Code Black (Paranormal Crimes Division Book 1)

by Tina Moss

Jame sighed and kicked a can into a nearby gutter. When she felt confident Bull was out of earshot, she screamed loud and long. Her veins pulsed at her temples, the blood pouring into her ears. Energy zapped through her like an electric shock. Her body begged for a shift, but duty beckoned. With a last groan, she prepared for a fate worse than stakeouts, shootouts, or even all-nighters without coffee—a press conference.

  Chapter Seven

  Interstate 10, Phoenix, Arizona

  The Kawasaki weaved through the traffic on I-10 like a fighter jet. Hunched over the bike’s sleek aluminum frame, Talon embraced the machine. It responded to his every touch. To think he’d almost skipped out on it. “Best decision ever,” he said, leaning into a tight curve.

  He’d purchased the bike on a whim months back and brought it out during investigations, employing a cargo portion of the PCD jet for transport. When his eyes first landed on the quarter ton lime green and ebony beauty, it was true love. Not that he believed in that Hallmark nonsense, but bikes, cars, hell anything with an engine, warranted exception. Although…a pair of brown eyes, amber hair, and perfect face flashed across his mind. He tried to push it aside. His fiery reporter was the eyewitness of a murder investigation. Off limits didn’t begin to cover it. He forced the image from his thoughts and focused on the American tailpipe in front of him.

  Drake’s baby, a beaten up crimson Harley, cruised along the wide-open interstate heading into downtown Phoenix. Talon constantly had to ease off the throttle to keep from overtaking the American chopper.

  “Damn low riders,” Talon mumbled into his helmet. “All style, no speed.”

  “Stop bitching,” Drake said into a wireless microphone—the compromise for his refusal to wear a wired helmet. “Your Japanese dirt bike needs to learn to keep pace.”

  “Move your ass. Or can’t that hulk of machinery go faster?” The Kawasaki’s engine purred, jolting the bike forward and skimming the back of the Harley.

  “My Lucinda is a lady. Get off her rear. You’ve got to wine and dine her first.”

  “So, that’s a no.” Talon sped up to ride next to the slow vamp. He inclined his head toward Drake, eyebrows raised under his visor. “Wait a minute. You named your bike, Lucinda?”

  Drake laughed. “I told you, shifter, she’s a lady. Treat her right, then watch her go.” Lucinda roared to life as she kicked forward, leaving Talon sniffing a trail of exhaust fumes.

  “Motherless prick!” Talon let his girl fly.

  After Drake and Lucinda exited the freeway and zigzagged along alleys, they stopped cold in front of a blacked out bar. The brick exterior, nonexistence windows, and busted sign reading BUDS, pegged it as an establishment meant for the seedy part of town. However, here it sat on a corner lot with a laundromat to the right, a grocery store across the street and a Pentecostal church down the road.

  “Leave your bike out front. No one’s gonna touch it.” Drake stepped off his Harley and stuffed the microphone in his pocket. He gestured toward the door.

  Talon flicked down the kickstand, patted the seat, and left his helmet on the end. “You sure they’re safe out here?” The Pleasantville neighborhood did little to assuage his doubts.

  “Trust me, shifter, no one,” He looked around and raised his voice above the street traffic, “hear me? No one is going to touch my Lucinda. And since your crotch-rocket is resting next to her, no one’s going to touch that skinny bitch either.”

  He waved the back of his hand at Drake as if to brush off the insult and smirked. “So, you’re popular around here. That it?”

  “I get around, but then that’s why you hired me, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. I just hope your sources are credible.” He eyed the bar’s windowless exterior without much hope.

  “Oh ye of little faith.” Drake kicked the door open. “Come on. Let’s find your girl.”

  Buds should have existed somewhere along the Texas–Mexico border, not in a suburbanized section of downtown Phoenix. The interior lit up like a Christmas tree with stringed rainbow lights hanging from the rafters. The crystal blue sidewalls featured paintings of floor to ceiling cacti with beige speckles coating the bottom. The back area housed the bar with the word Cantina written above its wooden surface. A mirror behind the shelved bottles reflected the multi-colored lights. Each table and booth, scattered across the floor, possessed a white paper cloth with the picture of an old wagon wheel in the center.

