Blood Trouble

by Connie Suttle

  * * *

  It's been mailed. Don't bother me again, I texted Jayson after sealing the envelope addressed to his office, the requested release form inside. Tell Trina to take me off that stalker app, too, I added before sending the message.

  No can do, came almost immediately. Mom wants an interview done with you for the Mercy Crossings article. Don't worry, I'll have one of my staff writers contact you by email. You can answer his questions that way.

  If he's as much of an asshole as you are, you may get nothing. Jerk.

  Did you just call me a jerk?

  I called you a jerk, jerk. And an asshole. Because you're both.

  If Mom didn't like you so much, he left the sentence hanging.

  If I didn't like your mother, I'd file a restraining order, I snapped back.

  Does this mean you won't come to my birthday dinner next week? Mom wants you to come. Really.

  If it were her birthday.

  Hank said he wants to come if you do.

  Really? I may throw up. Go find some of those women you both like. Take them. They'll be euphoric. Obedient. All that stuff.

  Hank says he explained to you that it's an exchange of power. They want to give, we want to receive.

  Sounds like the coin toss at a football game.

  Your vanilla-ness is showing.

  Really? You're the one who dragged out handcuffs, Rome. Don't ever show me that shit again.

  Why?

  I have legitimate reasons, I assure you. Plus, you'd have to use something a lot stronger than handcuffs if you want to restrain me, nowadays. Besides, I have merinthophobia. Know what that means, asshat?

  I know what that means. No wonder you ran away like the devil was after you.

  Honey, I've met the devil. The most you can ever hope for is to be the devil's lesser minion.

  You have such a high opinion of me.

  Your own doing, remember? Look, my ride's here. I have work to do.

  * * *

  "Here are the messages," Jayson handed his cellphone to Hank over lunch at Bogey's. "I should have guessed about the merinthophobia."

  "We never thought to ask her about those things. We should have." Hank scrolled through Breanne's messages quickly, and then went back to read them again more slowly. "Probably has claustrophobia, too."

  "Did she mean you when she said she's met the devil?" Jayson watched as Hank read Breanne's texts.

  "No," Hank sighed. "I think the devil came along years before I did."

  * * *

  Breanne's Journal

  Opal had a handheld detector of some sort, and I followed her as she watched the screen and placed careful steps to track the sewer lines beneath our feet. We'd been out all day, hadn't found anything and both of us were tired and hungry. It was also dark, but neither of us had trouble seeing in the dark.

  She hadn't spoken much—she was still puzzled as to why she couldn't scent me and that bothered her, I could tell.

  With her dark hair pulled into a long braid down her back, she was dressed in black jeans, boots and a leather jacket. "Opal," I said as dead grass crunched softly beneath her feet.

  "Huh?" She didn't bother to turn around.

  "You don't have to worry about me. The shield is for my protection," I said.

  Opal stopped in her tracks and turned to stare at me with her nearly unblinking dark eyes.

  "I know you protect yourself, too," I added. She blinked at me then, unsure how to deal with my words—and me. She didn't want anyone to know about her and felt endangered because somehow I'd guessed something about her. We had a temporary standoff while she contemplated her next move. Both of us heard the noise. Opal's head jerked toward the sound—it was behind her; I was facing it. The scent reached both of us, then—the combined scent of vampire and dead human.

  Do it, my voice whispered in her mind. She was considering going to her animal, and I wanted her to do it. I could mist faster than she could run, and if our luck held, we might trap the vampire between us. I sent a vision to her of what I wanted, and without a sound, her clothing was destroyed and the velociraptor was running. I didn't have time to give her the awe her form demanded; I turned to mist and blazed toward the vampire.

  Chapter 9

  Gus Fulton was dying. He knew it, too. Lung cancer was eating away at him and the doctor had already said to get his affairs in order. With an optimistic estimate of six months, Gus knew he had things to take care of, and that included a daughter and grandchildren he hadn't seen in nearly a decade. He wanted to leave them something, but all he had was an old house in Pecos, Texas. He'd spent the last ten years of his life drinking and smoking way too much. If the lung cancer didn't take him, then the cirrhosis eventually would.

