Then it suddenly dawned on her. The bag of blood! As she looked to the tray next to the bed, she saw nothing.
Oh God, what happened to it?
Jena’s eyes frantically searched around the small room. That blood had to be somewhere. It couldn’t have just disappeared. Someone must have taken it. But how? Her brain scrambled to come up with a practical explanation. It was here just a minute ago.
“Did you or anyone else take a silver platter from my room?” she asked the guard.
He shook his head.
She nodded and slowly eased back against the pillows.
“Would you like me to leave a lamp on?” the guard asked her.
“Yes, please.”
When the guard stepped out of the room, Jena glanced desperately at her phone. She wanted to call Angie. But what good would that do? There was nothing her friend could do right now. Besides, she was coming to pick her up in the morning.
Frustrated, Jena let out a deep breath and closed her eyes, thinking she was beginning to lose the only bit of sanity she had left. “Please, God,” she prayed, “give me strength.”
Chapter Fifteen
Detective Manuel Sanchez started toward the parking lot after he watched the ambulance leave with his partner, taking him to the hospital. Although Manuel had parked his unmarked car at the front of the police station, he headed in the opposite direction. In the event of what just went down in his own precinct, he needed some air.
Man, just a few months back, he never guessed that werewolves and vampire-like creatures existed, much less protected humans, or lived in a mansion the size of a castle. They had one in all fifty states with their own laws, but they also had enemies.
As he went along, the heels of his black leather boots ground against the concrete of the sidewalk that surrounded the precinct. When he got to the far side of the building, he paused at the sound of a revving engine coming from the street alongside him.
Acting on instinct, Manuel spun around and unbuttoned his suit jacket so he could get a hand on his heat. Considering the incident at the station earlier, he wasn’t taking any chances. He might be pushing fifty-four, but the cop in him wasn’t dead yet.
This is quickly going to get ugly, he thought.
A black SUV with tinted windows headed in his direction, moving at a high speed. The moment Manuel palmed his semiautomatic, the passenger window started to come down. When the muzzle of a gun emerged from the inside, he dove for the ground before it discharged. The first bullet ricocheted off the pavement, barely missing him. Just as he scrambled to take shelter behind a parked car, a second shot ripped through his shoulder.
Manuel ducked lower and gritted his teeth. Son of a bitch! His arm felt like a hot, fire poker had drilled through it. At the sound of doors opening and footsteps pounding, he swallowed back the pain and leveled his gun.
As a man’s head popped around, Manuel put a slug into his chest, spinning the bastard away, landing him face-first on the ground. Seconds later, he heard a door slam and tires screeching as the other man made his getaway.
Manuel cursed through the pain while he managed to get to his feet. When he approached the shooter, who was lying facedown on the pavement, he heard moans.
“Good,” Manuel said, his upper lip curled into a snarl. “You’re still alive.”
After Detective Sanchez kicked the shooter’s pistol away, he knelt beside the bastard, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and tilted his head off the sidewalk. He roughly twisted his head to the side, and got up in his face, pegging him with a hard stare.
“Tell me who the hell you’re working for, or I’ll send your sorry ass home in a pine box!”
When there was no answer, Manuel put the muzzle of his semiautomatic against the base of the man’s skull. “Start talking.” He raised his voice. “Now!”
The man slammed his lids shut and gasped in pain. “Okay, okay,” he choked out. “Just don’t kill me.”
As police sirens alerted his attention, Manuel turned to look, aware that his left sleeve was soaking wet from his own blood.
Cursing again, he pressed the gun further into the gunman’s head. “Spill it! I haven’t got all damn day!”
The shooter tilted his face toward Manuel with his eyes rounded. “It was Vincent Scarpelli,” he sputtered, swallowing compulsively, and then fell completely limp.
The perpetrator’s face fell forward as Manuel lowered his gun and released his hair.
When Manuel felt a hand clamp over his uninjured shoulder, he looked around to see his captain.
“I can’t leave you or Detective Perkins alone for one minute, can I?” Captain Hodge said to him.
