by Kayleigh Sky
At least his badge had come in handy for something. It wasn’t exactly worth the price of clashing with Prosper again though. “An’ here I thought you had no friends,” Prosper had jibed.
Otto’s laugh had torn at his clenched throat. “You got off easy. You want the case, take it.”
“After you,” Prosper sneered. “Same as sloppy seconds.”
“Funny.”
Four days of thinking even somebody as incompetent as Prosper might be better at the job than Otto.
Four days until he figured out this case meant something to him. That it was his last fucking chance to be better than the asshole who’d let his sister’s killer go free.
He sat at the end of the bar and set his glare on the wary bartender watching him.
“Jack Daniel’s neat.”
He got a nod and a moment later his drink on a napkin. The stuff was beautiful, a lovely amber… like a prince’s hair. Golden and red and honey brown. He pinched a corner of the napkin and pulled the glass over. His mouth kept watering, but he knew it would burn like hellfire going down. Bowels of the earth burn. But then it would flare in his gut like a heater kicking on on a cold wet winter morning. The kind of morning that made him want to burrow back under the covers.
Fuck facing the day.
What for? What good was he?
All he had to do was drink that damn thing, and it wouldn’t matter anymore. The pain inside would burn away.
Count ’em. How many people will lose if you fuck this up?
Isaac. Jessa. Mateo. Were they in danger?
Was Otto? From himself for sure. From the tumbling of his resistance to his own doubts when he was sober. Drunk, he never wondered if he should have confronted Maisie about the necklace she’d worn and pushed for a confession when she’d lied and said she hadn’t stolen it. If she hadn’t been wearing it…
Well, maybe she wouldn’t have died if she’d had nothing worth killing her for.
But he’d never know.
He peeled his drink off the square napkin. The whiskey sloshed as glossy and thick as sugar water. He lifted the glass to his nose and breathed. The burn in his airways was sharp and bitter. He took another breath, parted his lips and—
His pager went off.
After the first few seconds of shock, he laughed. Timing like this, it just didn’t happen. Except it had. He set the glass down and twisted the device attached to his belt until the number on the display became visible. It went to the front desk at the station. He stared at his drink. A swallow? A sip?
A second tone came through. He pushed his glass away, took a five-dollar bill from his wallet, and set it on the counter.
The bartender eyed him on his way out. “Nice day, officer.”
He flashed the guy a grin. “Detective.”
With a quick glance at the traffic on the street, Otto dashed to his car and snatched his phone from its cradle. He punched in the number displaying on his pager. A voice answered, “Comity Police, Fraser.”
“This is Jones. I got a page.”
“Yeah. Call came in about ten minutes ago. Break in at the Comity House Donor Center. Team 2B responding.”
“Any casualties?”
“None reported.”
“Thanks. I’m on my way.” But the minute he cut off the call, he hesitated, called back, and said, “Tell them to wait for me. I’ll be there in thirty.”
“Will do.”
Cutting off the call, he punched in another number and a woman answered after two rings. “Prince Senera’s residence.”
“My name is Otto Jones. I’m a detective with the Comity Police, calling for Jessa Senera.”
The woman made a humming sound. “It’s after midnight, Detective.”
“You’re a vampire.”
“We sleep, Detective. Hold on, please.”
Apparently, they did sleep. A few minutes later, a groggy voice as warm and sweet as honey, said, “Yes? Is this the police?”
“Detective Jones. We’ve met.”
“Um… I remember.”
“I can’t explain much right now, but King Dinallah suggested I get your input on the case I’m working on and—”
“Like hell.”
Voice sticking in his throat, Otto pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it. Then he coughed and said, “Excuse me?”
“I’m supposed to work with you, not give you input. Like a partner.”
“Partner,” Otto echoed.
“You know. Equals.”
Hardly, you little—But he gritted his teeth, took a breath, and said, “That’s why I’m calling you. If you want me to pick you up, be ready in fifteen minutes.”
