Jess glanced around. “So, Reej, I’m guessing you’ve learned why you’re here.”
He nodded. He and his sister were always on the same wavelength. “I think so, and for once, I’m in agreement with this posting, even if it does scare the life out of me.”
His team of highly educated priests had some serious issues to take care of, but for the time being, he couldn’t divulge everything he knew. He could, however, tell Jess enough to help her figure out what the shadows were. Besides, she’d need to know in order to stay safe.
He took a deep breath and considered telling her another tidbit of news he’d garnered, something he’d learned about their adoption. She wouldn’t like it.
He cleared his throat. “Jess, yesterday, I contacted our family law office. You know the same one that Mom and Dad’s family used for generations . . .”
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“I figured they might still have a record of our adoption. After all, they’ve been serving Vandermires for a very long time.”
“And?”
“They did some digging, and found the records. They told me where we came from originally.”
Jess frowned at him. She always seemed to know when he was holding back. “Well, dear brother, spill it.”
“We weren’t born in the U.S.”
Her mouth dropped open. The same way his had, when he’d been told.
“What does that mean?”
His espresso arrived, steaming hot. But he drank most of it in one gulp. “We were born in Rome.”
Jess stared at him for what seemed an eternity before she said, “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and staring into the tiny cup left with nothing but crema. “We were born in Europe. That makes the possibility of Morana actually being our sister a lot more feasible.”
He lifted his gaze and saw the realization in Jess’s eyes. She obviously didn’t like his news one bit.
Fear that they knew nothing at all about their lives before the adoption slithered in his gut. Why had they been separated by continents? And who would split up twin girls?
MORANA FINISHED her shift at the bar early, leaving Britt behind in the club. Usually, she hung around and made sure everything was done to her satisfaction, but not tonight. She wanted to give Britt the slip. She had Jess Vandermire on her mind and she couldn’t think straight. That never happened to her and she didn’t like it.
Normally, she’d cruise Paris for a few hours before sunlight, then head home to her secure room in the basement of Sinclair’s simple-looking old farmhouse. But it was far from simple. It had levels she had yet to access.
Why would her adoptive father have hidden chambers below their century-old home? And why didn’t she remember growing up? She had no idea what her childhood had been like, what she’d done, where she’d lived. As long as she could remember Sinclair had been giving her a drug to help her age, then another to keep her calm enough to interact with humans. Had those concoctions also taken away her memories? She had a brief snatch of something every now and then, but nothing concrete.
She’d forgotten to ask how old Jess and Regent were when they were adopted. She’d put that on her agenda for the next time she ran into them. And damn it all, she hated that they seemed to be fixated on her. She hadn’t appreciated Britt and Jess coming to her place of work. Especially since Jess’s human boyfriend had snuck in with a group, obviously hoping to spy on her. She’d seen him the second he stepped inside her place. And she’d make sure he’d be sorry for his devious attempt.
She blew out a breath and adjusted her hair just as a tall, long-necked brute walked toward her on the sidewalk. She could practically see his pulse working his carotid artery from here. He smelled a little too strong of French cologne, but she was used to that.
Vampires in France didn’t take blood from humans anymore. Or, at least, they weren’t supposed to. Fuck that!
She stepped closer to the light so he’d see her figure, and she pushed her mouth into pouty fullness. He smiled at her. His mistake.
“Evening, handsome,” she said, realizing she’d been conversing with Jess and Regent so often, she’d taken to speaking English more often than French.
“Hello, beautiful,” he replied in French. He’d been drinking. Funny that the cologne had masked that fact until he got closer. Usually, she’d smell alcohol a long distance away.
He was even bigger and brawnier close up. Morana smiled at him and lured him to a dark corner of the street with a beckoning finger.
Most likely he thought her a prostitute, but she didn’t care. He was a means to an end.
The human grabbed her breast without even asking her name. Would Jess be shocked by her behavior? She hoped so. For some reason, she wanted to be the exact opposite of the woman who looked enough like her to be her twin. She doubted Jess had ever done anything this dirty. Morana smiled at that thought, causing the human to grunt and start feeling her up harder, no doubt assuming the smile was for him. He was no more than a pig in rut to Morana, but he was also a source of hot, delicious blood.
He’d just planted a hand between her legs and had started moving up to a place that he assumed would be hot and ready for him. He’d have been in for a surprise if he’d actually made it that far. She pulled him against her and bent his neck as if to kiss it. The fool was so willing. And so very, very stupid.
Chapter Seven
EVEN THOUGH HE’D seen his share of dead bodies, Britt recoiled at the sight of the glassy eyes and torn flesh near his feet. Her thorax had been ripped open and bared for all to see. Her arms had been slashed from wrist to elbow, showing gut-wrenching views of sinew and bone, and by the blood saturating her clothing in the lower abdomen area, he was pretty sure she’d been slashed down there, too.
