Manuel took a step forward, towering over the reporter, imposing and seething. “This case is not up for questions.” His temper sparked and he couldn’t help but add, “Take your camera crew and get the hell out of here.”
The reporter drew a breath and lowered the mic. He wanted to ask one more question, but instead, backed up a step, his lips forming into a thin line.
Manuel pointed a finger right at the reporter’s chest and said, “Let’s just make something clear right now. I don’t want to see you or your cameras here again.”
The reporter shrank back as Manuel pushed past the camera crew and headed for the entrance to the station.
With his mind focused on Captain Hodge’s office, Manuel started down the hall when he heard shouts as two officers led a guy in handcuffs toward the conference room. As Manuel stopped and cast a glance in their direction, the prisoner glared at him and shouted, “What the hell are you lookin’ at, pig?”
One of the detectives that were guiding the convict said something back, but Manuel didn’t hear it. Whatever he’d muttered was effective, as the shaved head scumbag immediately shut up. He was a witness in the Benedetti crime family, who had been trafficking guns, drugs, and prostitution for generations. His name was Jimmy Fratianno III, grandson of the late Aladino “Jimmy the Weasel” Fratianno. Three years ago, they brought him in on cocaine and heroin transportation charges. Captain Hodge had offered him a deal in exchange for a bigger fish. If Jimmy gave up the names of his connections, it could take five years off his sentence.
When Manuel turned around, his partner was motioning him over.
“Get your ass in gear, Detective,” Frank told him. “You’ve got exactly thirty seconds before Captain rips you a new one.”
“Keep your pants on. I’m coming.” Manuel was about to start for the door when he heard a shotgun go off.
He instantly ducked. “What the f—”
In the corner of his eye, Manuel caught sight of his partner’s torso twist like a rope. Frank went with the force of the blast, spinning to the ground with his hand covering his shoulder.
Moving fast and low, Manuel got Frank the hell out of the way, managing to take cover behind a desk in case the shooter was ready for round two.
“Stay down,” Manuel told Frank as he quickly took stock of his injury. It was nothing too serious. Fortunately, it was just a graze.
Frank winced. “It burns like a son of a bitch.”
Manuel slipped out of his jacket and pressed it against Frank’s wound. “Oh hell, Perkins,” Manuel grumbled quietly. “Suck it up. The slug barely grazed you. It’s bleeding like a sieve, but it’ll slow if you keep pressure on it.”
As Frank held the jacket over his wound, Captain Hodge shot around the corner on his hands and knees like a bat out of hell.
“What the hell is going on?” Hodge demanded. Then his eyes homed in on Frank’s bloody shoulder. “Shit! You all right, Detective?”
Frank nodded. “It’s just a flesh wound, Captain.”
Hodge let out a heavy sigh. “Did either of you get a look at the shooter?”
With his eyes locked on the captain’s, Manuel shook his head. “No, but I think I have a pretty good idea who the asshole is,” he said to Hodge. “It’s Jimmy Fratianno.”
Hodge checked his watch, realizing it was time for Mr. Fratianno’s deposition. “Shit,” he cursed through gritted teeth. “I almost forgot about the damn Beneditti case.”
“Yeah,” Manuel said. “Jimmy was supposed to give up those names, but it looks like he suddenly had a change of heart.”
“For Chrissakes,” Frank chimed in. “How in the hell did he manage to get his hands on a damn shotgun?”
Manuel reached for his Colt .45 and kept his voice low, “I don’t know, but I’m gonna find out. Captain, stay here with Frank. I’m going in.”
Captain Hodge nodded in agreement. “Head around the back,” he said as he put a hand on his holster that held a Glock .40 caliber. “I’ll cover you from the rear.”
With his weapon in hand, Manuel slipped out from behind the desk and made a run for it while Hodge covered his back.
Craaack! The blast from a shotgun split the silence and hit Hodge’s office door, sending wood splintering into pieces.
Blam! Blam! Blam! Captain Hodge immediately fired back.
