Forged in Flame

by Rabe, Michelle

  The lieutenant hadn’t bought into her theory because she didn’t have enough evidence. He didn’t want to reopen three closed cases on the basis of her hunch; he needed facts. If she could find more evidence, he’d promised to view her theory with an open mind, but that wouldn’t help the next victim.

  She sighed and flopped into her chair, folding her arms over her chest. The murder board across the room loomed in her line of sight, taunting her. Voices of the dead echoed through her mind… ridiculing and telling her that she’d screwed up the whole investigation. Cursing, she dropped her elbows on her desk and cradled her head.

  “This isn’t a normal killer you’re dealing with.” Eric’s words whispered through her mind.

  Now, she knew he was right—the puzzle was coming together between Eric’s input and information the caller provided—this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill serial killer.

  Of course he’s right, there’s no such thing as a run-of-the-mill serial killer. Her mind turned over everything that years on the job and training told her about the men and women who had a compulsion to kill.

  An hour later, Grace’s mind swam with theories, but none of them made any sense. She scrubbed her hands over her face and rubbed her temples, feeling a dull ache beginning behind her eyes.

  “Nothing fits,” she whispered. The idea that we have two serials, both active at the same time, doesn’t track. Another theory that it’s a pair or more working in concert is outrageous. One or more of them would have made a mistake and done something to leave a trace at one of the crime scenes. Some investigators think the victims were all killed at a different location and then dumped, but that doesn’t track if Corrine Curtis is one of the pattern because she was found at home, and the autopsy results showed the body hadn’t been moved. Grace closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair feeling a monster of a headache descending down on her.

  “We’re very good at covering our tracks. If we aren’t, then we die, it’s as simple as that.” Eric’s words came back to her like TV reruns. His direct way of speaking that night had haunted her.

  What if he was telling the truth? she thought. He must have been. Roberts agreed.

  Grace sat up straight and frowned, trying to remember more details of that night. She put her hands over her eyes and pictured Eric sitting in that room. Going through the entire conversation in her mind, she struggled to remember his tells from countless poker games played before she left New Orleans.

  “Shit!” Grace stood up and stalked out of her cubicle. That man… vampire, whatever, is going to give me answers whether or not he wants to. She shook her head, hoping that it would help to clear the cobwebs.

  Forty-five minutes later, Grace found herself in front of the house she’d run from a few nights ago. She frowned as memories of that night flooded back into her mind, including getting drunk with Roberts in a vampire bar as he’d spilled his guts about working with them.

  Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she wrapped her hand around the heavy brass knocker and did the lift and slam thing, three times before letting it go. Irritated and impatient, Grace wanted to keep pounding on the door until someone answered. Then she thought better of it, not pissing off the immortal killers seemed like a good place to start.

  “Can I help you?” A woman’s voice broke into her reverie.

  Grace looked up to see Morgan, the raven-haired woman she’d met that night with Eric, standing in the doorway, waiting for something. The other woman smiled, and it made her green eyes flash in the streetlights.

  “Is Eric in?” Grace asked, feeling like a school girl asking for her boyfriend.

  The smile widened and something else flashed in the woman’s eyes, something mischievous. Grace realized she’d made a mistake.

  “Why yes, he is. But before I show you to him, I would like to know what your intentions are where my protégé is concerned.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your intentions where Eric is concerned. What are they?” She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms across her chest.

  “Why is it any of your business?”

  “Because he’s young, and certain kinds of entanglements with human beings can be… tricky. I would like to know in advance, so I can speak with him about how to handle those situations.” She shrugged.

  “Are you talking about personal relationships?”

  “There’s more than just that.” Morgan smiled.

  “I’ve known him for a long time,” Grace said, though she didn’t know why she felt like opening up to the other woman this way. “We drifted apart after I moved here. I’d like to go back to being friends.”

  “Nothing more?”

  “Right now I’d settle on having my friend back in my life. Something tells me it’s going to be important in the next few months.”

  “Welcome to the other side of the looking glass.” She held out her right hand and waited. “I’m Morgan.”

  After a moment, Grace took the other woman’s hand and gave it a firm shake. “Grace.”

  “A pleasure. If you’ll follow me…” Without waiting for an answer, she turned her back and entered the house.

  Grace shrugged and followed Morgan through the elaborate home to a room that looked like it had once been a library. Now, it resembled something out of a television cop show. Three large boards were set up around the room, one with names and photos of what she assumed were the victims, the second had a map of the city with pins stuck in it at various locations, and the third contained lists of the locations the victims frequented.

  Hmm. Looking for a pattern. “How can I help?” Grace asked matter-of-factly, no hint of small talk in her tone.

  Morgan waited until Grace stepped inside the room and closed the door.

  “I need more information,” Eric said, a frown curling his lips. “I need to know what your task force does. Also, I’ll need access to your all of case files and notes too, if possible.”

