“Tell us who runs the house,” Contrell said. “We’ll lock him up so he’ll never hurt you again. You’ll be free, and we’ll get you situated with a family who cares enough not to sell you piece by piece.”
“Fuck off,” she said.
I leaned into her smug face. “See that meat in there? Someone’s internal organs are no longer internal. Chances are you knew her. Now, her girl parts are torn out of her body and left on the floor like trash. Is that how you wanna end up? Talk tough all you want, but when shit came down, you hid in the closet. So you tell me, immediately, who you were hiding from.”
“Leave me alone, cop bitch,” the kid said. Contrell spun the wedding ring on his finger, a scowl on his face. Probably imagining what a screwed up world she knew, the same world his daughter would have to navigate.
“Durant,” someone said. I wilted at the sound. Rosco strolled up with a rookie whom I’d never met. “Thought you were on leave. Does Sarakas know you’re here?”
“She’s essential to this police investigation,” Contrell said.
“Yeah, I’m essential,” I parroted, a big ass grin on my face.
“Bullshit,” Rosco said.
“Do you mind?” I said. “We’re in the middle of an investigation.”
“Why don’t I ask Sarakas about that?”
“Yeah, why don’t you? Then ask him to wipe your ass and tuck you in.”
“Would you two get a room?” the girl said. All of the adults frowned at her.
“Okay, miss sassy pants,” I said. “Out of the closet and into Child Protection Services with you.”
I reached down and grabbed her arm, skin on skin contact. It stung me, and I snatched my hand back as if on fire. “She’s feverish. Everyone back. Get out.”
“Overreacting, Durant?” Rosco said.
“Look, asshole—”
“She’s a kid,” Contrell said.
“We’ve visited some nasty scenes,” I said. “And call me silly, but I think most people who see such human wreckage tend to be a bit more addled. Sometimes they’re downright troubled. Not her. This snarky adolescent is hiding something.”
“Durant, I’m telling you—”
“And I’m telling you—”
My eyes lodged on her face, and her gaze met mine full on. Arrogant. A sneer in her stare. Up to no good. Eyes reaching a fever pitch.
Rosco shoved me aside and reached for the kid.
I punched him. It was a reflex, a climax of spite and resentment, topped off with a dash of fear. He staggered left, cheekbone split and bleeding. Red dripped over his face, trickling onto his green shirt.
Shit.
He gingerly wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. Mouth soft with surprise. His eyes hardened like ice.
“Yeah, uh—” I stuttered.
His vibrant blood struck the air, waving at the girl like a red flag in the bull arena. The girl’s prey drive kicked in. Her veins thickened under human skin, and the human element fell away from her eyes. In a split heartbeat, she lunged to her feet.
I dropped the cane, drew my weapon, and pulled the trigger. The silver round punctured the hide under her chin. I fired again, bellowing. She took a drunken sidestep and collapsed, crashing into the closet wall. My heart jackhammered at my soft ribs, but she was dead. Panting, tingling with pain and urgency, I looked at the officers.
Contrell’s sidearm wavered in my direction. Pointed at me. The three cops in the room trembled, guns aimed unconvincingly at my chest, which made the reptile part of my brain squirm. I glared. “Lower your goddamn weapons.”
In the next moment, Rosco was in my face. Bleeding, shrieking like a banshee. “You’re fucking losing it, Durant! Crazy bitch, you shot a kid! And you hit me? In my goddamn face? Are you kidding me? What the hell is wrong with you?” He shoved me again, and I considered hitting him again.
“You never listen!” I panted while my lungs seized and adrenaline tripped through my bloodstream.
Rosco stuck his fingers through his hair so hard he might pop holes in his skull. Red face, he ranted. “A kid so young can’t be L-pos. Even back when I started, I wasn’t that stupid.”
“I’m pretty sure you were.”
