My breath wheezed past my teeth, a warning sign that a panic attack was in the works. I swallowed hard and took a deep breath through my nose. Then I wrestled a key into the lock of the glove compartment and retrieved the tampon box I kept my emergency cache in—a flashlight, road flare, multi-tool, my mom’s old Browning 1911 .380, and a few hundred dollar bills.
There was a first aid kit under the passenger seat, but I was less worried about that walking off. I slipped a hundred in the pocket of my jacket before locking the compartment again. Then I fired up the Bronco and pulled out of the garage.
The short drive to hook onto I-170 took me past the Pasta House. The late crowd was winding down, and a pinch of guilt reminded me that Laura had agreed to eat dinner with me despite the fact that I probably wouldn’t return with her food until after ten. I felt like an even bigger ass when I realized that I’d have to lie and tell her that I’d eaten mine on the way home or that I wasn’t hungry.
I was so fucking hungry.
The strange red haze that had plagued my vision the night before pulsed at the edges of my sight. I turned my head, half-expecting to find a patrol officer making a traffic stop with their cherries lit up. When I realized it was just a side effect of my new condition, the red hue intensified with my annoyance.
Anger. Hunger. I wondered what else would end up making me see red. I added the question to my growing list as the Bronco grumbled off I-170 and onto I-64. The answer came to me soon enough. Right after I crossed the Poplar Street Bridge and entered East St. Louis. Fear.
The homicide rate in East St. Louis was seventeen times the national average. It was a scary place to be during the day, let alone at night. The poverty was ugly and gut-wrenching on this side of the river—like maybe a tornado had ransacked the place and no one could afford to do anything about it. Every other building and boarded-up house ran with spray paint tears. That they weren’t all abandoned made it even sadder to witness, and I had to wonder why anyone would stay in such a place. But what the city lacked in luxury, it made up for in drugs and violence.
East St. Louis was not my jurisdiction, and unfortunately, I couldn’t have made a difference here. No one trusted the police in these parts, and who could blame them? All the police violence in the news seemed set in neighborhoods like this one. The lack of schools and jobs, and the abundance and drugs and violence, had robbed the community of a good and decent life. Even Will, a well-stacked and foreboding man, thought it was too dangerous on this side of the river. How long could someone like me possibly last here?
Now that I was dead, I didn’t have to worry about the shorter life expectancy that came with my little field trip. At least, I didn’t think I did. That was another question for the list. Just how dead could a dead girl get?
I scrutinized every shadowy face I spotted on the sidewalk, wondering if one of them might know the answer. And when that got old, I began to guess what they might taste like. The heavyset drunk wrangling a rusty grocery cart with only three wheels made me think cheap wine—Mad Dog 20/20. The thug with the hood of his jacket pulled way down over his face, and his pants dragging on the cracked pavement, was probably more like orange juice and Jäger.
Red spilled across my vision again. I licked my lips, and my teeth scraped over the top of my tongue. My incisors felt sharper. I needed to get a handle on this new problem of mine. Fast. Before I ended up like one of the ravenous baby vamps Mandy had mentioned.
When I finally pulled up outside the meat shop, I rolled up my window. Through the streaky glass, I watched a man in a stained apron escort a young woman to an El Camino with mismatched doors. The security light on the front of the building made their shadows dance across the dirty street. From the way the man scanned the surrounding area as he gripped the girl’s elbow, I guessed that she was a daughter or niece. He paused to tug the sleeve of her jacket up over an exposed shoulder and said something scolding under his breath.
The girl rolled her eyes and gave him a peck on the cheek before climbing inside the El Camino. The car made a grinding noise as it came alive, and hip-hop music boomed over the rattling exhaust. The man in the apron rapped his knuckles on the driver’s side window and pointed his finger with a sharp look, signaling the girl to turn down the music. She did. At least until the car had made it half a block away.
The man folded his arms and shook his head as he watched the car disappear a block up the street. When he turned and headed back to the meat shop, I jumped out of the Bronco and ran after him.
