Blood Law

by Jeannie Holmes

  Doc Hancock glanced from her to Varik, leaning against the partial wall between two stall doors, and back to Alex. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Yes,” she hissed.

  He continued to stare.

  “Varik isn’t stupid enough to attack me in a women’s restroom.”

  “Thanks, I think,” Varik mumbled.

  She shot him a withering glance. “Stay out of this, please.”

  He held his hands up in mock surrender.

  “Do you trust him?” Doc Hancock asked.

  Alex considered her response. Did she trust Varik? She thought he was an ass by default, and he’d done things in the past that weren’t easily forgiven. But he hadn’t given her a reason not to trust him since coming to Jefferson. It killed her to admit it aloud, but she looked at him and their eyes met. “Yes, I do.”

  Something passed behind Varik’s eyes, some emotion she couldn’t quite interpret, and then was gone.

  Doc Hancock sighed. “All right, if falling is your story, I have no choice but to accept it.” Shaking his head, he turned to leave. “However, I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the noise level down. This is a morgue, after all.”

  Alex watched the door shut slowly behind the coroner. She hated lying to him. Doc Hancock had been one of the few humans who’d openly accepted her when she moved to Jefferson, and she genuinely liked him. Some things, however, were beyond the doctor’s understanding or need to know, and her sudden onslaught of visions was one of them.

  Varik came to stand in front of her. “Did you mean that?”

  “What?”

  “That you trust me.”

  “For now, yes. But you have to do something for me. Two things, actually.”

  His face grew guarded. “What?”

  “First, get me the fuck out of this morgue.”

  “And the second?” He gently took her elbow, steadying her as they walked.

  “Leave my investigation alone.”

  “Sorry, no can do. Damian’s orders. You’re stuck with me.”

  “Can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  Varik snickered. “It was a good try.”

  Alex gritted her teeth to keep from saying what she was really thinking. In truth, she was glad he was staying. Until she could decipher the meaning behind her visions, she needed him. She leaned against him, against his warmth, and only then realized she’d been shivering as though she were standing naked in a snowstorm.

  He closed the tailgate of his truck and lowered the hatch on the camper, securing it with a twist of the handle. The meeting was scheduled for eight o’clock. He had enough time to shower, drive into town, and then when the meeting was over, dispose of the body he’d loaded in the truck before reporting for his shift. That meant he’d have to take his uniform with him and change later. Good thing he’d packed a clean pair of coveralls so the blood he’d have to wash off later should be minimal.

  “Cleanliness is next to godliness.” He recited the adage that had been one of Claire’s favorites.

  He peered through all the windows on the truck’s camper shell. The extra tint he’d added months ago kept the contents from being visible. He’d also taken the added precaution of wrapping the corpse in tarps and covering those with assorted scraps of lumber, trash, and tools. Even if someone looked through one of the windows, he doubted they’d be able to discern the outline of a dead vamp.

  Satisfied with his work, he whistled a tune as he trotted up the front steps. He blew a kiss to Claire’s picture hanging on the living-room wall and began stripping as he walked through the house. He was completely naked by the time he reached the small bathroom.

  Steam rose from the hot-water tap, and he adjusted the temperature to his liking. He had one foot in the tub when he remembered he’d left the photo he always carried of Claire in the bedroom. Humming, he ignored the puddles he left on the hardwood floor from the water dripping from one leg. He slipped Claire’s photo into a protective clear plastic container and returned to the bathroom.

  He balanced the photo’s container on the shelf he’d installed at the opposite end from the showerhead. He stood under the water’s spray and rubbed soap over his body as Claire watched.

  Memories of the vamps he’d killed played through his mind. The first had been Trent Thibodaux, the one whose body he’d purposefully kept anonymous. As far as he knew, the Enforcer bitch still hadn’t identified Thibodaux.

  The second was Grant Williams and then Eric Stromheimer. Fourth had been Gary Lipscomb, the vamp he’d loaded in his truck and planned to dispose of tonight.

