by Jenna Barwin
“I’ll call you later.” Rolf turned back to Karen. “Why are you still sitting there? Schnell, Fraulein.”
Karen stood and kissed Rolf. “Keep your pants on, lover boy.”
Cerissa followed Karen upstairs. “Why is Rolf in such a hurry to leave?” she asked, sitting down on the bed Karen had slept in.
“He doesn’t like it that I stayed here last night.” Karen began packing her bag. “He’s got some crazy ideas about the Covenant, believes it’s unseemly I slept in the house of another vampire. Don’t take it seriously—he isn’t like this normally.”
“You certainly have a good attitude about it. I wouldn’t be as understanding if my boyfriend was rude to me.” If someone treated her like a possession, she’d kick him to the curb, fast. She had enough of that ownership stuff from the Lux—go here, do this, don’t do that.
Karen finished putting her makeup into a small bag and zipped it up. “Take my word for it: Rolf can act like a jerk, but when he and I are alone, he turns into a big pussycat. It’s strange, but we don’t fight.” Karen sat down on the bed next to her. “Are you okay being here alone with Henry? Sure you don’t need a chaperone?”
“We’ll be fine. After the way Gaea scolded him last night, he won’t do anything to prove her right.”
Karen stood up and grabbed her overnight bag. “Look, I guess I’m still pissed off over the way he treated Erin. But he’s one of the writers of the original Covenant—he takes his ‘civilized’ role seriously—”
“I’m not worried. He’s been nothing but a gentleman.”
“Then he has you completely fooled. Don’t get me wrong—he won’t break any rules, but he is a vampire, so don’t invite something you aren’t ready for.”
Cerissa smiled. “With this arm wound, I don’t feel like inviting anything.”
“Sure, but don’t forget it smells of fresh blood. That’s a bit seductive for a vampire.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Rolf appeared at the door. “Why aren’t you ready to leave yet?” he demanded.
She ignored Rolf and walked with Karen into the hallway. They stopped by the door to the room she had slept in. Karen gave her a careful hug goodbye.
“Thanks for everything,” Cerissa said, giving Karen a one-armed hug in return.
* * *
Tig sank onto the leather couch in Henry’s drawing room. He had asked her to come to his house for the interview, and she had agreed. After all, he was a founder; she couldn’t insist he come to the police station.
Right now, he was looking off into space, sitting in the leather chair opposite her, considering her theory. From the skeptical look on his face, she hadn’t convinced him. She tapped one finger on the couch’s armrest and waited for him to finish mulling it over.
When her patience reached its end, she repeated, “The attack on Yacov is connected to last night’s shooting.”
“It makes no sense,” he replied, shaking his head.
“What makes no sense?” Cerissa asked.
Tig whipped around in the direction of Cerissa’s voice. Leopold’s envoy stood at the open door to the drawing room. Why was she still at Henry’s?
“You should be upstairs, resting,” Henry scolded.
“I heard voices, but Karen and Rolf had left.”
“Let me help you,” Henry said, sweeping up beside Cerissa and carefully slipping his arm around her. “Tig is here regarding the investigation. If you aren’t feeling up to it, you don’t have to be interviewed now.”
“It’s all right. I might as well get it over with.”
“Then we should go upstairs so you may return to bed.” Henry turned to face Tig. “You can interview her in the guest room. She is still weak and should lie down.”
Tig sniffed the air—Cerissa didn’t smell like someone recovering from a serious injury. Her blood smelled strong. How had she healed so quickly? The envoy leaned against Henry as the two of them walked upstairs. Something about it seemed off—like Tig was seeing a tableau acted out for her benefit. She picked up her briefcase and followed them to the guest room. Cerissa crawled onto the bed, and Henry arranged the pillows under her arm. His help seemed unnecessary, since the young woman wasn’t favoring her arm.
“What do you want to ask?” Henry said, sitting down on the corner of the bed and gesturing toward the bedside chair.
