“He’s being held without charge on suspicion of killing me. I’m not dead, so I’d like to get him out of here.”
Dolph just looked at me, eyes as cold and unreadable as if he were looking at a witness—no a suspect—that he didn’t like much.
“Jean-Claude has a damn fine lawyer. How’d you keep him for over seventy-two hours without a charge?” I asked.
“You’re a city treasure. I told everyone he’d killed you, and they helped me lose him for a while.”
“Damn, Dolph, you’re lucky some overzealous officer didn’t put him in a cell with a window.”
“Yeah, too bad.”
I just stared at him not even sure what to say. “I’m alive, Dolph. He didn’t hurt me.”
“Who did?”
It was my turn to give him cool cop eyes.
He walked up to me, towering over me. He wasn’t trying to intimidate me with his height; he knew that didn’t work anyway. He was just that big. He touched my chin, tried to turn my face to the side. I jerked away.
“You’ve got scars on your neck that you didn’t have a week ago. They’re all shiny and nearly healed. How?”
“Would you believe I’m not sure?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Let me see the scars.”
I swept my hair to one side and let him trace one large finger down the healed wounds.
“I want to see the rest of the wounds.”
“Don’t we need a female officer in here for this?”
“Do you really want anyone else to see them?”
He had a point. “Why do you want to see, Dolph?”
“I can’t force you to show me, but I need to see them.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know,” he said, and his voice showed strain for the first time.
I shed the outer shirt and laid it on the table. I held my left arm out to him, pushing the sleeve of the T-shirt up.
He traced his finger over the marks. “What is it about your left arm? It’s always where you get hit the most.”
“I think it’s because I’m right-handed. I’ll let them chew on my left arm, while I grab a weapon with my right.”
“Did you kill what did this to you?”
“No.”
He looked at me, and the anger showed for a second. “I wish I believed you.”
“Me, too, especially since I’m telling the truth.”
“Who, or what, did this to you, Anita?”
I shook my head. “It’s been taken care of.”
“Damn it, Anita, how can I trust you when you won’t talk to me?”
I shrugged.
“Is the arm all of it?”
“Almost.”
“I want to see all of it.”
There were a lot of men in my life that I’d have accused of just wanting to get my shirt off, but Dolph wasn’t one of them. There’d never been that kind of tension between us. I stared at him, hoping he’d back down, but he didn’t. I should have known he wouldn’t.
I worked the shirt out of my pants and exposed my bra. I had to raise the edge of the underwire to show the round hole—now scar—over my heart.
He touched it like he had all the others, shaking his head. “It’s like something tried to scoop your heart out.” He raised his eyes to my face. “How the hell did you heal it, Anita?”
“Can I get dressed?”
There was a knock at the door, and Zerbrowski entered without waiting to be asked, while I was still struggling to get my breasts back behind the underwire. His eyes widened. “Am I interrupting?”
“We’re finished,” I said.
“Gee, and I thought Dolph would have more staying power.”
We both glared at him. He grinned. “Count Dracula is processed and ready to go.”
“His name is Jean-Claude.”
“Whatever you say.”
I had to bend over and rearrange my breasts so the bra would fit right again. Those underwires hurt if they ride up. They both watched me do it, and I stubbornly wouldn’t turn away. Zerbrowski watched because he was a cheerful lech, Dolph, because he was angry.
“Would you take a blood test?” he asked.
“No.”
“We can get a court order.”
“On what grounds? I haven’t done anything wrong, Dolph, except show up here not dead. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were disappointed.”
“I’m glad you’re alive,” he said.
“But sorry you can’t bust Jean-Claude’s ass. Is that it?”
He looked away. I’d finally hit on it. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re sorry that you can’t arrest Jean-Claude—get him executed. He didn’t kill me, Dolph. Why do you want him dead?”
“He’s already dead, Anita. He just doesn’t know enough to lie down.”
“Is that a threat?”