He turned and kicked the door several times while his cheek bled from where I’d punched him and his face turned red. The rookie stood in the corner of the room, white like a ghost. I glanced at Contrell and my gut pinched. He didn’t look like he believed me, and it occurred to me that he hadn’t holstered his weapon, so I didn’t holster mine. He doesn’t trust me. Eyes sharp, he stared while Rosco shouted:
“You are out of your mind, Durant. Admit it. You don’t know what you’re doing anymore. And you hit me! You’ve gone nuts. Lost your shit, flat out, you cracked. Shot a kid because you’ve finally lost your last crumbled marble.”
“Uh, no, that’s not what happened. Dude, she was infected. Look at her mottled skin, her eyes—”
“Her eyes look weird because she’s dead! Because you shot her!” He pushed me again, pressure gouging at my ribs. I shoved him back. Rosco ranted. “Jesus, Mary and—”
“Oh, get off it!” I pointed at the young corpse. “She’s got mutt dust on her.”
“She’s in a filthy closet. She’s got dirt on her.”
“Oh, yeah? Pull her out. Let’s take a closer look.” I knew I was right. I was positive. I mean, she had that itch, the L-pos glint in her eye. I hadn’t shot an innocent kid.
Had I?
Christ.
Every fiber and nerve of my being tightened and hummed. If I had read her wrong, if I overreacted, I’d have to live with a kind of unshakeable guilt. The men stood around me, accusatory and uncertain, and their condemnation filled me with doubt.
I hated it.
Worse, Rosco should be standing by me, defending me, because we were on the same side. The side that didn’t question what we had to do to survive the monsters nipping at our heels. My trigger finger saved his ass many times, and he shouldn’t be interrogating me, embarrassing me. He could question me later, in private, not in front of strangers, discrediting me in a hysterical tantrum.
Rosco and Contrell pulled the limp, dead child out of the closet. Her dress slid and revealed a bite on her upper thigh, near her crotch, half-healed from her near-shed, clotted with mutt clay.
“Shit,” Contrell said.
“How the hell?” Rosco said, and I nearly punched him again. I reached down and measured the bite with my hand: about ten inches across. I grabbed the cane, despite being so full of adrenaline I could run a marathon, and clip-clopped away.
Red from the girl’s L-strain smeared my double-gloved hand. Maybe the scent would stick. I pulled the gloves inside out and kept them.
My body swelled from Gorgonblood edema and yesterday’s exertion. The pressure shoved against all my injuries, reminding me I was on the brink of breaking into pieces.
I needed to slow down.
PD hovered throughout the building, drawn by the sound of gunfire and arguing.
“Get me a plastic bag and take me home,” I told a young officer near the door. He nodded, unspeaking. I shoved the dirty gloves in the bag and sat in his cruiser, brewing, thinking, and seeing the girl with the discrete, deliberate bite on her tender childish thigh. A feral wolf with a highly contagious strain had left the girl to make a statement. “Put an APB out on the homeless guy, Nick,” I texted Contrell. “He’s probably infected.”
I didn’t add that I suspected the kidnaped undesirables were all, down to the last, dead or infected.
Chapter 18
An unknown number buzzed my work phone. I resisted, but curiosity got the best of me. What if they canceled my leave and brought me back to work? I grabbed the phone and hopefully punched the button.
“Hello?”
“Durant.” Mullen’s voice shot through me like a jagged arrow.
“I’m on leave,” I said. “Taking some time. Have a nice day.”
“Heard you assaulted
Rosco.”
“He exaggerates. Look, I have something in the oven. I gotta dye my hair. This is a bad time, whatever—”
“Remember, it isn’t always the biggest, most poisonous snake that does you in. Sometimes, it’s the tiny gnat who ruins everything. Clean up your act. I would hate for someone else to kill you before I get a chance to enjoy myself.”
“Chance to do what, precisely?”
Dial tone answered me. My guts twisted in a quagmire of briars.
Great. The company psycho made private calls. I shuddered. Jesus, my brain bucket was shaky. I was done with body parts, harassing phone calls, self-doubt, and self-pity. Ice cream: that’s what I needed. A quart of ice cream would give me the attitude adjustment I needed, and then I could research these disappearances with gusto.
