by L. D. Rose
Dad had to carry her back to where Valerie stood, and the closer they came, the sicker Valerie felt. Bile rose in the back of her throat as the macabre image of her dead sister flashed before her eyes—dark head wrenched back, mouth hanging open, pale eyes frozen in terror for all eternity. There was so much blood and Valerie was slipping, falling, the grass warm and red.
Valerie dropped to her knees and threw up, emptying herself right before her parents’ eyes and losing the better half of her soul on the cold earth of that cemetery.
Her cell phone shrieked in her ears, ripping her out of the past and slamming her back into the present. Valerie nearly swerved clear across the expressway but quickly regained control, rocking back into her lane. Someone honked from behind as they sped past her.
And her racing heart stopped dead in her chest.
A black Chevelle roared by, a bullet zooming through traffic like it owned the road.
And its license plate read BK-408.
Not forty-eight.
Valerie swerved again, this time on purpose, cutting off the next car and inciting more angry blares. Her phone continued to scream but she ignored it, her heart leaping in her throat and staying there, pounding against her trachea like a panicked fist.
No way. She was never this lucky. Fate seldom looked upon her with favorable eyes, but the bitch cut her a break now, and Valerie was going to take it for all it was worth.
She barely managed to keep up, and hung a few cars behind the Chevelle. It slipped onto the New England Thruway, staying on I-95 north before it took the exit to New Rochelle. Valerie paced herself, trying to be as discreet as possible while the Chevelle glided swiftly through traffic. She hoped it would lead her right to his home, but it turned into a gas station instead, rolling up beside a self-serve pump. She followed it, pulling into a parking spot near the building.
Valerie purposely pointed the car away from the pump, watching the Chevelle in the rearview mirror. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, cranking up her senses and nearly giving her the shakes. She cut the engine as the Chevelle sat there, idling for a moment. She felt for the gun in her hip holster, touching the butt of her Beretta for reassurance. What seemed like hours only turned out to be just under a minute, when he finally turned off the car and stepped outside.
It had to be him. Big as a linebacker, wearing a turtleneck sweater of tattoos beneath a black tank top, black cut-off gloves, dark sunglasses, gold skin and a black buzz cut. He looked dangerous, like a con who’d just stepped out of prison. Valerie’s blood sang as he scanned the area and shut the car door behind him. He sauntered into the building, but there was something about the way he carried himself. He was on guard, braced, like he was ready for an attack.
Or knew he was being watched.
Valerie’s phone blew up again and she yanked the buds out of her ears, tossing them to the side along with her iPhone. She picked up the radio receiver and contacted local dispatch, watching her suspect intently. She called in backup, giving the dispatcher the bare minimum and telling her to hurry.
As soon as Tattoos entered the convenience store, Valerie exited the car and stepped into the white static she called ‘sanctuary,’ where her world narrowed down to nothing but her target and her fears were checked at the door.
She moved toward the corner of the building, casually looking around to find very few people within the vicinity. She measured protocol with intuition, knowing she would be putting innocent lives in danger—hell, she might have to open fire at a gas station—but she might never find this guy again if she didn’t make a move now.
And if he got away, the outcome could be much worse.
Valerie kept her eyes locked on the glass windows covered with cigarette prices and beer ads, watching Tattoos pay up at the cash register. Once she reached the side of the building, she pressed her back against the warm brick wall. Sweat trickled down her spine and she wiped her clammy hands on her jeans before she drew her Beretta. She listened for the bell hanging above the store entrance, and when it jingled, she peered past the corner of the building.
There he is.
Holding a pack of Marlboros, he slipped it into his back pocket along with a silver money clip. He walked back toward the Chevelle, scanning the area one more time as he stepped off the concrete elevation.
This is it. Do it. Now!
With her gun pointed at the ground in a two-handed grip, Valerie pushed off the wall and turned the corner, staring at his back. Her voice was loud and clear as she called, “Blaze.”
He stopped and pivoted around. A fleeting expression of confusion filled his face, but it quickly turned into shock as she lifted her gun and shouted, “Freeze, NYPD!”
Gasps and shouts resounded as everyone turned their attention on her. Some people ducked while others gawked, and she wished they would just climb into their cars and get the hell out of here. She did her best to ignore them, keeping her focus solely on the man before her as she carefully approached him. He didn’t make any sudden movements, his brow furrowing as a muscle in his jaw ticked.
Valerie flashed her badge to prove she wasn’t bullshitting. “Get your hands in the air where I can see them.”
He slowly lifted his arms and spread his hands out wide. Then spoke with a voice like black gravel, matching his appearance all too well. “What’s going on here?”
She closed in on him, his presence becoming more and more overwhelming. Sirens resonated in the distance, sending a trickle of relief through her. He didn’t appear armed but that didn’t mean jack.
“Turn around and get down on the ground. Now!”
