Vlad looked at Janelle and smiled.
Her mouth dropped. “You can’t come in here and alter the case and its findings. This is highly illegal. Take that back.”
“No.”
“Yes.” She jammed her fists against her hips. “Or I’ll take you in.”
“Trust me on this, Janelle. I want to catch this person as much as you do.”
“You’re asking me to trust you when your actions prove otherwise.”
“Not on this. I’d never do something that would harm you or your career.”
“And yet here we are.”
“You followed me. Look, I’m trying to find your perp. But we have to do this my way.”
Her jaw tightened. “Why?”
“Just throw me a bone this one time.” Vlad ran a knuckle down her downy soft cheek. “I need you to trust me.”
Janelle looked as if she were about to argue, but instead gave him a nod. Vlad looked back at the man. “Your findings show this had nothing in common with the Flores case and the four dead men from last month. Completely isolated cases.”
“Two unrelated cases,” he agreed.
“Good. I’d say my job is done here.”
Without waiting on Janelle, Vlad headed for the elevator. Janelle’s hurried footsteps pounded the tile behind him in her effort to catch up. Entering the car, they rode in silence to the lobby where Vlad aimed his palm at the camera to unscramble the feed just before he exited the staff door and headed for the stairs leading up to the second floor where he had parked.
Janelle broke the silence. “I have to take you in.”
“Excuse me?” Vlad stopped on the step and turned back, looking down on her.
“It’s my job. You broke the law back there.” She pulled out a pair of handcuffs. “Turn around, Mr. Tepes.”
“So much for trust.” He chuckled, grabbed the tiny handcuffs dangling from her fingers and mangled them within his grip, rendering the stainless-steel cuffs unusable.
Her wine-colored lips rounded. He could easily picture them circling his dick. Had she been anyone else, he might have made the suggestion. “How?”
“I told you there wasn’t a prison system that could keep me. You think a simple pair of cuffs would work?”
Her pulse beat heavy at the hallow point of her throat, calling Vlad like a moth to flame. Damn, it was all he could do not take the ambrosia he scented rushing through her veins. He gripped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes.
Her breath hitched and she backed from his touch. “What are you?”
“I’m human. Just like you.”
“No human could have done that.”
He laughed. “I lift a lot of weights.”
Even though he saw the question in her eyes, she thankfully didn’t press the issue—for now. “You can’t keep interfering with these cases. You’re breaking the law.”
“And you’re slowing me down, Janelle.” His anger slowly simmered and heated his gaze. Vlad bit back the vampire from surfacing.
“From what?”
“From finding my brother.” He growled. “You either let me do what I came here for, or you’re going to have a lot more dead bodies on your hands. You think I’m dangerous and need to be jailed? You haven’t met Mircea. He’s the one you’re looking for, damn it. Not me. And trust me, he’s not nearly as fucking nice.”
Chapter 6
Vlad had left Janelle standing beside her SUV in the parking garage and drove away as if he hadn’t given her critical information—namely, the identity of the unknown subject she had been hunting. If her instincts were correct, Vlad’s brother was the same perp from the Flores case, although he hadn’t exactly come out and said as much.
Stunned didn’t begin to explain the emotion coursing through her as she had watched his car disappear around one of the concrete barriers. Lord, it was the man’s brother, no less.
They had exchanged phone numbers before he had hopped into his sports car and driven away like he had not a care in the world. He had entrusted Janelle with information that would put his brother away for a good long time, more likely than not the rest of his natural-born life. Did Vlad think she was incapable of tracking, arresting, and detaining his brother? Janelle was damn good at her job. She had a great percentage rate of solved cases. Or was Vlad’s confidence in his belief that he’d catch his sibling long before she did?
Janelle was betting on the latter.
They had a similar goal in mind … catch and stop Mircea before more innocent lives were lost. Their outcome no doubt differed, but the perp was one and the same. Vlad seemed more than happy to exchange cell numbers, telling her not to hesitate to use it should she find herself in trouble. In fact, he had said she might want to put the number in her favorites for quick reference.
