Unfolding the sandwich wrapper, I breathed in the aroma of juicy red meat. The aroma made my mouth water and my stomach growl, loudly. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the scent of grilled meat filled my senses. My teeth cut into the sandwich, filling my mouth with the warm, juicy flesh.
“It’s really good,” I said. My cheeks heated in embarrassment. I hadn’t been able to think about anything but eating and tearing the meat apart for several seconds.
“I’ve been coming here for a couple of years,” he said, folding his arms over his chest. “So the bike,” he reminded me, expectant.
Riiiiight. That’s what he’d been talking about.
“It was Danny’s. The bike was all I took with me when I left,” I said, not meeting his gaze, feeling all too raw at the confession. I directed all my efforts on the burger, my mouth watering. Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I took another bite and savored the combinations of primal flavors and textures just as I had the first.
“Oh.”
The meat hit my stomach, lifting a fog from my brain I hadn’t known was there. Had I eaten earlier? I couldn’t remember. All I knew was that I felt more like myself again once I had that red meat in me.
“It’s really okay. I was bad there for a while but I’m getting better. I’m getting better every day,” I added, confident. It was true, too. The nightmares about Danny’s death had all but disappeared. I still had one now and then but they were never as graphic as they’d once been. I still missed him but I didn’t ache anymore and that made me sadder than missing him had. I felt like I should ache. I should ache the way I did when I woke up in the middle of the night and realized Patrick wasn’t there. The way I ached when I saw something the same blue as Dean’s wolf eyes. I’d loved Danny but he was gone. It had taken me almost a year to realize and believe that his death wasn’t my fault.
I repeated the familiar mantra in my head several times before I turned my focus back to Detective Salazan. He smiled but it was sad, carrying none of the charisma of his previous smiles.
“I know what that’s like,” he consoled, all but abandoning his burger and fries.
“Really?” I asked with genuine surprise. Share. Come on buddy, share with little ole me.
“My wife and daughter were killed in a car accident about seven years ago.” Pain edged his voice as if it had happened yesterday.
“I’m so sorry,” I gasped, finally forgetting about the meat in front of me.
“I moved back to Vegas to be near family but I hardly ever see them.” Turning the full weight of his pain-filled eyes on me, he said, “But like you, I’m getting better all the time.”
There was a glimmer of cruelty to the upturn of his lips and I sat back in my chair, confused. The pain in his eyes and the menace curling his lips into a grim smile didn’t add up. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end and any sympathy I had for him disappeared as my stomach tightened in panic and warning.
“That’s . . . great,” I said. He glanced down at his watch, and I took the opportunity to shiver at the contradiction sitting across the table from me.
“I’ve gotta get back. Can I walk you out?” he asked, wrapping the remains of his burger back up and shoving it in the bag.
“Sure,” I said, gathering my trash.
He took it from me and strode over to the garbage cans. Placing his hand at the small of my back in a territorial, yet chauvinistic gesture, he guided me outside.
I wasn’t even sure he knew he was doing it. Normally, he would have gotten an elbow to the face for a move like that but I needed this guy. I needed to get closer and get him talking. So, I ignored the testosterone-filled posturing and sashayed out with my helmet under my arm.
He stopped in front of my beautiful Kawasaki Concours. The deep metallic blue paint shimmered in the desert sun. The bike still looked like the day I’d rolled it out of Danny’s garage. I went through a lot of trouble to take care of that motorcycle and it looked that way.
“Is this yours?” he asked, envy making his voice rough.
I smiled to myself as I gave her a once-over. My bike was definitely a her. Sleek, sexy, and could put you on your ass if you weren’t careful.
“Yep.” I brushed my fingers through my now shoulder-length hair, smoothing it out of the way before I slipped the helmet on. “It was nice to see you, Detective Salazan,” I said, gripping the helmet.
He held out his hand. After a slight hesitation, I shook it. I wanted to seem receptive but not over eager.
“Please,” he said, the ‘s’ hissing through perfect white teeth. “My name is Cordero but you can call me Cord,” he said, stroking his thumb over the top of my hand, still clutched in his tight grasp.
Narrowing my gaze on him, I evaluated his face for a moment or two. I leaned forward into his personal space, tugging the hand still clutched in mine. I peered up at him from underneath my eyelashes like I’d seen Jade do a hundred times. See, I could flirt when I had too. At least, I think I was flirting.
“You don’t look like a Cord to me, Cordero,” I said, putting the proper roll to the ‘r’s in his name.
A quick gasp filled his chest, sucking on his teeth as his heart raced, making his rich scent fill the air around him. So he liked that. I’d keep that in mind.
“May I call you Dahlia?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble of lust and heat.
“Please,” I purred, sucking my bottom lip between my teeth with an enticing smile lighting my eyes.
Patrick had once told me that that single gesture drove him into a lust-filled frenzy every time I did it. He’d said it promised things to come. I needed Detective Salazan to believe that those things could and would come. Some might call it a tease; I called it insurance.
I stepped to the bike and raised my leg over the back until I was straddling the seat. I wanted him to offer something other than the happenstance lunch. I could only play that card so many times before he’d think I was a stalker. That, or know I was following him which, technically, still made me a stalker.
