She zipped down Sunset Avenue toward McLachlen Place, then on to the office on McArthur Avenue.
Music blared from her radio, and she found herself singing to the tunes playing. The minute she realized what happened, she stopped. What prompted that? She hadn’t sung in years—never felt the need to. Yet in two days, she’d sung twice. Almost like her old self returned a bit.
Shaking it from her mind, Christine pulled into her spot and parked. She should have waited until this afternoon like Lou said, but she couldn’t wait, not when it concerned David.
Christine pulled her name badge out, clipped the plastic placard onto her purse, and flashed it at the guard near the metal detector. After a brief scan, she went to her desk amid the stares of the other detectives. She stifled the urge to smile. They’d never seen her dressed like this before, and after today, they never would again.
She dropped her purse off at her desk drawer and locked it, then threaded her way down to Lou’s office.
Christine reached his office with a few quick steps only to find him leaning back in chair, a casual stance, on the phone with someone. Good. He wasn’t upset at the moment. If he were, he would talk so fast that she wouldn’t be able to get a word out of him.
Lou motioned her in. Her heart throbbed uneasily as she pushed open the door and closed it quietly behind her. She slid into the chair in front of Lou’s desk.
“Yes, I promise I’ll get it done. You can count on me. Have a good day.” He slammed the phone down and looked at her, his gaze traveling her body up and down. “Where in the hell have you been?”
“’Doesn’t matter,” she snapped and took the chair in front of him. “What did you find on David?”
Lou’s expression dropped and he said, “I’ve got a meeting with the chief in five minutes, and I’m afraid it’s going to take a lot longer than that to explain it to you. That’s why I asked you to come by this afternoon.”
The sudden ring of the phone cut through their conversation. Lou snatched the receiver up in one meaty fist and held it to a slightly deformed right ear, courtesy of his youthful boxing ambitions. “Carpenter. Yes, Chief.” Pause. “Okay, we’ll have the meeting tomorrow. Thanks for letting me know.” He replaced the receiver. “It seems like I’m off the hook for the moment.”
“Good. Now you have all the time in the world to tell me about the investigation.”
Lou opened his desk drawer, the screech of metal against metal rising in the air, and extracted a manila folder. He tossed it on the desk top. “This is the medical file on David. It seems he suffered extreme blood loss.”
She looked at him curiously. “I know. I was there.”
Lou’s eyes narrowed. “I know you were, but when the investigative unit canvassed the area, they found very little blood on the ground, completely inconsistent with his loss.”
Confusion slipped through her like an unwanted virus. “How is this possible? If he didn’t bleed out onto the ground, where did it go?”
Lou shrugged. “Not sure. When they examined his clothes, there was very little on it as well.”
“What about the coroner’s report?”
A mask of perplexity marched across his reddish face. “Here’s what’s even stranger. The coroner reported that he died of a heart attack, not blood loss as the doctors have stated. Also, the description of the body is very inconsistent with David’s appearance and weight—even hair color.”
Christine took the report from the desk and sat back, thumbing through the pages inside. She studied the doctor’s reports then the autopsy report. Blood pounded in her ears as she compared the details from one report to another, trying to match everything up. Unfortunately, nothing did.
“Someone switched bodies,” she said slowly. “That’s the only answer.”
“Hard to say.”
Christine shuffled through the rest of the contents, looking for one key piece of evidence. She went through three times, and it still wasn’t there. “Where are the autopsy photos?” This smacked of conspiracy as well because no coroner let a report out of his or her hands without photos.
Lou leaned forward and grabbed the silent phone. “They’re not in there for some reason. I’m not sure why they didn’t send them. I’ll call over there and have the pictures sent to us.”
Christine stood, instinctively pulling the hem of her dress as low as it would go and said, “Don’t bother. I’ll stop by there on my way home and pick them up.” She gathered the folder in her hand. “I’ll take this with me and keep everything together.”
“I can’t let you do that. You’re not even on this case.”
“I’ll bring it back this afternoon along with the pictures, no sweat.”
His graying eyebrow lifted. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.
“All right, I’ll call down and have the lab get them ready. I’ll let them know you’re coming down.”
She gave him salutary wave. “See ya in a bit.” With that, she spun on her stiletto heel and left his office. She definitely felt better this morning, much calmer than she’d been in a while. Maybe spending the night with Drake had been a good idea after all.
Christine hurried downstairs and jumped in her Mustang. She zoomed off to home where she showered and changed again. This time she slipped on a pair of jeans and silk blouse. Instead of twisting her hair in its usual ponytail, she let the wild curls tumble down her back in sable waves.
After slipping her feet into her favorite pair of Skechers, she took off again for the coroner’s office. An austere building in the middle of busy Beaumont, the high-rise teemed with people moving in and out.
She reached the coroner’s office on the ground floor in no time and slipped through security easily by flashing her badge.
“Dr. Johnson’s waiting for ya,” Leroy Helms said cheerfully and waved her through.