  “This is a joke, right?” Talon said with a raised brow.

  “Nah. This is the joint, but loosen up.” A pair of dark eyes seared him with a penetrating stare. “It isn’t the place for the law. And the stick up your ass pegs you as a cop.”

  “I’m more than a cop.” He growled, but tried to ease the tension from his muscles. If this source could give them a clue to find Sera, he would play ball. Sera. He couldn’t stop picturing her. A flash of heat ran through his blood with the thought of her. Those large chocolate eyes looking at him with desire, the feel of her golden skin under his palm had him hardening at the memory, his jeans a nuisance. He chastised his weakness. Keep it in check.

  “Then stay focused.” Drake slapped him on the back and walked toward the bar.

  Scanning the place’s occupants through narrowed eyes, Talon gritted his teeth. A customer sat on a stool with his head on the counter. Shallow breaths puffed from the man’s wide nostrils. His greasy black hair and disheveled clothes hinted at his condition. The smell of cheap whiskey wafted from the drunk’s vicinity like too much three-dollar cologne.

  “Billy, get the fuck out of here. Go clean up and have a shave for Christsakes!” the bartender shouted. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand while slapping a rag at the customer with the other.

  “Hah? What?” Billy flopped off the stool, tipping over a glass in the process. Splashes of liquor from the counter chased after him. “What’re ya goin’ on about now?”

  “I said to get your ass home.” Beady dark hazel eyes zeroed in on Billy. The bartender wasn’t a large man, but power vibrated from his body. His lean muscles tensed, showing under his maroon T-shirt. The posture screamed shifter.

  “Why?” Billy’s legs wobbled uncertainly as he cocked his head like a dog.

  “I got company and I don’t need the likes of you around.” He flipped the rag again. “Get out and come back later, with some cash this time.”

  “Ah hell.” Billy stumbled over a chair on his hobble to the door. When he passed Talon and Drake, he sneered. The stench of booze choked the air. “Whatcha yaz lookin’ at?”

  Drake narrowed his eyes and sucked in a breath. “You so don’t want to get on my bad side, you little shit. Now, go the fuck home.”

  “Are you calling a taxi for him?” Talon asked the bartender.

  A roaring laugh echoed across the bar. “That dipshit lives down the street. He’s here every day. God himself couldn’t kill the man.”

  “Shuz the fuzz up.” Billy exited by falling through the front door. “Ash holes.”

  “See you later, Billy,” Drake said smiling, then zeroed his attention on the bartender. “We’ve got business, Bud. Need some names.”

  “Have a seat,” Bud said, motioning to the bar stools. His energy dissipated slightly, but not enough to make the situation comfortable. “What type of names you need?”

  Talon reacted to the power buzzing behind the bar. The shifter in him couldn’t help it. As his blood pressure spiked, droplets of sweat clung to his chest.

  “Better take it down a notch, first,” Drake said. Patting Talon on the back hard, he added, “My friend here isn’t reacting well to the vibe you’re putting out.”

  Bud cursed, then laughed again. His shoulders hunched and released with the sound. “Sorry Drake. Didn’t know you had such sensitive friends. I’ll pull it back.”

  “No worries. When my fucktard meter spikes, I like to be ready.” Talon nodded a chin at the bartender, letting his power continue to magnify.

  “Bloody shifters.” Dr
ake’s old-world English broke through a split second before hiding behind the urban American slang. “This is why you animals need us.” He slapped a hand over his heart. “Have you ever see vampires going all ape shit alpha on each other? No.”

  Talon and Bud each eased back on the shifter posturing at the display. Drake continued with an exaggerated flourish. “Now, as I was saying. I need some names of people who’d be after the pretty blonde survivor from the six o’clock news story.” He thumbed at a TV in the corner. “I’m assuming you’ve seen it and already had a few calls.”

  “I mighta. But you already know the parties who’ll be in play.” Bud rubbed the stubble along his chin. “So my guess is you want specifics.”

