“What else do you remember about the guys, Emily?” I asked after what I felt was an appropriate moment for adjustment. A normal person would almost certainly disagree, but I hadn’t been normal when I was alive, and that was a long time ago, so I wasn’t sweating it.
She closed her eyes, but didn’t lie back down. “One was tall. Not as tall as you, but still tall. Maybe six foot. He was a little younger than me, maybe twenty-three, twenty-four. A little stubble, good hair, dress shirt, slacks . . . I didn’t notice his shoes, but now . . . he wore boots. That’s kinda weird, boots and slacks. The other guy was young, I’m not even sure how he got into the club. Musta had a good fake ID. Way too young for me. God, he must have been like nineteen or something, and baby faced. Blond, with just a little bit of peach fuzz. He’s totally Shel’s type. She likes the young kiddies, pretty boys. He had on a polo and jeans. Boots on that one, too. And not like dressy boots, but work boots. They both looked like they were on a construction site and changed clothes before going out but forgot shoes.”
“Can you see anything about the guy Quinn is talking to?” I didn’t say “remember,” because I didn’t want her to immediately say “no” and shut down. I wanted her to examine her memories, to dig up any details that might give us an idea where to look for these guys. They were obviously hunting in a pack, and that meant I needed to know everything I could before I went chasing after them.
“Like I said, total Ricky Martin lookalike. Dark, wavy hair, square jaw, sexy Latin eyes . . . he was sex on cracker. Silk shirt, tight jeans, he was dressed . . . hold up, he wore boots, too.” Her eyes popped open. “He was with the guys who drugged me!”
“Yeah,” I said. “He was there to cut the herd. If they only wanted one of you, he probably would have been the point man. But since they wanted you both, he needed to get Quinn off by himself so they could take you and Shelly.”
“Holy shit, you make it sound like these guys are something off a Criminal Minds episode,” Emily said.
“I’ve seen a lot less plausible stuff on that show,” I agreed.
Emily suddenly popped up off the couch. “I have to call Quinn. I need to make sure he got home all right. Oh my God, what if they took him, too. Shit! Shelly. I need to call Shelly. Greg, give me your phone.” She held out her hand to my partner, who had his phone out and was reaching for her before I snatched the plastic rectangle from him.
“No,” I said, standing between them.
“What the hell do you mean, no?” Emily glared at me.
“I mean you aren’t calling Quinn, and you aren’t calling Shelly. You aren’t going to ever talk to them again. I’m sorry, Emily, but you’re dead. Like, should be in a coffin, dead. You have a few hours, but before the sun comes up you have to figure out what the story is going to be. You can either be dead, and deal with everything that entails, or you can call your parents and tell them about this great new job you just got in Singapore, or someplace equally hard to get to. But either way, your old life is gone, and the quicker you accept that, the easier it will be on everyone, especially the people you leave behind.”
Her eyes blazed as she came around the table to stand just inches from me. “And what the hell would you know about what it’s like for the people left behind? What do you know about listening to your mother cry herself to sleep every night for a year because her son is dead? What do you know about visiting an empty grave every year on your brother’s birthday and sitting in the grass, feeling the cold of the headstone on your back and the wet grass soaking through your jeans while you sit there, just telling him about everything that happened in your life, just so you could feel some kind of connection with someone who you barely remember, but has affected every single day of your life? What do you know about that, you son of a bitch?”
I didn’t look in her eyes. I just said, my voice soft, “I know you brought geraniums, because that was what you remembered being his favorite flower. I know that Frankie Reynolds broke your heart in ninth grade. I know that you weren’t sure whether to major in chem or bio sophomore year at UNCC. I know you thought your parents were going to get divorced when you graduated college, but they were just getting a time share and didn’t want to tell you because they thought you’d make fun of them for falling for a scam. I know a lot. But I don’t know enough about the men who killed you to bring them to justice, and to save your friends if they’re still in danger. So would you please get your woe-is-me attitude in check and act like the grown-ass woman you’re supposed to be?” By the time I finished, I wasn’t speaking softly anymore. I was standing tall, in full Master of the City mode, as cold and ruthless as my kind was supposed to be. I hated it, but sometimes the situation calls for a designated asshole. This time, it was me.
Emily looked at me like I’d slapped her, and a single tear rolled down her face. I watched it, clean, pure salt water, probably the last tear she’d ever cry that wouldn’t be red-tinged. Then she nodded at me, turned, and went back to the couch.
She closed her eyes, and after a few seconds, began to speak again. “I can feel it. I’m dizzy, so the dark-haired guy takes my arm. He’s strong, really strong. He almost carries me and starts walking me to the door. Not the front door, out on College Street. He takes me out the back, to that alley between all the bars and the big parking deck. I look back over my shoulder, and Shel is back there, all draped over the shoulders of the blond kid like she’s about to pass out. Quinn is there too, staggering all over his hookup. I’m embarrassed because we’re all such lightweights, that we can’t drink like when we were all in college anymore. But it wasn’t that, was it?”
“No,” Greg said. “This wasn’t your fault.”
