“Nice,” he said, but actually had no clue what she was talking about. “What’ll you have?”
The brunette climbed up on the barstool next to his and leaned forward, her tight blouse one deep breath away from a wardrobe malfunction. “Whatever you’re having.”
Ryan signaled to Arnie for two more drafts, then swiveled his stool to face hers. “I haven’t seen you in here before. Are you new to the neighborhood?”
She giggled, running her fingers through the length of her hair. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
Arnie brought the drinks over, giving Ryan an encouraging nod. Not that he needed encouragement. Women came easy for him. Problem was, none of them ever seemed the right fit.
Until this afternoon.
Squashing the errant thought, he raised his glass to hers. “Sláinte,” he said, clinking the side of her glass with his. No poetry necessary for this one.
“Swedish, right? I just love when guys talk another language. It’s so sexy,” she giggled again, swirling the foam at the top of her glass with her finger.
He raised an eyebrow, as he took a sip of his beer. Okay, so she wasn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Nothing at all like Lily. He frowned, pushing the Freudian thought away, focusing instead on the leggy girl practically sitting in his lap.
The brunette held her beer, running her long, red fingernail delicately up and down the frosted glass. She took a sip, and the condensation dripped from the bottom of the glass to her chest, its wetness trickling in a tempting line toward the deep cleft between her breasts.
“Here,” Ryan said, handing her a napkin.
She took his hand, guiding it to just above her cleavage. Her mouth parted, and she licked her lips in obvious invitation, sliding the napkin out from between his fingers.
Her skin was warm to the touch, and his fingers didn’t hesitate, dipping well beneath the low cut scoop of her blouse. She was braless, and her nipples hardened through the thin fabric at the simple touch.
Ryan slipped his arm around her narrow waist, bringing her closer. With a practiced move, she tilted her head, arching her back so her chest pressed against his. He bent to nuzzle her neck, expecting the same intoxicating feminine scent he had smelled on Lily all day. Instead, he got a nose full of cigarettes and cheap perfume.
The dirty ashtray smell settled on the back of his tongue, and he cleared his throat. Reading the sound as a groan of consent, the brunette slid her hand over the bulge in front of his pants. She lifted her mouth to his, murmuring a soft sigh into her kiss. She drew her tongue along the edge of his bottom lip, teasing.
He didn’t care that they were in a public place. Her body was soft and supple, and she was just what he needed after being torqued up all day. His hand splayed across her décolleté, and his fingers dipped again into the deep cleft between her breasts. He feathered kisses along the tender skin beneath her jaw, her breath fanning across his ear, her low moans inviting him to explore more.
Ryan closed his eyes, but the fantasy playing out behind his lids didn’t include the brunette in his arms. The starring role belonged to another woman, the honey blonde whose lush curves and delicious scent had taunted him all day.
His eyes snapped open. Get a grip, Martinez…what the fuck?
He grabbed the brunette by her hair and crushed his mouth to hers. As anticipated, he tasted a mix of cigarettes and beer, but ignored it. Inhaling deeply, he tried to catch the taste of her wet arousal. If his sixth sense had taught him anything, it was how to judge when a woman was ripe for the taking.
But the telltale scent wasn’t there. Instead, the taste of her mouth coated every nerve ending with the residual scents from a host of other men.
Pissed off, he put his hands on her shoulders and shoved her away. He worked the little muscle in the corner of his jaw, biting back on his own recklessness and lack of discretion.
“Take your little bag of tricks and leave. Now.” he said, leaning forward so she could read the severity on his face.
“But…”
“I know what you are, and I know what you’re trying to pull. I’m a cop. And unless you want to spend the rest of the night in jail on a solicitation charge, I suggest you take my advice and scram. My offer expires in one minute.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth fell open for a moment before she pressed her lips together in a thin line. Ryan could see the skepticism in her face as she toyed with the idea of starting a scene. She sat there, almost daring him to make good on his promise, but her smug look disappeared the minute he opened his wallet to pay for the drinks, his badge as clear as the fear blooming on her face.
