by Jenn Burke
Please no please no please no.
I raced around the level where my car was parked—nothing. I flew down the stairs leading to the lower level and burst out into a dim, echoing space. Only a handful of cars were parked down here and the lighting was sporadic at best. I slowed my steps, my self-preservation instinct warring with the need to find my client. Iskander was here, somewhere, but the person I’d spoken to on the phone might be as well.
I tried to listen past the blood pounding in my ears, past the gritty sound of my own footsteps and my harsh breathing. Water dripped somewhere, adding to the abandoned feel of the space, and it smelled damp, musty, like no one had disturbed this area in years. Patently untrue, but that was what it felt like.
I rounded one of the few cars on this level and saw what looked like a pile of rags on the ground behind an SUV.
I rushed forward. I didn’t see the pool of blood until I stepped in it, and the noise I let out at the discovery was more animal than human. I knelt down and rolled Iskander over, and swallowed hard when I saw what had been done to him.
His throat was slashed.
I tried to shout, but I had to swallow first to wet my dry throat and mouth. “Oh god. Someone help!”
A gurgling noise emerged from his ruin of a throat, a noise that would haunt me for the rest of my life. His eyes were open, locked on me, as he struggled to communicate something. His normally robust bronze skin was gray and pallid. His perfect pompadour black hair was sticky with blood.
“No...hush. It’s okay,” I lied.
I fumbled with my phone, smearing it with crimson, only to discover that I didn’t have any service in the underground parking level. “Fuck!” I tossed it aside and ripped off my shirt to press against the horrible wound to stop the bleeding. “Someone, please help! Help!”
I screamed until my voice was hoarse—until Iskander stopped even attempting to move in my lap. It felt like days, but it was probably only minutes before footsteps pounded down the concrete toward me. A security guard.
“Call nine-one-one!” I croaked.
Paling, she nodded and yanked the walkie-talkie off her belt to summon help.
Chapter Fifteen
The police interrogation—sorry, interview—room was intimidating as fuck. It wasn’t as big as what you saw on TV, with room for one table that was slightly too big to fit into my kitchen, and three chairs. A little plastic cup of water sat on it, near my left hand, untouched. Instead of the two-way mirror from TV-land, one of the upper corners sported a camera trained on me. If someone was watching a monitor outside, they’d be bored, because I couldn’t remember moving after I sat down.
A blanket had been draped over my bare shoulders, but it couldn’t touch the cold that was down deep in my soul. Shock, the paramedics had said. They’d wanted to take me to the hospital, but I’d refused. If I’d known I’d be headed to the police station instead, I might have changed my mind.
I didn’t know if Iskander was dead. Honestly, I was too chickenshit to ask. Also, if I opened my mouth, my teeth would start chattering, and I felt rigid enough, delicate enough, that it might end up with me splintering. Literally and figuratively.
The door opened suddenly, but I didn’t move. Shock, my brain whispered again, dulling my reaction time. A suit walked into my line of vision—a brown suit, with a subtle checked pattern to the fabric. I looked up to find a handsome blond detective, oddly tanned, frowning at me. Someone was a sun worshipper.
Unlike Hudson. I bit back a hysterical giggle. Oh shit, no. I couldn’t lose it now.
“Mr. Cooper? Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?”
I attempted to pull myself together. “No. I mean yes, I’m sure.” I tugged the blanket more tightly around my shoulders.
“All right. I’m Detective Ovesen, and this is Detective Dubois.”
He nodded at the other person in the room, a black woman I hadn’t even seen enter. Her umber skin and naturally effusive brown curls were complemented nicely by a dark blue pantsuit.
“Can you state your name for the record, please?” she said.
“Wesley Cooper.”
“Your date of birth?”
“March 30, 1983.”
From the brow Ovesen arched, I figured it might be time to update my identification. Thirty-five was the oldest I could pretend to be, looking like I did.
“Good genes,” I explained.
“I’ll say,” he murmured.
“Can you tell us how you know the victim?” Detective Dubois continued.
Okay—they were using the present tense, so that had to mean something, right? I inhaled shakily. “He’s—he was—a client. I broke ties with him a few days ago.”
“What sort of client?”
First Meredith, then the screwup at Tawfiq’s, and now this. The universe was expending a lot of energy to tell me it was time to hang it up. I could ignore it—defying the laws of the universe seemed to be one of the things I was best at. But did I really want to? Things had gone downhill quickly, and unsettling as it was to consider walking away from the career I’d enjoyed most of my life, it was also kind of a relief too.
Huh. When had my job become a burden instead of a joy?
Figuring out that answer would take time I didn’t have right now, but yeah—the truth was that I was ready to walk away.
“I’m a recovery specialist.” At the detectives’ blank looks, I sighed. “A contract thief.”
They exchanged glances. “There’s nothing in your record—”
“If I had a record, I’d be a pretty shitty thief.”
“So Mr. Hassan was a client? You’d stolen things for him before?”
“No comment.”
“Mr. Cooper—”
I crossed my arms. “I’m not giving you details of my work that are irrelevant. I’ll confirm that Iskander was a client but that’s all.”
