’s my fraternal twin. Though not identical, we’ve always had that twin connection. I’ve always known when he’s sad, happy, or even nearby. Heck, I always know when he’s asleep. Well, not all the time, but often. But no matter what, I can always tune into him, feel him.”
“And you’ve tuned into him now, I assume.”
She laughs nervously. “Yes. Continuously over these past six days.”
“And...” Okay, she has me hooked.
“He’s alive, Ms. Moon.”
“And you’ve told the search and rescue this?”
“I have. But they won’t listen. I mean, they did in the beginning, but I see that was just to humor me. Now, they don’t listen, all because that damn computer model tells them it’s impossible for my brother to be alive.”
“I’m curious,” I say, sitting forward. “When you tune in to him now, what do you see or feel?”
“Exhaustion, fear, pain.”
“Anything visual?”
She shakes her head, dabs her eyes. The tissue is already falling apart from overuse. I reach for another, hand it to her, and she simply adds it to the first, clenching both in a single fist. Hey, I tried.
“Nothing visual, sadly. Just emotions and sensations.”
“Do you get any sense of where he might be?”
“It doesn’t really work like that, you know? I just know he’s alive and scared.”
“Do you sense he’s near?” I ask.
“Near but not close.” She pauses. “This might confuse things, but I feel like he might be moving, too.”
“Like on a boat?”
She scrunches up her nose. “Maybe. Or in a car. Maybe even the trunk of a car.” She brings her arms together. “I feel like he can’t move and his breathing is hard. Like he’s constricted somehow. That’s all I know.”
“How certain are we that he went missing at sea?”
She gives me the rundown. Her brother is an avid ocean swimmer, so much so that he’d written two popular books on the subject. In one of the books, he’d ingratiated himself into a pod of porpoises. He claimed they’d accepted him as one of their own. The books did well, though she always worries for him, swimming out there in the ocean with only a triathlon wet suit on. Apparently, such suits are designed to enhance swimming strokes. Unfortunately, with the waters warming with the approach of summer, he’d chosen his sleeveless suit on the day he’d gone missing.
“Weirdly, I always know when he’s out swimming. He often does so in the early morning, and I can’t tell you how many times I dream of water during those hours or wake up shivering.”
“And you mentioned all of this to search and rescue?” I ask.
“Most of it, yeah.”
“Okay, go on.”
“Six days ago, he went for another morning swim. He lives alone, no wife or kids, a single guy who sort of comes and goes as he pleases. He works from home as he also—get this—designs ebook covers.”
“Ebook what now?”
“Covers. And yeah, that’s what I said. Apparently, there are enough writers publishing ebooks that guys like him can make a decent living. All those books need covers, right? And he’s fast and talented.” She pulls out her phone, taps it a few times, and then shows me a colorful procession of ebook covers from his website. One of which appears to be a dark-haired vampire staring down at a brightly lit city. The author is one I recognize, believe it or not. From what I gather, it’s the same guy who writes about the misadventures of a vampire mama. I believe one of his books is even in my ‘to be read’ stack. Not quite sure what a guy would know about being a vampire mama with kids, but, who knows, maybe he’s got some sources.
“Your brother designed those?”
“Yeah,” she says, beaming proudly. “It’s a legit full-time gig.”
She continues with her story, laying out what she knows. Six days ago, her brother parked his Range Rover in the public parking near the Newport Beach pier, the same place he parked it every morning. From there, according to security cameras, he padded over to the ocean in his wet suit. Though he’s just a speck on the camera at this point, he’s seen walking into the water, then diving in once it’s waist-high. Next, he’s seen swimming out into the deeper waters. Apparently, he likes to be deep enough to come in contact with sea life.
“Like dolphins and whales and get this: sharks, too.” Roxy shakes her head, and we share a brief moment of disbelief. I’m right there with her. Sure, I could probably survive a shark attack, but no way would I want a chunk bitten out of my side. “He loves the fact that anything—like anything—can be under him.”
I whistle, truly impressed by the man’s nerves. Almost makes me think he might be immortal himself. But I suspect not. Pretty sure if he was, the sister wouldn’t be as worried. And she certainly isn’t immortal, as I can see her aura easily enough.
So, I doubt he’s an immortal. Just a guy living with no fear. Perhaps he has a death wish. As in, maybe he doesn’t have a lot to live for. No kids, no wife, no girlfriend. Maybe the book cover thing isn’t very satisfying. And so, each day, he puts his life at risk by swimming in the open ocean, just to feel something, anything. Even a shark bite.
Okay, that last part is doubtful. No one wants to get bitten by a shark. More than likely, her bro is an adrenaline junkie. Feeds off the thrill of the unknown.
“His Range Rover was recovered in the same location?” I ask.
“Yes. And his wallet, too. He kept his key in a waterproof baggie in a pocket in his shorts under the wet suit. Police towed his vehicle to an impound yard, where they’ve been scouring it for clues.”
“And?”
“So far, none. No one’s touched his bank account.”
“What about his cell phone?”
“It was with his wallet in the center console.”
“How long does he swim in the morning?”
“Truthfully? I didn’t know until I pored over his books, looking for any clues to his routine. But my brother almost always swims fifty yards out to one of the buoys off shore. They’re mile markers along the shore. Then he swims along the coast for three miles and heads back. Half hour there, half hour back. An hour swim every morning.”
We’re silent. I’m thinking about what could possibly drive someone to swim in the ocean every morning and can only conclude the reason: living life to its fullest. Must be exhilarating to dive into the ocean and swim for an hour, never knowing what’s underneath—or who you might meet above, too.
Meanwhile, Roxy is withdrawing from the conversation. I think she suspects she’s going to get a big fat ‘I can’t help you’ from me, and is prepared to leave in disappointment. After all, this whole week has been one big disappointment for her. Bad news after bad news.
I drum my perfectly normal nails on the desk before me, swivel back and forth in my deluxe desk chair that goes in every direction imaginable. Tammy has one, too. Both her ideas.
“And you really believe he’s alive?” I ask.
Her gaze flicks up at me, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “I really do, yes.” Her aura, I note, radiates a deep blue. I know this color to be one of truth. She believes her own words.
“You understand that I’m only a private eye.” Okay, I nearly choked on the ‘only’ part.
“I do. I have no expectations. I just want to do everything within my power, you know?”
“I know. How did you hear about me?”
“I found you online.”
“Why did you pick me?”
“I liked your picture. And I liked your tagline: ‘No case is too small or big... or weird.’” She almost giggles, but stops herself. “You even list yourself as a paranormal investigator. I guess I liked that. I need someone who can think outside the box. There’s still a chance his disappearance might involve foul play. If so, your services would be especially useful.”
