At least her spine was spared. No need for a neck brace. But she couldn’t say the same for her heel. It snapped off when she twisted her ankle. “Oh, this is just great!” Still holding onto Van Helsing’s arm, she reached down and snatched up her wrecked shoe. “My favorite pair. What else could go wrong tonight?” She wanted to cry. Really, really bad.
This was a nightmare. Worse than a nightmare. Thanks to tonight’s events, she was on the verge of losing everything she’d worked for. Her home. Her bank account. Her security.
Even though the tears were right there, gathering in her lower eyelids, she didn’t cry. She blinked a lot. Sniffled. Blinked some more. Slowed her breathing. “Watch, I’ll probably have a flat tire, too,” she said through a series of hiccupping half-sobs.
“I’ll drive you home. I promise I’m not going to hurt you.”
She knew that… Kinda. There was, after all, a very sick murderer running around the city. Who knew what the guy looked like? Could look like Hugh Jackman, with long black hair, a stubbled jaw and a charming smile that made women melt…
No way. Van Helsing couldn’t be a murderer. He was the good guy. He only shot vampires and werewolves.
We’re talking reality here, not movies.
Even though she had a feeling this man was not a murderer, she still didn’t want to get into a car with him. She was too shaken to trust her instincts right now. “I know you won’t hurt me. I, er… I need my car tomorrow morning,” she explained, having a light bulb moment. “If I accept a ride, I won’t have a way to get my car tomorrow.”
“Then I’ll follow you home, to make sure you make it back safely.”
“No. Really.” Realizing she was still holding onto his arm as they walked around the side of the building, she released it. There were only two vehicles in the parking lot. Her Honda sat under the flickering light of a street lamp. A few parking spots away, a black sports car of some kind huddled low to the ground. The lamp’s light and the full moon reflected off the glossy paint.
He walked her to her car, opened the door, and politely waited while she got in and started it up.
She pulled the door shut, flipped the power locks and rolled down the window. “I’m fine. Really. Thanks. Uh, goodnight.”
He pulled something out of his pants pocket and handed it to her. “In case you need to get in touch with me.”
A business card. She glanced down but didn’t read it. She was too shaken to comprehend printed words. And too distracted by questions to care. Why would he think she’d need to get in touch with him? She tucked it into the front pocket of her purse and smiled weakly. “Thanks.” Not waiting for him to get into his car, she put her vehicle into drive, flipped on her headlights and drove toward the street.
She noticed, as she turned onto the road, he still hadn’t flipped on his headlights. Curious. She’d half-expected him to follow her, even though she’d refused his offer.
What was he waiting for?
At the first traffic light she came to, she pulled out his business card and read it. Brett Larrington, P.C.
“Oh. My. God! He isn’t a murderer. He’s just a lawyer. A freaking ambulance chaser.” She dropped her head. Her forehead struck the steering wheel hard enough for a shower of stars to glitter behind her closed eyelids. “A lawyer who probably thinks I’ll be on the hunt for a good defense attorney real soon.” A horn sounded from somewhere behind her car, reminding her she was parked in the middle of the road, blocking traffic. “No wonder he didn’t want to leave me. I’m his next meal ticket.”
* * *
“Okay, you can come out now,” Burke called to the shadowed figure beside the trash container sitting at the rear of the building. “She’s gone.”
“I don’t like this,” Isabella, his one and only friend in the world, said as she tugged at the laces running up the front of her velvet gown’s bodice. “I hate not being able to use magic. These gowns are a royal pain. And speaking of pain, are you sure there isn’t a better way? Do we have to break in? What if she set the alarm?”
“All I can suggest is next time you pick something less… challenging to get out of. You know we can’t risk using magic here. And as far as the alarm goes, she couldn’t turn it on because the police are coming back in the morning.”
“I hope you’re right.” She stepped out of the dress, revealing a black corset over a white blouse and a pair of black pants. She folded the dress and stuffed it into a bag sitting on the ground. Then she gathered her long red hair into a ponytail high on top of her head. She handed Burke a spare elastic and he secured his hair low, at his nape. “Well, what if the human police come back? I’m sure you can guess what kind of conclusions they’d jump to.”
“Doesn’t matter. What’re they going to do to me?”
“Us,” she corrected, tucking the bag into a dark spot behind a stack of empty boxes.
“Us. It’s not like they can catch us.”
“You don’t know that for a fact,” she grumbled, fishing through a second bag.
“They haven’t so far.”
Lifting her head, she gave him a scowl and pointed a lock pick at him. “You’re killing me here.”
“Just get the door open. Please.”
“I’m working on it. You’re distracting me.” She slipped the tool into the lock, fiddled with it a few seconds then turned the door knob. “Done.”
“This is the only way we can collect the evidence we need. You know what happens when we wait. The damn Excoluni will be here soon. They’ll clear the place of any hint of magic and we’ll have nothing. And we both know the human police won’t know what to do with this. We don’t have any time to waste.”
“Yeah. I wish we’d figure out who is doing this so we could go back home, quit running. It’s wreaking havoc on my social life.”
