by J. K. Beck
more of a son of a bitch, and end up making Dragos look better by comparison. Shit. That was one hell of a fucked-up trade-off.
"I'm glad he's dead," the girl said.
"Why?" Doyle asked, certain he knew the answer.
"He told me not to tell. He told me I'd get in bad trouble."
"He can't get you into trouble now."
She looked down at the sidewalk. "I was thirteen," she said, her voice so soft that he could barely hear it, even with his preternaturally keen senses. "I kept his dirty secret," she said. "But I don't have to keep it anymore if I don't want to."
"No," Doyle said, fighting to stay level. Now wasn't the time for the rage to rise. He needed to be calm. Needed to not scare the girl. "Tell me what he did, Shana. What did Marcus Braddock do to you?"
"He hurt me," she said, her voice flat. "He raped me." And then, with Doyle gently prodding the truth from her, Shana told him everything.
The prep meeting for Luke's bail hearing was in thirty minutes, but instead of heading to the conference room, Sara took the elevator to sublevel nine and found herself urging a foul-smelling ogre to escort her to the prisoner's cell.
"Meeting you set, open we the door."
"Either you let me in now, or I'll get Mr. Bosch down here. Your choice." The ogre grumbled, but he stood. He slid a stake into a holster above his beefy hips, then grabbed a battle-ax. "Go we now."
The detention block consisted of a series of glass-walled cells, and Sara kept her eyes straight ahead as they passed cell after cell occupied by a variety of scaled and furred creatures that shouted inventive sexual suggestions at her, alternating with pleas for release.
She didn't relax until they reached the end of the walk and Luke's cell.
"Sara," he said as she approached, and the pleasure she heard in his voice was enough to make her tremble.
"Was it you?" she asked, after the ogre had locked her in the cell with Luke. "Did you ask the Alliance to send a Seer?"
"I can't stomach the thought of a child killer walking free, so I asked Voight to give what assistance he could. Was he able to learn anything about the vampire who helped break Stemmons out?"
She swallowed thickly, thinking of the child's large eyes and bloodless face. "He's killed again. Ten years old. We've identified the body. Betsy Todd," she said, her heart breaking for Betsy, for her parents, and for the next child who Sara feared was already dead.
Luke stood for a moment, his body tense, his jaw tight. He clenched his fists at his side, then stalked to the wall of the cell. He thrust back, and punched hard, so hard Sara swore she felt the room shake. When he stepped back, a spiderweb of cracks radiated out from the spot where his fist had landed.
He was anger and energy, but she didn't hesitate. She went to him, pressed her 139
hands on his shoulders, and softly whispered his name.
He was silent for a moment, and she could feel the tension in his body, his muscles corded like wires. "My daughter was ten when she died," he said, his back to her.
"Do you remember what I said? That I would kill this man for you?"
"I do."
"And now?" he asked. "Would you still keep me from that task?" She turned away, not willing to answer him, not sure she could answer honestly, because she did want Stemmons dead. So help her, she wanted him dead and rotting and burning in hell. "It's a moot point," she said. "You're in here, and he's out there, some vampire working with him, and time is running out."
Luke turned to her, his body relaxing slightly, and the effort to make it so reflecting in his eyes. "What has Voight told you?"
"He said he couldn't get a clear read at the escape point, but he was able to confirm that it was the same vampire there and with Stemmons at the crime scene. And he confirmed that there is only one vampire helping Stemmons."
"Nothing else?"
"Not from Voight, but Doyle took it to the next level."
"Ryan Doyle," Luke said, his features tightening.
"There's a history between you two."
"There is," he said, but he didn't elaborate, and she didn't push.
"He learned that the vamp with Stemmons is female."
"Female," he repeated, and something in his voice made her frown.
"Does that mean something to you?" He hesitated, and she stepped closer.
"Dammit, Luke, if you know anything-- anything-- that might help us, you had damn well better tell me."
