“Our guy inside the ME’s office says they’re still stumped. They can’t isolate what’s in their bodies that’s causing them to die.”
McCallister looked up. “What about our labs?”
Holland shook his head. “Stymied. The best guess they have is some sort of mutated vampire DNA but they’re not sure. Hell, maybe it is possible it’s just some sort of virulent form of crack. We’re not getting a large enough tissue sample to do adequate testing.” The straw flailed up and down between the chief’s lips. “For once makes me wish we had some sort of open dialogue with the Other Side.”
McCallister snorted. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Like old Ben Franklin said ‘Three people can keep a secret if two of them are dead.’ As soon as we revealed ourselves we’d be rounded up and exterminated like cockroaches.”
“You don’t give them enough credit.”
“Humans are just food sources, nothing more.”
A small smile flipped the straw up again. “You keep telling yourself that.”
McCallister ignored the remark and leafed through the report and pictures of all the victims. They mirrored each other in pose, facial expression and clawed-hands. Unfortunately, most of them had been under-class citizens. Hookers, drug abusers, homeless people who wouldn’t necessarily be missed right away.
He sighed and handed the folder back. “How much time do we have to resolve this before the Brigade demands a Guardian?”
Holland grimaced. “The Brigade High Councilor said a week or fifty victims, whichever comes first.”
McCallister’s temper rose but he tamped it back. It wasn’t his place to criticize the Brigade’s leadership, at least not right now and not in front of the chief. It seemed to him waiting for seventeen more victims was a damn waste of humanity.
He strode for the door. “I’ll find them, Chief. Before the week is up.”
Humans might not know vampires walked among them, but McCallister was going to do everything in his power to protect them, whether they knew it or not.
† † †
“Surveillance is boring as hell,” Leopold Caine muttered. “How do you cops do it regularly?”
McCallister grunted. “I didn’t promise you a good time. This is nothing, anyway. We’ve only been here an hour.”
Leopold shifted in the car, his broad shoulders blocking out the fading evening sun as he turned. “Yeah and the only thing that’s rolled through is that tacky-assed purple Caddy.”
McCallister scanned the deserted streets again. The back of his neck prickled and a soft wind whipped through his open window. He frowned as a sweet scent tickled his nose before dissipating. “You smell that?”
“Smell what?”
The wind brought the aroma again and McCallister’s entire body tightened. His heart picked up speed until it thumped in harsh beats against his ribs. He rubbed the center of his chest. “That.”
Leopold’s golden eyes narrowed and he ran a hand over his leonine hair. “I don’t smell anything except the stench of gutter rot and piss.” His expression hardened. “Reminds me of that hellhole at Desdemona’s the night we were turned.”
McCallister ignored the reference to their shared past. “No, it’s not that. It’s different.” He looked down all the avenues he could see but nothing moved. He hesitated.
Leopold’s expression sharpened. “What is it, McCallister?”
“Ah, nothing. Forget it.” He arched his back until he heard a satisfying pop. “You picking anything up?”
“We’ll get back to your phantom smell but no, I haven’t picked anything up.” He frowned. “I’m not sure why you asked me out here, anyway. You’re a supernatural cop. What do you need with a Hunter?”
“Hey, most of the idiots I arrest are not as sophisticated as the vamps you hunt. I need your crazy ability to hear and sense vampires.” He bent forward over the steering wheel and stared down the rapidly darkening corridor of Dorchester Street. The abandoned hospital towered over the concrete road like the rusted side of a mountain. Jagged, broken windows on the top floors looked like rotted teeth and graffiti colored nearly the entire bottom section of the old brick building. The streetlights had stopped working long ago and the more the shadows lengthened, the more tense McCallister grew. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes before the sun sets for good.”
“Not scared of the dark, are you?” Leopold asked with a grin.
“Bite my ass,” he muttered back. “I thought you’d be helpful but I see I was mistaken.”
“McCallister, you don’t even know who you’re chasing. I can tell you whoever is in that car is almost certainly not of vampire blood.”
He snapped his gaze back to Leopold’s golden one. “Humans?”
His friend hesitated. “Probably.”
Probably. “I don’t like those odds. Can’t you just do your woo-woo shit and figure it out?”
Leopold’s fist slammed into his shoulder and McCallister grunted. The wind whipped suddenly, rocking the car back and forth before settling down.
He froze. “Okay, seriously, you don’t smell that? It’s like an ocean of flowery shit.”
“Fertilizer?”
“Wise ass,” McCallister said. “No, like tons of different kinds of flowers. Roses, lavender, hydrangea. Stuff like that.”
He stared out at the darkening street, tension threading his neck.
“Uh, McCallister, maybe you’ve been on this case too long,” Leopold said. “I think it’s starting to affect your brain.”
McCallister didn’t respond. He knew what he smelled but he didn’t know why. It was the oddest damn thing, too. Such a sweet and pure aroma was completely out of place in the dankness of Dorchester Street. This particular strip was unused save for the seedy flesh business, cut-rate liquor stores that did drug business in the back, and convenient places for hookers to take a john for a quickie. Demolition was scheduled for the old brick buildings standing grim sentry above them but nothing had been torn down yet. As darkness descended, a few more people edged into the streets.
