The Ian Dex Supernatural Thriller Series: Books 1 - 4 (Las Vegas Paranormal Police Department Box Sets)

by John P. Logsdon

  I shouldn’t have worried.

  Felicia was in full wolf form now, meaning her clothes were torn to shreds and she was big and hairy with a long muzzle. This look wasn’t exactly what I’d call attractive. Deadly, yes, but not attractive.

  Two vampires were lying on the ground, shredded.

  There was nobody else around.

  Felicia wasn’t done, though. She was sniffing the air, trying to catch the scent of her next victim.

  “Felicia,” I yelled, “heel!”

  Rachel slapped me again and this time Felicia gave me a “Do you want to rethink what you just said?” look.

  “Sorry,” I stated quickly. “I was just…” I trailed off and cleared my throat. “Anyway, I don’t want you inadvertently attacking the normal.”

  “I won’t.” Her voice was deeper and came out in a growl.

  “I’m sure you think that, but there—”

  “I won’t,” she repeated with menace.

  “Right.”

  She looked up the stairs near the end of the room. “I’m going.”

  “No,” I commanded, knowing I had to keep control of the situation. “I can’t have you going berserk. It’s too risky.”

  “I said—”

  “And I said it’s not happening.” Our eyes met. Hers were red. Mine were watering. “Now get back into human form while we take care of finding the lady.”

  She growled, but I held my stare until she tore her eyes away. Dealing with werewolves was rarely fun. Fortunately, Felicia was able to keep her senses about her enough to honor the chain of command.

  “Griff and Chuck,” I said, quickly changing the point of discussion, “secure the upstairs.”

  They ran off.

  “Jasmine, stay here with Felicia and make sure nobody gets out.”

  “You got it, Chief,” Jasmine replied as she patted Felicia’s fur, clearly working to calm her partner down.

  “Warren,” I said, turning to the wizard, “I have a feeling we’re going to find this normal—”

  “Her name is Charlotte Davenport,” Rachel interjected.

  “Swell,” I said, noting in my tone of voice that I honestly didn’t care at the moment. “Anyway, she’s most likely in the basement.”

  “Why?” said Warren.

  “Because that’s how these things are done,” I explained. “Just watch any movie where there’s a kidnapping or a hostage situation and you’ll find that they’re almost always in the basement.”

  “Not if it’s a bank robbery,” Warren pointed out.

  “Is this a bank robbery?” I asked pointedly.

  “There’s another flaw with that theory,” Rachel said as Warren studied his feet. “There’s no basement in this building.”

  I went to reply, but she was right. Damn it.

  A quick look around the room told me I was in an art gallery of some sort. I was not much in the way of art collecting, but a mostly empty space with paintings hanging on the walls with little lights above them told me all I needed to know.

  “Then what’s that door lead to?” I asked.

  They both looked at me dully.

  I reached out.

  “You sure you want to do that?” Warren said. “Could be a rune on that door.”

  “Could you check?” I asked with frustrated sarcasm.

  “You got it, Chief,” he said, “but it’ll take time to figure them out.”

  Rachel grunted at Warren. “I’ll search for the runes and you disable any we find.”

  This worked out perfectly since Rachel could cast spells fast. She’d be able to highlight any runes in the area much more quickly than Warren could. He’d still have to disable them, but at least it wouldn’t take twice as long.

  She motioned about with her hands for a few seconds and then launched a spell at the door, sending down cascades of light like snow flurries.

  “Nothing.”

  “Good,” I said, reaching out and pushing the door open.

  It was dark inside, but my eyes adjusted almost immediately. It was just a closet. There were boxes stacked up, shelves with various painting supplies, a mop and a broom, and…

  I peered down and saw a thin crack of light coming from the back of the space.

  Rachel went for the light switch, but I caught her hand and lowered it until she was pointing at the crack of light I’d seen.

  “Huh,” she said.

  I flipped over to my connector so that we could communicate without being heard.