He disconnected. Fangs. They all had fucking fangs.
22
Break-in
In Celestine, Uriah had been an enforcer. When Jessa asked him how he had gotten confessions out of people, he’d said, “You don’t want to know.”
Well, yes, Jessa did want to know. Or maybe not. Clearly, vampire police work was different than the human variety.
In the car on the way to Comity House, he stole glances at Otto, noting the heavy browed scowl on his face. Probably pissed off Jessa was with him, but too bad. Jessa had read his detective novels and had tried to get information from Uriah. He aimed to carry his weight.
“What do you know about the robbery?” he asked.
“That it happened.”
Bastard.
Jessa gritted his teeth. He hated people thinking he was nothing but a… a drain. He wasn’t going to have many more opportunities like this because sooner or later he’d have to marry Wen. Make jewelry. Not that he didn’t like doing that, but his business was nothing more than a hobby in everybody else’s eyes. The chance to do something important mattered to him. A memory to hold onto when all the rest of his life was romances and beads.
“Nobody was hurt?”
“I wasn’t told of anyone.”
Jessa stole another sideways glance. Otto shifted his grip on the steering wheel, turning his wrist up, the tendons popping into relief in the glow of the street lamps. The bone was thick and strong. Jessa inhaled, seeking the scent of Otto’s blood. His mouth watered, lips tingling for the feel of Otto’s warm skin. Damn, he needed Isaac. He swallowed and looked away.
Soon Comity House came into view, lights on in too many windows, spilling over the open lobby doors.
Otto stopped the car by the steps, and Jessa jumped out.
“Jess!”
Jess.
Jessa liked the sound of that, but he didn’t stop.
The movement of shadows inside formed into cops. One held up her palm. “Excuse me. Who are you?”
“Prince Jessamine Senera,” he said, barreling past her. Inside the lobby, he rounded the corner of the counter and stepped into the back office. “Anya.”
She looked up from the file cabinet. “Jessa. What are you doing here?”
“Helping Detective Jones.”
She blinked, which for Anya was akin to a gasp of surprise. “Well, the police have already looked around and asked questions, but Wen is in the Palmdale Room if you want to see him. I’m looking for the inventory for his office.”
“His office? Was anything stolen?”
A ghost of a smile crossed her lips. “That’s what I’m trying to find out, Jessa.”
“Okay. I’ll go look for Wen.”
He turned away and caught a glower from Otto, who waited for him in the middle of the lobby. “Stop running off.”
Jessa ignored him and headed for the Palmdale Room.
“Tell me something,” said Otto, coming up beside him. “Do clients have free access here?”
Jessa slowed his steps. Candles made the only light and shadows played against the walls and plant life. “I don’t know.” He hadn’t thought about it. “I do. I think some places are just for the donors though.”
“Are the donors restricted from any place?”
“I doubt it. Or maybe just from the offices. This i
s home.”
“Luxury living for some,” Otto mumbled.
“Wen takes good care of them.”
Maybe Wen wasn’t the love of Jessa’s life, but he didn’t abuse people either.
“I wonder why anybody would leave.”
Jessa pushed aside a palm frond as they skirted a pool surrounded in rock and ferns. The low lights and shadows playing along the pool’s edge offered a dozen hiding places. Jessa shivered, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
“A lot of reasons. Being comfortable isn’t everything.”
“It’s pretty nice,” Otto said.
Maybe it was. Jessa chafed at the thought of doing nothing for the rest of his life. Of Wen not understanding and resenting Jessa for being ungrateful. Especially when Otto’s heat was melting him from behind and making him sweat. What if Otto smelled him? Oh God. A torrid wave rushed over him when Otto brushed past him into the Palmdale Room.
Mine.
Jessa swayed, then his wooziness fled at the sight of Isaac sitting on a couch with a blanket over his shoulders. He rushed over, relieved at the smile that popped onto Isaac’s battered face.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m okay.”