Truth was, he had no proof, only his trust in his sixth sense. But she didn’t have to know that.
She unceremoniously slid from the barstool and grabbed her purse from the bar. With a sniff, she sidled off toward the door without as much as a backward glance.
Ryan wiped his mouth on a napkin. He downed his beer and ran a hand through his hair. Arnie walked over, wiping his hands on a bar towel, a quizzical look on his face. “Guess she wasn’t your type, huh?”
“Not in the least. And I better not find she’s anyone else’s type either or my friends in vice will be paying you a little visit.”
Arnie’s mouth fell open. He threw the towel over his shoulder and leaned forward on the bar. “A pro? No shit! In here?”
Ryan nodded. “Yup. Hopefully, I scared her enough she’ll rethink her choice of profession.”
The bartender shrugged, pushing himself back. “Can’t save the world, Ryan. All we can do is have faith,” he said, grabbing a couple of shot glasses and filling them with Jameson Irish. Pushing one toward Ryan, he lifted the other. “Sláinte.”
Ryan lifted his and shot it back. All we can do is have faith… Jeez, when Arnie gets it right, he seriously gets it right.
He wiped his hand across his mouth. For him, faith had always been something in short supply.
Aging out of the foster care system in California, he had headed east as soon as he’d turned eighteen, putting as much distance as he could between himself and his past. After everything he had gone through growing up, he joined the NYPD in hopes of finding some answers—but seven years later, he was no closer to knowing anything more about himself than he had then. All Martinez knew was that he was different, and until he figured out why, he was better off alone. Not exactly a trait conducive to a job where trust is crucial for survival.
Especially of late. He exhaled sharply, his thoughts drifting back to Lily. How could one woman fuck with both his head and his cock so much, in such a short time?
Vampire, my ass. It was bullshit. That was all he’d chalked it up to. But the same sense of foreboding that bit into his stomach the minute Lily uttered the word, twisted in his gut once again.
Grabbing his coat from the back of the barstool, he headed for the door. There was only one way to find out if there was any truth to what she claimed, or if he was just as crazy.
He pulled his car out onto the street and headed south. Patrol had manned the crime scene round the clock for the past seventy-two hours, but now the department had no choice but to turn the place back over to the landlord. CSI had done all they could, and Lily…well, that remained to be seen. It wasn’t that late, but the cold had left most of the streets deserted, and he easily wound his way toward the east side.
He maneuvered his way down Avenue B until he found himself face to face with the crime scene. The place was deserted, transformed into more of a hollowed shell in just the seven hours since he and Lily had left the premises. Remnants of yellow police tape flapped in the wind, like so much shredded ribbon. Plywood covered the windows and the front door, and it looked as though someone had swept the glass and broken pieces of wood from the sidewalk.
Ryan parked and got out of the car, buttoning his coat against the wind. A wide sheet of graffiti covered pressboard, blocked the entryway, nailed into what was left of the original door jam. He pulle
d on his leather gloves and searched around the edges for a weak spot. Finding a small gap on the side, he gently pried the wood back, just far enough so he could slide in behind it.
The interior of the bar was pitch black, and Ryan fished in his pocket for his xenon tactical flashlight. He clicked the base, and immediately a narrow swath of light cut through the darkness.
The room was unchanged, and in the silence, the glass crunching beneath his feet echoed like a train wreck. He moved toward the backroom, the place where the images had supposedly been the most vivid.
Holding the flashlight in his teeth, he yanked what was left of the door from its hinges, laying it on its side against the wall. The knowledge that he was now guilty of breaking and entering, not exactly lost on him.
He moved through the doorway, shining his light through to the center of the room.