Bottom line, Mircea was dangerous and she’d do well to remember that.
Not that she didn’t believe Vlad, but he underestimated her as well. She had probably dealt with and brought down criminals just as lethal, if not more so. Janelle was betting she was more equipped to stop the man than Vlad. Although seemingly ruthless, Vlad didn’t appear to pack a weapon. After seeing what he could do to a pair of government-issued handcuffs, though, Janelle was pretty sure he didn’t need one. But a bullet could stop anyone, including Vlad’s brother. Should she encounter the man, she wouldn’t hesitate to draw her Glock and use it. Vlad may think he’d aid in helping find Mircea, but Janelle would be the one to bring him down by any force necessary, even if it meant killing him.
One bullet to the T-zone would drop him like a sack of bricks.
Janelle had earned an award for excellent marksmanship when she had gone through the academy. She didn’t miss. Mircea wasn’t about to be an exception.
After Vlad had left, she returned to the city building, checking with those working if they had seen a very tall, long black-haired man. He was certainly hard to miss. None of the employees, including Robert, remembered seeing anyone by that description. Checking the camera footage produced nothing but static as she suspected, leaving her to go back to her office to do a little research.
When she hadn’t been tailing Vlad, she had tried searching for Mircea. Janelle had come up empty-handed. No fingerprints, no DNA, no records of any kind, meaning the man had no earlier brushes with the law or ties to the military.
The only person she had found on a Google search was Mircea II of Wallachia, oldest brother to none other than Vlad Tepes. Two ancient rulers who had been dead for centuries. Janelle couldn’t help but wonder if this wasn’t some weird type of cosplay. Surely, no mother was cruel enough to have named her sons after Romanian tyrants, especially one with the reputation of impaling his enemies.
Captain Melchor walked into her office unannounced and drew her from her musings. Janelle had left the door open, allowing co-workers to freely walk through. She hated a closed, sterile office. It always made her feel a bit claustrophobic.
Today, she would have preferred the privacy, which would also force the visitor to politely knock. Nothing was ever polite about today’s present company.
Closing her laptop with a snap, she placed her forearms over the sleek metal and clasped her hands. “What can I do for you, Captain?”
“I would have liked a drink with you Friday to discuss this latest case of yours, but I understand when things come up.” He shrugged. “It was after hours. Perhaps a rain check.”
Janelle offered him a smile she did not feel. “Perhaps.”
His gaze dropped to her folded hands, then to the small baggie lying on the desk beside the laptop. Shit. “Evidence?”
He took a seat in one of the chairs flanking her desk and grabbed the small bag containing one of Vlad’s hairs. Janelle had meant to check the hair against the one found at the church crime scene but had wanted to do so under the table. Not that she was in the habit of hiding evidence. If she found Vlad guilty of anything, she’d take him down just as surely as she would his brother.
&nbs
p; “Is this similar to—”
“Someone broke into my cabin a few months back,” she said abruptly, attempting to deflect his attention.
“And you found this?” One of Melchor’s brow inched up.
“Yes.”
“Were you at home?”
Janelle wasn’t about to tell him she had been nude at the time, but she couldn’t help wonder why he showed no concern over her wellbeing. “I was asleep.”
“The hair—it’s quite similar to the color and length of your own. Surely this isn’t the only evidence you have that someone broke in. Anything taken?”
She shook her head. “I woke up in the middle of the night, freezing. Cold air blew through the opened window, one I knew was closed before I went to sleep. That hair was stuck to the window latch.”
“And you never saw the intruder?”
“No.”
Robbie thankfully bought the story and laid the bag back on her desk. “You’ve since installed security out there?”
“I don’t stay out there often, but yes, my property now has cameras around the perimeter.” Janelle thought of Vlad’s ability to scramble the footage and knew her security wouldn’t help where he was concerned. She hoped his brother didn’t possess the same skills. “Is there something I can do for you, Captain?”