  “Obviously there’s something in there,” I more thought than said, but it was effectively the same thing via the connector. “Check for runes, please?”

  Rachel did. Again, there were none.

  This made sense seeing that we were standing in a building that was owned or rented by a normal. But the supers who were holding her hostage may have had some skills with runes, or maybe they even had a wizard of their own.

  “I’m going through. Cover me.”

  Pulling forth Boomy, I got set, took a deep breath, and shoved through the door.

  Chapter 5

  It opened up into the kitchen.

  “Good find, Ian,” Rachel said in snarky way. “If we ever run into another great flour caper, you’ll be the guy to call.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “There was a great flour caper?” asked Warren.

  Both Rachel and I stared at him for a moment, regarding his intellect. Well, at least I was doing that. I could only assume Rachel was, too. All I knew was that Rachel wasn’t actively judging my smarts, or lack thereof, and that was good enough for me.

  “Mmm!”

  I spun to find a woman tied to a chair. She was in the shadows by a small table.

  Next to her stood two very rough-looking fellows.

  “Drop ‘em,” the guy with a beard said.

  “What are we dropping, again?” I asked, feeling somewhat concerned.

  “Your gun, idiot,” Rachel answered for the man, demonstrating that she was again judging my intellect.

  “Oh, right.”

  I lowered my gun to the floor.

  “Kick it over.”

  I did.

  Mr. Beard snapped up Boomy. This made me rather uncomfortable. I didn’t like it when other people handled my weapon.

  “It’s gonna be fun shootin’ you three,” Mr. Beard said as he set his gun down and took aim with mine.

  Unfortunately for him, Jasmine and Felicia had walked in from the other side of the kitchen, startling the guy.

  I dived forward into a roll as he unleashed a .50 caliber round. It sailed over me as I placed my feet on the underside of the table and kicked it straight up. Ms. Davenport was far enough out of the way that the table didn’t impact her, but Mr. Beard and his counterpart, a weathered-looking old guy, took the brunt of the hit dead on.

  Mr. Beard fired Boomy again, but this time he only sufficed in knocking a hole in the ceiling.

  Rachel and Jasmine launched a line of fireballs at the two men as they screamed and hit the ground, causing Boomy to bounce around on the marble tiles. I’d yanked out my smaller gun and unloaded it through the table.

  Everything went silent except for the sobbing cries of Ms. Davenport.

  I shoved the table out of the way, picked up Boomy, and pointed it at Mr. Beard.

  It was too late. His eyes were lifeless. So were his buddy’s. Not only had the fireballs spelled doom, my breaker bullets hit both of them solidly.

  “Griff?” I said through the connector. “Chuck? You guys okay?”

  “All clear up here, Chief,” Chuck replied. “How are things there? We heard noises.”

  “We’re good. Come on back down.”

  By now, Jasmine had gotten over to the captive normal and set about untying her.

  Ms. Davenport was quite the looker. Crimson hair, green eyes, high cheekbones, and she was dressed just like you’d expect an art gallery owner in Las Vegas to dress—to the nines.

  “Oh, I don’t k
now how to thank you,” she said as Jasmine worked on freeing her hands. “You have no idea how terrified I was! I thought those men were going to kill me!”

  “Think nothing of it,” I said as I moved back toward Rachel and Warren, always feeling uncomfortable with these praise situations. “We’re just doing our jobs.”

  Ms. Davenport looked like someone who had a serious need for a hug at that moment. She was clearly in a state of shock as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Once Jasmine finished untying her legs, Ms. Davenport rushed from the chair and came directly toward me.

  What was I to do? I had this effect on the ladies in general, but when I was coming in as the knight in shining armor, I was downright irresistible.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, opening my arms in anticipation.

  She pushed past me and buried her head in Warren’s chest, hugging him with all her might.

  “You saved me,” she said as the wizard’s face registered the same level of shock that I was currently feeling.