Emily didn’t respond, just nodded and kept reliving her story. “We get to the alley, and there’s a limo waiting for us. The driver is huge, like a wrestler or something. A giant bald guy with tattoos all up his neck and peeking out his sleeves. He opens the doors, and we all kinda stumble into the limo, but there aren’t any seats. I look around, confused, but my guy is shoving me, and he’s strong, and I just kinda crawl into the limo, and I move to the other side and try the door, thinking this is weird and I’ll just crawl right out the other side, but the door won’t open, and then he’s right there behind me, and then Shel and her guy are in there, then Quinn is there with the Ricky Martin-looking guy, and it’s tight, and I can’t really move, and I’m feeling more and more strange. It’s hard to move my arms and legs, but I can feel everything that happens.”
“You don’t have to—” Greg starts to say, but she cuts him off with a wave of her hand. He looked hurt, but she was right. This was important, and the more she could get through, the better our chances of finding this asshole.
“The limo is moving, and I’m basically paralyzed, and I guess Shelly and Quinn are too, because the next thing I remember, the guys are posing us and taking pictures and selfies. They aren’t doing anything to us, really, just moving us around like we’re all big Barbie dolls and they’re little kids playing with their toys. They push me and Shel together like we’re making out, and all I can think is if they wanted to see me kiss my best friend, they should have just asked. Then the limo stops, and all of a sudden it’s like they got to the principal’s office or something. They pull us apart, straighten our clothes, and start acting all prim and proper.”
“The limo door opens, and Ricky Martin gets out first, then he reaches back in and drags Quinn out by his ankles. He doesn’t let him hit the ground, but he’s not real gentle with him. Shel’s blond guy gets out next and drags her out after him, then my guy gives me a kiss on the forehead and slides backward out of the car, pulling me with him. He stands me up, kinda, more like he leans me up against the limo, and I see we’re in the middle of a football field. I guess we’re at a high school or something, because we haven’t been driving long from downtown. At least I don’t think we have. But we’re in the middle of a f
ootball field, leaning on a limo, with three assholes from the bar holding us up. And there he is.”
“Who?” I ask.
“The creepy guy from the bar. He’s just standing there in the grass, like he was waiting for us. Which I guess he was, as creepy as that is. He’s got a coat on, a long black leather coat, and just like the other assholes, he’s wearing work boots. I guess they work construction or something, or there’s some new fashion thing I haven’t heard about. He walks over to us, looks us all up and down like he’s inspecting meat or something, and stops when he gets to me.”
“‘Why did you take the old one?’ he asks, and I want to punch him. I might be a few years older than Quinn and Shel, but not that much. I mean, I’m not even thirty yet! But he just moves on to Shelly and Quinn, says ‘they’ll do,’ and comes back to me. He looks in my eyes, and it feels like something is pressing down on the inside of my head. The pressure is incredible, and just when I think I’m going to pass out, he whispers ‘Forget,’ and the pressure goes away.
“I don’t remember anything really after that. I remember seeing a knife in his hand, then feeling something burn against my neck. Then I feel something on my throat, some kind of suction. I pass out, but before I do I see . . . holy shit.” The last bit trails off into a whisper, and she opens her eyes, horror written all over her face.
“What is it, Em?” Greg asked.
I knew what she was going to tell us before she speaks, but I let her tell us herself. Then she does. “The last thing I saw was the three guys from the bar drinking from Quinn and Shel’s throats. They turned my best friends, too. But if they were turned, where are they?”
Emily turned to me, her face stricken. “Jimmy, where are Shelly and Quinn?”
Chapter 24
I LOOKED AT GREG, whose bleak face mirrored the gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach. “I don’t know, Em,” I said. “I don’t know where they could be, but I know we’ll do everything in our power to find them. And we’ve got a lot more power than we did when we were alive.” I gave her my best reassuring look at that last bit, but she didn’t look too reassured.
“Let me look at your neck again,” Greg said, moving over to the couch beside Emily.
“What? Leave me alone, Greg,” she said, swatting him away.
“Be still,” Greg snapped at her. She froze and looked at her brother. He had a look on his face that I recognized instantly, but Emily had never seen. He had an idea, and nothing was going to get in the way of him investigating it. Emily sat still and put her hands down as Greg examined her throat.
“Dammit, she’s healed already.” He scooted away from his sister and looked over at me. “I wanted to examine the wound to see if there were any tool marks or anything strange about the edges of the cut.”
“From what I remember, it was very straight, like a scalpel cut almost. Maybe Bobby has photos.” I pulled out my phone to text the morgue.
“If he doesn’t, the crime scene techs certainly will,” Greg said, standing up and moving over to the computer table. Emily followed him, then took half a step back as the entire tabletop lit up into a touchscreen. Greg tapped on the surface for a few seconds, then picked up a wireless keyboard and sat down.
I finished my text to Bobby, replied to a message from Sabrina checking in on Greg, letting her know that we had a house guest for the foreseeable future, then sent a text to Abby telling her the same thing. I’d heard her moving around upstairs, so I knew she was awake, and she was showing remarkable restraint in not coming downstairs. A message to William telling him I wouldn’t be in the office today finished my mundane tasks, and I joined my partner and our newest vampire at the computer.