Jessa dropped onto the couch beside him before taking a look around the room and freezing for a moment on Wen’s hard-eyed stare. Otto broke away from two cops by the door and headed over.
“Need a doctor?”
“I saw one,” Isaac said, lifting a bag of melting ice from the couch beside him. His eye and cheek flushed angry red and purple.
“Did the robbers attack you?” Jessa asked.
Isaac squinted through his puffy eye. “Kind of.”
“Wait a minute,” said Otto, stepping sideways. He dragged over an ottoman, sat down, and rested his elbows on his spread knees.
Wen sat on the arm of the couch, looming over them. Other than the cops by the door, they were alone. The Palmdale was a recreation room with scattered furniture and shelves jammed with books. Jigsaw puzzles half done and a few games in progress on the tables steeped the room in lonely desolation.
Wen sighed, and when Jessa glanced at him, he was rubbing his face. “I don’t think there’s much we can offer,” he said after he dropped his hand.
“You never know,” said Otto.
Jessa wondered if he should take Wen’s hand but suspected Wen would only pull away if he did. Wen didn’t like overt displays of affection.
Jessa turned to Isaac and slung an arm across his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ve never been robbed before,” Wen said. “I don’t keep anything of value here. No cash.”
Otto eyed him with a small frown. “You’ve got art. That statue.”
“Yes,” Wen mused. “That’s worth something. But it’s still there.”
“Well,” said Otto. “Crooks can be dumbasses sometimes.”
Jessa smiled, liking Otto’s tone. He sounded like Jackson Stork.
“I surprised them,” Isaac said.
Otto patted his knee. “Start at the beginning. Don’t leave anything out, even if you already told it to somebody else.”
“My office is in shambles,” Wen interjected.
“I’ll get to it,” said Otto, returning his gaze to Isaac. “Go on.”
“I was getting something to eat after my client left.”
“When was this?”
“Around midnight. Her appointment was at eleven.”
“Is that unusual? That late?”
“Not for her.”
“What’s her name?”
“That’s confidential,” said Wen.
“Not anymore. Very little is confidential in a murder investigation.”
“Murder? This was a robbery.”
“I doubt it.”
Jessa ping-ponged between Otto and Wen. Wen scowled but didn’t comment back.
“Anyway,” said Isaac. “I went to the kitchen to make a sandwich. Nobody else was up that I saw. I was putting stuff back in the fridge, and I didn’t see them come in. The door is big and hid me, but when I shut it, suddenly they were there. I didn’t have time to call out before they rushed me. One of them knocked me down, and I hit my face, but when I got up, I was by the door where the fire alarm is. I pulled it and they ran.”
“Good thinking,” said Otto.
“Would they have killed me?”
His voice fell, and Jessa hugged him tighter. “I’m going to go get you some juice. I’ll be right back.”
He jumped up and rushed out. The nearest kitchen was probably the one Isaac had been attacked in, at the bottom of the stairs nearest his room.
Jessa brushed past the palms, again feeling the heaviness of the shadows. A soft voice floated on the air, but he didn’t see anybody. Nobody was in the kitchen now either. He stepped carefully across the floor. Did they dust for fingerprints?
The space didn’t look any worse for wear. Isaac’s sandwich still sat on the countertop. Which was metal. Perfect for fingerprints. Maybe they wore gloves. No blood anywhere. No broken glasses or dishes. The back door was shut now.
“Huh.”
Jessa spun around. “Jesus.”
Otto grinned. “Scare you?”
“No.” Yes.
Otto chuckled. “What are you doing?”
“Getting juice.”
He opened the refrigerator door and peeked over the top. Otto gazed back into the hallway with a frown. Jessa returned his attention to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of grape juice. By the time he poured a glass, Otto had circled the kitchen.
“What are you doing?” Jessa asked.