  “Easier said than done, Kincade. If I get caught, at the very least I’ll lose my job. That’s if I’m lucky. More likely, my ass will be grass and soon enough I’ll be watching my back behind bars.” She shook her head from side to side in disbelief and brought both hands up in a warding gesture. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  “What if one of them asked?” He gestured to the boards where color photos of each victim were held up with small black magnets. “What if their families asked? Gracie, I get it, I do. I’ve been in your shoes.” He approached her as he would a skittish animal. “I’m sorry, but I am out of options until he kills a few more times. I don’t have what I need to get Nicholas close enough.” He felt like a jerk, but said it anyway. “I need to know Gracie, I need to know what you know.”

  “I can’t. Not just because of the risk, but I can’t just walk out with an active serial file.”

  “We can handle that part.” Nicholas’s voice filled the room from just inside the door. Grace turned to face the other vampire and cocked her head to one side.

  “What are you going to do… some of that weird hoodoo they sell to unsuspecting tourists in the quarter?”

  “No. I’ll sneak in without being seen by anyone or anything and slip the copy from your desk.”

  “There are two major problems with that plan. One—what do I say when the file comes up missing? Two—how are you going to get past surveillance cameras? They’re everywhere, and it’s not as if you can waltz in, disable them, and pray that no one will notice. We are talking about trained cops here, not some rent-a-cop just clocking in and out.”

  “So, I won’t take the report. I’ll find a way to copy it.”

  “All print jobs can be traced back to the terminal that sent the request.” Grace shook her head again. This is a bad idea all around.

  Nicholas smiled, something calculating in his eyes. “Tell me, Grace, who in your department is a real sleaze?” He raised an eyebrow and pushed harder when he saw her stiffen at the mention of a sleaze. “Who really sh
ouldn’t be a cop, but somehow manages to weasel his or her way through case after case, inquiry after inquiry, screw up after screw up?”

  “No.” Grace slammed her fist into the table. “No, no, no. I will not allow you to ruin someone’s career.”

  “They have already done the damage. I simply mean to speed up the process.” Nicholas’s smile appeared neither charming, nor heartwarming as he slipped passed her natural mental defenses. He could seek out the information he needed, but then Abbi would have to start the process of finding a new human informant from scratch. Nicholas hated losing valuable time, so he waited.

  Grace shook her head and sighed. “Thomas Black. Reports of sexual harassment have surfaced, but nothing ever sticks.” She rolled her eyes, unable to keep the anger out of her voice. “I swear the guy’s Teflon.”

  “Thank you. What are your days off this week? I want to be sure this is done when you’re not at the precinct. It might also help if you have a good alibi prepared, just in case.”

  “I’m off tomorrow and the night after. Just tell me when you’re going to do it, and I’ll make sure to be busy… with an audience.”

  Nicholas grabbed a small scrap of paper, wrote down a phone number and handed it to her. “I’ll call you from this number. Let it ring three times and hang up.”

  “Do you need me to do anything else?”

  “No.”

  “Anything you need me to do?” Eric asked.

  “Yes, you and Morgan will need a public alibi for tomorrow evening. Since you’ve popped back up in Grace’s life.”

  “Were you a human cop?”

  “No. I was a farmer, husband, and father in my human life, Miss Callahan. Nothing more, nothing less.” A clever smile curled Nicholas’s lips as he spoke, and Grace wanted to push him for more information, but it seemed like a very bad idea.

  “Well, you could be one of us.”

  “I’ve had centuries of practice hiding. I think I can manage to get my hands on one file.”

  “And if you get caught?”

  “I also have ways of getting out of difficult situations,” Nicholas said.

  “After you have the file, what will you do?” Grace asked.

  Eric jumped into the conversation again. “I’ll see what I can learn from it and hope we can stop… this guy.” He paused, catching himself before saying Jayson’s name.

  “Will you need anything else from me?”

  “I don’t know until we see the file,” Eric answered with a shrug.

  “What about after you find the guy? Roberts mentioned something about working with, what did he call it, an enforcer?”

  “Yes. You and I can talk about that once this situation is all cleared up. I’d rather not have you involved more than absolutely necessary right now.” A slight frown showed on Eric’s face, but Grace couldn’t decipher its meaning.

  “All right. If there’s nothing more, I’m going home and crash. I haven’t gotten enough sleep the past few days.” She snatched her jacket and purse from the table. “Call me, Eric?” Her words were tremulous. She hated it, but there wasn’t anything else to be done. She’d put it out there, whether or not he picked up on the signal, that was another question.

  “Yeah,” he said though he didn’t look directly at her, distracted by something on his laptop screen.

  “Would you like me to show you the way out?” Nicholas asked.

  “No, thanks, I’m good,” Grace said and turned to leave. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nicholas flash Eric a frustrated look and then nod. Well, looks like one of them picked up on it. Not the one it was meant for though. Mentally shaking herself, Grace showed herself out.

  “You know there’s more to this immortal life than just work, Eric,” Nicholas said once the front door closed.

  “Says the workaholic.”

  “I take time to relax,” Nicholas insisted.

  “When was the last time you and Morgan took off for even a couple of days? Not because you needed to escape, like the retreat you did three years ago. I mean just to relax and spend some time with each other? When was the last time you took her out to the opera?”

