My mad dash takes me onto the pavement and face first into a tall, long-haired man with vaguely familiar features.
He flicks out a hand to steady me. “Aah, Agent. Tul’a mir han, du sak. Purrek hi han qui nar?”
Cold Blood Tongue?
I catch sight of brilliant purple eyes, the liquid grace of his movements, the arrogant smile.
Oh. That guy.
I swallow to ease the parched desert of my throat. “I’m fine, and none of your business. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at work?”
He looks over my shoulder to the pile of shattered glass and repair attempts on the main doors. “This is my work. Last night I waited tables only to assist a friend. In truth I’m head of security here at Clear Blood. I take it this mess is your doing?”
“Why would you assume that?”
“Am I wrong?”
“No, but—”
“I thought not.” A glance over his shoulder, back towards my car still parked haphazardly against the double yellows. “Please move your vehicle as soon as possible. This is a restricted zone, and I’d hate to see it towed.”
Yeah, I’m sure you would. Aloud I say, “No problem, I’m leaving.”
I know he’s watching me climb into the car. I make a point of checking all my weapons, my mirrors, my gears while he waits. Eventually, with an agitated grunt, he slips into the building and out of sight.
Stiffness I hadn’t been aware of slides free of my neck and shoulders.
The steering wheel creaks as I rest my head against it, clinging to the leather with my eyes closed.
Why? Why is this happening?
“Agent?”
I scream, bouncing in my seat hard enough to crack my head against the roof. “Damn it, Rayne—”
“I’ve been calling you. Didn’t you hear me?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry about it.” With effort, I loosen my clawlike grip on the steering wheel.
She slips into the car and shuts her door. Each movement is neat and precise, quick and fluid. Beautiful.
Silence.
Again.
With her so close, everything is tingling and fizzing inside me. My blood, my skin, even my bones respond to her. I want to pin her down, drag my hands back through that adorable pixie cut, and rough it up with my fingers.
She sighs and the gap between her lips exposes a hint of fang.
The tingling drops lower, between my legs.
“Agent—”
“I’m sorry.” The words are run together, jumbled up, but I can’t stop. My mouth is dashing off without my brain and I let it, because I know if I stop, if I sit here for one more silent, painful second, I’ll end up grabbing her, and kissing her. “About before—what I said back in Clear Blood. It was thoughtless and I…you just…” I lick my lips. Try again. “You’re not like other vampires. I’ve never met one like you before.”
“What do you mean?”
I clench my fists on my thighs. “Good. Kind. Every other fanger I’ve met has been murderous, insane, or just plain dickish, but you’re…nice.”
And sexy. And beautiful. And so totally kissable—
“Who’s that?”
Oh, good, a distraction.
I follow Rayne’s gaze out the side window to the figure stepping out of a black hackney. He looks over his shoulder, pays the driver, then hurries towards Clear Blood.
“Jack?”
Instead of taking the front doors, he slips around the side of the building. But there’s nothing down there…except the entrance used by vampires needing their dose of blood.
What the hell is he doing?
My hand is on the door, ready to slip out, eager to follow, when Rayne lunges across the seats.
“Wait!”
Her fingers close over my shoulders and force me up against the door. Her body follows, leaning across the handbrake and gearstick to press her face close to mine.
My body burns. Every inch of skin lights up, and even the tiny hairs on my forearms lift as if to get close.
“What—”
“Shh!”
Her face looms before me, eyes big and round with panic. The faint gap between her lips shows a flash of white teeth and the pale pink tip of her tongue.
I want to kiss her. So much.
“Rayne—”
“Quiet, Danika. Keep very still.” She leans closer. The tip of her nose brushes against my cheek.
Wow.
That’s the first time she’s said my name beyond that first time in the holding cell. It sounds incredible on her lips, the syllables soft and sensual in a way no other voice has managed.
I can’t breathe.
My face is aflame, senses filled with the smell of her, the feel of her, the sound of her.
“What’s happening?” My voice cracks. Doesn’t even sound like me, more a small, breathless version belonging to the child version of me. Or maybe the post-coital one.
Still Rayne presses close, her lips now against my ear. Her breasts rub against mine, hands still firm around my shoulders. I’m trapped…and I never want to leave.
“Vixen’s here. I can’t let her see you—she’ll kill you.”
My brain is mush. “Kill?” It sounds serious. It may even be a bad thing, but I’m not sure why.
Fire turns to ice. My cheek stings.
The world snaps back into sharp focus in time to tilt sharply as dizziness swings in and out.
“Sorry, was that too hard?” She’s not even looking at me, her gaze on the wing mirror beyond my head.
When she finally returns to her own seat I lean right, watching the doors of Clear Blood.
Silhouetted in the empty frame stands a woman. The light is too dim to give me facial details, but her shape, build, and stride are those I remember well.
My memory flickers back to City Hall, to the wash of papers across the Angbec city crest, many of them reading Vote Mikkleson. I remember grey eyes, blond hair, and the seductive sway of slender hips.
“Amelia?”
Rayne peers at me. “Who?”
