Night Games

by Crystal Jordan

  Exactly one hour later, Delta stood ramrod straight in Jack’s office. “I’m going to go over the profile I came up with, then I can talk to you about why Gregor doesn’t fit it, if you like.”

  Jack arched an eyebrow. “How does he not fit the psycho-killer vampire profile, exactly?”

  Sighing, Selina waved a hand between them. “Profile first, remember? And relax, Dubois. No one is blaming you for Gregor not fitting your profile, or for him having solid alibis. I’m guessing you’d have liked him to be guilty as much as the rest of us.”

  “More.” Delta chortled. “I have plenty of reason to hate his ass, but your murderer isn’t him. Though I don’t buy his ‘I was just in the neighborhood’ story for a second.” Easing her rigid stance, she wandered the room, peering at each one of the victim’s photos Jack had stuck to the wall. “Your vamp has a real hate on those who tell Normals about magic, or who are Normal and know things most humans don’t.”

  “I debriefed the agents on our little adventure tonight. I hear we got a whole lot of nothing out of Gregor.” Peyton strode into the office, four cups of Starbucks nestled into a cardboard holder. As he handed them out to everyone, Selina watched Tess walk by the open door. The redhead toasted her with a matching Starbucks cup.

  “Pretty much,” Selina said, so grateful for the caffeine she wanted to weep. “Delta got some goods out of him, and now she’s updating us on the profile.”

  “Our guy’s got vampire snobbery down to a killing science.” Jack rubbed the nape of his neck, sipped the hot brew, and looked at Delta.

  She shook her head, drinking her coffee with an appreciative sigh. “No, this is more than snobbery. This guy feels wronged by the disclosure of Magickal knowledge. Perhaps he told someone and it ended in that person’s death. Perhaps he wanted to turn someone, was denied, and he lost the person. This isn’t just about prejudice, this is personal.”

  “So if he was denied, we’re looking for someone who had a beef three decades ago with a corrupt Vampire Conclave.” Selina felt her shoulders slump as hopelessness swamped her. They had so much information, it was almost too much to weed through. “That’s going to narrow it down for us.”

  “Yes, since I’m one of those people, and I’m guessing you are, too, and even Gregor. No one worked for them that long or lived in that city back then without despising that Conclave. But your killer also might have a history of violence that precedes his beef with them.” The blond vampire tapped the picture of their youngest victim. A twelve-year-old who’d set her dad up with her Normal math teacher. They’d been on their honeymoon when she was murdered. “You don’t jump straight into this without some buildup. He might have tortured animals as a child, displayed obsessive behavior, had outbursts of uncontrollable anger. He might have a rap sheet prior to his first murder.”

  “But considering how well he’s avoided detection, he might not,” Selina pointed out. Or he might actually know his victims, integrate himself into their lives. She’d never figured out how, but he’d learned about these people and their relations to Normals somehow. He had to be constantly researching, looking for potential targets. Like Bess.

  “True.” Delta propped her shoulder against the wall and folded her arms. “So, you’re looking for someone of above-average intelligence, someone who stalks his victims, plans with care, and probably fantasizes about each killing for weeks or even months in advance. The murders are very physical and very personal—he feels like he knows them by the time he kills them, and he wants to watch them while they die.”

  “And know he’s the one with the power now,” Peyton interjected, chugging his coffee.

  “Exactly,” the vampire replied. “He doesn’t bother to hide the bodies or do anything to cover them or even close their eyes after they’re dead. He’s not ashamed of what he’s done. He feels completely justified, righteous, and he wants whoever finds the victims to know that, to see it.”

  Pacing in front of the whiteboard filled with the victims’ stats, Jack threw a hand in Delta’s direction. “I thought a lot of serial killers attempted to contact police or the media, injecting themselves into the investigation. We haven’t seen any of that.”

  “That’s true, but not all of them do.” The vampire shrugged. “He may think he’s made enough of a statement with the murder itself. It’s not just about getting away with it, it’s about living out his greatest fantasy over and over again, punishing those who have what he wanted.”

