I rub my eyes, refusing to panic but freaking out just the same. My stress and anxiety are reaching levels that would cause any sane person to quit and move away and start over.
But that’s not an option for me. For one thing, I’m not a quitter. For another, Rolf knows me enough to realize I won’t turn my back on Bethlehem. I’m a cop. I’m a defender, and I protect until I take my last breath. Hopefully sixty-some-odd years from now.
The ride home is uneventful, and I jet out of my car, unlock the house, and get inside in record time. I lock the door and my car and attempt to breathe easier, but I can’t. Although I have cameras set up both outside the house and within, maybe I should look into getting a home security system too.
Paranoia is gonna be my middle name, soon, replacing Pamela.
I’m too wired and hyped up to sleep, so I grab some ice cream from the freezer. Yes, yes, I know my diet’s terrible lately, and this isn’t helping any, but I need comfort food.
Then I put on the news. Not a smart idea. Should’ve found a sitcom or some old school rerun, but too late, Tiffany Rose McGee is reporting about another animal attack. She’s perky, with big blond hair and bigger boobs. I can’t stand her, but she is always on the scene. Plus she does triple check her facts before reporting. Even though she stole my boyfriend—not that one date really constitutes dating—I have to admit that she’s a decent reporter.
Actually, she kinda reminds me of Mercedes Adams, who I also can’t stand and who wants Marlon. Even though I’m with Dean, I don’t want Marlon with Mercedes. He can be with anyone else but her.
Speaking of Dean… I grab my cell. It’s too late to text him but wait. He called earlier. Didn’t leave a message.
My outing or nature watching expedition or whatever you wanna call it caused me to miss his call. Which, I guess learning more about the wolves is important. Knowing how much devastation Amarok has wrought kinda helps me to more easily summon the courage or stupidity necessary to face him. Seriously, though, I just want a normal life. Is that too much to ask?
I can’t live my own life. Not the way I want to.
Why didn’t Dean leave a message? If he had time to call and chat, he had the time to leave a message.
Tiffany is still reporting about the attack. She lists a number to call to report seeing any large animal that might be responsible for the attack. She doesn’t mention any specific animal, and I wonder if that’s in an effort to prevent mass hysteria. Mentioning a wolf or lion wouldn’t do well for the people. A few bears have been known to wander around these parts, but not all bears will attack unless provoked. Besides, the slashes and wounds on the people are nothing like that from a bear.
I program the call number into my phone and realize that it’s only been a half hour since Dean called. Before I consciously realize what I’m doing, I’m calling him back.
No answer.
Travis is a night owl. Maybe he’s still up. Right now, I really want to talk to someone else. Listening to Tiffany’s whiny voice on the air just isn’t doing it for me.
I mute the TV and call Travis. After a ring, it goes to voicemail and a few seconds later, he texts that he’s busy.
Maybe this is a sign that I just can’t talk to anyone right now, but I scroll through my contact list. My thumb “accidentally” hits Marlon.
One ring. Two. I’m about to hang up when he answers.
“Hi, Marlon.”
“Something wrong, Clarissa?”
“No,” I lie.
“Most people don’t call at this time of night for small talk.” His voice is silky smooth over the line.
“Maybe I witnessed a drug deal go down, and it reminded me of the old crew.”
“Did you?” He sounds more awake, more alert. Earlier, he sounded lazy, but like he was tired and I woke him up, more like relaxed.
“Nah.”
“You have been witnessing a lot of crimes lately.”
“Crimes in general have been picking up over the city,” I point out.
“True. What’s going on lately? A full moon coming up or something?”
I wince and force out a laugh, trying to hide my unease. “Maybe.”
“Things have been crazy, what with you switching departments, but I’m gonna miss working with you. You’re a heck of a cop. Travis was lucky to have you for a partner.”
“Thank you.” I’m touched.
“But you should know that the detective sergeant isn’t the happiest with you.”
My eyes widen, and I slap my forehead. Yes, I facepalmed. “I never talked to him about it…”
“No.”