  He thought of the vamp he’d killed earlier in the day—Scott Adams—and smiled. He was becoming more efficient at killing them. He held the power of life and death in his hand. He chose the time and place of each demon’s demise.

  Humming, he continued to spread the soap, keeping his gaze fixed on Claire’s photo. The desire in her frozen eyes seemed to grow brighter. His body began to respond in turn.

  A cool breeze seeped around the edges of the curtain, carrying the scent of lavender.

  He paused and closed his eyes, feeling the coolness creep up his legs. He backed farther into the warm spray until the water trickled over his shoulders, running in rivulets down his chest to his swelling penis.

  The smell of lavender grew stronger, overpowering his senses.

  He stood under the pounding water, stroking himself.

  Visions danced before him. Claire’s hair bounced in time to the motion of her body as she rode him in the early-morning light. His hammer struck a sharpened cross. A plume of fire and smoke erupted from a gun’s barrel. Claire was on her knees before him. She braced herself against the headboard, arched her back, and drove her hips back to meet him, moaning his name each time he thrust into her.

  The visions exploded as he climaxed. He slumped against the tiled wall, legs rubbery and groin throbbing. Surrounded by the scent of lavender and fading memories of Claire, he wept.

  ———

  An older-model Lincoln Town Car, which had once been gray but now sported more rust and dirt than paint, sat under the glare of floodlights in the center of the JPD impound garage. Forensics technicians wearing white Doughboy suits moved around the car, snapping photos, removing layer after layer of trash from the car’s seats and floorboards, and documenting every step of their process.

  Techs examined each piece as it came out of the car. They were looking for blood or some clue that would lead them to the car’s owner. They tagged and separated anything that appeared to have even a single drop of blood on it.

  Alex stood at a table and sifted through the remains of Gary Lipscomb’s life: fast-food bags, empty drink cans, used vials of Vlad’s Tears, and various other paraphernalia belonging to the missing vampire. She was working through the “No Blood” pile. The thick latex glove she wore over her left hand made her sweat, and the combination of perspiration and pressure from the glove’s tightness made her knuckles throb. She used the edge of the table to push the sleeve of her sweater up to her elbow and kept picking through the obvious trash.

  A door opened across the garage, and her eyes met Varik’s. She looked away, finding a discarded sale ad to study, and swore softly as she felt heat rising in her cheeks. Ever since their kiss at the morgue, she’d alternated between feelings of shame and euphoria.

  She couldn’t deny that Varik had always had a certain affect on her, but the fact that she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss filled her with guilt. She needed to get her head back in the investigation and find whoever was behind the murders before they struck again.

  “Merry Christmas.” Varik dangled a newly purchased fast-food bag in front of her.

  The smell of fresh fries and grilled meat made her stomach grumble. She tossed the ad aside and snatched the bag. She hadn’t eaten in hours, and lack of food was making her grumpy. “Thanks,” she mumbled, hooking a stool with her foot and dragging it from beneath the table.

&nb
sp; “You’re welcome.” He set the accompanying drink on a shelf beside her, but not before he stole a sip of the dark, bubbly liquid.

  She used her teeth to grab the edge of her glove and pull it off.

  Varik plucked the limp latex from her mouth. “You could’ve asked for help with that.”

  “I’m stubborn when I’m hungry.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  She slapped his hand away from her fries. “Try that again, and you’ll draw back a nub.”

  Chuckling, he faced the table and began rolling up his sleeves. “Finding anything?”

  “Nothing substantial,” she said, cramming three fries into her mouth. “And if you’re going to play with evidence, you should be wearing gloves.”

  Varik stepped around her and stretched to pluck a pair of gloves from the box on the shelf behind her, brushing against her back.

  She tensed at his touch.

  “You’re blushing,” he whispered in her ear.