Manuel smirked and shook his head. “It’s been one helluva day.”
After his captain called for an ambulance, he said, “So, what the hell happened?”
“Vincent Scarpelli ordered a hit on me,” Manuel grumbled. “That’s what happened.”
“Shit.” Captain Hodge let out a deep breath. “I’m guessing this has something to do with our furry friend, Mr. Fratianno?”
Manuel furrowed his brows and nodded.
As the paramedics arrived, they placed the unconscious hit man on a gurney while another EMT checked Manuel’s gunshot wound.
“Looks like the bullet went clean through,” the paramedic said. “You’ve lost a lot of blood, Detective. We need to get you to the hospital.”
Damn, Manuel thought as his captain and the paramedic helped him to his feet, this has been a long, long, very bad day.
Moments later, the ambulance arrived at the Bates Hospital. Helen’s physician instincts came online as the paramedics wheeled the hired gunman inside. When she met them at the emergency entrance, she saw the soles of a pair of men’s Italian leather shoes hanging off the gurney. By the expensive style, they was obviously Prada.
She pushed ahead so she could get to the man who appeared to be unconscious and said, “What do we have?”
“Male in his twenties,” the paramedic said to Helen. “Gunshot wound to the chest. He crashed on us once on transport. I shocked him at two hundred joules. BP is sixty over forty and falling.”
A nurse sitting at the front desk began to record everything. Two others were on standby to take Helen’s directions, and a pair of residents hovered to help as needed.
“Do we have an ID on the patient?” Helen asked.
“I got a wallet,” the other paramedic said, handing it over to the closest nurse. “His name is Sammy Caruso.”
“Do whatever you have to do to keep that SOB alive,” Manuel interjected as he walked in behind everyone with his arm in a sling, “he’s a witness to a hired hit.”
Helen looked over her shoulder and rolled her eyes when she got a look at the detective. “And what happened to you?”
Manuel pointed to the man lying on the gurney. “That sucker shot me.”
Helen cursed under her breath and directed her attention to the EMTs. “Take him to bay two.” Then she turned to a nurse standing nearby. “I want a blood type on the patient and a chest X-ray right away.”
Dr. Helen Carrington’s commands snapped the staff into action.
As Helen followed behind the patient that was being wheeled to the operating room, she focused on another nurse and said, “Nurse Kathryn, please see to Detective Sanchez’s injuries.”
She quickly nodded. “Yes, Dr. Carrington.”
Helen paused and looked back at Manuel. “By the way, your partner is getting stitched up. It looks like you two have had one hell of a day.”
He cocked a brow. “You ain’t a-kiddin’.”
“We’ve got some things to discuss, Detective. I’ll be back to check on you after I take care of Mr. Caruso,” Helen said before she turned to leave.
* * *
Jena sank deep into the padded mattress of her hospital bed. The layers of blankets enveloped her like a warm embrace. Somewhere in slumber, she dreamed a familiar smile. Was it Todd’s? As his smile finally faded away, s
omething dreadful and disturbing took its place.
The agonizing sounds were muffled and faraway... powerless and defenseless, harsh and deep. The way a man might cry out in torment.
“Todd!” With a frightened cry of her own, Jena sat upright, her eyes rounded with fear. Her breath came out in a panicked rush. It was pitch-dark. The only light in the room came from the pale glow of her phone’s screen saver. She could barely make out the image. It was a photo of her and Todd, taken a month ago.
Did I only imagine Todd’s screams, or was it another nightmare taunting my sanity?
Despite her confusion, she instinctively looked to the lamp on the nightstand. It was at that moment she remembered the guard turning it on before he left the room. Could the bulb have burned out? Maybe the nurse came into her room while she was sleeping and turned it off.
Jena slipped out of bed and padded cautiously over to the nightstand. Her hand trembled as she reached out to turn the switch.
Click, click...