Worse, it was the blonde woman he’d been drinking with in the club. The one who’d had the hots for him. What was her name? It escaped him right now. A wave of dizziness warped through him. What the hell? He’d been dizzy ever since he left the club. That wasn’t like him at all.
The light from his cell phone flashed off and he nearly dropped it while fumbling to get it back on again. Weird sounds reverberated in the dark tunnel; scuttling sounds and the creaking of stone in the walls intermittently broke the eerie silence when a vehicle drove on the street overhead.
He had a strong feeling of another presence in the area. It was as if someone was standing just beyond the circle of light his tiny cell phone had created. The killer?
Meanwhile, he heard footsteps coming down the tunnel behind him. Fumbling with his cell phone again, he managed to get the light back on.
He waved the light back and forth while leaning heavily against the freaking bones in the wall. If he staggered now, they’d think he was drunk. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he felt nauseated. “Stop. Don’t come any closer.”
If he was in New York, he’d have this crime scene in hand. But here in Paris, he didn’t even know the emergency phone number. Could he get the operator by dialing zero? He felt like an idiot. An ill-equipped, supposedly tough-cop-slash-idiot.
To his surprise, it was the police moving toward him with a very bright flashlight now shining in his eyes.
“Arretez!”
Britt held up his hands. “Do you speak English?” he asked. “I’m a cop from New York City. I was trying to find my way out, and I just came upon this dead woman.”
“Don’t move,” the officer said in slow English. Below the bright light, Britt could just make out the business end of a handgun pointed at him.
His gut twisted. Great. Just great. And how did they know to come here? He didn’t have to be a cop to know he was the immediate suspect. Worse, he’d also been seen spending part of the evening with this woman and her gro
up. Her name swam around in his cortex, but wouldn’t surface. What was wrong with him?
The police officer shouted something at him in French this time.
“English!” Britt said louder this time. “Anglais!”
He heard a female voice behind the officer who held the spotlight on him.
When the officer scanned the corpse at his feet, Britt also looked down. The light from his cell phone hadn’t allowed him to see the complete scene with such clarity. And again, his head started to spin.
He was standing on bloodied ground inside the crime scene. He fought to keep from passing out. God almighty, he had no idea what was going on.
Veronique LaFontaine stepped forward with a smaller flashlight of her own. She shouted orders at the officer in French, and the cop lowered his gun.
“Mr. Brittain? Is that you?” she asked.
He sighed. “It is.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked in a slow and casual way that proved he’d been right. He was definitely suspect number one.
“I was checking out the underground bar. I’d just decided to head back home, when I became lost and stumbled across this poor woman. How is it you got here so fast? I just found her myself,” he asked.
“Do you know her?” Veronique asked, avoiding his question.
Britt hesitated and inhaled deeply. “In a way. I met her tonight in the club. In fact, I spent a couple of hours with this woman and her friends.”
“What is her name?” Veronique’s monotone French accent was starting to irritate him. He’d been on this end of the guilty stick before, and he’d been innocent then, too. But he knew this could go very badly for him, especially in a foreign country.
Veronique pulled out a small pad and began writing. “You haven’t told me her name,” she pressed.
He racked his stunned brain. It was as if the drinks had done something to his mind. Yet, he didn’t think he was drunk. “It’s . . . Michelle. No, Sylvie, I think. Yes, that’s it.”
Veronique suddenly looked disturbed. She didn’t like the fact that Britt knew the woman’s name. Hell, if he was in her position, he’d be thinking the same damned thing. Guilty.
“Can I move yet?” he asked.
“One moment,” she said. “The forensic team will be here very quickly. What do you think happened here?” Veronique continued.
“I think someone killed her,” he said dryly. He knew better than to antagonize the only person who could help him in this situation, but goddammit, right now, he couldn’t help it.
“Did you see anyone else in the vicinity when you found her?”
“No.”
“Did you hear anyone else?”
“No.” But he had the feeling someone was there.
“Why do you think you didn’t run into someone else?”
“I have no frigging idea.”
“Could it have been because this isn’t the tunnel that leads out of the club?” Her voice was soft. Too soft.
“I told you, I got lost on the way out, okay?” He inhaled deeply and rubbed the back of his head.
The forensic team arrived shortly after that, and the interrogation was halted. Britt waited while all of the pictures were taken and evidence retrieved before he could move out of the way. He had to leave his shoes behind as evidence.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to take you in,” Veronique said.
“Kind of figured that,” he grunted, but didn’t try to overstress his innocence. That would make him look even guiltier.
Veronique drove him to the station wearing only his socks, but didn’t make him sit in the cage. She remained quiet most of the way.
“Do I get one phone call?” he asked, feeling rather stupid since he didn’t have an effing clue about Parisian law.
“Of course. But wait until we get to the station, please.”
“Sure.” He sighed.