He lifted his eyes to hers and then slowly, very slowly, he nodded. "There are things at play that you do not yet fully understand. Rivalries. Political positioning." She frowned. "And this is relevant how?"
"The vampire and Therian communities are old enemies," he said. "And I've learned that a Therian plot to paint the vampires in a bad light has been foiled."
"What kind of plot?"
"The Therians intended to kill humans. To make the kills appear to be the work of vampires."
Sara hugged herself, thinking of the bite marks on little Betsy's neck. "Go on."
"The primary instigators have been stopped, but one remains at large. A vampire. A traitor to the race who has aligned herself with the Therians."
"Herself," Sara repeated. "A female."
"Her name is Caris," Luke said. "Take care not to underestimate her."
"And you think she could be involved with Stemmons?"
"I think the pieces add up. Tell me," he said, "how did Stemmons kill Betsy?"
"A neck wound," Sara said slowly. "Not his usual MO."
"But Caris has reason to increase the number of vampire attacks around town. Or at least to make it appear that they have increased. And the more offensive, the better. She wants to finish what her team started. And she wants to thumb her nose at the vampire community for foiling the Therians' original plans."
"How can we find her?"
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"I don't know," he said. "Yet."
Sara nodded. "Thank you." This was a solid start. She could find this Caris, and with any luck, they would find Stemmons and the next child, too.
"I need to go." A humorless smile touched her lips. "I have a hearing to prepare for."
"You'll forgive me if I don't wish you luck."
She smiled and was reaching for the button to summon the ogre when his voice stopped her. "Tasha is missing."
She turned, saw the flash of worry on his face. "I'm so sorry. Can I help?" He reached for her hand, and she gave it. "You help simply by asking."
"I could speak to Missing Persons," she said, wishing she had a cure, a fix, some way to wipe the worry from his face. "I don't know if the PEC has a section like that, but I have friends in the LAPD. They could--"
He pressed his palm to her cheek, the touch affecting her more than it should.
"Thank you. All I ask is that you contact Nick. Tell him I need to speak with him before the hearing."
"All right. Of course I will." She hesitated, thinking about propriety and her position and the whole damned mess. She didn't care. She leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss over his forehead. "I really am sorry," she said. "I'm so terribly sorry."
"Sara," he said, heat flaring behind the pain in his eyes. She stepped back, her hands shoved into the pockets of her suit jacket, not quite believing she'd just leaped gleefully over that line. "We've been investigating Braddock," she began, thinking of the report she'd just received from Agent Doyle. "Luke, did he harm Tasha?"
He drew in a breath, then slowly released it. "Welcome back, Counselor." She flinched, but held her ground, staying silent as he moved back to the concrete slab that served as a bed.
"Unless I am mistaken, this subject is forbidden without the presence of my attorney."
He was right, of course. "In that case, you can speak freely without fear of your words coming back to bite you." She tried again. "Is that why you killed him? Revenge for Tasha?"
He smiled thinly. "I have never admitted to killing the bastard, though I do not deny an intense joy that he is i
n fact dead."
She thought of his file, and knew how easily denial could come to his lips. He'd been briefly suspected and then cleared in dozens of deaths, all vigilante-style killings. All men and women who society would likely say deserved to die. Too many for it to be coincidence.
And he had powerful Alliance friends.
She couldn't condone the acts or the deaths. Vigilante justice, she thought sourly, was not justice at all.
And yet ...
"I turned nine about the time Jacob Crouch was freed," she said. "And I remember my mom went on and on about the system, and justice, and how sometimes bad people slip through the cracks, but without the system, chaos would run wild and anarchy would take over."
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"Your mother sounds like a woman with strong beliefs."
"You could say that. She was an assistant district attorney. She lived and breathed the system."
His mouth twitched as he stared at her. "Imagine that."
"Yeah. I definitely inherited a few traits." She drew in a breath. "Her resolve never faltered. Even when Crouch went free."
He got up off the slab and moved toward her, then sat on the concrete beside her.
"And yours has?"