Without warning, she caught a glimpse of a shadow in the corner of her eye. The next instant she felt the impression of warm hands from behind, wrapping around her waist. Startled, she stepped back and looked down, but there was nothing. Jena could feel her heart starting to pound.
The uneasiness building inside of her was becoming unbearable. Danger clawed at the outer edge of her consciousness, warning her to get out of this hospital.
I can’t stay here any longer.
Completely distraught, she reached for her phone and unhooked the charger, then sat on the bed and searched through her contacts for Angie’s number.
Come on, Angie! Pick up!
It wasn’t like her friend not to answer her calls. Even at this hour.
Maybe she was out of range, Jena tried to tell herself. Maybe Angie was away from her phone. Considering the situation, surely she wouldn’t turn it off.
In spite of her rationalizations, Jena became more and more paranoid.
Please, Angie. Please answer my call.
Before it went to Angie’s voice mail, Jena ended the call and curled up on the bed, her heart beating so fast she could feel it in the back of her throat. Her eyes filled with so many tears that the room went out of focus.
A sudden chill worked at the base of her spine, lifting the hairs along the back of her neck. That’s when Jena realized the truth. If she stayed here alone in this room tonight, he would surely come back.
In sheer panic, Jena reached for the phone. She screamed as it began to ring just when she grabbed it.
Relieved that it might finally be Angie, she quickly answered, “Thank God, I tried to call—”
“Jena... Jena... I’m coming for you,” the stranger’s voice cut her off.
She dropped the phone on the bed. “No!” she cried out, recognizing that voice. It was him. She was sure of it. She’d heard that voice many times before, whispering and taunting her. And he knew exactly where she was.
“Jena?” Angie’s voice sounded fuzzy as her words crackled through the static over the phone. “I can barely hear you.”
Jena’s hands were shaking so much she could hardly hold onto the phone.
She managed to hold it steady. “Angie?” Her voice trembled. “Is that really you?”
“Yes,” Angie replied. “Is something wrong?”
“Please, Angie.” Jena’s heart fluttered. “I need you to come get me. The monster that killed Todd and Sophie is coming for me.”
“Hang on, girlfriend. I’m heading your way now.”
Jena found relief to hear the urgency in her friend’s voice. “Thank you, Angie. And please hurry.”
Chapter Sixteen
Tara glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised at how late it was. A little past midnight and everything seemed quiet around her. She hadn’t seen or heard from Lawrence since he last visited her. He promised when he returned he would tell her all about this mysterious place, and what had brutally attacked Brandon.
She tried to close her eyes and rest, but she didn’t feel like sleeping. She wasn’t even tired. She was mostly frustrated. She couldn’t get her mind off the thing that killed Brandon. What was it, and will it come back for me?
Feeling more restless by the minute, Tara winced in pain as she eased off the bed and stood up. She held herself on the IV pole until it shook from the effort of keeping her body upright. She carefully put one foot in front of the other until she got to the door. As she placed her ear against it, all she could hear were the sounds of buzzing coming from the fluorescent lights on the other side.
Tara wondered how big this place really was and what the rest of it looked like. Her curiosity got the better of her. Maybe I’ll just take a quick peek around.
The door made a creaking noise as she slowly cracked it open and stuck her head out. The coast was clear. She let out a deep breath, realizing she had been holding it, and made her way into the hall.
When she finally made it down to the end of a long corridor, she cautiously pushed open a set of double doors. Beyond them was a gym big enough to fit an entire football team. The room housed a variety of cardiovascular machines and tons of weight equipment, some of which she had no clue what they were. Black mats were stacked against the far end of the wall, and there were at least a half a dozen red punching bags hanging from the ceiling.
At a snail’s pace, she moved to the far side of the gym and stopped in front of a door marked WEAPONS ROOM. As she reached to open it, she paused before her hand made contact with the elongated handle. Although her gut instincts warned her otherwise, she pushed her way inside.