Dolph made a low exasperated sound. “He’s a walking corpse, Anita.”
“I know what Jean-Claude is, Dolph, probably better than you do.”
“So I keep hearing,” he said.
“What, you’re angry because I’m dating him? You are not my father, Dolph. I can date who—or what—I want to date.”
“How can you let him touch you?” And the anger was there again, rage.
“You want him dead because he’s been my lover?” I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
He wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“You’re not jealous of me, Dolph, I know that for a fact. It just bothers you that he’s not human, is that it?”
“He’s a vampire, Anita.” He met my gaze then. “How can you fuck a corpse?”
The level of animosity was too personal, too intimate. And then it hit me. “What woman in your life is fucking the undead, Dolph?”
He took a step towards me, his entire body trembling, his huge hands balled into fists. The rage rushed up his face in a near purple wave. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Get out!”
I wanted to say something to make it better, but there was nothing to say. I moved carefully past him, keeping my eyes on him, afraid he’d make a grab for me. But he just stood there regaining control of himself. Zerbrowski walked me out and closed the door behind us.
If I’d been with another woman, we’d have talked about what just happened. If I’d been with a lot of men in a different line of work, we’d have talked about it. But Zerbrowski was a cop. And that meant you didn’t talk about the personal stuff. If you accidentally learned something truly painful, truly private, you left it the fuck alone—unless the man involved wanted to talk about it. Besides, I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to know that Dolph’s wife was cheating on him with a corpse. He had two sons, no daughters, so who else could it be?
Zerbrowski walked me through the squad room in silence. A man turned as we entered the room. He was tall, dark-haired, with gray starting at the temples. The clean, strong lines of his face were beginning to soften around the edges, but it was still a handsome face in a manly man, Marlboro sort of way. He looked vaguely familiar. But it wasn’t until he turned his head, exposing the claw scars on the side of his neck, that I recognized him. Orlando King had been one of the premiere bounty hunters in the country until a rogue shapeshifter had nearly killed him. The stories could never agree on what animal did it; some said wolf, others bear or leopard. The story had grown in the telling until I doubt anyone but King himself knew the truth. King and the shapeshifters that had nearly killed him, if they hadn’t all died in the attempt, that is. He had a rep that he never lost a bounty, never stopped until his creature was dead. He earned good money lecturing across the country and in other countries. For his finale he’d take his shirt off and show his scars. It smacked a little too much of circus sideshow for my taste, but, hey, it wasn’t my body. He also did some consulting with the police.
“Anita Blake, this is Orlando King,” Zerbrowski said. “We brought him in to help convict Count Dracula of your murder.”
I glared at Zerbrowski, who only smiled wider. He’d keep calling Jean-Claude by his pet names until it stopped getting a rise out of me. The quicker I ignored it the better.
“Ms. Blake,” Orlando King said in the deep rolling voice that I remembered from his lectures, “so good to see you alive.”
“It’s good to be alive, Mr. King. Last I heard you were lecturing on the West Coast. I hope you didn’t interrupt your tour to come solve my murder.”
He shrugged, and there was something about the way he moved his shoulders that made him seem taller, broader than he was. “There are so few of us that truly pit ourselves against the monsters, how could I not come?”
“I’m flattered,” I said. “I’ve heard you lecture.”
“You came up and spoke to me afterwards,” he said.
“I’m flattered again. You must meet thousands of people a year.”
He smiled and touched my left arm, ever so lightly. “But not many with scars to rival mine. And none half so pretty in this line of business.”
“Thanks.” He was at least two generations removed from me, so I figured his complimenting me wasn’t so much flirting as habit.
Zerbrowski was grinning at me, and his grin said he didn’t think King was simply being polite. I shrugged and ignored it. I’ve found that if you pretend not to notice that a man is flirting with you, most of them will eventually grow tired and stop.