“I’m trying. I’m trying. I’m no Sherlock Holmes.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Shut up.” He softened his words with a smile, knowing Isabella wasn’t the kind to take his ribbing personally. Hell, she dished enough of it out not to expect to get a little back in return. They’d been friends forever, since they’d cut their fangs on their first humans. Years ago they’d tried being lovers -- only briefly -- then promptly returned to being friends. Wasn’t in the cards for them to be more than that, for a number of reasons.
His only regret was having dragged her into this shit in the first place. This was his problem. If he’d left without saying anything that night, she would be at home right now, living her life as she should. Not running from the Excoluni -- the law enforcement organization of the UMN, United Magical Nations.
Thanks to him, Isabella, once a respected member of the UMN, was now a suspected felon and facing the death sentence for aiding and abetting a convicted murderer.
The stench inside the building was almost enough to force him back outside. But he knew his time was short. He’d have to suck it up and get to work.
“I’ll wait out here,” Isabella said, stepping behind the trash container.
“Perfect. You know the signal. If you see the Excoluni, let me know.”
“Will do.”
He’d already gotten a good look at the victim, thankfully. He’d resorted to frequenting nightclubs within a ten-mile radius of each murder, hoping that one night he might be in the right place at the right time.
For once fate was on his side. He’d not only seen the guy mere minutes before his murder, he’d found the body immediately following, and knew the method of killing. Having shown up at the scenes of previous murders after the human police had removed the body and the Excoluni had cleared the place of magic, this was a coup, the first time he’d gotten a good look at a body and crime scene while it was still fresh.
Like the other victims, this one had been a human, not associated in any way with the local vampire clans. There had to be some kind of connection between the victims, but damned if he could figure it out. He didn’t have a name for this last on
e yet, so he had no details about the guy’s past life, but the most recent three victims had been a dock workman at a shipping company, a nurse and a delivery driver for UPS. No obvious red flags there. Two men. One woman.
What the hell was the motivation for these killings? They weren’t a typical vampire feeding. Vampires didn’t have to kill their prey when they fed. And they didn’t make a regular habit of taking body parts with them when they were through, either.
If only he hadn’t been at the wrong place at the wrong time when that first murder had been discovered he wouldn’t be trying to piece this together. He was a nobleman. A landowner. This detective stuff was so far removed from his personal experience. Track down a murderer? Forget it. Negotiate a profitable lease? Now that was something he could do.
It had been all circumstantial evidence, the so-called evidence that had led to his conviction. Just like that, he’d gone from being a vampire who pretty much kept to himself, to a convicted felon, to an escaped convict on the run. Everything he had was gone. His home. His money. His properties. His reputation.
Stolen by fucking circumstance.
Since his night vision was far superior to humans’, he needed no light as he carefully searched the room where the murder had taken place. He didn’t want to miss anything but at the same time had to take care that he didn’t leave any evidence of his visit either. Hadrian Dvorak, the detective in charge of the string of gruesome murders that had been wrongfully tied to his name, would love finding something that would cinch up yet another case against him.
Lucky for Burke, his cotton gloves would hide fingerprints. He’d secured and tucked his hair into the hood of his cape.
He stooped down and searched the peeling, scuffed linoleum tile for clues. Scraps of material. Footprints in the dried blood. Anything that might give him some idea of who was killing the humans. The only thing he was certain of at this point was the murderer was a vampire. And every murder had taken place at a bar.
Dammit, he wished he knew something about detective work. Might actually know when he was looking at a clue.
He saw a little dried mud on the floor. Some smeared blood. A bit of folded paper, partially hidden by a box sitting on a low shelf not far from the trash can.
While the first two wouldn’t do him much good because he didn’t have access to a lab to analyze them, the scrap of paper looked promising.
He carefully plucked it up. Looked like a folded cocktail napkin. No surprise there. This was, after all, the back office of a bar.
Damn. He’d been too optimistic. Someone had probably simply missed the garbage. He crumpled it up and was about to lob it into the plastic can when he saw the shadow of black writing on one corner. Curiosity got the better of him.
Sure, it was probably nothing. A phone number from some guy hot to get into the bar’s owner’s pants. He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t get dozens of propositions a night.
Then again, who knew? Maybe it was something? He flattened it out on the desk’s top, being careful not to disturb the papers scattered over the surface. A woman’s first name and phone number was scrawled in looping feminine handwriting.
Interesting. He was guessing it belonged to either the bar’s owner or one of the waitresses, but just for kicks, he folded it up and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he took a look at the papers on the desk. Bills. Most of them late notices. Sure enough, the name matched. Sylvie Durand. Sexy name for a sexy woman. Being careful not to move anything too much, he sifted through the documents.
Evidently Carpe Nocturne was in financial trouble. Hmmmm. He wondered if there was a reason for the murder taking place at a nightclub that was in danger of going belly up. Maybe that was a connection? Though it seemed like a long shot that a vampire would turn to murder to shut down a few local bars.
Too bad for Sylvie Durand. Carpe Nocturne seemed like an okay place to him. Kind of… charming. And the owner… well, she had a few charms all her own. If it weren’t for the fact that he was on the run from the law, he’d be tempted to stick around and explore a few of them.