She thought of the fantasies she'd had about killing Crouch, about taking down Stemmons. She didn't want to answer, but the question was fair, and she wanted them to understand each other. "No. But in my mind--" She shook her head. "I would never do it, though. Justice is found in the law, not on the streets."
"But with Crouch, the system got it wrong," Luke said. "And when he was killed, the world self-corrected."
"I still go to bed every night thanking the person who shut that monster down. And sometimes I hate myself for that."
"You shouldn't," he said. "Crouch got what he deserved."
"No," she said. "He didn't. What he deserved was to be tried and convicted. Everything else ..." She trailed off. She couldn't justify that next step. Couldn't justify the way her fingers sometimes itched to pull the trigger. Or the way she celebrated Crouch's anonymous killer.
She couldn't justify it, but she did understand it. That urge--that need--to avenge someone you love. "Luke," she began, softly, hesitantly, "what did he do to Tasha?" He stiffened, silent, and for a moment she feared he wouldn't answer. Then he stood, crossed the room and faced the hard stone wall.
"I witnessed nothing," Luke said, but the sharp edge to his voice told a different story.
"Did he come to her? Seduce her? Take advantage of a girl who didn't understand, not really, what he wanted? What was happening to her?"
"Sara--" His voice held both warning and pain.
"Mitigating circumstances, Luke," she said, moving forward and pressing her hands to his shoulders. "If there are circumstances, you need to raise them in court."
"Will you stand now as my defense attorney?"
"Dammit, Luke, let me help you. My goal is not a stake to your heart. I'm looking for the truth."
"Truth is often elusive, and some debts are best paid outside the bounds of the law."
Her chest constricted, knowing that she'd just heard as close to a confession as would ever cross his lips. He'd killed Marcus Braddock. And yet she didn't want him going down. Not if there was a defense, a way to save him. "If he was harming Tasha ..." She trailed off, giving him an opportunity to speak, to latch on to the defense. He was silent.
She rubbed her fingers on her temples. "Luke, please. Tell me what happened. Don't go down hard if you don't have to."
"I have nothing to say." He turned to face her. "And anything I have said here today cannot be used against me at the bail hearing."
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"No," she agreed. "It can't. But if you work with me, maybe we can get the charges reduced, even dismissed. At the very least, we can get you out on bail." He turned around, and she was surprised to see that he was smiling. "I have the utmost faith in your system," he said. "This evening, I will have bail." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't count on it, Luke. I play to win."
"A wager, then," he said, both heat and amusement tainting his voice. "If I am released, I want you in my bed."
"You won't win," she said, though she couldn't deny that part of her desperately, deeply, hoped he did.
The girl lay on the floor, ripe and ready. Fourteen years old. This one long and lean. An athletic build, with strong hips and breasts that were just beginning to ripen. Delicious.
The girl stirred slightly in sleep, and Xavier pressed a hand to her forehead.
"Calm now," he said, his caress soft. Soothing.
It wouldn't do for her to fear him, not when she was giving him the gift of blood. The gift of becoming.
Across the small basement room, his Dark Angel stood watching, her gaze fixed on the girl's face. "Drain this one, and the light will surely fill you." He bowed his head in deference. "Will you feed, too, Angel?"
"I feed," she said. "You feed." Her mouth drew into a thin smile. "We will have a feast."
Beneath him, the girl stirred; the drugs were wearing off. Good. It was better when they were awake. Asleep, and they seemed dead. Awake, and he could watch the life flow from the child to him.
He stroked her neck with his fingertip. "Wake up, wake up. It's time for the gift. Time for the light."
He turned his head, looking at his Angel. "This one is all for me?" She laughed, delighted. "How will you make the wound?" It was a problem. His teeth were not sharp like hers. Not yet. Not until he proved himself worthy. And though he could rip and tear at her flesh, that would spoil the beauty of the soft, sweet skin.
He moved to the table for his knife. It had served him well so many times before. It would serve him again. Open the wound, and close his mouth over the sweet flow of life.