“It’s good to meet you again, Ms. Blake. Especially alive. But I know that you must be in a hurry if you’re going to rescue your vampire boyfriend before dawn.” There was the faintest hesitation before the word boyfriend. I studied his face and found it neutral. There was no condemnation, nothing but a smile and goodwill. After Dolph’s little fit, it was kind of nice.
“Thank you for understanding.”
“I’d love a chance to talk to you before I leave town,” he said.
Again, I wondered if he was flirting, and I said the only thing I could think of. “Compare notes, you mean?”
“Exactly,” he said.
I just did not understand my effect on men. I wasn’t that attractive—or maybe I just couldn’t see it. We shook hands, and he didn’t hold my hand any longer than necessary, didn’t squeeze it, or any of those funky things men do when they’re interested. Maybe I was just getting paranoid where men were concerned.
Zerbrowski led me through the sea of desks to fetch Nathaniel. The police woman, Detective Jessica Arnet, one of the newest members of the squad, was still entertaining Nathaniel at her desk. She was gazing into his lilac eyes as if there was some hypnotic power in them. There wasn’t, but Nathaniel was a good listener. That’s rare enough in men for it to be a bigger selling point than an attractive body.
“Come on, Nathaniel, we’ve got to go.”
He stood instantly but tossed a smile towards Detective Arnet that made her eyes sparkle. Nathaniel’s real-life job was as a stripper, so he flirted instinctively. He seemed both aware and unaware of his effect on women. When he concentrated, he understood what he was doing. But when he simply walked into a room and heads turned, he was oblivious.
I touched his arm. “Say good-bye to the nice detectives. We’ve got to hurry.”
He said, “Good-bye, nice detectives.” I gave him a small push towards the doors.
Zerbrowski followed us out. I think if Nathaniel hadn’t been with us he’d have asked more questions. But he’d never met Nathaniel and wasn’t sure of him. So we moved in silence to the Prisoner Processing, where Jean-Claude was sitting on one of the three chairs. Normally the processing area was full of people coming in, going out, and since its the size of a walk-in closet, that makes it seem crowded. The two vending machines took up room, but except for the prisoner processing clerk—the new name since turnkey fell out of fashion—behind his little barred bankteller window, the place was deserted. But it was 3:30 in the morning.
Jean-Claude rose when he saw me; his white shirt was stained, torn on one sleeve. He didn’t look like he’d been beaten, or hurt. But he was usually a fanatic about his clothes. Only something drastic would have changed that. A struggle perhaps?
I did not run to him, but I did wrap my arms around him, press my ear to his chest, hold on to him as if he were the last solid thing in the world. He stroked my hair and murmured to me in French. I understood enough to know he was glad to see me and that he thought I looked beautiful. But beyond that it was just pretty noise.
It wasn’t until I felt Zerbrowski behind me that I pulled away, but when Jean-Claude’s hand found mine, I welcomed it.
Zerbrowski was looking at me as if he’d never seen me before. “What?” It came out hostile.
“I’ve never seen you be that . . . soft with anyone before.”
It startled me. “You’ve seen me kiss Richard before.”
He nodded. “That was lust. This is . . .” He shook his head, glancing up at Jean-Claude, then back to me. “He makes you feel safe.”
I realized with a jolt that he was right. “You’re smarter than you look, Zerbrowski.”
“Katie reads self-help books to me. I just look at the pictures.” He touched my right hand. “I’ll talk to Dolph.”
“I don’t think it’s going to help,” I said.
He shrugged. “If Orlando King can have a conversion experience where the monsters are concerned, anybody can.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Have you ever read, or seen, any of his interviews before his accident?” Zerbrowski made little quote marks with his fingers when he said accident.
“No. That was before I was interested in the topic, I think.”
He frowned at me. “I keep forgetting, you were still in diapers then.”
I just shook my head. “So tell me.”
“King was one of the shining lights behind trying to get lycanthropes declared nonhuman, so they could be executed just for existing, without a trial. Then he got cut up, and, lo and behold, he mellowed.”