“I wanted your opinion on the Flores case and this latest one at the Catholic church.”
“Of course.”
“I just got off the phone with the coroner. Dr. Schultz no longer believes they are related. When I talked to him on Friday, he believed it was a big possibility. What’s your take on his sudden flip-flop?”
“I spoke to him earlier. He told me the same thing.”
Robbie rubbed his palms on his clean-pressed slacks. “You were at the morgue?”
“I was. I wanted to see if there was anything I might’ve missed on Friday.”
“And you believe his new findings?”
“That the neck wounds were caused by a serrated blade?” Janelle swallowed, finding it hard to hold her boss’s eye contact. “I’m no doctor, but I found no reason to disbelieve him either.”
“The Flores case? Their neck wounds were consistent with bite marks.”
“Yes. And we still believe it to be the work of a rival cartel.”
Although, she no longer thought that to be the case thanks to Vlad. But she certainly wasn’t ready to share that information, not with her boss. Until she had more evidence pointing to Mircea, more than just Vlad’s word to go on, she’d stick with her earlier findings. Which, of course, was nothing. They couldn’t prove or disprove the theory that another cartel took out the four soldiers.
Robbie placed an elbow on the arm of the chair, his forefinger now resting on his chin. His gaze narrowed. “To me? It all smells too easy. If Flores or the LaPaz cartel pissed off someone, then I highly doubt they’d go in and chew off their damn necks. More than likely, they’d just go in there with guns and mow them down.”
“I can’t say I haven’t thought the same thing. But these men are brutal and like sending messages, like cutting off heads and stripping their innards, leaving them laid out on public streets for all to see. It’s not highly improbable they could be capable of this kind of brutality.”
“Maybe not.” His gaze went back to the baggie on her desk before standing back up. “Let me know if anything comes of that. I hate to think one of my special agents is being harassed.”
“I will,” she said, tugging her lower lip with her teeth. Just great, her story to cover up her real reason for the hair just became her boss’s new interest. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”
He took a couple of steps toward the door before turning around. “How long ago did that happen? You mentioned it was cold.”
“A couple of months ago.”
“Why wait so long to bring that in?”
And there was the hole in her story. She should have known Robbie was far too smart to take her word outright. She shrugged. “I was busy on other cases. I actually forgot about it until I ran across the baggie again over the weekend.”
Robbie shoved his hands deep into his pockets and looked at her long and hard. He knew about the similar hair at the church crime scene. There was no doubt in her mind now. So why the hell wasn’t he calling her out?
“There’s a press meeting at three. I expect you to have your facts straight. Meet me in my office an hour before so we can prepare what we release to them.”
He turned and left the room, his shoulders stiff and spine straight. A shiver ran down her own spine. Never had she lied to her boss before. Now having done so, she was seeing a dark contrary side to Robbie Melchor. A side she didn’t like being on.
* * *
Feet dangled a foot off the ground, legs flailing, trying to wound Vlad anywhere the man’s boney knees could make contact. Too bad for the nenorocitule, motherfucker. Vlad’s leg muscles might as well have been made of stone for all he felt. Anger coursed through him, hot and swift. His blood ran like molten lava, making the vampire in him even more lethal. This son of a bitch wouldn’t make sunrise, no matter what truths he spewed.
“I’ll ask you again. Who the fuck are you?” Vlad clamped his teeth, his fangs sinking into his lower lip. The metallic taste of his own blood filled his mouth and fueled his ire.
The vampire in his grip gasped for oxygen. Had he been one of Kane’s or Kaleb’s, the son of a bitch would have already mentioned that particular fact. No, this sniveling coward came from his brother. He could smell Mircea’s blood flowing through his veins. Newly made, the weakling had not a prayer in the world going up against a seasoned vampire, let alone the eldest.
Vlad smiled, the grin no doubt feral. “Who made you?”
