by Angie Sandro
“Uh, Anders? What the hell’s going on?”
“You tell me, Ms. Acker.”
“Ms. Acker is what you call me when you’re trying to pin a murder on me.” I stare out the window, defeated. “Is the false formality your way of putting distance between us, as if you didn’t grab my ass earlier?” The technicians lift Squirrel into a body bag. The coroner must have already concluded her investigation. I slump against the seat. “This is the type of person you think I am? How depressing.”
Anders’s head tilts in my direction. If I turn, I’ll catch him studying my face in the rearview mirror, so I keep my gaze firmly on the body bag being loaded into the coroner’s wagon. Part of me thinks I owe Squirrel this much. Hopefully this scene isn’t a prelude to the slaughter to come due to my actions tonight.
Exhaustion weighs heavy on my shoulders and I sigh. “Unless I’m being arrested, take me home. If you are arresting me, I’m invoking my right to remain silent until my attorney is present.”
Only Anders’s eyes are visible in the mirror, and they look flat and cold. “I’ve enough evidence to bring you in for questioning.”
“I’m innocent, and your so-called evidence is circumstantial at best. So do what you’ve got to do.”
“I don’t want to arrest you.” Anders starts the car and drives in the direction of my home. “I know you find it impossible to believe, but I’m trying to help you. If you’d just trust me—” He sighs. “I’ll play good cop if you let me, Dena.”
My name on his lips sends an unwanted shiver through my body. I lift my chin to prove he doesn’t affect me. “I’ll figure this out on my own. I’m not helpless, and I won’t give up until I have some answers.”
The rest of the ride continues in silence, broken only when we reach my house. Anders twists around and sticks a business card through the cage’s Plexiglas window. “I know you keep throwing these away,” he says with a wry twist of his lips. “Call me if you want to talk.”
I stuff the card in my pocket. “Thanks for the rescue…multiple rescues. I’ve been a nuisance, but I don’t mean to be. It’s just…a lot of shit’s happening.” I lift my chin, searching for strength. “I’m sorry for taking it out on you. Good night.”
With the last word, I fumble at the door latch. It refuses to budge, ignoring my frantic attempts to unlock it. Finally, I collapse back into the seat.
Anders seems amused, despite his current imitation of a cyborg. His dark eyes, reflected in the mirror, hold a hint of a smile in them. He exits the car and opens the rear passenger door. I stare at his outstretched hand for a long beat, wanting to ignore his help, but my legs have cramped from being stuffed in the back seat. His touch burns, sparking off a cascading reaction which floods my body with heat. Why, oh why, does he get me all hot and bothered?
Avoiding his gaze, I look around. Oh great. Lucky me—a police escort during that magical time in the morning when all my mother’s neighbors are outside, taking their garbage to the curb, getting their newspaper, or warming their cars to go to work. I hope they’re enjoying the show.
Gabriella runs out of the house. With a shriek loud enough to draw the attention of everyone who isn’t already gawking at the police car, she throws herself into my arms. “Dena, where were you?” she cries. “I was scared out of my mind. I spent the night searching the neighborhood!”
Movement comes from behind, and I glance over my shoulder. Anders leans against his car, arms folded. He arches a questioning eyebrow. “I asked Dena the same question. Maybe she’ll confide in you.”
Gabriella disentangles herself from my arms. Her gaze travels over my mussed hair and disheveled clothing and ends on my neck. Her eyes narrow.
A blush rises, and I hastily straighten my jacket. I’m glad that Anders is behind me and can’t see my face. He’d know what caused the flames to lick my cheeks. Guilt. “I’m not really in the mood to share at the moment, Gabby.” I widen my eyes, glancing toward Anders. “I’d rather go take a bath and get some sleep.”
Gabriella’s mouth tightens in silent protest. “Fine.” She faces Anders. “Detective, on behalf of my rude friend, thanks for your assistance in searching for her last night.”
“For being nosy,” I mutter. He didn’t search out of concern for my health or safety, but because I’m his only suspect.