  She hated the satisfaction in his voice. She had a choice to make—either face him now and show him that what happened meant nothing to her or run away and risk losing every remaining shred of her dignity. Her voice sounded strained as she fought to keep from storming out of the garage. “Are you going to help or flirt?”

  With his face inches from hers, he grinned. “I can’t do both?”

  “You’re good at multitasking, but—”

  “I’m good at a lot of things,” he said with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.

  She growled a warning.

  “Okay, okay. I’ll behave. But you can’t tell me you didn’t want me to kiss you.”

  “In your dreams,” she muttered around a mouthful of hot fry mush. She couldn’t deny that his words held some truth, but she wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of confirming it.

  “I think you still want it.”

  “I do not.”

  He inhaled. “I can smell it on you, Alex … the desire.”

  Jasmine and vanilla swirled with sandalwood and cinnamon in an intoxicating combination between them. It called to her, teased her with promises of ecstatic pleasures. Muscles in her lower abdomen tightened in anticipation. She pulled away from him, from the call of their combined scents. “I’m warning you, Varik. Drop it or get the hell out of here.”

  He straightened, a knowing smirk frozen on his face, and stuffed two stolen fries in his mouth before snapping his gloves in place. “Freddy and Reyes have started processing the evidence from the first three crime scenes,” he said, as he began picking through the trash.

  Grateful for the change of subjects, Alex sipped her drink before responding. “Have they found anything yet?”

  “No prints on the driver’s licenses or leather pouches. Freddy was able to find a partial stamp embossed into the leather. It’s in the pouch’s interior and obscured by a seam, but he thinks he may be able to use that to trace the leather.”

  “Since the pouches appear to be hand-sewn, if he traces the leather, he should be able to find either a local supplier or one that’s shipped to someone in Jefferson recently.”

  “Exactly.” Varik thumbed through an ancient copy of Playboy and then moved on. “Reyes is examining the cross-stakes. He’s trying to match up the carvings to specific tool marks or identify stray hairs that may have gotten trapped in the varnish. It’s slow work, but hopefully it will lead us somewhere.”

  “And Tasha?”

  “Gone; said something about a meeting she couldn’t miss.”

  Alex bit into the greasy burger and frowned when she tasted tomatoes. She picked the offending vegetables from the remainder of the sandwich and dropped the slices into the paper bag beside her stool.

  “Congratulations on your big Midnight bust, by the way,” Varik said, as he examined a receipt. “I heard it made the Bureau newsletter.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled with her mouth full of burger. She washed it down with a sip of her drink and continued. “But that article was a little biased. The DEA played a much bigger role in helping break up the ring.”

  “Enforcer Sabian,” a technician called.

  Alex shifted on her stool, sipping her drink.

  “We’re ready to start printing the car.”

  Alex set her drink down on the shelf and dropped the rest of her fries into the bag she’d placed on the floor. She wiped the grease from her hand as she joined the techs by the car, where they lightly sprinkled a fine powder over the doors, windows, and steering wheel. Their fuzzy brushes worked back and forth in swirling circles.

  “Looks like a couple of good prints here on the door and the wheel.” Tony Maslan, chief crime scene investigator for the JPD, pointed to the areas with the prints.

  She squinted and moved closer. “All I see are smudges.”

  “They’re a little hard to see, but they’re there. I’ll lift them and run them through IAFIS and VIPER, see if we get a match.”

  “Great.”

  IAFIS—the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System—was maintained by the human-run Federal Bureau of Investigation in Washington, D.C., and allowed for an automated search of more than fifty-five million human subjects. VIPER—the Vampire Identification Patterns and Enforcement Resource, a twin of IAFIS—housed the records of millions of vampires who’d either committed or been the victim of a crime, and was maintained by Enforcers in Louisville.

  Latent prints were routinely submitted to both resources in order to establish the identity of the individual who’d left the print. Before the creation of VIPER in the early 1990s, many vampire fingerprints were overlooked by humans as either smudged or unusable. The ridge patterns for vampire prints were much lower than humans’, making their fingerprints hard to detect.

