The Rose Ransom (Girls Wearing Black: Book Three) Read online

  THE ROSE RANSOM

  Girls Wearing Black, Book Three

  Spencer Baum

  Copyright 2013 by Spencer Baum

  www.spencerbaum.net

  Table of Contents

  THE ROSE RANSOM

  Prologue – Rio de Janeiro

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Prologue – Rio de Janeiro

  Her passport said her name was Teresa Silva, but Raquel was certain the girl’s real name was Shannon Evans.

  The first time Raquel saw Shannon, she was walking alone on the beach, dressed like an American tourist. Raquel meandered in her direction, conveniently arranging for them to run into each other when the girl wasn’t looking.

  “Com licenca,” Shannon said in a goofy American accent.

  Raquel smiled at her.

  “Desculpe,” said Raquel. “That’s what you should say when you bump into someone.”

  Now the girl was smiling back. She had a pretty smile. Such an innocent little thing.

  “I’m sorry,” the girl said. “Desculpe?”

  Raquel got the distinct sense that the girl was flirting with her.

  “Now you’re repeating yourself,” said Raquel.

  The girl looked at her with the quizzical eyes that all the tourists had.

  “Desculpe means ‘I’m sorry,’” Raquel said. “So you actually said it twice in a row, just in two different languages.”

  The girl let out a sharp giggle, leaning in closer to Raquel as she did so. Definitely flirting.

  “I’m sorry,” the girl said, still laughing. “Oh wait, I just said it again!”

  Raquel let out her most flirtatious giggle, the sort she usually saved for the white men who stayed late at the bars. Then she put her hand on the girl’s shoulder and said, “Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”

  The girl introduced herself as Teresa. Four beers and one sloppy kiss later, Raquel took her back to her group at the campfire, where, her speech slightly slurred, the girl gave a different name to Raquel’s friends.

  “I’m Shannon,” she said as she shook Paulo’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  Raquel had seen this before, but always with the married men. They introduce themselves with a fake name but forget it after they get drunk. Funny that this girl, who was barely a teenager, was using the same trick.

  So be it, Raquel thought. You shall be Teresa when you’re sober and Shannon when you’re drunk.

  “Shannon is an American who is still learning the finer points of our language,” Raquel said to the group. “But she’s already mastered the fine art of kissing.”

  Paulo looked at Raquel and rolled his eyes. He, like everyone around the fire, already understood the game Raquel was playing.

  Later that night, after Shannon had downed six beers, Raquel announced it was time for a surfing lesson.

  “You can wear my wet suit,” she said.

  Raquel kept Shannon in the water for more than an hour, not letting her back on the beach until she was thoroughly exhausted. Then she laid out a beach towel for them both. In minutes, Shannon was asleep. Raquel went back to the campfire and asked Paulo what he had learned.

  “The passport says Teresa,” he said.

  “Let me see that.”

  Paulo tossed the booklet across the fire. Raquel caught it with two hands and flipped to the front page. Next to a very recent picture of the girl was the name Teresa Silva. Beneath her name was an address in Rio. Atop the page was a blue bar holding the letters, B-R-A.

  A Brazilian passport? It was shocking to Raquel, and more than a little intriguing, that this girl, clearly an American, had a passport from Brazil. Not only a passport, but a driver’s license, both of them listing an address in the wealthiest neighborhood in town.

  “Six hundred,” Paulo said, pulling a handful of bills from the girl’s change purse.

  “Put it back in her pocket,” said Raquel. “We’ve caught a big fish here. We shouldn’t settle for the cash in her wallet. We’ll keep her around and see if we can get more.”

  That night, Raquel envisioned schemes worth millions of dollars, an escape from the slums, a fat bank account, and a house on the ocean where she and Paulo could surf from morning to night, never once worrying about where the money would come from. She was certain these dreams were only days away from coming true. This American girl was so lonely, so scared, she would do whatever Raquel asked of her.

  It took longer than Raquel expected. Shannon (and no matter what her passport said, Raquel was certain the girl’s real name was Shannon) was secretive and strange. She gladly allowed Raquel to be her girlfriend and surfing guru, but never allowed Raquel close to her house. She brought wads of cash with her every time they met and she paid for everyone’s beer, but whenever Raquel pressed to get closer to her, to ‘be a couple who shared everything,’ Shannon pulled away.

  Paulo and the others wanted to steal her credit cards and be done with her, but Raquel made them wait. Shannon was a project, maybe even a challenge. She was the one Raquel had been waiting for. Her ticket to the good life.

  On a cool night in September, fate rewarded Raquel’s patience.

  It started with a phone call, one that Shannon took on the other side of the beach. When the phone call was done, Shannon told Raquel she was in trouble.

  “I need to disappear for a little while,” she said. “Can you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Of course,” Raquel said. “Whatever you need.”