  “What the fuck?” I said to nobody in particular.

  Rachel, Jasmine, and Felicia all found this rather amusing. They made this abundantly clear by chuckling. Rachel walked over to join the other two ladies on my squad.

  “Laugh it up, assholes,” I said to them with a frown. “Not cool.”

  “What’s going on?” Chuck asked as he and Griff entered the room, looking over at Warren and Ms. Davenport, who were still engaged in an embrace.

  “Ian thought he was all that,” Rachel said, still smiling from ear to ear. “Turns out that our art dealer is not attracted to him in the least.”

  I balked. “She never said that!”

  “Artistic liberty,” Rachel countered. “We are in a studio, after all.”

  Warren was standing there like a deer in the headlights. He was staring at me apologetically, too. Not that it was his fault or anything, but I appreciated the sentiment.

  “Knock, knock,” came the booming voice of Portman from the main room. “Any bodies we gotta pick up or are you still in the process of killin’ people?”

  “In here,” called Chuck.

  Portman and Harvey stepped around the corner a couple of seconds later. They looked similar to each other, almost as if they could have been brothers. Tall, bulky, hairy. It was a standard werebear thing.

  “Looks like Warren’s got himself a girlfriend, eh?” said Portman.

  “She just needed someone to hug,” answered Rachel, “and she found Ian repulsive.”

  “What?”

  “Ah,” Portman said, nodding at Harvey. “Told ya, man. Some women just prefer that scrawny-guy look.”

  Harvey handed over a twenty. Why they were betting on something like that was beyond me. I knew they played poker together and they also hit the casinos a lot, but resorting to betting on something so menial as what women—in general—liked or didn’t, teetered on the edge of gambling addiction.

  “Or the not-Ian-Dex look,” Rachel noted.

  I winced at her. “Seriously?”

  She glanced away as her smile quickly faded. It was clear that even she realized she’d overstepped a boundary with that remark. Ribbing was fine, but being downright mean about it wasn’t really Rachel’s thing…typically.

  “Thank you for saving me,” Ms. Davenport said, looking longingly up into Warren’s eyes.

  “He flashed a light,” I complained. “That’s it! I nearly got shot…twice!”

  She ignored me and just kept holding Warren as if being in his arms would ward off even the nastiest monster.

  Everyone else just giggled.

  Chapter 6

  After Harvey and Portman split with the bad guys and the dead guys, I sent everyone else back to the office so Rachel and I could speak with Ms. Davenport to get the full story. Much to my chagrin, she insisted that Warren stay behind.

  We went to a lounge area that had a couple of red fabric chairs and a floral loveseat. Ms. Davenport and Warren took the loveseat.

  “So what exactly happened, Ms. Davenport?” I asked, trying to ignore the way she was ogling the PPD’s wizard.

  She closed her eyes as if gathering herself together.

  “They were outside chanting things at the gallery,” she said, gripping Warren tightly. “It was like they were placing a curse on my place of business. I was so terrified.”

  This wasn’t going to be easy.

  “You’re safe now, Ms. Davenport,” I said in a steady voice.

  “That’s right,” agreed Warren. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Unable to stop myself, I said, “And as long as the only things that attack us are a bunch of skeletons, he’ll be the protector you’ve always dreamed about. Until then, we need some answers.”

  “Dick,” said Rachel with a cough.

  I ignored her.

  “What I need to know is if you knew who those people were, Ms. Davenport.” She was looking off into nowhere. “Ms. Davenport? Did you know who those men were?”

  “Yes,” she said distantly. “Before I was an art dealer, I worked as a parole officer.”

  “For the supernatural community?” asked Rachel, leaning forward.

  Ms. Davenport shook her head in confusion.

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” I answered smoothly. “You were saying that you were a parole officer, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I did the job to the letter,” she said, just above a whisper. “The two men you killed in the kitchen were out on parole a number of years ago, but they failed to show up as scheduled on multiple occasions. I warned them repeatedly, but they wouldn’t listen.” She was visibly shaken. “The last time they didn’t show, I reported them. They were taken into custody and they swore they’d get me for ratting them out.”

