Protection, Jess had said. Without thinking, he scooped up the cross and lifted the chain over his head. Childhood horror movies and vampires came to mind. He laughed at his wild imagination.
Still, what would require a man to wear a cross for protection? The cop in him wanted to be more scientific about whatever was going on, but his religious upbringing made him believe in the power of the cross. Not in a physical sense, of course, but more in a spiritual way.
He wasn’t exactly sure what Jess thought the cross would do for him, but his sense of unease lessened a bit when he put it on. Maybe that’s what she’d had in mind all along. She did tell him to go back to the church the other night. Rubbing his fingers over the cross, he realized there was something engraved on the back—the initials ‘JV’ in old script. Jess Vandermire? Or maybe a relative? The cross looked too old to be hers. Either way it was valuable and probably cherished. Why would she give it to him?
He shook his head. The only way he could find out was to ask her, and she kept refusing to answer his questions. He heaved a sigh. He needed sleep. Tomorrow things would click and he’d be able to figure out what was going on. He’d always prided himself on his investigatory skills. Maybe it was time he put those skills to use again. He’d been letting his instincts atrophy for too long.
But asking him to wear the cross hinted at things that were too bizarre for words. Surely she didn’t really expect him, an ex-cop, to believe a simple cross could protect him from evil. He knew most things evil walked around on two legs and carried weapons. Even so, he paced around the apartment until well after 1 a.m. Finally, he crawled into bed, but couldn’t sleep. Instead, every time he closed his eyes, he kept seeing images of Jess dressed in leather. Picking up his pillow and slamming it over his face didn’t work either. For God’s sake, he was acting like a teenager.
After taking three deep, cleansing breaths, he closed his eyes and began counting sheep.
Or was it wolves?
Wolves in lamb’s clothing?
Damn it. He punched his pillow and flopped onto his side. What was the secret group the police were running? Who were they targeting? And why had that strange looking boy been killed and left in his apartment building?
There were too many unanswered questions for an ex-cop who couldn’t leave an unsolved crime alone.
At least thinking about crime got his mind off the leader of the Special Ops team. Damn! Now he was thinking about Jess again. He groaned and got out of bed to get a glass of water. The bedside clock winked three o’clock.
He didn’t bother to turn on the lights.
Just as he reached for a glass in the cupboard, he heard a floorboard creak behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he stiffened. His rusty self-defense tactics sprang to the fore, and he swung around to tackle whoever was behind him.
Eyes glowed on the other side of the room and for a moment he almost screamed. That would be most unseemly for a big, tough guy like him, so he kept his mouth shut.
“Who are you? How’d you get in here?” He reached out and grabbed the first thing he could find on the countertop. An empty beer bottle.
The eyes blinked.
“If you don’t tell me this minute, I’m going to bash your brains in.” Stupid comment. Especially if the intruder had a nine millimeter pointed at his heart.
“Meow.”
He reached for the light switch and turned on the kitchen light. A cat? Britt couldn’t believe it was a damned cat. Blinking in the wash of sudden light, a very thin animal with a scraggy tail sat in the middle of his kitchen, as if it belonged here.
But where had it come from? He pushed back the urge to touch the cross still hanging around his neck. Even with the patio door open, there was no way a cat could get inside. Unless the animal belonged to the circus.
He opened his apartment door and tried to shoo the thing out into the hall with his foot. The cat yowled a quick complaint, then moved out of Britt’s way and scooted under the kitchen table. He didn’t want to leave.
Britt strode to the patio and searched above and below for a logical solution to a cat being able to stroll into his apartment. There was none.
Chapter Five
Jess moved around the gymnasium with a timer in her hand. She heard footsteps. Without looking up, she knew Britt was here. He’d already broken a cardinal rule. He was late, but then she hadn’t expected him to come at all. She thought she’d seen the last of him after their last meeting.
Without being obvious, she worked her way around the room, and stopped in front of him. He was on the floor, doing sit-ups with the rest of them.
“John, I’m glad you decided to give us another try. I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Yeah, I know. And after the other night you have every right to tell me to get lost.” He put his hands on the back of his neck and started doing sit-ups again. “I’d like continue with the training for a while, until I decide for sure.”
She crouched down next to him so no one else would hear what she said. “That’s fine with me—this time. Just be aware this is your last chance. Normally, people don’t get a second chance around here.”
Tonight he looked disheveled, as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be here and made the decision at the last minute. He needed a shave. A contributing factor toward his extra tough appearance tonight. God help her, she wanted to run her hand down his face and then let her fingers find his carotid artery and feel the life pulsing through him.
