“Alpha Team, status.”

It feels weird, strapped up in all this high-tech gear, running the operations for the trap. I’d started to resign myself to thinking this would never happen again. That I’d always be a fugitive.

“Alpha Team, situation normal,” the one group responds back. I’m in charge of four teams tonight, a total of twenty-four SWAT officers total. It’s a lot to juggle, but that’s okay. After tonight, New Haven will be in a better place.

"Eve, tell me what you need," Devin says. At first, I was unsure about him. I mean, he’s Joe’s new partner, and that was my job. But his boyish enthusiasm and total lack of judgment has helped, and he’s a wizard with juggling the technical side of things. “You want me to bring up the security cameras?”

I shake my head. “No, you keep an eye on them, Dev,” I reply. “You sure the chief and the mayor don’t know about this?”

“That’s what Joe told me,” Devin confirms. “Apparently, he’s worried who could be a mole.”

I nod. Joe said as much before. We leave the command center to take up a ready position in an old file room in the building that’s at the corner of the square. I’d prefer to be right in the building itself, but twenty yards offset isn’t too bad. Besides, people would recognize me if I was out there.

The room is dark when we settle in, giving us a maximum view of the square as the ‘social’ pre-party wraps up and I see the mayor take to the podium. Looking around the perimeter, something bothers me. “Devin . . . where’s Bravo Team?”

“What do you mean?” Devin asks, pulling a pair of binoculars out of his tac vest and scanning. “Wait. There. I see them, by the trucks.”

I hiss, not happy. They’re eating, for fuck’s sake! “What are they doing? They’re supposed to be securing the area, not securing corndogs.”

Taking Devin’s binoculars, I can see a couple of the team gathered around one catering truck when they’re supposed to be getting ready for an attack that could come at any moment. This makes no sense. I’ve explained how serious this is and they’re supposed to be professionals.

“What do you want me to do?” Devin asks.

“Get on the radio with them. I’m watching the stage,” I reply, focusing. “Get them back in position before they become a blood meal.”

Devin nods, speaking into his earpiece while I focus down below. The mayor is quick with his speech, the same rah-rah, Haven kicks ass speech he’s been doing since he started realizing that saying things were going to shit wouldn’t help his re-election chances. Wrapping it up, he turns it over to the chief, who has the captain with him. Puffing his chest out in his dress uniform, his hair perfectly styled and looking like he doesn’t have a single worry in the world, the chief takes the microphone.

“Mr. Mayor, ladies and gentlemen in the audience, my fellow Havenites,” he says, his deep melodious voice ringing out, ever the political animal. “I’d like to thank the mayor for his kind words. I understand that it must be a challenge to deliver such praise after the difficulties of the past twenty-four hours.”

“I’ll say,” Devin whispers, but I ignore him as I sweep the crowd with my eyes again. I still feel weird. Bravo Team seems back in position, but I don’t like this. It’s like someone told them that this attack was called off.

The chief keeps going, unaware of what’s going on around him. “Last night, violence erupted in Old Haven, and I understand the issues at hand. Some have said that the 54th Precinct, nicknamed the Paranormal Justice League—”

“Squad, you asshole,” I mutter. “Justice Squad.”

Not that the Chief cares. “ . . . immediately deployed, coordinating efforts with local, state, and federal authorities to bring peace and order back to our streets. And in just twenty-four hours, they have. Record numbers of ungrateful, disruptive Paranormal thugs have been arrested. To the citizens of New Haven and Old Haven, I promise you this. Our city will not turn into a war zone. We will not become an armed camp, some battlefield while bloodthirsty gangs roam our streets with impunity. I was elected Chief of Police because I vowed to enforce the laws, and that I will continue to do, with units such as the brave 54th by my side.”

I’m about ready to gag—the words are pure and total bluster—but the crowd eats it up, more than a few of the people in the audience desperate for someone, anyone, to promise them safety after the past twenty-four hours of chaos.

Suddenly, a loud voice rings out over the square. “Is that so? I’d like to give an alternative perspective.”

A powerful figure, dressed all in black except for the red silk tie and pocket square in his suit, makes his way through the crowd. I can see immediately by the fluid, supernatural way that he moves that he’s a vampire . . . but for some reason, many in the audience don’t. Are they blind? Or have they been hiding behind their security walls and on this side of the Haven Bridge so that they don’t even know what one looks like until he bears his fangs?

I pull my pistol, aiming, when suddenly, there’s a commotion behind me. The door to the room bursts open and I pull up before I accidentally fry someone’s scalp with a UV laser.

“Eve!”

I spin around, gawking as my four guardians come bursting into the room, looking ready to kick ass and take names . . . and they don’t have a pen. “What are you—”

“It’s a setup!” Cole says, pushing Devin to the side as he tries to get in the way. “Marcus—”

“Who the hell are you?” the chief yells outside. I turn back to the scene outside, looking as the vampire approaches the stage. The chief doesn’t seem to understand he’s a vampire either and keeps going. “I’m sorry, but if you want to interrupt someone, young man, you should be prepared—”

The vampire—it must be Marcus—closes the last twenty or so feet to the podium in a blink of an eye. Grabbing the chief by the throat, he lifts him into the air with one hand and takes the microphone with the other. “No,” he says, his voice calm and even as the chief flounders, scrambling against the grip cutting off his air as his feet scissor madly. "You should be the one prepared . . . for death, old man.”

With a twist of his wrist, the chief’s neck snaps like a dry twig, and an instant later, Marcus feeds, ripping the chief’s neck open and bathing in a gush of arterial blood while the entire crowd looks on in stunned silence.

Finally, some of the cops in the audience start trying to do something, but too many are unarmed. This was supposed to be a celebration, and security was around the perimeter, not on stage. It is a night for dress uniforms and kudos, not a massacre. We knew the massacre was planned, but we were supposed to stop it.

“Get them to safety!” someone yells as vampires seem to appear out of nowhere. I’m yelling into my radio, but nobody’s answering . . . and suddenly, I see why.

“Oh, fuck. Devin, look,” I gasp as one of the SWAT officers, who were brought in to defend the party and set the trap, grabs the captain, and sinks his teeth into his neck. “They’re vampires.”

It’s a trap, all right, only not for vampires.

For us.