“If it becomes relevant, however...”
“Then we’ll see.”
“Fair enough,” Ovesen said. “Continue.”
“I’ve known him for about five years. He’s a good client, always punctual for meetings and payments. A good man.”
“But you broke ties with him.”
“He gave out a referral to a questionable client. When I called him about it, he couldn’t remember giving out the code. It was clear he’d become too stressed and overwhelmed by his caseload for me to rely on him for quality referrals.” I mentally crossed my fingers as I delivered the lie. Sorry, Isk.
“Was he upset by that?”
“No. He was very understanding. And bothered by his lapse in memory.”
“So tell us about today.”
“This afternoon, I received a call from him. He sounded panicked. Not himself. He said he had to speak with me, that he had information he wanted to discuss with me about the meeting he couldn’t remember. He sounded so desperate, I agreed. I asked him to meet me at the café in the mall, but he never showed.” I drew in a breath. “After about half an hour, I called his cellphone. Someone else answered.”
“Did you recognize the voice?”
“No.” My voice shook, but I couldn’t stop it. “It was male, accented. He said I should have helped them, and that he—they—whatever had left a present for me in the parking garage.”
“Could it have been the questionable client?”
“Maybe? There’s no way for me to confirm that—my only contact with them was through email.”
“What did you do after the phone call?”
“I ran into the parking garage.”
“You didn’t think to call nine-one-one?”
“No. I assumed the package was—was—” I clenched my teeth as my voice gave out, and then tried again. “I assumed it had something to do with Iskander and I didn’t think—I felt like I should ru
sh.”
The cops shared another look. “Okay,” Detective Ovesen said. “Let’s go over it again.”
I bit back a groan and complied. Not like I had a choice—if I stopped cooperating, I’m sure they’d begin to find my work really interesting, and I didn’t want them to dig too hard there. Plus, I wanted to help. Other than Lexi—and maybe now Hudson—Isk was the closest thing I had to a friend.
And that...was fucking sad, considering I spoke to him once a quarter. But I’d always liked the guy. Maybe I could chance opening up and letting him in.
If he lived.
Finally, the cops decided they’d heard my story enough times and closed their notebooks.
“Is that it?” I asked.
“I think you’ve given us all the information we need, Mr. Cooper. We’ll type up your statement for you to sign.”
I blinked at one, then the other. “Am I under arrest?”
Ovesen gave me a bland look. “For what?”
I waved a hand at him, his folder, and the pad on which he’d written out everything I said. “Iskander’s...his...” Fuck it. “Is he alive?”
“The last I heard, yes. He’s critical, and nowhere close to stable, but still alive.”
All the breath rushed out of me and I collapsed forward against the table. Part of me—a loud part I’d been doing my damnedest to ignore—had been convinced that Iskander had died in my arms. I didn’t—I couldn’t have handled that. It had been bad enough to watch a stranger die and do nothing. If Iskander had passed while I screamed futilely for help...
It took me a few minutes to realize that Detective Dubois was calling my name. “Mr. Cooper, is there someone we can call for you?”
Yeah, but... “What time is it?”
“Eight o’clock.”
That seemed far too late and far too early all at the same time, but it was after sunset and that was all that mattered. I needed him. “Detective Hudson Rojas.”
A pause. “You know Hud?”
“He’s a friend.”
That seemed to be enough of an explanation, because Dubois got me a coffee and sat with me while her partner went to call Hudson. I don’t know how much time passed before the door opened again, and I expected to see Ovesen with news about whether Hudson was on his way.
What I saw, though, was Hudson. My lower lip quivered. He handed a paper to Dubois and she glanced at it before putting it on the table in front of me.
“Your statement,” she said. “Read it over and then sign it, if there are no errors.”
Concentrating on the words was nearly impossible, but I managed. I signed the form with a trembling hand.
“He’s good to go?” Hudson asked Dubois as she rose.
“Yes. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Cooper.” She patted Hudson’s arm on the way out and closed the door behind her.
I stood, my knees shaky and uncertain. Hudson didn’t waste any time in asking if I was okay. He walked around the table, his arms open, and I fell into them. He held me tight, how I loved to be held. How I needed to be held. What little strength and energy I’d managed to summon trickled away. Despite the thirty-three years of absence, my soul still recognized his as meaning safety.
Stupid. But right now, I wasn’t going to argue it.
“I told them I was a thief.” I hiccupped, and jerked back as a realization hit me. “Oh shit, I told them I was a thief and that I knew you. I’m sorry, I wasn’t—”
“Shh, it’s okay.” Hudson pulled me in again, so my face was pressed against his broad chest. I turned to the side and closed my eyes, and reveled in the security of being in Hudson’s arms. “They’ll assume you’re an informant.”
“With you hugging me like this?”
“I turned off the camera.”
I let out a shaky, uneven sigh. “You used to be a lot warmer.” Whenever he’d held me like this before, I’d sympathized with an oven roast. I mean, I hadn’t complained, but yeah, it had been hot. Now, not so much.