“Your brother.” The vampire wheezed as the hand wrapping his throat tightened. “I was sent to the city to find you.”
“And yet I came across you, trying to drain a human. Have you no fucking manners?”
“Manners?” he squeaked. “I’m a vampire. It’s what I do. And I’ll take what the fuck I want.”
Vlad squeezed, stopping just shy of separating his head from his damn shoulders. “Number one rule of vampirism. We take no more than needed. We don’t harm what feeds us, you fucking idiot.”
Moments ago, the pungent odor of fresh blood had tickled Vlad’s nostrils. He had combed the streets, looking for the cause. This piece of crap was in a garbage-littered back alley, in the process of draining a bartender from some dive bar. After sealing the wounds and hypnotizing the human, Vlad had sent the weakened man stumbling on his way. Another few moments and the bartender would’ve been another casualty in Eugene, leaving Vlad to wipe up yet another catastrophic mess.
Vlad growled, the sound echoing back at him. He loosened his grip a fraction. “How many more?”
The reed-thin man’s brows drew together over his narrow, crooked nose. “How many what?”
“How many vampires has my idiot brother created?”
The vampire attempted to swallow, his legs continuing to flail, his fingers clawing at Vlad’s hand. “Let go and I’ll talk.”
Vlad was no fool. He wasn’t about to allow the man an opportunity to break loose, resulting in him having to give chase. Lowering him to his feet, Vlad kept his grip on the man’s throat. “Talk.”
He pressed his lips tight.
The nenorocitule thought he had the upper hand. Vlad would show him exactly who commandeered the conversation. Dropping his hold around the neck, he quickly switched to a forearm, twisting it behind the man’s back, dislocating his shoulder. An ear-piercing squeal was his reward.
“I asked you a question.”
The vampire hissed but said nothing. Imbecile.
Another twist and Vlad broke his wrist, earning him another high-pitched screech.
“How. Many?”
“Mircea made it clear I’m not to answer any of your questions. He promised death if I tell you anything.”
“I’ll kill you if yo
u don’t. And trust me, I won’t be nearly as merciful. You’ll wish for death before the Grim Reaper ever comes to collect. How. Fucking. Many?”
The vampire grimaced as Vlad twisted his forearm until nothing more was left than splintered bones. “At least twenty of us, if he hasn’t already created more. Now let me go.”
Vlad dropped his forearm in favor of the other. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” The vampire yipped when pressure was added. “I’m telling you the truth, damn it. Mircea finds us.”
Vlad growled, mere centimeters from his ear. “How?”
“A cell. My right pocket. We all have one.”
Vlad reached into the vampire’s pocket and withdrew the phone. He aimed it at the man so the face recognition unlocked it, then swiped his thumb across the screen. With his free hand, he scrolled through the received calls, all of them coming from an unknown caller. There were no stored numbers. Mircea was becoming adept, which made catching him problematic.
Son of a bitch.
No matter, Vlad would prevail. He pocketed the cell. The next time Mircea called this vampire, he’d damn well get his brother.
“Let go. You promised.”
Vlad smiled, another grin he did not feel. “I don’t believe I promised anything.”
“You said you would kill me if I didn’t tell you what I know.”
“That I did say.” Vlad released his arms, grabbed his neck and twisted his head clean off his shoulders. “But I never promised I’d let you go.”
Draping the vampire’s bloody corpse over his shoulder, head dangling from his fingers, Vlad sprinted unseen for the woods beyond the city. Mircea’s man would be another casualty, just another missing person buried far into the forest, becoming carrion for the critters.
Chapter 7
Janelle placed her cell softly on her desk, her hand lingering on the smooth screen, and stared at the closed door in her office. Her fingers tapped the Gorilla glass. Her pulse throbbed in her ears as she contemplated the phone call and the DNA results from Vlad’s hair follicle.
Vlad (Sons of Sangue Book 8) Page 5
