Carte Blanche [Special Enforcers Series ]

by Kallysten

  In the darkness, the fifteen red roses seemed almost black.

  Chapter 16

  Ray managed to keep his head up until he had turned past the street corner. He didn't know if Grace was watching him, but if she was, he didn't want to give her the idea that he felt in any way defeated or depressed—even if he did.

  Things had gone better than he would have expected; she had, after all, listened to him. She had let him kiss her goodbye. She even had hinted that she had seen more in their playing than he had thought she did. It should have pleased him. Instead, it only accentuated what he had lost. If he had only guessed...

  The sidewalk in front of him was threatening to become another canvas for the gloomy picture of his mistakes. He cut off that train of thought as quickly as he could. He'd wallowed in self-pity more than enough already, and continuing now wouldn't help in any way. He needed to feed, then he needed to figure out what to do.

  The thought crossed his mind of going to Carte Blanche. It wouldn't be too difficult to find someone there who was up for a bite. They'd expect a bit of play to go with it, however, and playing was the last thing he wanted at that moment, even for the sake of a bite.

  If he wasn't going to feed at Carte Blanche, he had two options left. Go to the butcher and buy animal blood, or try his luck at the blood bar. He didn't really feel like being around people, but being alone at home was just as unappealing. Before he even knew he had made up his mind, he found himself in front of the blood bar, and since he was already there, he decided he might as well stay.

  He remained at the bar just long enough to say hello to Lucas and ask him for a beer, then went to the back of the room, where the booths lining the walls offered more privacy than staying at the bar or sitting down at one of the tables.

  It was still early, and the only customers aside from Ray were one couple sitting at one of the tables and a second couple in a booth close to the exit. Like two nights earlier, the television above the bar was set to the news channel, clearly for the benefit of Terry who was working at a table a few feet from it. As the evening progressed and more customers arrived, the television would be shut off and replaced by music, but for now Ray didn't mind it.

  He sipped on his beer and listened absently to the state of the stock exchange—in which he had absolutely no interest—until a young woman approached and blocked his view of the television.

  "Hi.” She smiled a little hesitantly. “Mind if I sit down?"

  Short, light brown hair framed her face, hiding its shape. Her long-sleeved top left her neck exposed; it was free of telltale bite marks.

  He forced himself to return her smile. “Go ahead."

  Her heartbeat had been racing already, but it jumped at his words. She sat in the booth across him, her smile a little wider, but her hand still clenched on her drink. For a few minutes, Ray waited to see if she'd say anything or if her nervousness would get the better of her. When she had opened her mouth three times without managing to say a word, he took pity on her.

  "It's your first time in a blood bar, isn't it?"

  She blushed. “I'm that transparent, huh?"

  Ray didn't answer and merely took another sip of beer.

  "You must think I'm crazy to come here tonight of all nights."

  She seemed to wait for a reassurance that Ray thought no such thing, but he had no idea what she meant.

  "What's special about tonight?"

  She shrugged and gestured in the direction of the television. “You know, with the murders and all."

  Ray followed her gesture toward the television, but it had been turned off. “Murders?” he asked, confused. “What murders?"

  He must have spoken too loudly because the couple at the table a few feet away glanced at him and the girl, clearly uncomfortable. The other couple, whose chatter had been like a buzzing in the background, fell silent. Terry noticed their uneasiness; he turned a severe frown toward Ray, but his features softened when he recognized him.

  "You know,” the girl explained, oblivious to the changing mood in the bar, “these two people who've been killed by—” She gulped and lowered her voice. “—by vampires? Just in the last week?"

  Ray had no idea what she was talking about. He knew about MacAlair, of course, but he hadn't heard of another killing.

  As she talked, Terry approached their booth. He didn't seem too excited about the turn that their conversation had taken.

  "Miss, I couldn't help overhearing you...” He gave her a smile as bright as it was fake. “Please, do not believe for one minute you are in any danger. The vampires who patronize my establishment—” He inclined his head toward Ray. “—are no killers. They come here to meet open-minded people such as you, not to hurt anyone."

  The girl didn't look convinced. “But that man ... the one who was killed today ... The news said he was working for vampire rights—"

  Terry snorted. “He used to. And then he changed his mind, and decided to destroy everything he had built. What's surprising is that a vampire didn't get to him any sooner."

  It wasn't the first time Ray had heard Terry rant like this, but the girl didn't seem to know what to make of it. She glanced at Ray, looking confused and more hesitant than ever.

  "Maybe you should come back another night,” he suggested, smiling gently. “You look like you need to think about this a little more."

  She took his advice with obvious relief etched on her face and slid out of the booth with a “Goodnight” that was barely louder than a breath.

  "Great,” Terry grumbled, rolling his eyes at Ray. “Now even my customers try to make me go bankrupt. Thanks ever so."

  "She was spooked,” Ray said, shrugging. “You'd rather have her go find a S.E. in the morning and say I bit her without her consent?"

  "Of course not. But if you'd agreed with me, she might have listened."

  Ray shook his head, unsure whether he was amused or annoyed. “I don't even know about that second murder."

