“Are you okay?” Ryan asked, putting his hand on her back.
She sucked in a deep breath. “Yeah. It’s just a lot to process at once.”
He frowned, pulling his hand away from her back. “This is nuts,” he mumbled, raking his fingers through his hair. “First, the freezer section freak show, and now this.” He pressed his lips together and glanced toward the exit. “We’re outta here. This isn’t working, and I’m not standing around with my thumb up my ass while you make yourself sick or whatever it is that’s happening to you.”
She dragged in another breath, holding it for a moment as she composed herself. The detective was doubtless a Type A personality. With his jaw clenched, he looked as though he was ready to bolt. “Just give me a minute. I’ll be fine.”
He made a face. “Maybe you just need a break, a cup of coffee or something…some fresh air,” he said, glancing toward the exit again.
Lily moistened her dry lips, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Type A, definitely. “Trust me. I’m good. I just need to find my center.”
Looking at his drawn expression, she couldn’t help but feel for him. He was completely out of his element, unfortunately, the only thing she could do was reassure him. “There’s no other way to do this, Detective, and besides, a hazmat team couldn’t clear away what I sense and smell.” She studied him for a moment. “You smell it too, don’t you?”
He hesitated, giving her a cautious nod, before turning away. “I thought so,” she said, straightening up.
Lily regarded him. He seemed upset, as if unsure of what he’d just revealed. So she waited, not saying a word, and when he turned back, his professional veneer was once again in place.
With a nod, she took a deep breath through her mouth and exhaled. “Let’s get to work.”
Careful not to touch too much, she picked her way through the bar. A green clock in the shape of a Heineken bottle dangled precariously above the dirty outline where the mirror had once hung. It was the only thing left untouched in the entire place. Lily stopped equidistant from where it hung, turning left, then right. “This room is not the epicenter. What happened here took place after the fact.”
The stench of old blood and an underlying bitter tang, she knew but couldn’t place, grew stronger as she headed toward the back of the bar. She moved slowly, her stomach roiling with each step. The feeling of vertigo hadn’t subsided, and bile rose in her throat.
Lily lurched forward and gagged, swallowing back on the sour taste. She gulped down air to quell the nausea, but the scent permeated everything, and she grabbed the edge of the broken bar for support.
As soon as her hand made contact, the image of a fat man in a stained t-shirt, with a limp dishtowel tucked into his dirty apron, shot through her mind. Missing front teeth showed through a wheezy chuckle as he palmed money from the bar and signaled for two girls—one of them the same young girl from Lily’s previous vision. He watched, leering as the teenager coated her lips with bright orange lipstick, before slinking through a side door marked as private.
“There.” Lily pointed from her half-hunched position. “That’s where it started.”
Whatever remained of the private entrance now hung suspended by a single broken hinge. Ryan pulled on a pair of leather gloves and carefully maneuvered the door open for Lily to enter first. She stepped through the ruined threshold into what looked like the backroom to an illegal social club.
Echoes of illicit partying and sex for hire lived in the air like noxious fumes. Amid the wreckage, a pool table sat dead center of the room splintered in half, its green felt shredded, and covered in dried blood and chalk dust.
A slick coating now congealed to a red gelatinous state, covered the floor. It didn’t take much to envision the kind of blood loss necessary to saturate the floor to that point.
Beads of sweat formed on Lily’s forehead and between her breasts. Ryan called to her, but his voice was thick in her ears. The room was spinning and she gagged again, more bile rising to the back of her throat.
With her hand over her mouth, she held her breath, searching for an unobtrusive place to vomit. The last thing she wanted was her DNA mixed up with anything CSI might yet find.
“Here,” Ryan said shoving a plastic bag her way.
She grabbed the baggie and turned away, retching, until there was nothing left but dry heaves. Her back was to him while she waited for the last wave to pass.
“This place is pretty ripe, despite how cold it’s been,” he said, handing her his handkerchief. “Sorry about that.”