Tig took the offered seat, removed a file from her briefcase, and handed Henry two photos. “Do you know this man?”
One photo was a mug shot and the other had been taken by Jayden in the Hill’s makeshift morgue—the shooter’s body wasn’t going to Mordida’s lab, not without raising too many questions. Thank the ancestors for Jayden. Without him, the case would grind to a screeching halt during the day. He was now getting some much-needed shut-eye while she continued the investigation.
Henry’s expression didn’t change as he studied the photos. “I’ve never seen him before,” he said.
He handed the photos to Cerissa, who seemed equally mystified. “Me neither. He’s been in jail before?”
“He served time for armed robbery. Carmine Morietti. Does his name sound familiar?”
“No,” Henry said.
“Do you know anyone who did time at San Diego Prison?” Tig asked.
Both answered in the negative. Not what she’d hoped to hear. The prison was the only common denominator.
Henry looked at the photo again before placing it on the bed. “Who is Morietti?” he asked.
“The sniper.”
“You believe Morietti and the two men who attacked Yacov are connected?”
Tig picked up the photos, motioning with them. “All three men were incarcerated at the same time. For now, I think the two attacks are related.” She put the photos back into the file she held. “I don’t think we’re facing a vampire hunter.”
“I agree with your assessment,” he said, “but I would like to hear your reasons.”
She frowned. She was here to ask the questions, not answer them. But being chief of police meant she had to coddle civilians, especially the founders, no matter how exasperated they made her.
“None of the shooters erred in the usual ways,” she explained. “No religious symbols were used, no holy water. I checked the listserv. No security chief has seen a vampire hunter who didn’t make one of those classic mistakes, not to mention they knew silver was deadly.” She slipped the file back into her briefcase. “What do you remember seeing or hearing before the shooting?”
“I smelled the blood of a stranger,” he said. “I saw nothing unusual.”
She pressed her lips together. Not helpful.
“What else did you find out?” he asked.
“We searched the woods while you took care of Cerissa, but we found no sign of other accomplices. This was a suicide mission. He couldn’t kill all of us before one of us got him. Just another reason why a vampire is behind it—a vampire would view mortals as expendable; a conspiracy of mortal vampire hunters wouldn’t.” Turning to Cerissa, she asked, “What did you see or hear?”
“I, ah, I didn’t see anything.”
“Was there any reason you turned in the direction of the shooter? You were facing him when you were shot.”
Cerissa seemed suddenly nervous. Could Leopold be involved with the shootings? Henry patted Cerissa’s leg, a reassuring look on his face. Hmm, interesting. What was going on between the two of them?
He kept a hand on Cerissa’s leg, and said, “It’s not unusual for a mortal to have amnesia after a trauma such as Cerissa has suffered.”
“But it is unusual for one to recover as quickly as she has,” Tig said, crossing her arms. “Dr. Clarke told me neither of you gave her blood last night. Did something change after we left?” She wasn’t surprised by the blush appearing on Cerissa’s cheeks. Cerissa’s overnight recovery had a logical explanation.
“It doesn’t concern your investigation,” he said.
“But it could affect the peace of
our community. Zeke is interested in her. I don’t want any trouble because of it.”
“There will be no trouble.”
“I will count on you, Founder, to make sure there isn’t any. Now the remaining question—why did the shooter target you? Do you have any enemies who want you dead?”
“None. Nor do I have any major business deals pending that would make anyone richer if I were out of the way.”
“Who would inherit if you’d been killed?”
“I have a complex series of trusts,” Henry replied. “Rolf is trustee on all of them, and my next identity is the primary beneficiary.” He turned in Cerissa’s direction. “Tig is familiar with the system, but you may not be. When my current identity is too old to maintain comfortably, a young Enrique Vasquez will inherit.”
Cerissa furrowed her brow. “So you age yourself each night? Is this your real appearance?”