He recognized the down-trodden look of most of them. He’d seen his fair share of poor and homeless people over the last hundred and forty years. No matter the times, misery is always present.
His gaze shifted to the Caddy which still hadn’t moved. Unease bit him again. “What are they waiting on?” he muttered.
“I don’t know,” Leopold replied. “But I don’t think it’s anything good.”
Movement came from the corner of the hospital and McCallister sat up in his seat.
“Well, well, well, take a look at her,” Leopold murmured. “That is one fine bit of goods.”
The words made every nerve ending in McCallister’s body go on red alert and a haze of anger swelled. His fangs throbbed in time with the building rage. He tried to shake himself free of the odd sensation.
He studied the platinum blond woman strolling up Dorchester Street. “Why is she glowing?”
Leopold leaned forward. “What are you talking about? She looks like any other hooker on the street.”
Again, McCallister was hit with a rush of anger. He curled his hands into fists. “No, she doesn’t.”
She had a willowy body. Long and lean with muscle in all the right places, highlighted perfectly in her too-damn-short leather miniskirt and peek-a-boo red top. Her tits looked good in her matching red bra, too. Full and round and buoyant. Despite the attire and ridiculously tall red heels, McCallister didn’t get the “for rent” vibe off her.
She stilled in mid-stride and her head whipped in the direction of their parked car. He’d pulled into a dark alley and killed the engine, so he knew she couldn’t have seen or heard them. But her gaze hit him directly in the solar plexus.
The air in his car hung heavy with a sensual, evocative tone that worked its way through his entire body. His fangs twitched, grew sharper.
“Shit,” Leopold muttered. He slunk low against his seat. “Get down before she sees you.”
; “Too late,” he replied. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. She was young, too damn young to be a hooker.
She looked fresh, too. Even stacked with layers of make-up, her face appeared smooth and clear. The woman continued to stare in their direction but her pace picked up again, aimed directly at the Caddy.
“Don’t do it,” McCallister whispered.
“Maybe she’s what they were waiting for,” Leopold said. He sat back up and peered out the windshield.
McCallister pulled his gaze from the woman to look at his friend. “Your woo-dar getting anything?”
“No,” Leopold snapped. “Kinda hard to pathfind when I don’t even know what I’m hunting. I need something to sense.”
“Like what? A piece of clothing? A scent.”
The fist to his bicep was much harder this time. “I’m not a freaking dog, McCallister. I’m a vampire hunter.” Leopold’s eyes glowed bright and furious in the darkened car interior. “Give me a name, a specific location, a memory, an object, anything and I can start to narrow down the search. It’s not instantaneous. If it were, there’d be a hell of a lot of renegade vamps locked in the Brigade’s cellars.”
“Sorry,” McCallister muttered. He looked down the street at the Caddy again. Suddenly, his usually excellent night vision narrowed to only her. A soft white and pink nimbus outlined her entire body. The glow was very, very faint.
“What the hell?” he whispered.
“What’s wrong?” Leopold asked.
The hooker was leaning down now, propping one elbow on the doorframe and looking into the open window.
A shiver raced over McCallister’s spine.
Something is not right with this situation.
Just as the door to the Caddy opened and she bent to enter, he shifted from solid into mist and reappeared behind her, shield in hand, flashing it at both the hooker and the johns.
“Boston PD,” he barked.
The girl screamed and jumped backward, one hand pressed to her impressive chest, the other held out to ward him off.
A quick swipe of his teeth assured him his fangs were hidden.
A dark curse rumbled from the car before it sped off, tires smoking behind as it left.
“I wasn’t doing anything, officer,” she said, eyes batting so wildly, one false lash fluttered off and landed on her cheek like a mutated spider.
He smothered a chuckle. “’Course not, sweetheart, and I’m Huck Finn out for a raft ride.”
She glared at him and he was taken aback by the stunning beauty of her eyes. A shade of blue so light, they looked almost like the brightest part of daylight.
Leopold appeared in the shadows behind her and McCallister shook his head. The other vamp nodded, rolled his eyes, then vanished into mist.
“What?” the girl asked and turned to look behind her. “What are you staring at?”
McCallister shook himself out of his stupor and pulled his cuffs. “Sorry, ma’am, solicitation for prostitution is a crime in Boston.” He tipped his head. “I gather from your accent you hail from Texas?”
She looked startled and took a step backward, gaze darting nervously around. “Can I see your badge again, please?”
“Why?”
“’Cause I’m gonna call in and check you out. Make sure you’re legit.”
“You do realize you’re resisting arrest, don’t you?”
She glared at him as she rummaged in her tiny red purse and pulled out a cell phone. “Good luck making that stick. Badge.”
He rolled his eyes. How in the hell did the Vice guys on the Other Side do this every day?
Clean, French-manicured fingers snapped in his face. “Anyone home?”
McCallister growled, hand lifting to grab her wrist, then stopped before he touched her. If Chief Holland found out he’d flashed his badge at a human, even for a second, he’d be in even deeper shit.
“Fancy nails for a hooker,” he said as his hand fell back to his side. He raked her with a long glance. “Expensive clothes, too.”
