by Cynthia Eden
And I shouldn’t have found a vamp feeding in the alley.
Aidan pulled his wrist away from her lips. For just an instant, her eyes opened, and he felt a hard, thick punch to his gut. Her eyes—dark but framed with gold flecks—locked on him. A guy could really get lost in a gaze like hers. Think all kinds of thoughts…
I need to get out of here.
“You don’t know me,” Aidan told her, his voice almost a caress. “You’ve never met me.” A real shame. Because he was sure that they could have enjoyed the hell out of each other. “Go back to sleep.”
Her lips trembled. “But the monsters are waiting.”
What? His gut clenched. “No monsters are going to get you. Trust me on that one.”
The trembling left her lips, and for an instant, it almost looked as if she were smiling. “Silly…I don’t trust…anyone…” Her breath sighed out and her eyes closed.
He smoothed her hair away from her face. Her wound was already healing. She was—
“Uh, yeah, are you gonna hold her hand all night?” Garrison snapped.
E-fucking-nough.
Aidan rose slowly from the bed. He rolled back his shoulders and flexed his fingers. Then, in a blink, he whirled and grabbed Garrison around the neck. He shoved that asshole against the nearest wall and held him there, dangling the smaller man a foot off the ground as he glared at him. “Do you know who I am?”
“Y-yes…” Garrison gasped as he clawed at the fingers around his neck. Like that feeble clawing crap was doing anything.
“Really? Because the way you keep acting all alpha damn tough, it confused me. Made me think that perhaps you believed you were the one in charge.”
Garrison’s face had turned red. Reddish purple.
Aidan brought his nose in closer to the guy. “Let’s be clear. I don’t give a flying shit who your grandfather was. You’re some lame ass punk that I agreed to allow in the city, but another screw-up from you, and you won’t just be dealing with a banishment, you’ll be dealing with death.”
Garrison wasn’t breathing. Was that due to fear? Or Aidan’s grip?
Aidan eased his hold and Garrison sucked in a heaving gulp of air.
Then he let the fool drop.
“S-sorry!” Garrison cried.
“She’s the woman you need to apologize to. You shot at her. She’s human. If that bullet had hit—”
“I-I thought…I was…pr-protecting the pack! Protecting…y-you…She wasn’t…wasn’t f-forgetting…”
“Humans always forget. Sometimes, they just need a little push.” Or a blood bond. “You owe her now. As payment, you’ll be watching her back, got it? You’ll be making sure that human detective over there is protected.” He didn’t even know why he was giving this order but…oddly, it seemed important to know that Jane would be watched. Guarded.
New Orleans was a dangerous place. Especially to a woman who might look too hard at—
Monsters.
Aidan glanced over his shoulder at the bed. Jane was sleeping.
Beautiful Jane. Had he not thought she was beautiful before? He’d been wrong. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous.
And her scent was the best sin…
“Watch over her,” Aidan growled. “Swear a blood oath on it. Now.”
“I-I swear! I’ll guard her. Never harm!”
Satisfied, Aidan nodded. “Good, now it’s time for us to get the hell out of here.” He had an ME to see. Dr. Bob should have locked down his damn lab better—so much shit could have been avoided if the guy had just stuck to the original plan. But now…screw-up after screw-up tonight.
Aidan couldn’t afford to let these screw-ups continue. Vamps weren’t going to get a foothold in his town again.
He’d see the ME. Then tie up any other loose ends. There had been too many cops outside of Hell’s Gate. A few of them had seen too much. I’ll deal with them.
Damn. Sometimes, his job was exhausting. Especially when idiots like Garrison made everything harder.
Garrison rushed to the door. His face was still red.
Aidan moved much slower. He peered over at the nightstand and saw a picture there. A picture of Jane, with her arm around the shoulders of a man with dark hair and dark eyes—eyes just like hers. They were both smiling in the picture. Jane looked…happy.