“It is. Each day’s sleep returns me to how I looked when I died. So I only age myself when I’ll be out among mortals who don’t know what I am. I have to consume extra blood each time.”
“Henry,” Tig said, glancing down at the time on her phone. She needed to leave for her next interview appointment. “I don’t have all night.”
“Sorry,” he replied. Turning back to Cerissa, he added, “My next identity has an authentic birth certificate, issued a few years back. I believe his passport shows him living in Costa Rica right now. I’ll leave the country as old Henry, and return as young Enrique.”
Tig tapped her fingers on her briefcase. Did he think a long story would distract her? He still hadn’t told her the name of his current heir. “Who is your secondary beneficiary?” she asked.
“Ah, after Erin and I parted ways, I updated the trust, changing it from Erin to Rolf. Anne-Louise would also receive some of my estate. There are a few other small bequests, but nothing worth killing over.”
She had noticed the tension between Henry and Rolf last night. “Does Rolf know he stands to inherit a fortune if you died your final death?”
“Yes, and I don’t like where you’re going with this. Rolf would do nothing to harm me. He is loyal, if nothing else.”
“I understand he’s your friend, but I have to go where the evidence leads me.”
Henry frowned at her. “Why would Rolf have me killed in his presence?”
“The perfect alibi. Jayden and I were there as witnesses.”
“That makes no sense. If you hadn’t killed the shooter, he could have identified Rolf. No, Rolf is smarter than that.”
Henry had a point, but she didn’t have all the facts. Someone had put a bullet through the shooter’s brain—was it Rolf who aimed to kill, making sure his accomplice was dead? Time to tread carefully; such speculation could be a career killer, if she was wrong. Then it dawned on her—the prohibition on making new vampires could be Rolf’s motive—a two-fer: he’d get Karen plus he’d get Henry’s money.
“Does Rolf want to turn Karen?” she asked.
Henry sat back, clearly startled by the question. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“Has he ever mentioned it to you? You’re close friends; he must have said something.”
“Rolf knows he’s too young to turn anyone vampire.”
“Then he would if he could?”
Henry’s lips spread into a fine line. “I don’t believe Rolf is in love with Karen enough to keep her in his life forever.”
“I see,” Tig replied. She couldn’t say Henry’s answer surprised her—she’d always seen Rolf as a cold fish. “Please don’t mention my suspicions to Rolf. It may turn out to be nothing.”
“I will say nothing, if you’ll do likewise. I don’t want my comments getting back to Karen.”
She nodded, and looked at Cerissa. “Do I have your agreement?”
“I won’t say anything to him. Or to Karen.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.” She stood up. There was one other line of inquiry left, and she didn’t want to spill Henry’s secrets in front of Cerissa. “I have a few more questions for you, Henry. Would you prefer to answer them in private?”
“That isn’t necessary. You may ask your questions. I don’t mind discussing Erin in front of Cerissa.”
“Erin? I wanted to know the name of your bookie.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Ah, bookie?”
Did he think his innocent look would fool her? “The men who attacked you and Yacov, they all had mob ties. Are you delinquent on any of your bets?”
“It’s not in my best interests to admit to illegal gambling.”
Tig rolled her eyes. “You know we don’t enforce those laws on the Hill. The council doesn’t care if you want to waste your money.”
“Still…” Henry hesitated.
“I’ll have the town attorney send you an immunity agreement—would that make a difference?”
“Indeed. I’ll call you after I receive it.”
She started to leave, and then stopped herself. She looked back at Cerissa. “I have one more request. We don’t want Leopold aware of the shooting—the council is trying to keep word of it from spreading to other communities.”
“Ah—” Cerissa started.
Henry held up his hand. “It’s my fault. I insisted on calling Leopold last night to tell him what happened.”
The council will not be pleased. Then Tig caught the look in Cerissa’s eyes. “Cerissa, if there’s something I should know, now is the time to tell me.”