Shit! Manuel cursed as he swung around a corner and flattened himself against the wall. Then, more shots fired. Thinking quickly, he jogged down a narrow hallway, past several armed officers who were crouched behind their desks and came to the backside of the conference room. When he peered around the corner, he saw the two detectives from earlier, lying on the floor, appearing unconscious. Beside them was Jimmy’s attorney. Blood pooled on the floor beneath him.
As Manuel looked away, he saw Jimmy Fratianno, setting up, taking aim at the desk where his captain and partner took cover.
“Jimmy!” Manuel yelled before he could fire off another shot.
Jimmy heard his name and turned just in time to see Manuel, a semiautomatic in his grasp and the barrel aimed in his direction.
“Drop your weapon, now!” Manuel ordered.
Jimmy turned to fire his weapon, realizing it was over. In that nanosecond before he pulled the trigger, Manuel unloaded his.
It seemed as though everything moved in slow motion. He watched as Jimmy’s body took the impact and the shotgun flung from his hand. Blood spurted from his head and torso like a crimson geyser as he toppled to the floor.
Manuel moved next to Jimmy’s body with his weapon drawn and kicked the shotgun away. As he crouched down to check for a pulse, something strange happened.
Straining muscles rippled beneath Jimmy’s face, while the tendons in his neck stood out like thick cable. Then, one by one, the gunshot wound in his left temple and chest contracted, disgorging the embedded fragments. The bloody bullets clattered onto the floor and rolled across the tile toward Manuel’s boots.
“What the—”
In the blink of an eye, Jimmy’s body began to expand like something within him was overtaking his natural form. As his orange prison jumpsuit came apart at the seams, coarse black fur sprouted from his pale skin, covering the two bullet holes and various prison tats throughout his body. All the flesh-twisting carnage took Manuel by surprise.
The detective’s eyes widened in alarm as he finally became fully aware of what was happening. In that moment, the 1981 British-American horror film, An American Werewolf in London suddenly came to mind. Whatever Jimmy had shifted into, it looked similar to the grisly werewolf in that movie. Acting on instinct, Manuel raised his gun, but the snarling creature swatted it away with a sweep of its massive paw. Knocked off balance by the force of Jimmy’s newfound transformation, Manuel staggered backward.
As the wolfish beast stalked toward Manuel on all fours, police officers swarmed forward with their guns raised. When the creature heard the distinctive sounds of rifles cocking, it stopped in its tracks and growled. The rogue wolf in Jimmy wanted nothing more than to lunge for Manuel’s throat. Regardless of the odds against him, the wolfish fiend realized that, even with his supernatural strength, he could very well be at a severe disadvantage if their weapons were loaded with silver. Although, silver wasn’t lethal to his kind, but it burned like hell. Searching for an escape route, its glowing eyes seized on one of the windows. The hideous beast growled at Manuel one last time, then sprang through the window. Glass shattered and rained down onto the floor with the force of the monstrous impact. Police officers shouted, and opened fire, missing the mysterious creature by mere inches.
Damn it! Manuel watched in disbelief as some sort of werewolf managed to escape a precinct full of armed men and women.
Did it really matter? he thought. Whatever Jimmy Fratianno was, the son of a bitch somehow survived a bullet to the head, not to mention the one that hit him square in the heart. The question weighed heavily on his mind. Did Jimmy’s transformation have anything to do with the creature
they were after? It couldn’t be the same creature, Manuel figured. Jimmy Fratianno had been behind bars during all the recent attacks. It was bad enough having to deal with one freak of nature. Now there were two? Shit!
Chapter Thirteen
As Lawrence pushed his way into the Covenant’s exam room, his heart fluttered, and for a split second, he stopped in his tracks, wondering if he was overstepping his boundaries. Maybe he should have asked Dr. Helen Carrington’s permission before barging into her patient’s room. Shrugging it off, he moved forward and perched on a rolling stool next to a bed that resembled one from a hospital. Stretched out under several blankets, resting peacefully, was probably the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Pulled back into a ponytail, her jet-black hair hung in thick waves next to her head. The golden undertone to her skin appeared to be of Italian descent, and in spite of all the bandages on her face, she was breathtaking.