“Dena!” Gabriella reprimands.
I march up the driveway, listening to Gabriella apologizing—to him. How did he brainwash her into thinking he has altruistic motives for searching for me? Last night, she’d been completely on board with the idea of him trying to frame me.
I throw open the front door. An immediate sense of relief at being home fills my body, leaving my legs weak. I stumble over to the couch and fling myself across it, closing my eyes against the mother of all tension headaches. Footsteps clump across the hardwood floor, and I groan as the sound echoes in my head like a jackhammer.
Cracking open my eyes, I mentally prepare for the onslaught of questions from Gabriella, but upon seeing Charles Frasier hovering above my head with his mouth opening and closing like a lamprey preparing to feed, I shudder.
I grab the blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it over my head, burrowing as deep into the pillows as I can, praying the nightmare will end.
Charles snatches the blanket and struggles to pull it from my fingers. “Dena? Dena, let go.”
“No! Go away,” I yell, blinking to keep from crying. No way will I break down in front of Chucky. Not happening. Not in this lifetime.
He tugs again. This time he uses all of his strength.
I roll off the couch, landing on the floor with a bellow of pain. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Chuck? Are you insane?”
“You’ve got some nerve asking if I’m insane,” he yells back, waving the blanket in the air. “Do you have any idea how worried we were? How do you think I felt getting a phone call in the middle of the night from Gabriella, who by the way was hysterical, saying that you’d disappeared? We spent the night searching the neighborhood thinking you were sleepwalking again. Then Detective Anders calls, saying he found you near the scene of another murder!”
“I had nothing to do with that or any other murder.” I shove my fingers into my hair and massage my scalp. “Anders’s twisting the situation around, as usual. It’s what he does best. He’s a fucking cop, Chuck. Is this why Gabriella’s outside sucking up to him? He got to you two, didn’t he?”
“How do you expect us to react?” Charles asks in a voice thick with emotion. “This isn’t normal behavior. Look at it from our point of view.”
My mouth drops, and I glare at him in reproach. Wow, this is the same man who once said I was the best thing that ever happened to him.
Bitterness surges, and I contemplate the various ways I could kill him, if I were a murderer. I have him mentally impaled on a long spike when Gabriella storms into the house. She takes one look at my murderous expression and freezes.
“Uh, guys,” she says slowly, as if talking down rabid dogs. “What’s going on?”
Charles glowers in my direction. “I was asking Dena where she was tonight.” He drops the blanket, and it falls over my head.
I snatch it off and rise, shaking.
Gabriella reaches out, but lets her hand fall before touching me. She glares at Charles. “What did you say to make her this angry?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement by the kitchen and spin. Good God, not her too? I confront Gabriella, outraged. “You let Vanessa in my house?”
Vanessa’s face darkens. She answers Gabriella’s question to Charles, but directs her contempt at me. “Charles simply asked Dena the same questions we’ve all been wondering about. She’s the one who became defensive and started throwing a tantrum.”
I step in Vanessa’s direction, but Gabriella moves between us. “Nessa, we agreed you’d stay in the kitchen until we told Dena you’re here.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not coddling her just because she�
�s mental. She’s a grown woman, and she can start acting like one. Besides, I can’t remain silent when my man is being attacked.” Vanessa goes to Charles’s side. She wraps her arm around his waist and gazes up at him with a sultry expression that’s purely for my benefit.
Charles glances at her, and his eyes narrow. If I wasn’t so pissed, I’d applaud the fact that he sees through her ruse. Instead, I watch their unspoken exchange in silence.
The sound of the door closing grabs my attention. Anders entered the house while we argued, and he’s staring at Vanessa like she’s some sort of toxic mold. He clears his throat, drawing everyone’s attention. “Dena’s had a difficult night—”
Vanessa interrupts, “Charles and I’d planned on spending the evening in bed. We came to help because we thought Dena was in trouble, and I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.”
“I didn’t realize where I went tonight would be the object of everyone’s scrutiny,” I say. “And did I ask any of you to butt into my private life?”