“Wait! Are you still open?” I shouted.
He glanced over his shoulder and then did a double take. “No.” The bell on the door jangled as he pushed it open, and he flipped the sign in the barred front window to read Closed. “Now get on home, girl. Before you cause trouble for the both of us.”
“Please, I just need one thing.” I licked my lips again, but all the saliva had fled my mouth. “I’ll pay you double—triple,” I said, pulling the hundred-dollar bill out of my jacket pocket.
The man’s mouth flat-lined, then he let out a low, grumbling sigh. “Make it quick.” He pushed the door open further and ushered me inside, casting one last look down the dark street before following me.
The inside of the shop wasn’t much to look at, but it was clean. The cracked linoleum floor was faded, but I could smell the pine cleaner that’d recently been used on it. A couple of tiles from the drop ceiling didn’t match. Neither did the few tables and chairs scattered around the small dining area. A handwritten menu on the wall advertised deli sandwiches and various meat cuts.
The man circled the counter, watching me with skeptical eyes. “What’s this one thing you need?”
I grimaced and hoped like hell this was the right shop. “A few pints of blood.”
“Don’t sell blood.” His eyes narrowed, and he placed both hands on the counter.
The red tinges in my vision throbbed as if sensing the lie. “That’s not what I hear.”
“What’s a nice girl like you want blood for anyhow? Ain’t you a little old to be pulling Carrie pranks?”
“Blood sausage. It’s my favorite,” I said, countering his lie with one of my own. The dry sarcasm in my voice probably wasn’t the best idea in the world, but my patience was becoming harder and harder to maintain.
The man stared at me a moment longer, unblinking eyes taking me in with calculated reserve. “You’re a cop,” he said, the conclusion drawing a sharp hiss and stretching his eyes even wider.
“Not here, and not now.” I shook my head. “Right now, I’m just a girl looking to buy some blood.” I waved the hundred dollar bill in his face. He snatched it out of my hand and tucked it down into a pocket behind his apron.
“Are you insane?” His eyes darted toward the front window, and then he scowled at me. “Don’t be flagging down trouble in my house, girl.”
“Then sell me some blood, and I’ll be on my way.” A pain in the pit of my stomach nearly doubled me over. I closed my eyes and groaned.
“What’s wrong with you? Don’t be gettin’ sick in here. I just cleaned the place.” He swore under his breath, and then I heard a paper bag shake open. “Crazy white girl,” he muttered. “Take it and get out.”
“Thanks.” I sighed the word with a breath of relief. A few pints of blood couldn’t run a hundred bucks, but he could keep the change. If this cured what ailed me, it was worth it.
I snagged the paper bag off the counter and hurried out the front door, making a beeline for the Bronco. A trio of thugs smoked weed on the southeast corner across from the shop. The smell of the skunky grass smacked me in the face and made my eyes water. They had to have walked right through here mere seconds ago.
I looked the Bronco over in the pale streetlight as I approached, trying to see if anyone was lingering on the other side, waiting to jump me. My keys were clenched in my free hand, ready to unlock the driver’s door the second I reached it.
“Hey, Becky!” someone shouted.
I ignored them and shoved the key into the door’s lock, willing my hands to steady. Panic was useless in these situations, but that didn’t stop the sweat from springing up along my brow. I nearly yanked the door off the hinges when I swung it open, and I climbed inside so fast that I clipped the side of my head on the frame.
“Hey! Where you goin’? We just wanna talk.”
I dropped the bag of blood on the passenger seat and slammed the truck door behind me, muffling the threatening serenade that was growing louder. The Browning in the glove box came to mind, but I didn’t want to make a scene. I had what I’d come for, and now I just wanted to leave in peace.
A crushed beer can smacked the windshield of the Bronco, cuing me to jam a key into the ignition. I stomped on the clutch and fired up the truck before pulling a U-turn in the middle of the street. Something hit the side of the Bronco—likely another can—but I ignored it and accelerated down the empty road.
My eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror as I headed back toward the river and the imaginary line of safety just west of it. The thugs were gone, but not the panic swelling in my chest. If they were members of a gang, they were more than capable of signaling others in the city and putting out a description of me and my ride.
This blood had better be worth it.
* * * * *
I made it to the Old Spaghetti Factory in time to order Laura’s salad before they closed. Then I thought of Mandy and wondered how many times Laura had tried to offer her kibble while I was gone. So I added a chicken Alfredo bowl to the order, too.
The plastic sack crowded the passenger seat along with the paper bag from the butcher’s shop. They crinkled noisily against each other. I hadn’t worked up the nerve to try the blood yet, letting half-assed excuses fill up my headspace instead.
What if it had the same effect as alcohol? Wasn’t that like drinking and driving? And what if it was disgusting? Did I really want to spew blood all over the inside of the Bronco? That would be a disaster to clean up—or explain if I got pulled over. What if the blood was diseased? What kind of health risks would that pose for a vampire? By the time I made it to the station, I’d added not wanting to be caught drinking blood on the precinct security cameras to my list. How awkward would that be if the captain asked about it? I somehow doubted that he’d be convinced it was a new fad diet.
The station was locked up at this time of night, but there was a side entrance for after-hours access. Of course, my key was in an evidence box somewhere, so I parked along the south end of the building and waited for a patrol car to deliver a familiar face. It didn’t take long. A few minutes later, a white cruiser pulled in beside me.
The passenger window rolled down, and Ronnie Jenkins leaned across the center console to frown up at me. “Skye? What are you doing here? The captain said you’d be on leave for a while.”
I nodded. “I am. I just need my backup phone out of my desk, at least until mine is released from evidence.”
“Guess you don’t have your key then either?” His nose scrunched, drawing up one side of his mouth in a grimace. I shook my head. Jenkins groaned, but he rolled up the window and killed the cruiser’s engine. I hopped out of the Bronco and followed him up to the side door.
“Thanks, Ronnie.”
“Don’t see why you couldn’t do this during office hours,” he said, fumbling through the nest of keys fastened to an elastic hoop clipped on his belt.
“It was a long day,” I offered. Never mind that I’d slept through it.
“I bet.” Jenkins sighed and glanced over his shoulder at me. “I was real sorry to hear about Banks. He was a good one.”
“Yeah.” I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jacket as my breath tightened in my chest and burned my throat.
“Everybody’s been wondering how it happened,” Jenkins added.
“The captain said I’m supposed to save that story for the FBI.”
“Oh, yeah. Of course.”
I wasn’t up for a fishing expedition tonight. He should have known better, but curiosity gets the best of everyone eventually. It had a grip on me, too.
The mention of Will only reminded me that I needed to figure out what to do about Alicia and Serena’s visit tomorrow. Having Laura tell them that I was too busy sleeping wasn’t going to cut it. I owed them more than that—but how I would deliver was still hazy in my mind.
As soon as the side door opened, the alarm system chirped out its thirty-second warning. I edged around Jenkins and headed for my desk while he punched in his code.
“I’ll just be a second,” I said, blinking as my eyes transitioned between the harsh floodlights outside to the dim, red emergency exit lights inside.
“Take your time,” Jenkins called after me. “I’m going to use the john and grab a soda from the break room.”
I hurried anyway, eager to get home before Laura got fed up with me and decided to catch a red-eye back to L.A. There was also the cow blood to contend with. I needed to suck it up and get the feat over and done with. I wondered if I might be able to choke it down in my bedroom before watching Laura eat her salad.
I pushed the depressing thought from my mind as I dug through my desk drawer and found the cheap flip phone I kept as a backup. The battery was dead, but I’d hook it up to a charger once I got home.