I sat on the bike, watching him for as long as I could before it got weird. I slid the helmet on and hit the ignition. Leaving Cordero Salazan behind, I roared out and across two lanes of traffic, away from the precinct. Disappointment rattled me. I hadn’t planned on our little meeting ending with so much undecided. I didn’t have a Plan B.
I needed to talk to that girl behind the counter. She knew something. I’d seen the fear in her eyes, had felt the desperation in her grasp. I wanted to know what had made my little kitten skittish.
I went down three blocks, glancing back over my shoulder. A black Cadillac Escalade would stand out, wouldn’t it? I wanted to give Detective Salazan enough time to leave and be out of sight before I went back. Making the turn to circle the block, I parked the bike at a Denney’s, backed my bike up against the diner-style building, and waited.
I sat for another fifteen minutes before I was sure he hadn’t followed me. I drove around the block, then made my way back to the burger joint. I rode up by the front entrance and searched inside.
She wasn’t there.
I hit the throttle, and made the turn to the backside of the strip mall. Loading docks, dumpsters, and cigarettes filled the alley. The air was overpowered by the foul-smelling trash crammed into the dumpsters behind the building, rotting in the dry heat of a Las Vegas spring. A couple of heroin addicts dug for food as another one shot up against the building. The teenager I was searching for smoked a Kools as she leaned up against the wall, ignoring the druggies a few yards away. Classy!
I parked the bike and yanked the helmet off. She took one look at me and shook her head, tossing the cigarette to the ground in a huff. She was young, probably younger than I thought. Stringy blond hair was tied back into a tight ponytail, giving the appearance that her hair was plastered
to her head, either intentionally or from lack of washing. Perfectly formed curling iron ringlets stuck out from underneath her visor on either side of her face. Her beady eyes narrowed on me and the stress of a hard life was etched in her face.
“No way, Lady.” She turned her back on me as she made her way to the rear entrance of the burger joint.
“Wait!” I said, louder than I’d intended as I hopped off the bike, almost knocking it over. Catching the handlebars in both hands, I steadied her and set the kickstand before the teen grabbed for the door.
“No. I like my head the way it is. Still attached,” she snorted, yanking the door open.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re the one who tried to warn me,” I scoffed. “I just want to know why you’re so scared.” I hopped up onto the loading dock easier than any human would’ve been able in a long lithe hurdle and grabbed for her. She didn’t seem to notice.
“Look, I’d like ta help, I really would. But I’m gettin’ my GED, I got a kid, and I’m finally gettin’ my life together. I can’t risk it.” She seemed defeated and beaten down.
I wanted to tell her I’d help her, that I’d protect her and her kid. I could have if I was back home but not here. Not now.
Nodding, I let her go.
“I understand,” I said. Grabbing a pen from the inside of my leather jacket, I reached out quick before she could stop me and clutched her wrist. I shoved the sleeve of her shirt up to her elbow, ignoring the long-healed track marks of a user. She tugged against my hold but I held her tight in my preternatural grip. She couldn’t have jerked away from me to save her life. I turned her arm over and wrote on the roughened flesh of her scarred forearm.
“If you run into trouble,” I said, writing the number of my new drop phone on her arm in big bold numbers. “Call me.”
She stared down at the numbers, then yanked her arm away in a huff. Slouching the sleeve of her shirt back down to her wrist, she snorted at me.
“Whatever,” she huffed in protest but I could hear the fear lacing her voice. “Just stay away from that guy.”
I watched her high-tail her ass inside, helpless to do anything more for her. The knot forming in the pit of my stomach told me I was on the right track even if I wasn’t quite sure what that track was or where it led. I couldn’t help her but I could help Soraida.
Grabbing the phone in my back pocket, I flipped it open. No messages. Of course there were no messages. Exactly one person had the number and she wasn’t calling anytime soon if the look of fear in her eyes told me anything.
I wanted to use it, to make the call Derek thought was so important. But I knew if I heard Dean’s voice, it would take everything I had to not go running back. I wasn’t ready yet. I’d managed to let Danny go. I’d spent many long nights thinking about Danny, Midnight Ash, Patrick, and Dean. I understood Danny’s death wasn’t my fault. Amblan was a different story. There were too many things I could’ve done differently to keep her safe, to keep her out of my world, and keep her alive. I’d failed and that I wasn’t quite over yet. I may never be.
I shoved the phone back in my pocket. Throwing my leg over the bike, I took off for Enza’s house for a little siesta before dark, when the real legwork began.
Chapter 6
I’d talked to almost ten wait staff at Terrible’s and a few of them actually remembered Everett. He’d kept asking if a petite Latino woman had shown up while sitting at the booth near the door drinking water. After a couple of hours of not ordering or leaving a tip, the waitresses got annoyed. I took the hint and asked for a booth along the far wall. Ordering the breakfast special and some coffee, a lot of coffee, I waited.