He grabbed the picture. Tucked the frame in his jacket. Taking things that didn’t belong to him...he’d always done that. Started back when he was a kid who had nothing. He was usually more restrained but…
She’d forget him, and he’d remember her.
That was the way it worked in his world.
So maybe he deserved a little keepsake for his trouble.
Once more, almost helplessly, he risked a final look back at her. She was snug in her bed. He’d put her gun on the nightstand beside her. He’d noticed that the woman seemed to really like her gun.
Mary Jane Hart.
No, he wouldn’t be forgetting her anytime soon.
***
The distant sound of a car horn penetrated the fog of sleep that surrounded her. Jane blinked open her eyes, then moaned at the bright light that spilled through her blinds. Too bright.
She rolled onto her side—the side that took her away from the sunlight—and her gaze fell on her nightstand.
And the gun there.
Why was her gun there?
She always put the gun inside the nightstand drawer. She took the clip out and she put the weapon up securely before she slid into bed. It was her routine and—
And she was still wearing her clothes.
She sat up then, moving fast, damn fast, her heart racing. Her hand lifting, touching her head, and she expected to feel blood on her temple. Blood, a giant goose egg, something but…but her skin was smooth.
I was near the alley. An idiot with a gun came up on me and…Aidan. Aidan pushed me away.
The scene played through her mind, again and again. Alley. Gun. Brick wall. But…what in the hell had happened after that?
She licked her lips. They’d gone bone-dry on her.
She didn’t remember coming home. Didn’t remember leaving her gun out. She did vaguely remember—
Bright blue eyes. Aidan, leaning over her. No monsters are going to get you.
Jane jumped from the bed. She ran though the small apartment, looking left and right, high and low, making sure that she was alone.
Aidan had been here. She was sure of it, but…but he was gone then. And her mind felt so weird. Foggy. She yanked open the doors that led out to her small balcony, and the blast of sunlight hit her right in the face. Squinting, she lifted her hand to shield her eyes as she headed out onto the balcony. Car horns floated in the wind, and the faintest notes of jazz drifted to her.
It was real. I know it was. But…her fingers slid toward her head once more. She’d hit her head last night, hadn’t she? Only it didn’t feel sore to the touch. There was no bump. No tender skin.
Her hand lowered. What was going on?
A phone began to ring behind her, the sound was loud, jarring—mostly because she meant for it to be. Jane glanced over her shoulder and saw that her phone was on her nightstand, right beside her gun. The phone was blasting out rock music, a signal that her boss was calling her.
Good. She really wanted to talk with the captain. Jane hurried back inside and swiped the phone before it could ring again. “Captain—” she began.
“We got a murder,” Captain Vivian Harris cut her off. “A body dumped right by the ME’s office. Can you believe that shit?”
“I—” Yes, yes, she could. Because she’d been at the ME’s last night and all hell had broken loose…hadn’t it?
“It’s a Jane Doe. Uniforms are on scene, but I want you there. You’ll be the lead on this one. Your first lead as a homicide detective.”
No, it wasn’t her first lead. Last night—that case, that girl—had been her first run as lead detective. The captain should know that.
“Get ther
e, now. Show me what you can do, Hart.”
The call ended.
Her mind was still fuzzy. Things were just…not adding up. But she didn’t have time to sit and piss and moan all day. She had a case. A victim who needed her.
Two damn victims.
She’d figure this crap out, but first—shower. Dress. Haul ass to the crime scene.
***
There wasn’t a crowd waiting this time. This wasn’t Bourbon Street and dozens of onlookers—gawkers—weren’t trying to stare at the dead body. There was only a thin band of yellow police tape blocking the alley entrance way. And two uniformed cops were standing guard near the tape. One of those cops—he was familiar to her. Because he was there last night, too.
The light glinted off his blond hair and when he looked at her, a familiar horror filled his eyes.
Mason Mitchell.
His gaze dipped down to the badge she’d clipped to the pocket on her jeans. “Detective. The, uh, crime techs are already working. The ME’s—he’s with her.”