  “He’s a real sweetheart.” Jack grunted.

  “Yeah.” Delta straightened away from the wall. “I’m having our guys pull files for vampires who might fit the bill. Gregor is not one of them.”

  “Okay, tell us why not.” Peyton crossed his legs at the ankle.

  “I never rule anyone out completely. That’s just foolishness.” She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them and let them drop. “Gregor is a pain in the ass, and I’m not saying he’s not involved. He was there and he has no good excuse for being there. He’s usually up to his eyeballs in guilt, but Gregor does what he does for money. It doesn’t jive with the serial killer mentality.”

  Jack took a swig of coffee. “Just playing devil’s advocate, but that sounds like a good cover story to me. Kill enough people to mask the ones that are recreational.”

  Delta picked up Gregor’s thick folder of misdeeds. “This is Gregor’s file. He’s a mercenary. He gets paid to protect people, to kill people, to basically make people’s lives easier if they pay him enough. He is cold, calculating, and methodical. He seems to have no moral qualms about what he does.”

  “He’s also impossible to pin anything on,” Selina added wryly. She should know—she’d tried more than once. She’d gone a couple of rounds with him when Merek was her partner. Those crimes were still listed as unsolved, even though she was certain Gregor was the culprit. She just couldn’t prove it.

  Delta nodded and sighed. “He’s suspected of doing a lot of illegal things. He—or his influential employers—have managed to wiggle out of anything more serious than a slap on the wrist from the All-Magickal Council. There have never been formal charges, there has never been a trial. And, despite whatever else he’s done, he’s got no record of meddling in black magic. Seriously, he’s got a list of suspected priors as long as my leg, but the kind of shit your killer has done? It’s not his style. He may feed from his victims, but he doesn’t play with his food.”

  Disgusting, but well-put. Gregor talked a good game, but from what Selina had seen, his kills tended to be quick, clean, and efficient.

  “His associates describe him as affable and easy to get along with. As long as you’re paying him well, he’s your best friend,” Delta continued, heavy sarcasm in her voice. No doubt she disagreed with his colleagues’ assessment. “What you’re dealing with is a lot of rage, and a compulsion that can’t be controlled. The frequency of the attacks is escalating. Your killer is losing his grip. So, what I’m saying is ... Gregor isn’t a nice man—I’m not arguing that—but he doesn’t fit the profile. Is it impossible that it’s him? No. But I also don’t think it’s likely. He has an established pattern, and this isn’t it.”

  Jack nodded. “Thanks, Dubois. Pull those files on likely suspects for us. We appreciate everything you’ve done tonight, especially with loosening Gregor’s tongue a bit. I’ll ask Cavalli to lean on the Vampire Conclave to see if we can get information on who might have a grudge against the local Conclave in New Orleans.”

  “Good luck with that. As Grayson pointed out, the list is pretty long. That Conclave liked to have people disappear for getting in their business. A lot of folks don’t take kindly to that, and we have long memories in the South.” Delta glided toward the door, silent in a way that only vampires could manage.

  Her information gave them a little more to go on, but at this point, they knew just enough to know they didn’t know enough. Peyton growled, his fangs flashing, and Selina could feel his frustration. All of them were tense. The case grew wors
e by the day.

  Selina finished her java and tossed the cup in the trash can in the corner. She glanced at the werewolf, whose fangs were still protruding from his gums. She checked her watch. It was a lot later than she’d thought. Or earlier, depending on one’s definition. “It’s not yet morning, but the full moon officially rises in, what, eighteen hours?”

  “I know.” He stood abruptly. “I should check in with the pack. Make arrangements for tonight.”

  “Is Tess going with you?”

  “No. She hasn’t rampaged with the stuff Dr. Standish has her on.” His hands clenched and unclenched, unable to settle, a subtle reminder of the horrible cost of lycanthropy. “But just to be safe, she stays at the hospital for observation like all the others in the clinical trial.”