  "Well, I do.” Terry's voice dropped to a whisper. “And if you ask me, Nihls had it coming even more than MacAlair. At least she wasn't a traitor."

  His expression hinted that he expected Ray to agree with him. It only proved how little he knew him.

  "I need another drink,” Ray said even though his glass was still half full. “Excuse me."

  He stood and walked past the man to the bar, happy to get away from him. With opinions such as those, it was a wonder Terry hadn't found someone to sire him yet. Thankfully, when Ray returned to his booth with a glass of warm blood, he had returned to his own table to work.

  As he sat down, however, Ray couldn't help but turn his attention back to Terry, thinking about what he had said, and in particular about the name he had pronounced. Nihls. It had just occurred to him that it was the same name Grace had thrown at him not even an hour earlier. He couldn't help feeling a little disappointed that she had questioned him, looking at him as no more than another suspect. He was even more sorry, however, that he had left without telling her what he knew of the L.E.V. group. It could have been the first step toward building trust between them.

  He thought for a while, forgetting both his drinks until the blood was tepid and the beer barely any cooler. In the end, he called himself a fool for even hoping, but decided to try. It might be his best chance to get Grace's attention.

  He went home early to prepare, and looked at the cloudy sky expectantly. He hoped it would rain the next day.

  * * * *

  When Grace drove Laura to school that morning, the sky reflected her mood, gray and bleak. All night long, Ray's words had played back in her mind, not only the discussion in the car but also everything she remembered him telling her since they had met. She didn't like the little voice that tried so hard to convince her that he had played by the only rules he knew and she couldn't blame him if her own were different. She didn't like either how inflexible and unforgiving her failed marriage had left her.

  "Mom, are you sure he wasn't yo
ur boyfriend?"

  Her fingers tightened on the wheel for a moment. She glanced at Laura in the rearview mirror and made herself smile.

  "I told you, honey. He's just someone I know."

  "But he brought you roses,” she insisted, bringing up the bouquet for the third time since the previous night. “I'm big enough to know if you have a boyfriend."

  "And when I do, you will,” Grace answered more sharply than she would have liked.

  It was hard enough trying to quiet her own mind; it didn't make anything easier to have Laura prod her with questions for which she had no answers. Thankfully, they arrived, and for once Grace managed to park directly in front of the school.

  "We're here. Have a good day."

  In the mirror, Laura pouted as she undid her seatbelt but said nothing. Grace stayed in the car, watching her join her friends past the fence, her flute case in one hand and her backpack slung over her shoulder. Grace only left when they had entered the building together. Then she drove off to interview again the attorney she felt hadn't been entirely forthcoming the previous afternoon.

  Like many vampires who held professions that put them in contact with the public, he was following a human schedule. The plaque by his door indicated his office opened at eight thirty. When Grace arrived at eight thirty-five, the waiting room was empty, but according to his secretary, Nathan Fontes was too busy to see her. If Hugo had been there, he would have flashed his badge and recited some charter law or other that authorized him to see any vampire he pleased at his own convenience. He had done as much just the day before. Grace doubted it was the way to get Fontes to talk to her, however, so she sat down in one of the plush armchairs lined up in the waiting room.

  "I'll wait,” she simply said.

  And she did wait; Fontes took in only two clients that morning, spending twenty minutes with one and an hour with the other, but he didn't agree to see her until past noon. By then, Grace was bored senseless, and she had long since given up trying to push Ray to the back of her mind. Unfortunately, she was no closer to figuring out any answer where he was concerned, so she was glad to go back to her investigation.

  "You're quite tenacious,” Fontes said when she entered his study. “And also more patient than you were yesterday."

  The room was spacious, with two seating areas. In the corner on the right to the door, a low sofa and two armchairs seemed to invite a casual conversation or a cup of coffee. Landscape paintings on each wall and muted fabric colors gave the space a cozy feeling. Facing the door, however, Fontes’ desk area was much more imposing. The large, carved wooden desk stood neat and clutter free in front of bookshelves that covered the entire wall. On one side, facing the door, his leather chair had the comfortable look of a well broken-in piece of furniture. Across from it, two wooden chairs with padded velvet seats and armrest were just as posh if more formal.

  They sat down at his desk, and Grace smiled faintly. “Doing my job doesn't prevent me from appreciating you are doing yours as well."

  He inclined his head. “That is a refreshing change.” He didn't mention Hugo, but it was obvious he was thinking about him. Leaning back in his chair, he observed Grace thoughtfully. “I thought I answered all your questions yesterday. What brought you back?"

  "I just wanted to make sure you understood what was going on."

  He chuckled. “Miss, I was a vampire long before your grandmother even thought of having children. Vampires killing humans and humans seeking revenge are hardly things you need to explain to me."

  "That's where I'd like to respectfully differ, sir. I'm not looking for the killer for revenge. I'm looking for this vampire, and his accomplice, because they target those who try to limit vampires’ rights—and all they'll manage to do this way is antagonize those who didn't mind vampires until now."