She wiped her nose and mouth. “Thanks,” she muttered, glancing back over her shoulder. Head down, she sucked in a ragged breath. “I think I threw up everything, including my dignity.”
“It’s all part of the job,” he said with a shrug.
Lily frowned, sealing the top of the zip-lock bag. “I suppose. This has never happened to me before. She glanced down at the contained mess in her hand and sighed. “Is it common practice for detectives to carry zip-locks around in their pocket? Not that I’m not glad you did.”
His lips formed a lopsided smirk. “A lot of detectives carry them, for evidence or whatnot,” he said, lifting one shoulder and letting it fall. “But, don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re not the first rookie to lose it at a crime scene, and you won’t be the last.”
“So you think I’m a rookie? And here I thought experience was the key.”
He laughed, folding his hands in front of his chest. “It is. That and how many times you’ve vomited behind the yellow tape.”
“Ha! Leave it to men to quantify skill through bodily emissions,” she mumbled, resting the baggie on the floor by the door and wiping her hands once more on his handkerchief. “…and on that note, we’ve still got work to do.”
Lily walked to the center of the room and stopped. She took a single cleansing breath and turned her body slowly, sending her senses out like a web. Images darted through Lily’s mind at high speed, but this time she was ready for them.
Laughter. Drinking. Loud music. The room was in shambles, and its story played out in time with the kaleidoscope of color and noise that flashed its way through her mind.
Along the wall, a wide rolling bar had been turned on its side, its chrome edges bent, and its frosted glass countertop and LED panels smashed. She reached out and slid her finger over what was left of the counter, bringing it to her tongue. A rush of euphoria flew through her veins, and she was numb. In a flash, there were crack pipes and methamphetamines, or Ice, as it was known on the street, piled high across the bar. The scenes were sordid, filled with images of drug-induced sex.
Lily turned toward the far wall and the broken couch pushed against the chipped paint. Her skin grew cold to the point of shivering, and panic bit into her gut. The images in her head turned even uglier, and she cried out, covering her face as she felt each blow, the tearing between her legs and warm blood flowing along the inside of her thighs.
It was the young girl with the orange lipstick—paid for, beaten, raped.
Her head whipped around as rage, white hot and deranged poured through her from behind. As if compelled, Lily turned toward the tiny window to the side of the small bar. Shattered glass covered the floor beneath the twisted metal window casing.
“This is where the perpetrator entered the room.” With each step, Lily’s body shook against the storm of rage that flooded her body. Her words pushed past clenched teeth as she moved toward the window. “I’m positive. This is it.”
Ryan stood to one side, his arms still folded across his chest. However, instead of the casual stance he affected before, now he just looked defensive. “Lily, what the hell is going on here? A blind man could see you’re getting a reading, but you haven’t said a thing, despite all your gyrations. You gotta cut me some slack. I’m out of my element here, and I don’t like it one bit.”
Was he for real? Lily just looked at him.
He exhaled. “CSI didn’t f
ind anything to support a point of forced entry besides the shattered glass. No fingerprints, no blood—other than from the victims—no fibers, no epithelial tissue, no hair. So what do you see that they didn’t, or couldn’t?”
Lily didn’t answer. The closer she moved to the window, the more the anger raced through her mind—red, black, and craving vengeance. She fell to her knees in front of the hollowed out square, glass biting into her skin through her jeans. Hands at her temples, her pulse throbbed beneath her palms as her fingernails raked her scalp.
She was in the perpetrator’s mind. The taste of blood, metallic and slick coated her tongue, and the taste wasn’t as she expected. It was heady and thick, like honey. She ran the tip of her tongue over her own teeth, but the sensation was that of razor sharp fangs.
Her vision narrowed, and a veil of red descended across her line of sight. She scrambled to her feet and into a crouch, her head jerking from side to side and her nostrils flaring.
“Lily! What the fuck?” Ryan said, taking a step toward her, but jumped back when she snarled low in her throat like something feral. She was out of time and place, looking through the vampire’s eyes as events unfolded.