“Lawrence?”
Helen’s voice was right behind him as she came through the door, but Lawrence felt as if she were miles away. In fact, the whole world seemed nonexistent except for the young woman he and Roman had rescued earlier. Was it just a coincidence, he wondered, that they arrived at the right time to save her life, or was it God’s way of performing a miracle? According to Lawrence, God’s miracles were not coincidences.
All his life, he’d set aside his personal life and dedicated it to saving others, never taking the time to fall in love. Now, he knew why. He’d been waiting for this moment, for this woman, for this time.
Ms. Tara Hood, he thought. My heart belongs to you.
And even though that might sound ridiculous to others, the connection he felt for her was so strong he couldn’t deny it if he tried.
Tara opened her eyes. “Are you the one who saved my life?” she said in a weak voice that just about stopped his heart.
“Yes, I am.” Lawrence quickly rose to his feet and placed a shaky hand over hers. The instant he made contact, his whole body turned to mush. Damn, she was getting more alluring by the minute. If this kept up, he was going to end up losing his mind. Period.
On that note, he leaned in close and caught a whiff of her perfume. Nothing fruity or flowery, but nothing he could place commercially either. Was it her shampoo, or just the natural scent of her skin? Dear God, where’s my head at? Apparently, not between my shoulders.
“Is there anything I can get you, Ms. Tara,” he finally asked as he looked into her amazing, chestnut eyes. “Are you in pain?”
His voice was quite deep and familiar to her, but her brain struggled to process everything that had happened. After the accident, she remembered hearing the same soothing voice. And then a blurry recollection of a pair of strong hands cradling her body as though she was a delicate piece of glass in fear of shattering. As bits and pieces of her memory came to her, images of someone putting her inside an SUV and then being driven to what appeared to be a castle—similar to the one in her favorite childhood bedtime story—flashed before her eyes. Inside the spectacular, massive structure, someone carried her down a long corridor to some type of attached medical facility that was as clean as any hospital and everything smelled like Lysol. That’s when Tara’s instincts kicked in. It was obvious whoever lived here wanted it kept secret. But why? One thing she knew for sure. The owner definitely had big money. How they managed to live here without someone from the outside finding out was certainly a mystery. Whatever the case was, the man who had brought her here made her feel safe and protected.
“Where am I?”
“Don’t worry,” he told her. His voice sounded reassuring. “You’re in a safe place.”
While he spoke to her, he leaned down into her field of vision, and she recalled the odd color of his eyes. They were shimmering green, like two polished emerald gemstones. The mesmerizing shade complimented his dark complexion.
“Ms. Tara, do you understand what I’m saying?”
Tara nodded and glanced over as far as she could toward the doorway. The physician that had treated her injuries stood back with a slight grin on her face. Then something suddenly registered in her mind. Her name was Dr. Helen Carrington. She was a physician at the Bates Hospital. With a sense of relief, Tara refocused her eyes back on the handsome man that had saved her life while Helen quietly stepped out of the room.
She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”
“Lawrence,” he replied. “Lawrence Colbert.”
“Thank you, Lawrence... for helping me.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Tara.”
As more memories came to her, Tara looked at Lawrence in question. “There was someone else with you that night you found me,” she said. “He spoke with a European accent.”
“Yes,” Lawrence replied. “He’s a good friend of mine. His name is Roman Kincaid.”
Tara nodded, and then suddenly remembered what this Roman had promised her.
“Did he...” She paused as her chin began to tremble. “...take care of Brandon?”
Lawrence nodded and looked at her gravely. He knew more than a little something about how losing one felt, so yeah, he understood the kind of pain she was in.
“Don’t worry,” he said, trying his best to console her. “Everything has been properly taken care of. And I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Tara.”