  He'd been forced to retire, too, although he'd worked until he'd turned sixty-eight. He would have been reelected as sheriff of Pecos County if he hadn't been forced out by health issues. He had a reputation as a hard-nosed, no-nonsense officer of the law, but he'd buried some bodies during his time. Some deaths he'd been responsible for, some bodies he'd buried for someone else; all of it done discreetly, of course.

  As it was, the only person who could cause trouble for him was dead, but that wasn't what gnawed away at him—his conscience—as well as his addictions did.

  "If I'd never met you, Joyce, I might not be in this predicament, now," Gus muttered. Fifty thousand dollars was on the line—money he could leave to his grandkids who only thought of him as a distant, angry old man. All Gus had to do was hand a few photographs and a diary he'd kept through the years to a private investigator, and the money would be his. The orphanage in question had been shut down fifteen years earlier—the church stopped funding it because they hadn't kept appropriate records.

  "Good thing, too," Gus sighed and stuffed the journal and photographs in a manila envelope. The investigator's name was Sullivan—Bob Sullivan, from California. Gus snorted as he sealed the envelope. Folks from that end of the country generally had more money than sense, in his opinion.

  The money would be given to him in cash—Gus wasn't about to let go of the information until he saw it for himself. He still owned several guns, and nobody would get any of this for free. It belonged to his grandkids, and maybe it would redeem him a little in their eyes. Either way, he'd be gone before the story could be published, and any charges that might be leveled against him would be futile. Joyce had gotten away with murder—well, he would, too.

  * * *

  Ashe's Journal

  It was something I'd never suspected. Trajan, on an off-day when he wasn't listening to old country and western music, liked to listen to the occasional classical piece. He loved the Duettino-Sull'aria from The Marriage of Figero, mostly because it was featured in one of his favorite films, The Shawshank Redemption.

  After setting up the music while working on a comp-vid at the kitchen island, Trajan wrote out a communication to one of our buyers when Kay walked in. I think Bill dropped a dish in the sink when Kay began singing with the two women. It wasn't any amateur performance, either. This would have brought anybody to tears it was so beautiful, and since I was afraid of terrifying her any more than I already did; I misted in and settled on Trajan's shoulder as the bumblebee bat so I could listen.

  Kay has the voice of an angel, and no matter how hard Bill has coaxed since then, we can't get her to sing again. I did ask Bill to pull all the classical music he can gather and give it to Kay on a comp-vid, but she hasn't done anything except retreat into herself again. It makes me wonder what it was that convinced her to come out of her shell for such a short amount of time, but it gives me hope that someday, she'll sing for us once more.

  * * *

  Breanne's Journal

  Opal can run like the wind—her last name was accurate. I misted ahead of the vampire, who had difficulty getting away from a large velociraptor. It was comical, almost—he'd turned to look back at the creature chasing him, knowing it should have been extinct. He'd already dropped the d
ead girl he carried in favor of effecting his escape, and he almost ran into me before turning around.

  Materializing in front of him, I pulled my claws out and waited barely a blink until he was in front of me. I neatly sliced the head from his shoulders as I stepped aside, and he didn't have time to register shock before his head rolled away while his body slid for yards.

  "What the hell?" Opal transformed, stood next to me completely naked and stared at the vampire's head, which was decomposing nearby. The body, after rolling to a stop, was turning to ash.

  "Vampire," I wiggled my claws in her direction. "But that's between you and me, okay?"

  "Absolutely," she nodded at my foot-long claws. "But I want to ask why you can walk in daylight. Bill's vamps all have to sleep during the day."

  "I'm sort of special, and I want to stay away from those guys," I pulled my claws back in with a sigh. "You might say I wasn't sanctioned by the Council, and their reaction to what they consider a rogue can best be described as unpredictable."