The envoy grimaced. “Ah, Leopold already knew about the first shooting, the attack on Yacov.”
“How did he find out?”
Cerissa glanced over at Henry before answering. Were they hiding something? Henry nodded, a quick movement, almost imperceptible, but Tig caught it.
“Leopold mentioned it in passing,” Cerissa said. “He made it sound like it was over, since both shooters were killed.”
“Do you recall what he said?”
“Yes.” The envoy got a faraway look in her eyes. “‘Give my regards to Yacov. Lucky bastard drained one of the men who attacked him. Not much opportunity for that these days.’”
The way Cerissa parroted it, Tig suspected it was an actual quote.
Henry stood and motioned toward the door. “If you have more questions, Tig, you may speak with Cerissa later. She’s been through a lot and we should let her rest.”
Tig walked downstairs with Henry. It would take real evidence to crack this case. Vague suspicions about Rolf weren’t going to cut it. And how did Leopold learn about the attack on Yacov? She’d have to track down who told him.
She stopped at the front door. “It would help if you made a list of potential enemies,” she told him. “We need more to go on than we have right now. Much more.”
Chapter 26
Cerissa picked up the book Henry had left on the bedstand, but she couldn’t concentrate on the words. Tig had assumed Henry gave her a healing boost with his blood. Not good—she didn’t want others thinking she now belonged to Henry. It might affect their faith in her project. Even under the guise of a medical emergency, drinking a vampire’s blood came with certain implications.
Tig wasn’t the only one who’d jumped to a wrong conclusion after observing her and Henry together. Could Karen be right? Is Henry flirting with me? He’d been charming and solicitous during Tig’s visit. She liked the way he took charge when she was shot, his confidence in making decisions. He’d protected her from Dr. Asshole and then from Tig. When he confronted her about the Lux, his fierce determination to protect his community showed through.
I just do what I’m told, what I’ve been taught to do. But Henry, he does what he thinks is right. Would she ever have the confidence to make her own decisions?
In retrospect, hiding her mistake from the Protectors seemed like lunacy. She’d gone along with Ari because he was older, more experienced. If only she could be as confident as Henry, though without the anger. Wait. Is his anger how he responds to fear? He wouldn’t be the
first guy to mask fear with anger.
She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling instead of looking at the book in her hands. When will he be back up here? With everyone gone, what would it be like to be alone with him, to just be herself again?
The scent of his cologne still lingered in the room. She inhaled deeply, and a tingle began in her midriff. An image of him shirtless, dark, and sexy formed in her mind. After she was shot, he had leaned over her like that, pressing on her arm, so intense, so concerned, so enticing. And when he carried her upstairs after surgery, being cradled against his naked chest felt good—really good. He’d been so gentle with her. Even when he forced her back into bed, he’d done so without hurting her.
Wait. Am I feeling truly attracted to him as a person? This isn’t just lust?
Oh no—that sounded like a bad idea. Get a grip, Cerissa.
She opened her book again and forced herself to read the words. After a while, she stopped dwelling on him and became engrossed in the novel. When Henry knocked at the open bedroom door, she put the book aside.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Really, I’m fine.” She raised her bandaged arm and moved it with no effort. After Tig left, she’d taken off the sling.
“Then would you join me downstairs?”
She followed him into the drawing room. He gestured for her to sit in a leather chair identical to his, but less worn. A glass of wine sat on the table next to the chair.
“For you.”
“Thank you.” She sat down and lifted the glass to her lips.
He took his chair and gripped his crucifix, twisting the chain, his handsome face pensive. She waited, nursing the wine, feeling like a character in a play he’d staged. Earlier, she thought she wanted to be alone with him. Now she wasn’t so sure. There was still so much she couldn’t tell him about the Lux.
I should have asked Tig to take me back to Gaea’s.
He continued staring at his knee. What was bothering him? She sent a wisp of her aura toward him—maybe it would help him relax.