  “Understandable.” Selina hoped that Chloe’s formula was approved soon. Too many wolves had already been lost during the full moon, and there weren’t enough Magickals in the world to ignore something that caused so many deaths. Then again, their serial killer fell into a similar, if smaller, category of death dealing. She pushed that aside and looked at Peyton. “Get some rest, so you’re ready to deal with the Change. We’ll see you after the moon has done her thing.”

  Meaning she assumed he wouldn’t die, that she believed he could control the shift even under the duress of the full moon. He nodded his appreciation. “Thanks.”

  And then he was gone. She hoped she was right and he came back. Over the years, she’d known far too many good people who’d died. It was inevitable to lose people when she’d lived this long, but it never became easy. Which was why she was here, wasn’t it? To keep this killer from taking from others the way he’d taken from her.

  Determination renewed, she glanced at Jack. “Another cup of coffee and I’ll be ready to get back to work.”

  12

  There was a picture of Selina’s necklace on the floor under his desk. Jack frowned and bent to retrieve it. One of the papers Delta had dropped, maybe? He looked at the huge pile of files and flipped open the top one. Paperwork filled out in Selina’s neat handwriting. Attached to it was a picture of the now-familiar murder scene.

  The New Orleans files had arrived.

  She’d have to help him sort through them when she got back from the break room. He could definitely use another gallon or three of espresso. Without Gregor as a viable suspect, they were back to square one.

  Jack pulled out the first picture and set it on his desk, then went digging to find the other three. Four victims in the Big Easy, Selina had said. He wanted to see them lined up together, compare them to the other victims’ pictures. Especially since this was the one city that seemed to have started it all, but didn’t quite fit the pattern. There was no denying these pictures, though. He’d guess once the tech guys went over the many photos of the fang puncture wounds—or mouthpiece punctures—they’d find they were an exact match to all the others. Unless they had multiple people passing around the same mouthpiece and committing murders in the exact same way for thirty years, it looked like this was more of their vamp’s handiwork.

  Two women and two men. Two Magickals and two Normals. The photo of one of the women snagged his attention. She was wearing the necklace. Selina’s necklace. He pulled that one closer to him and looked again. No, it wasn’t the same. The stones were different colors, but the rest looked exactly alike. The chain, the shaping of the metal. And she was an elf, too.

  It didn’t mean anything. Elves tended to specialize in magical objects. He had elven-made objects in his house—part of a security system meant to ward off those who meant him harm. The effect it created was similar to the shield spells many Magickals used to protect their property, but since he had no magical abilities, he’d had to improvise.

  Still, his gaze kept going back to the necklace. Maybe it bothered him to see an elf with a necklace like Selina’s staring up at him, lifeless. He dragged the woman’s file over and flipped it open. More of Selina’s handwriting. The woman was named Elizabeth Leblanc (nee Chandler), born in England in the 1600s, next of kin was her mother, Agnes Chandler (nee Grayson), both elves.

  Grayson.

  His gaze caught on the name. It could mean nothing, but the hairs rose on the back of his neck. He looked back at the picture, at the necklace. What had Selina said about it at the wedding? A talisman, made by her cousin.

  He pushed his chair over until he sat in front of his computer, pulled up the database for All-Magickal personnel files and typed in Selina’s name.

  Bingo. Listed under next of kin was her aunt, Agnes Grayson Chandler, now deceased. They needed to update her file.

  As if that was the most important problem.

  In the last few minutes, incredulity had given way to anger. It boiled up inside him, an insidious darkness that spread within him as it hit him how very little Selina had trusted him. With anything other than her body. For both professional and personal reasons, she should have told him about her goddamn cousin being murdered by the man they were hunting.

  This sure as hell explained why she flinched when people talked about their families. Her aunt had hated her, and her cousin had been slaughtered during a case Selina was investigating. He doubted that had helped matters with her aunt.