I concealed an extra pistol and limped into my beauteous truck, blasting heavy metal, cruising through my suburb, and jumping onto the freeway.
Chocolate. I needed loads of chocolate.
Or maybe whiskey. Chocolate whiskey?
I slipped across three lanes and sped up, eager to get away from the nervousness in my stomach. Traffic has a body movement that’s a lot like a dance, and the way I drove extorted that movement, taking advantage of others’ steady driving. A beige sedan risked merging into the lane behind me, forcing it, in a hurry.
I was being tailed.
My jaw dropped. What now? Psychos? Brick-throwers? Mutts? Mullen? Vampires? A reporter? Could be anyone.
“Oh no, you don’t,” I growled. Careening off the freeway, I slid toward sector eight which was rife with business districts and parking garages. I skirted off the ramp, around a corner, and gunned it into a covered parking structure. The sedan followed at a discrete distance.
I cruised to the end of the parking garage, slammed on the brake pedal, grabbed the emergency brake, cranked the wheel, and spun a bootleg turn. My tail swiveled before I straightened and punched the gas, heading directly toward the vehicle in pursuit. Head on.
The startled ass swerved at the last moment, over-corrected, and scraped his entire left panel down a cement column to avoid smashing into the wall. I circled around, boxed him in the corner, and exited the cab. While he wavered between getting out of the car and ramming my big truck, I drew my .45 and pointed it at his window.
“Out.”
His hands popped up. He was young, thirties, chin-length blond hair in a ponytail. Short beard.
“Out. On your knees,” I ordered.
“Look, I’m not comfortable—”
“No one gives a shit. Get out of the vehicle and get on your knees.”
He did, reluctantly. Plaid shirt, jeans, good sensible boots. Built with wiry muscle and long limbs. The man looked handsome on his knees, that’s for sure. I walked around him and pulled a Glock from a holster at the small of his back. Untagged, illegal weapon. I slipped it into my waistband while he kept his hands in the air.
“I’m here for your own good,” he said.
“Whatever. Who hired you?”
“Top…Master Sergeant hired me.”
“Who the hell is—”
“Your father! Your dad. Christ, lady, would you lower the weapon?”
“My dad hired you? To do what, exactly?”
“Protect you.”
“Protect me? Do I look like a goddamn damsel in distress?”
“More like the damsel who causes distress, if you ask me.”
“Damn skippy. Call him and tell him I’m fine, and then go away.”
“Can’t do it.”
“What?”
“I am not telling the Master Sergeant Durant ‘no.’ Uh-uh. Not a chance.”
Theatrically, I cocked the weapon.
“Answer’s still no, lady. No disrespect, but the old man is scarier.”
“Scarier than a bullet in your leg?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You are aware that I shoot people for a living?”
“I’ve heard.”
“Call him.”
“You call him.”
“I don’t have his number. Give me your phone. Slowly.”
He slipped his hand into his pocket, an action that tightened his jeans around his groin. He slid the phone across the concrete. I didn’t want to make the call any more than he did. The stranger’s blue eyes, clean beard, trim body, and nice hands offered a welcome distraction.
“You’re kind of cute,” I said.
“Uh…thanks?”
“How’s about you and I slip into the back of your spacious vehicle, and then go our separate ways? No harm, no foul.”
He paled. “You’re his daughter. He’d kill me.”
I checked the phone for ‘MSgt' and dialed. He answered on the second ring.
“What happened?” Owen said.
“What happened is your dude doesn’t drive as crazy-awesome as I do, and I caught him tailing me. C’mon, dad, this is silly.”
“Now, young lady—”
“Owen, I can take care of myself.”
“Bricks, bombs, body parts—”
“I know what I’m up against. I don’t need a babysitter, especially someone who only carries one sidearm. What is this, the Old West?”
“He has Ag rounds,” Owen defended.
“I appreciate this, kinda, on some level, but I have to refuse your bodyguard. I worked at the bureau for six years and I know the risks. Plus, I don’t want this guy to get in the way. Or hurt. Tell him that he’s fulfilled his assignment and he’s free to go.”