The vice/intelligence detective sergeant, my former boss, is so gonna bite my head off the next time we cross paths.
“What do you think are my chances of avoiding him every day until he retires?” I ask mock desperately, although I really am a little anxious about the whole mess.
“Not good. Not good at all.”
“So you’re saying—“
“You’re doomed,” he finishes.
I groan. “I’d rather go up against a vamp than face him.”
“That… That was incredible. What you did. Inspiring.”
A snort comes out of me. I so hope my cell didn’t catch it because I’m sure that sounded just lovely over the phone.
“Don’t confuse insanity with inspiration. Diego had every right to lay it into me.”
My plan to use myself as bait to lure out the vamps had been so stupid. I thought I would die in the attempt and told everyone goodbye. Only Diego realized what I was up to. Only he really believed in me and got his hands on silver bullets. Only because of him did I survive.
“If it weren’t for him, we might not have captured the vamps.”
“Stop discrediting yourself.” After a slight pause, he asks, “Are they really that fast?”
“Faster.”
“Possible to shoot one?”
“I can shoot anything,” I boast.
“Shooting someone by accident and shooting someone in the chest are two different things,” he says dryly.
“Hey! Are you trying to say you’re a better shot than I am?” I demand.
We’re teasing, but for some reason, I suddenly feel inadequate. I’m not the best shooter on the force. I know that. I’ve accepted that. I’m not the best at a lot of things, but I also try to do my best. No one’s perfect, right? For some ridiculous reason, my pride’s hurt.
“Not trying to insinuate anything.” His chuckle is deep.
“Laugh it up.” Just like that, my frustrating feelings disappear. His laughter is infectious.
“All right, fine. Let’s make a bet. Tomorrow, if we have the chance, we’ll go to the range. Loser buys the winner lunch.”
“You’re on.” I grin eagerly. “Prepare to—“
“I’m not going to lose.”
“I was going to say ‘prepare to die’ and then ask you if you have six fingers on your left hand. I guess prepare to lose works too.”
“It’s right hand. Sheesh.”
I burst out laughing, completely delighted by now. “I was testing to see if you knew what I was talking about!”
“Inconceivable. You think I haven’t seen The Princess Bride? With all the remakes Hollywood’s been churning out, how long until they remake that?”
“They better not. I will boycott that. No! I’ll leap off the Cliffs of Insanity!”
“But you’re already insane…”
“I resemble that.” I’m grinning broadly. “Geez, it’s late. You better get some rest, so you can’t claim that you lost to me because you’re tired.”
“I’m not the one who’s going to have to fish for excuses,” Marlon counters. “Goodnight, Clarissa.”
“Goodnight.”
And just like that, I’m in much better spirits. I have no idea what in the world I’m going to do about Amarok. Still, I think I’ll be able to settle down and get some sleep tonight.
The moment I climb int
o bed, though, I start to feel guilty. I hadn’t been flirting with Marlon. Just talking. Friend to friend. But the whole buying lunch thing? I don’t know. I’m starting to feel uneasy about it, and I grab my cell and text Dean about the situation. There. Now he knows. Nothing to feel guilty about. Honesty is key, right? No keeping secrets?
My eyes close, and I’m drifting almost immediately. Only twenty minutes later, I wake up. Stupid bladder.
As it turns out, I do sleep. Too much sleep. My alarm must not have gone off, and I happen to wake up after I’m supposed to already be in the station. It’s a mad rush for me to get ready, and I bolt out the door and peel it to the precinct.
Luck really isn’t on my side tonight because guess who parks next to me as I climb out of my car?
That’s right. The vice/intelligence detective sergeant.
I keep my head down and walk fast, but he slams his door shut and calls out, “Tempest.”
“Yes, sir?” I about face.
He stalks up to me, so close that I have to tilt my head back to look him in the eye. His nostrils flare, large and slightly uneven in size. His nose hairs need to be trimmed.
And I need to be not so close to him.
After an awkward moment, he nods. “You’ve done all right, Tempest.”