But it would drain out too quickly. He needed another, and the cages were empty, the hunt not complete.
"We will hunt after?" he asked.
She laughed. "So eager."
"I seek only to please you." He kept his head down, wanting to ask about her plans for him, but not sure that he should. In the end, though, he couldn't keep silent.
"Am I worthy? Will you take me with you to your side?" He wanted to be like her; he wanted to feed only on the blood. On the light.
She laughed, then twirled, her skirt flowing outward. "Some of my kind are worthy. Some waste their gift. And some should never have been turned at all."
"And me?" he asked, praying she would find him worthy. 143
"You," she said, "are meant for wondrous things. Special. So special." She glided toward him, circled him. "Tell me, Xavier. Do you know the one who bound you? Who called your genius criminal?"
"I know her," he said. "A bitch prosecutor." He looked up, afraid he'd gone too far, but the Angel was only smiling at him.
"She is horrible. Takes things that do not belong to her."
"My life," he said. "My freedom." But he had his freedom back now, and the bitch prosecutor didn't matter. Only the girls mattered, and this one especially. This one who even now stirred at his feet. "It's time to get started," he said.
"Then do not hesitate."
But he did, because the girl was not enough, and he needed to know. Needed to be certain another would come. Another would fill him. "And after?" he asked. "When the light is gone?"
"Then we will hunt again," she said, satisfying him. And with the greatest anticipation, he pressed the knife to the child's throat, and listened as the scream came, yanking her back from the depths of sleep. 144
Chapter 26
The hearing was not going well. She'd put on more than enough evidence to show that Luke had connections--serious connections of the type who could wrangle a way to remove the detention device. She'd presented evidence of guilt--the DNA, the ring, Doyle's testimony. And she'd even been allowed to provide evidence of Luke's notoriety--the kind of evidence that would never have been allowed upstairs--to show that he was a danger to the community.
She'd done ev
erything right, and still she was losing. She could see it in the way the judge shifted and turned on the bench, his beady bird eyes seeming to look past her evidence to a conclusion he'd already established.
"I'm sinking," she said to Bosch.
"You're putting on the best case you have," he said, which didn't make her feel better. This was her first hearing in her new job, and she was sitting at the counsel table with her new boss. She wanted a win, dammit, and the only way she could think to get it was to play her trump card.
She looked over at the defendant's table--at Nick, sitting there looking smug, and Luke beside him, his manner, his appearance, his very essence both screaming of importance and warning of danger. She told herself this wasn't about him--about them-and then, because her feelings for Luke should never have affected her prosecution of the case, she stood up, finally resolved.
"Your Honor, the prosecution moves to introduce video footage of the pool deck of the Broadway Towers taken late Friday night."
Now Montegue surged to his feet. "Objection. Your Honor, may we approach?" The judge turned one of his beady black eyes on Montegue. The gryphon--with an eagle's head and a lion's body--was huge and imposing, and could maintain order in his courtroom with nothing more than a glance. "Approach? But there is no jury present."
"No, but the gallery is full, and Ms. Constantine is about to lead us into minefilled waters." The feathers that covered the judge's face ruffled, but he agreed.
"This is completely unacceptable," Montegue continued. "Counsel is addressing an area that must be treated as off the record."
"Your Honor," Sara said, "that isn't exactly accurate. My conversation with Mr. Dragos is off the record. But Agent Doyle acquired the same information entirely independent of me or Mr. Montegue or Mr. Dragos."
The judge considered for only a moment, then nodded at Sara. "Proceed." A little trill of victory shot through her, only to be quashed by Montegue's harsh words as they walked back to the counsel table. "There is the letter of the law, and then there is the spirit, Ms. Constantine. I think we both know that what you've done skirts propriety. At the very least you should have given us notice that you intended to piss on the good faith that Mr. Dragos and myself showed to you." She swallowed a bubble of guilt. "My client is the PEC, Mr. Montegue, and I 145