She’d known Leroy off and on throughout the years, and he was a good guy. Too bad his wife was a complete and utter tramp. She brushed his dark cheek with a quick kiss and gave him a strong hug. “Thanks, bud. I’ll go and see him now. How’s Teresa?”
“Pregnant again. I swear she’s got eggs like Pac-Man! Just eats my junk up!”
Christine smiled at his comment and trundled down the hallway to Dr. Johnson’s office. Harsh odors of formaldehyde floating through the expanse of the hallway made her want to gag, but she pushed the God-awful stench from her mind. She had more important things to do than be running for the toilet.
The shades of Dr. Johnson’s office hid the inner contents of the room. She frowned. He never closed them, even when he wasn’t there. She raised her hand and knocked.
“Come in,” said a woman with a sweet voice.
Christine entered the room to find an exotic looking young woman standing behind the desk. The woman lifted her head and greeted Christine with the most dazzling blue eyes she’d ever seen.
“May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Dr. Johnson.” She couldn’t help but notice the intense exoticness of the woman’s cinnamon-colored skin, fresh and healthy. Christine’s own complexion was pale for want of a tan. No matter how hard she tried to tan, she always burned then turned pale. She could never get the golden sun-kissed look.
The woman brushed a lock of silky black hair out of her eyes, a smile across her movie star lips. “I’m Tina Larson, his assistant. How can I help you?”
“I’m just picking up the coroner’s pictures for a case I’m working on.”
Tina slipped a pair of square cut glassed onto her pert nose. “Oh, that’s right. Captain Carpenter called and said you’d be picking them up.”
“Yep.” She pretended to glance at her watch as strange sense of sudden uneasiness washed over her like a wave. Suddenly, she didn’t like the person standing before her. “I’m in a bit of a hurry, so if I could have those, it’d be great.”
“Sure, sure,” Tina said and shuffled through a stack of papers on Dr. Johnson’s desk. “Sorry, this is suc
h a mess. I know I put those here just a second ago. Give me a minute, would you?”
Christine shifted amid the rising of her hackles. Something about this woman didn’t ring right, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on why. She sighed. Just her overworked nerves and imagination, she supposed.
Tina suddenly stopped and looked up, removing her glasses in a slow fashion. “You don’t want these pictures.” Her tone dropped, less friendly than before.
“Yes, I do. Now give them to me right now.”
“Look into my eyes and tell me that you still want them.”
With her body well beyond her control, she obeyed Tina’s order. Brilliant colors of blue, green, red, violet, and yellow swirled in Tina’s eyes in a hypnotizing fashion, drawing her in. Shapes turned into creatures, the likes of which she’d never seen before, all tumbling around and around. Lights pulsated different color, swirling faster than any kaleidoscope she’d ever seen. A strange feeling of lightheadedness overwhelmed her and tried to claim her for its own, but she managed to push the emotion away.
Christine blinked hard and broke whatever spell Tina placed on her. “What are you?”
“Your worst nightmare,” Tina said in a husky tone and walked around the side of the desk in a predatory gait. “Stand where you are.”
Christine attempted to move from her spot, but her tense muscles refused to cooperate as if some strange magic had its cold fingers dug into her soul. She watched helplessly as Tina’s white uniform and name tag disappeared, replaced by a flowing gown of the deepest gauzy crimson.
Tina’s glossy hair lengthened to her waist in soft waves. Worse yet, her eyes changed to almost black, menacing and deep.
“Who are you?”
“Your mother, your father.” Tina purred with the enthusiasm of a panther ready to strike. “Your maker.”
“Ma-maker of what?”
“Of vampires,” Tina purred. “For I am Zakara, Queen of all Vampires. You shall be one of us.”
She trembled in her spot. Her bladder suddenly weighed a ton and threatened to let go. “I don’t want to be one of you.” This couldn’t be happening. Vampires didn’t exist. Once maybe, in legend, but not in this day and age.
“You have no choice, my dear. I will make you one of us.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Drake thundered from the doorway. She couldn’t turn her head but knew the voice to be unmistakably his.
“She is mine,” Zakara snapped throwing her taloned hand toward Drake. “I will do with her what I wish.”
The sound of a footstep echoed in the tiny office, his voice looming closer. “Not if I’ve already marked her.”
Zakara hissed through clenched teeth. She twisted Christine’s face to the side, staring at the spot where her neck met with the curve of her shoulder. She howled with an unearthly sound. “Damn you!”
“If you think making her one of us will bring me back into your arms and your bed, it won’t. Nothing will.”
“You must care for your plaything enough to mark her and keep her from me,” Zakara taunted.
Christine’s heart thundered. What did she mean plaything? Did she mean Drake was a vampire as well? She shook with fright at the implications of it all.
“No matter. I’ll have her somehow, someway with or without your mark.”
Drake moved into Christine’s line of vision, strong and overpowering, his form dwarfing Zakara’s. “You know the rules because you set them yourself.”
Zakara zeroed in on Drake. He stood there, stock still as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “Remember all the time we spent in bed together? All the world is waiting for us to rule it.”
A wild stab of jealousy pierced the fear and went right through to Christine’s heart. Why did she feel this way?