“Yeah, well. Vampire.” He pulled back, but his gaze was kind and warm. “You ready to go?”
I nodded.
“Want me to call Lexi?”
“She’s on nights this week.”
“I don’t want you to be alone.” He held my gaze until I looked away, uncomfortable, and then he nodded. “Okay, two birds with one stone. You can keep Evan company.”
“Evan?”
“Evan Fournier. Formerly known as Vamp Junior.”
Before he was finished talking, I was shaking my head. “No. No, no way.”
Hudson narrowed his eyes. “What happened to helping him?”
I shoved away from him and the blanket tilted off my shoulders to fall to the floor. I ignored it in favor of glaring at Hudson. “That was before he tried to eat me.”
“And I apologized for that.”
“He hasn’t.” Not like he’d had any opportunity. I hadn’t been back to Hudson’s since he pronounced himself regret-free. But still, it was the principle of the thing.
Hudson raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. “We’ve discussed what he can and can’t do. How some instincts need to be ignored.”
“Uh-huh.”
“He’s a good kid. Quiet. Not as overwhelmed by everything as he probably should be. He’s not enthusiastic about this change...but he’s not rejecting it, either. Which, believe me, is a big deal. I’m spending as much time as I can with him, but...”
“Work.”
“Work,” Hudson confirmed with a sigh. It wasn’t difficult to read the guilt in his expression—it came out loud and clear as he looked at me hopefully. “I think he could use someone to talk to. Maybe sit with him? Watch a movie?”
I gave in. How could I not? It was rare for Hudson to ask for anything, and I knew how much he hated and regretted what he’d done to the kid.
“Call nine-one-one if he attacks me?”
“No. You call me.” This time, when he smiled, there was more than a hint of fang.
And fuck me, it was hot.
* * *
Hudson saw me to one of the guest rooms—the one that was supposed to be the master bedroom—then retreated to have a talk with Evan. I could hear the rumble of their voices, but I couldn’t make out the words and I didn’t care to. The bed looked so inviting, but it wasn’t even 9:00 p.m. Besides, part of the reason I was here was to keep Evan company.
There was a tap on the door, and I realized I hadn’t moved since I’d entered the guest room. When Hudson reentered, he realized it too.
“Shit,” he muttered, striding over to me. I thought he was going to hug me again, but he just put his hands on my shoulders. “Do you need me to stay?”
I was so tempted to say yes. Maybe if he held me close again, I’d start to feel warm. But I shook my head. Hudson had work to do, and I couldn’t be selfish enough to keep him from it. I was wounded, but I’d recover. Give me a few hours’ sleep and I’d be good as new.
Probably.
Hudson’s thumbs swept over my muscles, the pressure feeling far better than it had any right to. He leaned forward and for a second, I thought he was going to kiss my forehead. Of course he didn’t. Bastard. I could have used that little gesture.
“I’m a phone call away. Use Evan’s phone.”
Right, because mine was a bloody, broken mess. “Okay.”
“I’ll be home around four.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve got Netflix and cable—you guys can watch whatever you want. There are some sweats in the drawers, and Evan already had dinner, so—”
“Hudson.”
“Yeah?”
“Go the fuck back to work.”
His crooked grin made an appearance. “There’s a soaker tub in the en suite bathroom. Wine in the fridge.”
Now he was t
alking my language. “Thanks.”
I followed him out of the bedroom and I didn’t want my steps to hesitate as I spotted the figure slouched on the couch in front of the TV, but they did. Evan looked at me—and oh boy, the kid should never go to the casino with that face. He’d be taken for every last dime at one of the poker tables. His expression radiated misery. Loneliness, fear, sadness—it was all there for anyone with half a brain to read.
“Hey,” he said softly.
I couldn’t quite summon my voice, so I nodded and gave him what I hoped was an encouraging smile. From the roll of Hudson’s eyes, I suspected I didn’t quite hit the mark. He pointed silently at me, and then at Evan, before turning on his heel and leaving.
Communication skills were not Hudson’s strong suit.
“What the hell did that even mean?” Evan muttered.
“Be good?” I arched a brow. “Sit, stay, beg?”
“Woof.”
“Good dog.”
We shared a smile—but mine dropped away as I noticed Evan’s fangs were down. “Uh...” I flicked a couple of fingers in his direction. “Are you—”
He found the points of his teeth with his tongue and sank deeper into the couch. “Sorry. Hudson says it takes a little while for them to retract all the way. One of the reasons I’m stuck inside for now.”
“Oh. Okay.” I didn’t want to ask about the other reasons. That wine would be excellent about now. “I’m...gonna get a drink.”
Evan’s sigh let me know he saw right through my excuse.
Despite the hitch to that start, the next couple of hours progressed...well, easily might be overstating it. I had a quick shower to get the dirt and grime off while Evan cued up a movie on Netflix—some rom com I hadn’t heard of. I sat in one of the armchairs wearing borrowed, oversize sweats and divided my time between watching the TV and watching Evan. If Evan noticed—and he’d have to be blind not to—he didn’t say anything and remained motionless while the film played.