  “Smart boy.” Drake leaned over the counter and stared down at the bartender. “Don’t get too smart.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Bud stepped back, hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Let’s see. No doubt, Veritas will make a bid for her. I heard Strife’s in the area, so she’ll most likely lead the charge.” He grabbed a bottle of Jack from the shelves, poured three glasses, and slid two to his guests. “Local boys, Phoenix honchos, not the Buckhorn cops. They’d be in over their heads. PCD’s probably been called already.”

  Talon threw back the shot of Jack at the same time Bud mentioned the PCD. It burned his throat. Like some punk kid, he came up sputtering.

  “Something I said?” Bud’s eyebrows pulled together.

  Drake pounded a fist on the counter. “Just get on with it.”

  “Sure thing. Anyway, the main player amongst the local boys will be Mario Warren.” Bud poured another round. “He’s a real pretty boy. One of them blond-haired, blue-eyed cops who like to poke their noses in all the games around town. He’s got an in with the boys down at the warehouse, a ticket to the cokeheads on seventh, and a press pass with the news girl at channel nine.”

  Talon eyed the second round of Jack warily, then glared at the bartender. “So you’re saying this cop’s dirty and plays the field? He’s taking bribes so these lowlifes can get their business done?” He bristled under the knowledge of a rat in the local department. Even though it wasn’t technically a PCD issue, he still wanted to smoke out the prick.

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Bud huffed. “Anyway, the last party will be a new group. Well, not new, but new in the just came out of the closet way. They’ve actually been around for centuries.”

  Talon tried to wrap his head around the fact a dirty cop was having free reign in his district, but a word floated to the forefront of his mind, a piece of the puzzle Slick had mentioned earlier. “Phage?”

  “Ding ding. He’s got it. Give him a prize.” Talon scowled, but Bud continued unfazed as he pounded a third round of Jack.

  “Who’s the main player amongst the phage?” Drake sat back on the stool and crossed his arms. His jaw tensed as if he bit down hard on his cheek.

  “That’s the thing about the phage hierarchy,” Bud said. “They’re not like vamp groups. No individual freedoms allowed. The phage stick together, all connected like a swarm of locusts. Lots of different generals though. Rumor is there’s one all the way at the top, a female. But she’s an unknown. No way to say for certain who the leader of their group is.” He scratched his head as if in thought, then threw down his towel abruptly. “Hey you boys are gonna pay for those drinks, right?”

  Drake sucked his fangs. “Add it to the tab.”

  The tangy scent of blood permeated Talon’s nose. He spied a drop on the corner of Drake’s mouth. “You need a breather?” He whispered to the vamp.

  Before Drake could respond, the vamp’s phone started playing Johnny Cash’s “Ring of Fire”. He reached in his pocket and plastered the cell to his ear. “Bad timing, luv.”

  Talon’s ears perked up. A quick change could amplify his hearing tenfold, but he didn’t want to risk a brawl with the bartender. He settled on minor shifts to his inner ear canal. The effect enabled him to listen to the other side of the conversation.

  “You have no idea,” a female said. Her voice strummed like a harp, despite the message. “We were attempting to take the girl to safety, but they raided us before the airport.”

  “Not a good time.” Drake cut her off with a throat clearing. “Text me the location.” He said no more, ending the call with a final click.

  Talon’s bullshit meter spiked off the charts. “What’s up, Drake?”

  “It’s time to go.” He pulled some bills out of his jeans and flung them on the counter. “Thanks for the info, Bud.”

  The elusive vamp rushed the door, knocking over two human females on the way out. Talon followed, stepping over the surprised women and muttering apologies. When he got to his bike, he grabbed Drake by the shoulders and shoved him hard. “You’re going to tell me about that phone call now.”

  Drake’s fangs elongated and his eyes blazed. “Get on your plastic piece of shit and follow like a good dog.” He spun on his Harley and peeled down the road.

  Talon barely had time to curse up a shit storm before his power skyrocketed. The buzz singed his nerves as he tried to keep his hands from shaking. Already ten extra teeth popped from his gums as his mouth extended. Hair sprouted over his arms and legs. His ears pointed upward and he crammed them under his helmet. He wrapped his legs around the bike, pushed the key in the ignition, started her up and took off. As the Harley appeared, Talon experienced a split moment of terror as his mind swam under a wolf’s rage. He’d threatened it so many times before, but today might be the day he finally bit off the vamp’s head—literally.

