He took her hand, trying not to notice how cool and smooth and delicate it was. “Not partners.”
“You won’t regret this,” she called over her shoulder as she practically skipped out of his apartment.
“Probably not,” he answered ruefully. “But you might.”
Chapter Six
The boy’s room was the size of an average walk-in closet. And with two large men in it with her, Harper felt like she’d been crammed into a shoebox.
She scooped up a signed baseball, tested its weight in her palm, then replaced it on the boy’s nightstand.
“Anything yet?” Lucas asked.
Harper gritted her teeth as his hot breath stirred the hair at her nape. “Nothing yet.” Then she spun around and smacked him with an open palm to the center of his forehead.
He jerked back. “What the fuck was that for?”
“If I can do that, you’re standing too close to me. Back off.”
He moved to lean against the doorjamb, doing the macho equivalent of a pout. She tossed a challenging glare at Riddick, but he wisely kept his mouth shut and avoided asking her any annoying questions.
She rolled her neck from one side to the other and took a few deep breaths. If she didn’t have a stupid premonition soon, she was going to scream. When she didn’t want premonitions, she was drowning in them. When she was trapped in a tiny room with two hulking men breathing down her neck, she couldn’t have a premonition to save her life.
Okay, relax, Harper. You need to do this.
Taking a deep breath, she carefully examined the room. It was a typical little boy’s room, she decided. Her brother’s room had been adorned in the same cowboys and Indians wallpaper. This boy—Dylan, according to Lucas—kept his dirty clothes piled on the floor in typical little boy fashion too.
But something very atypical had happened to Dylan. She couldn’t yet see it in a premonition, but she could feel it. He’d been taken from this very room. Evil had been here, right where she was standing, and some part of it was still here, occupying space and raising goose bumps across her flesh.
She bent to pick up a stray cleat and that’s when the premonition hit her hard enough to wobble her knees.
“What do you see?” a voice asked from what sounded like a million miles away.
Pain seared through her temples and tears burned her eyes. Through the haze, she saw the boy: blond curls, dimples, and terrified blue eyes.
“I see him,” she whispered.
“Where is he?” the voice asked.
“Oh, God, he’s so scared. He’s crying.”
“Harper, where is he? Concentrate, sunshine.”
She raised shaking hands to her temples, and applied as much pressure as she could. Forcing herself to look away from the boy, she focused on another shadowy figure. “I see a man with the boy. A vampire, I think…no, I’m sure it’s a vampire.”
“What does he look like?”
Harper felt someone pull her hands away from her temples and replace them with a warm, steady pressure that eased her pain and helped her concentrate on the vampire.
“He’s tall,” she said. “At least six feet. Dark hair…and a tattoo on his wrist.”
“What kind of tattoo?”
“A-a bird with its wings spread. There’s…fire below it.”
And then, just as quickly as it had hit her, the premonition evaporated.
When her eyes cleared, she found herself lying on the floor, looking up at Riddick, who was leaning over her with an especially intense expression. Her head was in his lap and his hands were woven into her hair. It took her a minute to realize it had been his voice guiding her through the premonition, his hands gently massaging her temples.
She felt a flush that had nothing to do with embarrassment start in her cheeks and work its way down the length of her body.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his husky voice even lower than usual.
“I think so,” she said, her own voice sounding like she’d just awakened. “Thanks for not letting me fall.”
He nodded, not making any attempt to move her or take his hands out of her hair.
“Do you guys want to be alone?”
Harper lifted her head a fraction and glanced up at Lucas. His voice had taken on a distinctly snotty tone, though his stone cop-face remained firmly in place.
She shot him a glare, refusing to feel guilty because he was jealous. First of all, as she kept telling herself, they were not a couple. Second of all…no, screw second of all. Her first of all was good enough. No other justifications were necessary.
Riddick eased his hands under her arms and stood, lifting her with him as if she were weightless.
