by L. D. Rose
“Did you sleep with her?”
The weight of his hidden gaze slammed into her, making her skin prick with alarm. The room was stifling and it was getting harder and harder to breathe. The temperature had to be pushing a hundred, and he seemed to be at the center of it all, looking like a cool glass of water in a searing hot desert.
He didn’t answer but she wouldn’t let up. “We have your DNA. You left behind a shirt, socks. Blood.”
He shifted to look at Deron, his look bitter cold despite the heat. “Let me guess, from my Glock.”
“From many sources, yes,” Valerie said before Deron could burst into another tirade. “All the evidence points to you, Blaze, so why don’t you tell us what really happened?”
Blaze slid the image back over to her and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. His jaw ticked rampantly and she could almost hear his teeth grinding.
“I want to speak to my lawyer.”
Goddamn it. Valerie nearly swore out loud, her anger spiking to meet his. Game over.
“Fine.” She shoved the image back in the file without looking at it. “Trust me, you’ll need one.”
She stood, grabbing the file as she turned away from him, feeling his eyes burn holes into her back. Deron didn’t look any better than she felt, sweat popping on his brow and beading down his face. He looked incensed, flabbergasted, and just a hint of scared shitless.
As soon as they walked out of the room, Deron blurted, “What the fuck was that?”
Valerie’s pulse fluttered in her throat like a trapped butterfly. “I don’t know. But he’s definitely not human.”
Nausea strangled him, pushing bile into the back of his throat.
Blaze didn’t know the visual details contained in that photograph, but he had a pretty damn good idea.
Burned. God, Elena had been burned alive. And soon after he’d left her. If only he’d stayed an hour or two longer. If only he hadn’t been a coward, fearing the wrath of a woman as he ran out on her.
At least she would still be here today.
He thought of her face, her laugh, her smile. So young, so beautiful, with a long life ahead of her. Now she was dead.
And it was all because of him.
Blaze dragged a hand over his face as he hung his head. He should’ve known better. He should’ve known some fucking leech would follow him, bent on revenge. He should’ve known they’d try to hit him where it hurt, to take someone he cared about away from him, and now an innocent’s blood was on his hands.
Fuck. He should’ve stayed away from Elena Delgado.
She suffered because of you. They all suffer because of you.
He choked back the cruel voice of his conscience as someone knocked on the door. An officer entered without waiting for a response. “Knight?”
Blaze focused on the cop, who looked a grand total of about twelve years old. “Yeah?”
The kid walked in and placed a cordless phone on the table. “You’ve got one phone call. Make it count.”
He left as quickly as he came, trailing the sweet scent of fear in his wake. Calm down, B, or else you’ll turn this place into an incinerator. Blaze glanced at the phone before lifting his gaze to the mirrored window. He had an audience.
Too bad they didn’t know he could see them just as clearly.
Both detectives wore button-downs and slacks, their clean-cut clothes sharply contrasting the exhaustion on their faces. Williams yapped away, hands resting on his hips, while Medeiros leaned back against a wall, sipping coffee silently. Her free arm hugged her slender waist as she stared right back at Blaze, stewing in her angst. Blaze wondered if she listened to anything her partner said.
Detective Deron Williams. No good deed goes unpunished. Blaze didn’t think Deron had set him up, but the detective had thrown him under the bus anyway. He couldn’t blame the guy, but he still felt the knife in his back all the same.
Then there was Medeiros.
She looked like she belonged in Jersey with her big, no doubt Portuguese family, wearing designer clothes and digging rich men’s money. Yet here she was, a homicide detective in the nastiest part of the Bronx, arresting monsters like him all by her pretty self. There was something about her eyes, filled with vengeance, anger, and sadness, heavy with the weariness of a cop who’d witnessed far too many horrors for her years. Blaze saw it all right there in front of him, because no matter how well she pulled off a poker face, her eyes spoke volumes.
And for some ridiculous reason, he needed to prove his innocence to her.
He would never hurt Elena. Never in a million years. He would never lay his hands on a woman with malicious intent, not again, never again. He’d already suffered immensely for his sins—shit, he was still suffering—and the last thing he ever wanted was to drag another person into his brand of hell.
Goddamn it. He should’ve known better.
Blaze picked up the phone as Medeiros set her coffee down. He dialed Rome and his brother answered after the second ring.
“Yeah?” Rome sounded groggy, like he’d been sleeping.
“Hey.” Blaze felt like he was eighteen again, calling Daddy Davis from his jail cell. “I’m in trouble.”
“Looking for a lawyer, huh?”
“Yeah.” Blaze rubbed the stress lines from his forehead. “You around?”
“Now I am. Rome Knight, Juris Doctor to the rescue.”
Blaze’s lips twitched. “Thanks, man.”
“Anytime.”
“Hey, Rome—”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, B,” Rome said before Blaze finished. “I’ve got you, man. I’ll be there in a bit.”