Anger consumed the confusion on his face but he surprisingly complied, giving her his back again before dropping to his knees with his hands above his head.
She kept her gun aimed and her mind submerged in the well of her calm. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d arrested someone; she usually shot to kill. “Cross your ankles,” she ordered, and he did so, crossing his booted ankles as if he’d done this before.
Valerie placed her foot in the space between his legs, so if he attempted to stand he would end up flat on his face. People finally backed away as she removed her tungsten carbide handcuffs from her utility belt, gripping the Beretta with knuckles white as chalk. Tungsten carbide was the only metal strong enough to hold a vampire, but she used it on everyone, regardless of species. Two New Rochelle cruisers whipped into the gas station, blocking off both exits before four officers leapt out of their respective vehicles. Valerie put the gun up and cuffed Blaze’s dominant hand, swinging his right arm around before latching onto the left.
He didn’t put up a fight. He didn’t even flinch. But he balled his big hands into fists at his back. She read him his Miranda rights as she cinched the cuffs around both of his thick wrists.
“You have the right to remain silent—”
“I have the right to know what’s going on,” he growled, showing her his savage profile.
“Anything you do or say can be used against you in a court of law.”
“What are you arresting me for?”
“You have the right to an attorney.”
“Fuck the attorney—”
She yanked the chain of his cuffs, bringing his solid body against her as the faint scent of cologne tickled her nose. She leaned into his ear, anger flashing through her as she thought of bloody grass and charred flesh.
“You’re under arrest for the murder of Elena Delgado. Now get the fuck up and move.”
SIX
“You know, I could’ve helped you out there, Val. All you had to do was pick up the phone.”
Valerie sighed, sparing her partner a glance. “I’m sorry, Deron. I was just focused on nabbing him. Besides, you wouldn’t have arrived in time.”
Deron grumbled under his breath but wi
sely dropped it, turning his attention back on the mirrored window of the interrogation room. Blaze sat there, slouched in the aluminum chair, staring at the wall. He barely moved, barely breathed, completely immersed in thought. His jaw would tic every so often and he would crack his neck as if he realized his muscles were tense.
If only Valerie could read his mind.
They’d confiscated everything he had and she’d been right—he was completely unarmed, the only possessions on him being his money clip, his cell phone, and a pack of Marlboros. They’d asked him to remove his sunglasses but he refused, which made her wonder what he had to hide. His fancy car, however, had been a different story. He had a shoulder holster in the trunk, loaded with a fresh set of nine millimeter Glocks, along with a mean KA-BAR. He also had a .45 in the glove compartment and several rounds of ammo for each gun.
There was a problem, however. They couldn’t keep him for possession of firearms. Everyone packed a weapon these days, so he didn’t break any laws. He had a license and registration, the first under the name Blaze Knight, and the latter under a private company called The Order of the Senary.
Blaze Knight of the Order of the Senary—if that doesn’t sound like a superhero, I don’t know what does.
“Well, it’s definitely him,” Deron said. “Same guy who picked me up.”
Same guy who saved your life.
“And the plates check out. Washington D.C., BK-408, under the Order of the Senary. Ever heard of it?”
“No.”
“Yeah, me neither. Friedman is looking it up now and cross checking it with any possible references—”
Big knuckles rapped on the doorframe of the observation room and they both turned to find Geoff in the doorway. As usual he didn’t look happy, holding a manila folder in his hand.
“Williams.” He tipped his head at Deron before settling his dark gaze on Valerie. “Medeiros. I have a bone to pick with you.”
Valerie braced herself, knowing exactly what kind of bone he had to pick. “I did what I believed was right, sir.”
“You should’ve waited for backup,” he snarled, laying into her as he motioned to Blaze. “No detective of mine takes down that alone. And at a gas station, no less! That’s why you have a partner, Medeiros. That’s why you have a dispatcher to properly explain the situation to.”
She stood her ground. “He could’ve escaped, sir.”
“And he could’ve killed you and escaped all the same. You’re trained better than that, Medeiros. Next time, you wait. You make sure it’s safe for others, and most of all, for yourself. Do you understand?”
Valerie gritted her teeth, swallowing back the urge to retaliate. She knew Geoff cared immensely about his people, but she couldn’t help but wonder how much slack Deron would’ve received had he been the one in her shoes. “I understand, sir.”
“Good.” He handed her the folder, his weathered face hard as stone. “Here are the DNA results from the pistol Williams picked up. Report back to me when you’re through.”
She took it and he left, returning to the cave of his office.
“Told you,” Deron chided.
Valerie stabbed him with a glare. “Shut up.” She opened the folder and scanned the report, her eyes settling on the result at the bottom of the page.
Impression: Findings are inconclusive.
Her heart thumped as she walked out of the observation room, heading straight for her desk. Deron followed, hot on her heels. “Val, what is it?”