“That hardly seemed worth it,” she grumbled, brushing off her backside. “I didn’t see a damn thing.”
“You saw plenty,” Riddick said.
“What did she see?” Lucas asked, incredulous. “We’re looking for a vamp with dark hair and eyes? That could be anyone.”
“It’s the tattoo. I’ve seen it before.”
“Where?” Harper asked.
“A vampire who calls himself Phoenix. That’s what the bird is: a phoenix rising from the ashes.” He muttered a curse and a muscle in his jaw jumped. “Damn it, I should’ve killed the son-of-a-bitch when I had the chance.”
“I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that,” Lucas said dryly. “Tell me what you know about the guy.”
Riddick told Lucas a few things about Phoenix and what he liked to do to women and children that Harper would’ve rather not known. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suddenly feeling like she’d mainlined ice water.
Damn it, they just had to find Dylan. Soon.
Lucas radioed the information in to dispatch and put out an APB on Phoenix. When he was finished, he turned to Harper and Riddick. “Now, I know I can count on the two of you to stay out of this thing until we find the kid, right?”
Harper and Riddick glanced at each other, then at Lucas. “Absolutely,” Harper answered innocently.
Chapter Seven
An hour later, Harper and Riddick were on the west end of town in front of a bar Phoenix frequented.
“So, how long has it been since you’ve seen this bird guy?”
“A while,” Riddick answered as she maneuvered her 1968 Mustang—somehow it just made sense that she drove a muscle car—into a slot in front of the Rag Tag.
The Rag Tag was the kind of bar where the regular patrons were drunk by noon and the owner was sweeping up eyeballs by last call. He’d broken a pool cue over Phoenix’s head several years ago and had been ready to drive it through the bastard’s heart when the cops showed up. He’d managed to talk his way out of an arrest, but Phoenix had gotten away in the process.
“Do you think he’ll be here?”
“No, but I’m hoping someone else will be here.”
Harper shot him an exasperated look, telling him she’d hoped for a little more info. He’d forgotten about the upside of not being social: he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone.
“Benny Scarpelli,” Riddick said. “He’s here all the time. He’s a halfer.”
He didn’t think he needed to explain further. Halfers were half vampire and half shifter. They were incredibly rare, weren’t truly accepted by either race, and tended to have all the weaknesses of vampires and shifters with precious few of the advantages. This collection of pathetic traits did, however, make them excellent spies. If Phoenix had been here, chances were Benny saw him. And since Phoenix wouldn’t have been in any way threatened by Benny, he might’ve said anything in front of him.
“What species is he?” Harper asked.
“Wererat.”
She cringed. “That’s unfortunate. Can he be bought?”
Riddick gave her a half-smile. “No, but he has a low threshold for pain.”
“So, we’re going to torture an old, pathetic drunk?”
“I’m going to torture an old, pathetic, drunk halfer who c
an probably lead us to the guy who took the kid.”
She grimaced. “Okay, but don’t do anything to draw attention to us. We certainly don’t need attention in this neighborhood.”
Riddick made no promises. Benny was a bottom-feeder, and the only reason he wasn’t dead already was that he was generally harmless.
“Stand next to the car and leave the passenger’s side open.”
She frowned. “Why would I—?
“For the love of God, Harper,” he said, exasperated. “Just do it.”
When her eyes darkened and shot emerald darts at him, he added, “Please.”
As he entered the bar, he almost smiled as he heard her mutter something about being unable to refuse because he’d asked so nicely.
Unfortunately, Riddick thought as he stepped through the duct-taped front door, the inside of the Rag Tag wasn’t any nicer than the outside. No one had bothered to patch the bullet holes in the walls, and the only lighting in the place consisted of a few bare bulbs. The stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke and unwashed bodies had long ago seeped into the cheap vinyl booths, and the jukebox played nothing but off-key steel guitar blues. But then again, Riddick supposed, no one came here for the ambiance.