“Thank you.” Does this mean I can start breathing again?
“Good luck.” He grunts, walks around me, and kinda does and doesn’t hold the door open for me.
Rex Hunter is clearly on the warpath, so I do my best to ignore him, but he soon heads my way. He’s been cussing out Diego, moved onto Angelo, and now it’s my turn, I guess.
“Why haven’t you located that vampire hunter, yet?” he demands. “I thought you were supposed to be some up and coming cop, but I see you’re just as lazy and worthless as the others.”
Oh, yeah. I’m lazy and worthless. Yep. You got me pegged right there. Totally not a pot and kettle type situation. Nope.
“I—“
He holds up a hand. “That’s why I’m the head of the department and you aren’t. Because—“
“Because you deliver? Oh, wait. None of us have found him, so…”
His eyes flash darkly. “If you don’t find him and soon, you’re gonna wish one of those vamps bit you.” He stalks away.
“Yeah, well, I hope one bites you on the ass,” I mumble.
Finally, it’s lunchtime. Marlon and I head to the shooting range, and we pick out our targets, and we go to town. After a solid fifteen minutes of shooting, we bring our papers back in. He asks a random person who just finished shooting if he could be an impartial judge.
When I’m declared the winner—okay, it’s by a slim margin—I laugh and laugh.
“Yeah, yeah. What do you want?” Marlon sighs dramatically. “Just so you know, it’s too early in the day for surf and turf.”
“Ah, but shrimp scampi’s all right, yes?”
He rubs his chin. “A fly’s gonna buzz out of my wallet after this meal, isn’t it?”
“What can I say? Shooting makes me hungry.”
We end up going to The Brick on West Broad Street. The shrimp scampi is divine, and I do point out innocently that it’s not the most expensive item on the menu. Marlon gets eggplant rollatini. I can’t watch him eat it. I like veggies okay, but eggplant is just plain gross. Plus we split an app of fried calamari. By the time we finish eating, I am stuffed. No dinner for me tonight, no way.
We talk throughout the meal about anything and everything, nothing about work at all, and it’s so nice to get away. As we’re waiting for the check—as he’s waiting for the check—he mentions Darren Sproles.
“He’s an amazing player who just gets better with age,” he adds.
Trust me. I love Eagles talk, but it reminds me of Dean, and guilt burns within me. Or maybe it’s heartburn. Except I never get heartburn. I have an iron stomach. I’ve shared food before with people who all got sick, and I was fine.
So it’s not the food. It’s guilt. Even though we aren’t out on a date. Even if he is buying. It’s just a silly little bet. Nothing more. Besides, I already told Dean about this outing.
“What’s wrong?” Marlon asks. “You think Sproles is washed up? Just last week—“
“He’s incredible,” I mumble.
“You sure?” Marlon eyes me critically like he’s trying to get a beat on me. “I know you’ve been through a lot lately. You ever need anyone to talk to, I’m here for you. Just call. I’ll answer. Just like last night.”
“Thanks. So, what do you think about our wide receiver—“
Over his shoulders, I see bright red eyes. No face. Nothing else. It’s the middle of the day. Why am I seeing vamp eyes?
“We can talk about the Eagles in the car. We should get back. We’ve been gone a long time.”
Marlon nods, but his eyes are wary. He knows something’s up, and he even glances over his shoulder. There’s nothing there, of course, nothing to see.
Fear and worry wrap a terribly tight grip on my heart. I’m anxious, breathing awfully fast. A few deep breaths don’t help to alleviate my dismay.
I definitely need to call Doctor Harris and schedule an appointment. I can’t afford to have mental issues right now. It would be way too dangerous for others and myself. It could cost people their lives, including me. We all could end up bitten or slashed to death by Amarok.
Or maybe there’s something else out there we don’t know about.
Chapter 12
We talk about Eagles the entire time back to the office. I do my best to put my worries out of my mind again, but it’s not easy. Marlon can tell, but since he doesn’t make a big deal that I’m off, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Yeah, right.