I’d gotten on a normal human schedule in the last few months, going to sleep at night and getting up in the morning, like everyone else. The last few nights had been hard. I wasn’t used to staying up at all hours of the night anymore and needed the caffeine just to keep my eyes open. I had to stay alert. The waitress set the plate down in front of me and I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until the eggs were gone and I was working on the bacon.
I took a sip of the coffee that’d been on the warmer about an hour too long and cringed at the burnt taste offending every taste bud I had. But it was caffeine and I was glad for it, so I swallowed.
Power slid up my spine like someone was dragging a frozen needle along my vertebrae. I shivered at the chilling sense of magic crawling across my skin even though the hot coffee was still clutched in my hands. My teeth chattered as gooseflesh spread across my skin.
I glanced down the aisle toward the door where a hulk of a man had just entered, still framed in the doorway. Tall, well over six feet, he towered over the hostess behind the counter. He wore a cowboy hat that had once been white but was now a dingy ivory with long-dried sweat and dirt marks etched in the fabric. Scanning the restaurant from left to right, his eyes finally rested on me. He turned back and tipped the brim of his hat to the hostess like he was still out on the range before heading my way.
He sauntered toward me in a simple T-shirt, faded blue jeans, and well-worn cowboy boots in the same faded ivory of his hat. He reached my table and sat, sliding into the seat across from me with an easy grace like he belonged there. He didn’t.
I sat.
Silent.
Waiting.
His power rushed against me, around me, through me, and over me. So much power in one quick shot. I wanted to run screaming from the restaurant but I sat silent, still holding my coffee mug. My heart thundered in my ears and I clenched my jaw as I instinctively reached for the bowie knife. I stopped my hand short beneath the table. The knife wasn’t there. Nothing was there. I’d left them all behind. I didn’t flinch, though as his eyes met mine and the icy chill of his energy began to wane. Wrapping my hands tight around the coffee mug, I shook off the dread twisting my stomach. There wasn’t shit I could do about a weapon now.
“Ma’am,” he said in a deep, raspy voice, tipping his hat to me as he did the hostess. Deep craggy lines along his cheeks defined his face, looking as if his features had been sharp but worn down by time and weather like the sphinx. The five o’clock shadow was rugged and graying in spots. The vampire had deep hazel-green eyes with long dark lashes against his pale skin.
“Didn’t your mama ever tell you it’s rude to wear your hat in front of a lady?” I asked with more attitude than was probably wise without a weapon. I finally managed to unclasp my fingers from the death grip I had on the mug, leaving it sitting on the table still in one piece. I refused to let him see how terrified I was. I’d had plenty of practice hiding my fear and now I was going to prove that not only could I do it but that I was good at it.
He nodded once and removed his hat, setting it on the seat next to him. His hair was a silky salt and pepper, making him more distinguished, but rougher around the edges.
“Thank you.” I could at least be polite.
“Ma’am,” he said again in the same expressionless tone as he’d greeted me.
I waited for him to say something . . . anything. After several moments of the two of us staring at each other, I lost my patience.
“I assume there’s something you wanted,” I said, crossing my legs under the table, casually sliding my hands to my lap with the butter knife clutched in my grasp. I was a sitting duck in a crappy restaurant with a fucking butter knife in my hand. Christ on crutches!
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said with a quick nod.
“This will go a lot faster if you contribute to the conversation,” I snapped. “Such as, my name’s Dahlia. And you are . . .?”
“Ma’am, I’m fully aware of who you are,” he said, the hint of a growl making his voice husky and rich. The far off rumble of his growl made my stomach tighten as adrenaline pumped faster through my veins.
“Perhaps,” I said with a tight smile that never r
eached my eyes. “But I don’t know who you are. Isn’t it more pleasant when everyone’s acquainted?” I added with a hint of sass.
“Jarvis, Ma’am, at your service,” he said with a nod and the same blank stare he’d had since entering Terrible’s.
“Well, Jarvis,” I said. “What can I do for you?” It was unnerving having a conversation with someone who didn’t react. I wasn’t a great conversationalist either and if I was responsible for carrying the whole conversation, we were in trouble.
“Ma’am, I think it would be a fine idea if you left town,” he said as if he asked people to leave town every day. Maybe he did. Did they still do that out west?
“Why, Jarvis.” I laughed. “Are you running me out of town?” I mocked with a teasing cock of my head.
“Yes, Ma’am, I am.”
“Jarvis, please stop calling me Ma’am. It makes me feel old.” I pouted.
“If you like, Ms. Sabin,” he said. Everything was so polite and civil as he nodded again.
That little nod was starting to piss me off and all the polite civility rankled me and I couldn’t even explain why. Evidently, he knew exactly who I was and I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to beat an answer out of him.
“Let’s get down to brass tax, Jarvis. Why are you running me out of town?” I asked, annoyed. “I’ve been here for quite a while now.” Long enough to do real damage but I’d been as quiet as a church mouse. Why now?
“You’ve gone unnoticed,” he said.
“And you’re suggesting that I’ve been noticed?”
“Uhmm,” he grunted.
Damn it, this is infuriating.
I took a deep breath and narrowed my eyes on him. “And if I don’t leave?”
“My Mistress will find out,” he stated, as if that was the last thing he wanted.
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