“Jesus Christ!” He jerked back, drawing his gun. In a crouch, he fanned the light across the floor, catching his own distorted reflection in the bent chrome of the rolling bar. “Great. The crazy bitch has got me jumping at shadows now” he muttered, holstering his gun.
No matter how he tried to deny it, Lily’s words and her resolute certainty had unnerved him. Annoyed at himself, and annoyed at her, he stood in the freezing darkness.
What did he think he was going to find? He wasn’t a psychic. The best he could do was register the funky scent that permeated the place.
He moved toward the ruined couch. Even in the constrained light, it was easy to see where dried blood had crusted over surface fabric. The putrid scent was stronger here than anywhere else in the room.
Pulling on a pair of latex gloves, he took his penknife from his pocket. With a ragged breath, he leaned forward, grabbing hold of one of the seat cushions, and jabbing the edge of the blade into the center. He half cut, half ripped a wide swatch, swallowing hard against the fetid stench.
He straightened up, closing his knife before sticking it back in his pocket. “Here goes nothing,” he whispered, taking a step back from the broken piece of furniture and raising the foul piece of cloth to his nose.
Ryan closed his eyes and inhaled, his stomach roiling in protest. Nothing but his own nausea registered, and he forced himself to inhale again, this time moving the fabric even closer. He gagged, the sour taste of whiskey rising to the back of his throat, and he dropped the shred to floor. His knees buckled, and he caught the edge of the couch. As he moved to get up, his head reeled with olfactory images racing through his brain. He couldn’t see, but his other senses took over.
Like a jigsaw, the one foul stench separated into distinct scents, each one registering in his mind. Sweat, sex, feces…but his mouth watered when he zeroed in on the blood. He inhaled through his mouth, the smell coating his tongue, and he moaned in visceral pleasure.
Ryan lurched forward, his fingers clutching the flashlight as he struggled for the door. He crashed his way out onto the sidewalk, and once again fell to his knees, his body recognizing the truth in Lily’s words, even as his mind revolted.
God in heaven, what do I do now?
Chapter Six
***
Lily opened her eyes, wincing against pressure throbbing behind her lids. Sunlight streamed through the bedroom window, making her squint at the clock on her nightstand. 8:30 a.m. Another bright winter day, in the city that never sleeps because the nightmares are real.
Her bedroom was overly warm, and she kicked the covers off her feet, freeing her legs. The baseboard heat hissed quietly in the corner, the sound grating on her already throbbing head. She hadn’t slept a wink. Fragments from the day before plagued her mind, a cavalcade of terror haunting her dreams like a horror film looped on replay.
Muffled sounds from the kitchen and the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, told her Jack was out of bed, but the thought of getting up to join him left her even more exhausted than she already was.
The phone rang, and she rolled onto her back, draping one arm over her eyes, the counter pressure offering a modicum of relief as she listened to the answering machine pick up in the other room.
“Jack!” she shouted, wincing again with the effort. Her lips were dry, and her tongue tasted like sandpaper spackled to the roof of her mouth.
His footsteps echoed, getting louder until the bedroom door opened, the scents from the kitchen entering along with him, making her stomach turn over. “You bellowed?” he asked, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.
“Don’t be a smart ass,” she snapped, cringing as she tried to sit up. “I feel like crap.”
“Well that’s what happens when a human consumes half a bottle of Jamison’s and an entire bottle of merlot in one evening.”
“Liar. I did no such thing.” Pain exploded behind her eyes Okay, maybe I sort of did. “I heard the phone ring. Was it Martinez?”
“The machine got it, but I don’t think it was him—not unless he woke up this morning as a soprano. It was some woman named, Beverly. She left a message for you to call her back.”
“Beverly?” Lily slumped back against the pillows.
“That’s what I think she said.”
“Hmmm.”
He looked at her strangely. “Is everything okay?”
“What? Um, yeah…sorry. I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep much last night,” she answered, but he still eyed her with suspicion.
“You sure? Perhaps there’s something you want to share with the class?”