Before I went to find Jenkins in the break room, I made a detour for Will’s desk. There were cameras inside the precinct, too, but they were rarely checked unless something turned up missing. Still, I made my pit stop a fast one, swiping the work journal I knew Will stashed in the back of his file drawer. The notes he kept in there were mostly personal for his own reflection. Anything case-relevant would have been copied over to the main file, but not everything made it into his personal notes. Regardless, I was hoping there would be something useful in there to point me in the right direction.
I stuffed the notebook inside my jacket and wedged it under one arm, not wanting to answer any questions from Jenkins, and slipped down the hallway toward the side exit. A dark silhouette cut across the glass door. The floodlights reflected off the white cruiser outside, creating a stark backdrop.
“I’m all set,” I said, before realizing the figure was a hair too tall to be Jenkins. I froze. “Hello?”
“Go ahead,” Jenkins’ muffled voice called from the bathroom. “I’m going to be a while longer.”
And me without my gun. Shit.
“Detective Jenna Skye, I presume?”
I blinked until the outline of the man came into focus. “Can I help you?”
He held up a leather wallet, and the red exit light reflected off an FBI badge. “Special Agent Roman Knight. I have some questions for you.”
My teeth ground together, and I could hardly suppress a groan. “It’s really late. Can this wait until tomorrow maybe? I have dinner in the car, and my sister is at home waiting.” I shouldered past him and out onto the sidewalk, not wanting Jenkins to catch the conversation and turn it into gossip fodder.
Agent Knight followed me outside. He turned his back to the floodlight, forcing me to squint up at him. “Are you really so unconcerned about your partner’s murderer being brought to justice?” he asked, a scathing bewilderment in his tone.
“Of course, I want justice,” I snapped. The act wasn’t so hard to pull off. Will’s death was fresh in my mind, clouding every thought. But I couldn’t tell this agent that Will’s killer—that our killer—had already been judged. The crime ring responsible was still out there, though, so I used that to fuel my outrage. “You have no idea how badly I want those responsible to pay.”
Agent Knight stepped in closer to me, blocking the floodlight. I could see him better now. The expensive suit. The tufts of white hair framing his angular face. The ice-blue eyes framed by dark lashes. With the white hair, I’d expected him to be much older. But his olive skin was smooth, and I could smell wet grass and the cocoa butter of sunblock on him. I breathed it in, feeling the flush of anger dissipate, replaced by
something more primitive.
“Please, help me out.” He touched my shoulder, sending a shudder through me. “I promise to make it as quick and painless as possible.”
Red cut across my vision, and my hunger sucker-punched me in the gut. I swallowed and pulled away from him. “I don’t remember much about that night. I hit my head and woke up in the morgue.” The words rushed from me in a panic. I needed to get away from him before I did something stupid.
Agent Knight nodded. “I heard. Do you remember how many suspects you encountered in that basement?”
“One.” The answer stung. It had only taken one unarmed asshole. That he was a vampire didn’t offer any consolation, and it wasn’t something I could share with Agent Knight. Not if I wanted to make it home tonight and not land myself in a psych ward instead.
“Anything especially identifying about him? Anything unusual?” he pressed. I shrugged and reached for the door handle of the Bronco, but his hand covered mine, keeping me from pulling the door open. “Please.”
I huffed out an anxious sigh and dragged my eyes back to his. “I think he might have been on drugs. He was… he was off in the eyes. They were dilated, and he was foaming at the mouth.”
Agent Knight nodded slowly and inched closer, nearly pinning me against the Bronco. “Anything else?” His intense blue gaze bore into me as if he were trying to extract the thoughts straight from my head.
The overpowering smell of summer engulfed me again, and I suddenly stopped caring about his breach of my personal space. My eyelids fluttered closed, and I breathed him in, pining for the sun though it had abandoned me less than forty-eight hours ago. I wanted to taste him. I wanted to know the flavor of daylight on my tongue. I was betting it was pure bliss.
“Detective Skye?”
“Hmm?”
“Have you been to see a doctor since your ordeal?”
Blood Vice Page 6