“Oh. My. God!” Gabriella shrieks. “I know you’re embarrassed, Dena, but I don’t think a little courtesy is too much to ask, given the circumstances. I was worried. I promised to watch out for you. To wake you if you started sleepwalking again. I totally lost it when I couldn’t find you. That’s why I called Detective Anders and Charles.” She throws a glare in Vanessa’s direction. “Not her, though. She invited herself.”
“I see,” I reply.
Overheated, I unzip my jacket and toss it onto the sofa. “I guess I owe all of you an apology. I’m sorry I worried you.” Silence greets my semi-heartfelt apology, and I throw my hands in the air. “Now what?”
“Is that a hickey?” Vanessa squeals, jumping forward and thrusting the neck of my sweatshirt down.
I slap her hand away. “Personal space, Vanessa.”
She falls onto the sofa, giggling so hard that black tears stream from her mascara-enhanced lashes. Unfortunately, she seems to be the only one in the room who finds the condition of my neck amusing.
Charles glares at my neck. His face turns the shade of an overripe cherry tomato. “Who were you with?”
“I’m not your girlfriend, Chucky,” I say. “You cheated on me with Vanessa, so don’t be so sanctimonious when it comes to my love life. It’s none of your business.”
Anders clears his throat and leans forward. “That explains a lot.”
Glad to be distracted before I say something I’d regret, I turn to him. “What do you mean by that?”
Anders flashes a grin. How have I never noticed his dimples? They soften the hard angles of his face, reminding me of how attractive he is, and I blush.
He saunters over and brushes a finger across my burning cheek. “Nice.”
“What?” I blink, confused by his non-cop-like behavior, and then remember I asked him a question. “Explains what?”
“Usually it doesn’t take this much work for me to charm a woman.”
My voice comes out as a breathless whisper. “Is that what you’re trying to do?”
“If you have to ask, then I need to work harder.”
His finger trails down my neck, and I swear I almost do an old-fashioned swoon right into his oh-so-very muscular arms. What the hell?
Gabriella’s eyes widen at my expression. “Um, right…Okay, so this is awkward.”
The doorbell rings. Anders shoves his hands in his pockets and steps back with a chuckle. Once he no longer invades my space, and I can’t smell the spice of his aftershave or gaze like an idiot into his green eyes, my brain starts to function again.
I run to the door, throwing it open only to freeze as I take in the tall form lounging in the doorway.
“Konmen ça va?” Ferdinand asks, searching my face. “I saw the cop pick you up so I followed you home.”
“Gee, thanks,” I say, opening the door wider. “Please come in, Ferdinand.”
Ferdinand grins, stepping forward, then pauses when he takes in the group of people standing in my living room. His gaze darts to meet mine. A spurt of raw panic blanches his midnight skin, and I know he recalls his earlier comment.
Vanessa jumps to the offensive…literally. “So, Ferdinand, you’re the guy Dena was out with tonight?”
Ferdinand’s mouth tightens, and his fists clench at this sides. He seems on the verge of hitting someone. “Yeah, what about it?”
“So…you were with Dena tonight?” Vanessa’s eyes fill with a wicked light.
“Yes, I was with Dena,” Ferdinand repeats slowly, as if speaking to a toddler. “Obviously, she already told you about it.”
“No, I didn’t,” I interject before he can say more.
Gabriella’s mouth drops. “She was about to spill the whole story.”
“You’re not Dena’s type,” Charles says. “She usually goes for men who wear their pants with belts.”
“It’s not how a man wears the pants, but what’s in them,” I say with a grin, enjoying watching Charles’s face redden. Hmm, the conversation has taken an interesting turn.
“You seriously expect me to believe you let this guy get in your pants? He’s a thug.”
“Wow, way to stereotype, Charles.”
“He’s a gangster!” Charles shrieks, putting his nose right in my face. His appears splotchy. For a scary moment, I think he might have a heart attack. “It’s not a stereotype if it’s fact!”