  All traces of amusement had left him, and he stared at her across the desk until his gaze seemed almost too heavy.

  "Why would you care if he's hurting our cause? He only makes your job easier."

  She leaned forward in her chair and tried to put all her conviction in her words and face. “The job was to stake vampires who kill—and protect those who don't. I am more than willing to do both. What I am not willing to do is persecute innocent vamps."

  A clock somewhere behind Grace ticked away long, silent seconds until Fontes finally nodded, very slowly, as though reluctant to believe her still but willing to take a chance.

  "What do you need?"

  "Yesterday when I asked you if anyone in the L.E.V. group ever suggested violence to reach your goals, you hesitated."

  He nodded again, although he seemed more on edge suddenly, as though uncomfortable. “The man I thought of when you asked is an old acquaintance, and I can't believe he'd kill a human for this. That being said...” He sighed. “He's been rather ... vocal in the past year about how our group was unable to stop some legislation being discussed, and we had to ask him to step down as a member"

  Grace tried very hard to contain a grin. “Do you have his name?"

  A call to Hugo to share what she had discovered damped her enthusiasm. Lucas Welton, as a bartender licensed to serve blood, was under a tracking spell that cleared him of having entered the first murder scene. She decided to talk to him anyway, and see if he would name people who shared his views.

  Half an hour after leaving Fontes’ office, she was knocking at the address Hugo had given her. A gray haired man opened the door. He did not match the description Grace had for Welton, and the blood vessel that started throbbing on his temple when she introduced herself as a Special Enforcer proved him human.

  "What do you want with him?” he asked, immediately defensive. “He worked all night and until five this morning. I won't have you disturb him unnecessarily."

  "I'm sorry, Mister...?"

  He did not volunteer his name. Grace shrugged it off as poor manners on his part and continued with a little impatience sliding into her voice.

  "This is a private matter I need to discuss with Mr. Welton. I'd rather talk to him now than have to bother him at his place of employment later."

  His face lit up at her words, and he smiled coldly. “So glad you said that. I happen to be his employer, and you have my permission to come talk to him all you want tonight. He'll be there at eight. Good day."

  With that, he shut the door in her face, leaving Grace stunned and more than a little ticked off. She raised her hand to knock again, but thought better of it. The blood bar where Welton worked had been on her list of places to visit. Now, she even had an invitation from the owner to do so. A few hours wouldn't change anything.

  It started raining while she drove back to the agency, and it reminded her of the day Ray had used the protection of the clouds to come and bring them the supposed drawing of Owens. She wondered whose portrait it had really been. She'd probably never know.

  She bought a sandwich from the corner deli and ate at her desk, filling in Hugo while she had a late lunch.

  "The place is called ‘Fangs',” he told her in return. “Very original for a blood bar. It's been open for more than twenty years, and there's never been a problem in or around the place. I doubt you'll find a killer in there."

  She shrugged. “At the very least, I'll see what it's like. And if a little cooperation on my part makes the owner of the place more friendly, all the better."

  Hugo shook his head in dismay. “Playing nice with vamps and vamp lovers will only help you so far, you know. Eventually you'll have to crack the whip, and by then it might be too late to make them respect you."

  His choice of words flustered Grace; she could see them applying far too well to the situation with Ray for comfort. She was also getting tired of how every little thing brought her thoughts back to him when the topic should have been over and done with.

  They questioned two more vampires together that afternoon. Both belonged to the L.E.V. group, and both had solid alibis for one of the murders or both. Grace hoped her visit to Fangs woul
d yield more results; they were starting to run out of leads again. With the lack of progress, Hugo was getting grumpy, and the five calls he had received since Nihls’ murder from various town council members did nothing to appease him.

  "We've got to find that vamp,” he was saying for the umpteenth time when Grace's phone rang. It was the end of the afternoon, and they had just returned to the agency.

  She took the call as she got out of the car, hurrying out of the rain and beneath the protection offered by the agency's awning. On the other end of the line, her mother sounded worried.

  "Grace? Did you pick up Laura at school?"

  Frowning, she covered her free ear with her hand to try to hear her mother better. She must have misunderstood her.

  "Did I pick her up? No. You were supposed to get her after band practice. Did you forget?"

  "Of course not.” Caroline sounded frantic now. “But she wasn't there when I got to the school. Her friend Sam said she didn't go to practice today. Do you think she would have gone home by herself? She had a bad cold yesterday, maybe..."

  Grace couldn't believe Laura would have left school on her own, even if she had been feeling sick. She knew better than that. On the other hand, she had been upset with Grace that morning, and she might have made a bad decision.

  "Did you try calling my apartment?” she asked, trying to remain calm even when she felt like shouting.

  "No, I didn't—"

  "I'm hanging up now, Mom. I'll call you back later."

  She cut the call abruptly and feverishly dialed her home number. Hugo, who had opened the agency's door and walked in, looked at her questioningly.

  "My daughter,” she said curtly, then cursed under her breath when she realized she had misdialed. She started over. “She wasn't at school when my mom went to get her."

  The tone rang in her ear three times before the answering machine picked up.