“I won’t.”
“Dad—”
“No, you listen here, young lady. I can protect you however I choose. It’s my right as a father.”
“Normal father-daughter trends are not applicable to us. Make him leave me alone, or I’ll have to convince him to see the argument my way.”
“Won’t happen. Ashe is an excellent soldier. He’s a real man, and he won’t balk at whatever danger lurks around the corner.”
I lowered the phone.
“Ashe, is it?” I said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me. My father is unreasonably upset because he hadn’t talked to me in years and then he tuned into my life at an inopportune time. He’s all emotional, up in a tizzy, and isn’t thinking straight. Why don’t you pack your bags and get the hell away from me?”
“I took this assignment—”
“He’s not in the military anymore, you shithead.”
“All the same, I am not tucking tail and running away.”
“Look, I’ve had a challenging couple of weeks, and I’m surrounded by some rough characters. Makes me a mite twitchy in the trigger finger. I would hate for something to happen to you while you’re skulking around behind me.”
“You’re actually providing me with reasons you do need protection.”
“Ashe, sweetie, I can’t have you following me, tripping over dead bodies, or becoming a dead body. This is for your own good.”
“I’ll decide what’s for my own good, if it’s all the same to you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Last chance,” I warned.
“You’ll have to get used to me.”
“No, I don’t.”
I pulled the trigger. The bullet zinged the outside of his thigh. He bellowed and fell onto his back, clutching his leg and checking the damage.
“Oh, relax,” I chastised. I put the phone back against my ear. “Don’t send anyone else, Owen. Leave me alone.” I hung up and gleefully slid the phone into Ashe’s pocket. Radiant heat slipped into my fingers, cruised up my forearm, and brought to sharp attention how odd my life was. “Should have made out with me instead.”
“You’re insane!”
“It’s a flesh wound. There’s scarcely any blood. Now, back off.”
Chapter 19
When Rainer called my super-secret, high-tech black phone, I was grateful for the interruption. Until I heard his frantic tone.
“We have a prob
lem! Sigurd came back early. The lojack we commandeered on his assistant's vehicle shows him heading directly toward Svetlana's house.”
I quietly considered the information, trying to think.
“Kaidlyn?” he said.
“What?”
“Dead vampire kings start wars.”
“I'm on my way. Why is he going there? How did he find her in the first place?” I said. “Why would he think she had anything to do with this?”
“Focus. Sigurd will soon be face to face with Svetlana. He’ll be perfectly upset, and she's generally homicidal in regard to vampires. The Chosen vamp will be walking into a house full of werewolves. We are so screwed! Sigurd is like, the city icon. He can't die over this. If an emissary of god is killed by a lykos, the entire city will go nuts. Mob chaos.”
“Any hope for lykos equality will be shot to hell.”
“Hurry. And worse, Quark: if Sigurd somehow kills Svetlana, what will we do with the Russian kennel? They'll want revenge. It will be a massacre.”
“Goddamn it. The vampire should know better than to knock on the Big Bad Wolf's door.” I hung up and drove fast even for me.
Sigurd pounded on Svetlana's door like he’d break it down. His assistant stayed in the car and waved cheerfully as I passed. Just another day in the neighborhood.
“Wait!” I said. He turned on me. His slight frame and immaculate silk looked garish against the dilapidated house.
“How dare you!” He snarled, teeth and tongue looking devilish.
My breath trembled. I grew feverish like someone caught me in a heinous crime. As if I had blasphemed a god. I shook my head, trying to toss off his mystical effects. “Don’t piss her off.”
“She stole my book!”
“Not really—shit.” The thumping had continued although Sigurd wasn't touching the door. The wolves were trying to stop Svetlana from getting out. If the practical, murderous Svetlana was upset, heads would roll. Literally. “Sigurd, you need to leave. She isn't herself.”
He addressed the door. “If you do not let me in, I will burn the house down around you and everyone inside.”
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