Once his eyes adjusted to the dim room, he glanced at the bar where he knew Benny would be. Sure enough, the little bastard was hunched over a Bloody Juan, a mixture of pig’s blood and Tequila that was all the rage with the vamps in this part of town.
Riddick walked up behind him and slapped him on the back hard enough to topple him across the bar. “Well, if it isn’t my buddy Benny.”
Benny spit a mouthful of his drink on the bar and whirled around on his stool. “God damn it, Riddick.”
“Ah, you remember me. I’m touched.”
The bartender reached a hand under the counter. Riddick knew from experience he was going for his sawed-off shotgun.
“That won’t be necessary, Tiny,” Riddick told him. “My buddy and I were just leaving.”
“I-I ain’t going nowhere with you, man,” Benny stuttered as he clamored to his feet. “You’re nuts.”
Riddick grabbed him by the collar of his stained jacket and tossed him across the room. “Sure you are, Benny. You wouldn’t want me to think you don’t like me, would you?”
Benny rolled across a table as he fell, sending beer bottles and shot glasses crashing to the floor. He tried to find his footing, but Riddick snagged him by the back of his collar and hoisted him over his head. Benny went limp in Riddick’s grasp, like a marionette whose strings had been clipped.
“What are you gonna do, man?” Benny asked. “You know you can’t take me out of here in the daylight.”
“Oh, sure I can, Benny,” Riddick answered, moving toward the door with Benny’s five-foot-six-inch body still held easily above his head. “You’ll just have to dive into the ’68 Mustang out front before you burst into flames.”
And with that, Riddick tossed Benny out onto the curb. Benny shrieked and made a mad dash for the car as his skin sizzled and smoked in the early-afternoon sun. Once Benny was safely—a relative term, of course, considering he was a halfer outside in the middle of the day—huddled down on the floor of the passenger side with his brown leather jacket pulled up over his head, Riddick noticed something was missing. Namely, Harper.
His heart fell to his shoes. God, if something happened to her while he was in the bar, he was going to kill Benny just for the hell of it.
And just when he was getting ready to pull Benny from the car by his throat, he saw her. He took a deep breath, trying to control his breathing.
Harper was sitting on the sidewalk by a parking meter a few feet away. The homeliest dog Riddick had ever seen was sitting on her lap with its paws on her shoulders while it licked its way up and down her face. Harper was rubbing the dog’s back and ears, all the while cooing and talking to it while it drowned her with kisses.
Riddick took a few deep, calming breaths as he moved toward her. She was safe, he reminded himself. He might kill her for actually making him care that she might have been hurt or in trouble, but she was safe.
Looking down at her with his arms crossed over his chest, he said, “I thought I told you to stay with the car.”
She squinted up at him, shielding her eyes against the sun with one hand. “The car’s right there. I’m, like, two feet from the car.”
More like fifteen, but Riddick saw no point in mentioning that. He’d never understand how her brain worked, and it probably wasn’t even worth trying. “What is that?”
“She’s a beagle-mix, I think.”
If pathetic was a breed, this dog would represent it at Westminster, Riddick decided. It—she—had the red-and-black-splotched body of a beagle and the stumpy legs of a dachshund. All in all, she looked kind of like a hot dog on steroids. Lots of steroids. Harper’s foundling probably weighed about twenty pounds more than she should.
And she’d turned her sad, weepy, abused-dog eyes on Harper like she’d follow her to the ends of the earth. Riddick kind of understood the feeling.
“She’s chained to this parking meter with a bicycle lock,” Harper said. “But she doesn’t have a collar or a bowl of water or anything. I’m worried that someone might have abandoned her.”
“Hey, grab that dog. That’s my lunch,” a muffled voice called from the Mustang.
Riddick’s chin hit his chest as he saw the storm clouds gathering in Harper’s eyes. This was going to get real ugly real fast. She was mute with fury, and glaring at the Mustang like she could bore holes into it with the fire in her eyes.
“She’s your what?” she asked, her voice frighteningly calm.