Since the ME had been right next door, it was hardly surprising that Dr. Bob had beat her to the scene. She ducked under the police line, then paused. “Is it as bad as last night’s scene?” Jane asked Mason.
His brows furrowed. “Ma’am?”
She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “The victim. Is she cut up like the last one?”
Mason swallowed. “L-last one?”
The guy was way too green. “Never mind.” She’d see for herself. Jane turned and made her way down the alley. The place reeked—not from the stale scent of garbage but from death. Blood, decay—and she could see why.
There was a pool of blood near the back of the alley. Thick. Dark. Far too much blood.
Techs were snapping pics of the scene. Dr. Bob was crouched over the body.
The woman on the dirty ground—Jane couldn’t see her face, not yet. But she could see her body. Bare toes. Bare calves. Totally naked body. Hell, just like poor Melanie Wagner. This wasn’t good—two dead girls dumped in a twenty-four hour period. There was a great, gaping hole in the poor girl’s chest, and there was—
“Oh, Jane, didn’t realize you were already here.” Dr. Bob moved back, giving Jane a view of the woman’s body. “Poor thing,” he murmured. “What kind of freak would do something like this to such a pretty girl?”
Everything stopped for Jane. Just—stopped. For an instant, a thick and heavy silence surrounded her. She didn’t hear the traffic, didn’t hear the techs murmuring, didn’t even hear the rustle of the papers in Dr. Bob’s hands. She heard nothing, and she saw only that victim.
A victim with wide-open, dark eyes. With long red hair that spread beneath her head. Skin that was too pale.
A broken doll, cast aside.
Melanie Wagner.
Only…Melanie’s throat wasn’t slashed open this time. There was no long cut that went from ear to ear. Her throat was smooth. Perfect. It was her chest that had the giant hole.
Dr. Bob frowned. “Jane? You okay?” He tilted his head as he studied her. “You’ve gone white.”
“No, I am not okay,” she gritted out. Melanie had been an only child. Jane knew that—she’d pulled the records on the woman last night. So she wasn’t staring at some twin. And it wasn’t someone who looked like Melanie.
It was Melanie. Straight down to the little mole on the right side of the woman’s mouth. “You know her!” Jane snapped at him. “We both do. She was the victim from last night!”
“What?” Dr. Bob just appeared lost.
“The one who had her throat sliced open on Bourbon Street.” This was insane. “You were there! You were—”
He stepped closer to her. Alarm flared on his face. “Jane…” Now his voice was low, carrying only to her. “No victims were brought into my office last night. For once, things were quiet.” But worry was plain to see on his face. “Are you…are you feeling all right this morning?”
No, she sure as hell wasn’t. “She’s Melanie Wagner.”
“You know the victim?”
They both knew her! They’d found her last night. Only…something was wrong. Way wrong. She spun away from Dr. Bob and marched toward Mason. She grabbed the uniformed cop and dragged him closer to the body. “Recognize her?” Jane demanded.
Mason gave a frantic shake of his head. “Did…did someone take her heart?”
“No,” Dr. Bob glanced back at the body. “But she was stabbed, right in the heart, by something very sharp.”
Stabbed…only last night, Melanie’s throat had been slit.
Impossible.
A woman couldn’t die twice.
Dr. Bob cast another worried frown Jane’s way. Mason hurried back to his post. And Jane tried to figure out what in the hell was happening. “Fingerprint check,” she whispered. “She’s going to come up in the system.” Because that victim was Melanie Wagner, she’d bet her life on it.
That poor broken doll was Melanie, and Jane didn’t know what the hell was going on.
***
Thirty minutes later, the body had been bagged and tagged. Bob Heider had made certain that the woman was taken care of—after all, it was his job to deal with the dead. Detective Jane Hart had watched every move that he made during his exam of the scene, and then she’d spent far too much time studying the alley.
She’s going to be trouble.
Bob watched as Jane marched out of that alley. As soon as she vanished, he pulled out his phone. The crime scene techs were far enough away that he didn’t worry they’d overhear him. It wasn’t as if he were going to have a long conversation. With this particular fellow, he never did.