Her pulse quickened and he felt it all the way through his body, from his head to his cock.
He could be in real trouble here.
She took two more mincing steps backward on her stilettos, look clearly distrustful. “I saw enough to know you’re Homicide, Detective,” she said, voice accusatory. “You have no business arresting me.”
He moved closer, standing pecs to tits before she could blink. One good deep breath on either of their parts and they’d touch.
He noticed she held her breath.
He did laugh out loud then. “As a cop, I’m sworn to uphold the law, no matter which division, ma’am.”
She swallowed hard and moved away. It took everything McCallister had not to follow, but he didn’t want to spook her too much.
Not yet.
“Look, I gotta be honest with you, you can’t arrest me,” she said.
He lifted a brow.
“Seriously,” she said. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong. I was asking for a ride.” Her pointed chin lifted and she glared at him, eyes triumphant. “And you can’t prove otherwise.”
Again the wind changed and this time brought an ominous feel with it. The shadows around them darkened and he spun.
Nothing.
No one.
Yet, he was certain someone watched them. Someone with a malevolent agenda.
He turned back to find her striding down the street, toward a group of hookers who now congregated on the corner.
In fact, it seemed like Dorchester Street and surrounding roads was suddenly becoming a lot more populated.
He should just chuck the whole thing and leave. She was right, he wasn’t Vice, it wasn’t his collar. What did it matter?
But it did matter. She mattered.
McCallister swallowed a curse and stalked toward the group who scattered as soon as he got within five feet.
Just like normal hookers did. They could smell a cop, regardless of division, and make a run for it.
Not this little spitfire though.
The closer he got, the stronger the scent of flowers became again and the more she glowed. McCallister froze between one step and the next as a sudden realization swept over him.
Impossible. It doesn’t exist. It’s legend.
He shook his head to wipe any stupid ideas from it and set his jaw in a grim line as he stalked toward her.
She whirled on him, hands propped on her hips and that damn perma-frown creasing her forehead. “Look, Neanderthal Man, I already told you, I was looking for a ride. Until you can come up with something to the contrary, this is harassment and I’ll report your badge number.”
His patience snapped and he curled his fingers around her taut upper arm. As soon as skin touched skin, time slowed, then froze. All around them, people moved and bustled along the darkened and dirty strip. Drug deals were made, hookers jumped into cars and some punk-ass kid tried to rob a dude stumbling out of an alley, but McCallister was powerless to move.
In that moment, he saw into the blonde’s mind. Saw the fear and anxiety. Caught a glimpse of the face from the dim interior of the Caddy. Felt the apprehension she suppressed and the resolve she exhibited.
Her emotions ran deeper, her thoughts wilder. He saw a glimpse of a large man with a porcine face and lust in his eyes. Heard the strident voice of the hooker telling the man to go to hell then watched as she slapped him so hard his jowls shook for long seconds in the aftermath. The vision shifted to a small, neat house filled with knick-knacks, throw rugs and lace doilies on the arms of a large couch. A middle-aged man stood with his arm around a slightly younger woman. They looked worried, resigned, and afraid. The hooker, now with a mane of honey-blond hair instead of short platinum, hugged them. The scene morphed into a paper-strewn office and another man with a head full of fuzzy white hair, sweat rings under his armpits and wary glee in his gaze. Next came an empty house that vibrated with determination and elation, the flash of a laptop, a rush of excitement
for a new assignment and the worry over investigating, finding the drug’s source. All of it crammed into his brain in a nano-second.
McCallister hissed as his fangs dropped of their own volition. Her skin seared his palm and he released her.
She gasped and stumbled backward then looked up at him, eyes going wide.
“What the hell?” she whispered and crossed herself.
Then his little spitfire did the only thing she could. She ran.
McCallister watched her flee.
Go after her.
Let her go.
Damn it, go. Now.
She reached the end of the block and darted around the corner.
“Well, hell,” McCallister said and shifted into mist. She was not going to be happy when he caught up with her, but then, his mood wasn’t exactly rainbows and unicorns right now, either.
Taking a gamble, he re-appeared at the shadowy end of the block she’d darted down. Luck was with him, for once. She ran right into him.
“Oomph,” she said as she bounced off his chest and went down in a legs-wide sprawl.
McCallister’s blood immediately heated up, his nostrils filled with her flowery aroma. Lustful need hit him hard and fast. He felt powerless to resist the draw she presented and that freaked him out. The last time he’d succumbed to a woman with such strong emotion, he’d ended up a vampire.
McCallister fought through the sexual temptation and reached a hand to her.
“Up you go.”
She ignored him, pushed herself upright then swatted at the torn butt of her leather skirt. “Great,” she muttered. “This skirt was still thirty bucks at the thrift store.”
“I’ll replace it.”
She snorted. “What, you arrest me, then clothe me? That’s fucked up, man.”
He frowned at her vulgarity. “Don’t curse,” he said.
“Up yours, pig. What kind of flimflam is this anyway, bub? What's with the abracadabra and fake chompers? You some kind of goth cop? Get a kick out of scaring innocent citizens with that get up?”
Bound By His Blood Page 2