Rome hung up and Blaze set the phone down, emptying the air from his lungs in a great whoosh. God, he needed a cigarette. He sat back in his chair, feeling positively wretched as he looked back at his spectators. Apparently, Medeiros had enough. She walked out of the observation room, throwing her coffee in the trash on her way out. Deron called to her, but she probably didn’t respond, because he turned his attention back on Blaze with a frown.
She was upset. Or disappointed. Maybe both.
Don’t worry, Detective. You’ll get your leech soon enough.
“How long can we keep him here?”
“Not for long,” Deron answered as he approached Valerie’s desk. “Technically, we have jack on him, and his lawyer should be here any minute. I ran his prints through the database and came up with nothing, so he doesn’t have a record.”
“Did Friedman find anything on the Order of the Senary?”
“Just that it’s a government agency, private sector. Nothing else.”
Valerie growled in frustration as she glanced at her computer screen. “He doesn’t have an address either. No birth certificate, no social security number, nothing. It’s like he doesn’t exist.”
Maybe he doesn’t.
“His license didn’t turn up anything?”
“Just a date of birth and a name. The address leads right back to the Order. It’s all on lockdown.”
“Sounds like some serious black ops shit to me,” Deron said, still looking a little rattled. Valerie was sure she looked worse.
“We’re missing something.” She thought for a moment, scouring her brain. “We’ve got to be.”
Deron leaned on her desk, closing the distance between them. “What the hell happened in there? Why was it so hot?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the ventilation—”
“Come on, Val, I’m serious. That shit had nothing to do with the ventilation. That shit came from him, and we need to know how and why.”
Valerie recalled the handprint branded around Elena’s throat. You’ve got that right. “What do you want me to say, Deron? Maybe we should go back in t
here and ask him.”
An officer popped his head into the cubicle. “Guy’s lawyer is here.”
“Okay, great, we’ll be out in a minute,” Deron said but Valerie was already on her feet. “Where are you going?”
“To see who this bastard hangs out with. After all, your friends say a lot about who you are.”
And, boy, did this guy tell her a lot.
Leaning against the reception desk was another big male, a hair shorter and a bit thinner than Blaze, but no less intimidating. He signed his name into the log and looked up as they approached. He too wore sunglasses, his face pleasantly neutral and nice to look at.
Like Blaze, he appeared exotic, with skin just as tawny and hair just as dark, giving Valerie the impression he might be a relative. Dark clothes, leather motorcycle jacket, a bit more conservative but close enough.
“He’s not a lawyer,” Valerie muttered under her breath.
“No shit. And what’s with the shades?” Deron said before they were within hearing distance. “There’s no sunshine in here, fellas.”
Valerie put on her game face and extended her hand to their new arrival. “Hello, I’m Detective Valerie Medeiros. This is my partner, Deron Williams.”
The corner of the guy’s mouth lifted in a familiar smirk. “Rome,” he said in a clear baritone as he took her hand. “Rome Knight.”
As soon as his hand touched hers, an electric tingle shot up her arm, turning her skin into gooseflesh and bringing the fine hairs to attention. She nearly gasped and wrenched her hand away, but somehow she managed to keep her hold on him without shrieking. Her eyes went wide from the bizarre sensation, like a watered down version of when she’d been hit with a Taser back in her training days.
Rome released her and gave Deron a nod as if to say, nothing wrong here. “Pleasure to meet you both. Shall we?”
“Right this way.” Deron motioned toward the interrogation room.
Valerie lost the ability to speak, watching Rome numbly as he moved past her. What the fuck was that?
“Knight, huh?” Deron said. “You related to Blaze?”
“Yes, we’re brothers.”
“What a coincidence. Are you a lawyer, Mr. Knight?”
Rome handed Deron a business card, making it appear from thin air like a cheap card trick. “Harvard Law. Proof enough?”
Deron inspected it, sarcasm at full bore. “Sure.”
As their voices grew distant, Valerie finally snapped out of it, shaking her head as she rubbed her hand. She forced herself to move, balling her affected hand into a fist.
Get a grip, Val. It’s friggin’ static.
By the time she reached them, they were standing in the observation room. Blaze was back at baseline, slouched in his chair and staring at the mirrored window.
“I have one question and one question only,” Rome said as he faced both Deron and Valerie. “Do you have any solid evidence against my client?”
“You mean your brother?” Deron jabbed.
Valerie pinned him with a glare.
“Whatever you prefer to call him, Detectives. Do you have anything to build a case against him?”
Deron and Valerie exchanged glances. Findings are inconclusive. “He’s a person of interest,” Valerie answered. “We have eyewitness accounts—”
Rome held up a hand. “I asked about evidence.”
Prick. “No. Nothing concrete yet.”
“Well then, I’d rather discuss this with my client elsewhere. No need to waste our time any further.” He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, eyeing them expectantly.
Valerie wanted to tear his sunglasses off his face and throw them.