  “We’ve cleaned out most of the car’s interior. Want us to pop the trunk?” Tony asked, as he walked past her with what appeared to be a long metal rod.

  “Sure.” She followed him to the back of the car.

  He placed one end of the rod against the trunk’s keyhole and shoved it into the hole with a loud pop. He removed the rod, lifted the trunk, and whistled. “There’s something you don’t see every day.”

  Hundreds of clear vials, dozens of bottles of aspirin, syringes, rubber tubing, and Baggies containing brightly colored pills filled the trunk.

  Alex gaped at the unexpected find. “Son of a bitch.” She glanced at Varik as he abandoned the table and came to stand opposite Tony. “Our missing vampire appears to have been running a Midnight operation out of his trunk.”

  They moved back to let a tech with a camera snap several pictures.

  “Looks like he was doing a decent business, judging from the number of empty vials,” Varik said.

  Tony and the camera-wielding tech left, called away by another, and Alex stepped up to the car. “It’s like pulling weeds. Get rid of one and two more pop up in its place.”

  Varik lifted a Baggie of pills from the trunk. “This is definitely Ecstasy.” He tossed the bag back into the trunk. “Only things missing are the blood and garlic. But was he selling it locally or shipping it out?”

  “We’ll have to check into it, but this could easily explain his disappearance.”

  Varik walked around to the side of the car. “Business deal gone bad?”

  “It’s happened before, so we can’t rule it out.”

  “Any chance he was involved with the ring you busted up?”

  “I don’t remember his name coming up in the investigation, but it’s possible. We never did apprehend the main supplier. Hell, we couldn’t even get a name, no matter how many deals we made.”

  “If Lipscomb’s disappearance is the result of a deal gone badly, then we’ve been chasing our tails.”

  “Damn,” Alex whispered, leaning over the trunk to get a better look. “If that’s true,” she said to Varik as she teetered on one foot, “then I’m going to be so pissed—whoa!”

  Her weight pitched her forward. She extended her hand to catch herself b
efore she slammed her injured arm into the side of the car. The bare skin of her palm landed on a stack of aspirin bottles. Images flooded her mind.

  A young vampire sat at a kitchen table, surrounded by empty and half-filled vials. Stephen stood behind the bar at Crimson Swan, cheering as a player made a touchdown on a televised football game. A shadow loomed in a doorway, and fire erupted from the barrel of a pistol.

  Pain seared her chest. Her breath stopped, and the world turned black.

  The Holy Word Church wasn’t a huge church. In fact, it wasn’t a “church” in the conventional sense, because the small congregation met in a converted farmhouse on the outskirts of Jefferson. A wraparound porch and plantation shutters made for a quaint outer façade. However, the interior of the two-story home had been gutted and converted to a small sanctuary and even smaller offices. The only room that remained virtually untouched was the kitchen in which Tasha sat, sipping chamomile tea and listening to the latest of Nathaniel “Tubby” Jordan’s rants.

  “Decadence, open sexuality,” Tubby said, as he shifted his bulk to the edge of his seat. His jowls flapped as he spoke, and his face had taken on an unhealthy red. “Why, Mary Mason found a three-year-old boy trying to bite a girl’s neck in the church nursery last Sunday. Boy said he was playing vampire.”

  “Kids have been playing vampire or doctor for years,” Tasha said. “It’s an innocent game.”

  “Innocent! Ha! You of all people should know there is nothing innocent about those vamps!”

  “What’s your point, Tubby, if you have one?”

  “My point is that ever since that bar—that den of iniquity—opened, more of those Hell-spawned bloodsuckers have moved into Jefferson.”

  Tasha sighed and sipped the chamomile tea Tubby had offered upon her arrival. It was an old argument, one she’d heard before from others, but none were as animated as Tubby. She didn’t think there was enough chamomile in the world to calm Tubby once he was in full swing, railing about the imagined evils flowing through the doors of Crimson Swan.