Her head whipped around again, the scent of fear making her mouth water. Through the vampire’s eyes, she saw the boy, Patrick, standing over the girl, his friends laughing as another rode her hard, biting her breast so hard he drew blood. The girl cried out in terror and agony, and the vampire smiled as it coiled to attack.
The image shifted, and Lily watched as if in a trance. The window shattered, and the vampire landed on its feet in a spray of glass and concrete. Covered in blood, the vampire ripped the boys to shreds, choking on bits of broken bone and cartilage as it drank, the bitter tang of their absolute terror scoring its throat.
Lily tried to free her mind, but the vampire’s gnarled thoughts wrapped themselves around her perception like mutant vines—its thought processes saturated with one word. Kill.
Savoring the last of them, the vampire lifted its gaze toward the mirrored wall, its bloodied visage reflected back like a nightmare. A face so white and so thin, the cheekbones looked as if they would rip through the pallid skin, yet stark against the dark red smears streaked across its mouth. Fangs, long and dripping with yellow saliva, were stained with blood and pieces of gore.
As if shocked, the creature’s hand rose to touch its hair, the long, dirty strands hanging from a white scalp, like a corpse. A vicious screech echoed through Lily’s mind along with the image of a beautiful woman, tall and elegant, with long, lustrous blond hair and pearl white skin…the only thing shared with the creature in the mirror was that she too had fangs.
The vampire’s mind was a swirl of incoherent thought, but one word escaped through the haze of rage and murder. Why? And for one lucid moment, the vampire’s mind held the creature and the woman superimposed, and Lily knew. The two were one and the same, and the question now begged, not only why, but how?
***
“If you don’t tell me what the fuck is going on, I’m calling it—game over, got it? I’m not here to scrape you off the ceiling, or the floor for that matter,” Ryan shouted, his arms hooked under her armpits as he dragged her to standing. “What gives? And I want it straight. No more dancing around and telling me you’re not sure.”
He dragged his hand across his forehead, his face furious. This was not what he’d expected when he said he’d take this on.
“You have two minutes, so start talking,” he said, folding his arms across his chest again. This time it was neither casual nor defensive, the move was pure self-preservation.
“Ryan…I…”
“No. If I wanted tap dancing, I’d get assigned to the Broadway beat. I want answers. Now.”
Lily took a deep breath, rummaging through her pockets. “Okay, Ryan. But I’m telling you right now, you won’t believe what I have to tell you.”
After what he just witnessed, he didn’t doubt it. She was still fishing through her pockets, her face beautiful, but drawn. She probably needed a cigarette. After this, even he wanted one, and he didn’t smoke.
Whatever Lily smelled, he smelled it too, but you didn’t need a degree in psychology to know that she not only smelled it, but saw whatever it was that had caused this. He took a breath and exhaled. “Come on. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere we can talk.”
She picked up her baggie full of puke, and the two walked out onto the street. She dumped it in a trashcan near the corner where Ryan was double-parked. Wiping her hands on her slightly bloodstained knees, she stood on the sidewalk waiting for him to finish with the uniformed patrol.
“Where to?” she asked.
“It’s almost four p.m. and neither of us has eaten. Let’s grab a sandwich. I know a good bagel place not too far from here. We can talk while we eat.”
Lily shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but after this, food is the last thing on my mind.”
“Okay, then we can head back toward One Police Plaza. Your car is there, right? We can talk upstairs.”
Lily frowned. “No offense, but with what I have to say, being anywhere near your office is not exactly a bright idea. Listen, it’s late, and I’m drained. Why don’t you drive me home and we can talk at my place? I’ll have a friend pick up my car.”
He didn’t answer. His eyes were riveted as Lily rolled her shoulders, her full breasts pushing forward through the front opening of her coat. The move was harmless, especially after what she’d just been through, but it left his groin thickening and he forced himself to look away.