The lack of leads for Blake Damon is really wearing on me. Guess I’ll call the stores again. See if he’s showed up. Sooner or later, Rex has to realize this is a dead end. I just hope not literally because if vamps got to Blake, that’s bad. Really bad. He knows enough about them to be the leading vamp expert in the world. If they took him out, what chance do we have?
But my plans to make phone calls go out the window as I approach my desk. A small brown-wrapped box sits on my desk. No writing on it. No distinguishing marks.
Angelo wanders over. “Long lunch with Marlon, huh? Making the rounds?”
“Who dropped this off?” I point to the box. It’s ridiculous to be afraid of it. It’s not a bomb. It’s only the size of a four Rubik’s cubes!
But it might be dangerous. Maybe Rolf’s dropped off one of those special weapons, although it’s really on the small size. If they expect me to get up close and personal with Mr. Amarok, I might as well pop a breath mint and kiss my life goodbye.
“Oh, what’s that?” a loud, annoying voice calls. Heels clack and click against the tile as Mercedes tramples over. “A present? From who?” She picks up the box and examines it. “Finally got yourself a boyfriend?”
Slyly but clearly evident to me even if no one else notices, Mercedes flips her hair and glances toward Marlon. He smiles, waves to us, and returns to work, clearly disinterested in the tug of war between Mercedes and myself.
Although there is no struggle between us for him. Not anymore.
“I do have a secret admirer,” I admit. “One who just can’t get enough of me. I’ve been trying to let him down gently, but he just loves me so much. Everyone loves me.” I bat my eyelashes.
Diego laughs heartily. I hadn’t even realized he came over. “I have another rival for your affections? The poor guy. He doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Neither do you. Sorry.”
Mercedes huffs and stomps away.
Diego clasps his hands to his chest and staggers back into someone’s desk, jarring but not toppling a stack of files. “You wound me terribly. What do you want that I can’t provide?”
“Loyalty.”
“But I’m loyal to a fault,” he protests.
“To yourself,” I retort. “And you’re
fickle.”
“I just have a big heart.” He shrugs. “Talk to any of my exes, and they’ll tell you the same—I’ve never cheated on any of them.”
“Even flirting,” Angelo grumbles. “Let’s get back to work.”
I shrug to Angelo. I don’t really consider this flirting; we’re just teasing each other. Diego’s crush on me won’t last long. He’ll soon turn his eye on another woman. But why is this bothering Angelo… Oh. The mention of cheating. Guilty conscience? Or had his wife been the one to stray?
Once Diego and Angelo are focused elsewhere, I tuck the box inside a drawer. Whatever is inside, I’m not gonna risk opening it here. It’s possible that it’s not from Rolf. Maybe Blake Damon knows we’re trying to pick up his trail. Maybe he has something for me.
Or maybe it’s from a vamp who wants revenge for what happened to their brothers and sister.
I do call the stores after all, and one says a man answering Blake’s description came into her store last night. Angelo and I rush over. Angelo pines to rip her a new one, but when we arrive and talk to her, the woman realizes she’s mistaken. A quick view of her surveillance footage proves she’s wrong. Angelo grumbles to himself as he stalks out of the small back room.
But I linger. “Why did you think this man was the one we’re looking for?”
“You wouldn’t understand,” she mumbles.
She’s a frail woman, not old enough to be as fragile as she is. Petite, huddled over, worn down. Dark hair, darker eyes. Something about her strikes me as tragic, and I want to help her.
“Make me understand.”
“There was… something about him,” she says haltingly. “The man you are looking for, you made it sound like he has done things to help others like he’s driven. This man was the same. Driven.”
“To do what?”
“He did not speak, even though I tried to keep him here. I’m sorry I didn’t call, but it was right before the store closed, and I thought I might be wrong, and…” Her shoulders slump, hunching her over even more, her hands resting on the table between us.
I pat her hand. “If he comes in again, either of them, you can call me.”
When Wolves Howl: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 2) Page 8