  Chapter Eight

  Location Unknown

  The woman circled around Sera once, twice, then knelt with the grace of a dancer. The weight rested on the balls of her feet as if she could spring up in a second. Her balance remained even as the ground below them shook. Garbed in black from head to toe, her sleek curves hid behind a wall of darkness. Her tall feminine frame sat poised as a panther, projecting a predatory violence.

  A sweet medicinal scent assailed Sera’s nose. The aroma pushed her back in time. An image of eyes flowing black like slick oil passed through her mind and matched the woman before her. Coco’s curses, commands of “Get down and shut up” from an unknown male, sounded in her head, buzzing in her ears.

  Guy paced inside her mind, banging against the walls, and stomping along the floor of her internal world. Free me now, he screamed.

  One step at a time. Sera winced. Guy’s insistence made her temples throb. I can’t keep a leash on you and an eye on her. Cool off.

  I don’t like it, pet.

  Neither do I. Taking her own advice and keeping cool, she counted up to ten and back down to one. Guy’s pacing slowed. I’m handling it.

  “I will ask you again. Are you injured?” The woman’s tone didn’t soften with the question, nor did her gaze lose its fire.

  Sera’s nerves walked on a slippery edge, but she raised her chin nonetheless. Steeling her words with ice, she said, “What’ve you done? Where am I? What did you do to Coco?”

  “No harm has befallen your friend. We have no quarrel with humans.” The woman’s words fell like thunder, punctuated with hard electric endings. They sounded out of place, as if from another time or other world. “And we do not hurt innocents.”

  “Really?” The van spun a sharp left. Sera rocked backward, smacking her elbow. She tried to rub the pain away, but the rope around her wrists prevented the movement. Her hands shot forward seemingly of their own accord. “What do you call this?”

  The woman nodded to the bindings. A rainstorm and rose scent wafted in the air with the motion. “You are not in any danger from us. The rope is meant for our safety.”

  “Your safety?” Sera found her throat scratched apart as if she’d ingested rocks.

  “Yes. We feared you would be difficult to contain since you are prone to...” Without warning, the formal tone fell and a hint of modern speech slipped in, “well, let’s say, fits.” The woman held a sy
ringe in her right hand and waved it like a flag. Her dry accent returned. “I truly mean you no harm, but I will defend myself if need be. Please, do not make me use this.” The plea sounded more warning than concern.

  Sera stared at the blue liquid and pointed needle. A humming started in her ears. Guy struggled for control again. The internal battle proved too much and Sera fought to stay on her feet. Guy must have felt the slip in her strength. His persistence abated a touch. I’ll back off, pet. But best be wary of her. I don’t like the looks of that needle.

  Gee ya think? She breathed deeply to try to keep a headache at bay. Just keep quiet and let me concentrate.

  “So now, what shall it be?” The fiery eyes, the rainstorm and rose scent, the thunderous voice, the formal language, it all clicked into place.

  She’s a vampire. Sera inhaled. An old vampire.

  Gee. Guy shot back her sarcasm. Ya think?

  Biting a retort, she cranked Black Sabbath’s pounding notes to the highest decibel she could handle without a migraine, then ignored him. With Guy distracted by the rock beats, she focused her mind on the vampire. Scrutinizing her hands, she said, “I’ll play nice, if you untie this rope.”

  “We have started badly.” The vampire crouched down and slipped an object from her forearm. A flash of steel reflected the van’s weak lighting. It swiped across Sera’s palm and between her wrists. Before she could panic, the cool metal caressed her flesh. Not a single drop of blood spilt as the binding fell away. “I hope this will foster trust between us, Ms. Benenati.”

  “Trust is earned, Miss...” Sera faltered. The vampire leaned closer.

  “I possess no Miss to my name. I am called simply, Strife.” The vampire, Strife, pulled back and inclined her head to the side.

  Sera swallowed and circled her wrists around for show. She knew it was a pointless display as her bindings hadn’t been tight enough to do damage. Still, her pride demanded retribution. Hell, anything to keep away the fear bubbling in her stomach. I will not freak out in front of a vampire. I will not.