“Nearly dying will do that to you, Zerbrowski.”
He grinned at me. “It didn’t make me a better man.” I’d held my hands over his stomach, kept his insides from spilling out, while we waited for an ambulance. It had happened just before Christmas about two years ago. Zerbrowski alive and well had been all I put on my list to Santa that year.
“If Katie couldn’t make you a better man, then nothing could,” I said.
He grinned wider, then his face sobered. “I’ll talk to the boss for you, see if I can get him to mellow without a near-death experience.”
I looked up into his serious face. “Just because you saw me hug Jean-Claude?”
“Yeah.”
I gave Zerbrowski a quick hug. “Thank you.”
He pushed me back towards Jean-Claude. “Better get him under wraps before dawn.” He looked past me to the vampire. “Take care of her.”
Jean-Claude gave a small bow from his neck. “I will take care of her as much as she allows it.”
Zerbrowski laughed. “Oh, he does know you.”
We left with Zerbrowski laughing, the clerk staring, and the night growing soft around us. Dawn was coming, and I had so many questions. Nathaniel drove. Jean-Claude and I rode in back.
13
I BUCKLED MY seat belt out of habit, but Jean-Claude stayed pressed to my side, arm around my shoulders. I’d started to shake and couldn’t seem to stop. It was as if I’d been waiting for him so I could finally fall apart. I didn’t cry, just let him hold me while I shook.
“It is alright, ma petite. We are both safe now.”
I shook my head against the stained front of his shirt. “It’s not that.”
He touched my face, raised it to look at him in the soft-lighted darkness of the car. “Then what is it?”
“I had sex with Micah.” I watched his face, waited for the anger, jealousy, something to flash through his eyes. What I saw was sympathy, and I didn’t understand it.
“You are like a vamp
ire newly risen. Even those of us who will be masters cannot fight our hunger the first night, or the first few nights. It is overwhelming. It is why many vampires feed on their nearest kin when they first rise. It is who they are thinking of in their hearts, and they are drawn to them. It is only with the aid of a master vampire that the hunger can be directed elsewhere.”
“You’re not angry?” I asked.
He laughed and hugged me. “I thought you would be angry with me for giving you the ardeur, the fire, the burning hunger.”
I pushed back enough to see his face. “Why didn’t you warn me that I couldn’t control it?”
“I never underestimate you, ma petite. If anyone I have ever known in all these centuries could have withstood such a test, it was you. So I did not tell you you would fail, because I no longer try to predict what power will do to you, or through you. You are a law unto yourself so much of the time.”
“I was . . . helpless. I . . . I didn’t want to control it.”
“Of course not.”
I shook my head. “Is the ardeur permanent?”
“I do not know.”
“How long until I can control it?”
“A few weeks. But even after you have control, you will have to be careful around those you most lust after. They will make the hunger flare like fire raging in your veins. There is no shame to it.”
“So you say.”
He held my face between his hands. “Ma petite, it has been over four hundred years since I first woke with the ardeur raging in me, but I remember. All these years, and I still remember that the cry for flesh was almost worse than the cry for blood.”
I held his wrists, pressed his hands against my face. “I’m scared.”
“Of course you are. You should be. But I will help you through this. I will be your guide. It may pass away in a few days, or come and go, I simply do not know. But I will help you through it, whatever happens.”
Nathaniel pulled into the Circus of the Damned parking lot, beside the back door. It was still dark as we got out, but the air had that soft feel of predawn. You could taste the coming morning on the tip of your tongue.
Jason opened the outer door as if he’d been waiting for us. He probably had. Jean-Claude hurried past him to the door that led to the stairs. We followed, but Jean-Claude called back over his shoulder, “I must shower before dawn.” With that he left us, running in a blur of motion. The rest of us walked more sedately down the stairs, able to walk three abreast, because none of us were large people.
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