Ferdinand smoothly inserts his body between Charles and myself. “I’m a big guy. I feel more comfortable in baggy clothes. It’s a fashion thing.” He stares down into the other man’s eyes with a menacing glare, but he continues in a calm tone. “I’m not a gangster. I own a private security company in New Orleans.”
“So, you’re like, what? A bodyguard?” Gabriella’s eyes brighten as they run up Ferdinand’s massive frame. “Oh my, I’m impressed. This is perfect! Dena’s in need of a little personal protection lately.”
“Not funny, Gabriella,” I complain, but in truth, I need to have a private conversation with Ferdinand about the earlier events of the evening.
Anders has remained quiet during the exchange, but even without looking, I can sense exactly where he is in the room. The crackling tension between us increases with each step as he walks up from behind. When he reaches my side, facing Ferdinand, the back of his hand brushes my arm, and I shiver.
“It’s interesting that you were out with Dena tonight.” Anders again wears the gruff cop-look I’m beginning to hate. “I picked her up in the vicinity of a homicide. What do you know about a man named Anton Terrie?” He crosses his arms, which he then flexes—every woman in the room notices. Is he trying to intimidate the Ferdinand? Or is the mouthwatering display for me?
Ferdinand seems more bored than impressed. “I’m sorry,” he says, giving the apology in a tone that’s anything but apologetic. “I know you, right? Anders? Yes, we’ve had this conversation before. As you know, any information I have on my employees and clients is confidential, unless you have a court order.”
“That can be arranged since Terrie is dead.”
“When I see one, we’ll chat. In the meantime, I’d like to speak with Dena alone. If you’d excuse us.” Ferdinand touches my arm. “Is there someplace where we can speak in private?”
“Sure. I’ll take you to my bedroom.” I lead him toward the stairs, only to pause and look around. “When I come down, the only person I want to still be here is Gabriella.”
CHAPTER 10
BFFs Forever
Ferdinand follows me to the master bedroom. It’s strange to have a man in here, and the more I think about it, the more uncomfortable I feel. Hurrying inside, I kick a lone pair of panties under the bed. I really need to clean or Pepper’s gonna kill me when she gets back.
Ferdinand glances dispassionately around the room, then sits on the edge of my bed. “So what happened after I left?”
On the way upstairs, I decided to trust Ferdinand with the whole story. He saw what happened to Squirrel.
Plus the way he handled Anders impressed me. The detective doesn’t intimidate him, which gives him mega-points in my book. I need help, and nobody else has seen what we’ve seen. They wouldn’t understand.
I crawl on the bed and cross my legs. “I’ll tell you what I know if you promise to keep it between us. I need help, and I don’t know who to trust. My friends think I’m having a nervous breakdown, or worse—a psychotic episode.”
“Look,” Ferdinand says, “I saw Anton get killed. It wasn’t normal, even among the things I’ve witnessed in my life. I don’t think you’re crazy. Tell me about your earlier experience; maybe we’ll be able to figure this out together.”
“I already told you about my initial encounter with the spirit and my theory that he’s trapped in that form. I know it’s hard to believe. I didn’t believe it at first, and I witnessed it.”
I try to gauge Ferdinand’s reaction but his features remain composed. He must get a lot of practice keeping his face expressionless during his security work. Especially if the majority of his clients are a bunch of criminals like Squirrel.
“After my first contact, I began having vivid dreams. In them, I channeled this guy’s—this spirit’s—whatever he is— his emotions. His pain. His horror at being trapped. His despair at the hunger that drives him to feed on humans.”
“Did he feed on Anton? Is that how he died?”
“Yeah, I think so. But…you have to understand, it’s not by choice. I think he tries to fight the urges, but it’s…instinctual. I mean, I would love to lose weight. Starving would solve my problem, except I have to eat. If I didn’t, I’d die. So my survival instinct kicks in and I pig out on snack cakes.”
“So Anton’s a Little Debbie.”
“More like a Boston Crème. See, the spirit denies himself by fighting the hunger. He waits for a more palatable food, for a man like Anton, who is rotten inside from hurting the innocent.”