  She began sobbing on Warren’s jacket. He was rubbing her head and saying “There, there” a lot.

  I pressed on. “How long ago were you a parole officer, Ms. Davenport?”

  Rachel gave me a look that conveyed I should show a little compassion. I don’t know how trying to figure out a way to further protect this woman wasn’t a sign of compassion, but maybe I was reading things wrong.

  “There, there,” I said without inflection while staring at Rachel.

  She face-palmed in response.

  “I quit the very day they threatened me,” Ms. Davenport answered finally. “That was three years ago.”

  “Were there any others or was it just the two men that we ended in your kitchen?”

  “Just them,” she answered without looking at me. “I assume the rest of the people they’d brought were friends or something. I didn’t know any of them.”

  So this was pretty cut and dried, then. Revenge case. I’d seen them pretty often.

  They usually happened when someone revealed the whereabouts of a supernatural who was past due on a reintegration cycle. Newbies in the Overworld—the land of the normals—were held on a tight leash of thirty days per cycle. This meant they could live up with the normals for thirty days, but then had to go back to the Netherworld. It only took an hour or two to complete, but some folks considered it stupid or pointless, and so they refused. The result of that decision was a couple of Retrievers—Netherworld PPD officers who retrieved people who didn’t report in—knocking at your door. If you went nicely, they’d slap your wrist and be done with it. If not, you’d end up in prison and have to go through multiple reintegration cycles until they felt you were ready for release. Then, if you wanted to come back to the Overworld, you faced even more cycles. When a person ran from the system, the chances of someone turning them in was high. This was because it’d score that person points with the Netherworld council, and it was always wise to be in favor with the council. More often than not, the name of the squealer was learned and the imprisoned party went out of their way to pay that person back. We sometimes saw Retrievers on our route. Local PPD officers and Retrievers weren’t
exactly known for getting along. Jurisdictional debates and all that got in the way. I never really cared about things of that nature. If they had a perp who was on the run, I let them handle it. If I had a perp on the run and they wanted to get involved, great. As long as the job got done, why should I care who did it?

  Regardless, this was a different matter altogether. Ms. Davenport was a normal who was acting as a parole officer. This meant that the guys we’d just killed were being imprisoned in the jail system set up for normals. That wasn’t uncommon, and the Netherworld cops allowed it as long as the criminals were kept in cells alone and were allowed back to the Netherworld for proper reintegration. There was no sense in a vampire going nuts in a prison and chomping into a bunch of other inmates, after all.

  “So, you had no idea what these men were?” I asked, trying to be delicate.

  “If you mean the teeth and…” She paused as a tear ran down her horrified face. “What were they?”

  “Vampires,” answered Warren.

  “That’s what I thought,” Ms. Davenport whispered. “I’d heard rumors, but…” She trailed off.

  I stood up. “Right, well, as long as there are no others that you’re aware of, Ms. Davenport, I’d say you have nothing left to worry about.”

  Rachel stood, too.

  Warren did not.

  “You guys go ahead,” he said. “I’ll stay here with her for a while. You know, just to make sure she’s okay.”

  The look on his face was sincere, but I couldn’t help but think that he may have had other thoughts running through his mind.

  “He’s not you, Ian,” Rachel said, taking me by the hand and pulling me toward the door. “We’ll see you tomorrow, Warren. Good night, Ms. Davenport.”

  When we got out of the house, I shook away from Rachel’s kung-fu grip.

  “I can find my own way, thank you very much.”

  “You’re acting like a child,” Rachel said, spinning on me. “Just because that woman finds Warren more her speed than you, you turn into a huge dick.”

  “But it’s Warren,” I whined as she strode off to her car. “I mean seriously…Warren!”

  Chapter 7