If only Jess had stayed with him. He was beginning to think he didn’t belong in France. First, he’d been attacked by shadows, and now, he’d been implicated in a murder. What the hell? He looked at his black socks, now covered in dust and probably bone particulates from the tunnels under the city. A shiver slid down his back. He fought the urge to pull off his socks and toss them out the window. That would only make him look even guiltier.
“Why do people like to hang out in that grisly mortuary down there?” he asked.
“Pardon?”
“You know. Cataphiles?” He ran a hand through his hair. “What’s the allure down there in that grisly tomb of a club?”
“It’s a tourist attraction, monsieur, as I’m sure you are well aware. We try to think of the bones with respect.”
She had no idea how much he hated bones. Had all of those people—the ones who’d been buried in graveyards since the year twelve hundred—expected to end up as part of a wall in the catacombs of the city? Not likely. The idea of rotting bodies falling out of their graves centuries before freaked him out, but seeing the dried-out bones in the walls had really messed him up.
“I meant no disrespect to the dead,” he said, because there were obviously worse things coming out of the walls in this city.
“How long have you known Jess?” Veronique asked, changing the subject. And for once, he was glad she’d stopped asking about the dead woman. Or was this just another approach?
“We’ve been partners for the past three years. She recruited me.”
“And what were you doing before that?”
Ah, double-hell! He should have seen this question coming. “I was a taxi driver.”
Veronique stopped at a red light and frowned at a driver swerving erratically past them. “Captain Vandermire recruited a taxi driver as a member of her unit? That’s a little strange, n’est-ce pas? What special talents do you have?”
If he could talk about vampires right now, he’d fill her in completely, and she might understand him a lot better. But he was sworn to secrecy by the force. “I actually was a cop before that.”
Any chance she’d let that tidbit go?
“A cop turned taxi driver? I’m confused.” She beeped her horn, and dove into the heavily used traffic circle near the Arc de Triomphe. This had New York City’s horrible traffic beat by a mile.
“I was wrongfully accused of something. My name was cleared, and I returned to the force.”
“Accused of what?”
Her inquisition style impressed him. She was soft-spoken, conversing with him in intimate tones, making him feel as if he could tell her anything. He imagined that many a poor sap fell for her superb technique. But not him.
He gritted his teeth and remained silent. She eyed him again and said a little more sternly. “Accused of what?”
“Murder.” Crap. Might as well hand her the nails for his coffin. “But I was innocent.”
“Yet you lost your job over it? I’m wondering if you were truly innocent, monsieur, or you simply had friends in high places?”
“I think I’ll keep my mouth shut until I get a lawyer,” he said. He should have done that sooner, but given their connection with Jess, he’d actually thought he might be able to trust her to believe him.
Veronique’s hazel eyes held a sharpness he hadn’t noticed before. She might be a friend of Jess’s, but that didn’t mean a thing when it came to him. He’d been found at the scene of a crime, and right now, he was her prime suspect.
Britt didn’t wait. He pulled out his cell and called Jess.
JESS ENTERED THE Prefecture de Police with Regent in tow, asking for Veronique when they got to the front desk. They found her in her office going over her notes. When she lifted her head to look at them, Jess’s muscles tensed.
“Father Vandermire, I imagine?” She got up and shook Regent’s hand while eyeing him suspic
iously. “I’m sorry, Father. I expected you to be older.”
Regent pulled his hand back and shifted uncomfortably before shooting a nervous glance at Jess. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Captain LaFontaine. Jess has told me so much about you.” He cleared his throat. “I think I’ll wait in the outer office while you ladies talk.” He turned and left her without looking back.
“Have a seat, Captain Vandermire.”
Uh-oh. No more first-name basis. This didn’t look good for Britt.
Jess sat. “What’s going on, Vee? Britt says he stumbled across a body in the tunnels, and that you think he’s the killer.”
Veronique brushed back her shoulder-length hair. “I wish I still smoked,” she said, avoiding the obvious question.
“I was with him earlier, you know,” Jess said.
Veronique’s obvious fatigue shifted to interest. “C’est vrai?”
Jess nodded.
“Why didn’t Monsieur Brittain inform me of this?”
“Maybe he forgot about it? I left him at the club to go see my brother.”
Regent had moved into the hallway to wait for her, but they could both see him through the window in Veronique’s office.
“I’m sure you realize your alibi doesn’t work very well for him.”
Jess’s gut spiraled into a dive. “It wasn’t meant to be an alibi. Britt is one of the top police officers on the New York City Force. He doesn’t kill people. He saves them.”
“Except when he was accused of murder and kicked off the police force, apparently,” Veronique said in a cool, questioning way.
“He didn’t kill anyone. The person wasn’t even really . . .dead.” Crap, she couldn’t believe she’d just divulged that. The fact was, the person hadn’t really been alive to start with. He’d been a vampire all the time. But she couldn’t very well tell Veronique that.
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