  "Look, I'm not about to tell," Opal muttered. "The vamps I've met sort of have an uneasy truce with me. They know I'm a shifter, as do the wolves, but nobody has outed me yet."

  "I sure as hell won't out you," I said, pulling off my coat and handing it to her. "Let's call Bill and let him know where the latest victim is."

  "Yeah." Opal shrugged into my coat and buttoned it around her.

  "Look, I can get some clothes for you if you want to stay with the body. It won't take long," I promised.

  "I'll accept your offer," she nodded as we walked toward the victim.

  * * *

  Bill walked beside me as I led him toward the vampire ash. I knew what he was thinking—that vampire ash or blood could kill a human if introduced into the bloodstream. I reached out and rubbed his back as we walked. Bill stopped still and pulled me into his arms.

  "Breanne, if I weren't such an old man," he muttered against my hair.

  "I don't care how old you are," I mumbled against his chest.

  "I do," he pulled away. "Come on; let's look at this pile of ash."

  I showed him where the head and torso had landed. "I know you and Opal might do this together, but I don't like it," Bill shook his head as he crouched and used a flashlight to examine the vampire's disintegrated body.

  "I hope you don't upset Opal with what you know," I sighed. Bill knew. One of his vampires had told Bill she was a shapeshifter. Bill didn't care—Opal was a very effective agent and he appreciated that about her. He hadn't brought any vamps with him, either—he knew their presence tended to upset Opal. Seems too many shifters had died from vampire attacks, and most of them didn't have any defense against them.

  "I wouldn't," Bill nodded, standing up again and turning off the flashlight. The rest of his crew plus a few detectives from the D.C. Police Department were gathered around the victim's body, gathering evidence before moving her. Opal watched them from a distance so she could file a report for Bill later.

  "Bill," I said as he began walking back toward the others, "this vampire wasn't the same one from San Francisco."

  "How the hell do you know that?" He'd stopped at my words and stared at me.

  "Because I killed the one in San Francisco," I said.

  "Breanne, I've only met one other person who might do the kinds of things you do," he muttered. "And you do it without being vampire." I blinked at him for a few seconds before letting that go. Let him think I wasn't vampire. It was so much easier that way, and didn't put me in danger with the vamps he had in his department.

  "I'm surprised you remember Lissa. She's my sister," I said. Bill stopped in his tracks again.

  * * *

  Bree, baby, call or text me back. Hank sighed as he sent the message before nodding to John, who walked through the club's door. They'd gotten everything cleaned up after closing, with help from two employees. Hank always made sure they got away safely before going home. Business was better than he'd hoped, and he could begin making payments to Breanne in a few weeks. He wanted her to know he intended to honor the loan, even if she claimed she wanted none of it.

  Hank watched as John walked toward his import parked two blocks away. He didn't climb into his truck until John drove away.

  * * *

  Breanne's Journal

  "Look, I don't want to know how the fucker died, I'm just glad we got rid of him," Bill said, sitting wearily on the chair behind his desk. Opal and I sat in his guest chairs, bottles of water in our hands. The forensics team had taken forever to gather the evidence and Opal and I were exhausted and hungry. Sixteen dead and decomposing young women had been found in the sewer not far from where Opal and I chased the vampire. Those bodies were still being processed. Bill explained that to us, and asked us if we had anything to add to the official report.

  Opal lifted an eyebrow at me. I shrugged back at her. Who knew that killing a vampire together would form a friendship? Bill and I didn't talk about how I'd killed the vampire in San Francisco—he remembered Lissa and that was enough for him.

  "You girls want dinner?" Bill asked when we didn't have anything else to say.

  "I think you said the magic words," I sighed.

  * * *

  "Breanne," Bill said as he walked me to my hotel room later.

  "Bill?" I replied.

  "I just," he raked fingers through his hair. "I hate to send you home, but the investigation's over."