  “Touché, but I am an old married man. You, my friend, are still young and single.”

  “Point taken.” Eric held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll take some time off once this situation is under control.”

  “Ah, but then there will be other situations. Trust me.”

  “Do you want to give Jayson more chances to kill?”

  “No.”

  “Then, no offense meant, but get out. Let me do my thing, and we’ll see where it gets us.”

  “Very well. Please call me if there is anything you need, anything at all.” Nicholas strolled out of the room and reached for his cell phone to text his wife about going to see a movie.

  30 - San Francisco, CA - November 7, 2012

  Eric stood in the library, staring at the boards covered with the information they’d managed to gather over the previous weeks. The images and writing on them began to blend together, becoming nothing more than colored blurs before his eyes.

  With a groan, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes as if the pressure would somehow ease the pounding in his head. He let out a frustrated sigh and started pacing, a habit he’d developed over the three years he’d been working for Morgan. That woman could write a thesis on how to pace. He snorted with laughter.

  The pacing circuit brought him in front of the board covered with photos and news clippings of Emily Stanton and her neighbor, Steve. Other victims were listed, but he wasn’t as interested in them. There was something different about these deaths; they were more personal.

  “What are we missing?” he muttered under his breath, rocking back and forth in place. Staring at Emily’s frozen gaze, her eyes were full of life, a bright smile captured forever with a youth that would never fade. She had been ripped from the world. “What was so special about you?”

  As expected, the photograph didn’t answer, and feeling his frustration begin to get the better of him, Eric blew his breath out in a huff, ruffling the edge of the clipping with her photo. Something slipped out from behind the paper, a strip of newsprint he hadn’t noticed before. Eric pulled the clipping from the board and opened the flap, glancing over the new information he’d found.

  The write-up covered everything about Emily’s life that her family would want to remember and nothing about the horrible way she had died. Eric sighed. He’d lost count of the number of these things he’d seen as a cop, and it seemed to be his lot in his vampiric life, as well.

  In the final paragraph, at the end of the usual recounting, the reporter included a note that the family planned to attend a neighborhood vigil being held for the two victims. Frowning as a voice that sounded a lot like Grace’s nagged in the back of his mind, Eric turned his attention to the clipping about the neighbor, Steve Dawson.

  He had been unremarkable, almost too nondescript to be believed. The guy had no living relatives, and a job so dull that Eric doubted anyone cared that he had died. Even in death, he suffered the indignity of being outshone by another victim.

  The press had latched onto the sensational death of the beautiful young woman. Her body had been positioned like some strange version of a wax museum figure. The authorities attributed her killing to the vampire killer… but not Steve’s. Eric put the clipping about Steve back on the board and stepped away to study the big picture.

  “Come on, somebody talk to me,” he said out loud. As he turned and started out of the room, an idea hit him like poisonous inspiration. “Shit!” He spun around, grabbed the clipping about Emily and raced out of the room. He skidded to a halt on the hardwood floor between the living room and kitchen, earning a pair of confused looks from Morgan and Christophe.

  Ignoring their indignation, he asked. “Where’s Nicholas?”

  “Second floor study. He’s in with…” Morgan began but, Eric spun to his left and climbed the stairs two at a time
.

  With a large dose of adrenaline flowing through his veins, this resembled the feeling of chasing down a hot lead when he’d been on the force. Eric stopped in front of the study door and forced himself to calm down and breathe, to center himself before knocking and waiting.

  31 - San Francisco, CA - November 8, 2012

  Morgan frowned, looking at the security monitor beside the front door. Zachary stood on the stoop tapping his cane against the ground in a quick, distracted rhythm. Without knowing it, he looked straight into the hidden camera, and what Morgan witnessed disturbed her. She’d known that the poison would take its toll, but this disheveled mess wasn’t what she’d expected.

  When she opened the door, he fidgeted with his hands, seemed confused and waiting for something. At first, he didn’t speak. Morgan knew she had to take matters into her own hands.

  “Zachary, come in. Tell me what’s going on,” she ordered though she fought to keep her tone neutral, not wanting to spook the younger vampire.

  “Samair,” he said as he pushed past her shoving paperwork into her hand.

  Morgan raised an eyebrow, closed the door and smoothed the rumpled sheet of paper as best she could. A frown deepened on her features as she read: “He’s calling you in for judgment about what happened at your Halloween Ball?”

  “It says that I allowed thirty-odd vampires to come to harm in my home while they were under my protection, by the ancient rules of hospitality.” Zachary’s voice held none of its usual emotion as he spoke.

  “That’s bullshit.” Morgan slammed the hand with the paper in it on the bar hard enough that something cracked. “And he knows it.”

  “He doesn’t seem to give a shit.” Zachary sighed and flopped into a wing chair near the sofa. “I am called for three nights hence.”

  “Do you want me to talk to Nicholas?”

  “I turned my back on the Dynasty.” He shook his head. “I can’t go running to Nicholai every time I have trouble with the local Lord.”