Ruminating about the frustrations of being a criminal on the run, he continued his search, finding nothing else that caught his eye. He headed back toward the exit just as Isabella sounded the signal. She jumped when he whispered, “I’m here.”
They carefully worked their way around the north side of the building, knowing Hadrian -- also a vampire -- had night vision as keen as their own. There were two vehicles, he noticed. Not one like usual.
Why the extra men on this case?
He kept quiet about the napkin until they’d made it down the street and into his car, parked about a half block away in a crowded twenty-four hour supermarket’s parking lot. He’d moved it there after the bar’s owner had left. “I got something this time.” When Isabella gave him a surprised glance, he added, “Well, I think. It could be something.”
“Oh. Sure.”
He started the car and headed north on Main. The apartment he’d rented under the assumed name Brett Larrington was only a few blocks away. “Okay, probably not. But I wasn’t going to take a chance. So far, we’ve searched the scenes of four murders and found nothing. I’m man enough to admit I’m getting a little desperate.”
“Desperate? You can say that again,” she teased. “In more ways than one.”
He frowned. There was no need for that now.
So he hadn’t had a lover in a while. That was his choice. It was a voluntary decision -- this last few… decades… of celibacy. He damn well wasn’t getting desperate for sex. “What do you mean by bringing that up now? You know why I haven’t… why I’m not… forget it.” He tried hard to hide the defensiveness from his voice.
She smiled. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
“Didn’t work.”
“I see that. What’d you get?”
“This.” He pulled the napkin out of his pocket and handed it to her then turned into the apartment building’s driveway. By the time he’d parked in the lot in front of the building, she’d handed it back to him.
“It’s a woman’s name. Wrong sex to be the killer.”
“We don’t know that. Really. Playing devil’s advocate here, why couldn’t it be a woman? Though I’m not saying this one’s the killer ’cause Sylvie Durand is human. The bar’s owner, as it turns out.”
“It can’t be a woman because everyone knows women -- even female vampires -- don’t commit murders like this. I watch CSI reruns, you know. They prefer methods that keep them out of reach of the victim. Shooting, poisoning, that kind of thing.”
“First, I think you’re taking this whole detective thing way too seriously. Second, you need to stay away from television. And third, maybe this killer isn’t your normal female vampire. Maybe she’s into pain and torture.”
“Doubtful. Plus there’s the little matter of how she’d get those victims strung up like that. All but one of the victims have been big guys. Over two-fifty. I couldn’t heft them up by myself and I’m no sissy. We girl vamps don’t have the strength you guys do. I doubt those victims would voluntarily hop up on a chair and let her tie them.”
“Never know.”
“You’re so full of it.”
He chuckled. Isabella never hesitated to speak her mind. One of the reasons why they would never be lovers again. As a friend, however, it was tolerable. Most of the time. “Maybe they’re submissives looking for dommes to spank them,” he suggested, half-joking. Yes, the whole theory of a female murderer was a little far-fetched. But it was fun pushing it, just to rile Isabella. She deserved it for that jab about his sex life.
“No way. In the office of a bar? An office that doesn’t even belong to her?”
“Maybe they’d planned to meet and talk? Maybe the killer is a friend of the bar’s owner, Sylvie. There are lots of possibilities here.”
“Most likely, that scrap of paper was on the desk and fell onto the floor. Or it even could’ve been in the victim’s pocket.�
�
“Sure. But I think I should check it out anyway. The bar was full and all the bar’s employees were busy. If the killer knew the bar’s owner, he or she might have known no one would be going back to the office for several hours. So, going back to my original theory, if the killer had arranged for a meeting --”
“You’re really reaching here.”
“I’ve been convicted of a murder I didn’t commit. I’m going to reach.” At her understanding nod, he added, “I remember that victim. He sat alone most of the night. Didn’t talk to the owner that I recall. But then again, it’s not like I sat there staring at him all night. There was a tall blonde who sat next to him, though. She could be our killer. I didn’t get close enough to find out if she’s a vampire. She could be…” He swiped the paper from Isabella, “… Mistress Z.” He waved the napkin then stuffed it in his pocket.
“That’s not the name on that napkin,” his friend flatly pointed out. “That’s your human, Sylvie.”
He cut the engine, fisted the keys and opened the door. “I know. Just changing it a bit for dramatic effect. Trying to lighten the mood.”
She rolled her eyes as she looked at him over the car’s roof. “I wonder about you sometimes.”
“Don’t. It’ll just get you in trouble.” He slammed the door, strode up the sidewalk and pulled open the door for her.
As she passed, she gave him another rolling-eyed glance. “Who says it hasn’t already?”
He chuckled to hide the wave of guilt pulsing through him. The door behind them fell closed as they stepped into the apartment building. “Touché, my friend. Actually, there’s another explanation for this that we haven’t thought about yet.”
“What’s that?”
“Maybe this napkin didn’t come from the victim or fall off the desk. Maybe it fell out of the killer’s pocket.”
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