  He realized his hands were clenched so hard on the edge of the desk, his knuckles had gone white. He’d told her about his wife, spilled his fucking guts to her, and she hadn’t even bothered to clue him in on something that touched on their case. Her lines between work and private didn’t apply here. No, she’d just lied to him, let him think this case upset her because it was gruesome and unsolved. It was the one that got away. It haunted her, she’d said.

  He’d damn well deserved to know why.

  Picking up the pictures of Elizabeth Leblanc’s crime scene, he forced himself to look through them. She didn’t look much like Selina. Her hair and eyes were as pale as Selina’s were dark, but there were a few similarities in the shape of the nose and chin. Not much else. It was difficult to tell with nothing but a corpse to go on. The animation of life might have given expressions that resembled her cousin, but death stole that away.

  He cycled back around to the photo he’d picked up off the floor. The close-up of the necklace was a picture of the victim’s personal effects after they’d been removed from the body. Selina’s cousin’s body.

  Every time he saw that talisman, he felt the rage fester inside him. His jaw clenched and he forced a breath out through his nose. He’d be pissed if it was anyone except Selina, but right now he was beyond livid. He wanted to hit something, wanted to feel something besides deceived.

  “Jack?” Selina stood in the doorway, her hand on the knob, her expression wary. “Are you all right?”

  No, he wasn’t. His teeth ground together, and instead of saying anything to her, he set the close-up of the necklace on the desk.

  Her eyes went wide when she saw it, and she drew in a sharp breath. “The New Orleans files arrived.”

  “The New Orleans files arrived,” he agreed, his voice sharper than a cracking whip.

  Stepping forward, she stared down at the picture for a long moment. “I forgot she was wearing that when she died.”

  “That’s all you have to say?” He was going to strangle her. He’d never done violence to a woman in his life, but his hands were shaking with the need to spank her ass for keeping this from him.

  She shook herself, shook her head. “I was going to tell you about this.”

  “Right.” He snorted. “When was that?”

  “Today, before Delta came in to update us on the profile.”

  “Convenient.” Sarcasm coated the word.

  She stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “I’m not lying about this.”

  “About this, maybe.” And he had his doubts, considering how huge an omission this was. “You just left out a lot of information about everything else. I had to go digging through your personnel file to put all the pieces together.”

  Damn
it. Damn her and all her secrets.

  Her chin jutted stubbornly. The chin that looked like her cousin’s in the pictures. “I couldn’t risk you or Luca yanking me off the case because the last victim in New Orleans was related to me. Theodore and I had been hunting him for weeks before that. I had the most knowledge to offer you on the previous cases, which is why Merek brought me in.”

  “Did Merek know about Elizabeth?” If he had, Jack might just strangle the groom when he got back. At the very least break his nose.

  “No. Theodore knows about Bess, and my old superiors, but they’re all retired now.” She shook her head. “I had to be in on this, can’t you understand that? I can’t just stand back while this bloodsucker goes around killing Magickal-Normal crossover people like you and me. And Bess.”

  That sent an icy chill down his spine. “Wait, what? I’m a Normal who knows about magic, yeah, but—”

  “And my first husband was a Normal.” She cocked an eyebrow and folded her arms. “What? You didn’t get to that part of my personnel file? It’s not that uncommon. There aren’t that many Magickals out there. Some people look down on it, but if we didn’t marry humans, we’d be as inbred as European royalty.”

  He shook his head. “This is beside the point. You should have told me. I don’t care how fucking private you are—I had every right to know about this. It was my decision to make whether I wanted you on my case, my decision whether or not your family ties to these crimes would jeopardize the investigation.”

  “It’s my case, too.” She unfolded her arms and jabbed a finger in his direction, an angry flush racing up her face. “It was my case first.”

  “So? What do you want, a cookie? You didn’t manage to solve it, so it’s my case now. You’re just on loan, remember?” He knew he wasn’t being fair, but the fact that she couldn’t even admit she was in the wrong enraged him even more. He jerked to his feet, towering over her. “It doesn’t matter how much older or more experienced than me you are, you should have treated me like an adult and let me make the best choice for my case.”