Clueless to his impending demise, Benny answered, “My lunch. I like to have something fresh in the afternoon.”
Harper glanced back up at Riddick. “Then these marks on the dog’s neck are…”
“Fang marks,” Riddick confirmed. “Benny’s been feeding on her.”
The look in her eyes promised Hell’s fire and brimstone, but her expression remained placid. “Will you please help me get her unlocked?” she asked in a low voice.
If he said no, she’d turn all of that pent-up fury on him instead of on Benny, and he really didn’t have time for that, so he leaned down, grabbed the parking meter’s base in one hand and the lock in the other, and tugged. The lock crumbled in his hand.
“Thank you.”
Harper stood up, gathered the hefty little dog in her arms and marched to the car, head held high.
She paused at the open passenger’s door, drew back her booted foot, and kicked Benny swiftly in the ass. “What kind of no-good—” another kick “—low-life, scum-sucking—” another kick “—rat-bastard feeds on a helpless—” two kicks “—dog?”
Benny wailed like a girl with every kick and scrambled into the backseat. “Jesus, Riddick, get her off me!”
Riddick shook his head slowly. “I think that might piss her off, Benny, and I sure as hell don’t want to get on her bad side. She’s looking pretty scary right now.”
Harper shot him a glare and blew a stray curl off her forehead. He couldn’t hold back a smile at the picture she made while she literally kicked Benny’s ass.
He’d told her he didn’t want to be her friend, and that was true. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t like her just a little.
“I don’t care about drawing attention anymore,” she informed him, climbing into the Mustang. “Do whatever you want to this miserable little freak.”
Oh, what the hell? Riddick asked himself. What could it hurt to like her a lot?
Chapter Eight
Benny lived in a disgusting hovel of a duplex a few miles south of the Rag Tag. It was the kind of place where one could always play a good game of identify-that-odor-and/or-stain.
Harper cringed as she stepped over a mysterious wet spot on Benny’s cracked tile floor. She sniffed delicately. The place reeked of blood and unwashed bodies.
She had always been able t
o identify an odor in three sniffs or less. Her skills had been honed during the many times she’d found Romeo face down in his apartment in a puddle of his own vomit…or worse.
Riddick kicked Benny’s legs out from under him and forced him down into a rickety kitchen chair. “Don’t move.”
The “or I’ll kill you” was implied, not stated, Harper noticed. For a man of few words, Riddick certainly had no trouble expressing himself.
“Why’d we bring him here, Riddick?” Harper asked as she kicked an empty pizza box out of her path. “This place is disgusting.”
Riddick glanced at her, one brow raised. “Look at him. Would you want him in your apartment?”
She grimaced. “Point taken.”
Benny crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you done insulting me and my home? ‘Cause you can go anytime.”
Harper planted her hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side as she studied Benny’s grimy face. “You know who you remind me of? Did you watch that show Prison Break?”
“Oh, hell yeah. When T-Bag had that vet sew his hand back on…man, that was wicked.”
Harper nodded enthusiastically. “You look just like the actor who played Michael. Only…shorter. And…less muscley. And, well, dirtier.”
His eyes lit up. “Ya think? Chicks think that guy’s hot, don’t they?”
“Ooohhh, yeah. I bet if you cleaned yourself up and, you know, quit eating dogs you’d have no trouble getting—”
Riddick cleared his throat harshly and glared at her. “Are you done? Because I’d like to get the hell out of here sometime today.”
Harper frowned. “Jeez, I was just trying to help the guy out. I don’t wanna be here anymore than you do, you know.”
“No one’s keepin’ ya here,” Benny interjected in a near-whine.
Riddick swung his leg over another kitchen chair and straddled it backwards. “We’ll go. As soon as you tell me about Phoenix.”
Benny’s chin came up. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Harper sighed. “Oh here, let me. I don’t want to be here all freaking night.”
Harper Hall Investigations Complete Series Page 5