  Three weeks and many late-night conversations later, Raquel had learned more than she ever wanted to know about the girl.

  Her real name indeed was Shannon Evans.

  Her family had been one of the wealthiest in America, until they ran afoul of the immortals who ran the government.

  Shannon, her mother, and her father had faked their own deaths and fled to Rio.

  A vampire named Melissa Mayhew had found them. Melissa came to Rio and killed Shannon’s parents.

  “My good luck has rubbed off on you,” Raquel told her. “If we hadn’t met, you would have been home with your parents that night. If you weren’t with me, you’d be dead.”

  “Yes, I suppose I would.”

  While Raquel learned all about the lif
e of Shannon Evans, Paulo and his friends staked out the address on the girl’s passport.

  Nobody’s there, Paulo reported. The house has been empty all week.

  It was time. Shannon owed Raquel her life. Raquel was entitled to take something in return.

  She started with a bottle of rum and a kiss, warming Shannon up for their last night together. Once the rum was finished, they moved on to the little white pills in Raquel’s pocket.

  “I’ve been saving these for a special night,” Raquel said. “What do you say?”

  “Is it ecstasy?” Shannon asked.

  Raquel nodded. At that moment, the sleeping pills in her hand could be whatever Shannon wanted them to be.

  As soon as Shannon was out, Raquel called Paulo and arranged for the crew to meet at the mansion where the Evans family used to live. Raquel used a motorbike to get there. Paulo brought three guys from the dock and a moving van.

  The mansion was everything Raquel had ever wanted in life. Marble columns, high ceilings, fine artwork on the walls, expensive carpets on the floor...

  “Don’t leave anything behind,” Raquel told them.

  While the guys from the dock loaded the moving van, Raquel led Paulo to the master bedroom. Thick, red drapes, a four-poster bed, an oriental rug, antique furniture—someday very soon, she and Paulo would wake up in a bedroom like this. They would take everything in this house to the street market and make tens of thousands. With Teresa Silva’s ID in Raquel’s pocket and the Evans family bank records somewhere in this home, they might make a lot more.

  She went to the walk-in closet.

  “Incredible,” she whispered.

  Three rows of expensive dresses and suits—it was so massive that a sliding ladder was required to reach the clothes on the top row! Raquel pulled the ladder to the back wall, climbed up, and started throwing dresses to the floor.

  She stopped three dresses in, a black gown in her hand, a vision in her mind.

  “Paulo, come in here,” she commanded.

  Paulo gasped at the size of the closet as he stepped inside.

  “Grab a suit, that black one right there,” Raquel said, pointing at a dinner jacket on the bottom rack.

  Paulo pulled it down and ran his fingers over the fabric.

  “Put it on,” Raquel said.

  “I’ll just get it dirty,” said Paulo.

  “It’s yours to get dirty now.”

  The suit turned out to be a tuxedo, complete with cummerbund and bow tie. It was a tight fit on Paulo’s body, but he looked striking nonetheless. He looked like he was meant to wear it.

  The black dress was a perfect fit on Raquel, and it was only the beginning. There was a fully stocked vanity at one end of the room. While the guys emptied the house of everything in it, Raquel stayed in the bedroom, making herself up. For years, she’d had a vision of how she would look when she was rich. Tonight, she was bringing the vision to life. A loose and curly updo, the sort she hadn’t done for herself since she was a teen, bright red lipstick, thick mascara, and the perfect black dress.

  Paulo entered the room. “We found a safe in the wall,” he said. “Eliana cracked it open. I brought you this.”

  Stepping behind her, Paulo slipped two silver and black earrings into her earlobes. They were a perfect match for the dress.

  “Clearly meant to be worn together,” Raquel said.

  “This too,” said Paulo, stretching out a necklace in front of her. It was a skinny chain with a black and silver pendant.

  There was a small design engraved onto the pendant. A circle with eight lines coming out. It looked like the sun.

  “This is my necklace now,” she said. “And my name is no longer Raquel.”

  “What is it then?” said Paulo.

  She grabbed the girl’s passport and flipped it open.

  “I’m Teresa Silva, of course.”

  Chapter 1

  Bernadette Paiz was one of many immortals in the audience when Nicky Bloom won the Date Auction. Like everyone there, she watched in awe as the auction for Nicky Bloom seemed to fall apart, only to be rescued at the last second by Ryan Jenson’s ten million dollar bid.

  When it was over, and Bernadette was walking down the stairs in front of the Penbrook Theater, her phone rang.

  “Excuse me for a moment, Love,” she said to her bond. “It’s Melissa calling.”

  Bernadette’s bond, a vampire named Mark Spinoza, gave her hand a gentle squeeze before letting her go.

  “I’ll see you in the limo,” he said. “Take your time.”

  While Mark continued down the stairs, Bernadette stepped off to the side and answered her phone.