Her eyes rounded in amazement at the number of shelved weapons. An arsenal of military weaponry was stored on racks and locked in glass cabinets. As all kinds of terrifying scenarios went through her head—wondering why in the hell they needed weapons of this magnitude—she heard a man’s voice echo from behind, calling out her name.
“Tara...”
She twisted her head to the side and said, “Lawrence, is that you?”
“Lawrence is not here, Tara.” The voice pronounced each word with a deep drawl. “He cannot protect you now.”
She could hear the smugness in his tone. He had an American accent with a slight hint of the south.
Her pulse leaped and her fight-or-flight reflexes screamed inside of her. It took every ounce of courage she possessed to keep herself calm.
In a cold voice, he said, “No one can protect you.”
Tara’s hand trembled as she braced herself against the portable medical device and shifted around. A tall, dark figure stood in the dark shadows.
Her voice trembled. “Who are you?”
“You know who I am, Tara.” Another hint of smug superiority bathed his tongue.
“Y-you’re the one who killed Brandon, aren’t you?”
For an endless moment, there was silence. Then, out of nowhere, he was on her in an instant.
Tara gasped in shock, her ability to move suddenly drifting into a weary fog.
As her knees began to buckle, a pair of strong hands held her up. She could feel sharp nails digging into her skin and warm lips tracing the curve of her neck. Her mouth opened to call for help, but strangely, she could not muster a single word. Tara hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until the grip around her arms loosened and his fingers glided down the back of her thin gown.
Trapped in a web of terror, her only awareness was a sinister voice that whispered in her ear, “You’ll be with your beloved Brandon soon.”
Tara clenched her lids shut, preparing for him to strike, but instead, he hesitated and inhaled a deep breath.
On a quick exhale, he let out a disgusted groan. “You’re not human.” His words ended in a guttural growl.
Before Tara could open her eyes, he simply vanished, leaving her limbs weak and helpless. Moaning at the effort to stay on her feet, she felt she could no longer find the strength. She heard the dull echo of a clatter as she fell to the floor, taking
down the portable iron pole along with her.
The sound of a door opening brought her head upright. Footsteps began to move in her direction. Tara felt sick with dread, sick with the killer’s promising words of death. His voice echoed mockingly in her head. She could still feel his lips on her throat.
Oh, God, was he coming back?
Tara panicked when she saw the shadowed silhouette of someone getting closer and closer. With her mind focused on an escape, she maneuvered herself on all fours and slowly crawled as if she were trudging through thick mud, getting absolutely nowhere.
“Ms. Hood?” a woman’s voice called out. “Are you okay?”
Tara froze in confusion and looked around. Then she breathed a sigh of relief. Standing before her was a woman with long brown hair and bright emerald-green eyes that expressed concern. Perched over her left hip was a blond-haired little boy that didn’t look much older than a year. He was pointing his finger and mumbling gibberish.
She felt utterly exhausted, yet still terrified. Brandon’s killer could be out there right now, watching and waiting.
Tara stared nervously at the woman and finally managed to speak. “I swear, something was just here, and it disappeared into thin air.” Her voice trembled. “It was the thing that killed my boyfriend. And I think it wants to kill me.”
For a brief second, the woman stood in silence. With concern brimming in her eyes, she knelt down with the little boy in her arms. “Are you saying someone was here in this room with you?”
Tara reluctantly nodded.
“What did this thing look like?”
“It was a man,” Tara told her. “But I’m positive it was the same creature that killed Brandon.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because...” Tara’s voice wavered. “...he said I would be with Brandon soon.”
The woman placed her free hand over Tara’s trembling shoulder. “Did he hurt you?”
Tara shook her head. “No, but he said something strange to me. It didn’t make any sense.”
She looked at Tara confused. “What did he say?”
“He said I wasn’t human.”
“You’re safe now, Ms. Hood.” The woman’s voice was firm, trying her best to keep her reaction calm and collected. “I give you my word. No one is going to harm you here.” Her voice seemed genuine. “I’m Tessa, by the way. And this is my son Jax.”
THE IMMORTAL: A Novel of the Breedline series Page 12