“Shall we?” she asked, her hand on the passenger car door.
Martinez nodded. “Sounds good.” He cleared his throat and slid into the driver’s seat, covering the telltale bulge in his pants with his jacket. “Where to?” he asked.
“Jane Street. Westside.”
He put the car in gear and pulled out onto the street. Neither one said a word. It was like they were both lost in thought, only he would bet her thoughts occupied the mystery surrounding the crime scene. His were occupied with her. Period.
She smelled unbelievable, even despite her puking her guts up. Every move—from the way she pushed her hair back from her face, the tilt of her head, the sway of her hips as she walked around the crime scene, even when she snarled at him, all he wanted to do was throw her on the ground and fuck her.
Keep your head in the game, stupid…
Problem was, she was in the game with him, and that made it even more intoxicating. She was a bitch and a fighter, and yet he had seen her face cloud over with compassion more than once today. As hard as she was, she was still a soft touch. Soft. He groaned inwardly at the thought of how she would feel beneath him, what her mouth would taste like, the softness of her skin and the sharp edges of her nails across his back.
Ryan reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. At a red light, he scrolled through and pressed Shaw’s number. It went straight to voicemail. “Sergeant, it’s Martinez. I’ve just left the scene with Ms. Saburi. I’m not really sure what Ms. Saburi found, if anything yet, but I’ll be at headquarters later to fill you in, if I can at that point.” He pressed end, and put the phone down in the front cup holder.
“I wish you had told me you were going to call him,” Lily said with a frown.
“Why? He’s my superior. I need to check in with him, or did you forget this is a police investigation?” Ryan ran a hand though his hair, feeling himself scowl.
“I already KNOW this is a police gig, detective. That’s the third time today you’ve felt it necessary to remind me of it, and it’s seriously getting on my nerves, so quit it! You are not the only professional here. I merely wanted the opportunity to tell you what I saw before I have to tell everyone else. I already warned you.”
“Warned me? About what, huh? What is it exactly that you think I can’t handle?”
Lily didn’t answer. She stared out the window, her arms folded in front of her chest.
> “Now you clam up? Jesus, woman, a homicide investigation is no place for head games. If you’ve uncovered pertinent information, I need to know.”
“Pertinent information? Listen good, because if you or anyone down at police plaza think you stand a chance at solving this after what I saw, you’re nuts. This goes way beyond any nightmare you could ever dream up. It’s going to take a collective effort, and I’m going to need to call in reinforcements of my own.”
He looked at her, his face incredulous. “Reinforcements? You’re joking, right? Do you know what Phillips had to go through to get the commissioner to allow YOU on the case? What? You have some kind of ESP army at your fingertips?”
Lily just looked at him, her lips pressed together. “You know, at some point during all this, you are going to thank me. And I’m going to take extreme pleasure in saying I told you so.”
“Yeah, right. Let’s just hear what you have to say, first. Okay?”
“Whatever you say, Detective.”
Chapter Five
“Pull over anywhere you can find a spot. I’m in the red brick building over there,” Lily said, pointing across the street.
Her car wasn’t back, so Jack was still out playing tourist. He didn’t sound too happy when she had said she wouldn’t be home until after five p.m., but he did offer to pick up a pizza, so he couldn’t be that pissed at her. Besides, she was working, so too bad.
Ryan hadn’t wiped the scowl off his face since they had argued. Crosstown traffic didn’t help the situation either, doubling the time it took to reach her apartment. He was annoyed, and Lily had to stifle the urge to sneak a peek into his thoughts as to why.
She’d caught him looking at her cleavage a few times, and wondered if it was just him being a typical guy, or if it had something to do with her Were blood and the proximity of the full moon. Ryan was human, but that didn’t mean a thing. Hadn’t the word lunatic derived from the supposed effect the full moon had on human behavior? On the other hand, maybe he was just like any other red-blooded American male when it came to big boobs.
The Cursed by Blood Saga Page 22