by J. K. Beck
"Sorry! Sorry! Hard to find fifteen minutes around here. I was just taking five."
"What have you got for me?"
"DNA," he said, cocking his head and leading her across the hall and into one of the labs. His Einstein-white hair shot out in all directions, and he wore a long white lab coat that flowed when he moved, revealing a hint of the Hawaiian-print shirt he wore 180
beneath. All in all, Richard Erasmus Orion IV gave every indication of being an eccentric genius.
"I've already read the report on the DNA evidence," she said. "Was there an error?" She had the absurd fantasy that he would tell her that Luke was no longer implicated.
"More of an oversight," he said as he poured coffee into a mug that said The Dead Do It Stiffer.
"An oversight," she repeated. "What kind of oversight?"
"The kind where we find more DNA."
She paused while reaching for her own mug. "Would you mind repeating that?"
"Happenstance, really," he said. "I was taking another look at the wound, and that's when I noticed that the bite radius was a little hinky."
"How?"
"I'll show you." He punched a few buttons on a computer terminal and the familiar image of Braddock's neck appeared on a wall screen. "Ripped up a bit," he said,
"but you can see the initial contact points of the fangs here and here," he said, indicating with a laser pointer. "But this was what caught my attention. See this? Another fang impression, right? But at a slightly off angle." He tilted his head to demonstrate. "Like our perp wasn't happy with his initial grip on the victim's neck."
"All right," Sara said, wondering what this had to do with DNA. She knew better than to try to rush him, though. She'd learned long ago that when an ME had a point to make it was best to be patient; eventually they'd get there.
"So I thought I'd check the bite radius. Just make sure it was our perp. And there you go."
"It wasn't?" She couldn't keep the surprise from her voice. "There was another biter? A first biter?"
"A cookie for the little lady," he said, tapping the side of his nose.
"And DNA confirmed that?"
"Did indeed," Orion said. "Not enough markers to make a match, but enough to definitively conclude that there was another biter."
"I need your report," Sara said, her mind churning.
"Not a problem." He went to a terminal, tapped a few keys. When he turned back, he held a ceramic candy dish shaped like a human hand. "Tootsie Roll?"
"No thanks."
"So how much damage does this do to your case against Dragos?" he asked.
"A lot," she admitted, unable to keep the smile off her face as she considered all the possibilities. "It messes it up a lot."
With Orion gaping at her, she raced back toward her office, her phone plastered to her ear, and J'ared at the other end of the line.
"Question for you: What if Tasha attacked Braddock? Took him just to the point of death. Self-defense because he was raping her. Where does that put us legally? If the DNA proves my theory, then that would knock Dragos down from a capital crime to a lesser charge, right?"
"Well, yeah," he said. "But whoa, golly, you think that's the way it went down?"
"Just go with me on this. Okay, so Dragos gets charged with a lesser crime--gets to avoid execution. But what about Tasha? If that's really how it happened, then what 181
happens to her special dispensation?"
"Hang on. Hang on." She heard him typing. "Nope. No leeway. It's clear. She takes steps--she lets the daemon take control--she's terminated." Sara leaned back, incredulous. "Even with evidence of rape?"
"Regular vampire wouldn't have such a raw deal, but, hey, she wasn't supposed to be allowed to live in the first place."
"Shit. Okay. Thanks." She clicked off the call and tried to sort through her thoughts, because she was positive she knew what had happened. Braddock raped Tasha. And Tasha, terrified, lashed out against him, her own daemon probably coming out for revenge. She went after Braddock, wanting to end the torment, and somehow Luke realized what she was doing.
He followed, found Braddock on the brink of death, and realized what would happen to Tasha if the PEC tied her to the murder. So he did what Sara had come to expect of Luke: He protected the girl. He put himself out there as a target to draw the fire away from Tasha. He staged the scene, leaving his ring, leaving his DNA. All of it, every bit, designed to lead the PEC to him.
He'd intended to run; of that she was certain. Draw them in, make sure he said enough to be determined guilty in absentia, and then escape. That had been the point of the nerve gas in his tomb that very first night.
Something had gone wrong, though, and he'd been incarcerated. And unless she introduced the evidence about Tasha, he would most likely die for a crime he didn't commit. Implicate Tasha, though, and she'd be staked.
There had to be a way to protect Luke without putting Tasha's head on the block. And as she passed through the reception area and under the Judicare Maleficum archway, she realized that she knew whom to go to for the answer.
"You're asking me to consider dropping a capital murder charge down to manslaughter?" Nostramo Bosch peered at Sara from behind his desk, the hint of gray in his temples glinting in the overhead light. She stood her ground, back straight, shoulders square.
"Yes, sir. I think the evidence will show that Dragos was protecting his ward. She was being subjected to repeated abuse by the defendant."
"You have proof of the abuse?"
"Working on it."
He stood up, began pacing behind his desk. "When you were first assigned this case, you told me your relationship with the defendant would not affect your judgment." She bristled. "And it hasn't."
"Hasn't it?"