  "I know," I nodded. "But you know where I am. All you have to do is call."

  "I'll do that. Definitely," he agreed. "Did you know Lissa before she died?"

  "Bill, someday we'll talk about that. Not now, okay?"

  "All right. I just wish I could let William Winkler know." I had to hold back the snort. Nearly four hundred years in the future, Winkler got to sleep with Lissa on a regular basis. The last time I'd seen him, he'd been howling out his grief beside her body. He'd been the first to shout his happiness, too, when I brought her back.

  Gavin, the unemotional asshole, had merely pulled her tighter against him. Hell, I'd even gotten rid of the blood for them. No cleanup and instant resurrection, courtesy of yours truly. Likely, Gavin only appreciated my absence afterward.

  "Bree, where did you go just then?" Bill pushed a lock of hair away from my face. He was such a good man, and I knew he had no whips or handcuffs at his modest home.

  "Thinking about Winkler and Lissa," I said. I didn't explain; he took my key card to open my door and saw me inside.

  "I'll call in the morning after I get a flight set up for you," he said, then handed the key card back and shut the door behind him.

  "Bill, someday, you'll be in a much, much better place," I sighed as his steps retreated.

  * * *

  "Two obsessions have been triggered. Both vampires have been dispatched. I am curious whether the others will be triggered as well," the lieutenant bowed his head before his master.

  "Two I might consider luck. If three and four die, we will reevaluate. Have you gathered information as to how those deaths occurred?"

  "The first left no evidence. The second might be attributed to a shapeshifter, but I cannot verify that."

  "Are you tracking the shapeshifter?"

  "As of now."

  "Good. Destroy him if possible."

  "It's female."

  "Ah. Then destroy her if possible."

  "With pleasure."

  * * *

  "Honored One?" Bill greeted Wlodek in the traditional, acceptable way over the phone.

  "Director Jennings, what do you have for me?" Wlodek's voice was smooth and unemotional.

  "It seems vampires were behind the killings in San Francisco and D.C.," Bill replied.

  "How many vampires?"

  "Two that I know of. Both are dead, now. I don't have ID on the first one, but the driver's license and credit-card information found in the ash of the second lists the name Hugh Spenser."

  "Hugh," Wlodek sighed. "Barely two hundred turns, if I remember co
rrectly. I'll have Charles pull his records and update the file. Tell me, how was he taken down?"

  "Caught in the act by two of my agents—found with a victim, which he was prepared to add to the other sixteen he'd already dumped in a section of the local sewer. Taken down by a talented shapeshifter."

  "Ah. Very well. If you learn the identity of the one from San Francisco, will you let Charles know?"

  "Of course, Honored One."

  Wlodek hung up without another word.

  * * *

  Breanne's Journal

  Opal and Bill saw me off at the airport. Bill winked at me, Opal smiled. I wasn't sure I'd seen her smile before, but we'd talked with Bill during dinner the night before, and she'd concocted a story that we'd caught the vampire off guard and managed to cut him well enough that he'd flaked. That was Opal's term—flaked. I liked it. It was so much easier than saying he'd turned to ash. At least she had clearance to know about the vamps—a lot of Bill's people didn't. Bill nodded to keep Opal happy—he knew I'd taken care of the vampire.

  Wishing I could fold space instead, I took my seat on the plane and settled in. Bill had gotten me a first-class ticket at least, and I had plenty of room and no seatmate to make polite conversation. If I didn't hate flying so much, I might have enjoyed the luxury of it.

  * * *

  "She's on her way home—the app showed her at the airport in D.C. this morning," Jayson informed Hank over the phone. "Trina's pissed because I made her get another cellphone."

  "I'd be pissed, too. I figure Breanne would like to kill you, Rome." Hank growled.

  "I thought you'd be glad she's on her way back."

  "I am. I just don't like that you're tracking her like that."

  "We have to talk her into going to my birthday party. Mom wants her to come really bad."