“Going into Clear Blood, that’s Amelia Smythe. Why would she be—Ow. Stop it.”
But she doesn’t. She grips tighter, her nails digging into the soft skin of my forearm. “You met her? Does she know your name? Does she know who you are?”
“Sure, we talked a bit when I knocked her flying, why?”
“We need to leave.” She grabs her seat belt buckle and snaps it into place. “Right now. Drive.”
The urgency in her voice is catching. My heart triple steps now with adrenaline. “You’re scared.”
“That’s Vixen. She’s my creator, the Angbec queen, and the one who published the bounty on you. Please drive.”
I’m laughing now. Can’t help it. “I thought you were supposed to be the one with the good eyesight.”
“It’s the truth. Have I ever lied to you?”
“But I met her yesterday morning.” Still I loiter, hand on the ignition key, but not turning. “Morning, Rayne, when all fangers are tucked away and harmless.”
She fidgets, constantly looking towards the doors. “Vixen is old enough that she can stay awake for a short period of time when the sun rises. She’s strong and incredibly powerful. Please, please, drive.”
A chill seeps through my body. “You can’t be serious.”
“She wants you dead, Agent.”
Amelia is still at the doors, glancing at her watch, then up and down the street.
My mind struggles to catch up. “You’re telling me there’s a vampire that can walk around during the day?”
Rayne buries her face in her hands. “Please.”
“No.” I know she’s right, I know I should get the hell out of here, but I can’t compute this. “Rayne, look at me. Can vampires walk around in sunlight?”
“Very old ones. Vampires like Vixen have been around for hundreds of years. They drink blood mostly because
they feel like it, but their need is greatly reduced, unlike the rest of us who have to drink.”
“But—”
She grabs my hand. The powerful jolt of physical contact flares again, untempered by my fear.
“I’ll tell you anything you want to know. All of it. Everything. Ask me any question and I’ll give you the answer, but please, let’s go before she sees us.”
I start the car.
Her relief is palpable and she twists to gaze out the window. “I don’t know why she’s here, but something must be wrong and you can’t be part of it.”
I watch the woman I know as Amelia give one last glance to her watch, then slip into the building. She moves with purpose, confidence, as though Clear Blood is a place she visits often.
What’s going on?
And why is Jack sneaking into his own building?
Rayne nudges my shoulder. “Don’t.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Your scent just spiked. You’re planning something. Or you realized something. Whatever it is, don’t. We need to leave.”
But we can’t.
If Amelia is who Rayne says, then I need to know what she’s up to. I need some proof to take to SPEAR. More than that, I want to know why Jack is arriving in a cab instead of his own flash car, and sneaking in through the vampire entrance.
I stop the engine.
Rayne sighs and grabs my arm as I try to open the door. “At least move off the double yellows first?”
I stare. Then I’m laughing, that quick, girly type of giggle just shy of outright hysterical.
Only I, Danika Karson, fang hater and SPEAR badass, could fall in with a law-conscious vampire.
Chapter Fourteen
The siren is gone when we head back in. Some androgynous figure with green hair and piercings mans the desk instead.
“Good evening, welcome to the Clear Blood Foundation. How may I help you today?”
I pull my SPEAR ID. “We’re fine, heading up to the research floor.” I speak without stopping, trying to recreate the assured confidence I usually feel when I walk into this building for my inoculations.
We stop outside one of the lifts and wait for the booth.
“Rayne, chill. We’re having a look around, that’s all.”
“But if she sees you—”
“We’ll deal with it. She already knows my face, so that doesn’t make a difference. Do you really think she’ll pull something here?”
She shuffles her fingers. “You don’t know her. Don’t underestimate her.”
The lift arrives and I step in, stabbing the button for the fourth floor. “You are the most un-vampire-like vampire I’ve ever met.”
“Meaning?”
“You don’t act like a vampire, is all. You’re so…timid.”
“We aren’t all the same, Agent.”
“But you have to admit, it’s weird. Think about it—what’s left in this city for you to be afraid of? Sunlight?”
She watches the numbers change on the floor display. “And wooden stakes, blood mania, bullets to the heart or head, SPEAR. You.”
My stomach clenches. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
It’s with a jolt that I realize the truth of my words. I won’t hurt her. I can’t. I like her too much.
The lift opens, revealing four closed doors, one on the left, three to the right.
“This isn’t the research floor.”
“Nope.” I cut left. “These are offices and meeting rooms. Do you think you can find places Amelia—I mean, Vixen—has recently been?”
She hurries after me, eyes wide with alarm. “Why? We’re supposed to be avoiding her.”
“It might give me clues about what she’s doing.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry. You’ll hear anyone coming long before we need to panic.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t like this. You don’t have a warrant or justifiable cause to search up here. Speculation and my word aren’t enough.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about the law? I think I know enough about my rights as a SPEAR.”
Rayne grabs my arm. “I was a police sergeant before Vixen took me. You have no authority to do this.”
“Seriously?” My jaw drops. This explains so much.
I imagine Rayne in civvie basher uniform, complete with hat, baton, and epaulets.