"Sir, I'm only asking you to consider this if it's supported by the evidence. Whatever my feelings may or may not be, they can't change the facts." He stared at her, the scent of cinnamon filling the air. "What exactly are you looking for here, Constantine?"
"Reduced charges and house arrest. He wears the detention device until time served."
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"This is a high-profile matter, and you're suggesting that we should forego incarceration?"
"Sir, he was protecting a woman who couldn't protect herself. What purpose would be served in locking him up?"
Bosch exhaled loudly, then drummed his fingers on the desk. After a moment, he nodded. "You prove the rape, I'll authorize the deal, subject to Leviathin's approval." She swallowed, willing herself not to be too optimistic. Not yet. "Sir, I haven't worked here that long, and to be honest, I'm not sure if that's a good--"
"Nikko tends to accept my recommendations," he said, but he was smiling. "And Constantine? Stop calling me sir."
In the hall, she tried to walk without an added little hop in her step, but didn't quite manage it, and when she caught sight of Doyle and Tucker in the hall near her office, she hurried to meet both of them.
"What have you got? I need solid evidence that Braddock raped Tasha."
"We've got shit on the girl. Rape, yeah. Tasha, not a thing. We can't even prove he knew her."
They followed her into her office, then flopped into the two guest chairs as Sara paced. "Would there be physical evidence left?" she asked. In a human, she knew the answer would be no. For a vampire, though ... She just didn't know.
"Hit or miss," Doyle said. "But if we can get her to agree to a session with a Truth Teller, that's pretty weighty shit. I thought she was missing, though."
"Apparently she's back."
"So we'll bring her in," Doyle said, pushing out of the chair.
"No," she said. "I'll arrange it."
He glanced at her, eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. "You have his blood in you."
"The hell I do," she said, not willing to discuss her personal affairs with the likes of Ryan Doyle.
"That's a crime, Constantine. Directive 27. Ring any bells?"
"I told you," she said firmly. "You're wron
g."
"Hope so," he said, his nostrils flaring. "Because I like you, Constantine. Not entirely sure why I like you, but I do. And I'll be damned if I'll stand by and watch that bastard hurt you."
"Then you don't have a thing to worry about."
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Chapter 34
Lucius sat on the edge of Tasha's bed and held her hands in his. She was showered and changed, now in pink pajamas and a flowing pink robe. "You are centered now? The daemon well under?"
"I am." She licked her lips, her eyes wide and scared. "I was so afraid I wouldn't see you again. They wished to keep me away. Far away. And then they wished to kill." He stroked her hair, then pressed his hands against her shoulders, willing her to understand. "You are here. You are safe. And they will never threaten you again." Never. As soon as she was steady Luke was going after Caris. He'd kill her. He'd kill Stemmons. And he'd do it in the most painful way he could devise.
On the bed, Tasha pulled a rag doll to her and hugged it tight. She tilted her head back, her nostrils flaring. "Girl," she said. "The scent of a girl fills my room." She lowered her head and stared at him with wide, guileless eyes. "Why, Lucius?"
"You have caught the scent of a friend of mine."
"I saw," she said, making him wonder. "Pretty girl. The way she touched you in that bar."
"What bar?"
"Before," she said. "Before you killed for me." She tilted her face up to him.
"That's what he did to me. The judge. He did to me what you did to the pretty girl."
"It's different," Luke said, his blood chilled, and an unwelcome fear rising in him. A worry that there were things happening here that he had not seen. "You watched me, Tasha? You spied on me that night?"
"Spied on you. You spied on me." She rocked on the bed, and he knew that he was losing her again.
"Tasha, focus. The woman is important to me. And she will be staying with me for a while. Can you understand that? Can you be nice to her?" Her eyes widened. "I'm always nice," she said, then her forehead creased. "Except when I'm not. I wasn't nice to them tonight, Lucius. The ones who kept me. The ones who wanted to hurt me."
"And to them you never need to be," he said, taking her hand and cursing his earlier fears, cursing himself for seeing cunning and contrivance even in innocence.
"Have to be nice to the girl, though. Your woman. Your Sara."
"Sara," he repeated. "You heard her name?"
"You love her."
His heart twisted. "Tasha, you know that no one will ever replace you."
"You do things with her," she said. "Naughty things. You've never done naughty things with me."
"And I never will." He leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead.
"Rest," he said. "I must go take care of something. I'll be back soon." She said nothing, and he left the room, his thoughts turning to Caris and the thousand ways he would hurt her.
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The phone buzzed and he snatched it up, expecting Slater or Voight. "What have you got?"
"Your balls in a sling, you son of a bitch." Ryan Doyle's gruff voice filtered through the phone. "What kind of games are you playing with her?" The fury that had been aimed at Caris took a sharp turn, as the image of Luke's fist intersecting with Doyle's face filled his mind in a most satisfying way. "I don't know what parasite is infecting your brain, Doyle, but if you have something to say to me, you can damn well say it to my face. Or are you too much of a coward?"
"You couldn't keep me away."
Luke clenched his fists at his side, forcing calm. "After so many insults between us, what the hell has happened now sufficient to have you darken my doorstep?"