She didn’t respond as she opened Elena’s case file and pulled the results from the hair fibers. She put both reports down, side-by-side, and compared them.
They were exactly the same.
Both the shirt and the gun belonged to Blaze—he’d been in Elena’s apartment that night. And they couldn’t pin him as the murderer because the findings were inconclusive.
What the hell is going on here?
She must’ve frowned because Deron asked, “Not a match?”
“No, it is.” Valerie turned the reports toward him. “The blood on the gun matches the hair fibers on the shirt perfectly. But Kat thinks the evidence is contaminated because she found both human and vampire DNA in all the samples, and she can’t isolate either strain.”
Deron skimmed the results. “Both human and vampire DNA?”
“That’s what it looks like.” Valerie sighed, disappointment and exasperation knotting her shoulders. “I’m going to question him. There’s something sketchy going on here and he knows exactly what it is.”
“I’m going with you.” Deron made it a statement, not a request. “Seeing a familiar face may make him talk.”
Valerie rolled the notion over in her mind as she placed the reports back in Elena’s file. He had a point. But then again, Blaze could do the exact opposite and keep his mouth shut. “All right, let’s go,” she decided out loud, not wanting an ego war with her partner.
She grabbed Elena’s file and headed back to the interrogation room, an audience of officers now watching them. They entered the sterile box and shut the world out with a slam of the door. Blaze looked up from behind his dark sunglasses as Valerie set the file down on the aluminum table. She took a seat in front of Blaze while Deron hung back, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest.
The corner of Blaze’s mouth lifted as she began introductions. “This is Detective Deron Williams and I’m Detective Valerie Medeiros. We’d like to ask you some questions, mister . . .?”
She gave him the opportunity to tell her, but all he did was cross his big arms over his expanse chest, smirking as he mimicked Deron.
“Mr. Knight,” Valerie finally said. “Am I correct?”
She sensed his gaze flick back to her at the mention of his name. He kept up the silent treatment, and just as she opened her mouth to speak, he said, “You’re welcome, Deron.”
Valerie could almost feel Deron stiffen behind her, and she tried to recover before he could retaliate. “What happened the other night has nothing to do with why you’re here today.”
Deron pushed off the wall, lighting up. “Look, Blaze, whatever your name is, I’m grateful for your help and all, but it doesn’t excuse your connection with this woman. She was brutally murdered in her home the night you paid her a visit—”
“I didn’t hurt her,” Blaze insisted, his voice rolling into a growl.
“We have witnesses who can put you at the scene of the crime, close to the time of her death.”
“I didn’t hurt her.” Blaze straightened and unfolded his arms, his gloved hands hitting the table. The room suddenly felt too warm. Valerie resisted the urge to hold her hand up in front of him, like she used to in front of her parents’ fireplace.
Heat pumped off this guy like he was on fire.
What the fuck?
Her stomach churned as she studied the tattoos covering his entire upper body, memorizing the images she could discern between the interlocking tribal patterns. Deron was still rattling off behind her as she glimpsed a phoenix on Blaze’s right bicep, an archaic symbol of some sort on his left, a gothic-styled crucifix on his inner left forearm, and a series of words she couldn’t make out on his inner right forearm.
Not to mention the strange dragon-like creature on his back.
But what disturbed her most were the burn scars all over the distal half of both his forearms, making the dark ink appear to run toward his wrists. She’d felt the scars when she cuffed him, but she never had a chance to actually look at them. Pale pink tissue discolored his tawny skin and it progressively worsened as it approached his gloved hands. And these scars were old—very old.
Blaze couldn’t have seared his hands into Elena’s body two nights ago. Deron had been wrong. And if her partner wasn’t so caught up in grilling their suspect into the groun
d, he probably would’ve noticed.
Valerie blinked and switched her attention back to the conversation as angry voices filled her ears. She calmly opened Elena’s file and removed the first image on top. She slipped the high-resolution, eight-by-ten photograph across the table in front of Blaze, and as soon as he saw it, he stiffened.
“This is how we found Elena two days ago at 11:32 AM. She was mutilated and severely burned as she lay in bed. You were reported leaving her home at around nine in the morning. Are you saying you didn’t have any part in this?”
Blaze stared at the image, his expression neutral, but the fine muscles on his hard-edged face twitched. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he lifted the corner of the photograph with his exposed fingers. If only Valerie could see his eyes, for the eyes gave away everything. Maybe he knew that. Maybe that was why he wouldn’t take off his damn sunglasses.
His smoky voice was steady. “She was burned alive?”
“Yes. Only her, nothing else. Do you know anything about that?”
He fell silent and it seemed to stretch out for miles. “I didn’t do this,” he finally said. “I would never do anything like this. Not to her, not to anyone.”
Valerie’s heart thudded in her chest, unsure of whether or not she wanted to believe him. “How did you know her?”
“It doesn’t matter.”