  “Come to the Bloom mansion at once,” Melissa said.

  “The Bloom mansion?”

  “Nicky Bloom!” Melissa squealed. She sounded manic, maybe even a little winded. “Her family is new in town. She entered the Coronation contest.”

  “I know who she is,” Bernadette said. “Is everything okay?”

  “I’ve uncovered treachery of the highest order, and the Bloom family is guilty!”

  Melissa was talking so loud Bernadette had to hold the phone away from her ear. She had never known Melissa to get so worked up over anything.

  “So you’re at the Bloom mansion right now?” Bernadette asked.

  “Yes!”

  “Has anyone told you what just happened at the Date Auction?”

  “No.”

  “The Jenson boy bid ten million dollars on Nicky Bloom.”

  A second of silence on the other end, then Melissa said, “He must be in on it too.”

  “In on what? Tell me what’s happening.”

  “I’ll tell you when you get here. I want you to see it with your own eyes.”

  “Shall I tell the others? Perhaps we all can go over together.”

  “No! Tell no one. I’m only calling you and Lena. You’re the only two I can trust with this.”

  Bernadette’s eyes drifted in the direction of the sidewalk, where she saw Lena’s shiny black hair. Lena was talking, or rather, whispering, to Renata.

  “Melissa, this treachery you’re talking about, you don’t think someone from the clan--”

  “I most certainly do think someone from the clan is involved,” Melissa snapped. “There’s no way this girl could have gotten so close without help from an insider.”

  “So close to what?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get here! No more questions. Just come to Bethesda right now!”

  “I don’t know that I’ve ever been to the Bloom mansion before,” Bernadette said.

  “I’ll text you the address.”

  Bernadette looked down at the line of limos parked along the street. Mark was standing next to one of them, holding open the door and smiling at her.

  “I’ll need to drop Mark off at home first,” Bernadette said. “We came to the Date Auction together.”

  “Whatever. Just don’t tell him anything.”

  “You’re not suggesting that Mark is somehow involved in this.”

  “Of course not. But the more people who know, the more chances for error. We begin with just you, me, and Lena. The three of us will figure out how to proceed once I’ve told you everything.”

  Should I tell her that Lena is talking to Renata right now? Bernadette thought. Should I tell her that at this very moment the two of them are ambling away from the crowd and look like they’re sharing secrets?

  She decided not to say anything. Only a few weeks before, Melissa and Renata had nearly come to blows at the ceremonial hunt. No need to stoke whatever tensions were flaring between them. That was the last thing the clan needed right now.

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  She ended the call and went down to the limo.

  “Who was on the phone?” Mark asked.

  “It was Melissa. I have to go see her later.”

  “Is everything alright?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Mark
didn’t ask any more questions. They were quiet on the drive to Arlington, and when Bernadette dropped him off, he kissed her softly and whispered, “Be careful.”

  It was close to three in the morning when Bernadette arrived at the Bloom mansion. She found two black vans parked at the top of the driveway and a line of servants carrying all manner of things out of the house. One of the servants had a big box of papers in his arms. Two others came out holding onto computers.

  Bernadette wasn’t certain why she felt like something was wrong, but she did. Perhaps it was Mark’s final words when she dropped him off, or maybe it was the memory of how manic Melissa had sounded on the phone. Rather than approach the mansion, Bernadette hid in the shadow of a juniper bush and called Melissa for further instructions.

  She could hear the distinctive chimes of Melissa’s phone ringing in the open air. It sounded like Melissa was outside, somewhere near the vans. Bernadette raised her head for a better look, but then the call went to voicemail.

  “That’s strange,” she muttered. She dialed Melissa again, this time holding the phone away from her ear and following the chimes of Melissa’s ring tone. As she got closer to the vans, she realized the sound was even farther away. It seemed to be coming from the back yard.

  The call went to voicemail and the phone stopped ringing. Bernadette dialed the number a third time. The ringing was louder now. She moved in silence as she circled around behind the mansion.

  She found another black van parked behind the house. Its back doors were open. Melissa’s ring tone was coming from inside the van.

  “Melissa?” Bernadette said, speaking quietly enough that the servants wouldn’t hear, but still loud enough for an immortal’s sensitive ears.

  No response. Where was she? Why was her phone in that van?

  Bernadette darted across the yard. As she approached the van, the smell whipped her in the face. Blood. Guts. Meat. She ran up to the van and looked inside. She saw a pile of bloody corpses stacked in the back. There was a giant of a man whose chest had been completely dismembered. There was a young woman whose mouth was covered in foam and whose face had yellowed, as if she was rotting prematurely. There was a skinny man piled in the middle whose body was riddled with bullet holes. And was there…yes, there was a fourth. A woman’s body, with a gaping hole in her chest. Her head was buried underneath the other corpses.