Red sunlight flooded the beach bar, and Annalise squirmed with pleasure in its fading heat. To her right, the sun was setting over a placid ocean that glittered prettily beneath its rays. The bar was not too crowded, but it would get busier. August was the tourist season for the hotels of the Dominican Republic.

It had taken her nearly six months to track her prey. She didn’t regret it. Sitting with her quarry so close sent a tingle of anticipation down her spine. She liked the Dominican Republic: Haiti was just over the border, and the voodoo merchants over there almost expected people to turn up dead and partially devoured. Her feeding habits didn’t raise any questions.

Looking furtively in the mirror behind the bar, Annalise examined the man she had travelled across the Atlantic to find. He hadn’t recognised her yet. Perhaps he hadn’t seen her. Perhaps he didn’t remember her. He would.

He was stocky and healthy, bulging with muscle and virility. He wore a baggy blue shirt and a pair of long khaki shorts with flip-flops, and he looked quite ravishing. The cropped hair she remembered had grown out and curled in an unruly mess around his ears. His baby-blue eyes were still clear and beautiful above a broken nose, and his teeth still glittered metallically in the dying light.

Those eyes – the last time she had seen them they had been cold and dead, and they sent a thrill of fear rushing through her. She remembered his foot coming down mercilessly on her hand, and she remembered the fall through the air that seemed to last forever.

The agony of landing had nearly driven her mad. She pulled herself away to safety, there to lick her wounds and regenerate. Everything within her had liquefied or broken, and it took hours for the pain to finally go away. She would repay him for that.

‘You’re English, aren’t you?’ a voice asked from next to her. Annalise started. ‘Wow, you were miles away, weren’t you?’ The speaker was a young man, very handsome, English accent, expensive watch, obviously used to getting what he wanted. ‘You need some company.’ It was a statement, not a question.

‘No, I don’t,’ Annalise said frostily. She turned her attention back to Rowan.

‘Come on … let me get you a drink.’

Annalise turned back to him and smiled coldly. ‘Tequila slammers.’

The man grinned lecherously. ‘Coming right up.’ The drinks were ordered and swallowed. ‘You’re from Manchester, right? I’m good with accents. Another one?’ Annalise nodded. ‘What do you think about all that stuff that went on there? All those dead people?’

‘They say it was a terrorist attack. Chemical weapons followed by more conventional bombs.’ She shrugged. ‘What else?’

‘Come on, you don’t believe that crap, do you?’ he snorted.

‘What am I supposed to believe?’ she asked innocently.

‘It’s a conspiracy. Those dead people were all mutilated. People who survived it have gagging orders against them. They say there was something flying around, destroying buildings. The government is covering something up.’ He paused.

‘Go on,’ Annalise said.

‘Aliens,’ the man said sincerely. ‘It’s got to be.’

‘Aliens,’ she repeated. ‘UFOs?’

‘Well, it’s better than chemical weapons.’

‘It’s a theory.’

‘Hell, I’ve got loads. Why don’t we go for a walk along the beach? Enjoy the sunset.’

‘I’m waiting for someone.’

‘Oh yeah, who?’ he asked, obviously used to hearing the line.

‘The man sat over there.’

Her admirer examined Rowan for a moment. ‘What is he, your boyfriend?’

‘No, he doesn’t even know I’m here yet. It’s a surprise.’

‘You’re a bit of a man-eater, aren’t you?’ he asked, his eyes gleaming with lust.

Annalise swallowed her second slammer and banged the empty glass down on the bar. ‘You have no idea,’ she said with a wicked smile.

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