Otto set his hands on his hips. His face was scruffy, a little puffy under the eyes. “No cameras anywhere.”
Jessa’s heart jumped at the thought of secret, prying eyes, which was silly. Everyone knew he was a drainer, so what if the camera got a shot of him? He’d never thought about the lack of surveillance before, but his panic would probably be the first reaction for many other drainers too.
Guilt hit him again, because Wen had thought about that. About what it was like to be on display. The whole center had been arranged for privacy.
“This is a safe place,” he said. “Or at least it was.”
Otto’s gruff face softened. “Go on. Take Isaac his juice. We can’t do anything else.”
“Will they get away?”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
Otto leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, if they took something and try and sell it, we might get lucky and catch them. Maybe they have a record. Isaac can take a look at some mug shots. If he recognizes someone, we’ll have something to go on, but he didn’t get a good look.”
“What about fingerprints?”
“In here? We don’t have the resources. Too many people pass through. We’d have to take prints from everyone who lives here, every client, every worker, every friend. That’s not gonna happen, and even if we got something it’d be shaky evidence. Who’s to say they weren’t here for some other reason? Deliveries. Maintenance. Moral support for a drainer friend. Most of our records were lost in the server crashes, so we have to have a real likelihood of success. It would take forever to even go through local records. It pays off sometimes, but with the amount of people going through here?” Otto shook his head and pushed off the counter. “And if this is just a burglary, it’s nothing to do with Acalliona anyway.”
“If.”
“If,” Otto agreed.
Jessa went ahead of him with the glass of grape juice. Wen was gone, but Isaac lay curled up against the arm of the couch. As Jessa approached, he sat up with a smile. “Hey.”
“Here you go.”
Isaac took a sip and gazed at Otto, who waited by the door. “Do you think this is connected to Mr. Acalliona’s murder?”
“Could be,” said Otto. “Might not be. No use speculating without more evidence.”
Which Otto had said they’d prob
ably never get.
Jessa leaned into Isaac. “Come live with me.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d asked, and the way Isaac’s eyes shut down told him it probably wouldn’t be the last time. “This is my job,” Isaac said.
Being Jessa’s blood whore wasn’t, he didn’t say, but Jessa heard it anyway. With a sigh, he stood. “Be back soon, okay?”
Isaac smiled now. “I’ll be here.”
Otto turned out the door, and Jessa followed him.
Most of the lights were off now, but outside, a faint blue color softened the night sky.
Jessa strode to the passenger side of Otto’s car but didn’t get in. He waited until Otto met his gaze and said, “Isaac’s my friend, and I’m a part of this. I don’t have to know everything to help. I’m a quick learner, and a drainer’s just as good as anybody else, so don’t ignore me. You don’t really have a choice anyway.”
He thought the last part might make Otto mad, especially since he’d taken the time to tell Jessa about fingerprinting, but instead, he laughed and opened his door.
“Oh, I have a choice, Jess. I can toss the whole thing.” But then he winked at him. “Ever been to Windon?”
Windon. It sounded familiar, but the answer was easy because he never went anywhere outside of Comity.
“No. What’s there?”
“An art consignment store.”
Hiding his smile, Jessa climbed in the car and buckled up.
23
A Secret Meeting
At the bottom of the hillside were the ruins of an amphitheater. Rows of chairs and the supports from the stage were buried in weeds and wildflowers. Jessa liked to take photographs here. The prince was a strange creature to Wen, a contradictory mix of stubborn human and ethereal Ellowyn. Wen didn’t mind his duty to Jessa though. He wasn’t the type to fall in love. His mind meant more to him than passion. But Jessa was his. He’d put effort into him, bent his will to Rune’s rule to climb a step higher among his people. At some point he would need children. He imagined Jessa would want that too. The strange passions of the crossling would find an outlet in the eager minds of their children. Surrogate children who would be Seneras, related to the rest of the Wrythin family through marriage.