She swallowed hard as one tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. On instinct, Lawrence reached forward and wiped it away.
She took a halting breath and nearly broke down. “Thank you,” she finally said.
A moment passed in silence, though Tara’s heartbeat echoed in her ears. Then, with his gaze intently studying hers, he asked on impulse, “Were you married?”
Tara went very still, her expression frozen. It hit her then. Brandon’s death came to her, and the memory of how distant their relationship had become. She closed her eyes to gather strength, and said, “Uh, no—”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Tara.” Lawrence nearly bit his own tongue. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, no,” she interjected. “You’re fine, Lawrence.” For some strange reason, he made her want to open up, if only a little, about her and Brandon’s relationship. Perhaps this would give her closure. “Brandon and I lived together for a few years, but we were not married,” she continued, her tone dismal. “Sadly, our relationship was not what it used to be. But I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”
A lump grew in his throat, and his eyes gleamed with a worried look. Uh-oh. Had he pressed too far? He felt like an idiot. A yellow light suddenly flashed inside his head. Proceed with caution.
“Do you have any next of kin living close,” Lawrence reluctantly asked, changing the subject. “I mean, do you want me to contact anyone?”
Tara sighed and regretfully shook her head. “Both Brandon and I have no one. He left his family years ago due to an unfortunate situation, and I ran away from my foster family when I was fourteen.”
He lightly squeezed her hand. His touch was soothing, careful, and everything about him softened. “I’m so sorry. What about friends or coworkers?”
“Most of my friends are coworkers. If you don’t mind, can I use your phone to contact the Bates Hospital? I’m a nurse there, and I still have several vacation days that I haven’t used. I need to ask for personal time off.”
Lawrence nodded. “I’m sure that can be arranged, but right now, you should rest, Ms. Tara. I could come back later if you like.” The huskiness of his voice drew a blush to her cheeks.
“Yes, I would like that, Lawrence.”
Still holding her hand, he smiled and said, “I’ll be back in an hour.”
Before he released her hand, he gave it a final squeeze. As he turned to leave, Tara said, “You know what killed Brandon, don’t you?”
When he looked at her, the expression on his face clearly answered her question.
“What was it, Lawrence?”
“Please, Ms. Tara.” His eyes were pleading. “Get
some rest. I’ll explain everything when I return. All you need to know now is that you’re safe here.”
Her brows furrowed with confusion. “Where’s here?”
“You’re in a...” he briefly paused, thinking of the right word to say. The last thing he wanted was to confuse her more. “This is a safe house,” he continued. “I promise. Nothing can harm you here.”
Tara was confused and yet comforted by his words. In fact, something in his eyes made her feel warm on the inside.
After she accepted his word that he would explain everything later, Lawrence took a last look at her and then stepped out into the hallway where Helen was waiting.
As Lawrence’s bonding scent wafted over, Helen knew without a doubt, he had feelings for Tara.
“You feel something for her, don’t you?” she asked Lawrence.
If it weren’t for his dark complexion, Lawrence’s cheeks would have flushed beet red.
“How can you tell?”
“The look on your face,” Helen said. “It’s the same way Alexander looks at me.”
“Oh, I—”
She held up a halting hand. “It’s okay, Lawrence. I think it’s sweet.”
He tilted his head a little. “You do?”
“Yes, I do.”
Lawrence exhaled a deep breath and then settled back against the cinder block wall, his eyes still focused on Helen. “So, would it be okay with you if I come back and check on her in an hour?”
“You can visit her as much as you like. Aside from a few bruised ribs, she should make a full recovery in two to four weeks,” Helen explained. “But that doesn’t mean she’s free to leave the Covenant. Tim strictly said under no circumstances was Ms. Hood to be released. It’s for her protection that she stays put until whatever is out there killing humans is destroyed.”
“I agree.”
There was a moment of silence, as if Lawrence wanted to ask Helen something. She could practically feel the awkward tension in the air between them.
THE IMMORTAL: A Novel of the Breedline series Page 10