Lily couldn’t help her smile. “No. I’m sure. I just need a cup of coffee to clear the cobwebs. Give me a sec, and I’ll be right out.”
“All righty, then…”
“Uh…Jack? Did she say anything else?”
He stopped, giving her another weird look. “Why don’t you just listen to the message yourself?”
“Hmmm,” she said again with a nod. “I’ll be out in a sec.”
Jack shut the door behind him, and she rearranged her pillows before turning over onto her side. Beverly. Her phone call meant she and Carl knew she was back in town. Lily hadn’t seen or spoken to them since Terry’s funeral—just left them a quick note saying she was going back to Maine, and she’d be in touch.
Of course, that never happened, and a pang of guilt shot through her chest knowing she could have called, but didn’t. And why hadn’t she gotten in touch with her best friend’s parents, the people who took her in as a child? Because, despite all her bravado, she was a chicken shit when it came to family.
Beverly and Carl Hess were the only two people, besides Terry, who could force her to face things she didn’t want to face. In the past, she’d always had Terry as a buffer. Now she’d have to deal with them alone. What was she going to say when they asked where she’d been all this time?
Chicken shit. Definitely.
She pushed her covers back the rest of the way, and jammed her feet into her slippers. The room may have been overly warm, but hardwood floors in New York in February were ice cold. Grabbing her robe from the end of the bed, she slipped it on, and headed into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth.
“You look like shit,” Jack said, looking up from the paper. “Can I get you anything?”
“Two Advil and a cup of coffee.”
“Pain killers and caffeine. The breakfast of champions.”
“I’m in no mood, Jack, so leave off, okay?”
“Okay…jeez. I know you had a bad night, but I’ve seen you more bandaged up than The Mummy and still have a better disposition. What’s going on with you?”
“Beverly is Terry’s mother. I haven’t spoken to her since before Jerard attacked. I’m going to have to go there today, and seeing them is going to bring it all back—for them and for me.”
“Why haven’t you called them? The compound has a communication system that rivals NASA. Surely, Sean would have let you make one long distance call?”
Lily shrugged.
“Bock, bock, bock,” he said, crooking his arms in an elegant chicken impersonation.
; “Jack…”
“Sorry. But I still don’t understand why you’re apprehensive? Just tell them you went to back to hunt down the animal that mauled Terry, and ended up mauled yourself. I mean, you have the scars on your throat to prove it, if you have to. Say you ended up with temporary amnesia or something. Just leave out the supernatural stuff.”
“It’s not that. They know me. Going off on my own is not something out of the ordinary. They know it’s the way I cope.”
“What, then?”
“Terry was an only child until I came into the picture. After my parents died, the Hesses treated me like their own, same as Terry. I was the one who held back, especially after realizing my psychic ability, always thinking I would eventually be able to channel my parents, talk to them. Terry thought so, too. As a kid, I wanted to believe my gift was akin to a celestial long distance phone plan. My hotline to heaven.”
“So, what’s wrong with that? I bet a lot of kids would have felt the same way.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it, except it got in the way of my ever feeling like Terry’s parents were anything more than just that, Terry’s parents. It hurt them, even though they never said a word to me about it. Now that Terry’s gone, I’m afraid they blame me. Not because I made Terry go with me to Maine, but because when Jerard killed her, he took me away from them too. In essence, they lost both of us. Now I’m back, and I’m afraid I won’t be enough. That I’ll hurt them all over again.”
“Lily, how you choose to handle this is just that…your choice. Either you can continue to run, or you can step up and be their daughter. It’s obvious you love them. And from what you’ve said, they obviously love you too, though God knows why. Just let that be enough. The rest will come, if you put in time and effort.”
Lily considered him for a moment. It was no surprise Jack had earned admittance to Sean’s Hunters at such a tender age, or that he’d won a place in Sean’s heart. They were so much alike. Wise, patient, and loyal to a fault.
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