“This thing is badass,” Emily said when I sat down.
“Yeah, your brother is kind of a genius,” I replied.
“No kind of about it, buddy. I’m a genius. I’ve got the Mensa membership to prove it. And you know what else I’ve got?”
“A login to the police department computer system. Sabrina gave it to you, remember? I was right there. McDaniel was tired of you hacking into the place, so he gave you access.” I love my partner, but damn it feels good to deflate him every once in a while.
“Who’s Sabrina?” Emily asked.
“My girlfriend,” I said. “She’s a homicide detective.”
“They have vampire cops? That’s wild.”
“She’s not a vampire,” I said.
“You date somebody that’s still alive? That’s gotta be tough, keeping your secret.”
“Oh, she knows all about us,” Greg said. “She’s worked cases with us.” His face went dark. “Lieutenant McDaniel, her boss, he’s the one that . . . identified you. Last night, I mean.”
Emily gave her brother a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, bro. I’m getting used to it. The whole dead thing. It’s no big—holy shit, that’s me.” The reassuring smile fell away, and Emily went even more pale as her eyes got huge and she pushed back from the table.
I looked up at the giant monitor hanging on the wall, and there was the sequence of crime scene photos Greg had called up. Emily lay on the ground, posed, like the other women we’d found, with her hands folded on her chest. She was fully clothed, and other than being far too pale to be alive, she looked like she was just sleeping.
Until you looked at her from the right side, where the slash across the side of her neck was visible even from several feet away. Nothing else looked out of place, and I ignored Emily’s shock. I couldn’t help her work through this part. Nobody could. She was going to have to come to grips with her new place in the world on her own, or she wouldn’t. Nothing I could do or say would make much difference in that.
“Zoom in,” I said.
“I can do one better,” Greg replied. He clicked a few keys, and images scrolled by on the screen. Full body shots from all angles, then closeups starting at the feet and working their way up. He paused on the shoes and hands, but Sabrina and Fitzpatrick had her clothes and were checking it for trace evidence, so if there was anything there that would lead us to a killer, they’d find it.
After a few clicks, Greg landed on a closeup of her neck, filling the screen with the wound. He zoomed in, rotating the image so the slash ran horizontal across the screen. “It’s deep,” he said. “Looks like one cut, no hesitation.”
“Yeah, this isn’t the first person he’s killed like this.”
“This blade is sharp, man. Like you said, maybe a scalpel.”
“But why?” I asked. “He can just open her up himself if all he’s doing is drinking from her.”
“Yeah, but he can’t drain three people in one night, and certainly not one right after the other. You just can’t hold that much blood. There’s something else going on here.”
“What are we missing?” I turned back to Emily. “Is there anything else you remember about the men? What about the inside of the limo? Was there anything lying around that you didn’t remember at first?”
“Like what? Transfusion kits? Jars to collect our blood so they could save it for later, lobster bibs to keep their . . . oh god, that’s disgusting.”
“What is it?” Greg asked.
“They really did have lobster bibs in the back of the limo. That didn’t come out of nowhere, I really saw them. The little plastic ones with pictures of a grinning lobster on them! Oh God, that’s so gross!”
“Also kinda funny,” I said. They both glared at me. “Sorry, but it’s funny!”
“It also tells us why he cut her throat,” Greg said. “You’re not going to like it, though.”
“Too late,” I replied. “This asshole is murdering young women and girls in my city. I already don’t like it.”
“Yeah, well, this means he’s got human blood-drinkers with him. That’s why he had to cut Emily’s throat—they don’t have fangs.�
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I felt the muscle in my jaw tighten as I fought not to punch something. “That explains the lobster bibs, too. Humans aren’t built to drink blood as fast as the carotid pumps it out, so they’d make a mess. Dammit.” I was furious, and a little disgusted. We had to drink blood, and Greg and I did everything we could to avoid taking it straight from the source. Now here were these human assholes murdering people to drink blood for kicks. I found myself really hoping one of the victims had some kind of disease they could catch that way.
“But why did she turn? If he bled her out and let the humans drink from her, she would just be dead.” Greg drummed his fingers on the table as he mused.
“I don’t know, man. I don’t know how any of this works. Something about Emily breaks the laws of vampirism? He used a magical vampire scalpel? I don’t know. I just know this guy’s making vampires in my city, and we’ve got to stop him.”
“How are we supposed to do that without all the facts?” Greg asked.
“Well, what do you know?” Emily asked. She held up her hands as we both stared at her. “Look, I’m late to the party, but maybe there’s something I can see that you’ve missed.”
I stood up and started to pace. “Okay, so we’ve got a rogue vampire who knows enough about politics to stay out of sight, but not enough to completely escape notice. Unless he wants me to find these particular victims for some reason.”
“And he’s taking some victims and leaving others for us to dispose of. Because a newborn is either going to sleep until daylight, in which case the sun will dispose of the evidence for him—” Greg started, but I cut him off.
“Or she’ll wake up starving and be unable to control her urges, in which case I put her down,” I said. “So why would he not want to keep these three women in particular? Greg, call up all the missing persons reports in the last three months.”
All Knight Long Page 16