He threw Zakara’s arms away. “Those are times I’d rather forget, Zakara. Now go away before I throw you out into a vat of acid.”
“Now let’s not be hasty, my love.”
“I’m not your love, and I never have been. You don’t know the meaning of the word or its concept. It’s all foreign to you.”
Zakara twisted her head in Christine’s direction. “I will get you, precious, at the right moment. When I do, your death will be slow and painful, this I swear.”
With those words hanging in the air, Zakara disappeared into a black mist that dissipated as quickly as it had formed.
Drake stepped in front of her and placed his hands on her arms. He looked into her eyes, their cold steel gray penetrating her senses. “This is all a dream, something you’ll remember having had last night, not today.”
Instantly, the entire scene emptied from her mind. Once complete, nothingness came in and claimed her.
* * * *
Drake caught her body just before she made it to the floor. Damn Zakara! How dare she touch what was his!
He swung Christine’s lithe body into his arms effortlessly. He hadn’t wanted to glamour her and everyone else in the building, but he had no choice. The minute he heard her thoughts, he knew she was in trouble. He thought that maybe David had harassed her, but he was too young to be out in the sun yet. Zakara would have to wait until he was at least a hundred-year-old vampire to administer the spell because, otherwise, his body wouldn’t be able to take the strain.
There was only one place to take her and that was his home. She’d be safe there—for now. He frowned. How would he convince her that she needed to stay with him for an indefinite period and hold off on her investigation?
He strode out of the office with her limp body in his arms. He’d have to think about that later. Right now, Christine needed caring, and that was the only thing occupying his mind.
Chapter Six
Christine’s head throbbed unmercifully as she opened her eyes. What in the hell happened? The last thing she remembered was stopping off at the coroner’s office—then nothing.
“Glad to see you’re awake. Want a cup of coffee?”
She whirled around to see Drake sitting in the chair near her bed, stretched out to the fullest extent. Her heart skipped a beat. “What—how? Better yet, what are you doing here?”
He stood and came over to the bed. “Taking care of you. What else?”
“How did I get here?”
“You called me on your cell phone saying you weren’t feeling well and you wanted me to come get you.”
She made a quick mental note to check her phone. She may have been feeling bad but she never would have called him. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “How did you know where I lived?”
“You silly goose. You gave it to me over the phone. Boy, you really aren’t feeling well.”
She downplayed her suspicions. One thing a cop never did was show any type of emotion where an investigation was concerned. “I guess I’m just coming down with the flu or something. Is that offer for coffee still good?”
“I’ve got the time if you’ve got the coffee.”
Christine swung her legs over the side of the bed. Soft fibers of the carpet caressed her naked toes. “Where are my shoes?”
Drake picked up his jacket from the chair and draped it over his arm. “Under the bed.”
She bent down to pick them up but was overcome with a wild wave of dizziness. She rocked a bit and fell against Drake, who caught her easily.
Christine’s nipples puckered beneath her blouse the minute she came into contact with him, her pussy convulsing in response.
Her heart thundered, and her head roared the minute his cologne washed over her. She hugged onto him tightly, her arms wrapping around his strong waist. Damn, he felt so good.
She looked up and met with his smoldering, lusty gaze. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
“Long time for what?”
“To hold someone like this.”
“Yes, it has,” she confessed and pressed against him farther, burying
her nose into his neatly pressed shirt. The scent of masculinity mingled with his cologne made her far too heady to stop now. “I can’t seem to stop.”
The corner of his lips curled up seductively. “Who said you had to?”
Unable to deny her feelings anymore, she wound an arm around his thick neck and guided him in for a kiss. She captured his mouth with hers. For the first time in a while, she allowed her hunger to show through. She accepted his probing tongue and danced with him. She tasted the experience in his kiss, secretly hoping she was up to his challenge.
Drake’s hands drifted beneath her shirt and bra, pushing both up in order to expose her breasts. Cool air drifted over the ripening nubs, making them harder than ever.
He swept his thumbs over each pink peak and brought them to quick attention, forcing slight moans from her. “That feels so good,” she murmured against his mouth.
“Wait,” he said and slid from her mouth to the valley of her neck.
Lowering himself to his knees, Drake closed his mouth over one pink berry tip. He nibbled the tender flesh and then circled the areola with his dancing tongue. She gasped as he rendered attention to one breast, then the other until he brought each mound together. His talented tongue teased her nipples until she thought she’d explode.
“Damn, you make my cock hard, woman,” he whispered against her. “You don’t know how bad I want to come inside you.”
Christine drew her head up. No, she couldn’t—yet. “You don’t want to take me to bed.”
He released her and stood. Taking her hand, he guided it to his rock-hard prick. “Does this tell you I don’t want to take you to bed?”
“I’m just a release, nothing more. I’m no good at sex.”
“Who said?”
Christine drew her bra and shirt down and walked a short distance away. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just no good.”
Drake’s hands descended on her shoulders and spun her around. She met his fiery gaze. “How many men have you taken to bed?”
Ranson, Tracy L. - Prince of Darkness [Bloodborn 3] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 9