“It doesn’t matter. No one is going to catch us. We’ll be in and out in a couple of minutes.” I take off before she can stop me again, shaking my arm to work out the tingling prickles from her touch.
Bloody siren.
“Here”—I touch the first door—“can you smell or sense anything?”
“I’m not a bloodhound. This building is filled with blood and chemicals, plus dozens of bodies pass through every day. Unless Vixen was here this morning, I won’t smell a thing.”
“Fine, hard way it is.” I try the handle. It gives with a click and opens into an office that clearly doesn’t belong to Vixen. Three golf caddies lean against the wall and every available space is filled with golfing paraphernalia: photos, tees, balls, miniature clubs. Even one of those stupid tweed flat caps with a stiff brim.
I didn’t think anyone owned this stuff.
The next office resembles my flat—organized bomb site. Papers, books, and pens everywhere. A small wicker bin teeming with tissues. Rayne refuses to enter, adamant it stinks of sickness. A glance at the desk shows me a box of cold and flu medicine, so she’s probably right.
I have my hand on the handle of the third office when Rayne gives a hiss of warning. I push, but the door refuses to budge.
“Come on,” she mutters.
“It’s locked.”
“None of the others were.”
“Okay, calm down, we’ll go back to—”
“No time.” She reaches across me and grabs the handle. The locking mechanism gives with a pained groan as she slams it down. An instant later, she’s bundling me inside.
She holds the door. Waits with her ear cocked against it.
I leave her to it and study the walls.
Neat. Elegant. Expensive. Big winged chair, leather. Large desk with a flat screen computer. Sideboard dotted with framed newspaper articles, awards, and certificates. Obnoxiously large bouquet of flowers near the window. Two bowls of potpourri on the sideboard, another on the desk beside a round shaving mirror and a small can of air freshener. Photo of Jack, with his arm slung around a movie-star-slim woman with big teeth and fake hair. A second photo, this time with Jack kissing the cheek of a woman in a floor length ballgown. Another, again, Jack posing with a beautiful woman. Another, another—I stop looking.
“Hey, Rayne—”
She slaps a hand over my mouth. How she managed to get from the door to my side in less than a second is yet another reminder of what she is. I struggle to stay calm. Her fingers are so soft.
Long seconds pass as she holds me like that, until I start to wonder if she’ll ever let go. At last, her muscles become more liquid and she returns the hand to her side. “They’ve gone back down.”
“Great. Check out Jackson’s office.”
Rayne wrinkles her nose. “Why so much room fragrance?”
“Probably to hide the lab smell. Look at this junk. I can see why Mum likes him.”
“Your mum?”
I pause in my riffling through papers and files in the desk drawers. “She tricked me into going on a date with him last night. Let’s just say it didn’t go well.”
“Last night? So that’s the same man I…” She looks away.
“He’s fine, don’t worry. And you’re making up for it. Imagine, if you hadn’t attacked him, I wouldn’t have known anything about Vixen and her kidnapping ring. We never would have met.”
Rayne fusses with the dried petals in a bowl of potpourri. “And that would be bad.”
My hand freezes on a black lever arch file. Something about the way she says it, the way her eyes fo
llow my every movement. Could it be that she…? No. I can’t let myself think about that. Not now. Hell, not ever.
“You’re breathing very harshly, Agent.”
“Am I?”
“Do you need to sit?”
“No, I’m good.” The heat of her gaze leaves me sweaty and wanting.
She tilts her head, a blend of curiosity and scepticism in her eyes before she walks along the wall, one hand running along the edge of the side unit. I’m hyper aware of her fingers, of the way they glide across the smooth wood. Her glossy fingernails gleam in the dim light, and it isn’t until then that I realize the only light source is through the window.
“Agent—”
“What do you think he has on his computer?” I help myself to the desk chair and switch the machine on. My cheeks are so hot they must be roaring, but I keep my sights on the screen.
Rayne perches on the side of the desk. Her breath is low and even, and I find myself wondering what she’d sound like moaning under the glide of my fingers on her skin.
Reports, accounts, lab tests, databases, lots of information but nothing useful.
Two minutes in, my vision starts to fog as the heat of Rayne’s body washes over me. So warm. And she smells good too, like lemons.
I lean back. “Nothing here.”
“Pity.”
“Yeah.”
Silence. A car horn honks outside. Loud beeping follows, like a rubbish truck reversing.
She’s closer than ever, one hand resting on the desk beside mine, still clutching the wireless mouse. Her fingers twitch. “Should I check the cabinets?”
I open my mouth but no words come. My throat is too dry. Cough, try again. “Yes, please.”
“They’re locked,” she says, after a test.
“Is that a problem?”
Rayne grins, suddenly playful in the silver moonlight. And beautiful. “Not at all.”
She pulls and the drawer flies open.
When I join her at the cabinet, her arm presses against mine, constant motion as she shuffles through the files within.
I pull a handful of folders, barely reading the titles before tucking them inside my jacket. She cocks an eyebrow but does the same, lifting the hem of her T-shirt to slip the papers in against her stomach.
Her smooth, flat stomach.
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