"Sara," he said, making Luke's heart twist.
"What's happened to her?" Luke demanded, his voice tight with fear.
"You did, you shit. She drank your goddamn blood."
"She did," Luke admitted, "though it's no business of yours."
"It's my business when you mess with the prosecutor's head. When you seduce her into committing a crime."
"There's been no crime," Luke said. "The exceptions are clear. I offer her protection."
Doyle barked out a laugh. "The fuck you say. Whatever game you're playing, Dragos, it isn't going to work. You're not sliding out from this murder charge, and you're sure as hell not hurting that girl. I won't see you destroy her the way you destroyed my life, my woman," he said, his words bringing to the forefront the events so many centuries ago that had shredded the bonds between them. Luke clenched his fists. Now was not the time.
"I should have killed you then," Doyle continued.
"We all have to learn to live with regret."
"I'm warning you," Doyle spat.
"And yet your words mean nothing. You want to finish this, then get your ass here and we will. But don't come unless you mean it, because if you land the first blow, I will kill you. With no thought to our past friendship or the debt that I may owe you. I will kill you. And so if it's death you seek, then bring it on now."
"I'll be there in an hour," Doyle said, and before Luke could respond, he clicked off and the phone went dead.
Sara had nicknamed the guard who'd been assigned to her Guido. Not only because he looked the part, but also because she couldn't for the life of her pronounce his real name.
"I'm not going to be long," she said, opening the door.
"You stay," Guido said, grabbing her by the shoulders and lifting her over the threshold. He plunked her down by the door, closed it, then pointed a warning finger. "No move." And then he disappeared for a rundown of the entire apartment. With only one bedroom and one bath, that didn't take long, and he was back with an efficient nod before her arms had even stopped aching from his clutch.
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"Right," she said as he stationed himself in front of her door, as immobile as a Buckingham Palace guard.
She hurried to her bedroom and shoved some yoga pants and a few T-shirts into a duffel bag. She added a few work outfits, an extra pair of shoes, and her father's book. She paused for a moment at the bedside, then reached for the gun. After a second's hesitation, she chambered a round, then put it into her purse. If she was worried enough to have Guido following her around, then she was worried enough to be armed. Out of habit, she hooked the portable panic button onto her waistband, then ran into the bathroom for essentials. Once she had everything she needed, she headed back into the living room to meet up with Guido, still standing perfectly still at her door. She checked her watch and smiled--ten minutes past midnight. She'd managed to pack for an overnight stay with a man in less than fifteen minutes. That had to be a female record. "Ready," she said.
He nodded and stepped aside, allowing her to punch the exit code into the control box. As Roland had taught her, she held the portable panic button in one hand and entered the code with the other. "Gotta protect you in those few seconds when you don't know what's outside the door," he'd said.
The system disengaged, she peered through the peephole, and since nothing was there, moved to open the door. Guido got there first, edging in front of her with a stern wag of his finger. He opened the door and took one step forward--just far enough for the sword that slashed downward to lop off his head.
Sara screamed, her finger fumbling for the panic button even as her mind registered the attacker--a teenage girl with auburn hair and an expression of grim satisfaction. And right by her side was Xavier Stemmons.
Sara pressed the button hard as she stumbled backward, tripping over the bag she'd dropped. Even as the gray mist of the security force filled her apartment, she grappled in her purse, her fingers closing around the butt of the gun. She yanked it out, and as Stemmons leaped upon her, she fired.
His body jerked from the impact, but he held tight, the woman holding on to him as well so that the three of them were locked in an unwelcome embrace. And as Stemmons's blood spilled out upon her, Sara succumbed to the odd sensation of her body disintegrating.
The last thing she saw be
fore her mind turned to mist was the dark form of the Shade materializing in her living room.
And the last thing she heard was the girl's singsong voice whispering, "Lucius is mine. Mine, mine, mine."
Luke didn't wait for Doyle. If the para-daemon had a death wish, he could damn well wait at Luke's house for him to return home.
Luke had a more pressing engagement: Caris.
He raced down the Coast Highway, then maneuvered the busy streets until he careened to a stop in front of the private drive that led to the house his research had revealed was owned by CV Enterprises.
He hoped to hell she lived there. If not, he was all out of leads. 186
He killed the engine on his car, then sat in the dark, weighing his options. He ruled out approaching by car, as that would eliminate the element of surprise. As for climbing the fence and approaching on foot, the security cameras that dotted the landscape would similarly alert her to his presence, something he would rather not do. He wanted her weak. He wanted her vulnerable. And that meant that he needed the advantage of surprise.
His wants, however, weren't aligning with the physical reality of her home. As he was cursing that fact, he heard the low, strong purr of a motor. A Jaguar, unless his ears deceived him.
He smiled and stepped out of the car. The element of surprise had just been tossed back into the mix.
He eased back, out of sight, but still close to where her car would emerge. He stood still in the dark, waiting and watching, listening as the hum of the engine drew his quarry closer and closer. The first hint of headlights cut through the dark, and he tensed, his body ready to pounce. And then, as the gate opened and the car eased through, that's exactly what he did.