The phone rang once, twice.
Bob felt sweat trickling down his spine.
“What the hell do you want?” A deep voice rumbled.
Bob kept his eyes on the alley’s entrance. Just in case Jane came back, he wanted to be ready. “We’ve got a real big problem.” And, unless he was wrong… “I’m pretty sure she’s headed your way right now.”
“What?”
He hunched his shoulders. “She remembers.”
“Im-fucking-possible.”
So the cocky guy liked to think. “I like her.” His breath heaved out. “Don’t hurt her.”
One of the techs glanced his way.
Bob ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He forced an attentive expression for the tech even as he thought…
Please, please…don’t kill Jane. Because, sure, he might have been lying to her—her and plenty of other cops, but…he didn’t want Jane dead.
He didn’t want her body coming across his table.
He liked her. She was one of the good people. The kind that cared and tried to make a difference. With her past, hell, it was amazing that she gave a shit at all. But she did and…
Don’t kill Jane.
His shoulders slumped and he turned back to the body bag that waited on him.
Chapter Three
Getting into Hell wasn’t hard.
After all, it was barely ten a.m. on a Sunday morning. Bourbon Street wasn’t exactly plush with tourists right then—most of the folks who’d partied the night before were back in their hotel rooms, sleeping hard and deep. The kind of sleep that the truly hung over often enjoyed.
Hell’s Gate waited for Jane. Unassuming. Dark. And with a CLOSED sign at the door. Only that door wasn’t locked. When she reached for the knob, it turned all too easily beneath her fingers.
No, getting into Hell wasn’t hard…
Her right hand slid toward her holster. She hadn’t come unarmed for this little visit.
“Hello!” Jane called out. She took a step inside and goosebumps rose onto her arms. Ignoring the chill, Jane crept deeper into the club. The lights were off. Chairs had been turned upside down and placed on top of the wooden tables. The place had that eerie, complete quiet that one normally found inside…a tomb.
And then…then she heard the clink of glasses. Her gaze shot
to the bar. It had been empty a moment before but now, he was there. Standing right behind the gleaming bar top. He had what looked like a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a glass in the other. As she stared at him, he lifted the glass up, saluted her, then downed the contents in one gulp.
She pulled out her gun.
Aidan’s lips twitched. “Still love that weapon, don’t you?”
It was all real. He knows me.
Aidan put down the glass and flattened his hands on the bar’s surface. He seemed…bigger. His shoulders stretched the black t-shirt that he wore and his blue eyes were almost painfully bright.
“I want to know what’s happening,” Jane began.
“You just busted into my club, without an invitation.” He lifted one dark brow. “Is this the point when I’m supposed to say…welcome to hell?”
“What. Is. Happening?” She took another step toward him. The floor creaked beneath her boots. “Why am I the only one who seems to remember Melanie Wagner? Why isn’t there still crime tape up outside of this place? Why isn’t there—”
He smiled. That smile was chilling and it stopped the mad tumble of her words.
There was something about that smile. It was cold and dark and…sad?
She blinked and shook her head and—
He leapt across the bar. Moved in a freakishly fast lunge and was in front of her before she could suck in a breath.
Her gun pushed into his chest. Right over his heart. They’d been in this pose before, hadn’t they? The déjà vu was overwhelming. “What did you do to me?”
His head tilted. If possible, he seemed even bigger this close. “What do you want me to do?” And just like that—his voice was a sensual purr. Temptation.
No way. “You are not trying to seduce me now.”
His lips curved. Not such a cold smile this time. “To be honest, I wanted to seduce you the first time I saw you.”
“There was a dead body at the scene!”
“Was there?” Aidan mused. “I don’t remember that…”
“Seems like everyone but me doesn’t remember, and I’m calling bullshit on that.”
His smile slid away.
“Melanie Wagner had her throat cut last night. Right outside of your club. You were here. I was here. And then we both met up later and headed toward the ME’s office.”