“Your brother is still under investigation,” Deron cut in, trying to recoup. “I suppose you don’t have any information about his whereabouts two days ago, specifically in the morning hours?”
“No. He tends to run off a lot.”
I’m sure he does. “Don’t leave the city,” Valerie snapped. “Either of you.”
Rome smiled that Mona Lisa smile, as if he knew some great secret of the world. “We wouldn’t dare.”
Deron practically shook with anger beside her and left with abrupt strides toward the interrogation room, barking out Blaze’s name.
He stood and stretched his big body, sparing the window one last glance before he exited the room.
“After you.” Rome indicated the door.
“Cut the pretentious bullshit,” Valerie snarled as she walked out. She could almost feel the steam blow out of her ears. “You’re not fooling anyone.”
Deron waited in the hall as Valerie crossed paths with Blaze. They stared each other down, his face deadpan and unreadable. She felt that alien heat pumping off him and kept her distance, avoiding touching him at all costs. If this was some kind of war of wills or silent threat of retribution, he had another think coming.
This was far from over.
Both brothers clapped each other’s hands and shoulders in greeting, but neither exchanged words. Rome turned to Deron first, offering his hand. “Thank you for your time, Detective Williams.”
Deron took it, face wary. Valerie clasped her hands behind her back. Once was enough.
“And you, Detective Medeiros.” Rome inclined his head gracefully, so charming and polite, so full of bullshit. “Please feel free to contact me anytime if you need more information. Best of luck on the case.”
And with that, he was gone, following her prime suspect out of the station.
Valerie released a pent-up breath, letting out a growl of frustration along with it. “What an asshole.” She glanced at Deron to find a strange look on his face. He appeared dazed, disoriented, like he just woke up and didn’t know where he was.
“Hey, Williams.” She snapped her fingers in front of his nose and he flinched. “You there?”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” He shook his head and smiled a little. “Sorry. I should get back to work, I have a lot of shit to catch up on.”
He walked off and Valerie frowned, watching him beeline for his desk. What the hell? She’d expected him to rant and rave, or at least say something about Rome.
Maybe he’d felt the same tingle she had when he shook Rome’s hand.
She headed back to her desk, keeping an eye on Deron until he disappeared behind the wall of his cubicle. She would have to ask him about it later.
But first, she had to report to the Sarge.
Valerie grabbed Elena’s file off her desk and approached the offices of the big shots, already dreading the impending follow-up. Not only did she have nothing concrete against Blaze, but there had been zero progress made on the case. And after this fiasco, she was going to get an earful, with a tablespoon of scolding and a dash of pissed off.
She knocked on the glass door, over the black decals that read, ‘Sergeant Geoffrey Stein, New York Police Department, Forty-Eighth Precinct.’ The blinds behind the door were closed, but the door was unlocked and ajar. She peered inside to find Geoff on the phone with a smile on his face and a laugh in his voice. Valerie gave him an apologetic look, mouthing the word “sorry,” but he waved her in. She entered and closed the door before taking a seat in front of him.
He finished the conversation and hung up, still chuckling. He looked at her with shining dark eyes and shook his head. “Kids these days,” he tsked, “thinking those vigilantes are real superheroes. The media’s controlling the fucking world, I tell you. Brainwashing everyone with nonsense.”
Valerie’s gut tightened. “Yeah.” She forced a smile. “Nonsense.”
“So what’s up, Medeiros?” Geoff sat back in his leather chair and folded his arms behind his head, showing off crescents of sweat in the armpits of his button-down shirt. “What have you got there?”
“W
ell.” She cleared her throat. “I want to update you on the Delgado case. Deron told me he’d relayed the details to you about our suspect—”
“Wait a minute, hold up.” Geoff straightened, brow creased in a frown. “We closed the Delgado case this morning.”
Valerie’s jaw slackened, her gut now tying into one giant knot. “What?”
“Yeah, the perp was one of Konstantinov’s bloodsuckers. Didn’t Williams tell you about the DNA results?”
She searched his face for any hint of deception but found none. He was serious. Besides, he wouldn’t joke about something like this. “But Sarge, our suspect just left.”
“What suspect? What are you talking about? We have no suspects.”
Valerie gaped at him in disbelief. But he just walked out! Unsure of how to respond, she opened Elena’s file and shuffled through the paperwork with growing alarm. Her arrest report was gone. The photocopy of Blaze’s license and his registration—gone. All indication of him, gone. She searched frantically for the DNA results, and when she finally found them, they were entirely different.
Impression: Suspect is a third generation vampire of the Temhota strain.
Horror slammed her heart against her ribcage. “No, this can’t be. This can’t be the same report—”
“Williams, get in here.” Geoff was on the phone again and she hadn’t even noticed.
Valerie’s hand tingled and she stared at it, thinking of the contact with Rome, the electricity in her arm, like a Taser, like an electrode, rewiring circuits. Manipulating neurons.
What had he done to her?
To hell with that. What had he done to everyone else besides her?