“Understood, Ma’am. Can’t promise I won’t be a pain in the ass though. It’s part of my rough-edged charm.”
“Do I look like I was born yesterday, Brittain?” She forced her mouth into a grim line or she might smile again. Normally, people had a healthy respect for her and she didn’t need to spike up her tough exterior. In fact, she usually had to assume a false serenity so people wouldn’t be terrified by what she was. But with Britt, when she ratcheted up her aura of danger and laid it bare for him to see, he appeared to be unaffected by the truth that lay beneath the surface.
“How many other people have committed to this job without knowing the score?”
“Everyone but you.” She got up and turned quickly toward a group working on self-defense. “Griz, use your senses! Feel the presence of someone sneaking up on you. Don’t just use your ears; you won’t last long that way.”
“How’d you know he wasn’t doing what he was told? You weren’t even facing him.”
“Easy.” She smiled, a rarity for her. What was it about Britt that made her feel like smiling? That alone should tell her to cut him from the team. “I used my senses.”
“Ah.” He tipped his head in a half-nod to let her know he didn’t believe a word of it.
“I see my reluctant pupil needs a lesson in sensory ability.”
His eyes darkened in a sensual look that sent a rush across her cold flesh, making it warmer than she ever thought possible. She didn’t need to imagine what he was thinking about, because the way he was looking at her left little to the imagination. No senses required!
They were working in an old warehouse on the docks. It was large enough to house several situation rooms at the back of the building.
“Okay Britt, follow me.”
He hesitated when he realized they were leaving the main group. At least he still didn’t trust her and that was worth smiling about.
“Over here.” She opened a door and he followed. “For all intents and purposes this room is exactly like an alley in the worst part of the city. No telling what you might find down there, especially after I turn out the lights. Your job is to walk down this long, dark tunnel and try to forget about your five senses. Rely on your gut. Your intuition.”
“Dark alley. Beautiful girl. Piece of cake,” he said.
“Think so, hot shot?”
He turned to wink at her, but she was gone. “Damn it, woman. How do you do that?”
“I use my senses.” Her whisper echoed
through the room. He couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
Then the lights went out and he took a couple of steps forward. Aware someone was in front of him, he stopped and waited. What was the goal of this exercise? To catch whomever it was, or to prove he could sense them? Jess hadn’t given him enough information. He’d have to play it the way he thought it should go.
The other person didn’t move either. He slowly took a step closer and then closer, until he felt the person was close enough to touch.
“How long should we stand here sensing each other?” he finally said. He knew it was Jess.
“I’m impressed, Brittain.” She used a remote to click the lights back on. “You’re the first person to ever sense me first time out. Do you have a bit of psychic in you?”
“I’m an ex-cop, not a psychic. I have a gut and it told me you were there. It’s as simple as that.”
“Uh huh. Your abilities are quite impressive, gut or not. No matter what method you’re using, don’t get overconfident. This is just the start. Sandbox stuff.”
They walked back to the open area of the warehouse.
“Where’d all of those other people out there come from? I thought this was a one-lady show, but now you have a trainer for each newbie.” It didn’t escape him that Jess was his trainer. It paid to arrive late.
“It’s necessary. Expedites things. We don’t have time to screw around.”
“How are things going on the Bergeron case?” he asked.
“You know I can’t talk about an active investigation. Especially to one of the prime suspects.”
“If that’s the case, you shouldn’t be training me on an elite police force team either.”
“True, but you happen to be an exception. We don’t usually get people with your kind of experience. We do recruit cops whenever we can, but mostly we make do with what we can get. The rest of the team are not the cream of the crop.”
He frowned. “What you’re saying is you need people who are expendable?”
“You’re partially correct. But besides that, we also need people who’ve seen how mean the streets can get. Tough people who can hold their own when they learn the truth.”
Had she experienced the mean streets? His gaze slipped down her frame. Skintight leather accentuated her body to perfection. He couldn’t ignore how hot she looked in the outfit. It would be much easier for him to concentrate if she didn’t dress that way. Maybe that was the plan, distract the enemy first. Then go for the jugular.
“You really won’t tell me what’s going on will you? Did you at least find out where that poor guy in my basement was killed?”
“Yes, we found the spot.”
“Where was it?”
“For me to know and for you to earn when you become a member of the team.”
He sighed and hunched his shoulders. “Jess, I admit I’m curious. Damned curious. But I don’t like secrets, and I don’t like the idea of accepting a job, without knowing the particulars.”
“Use your gut, Britt. Just this one time, let your gut tell you what you should do. It’s the only way you’re going to be able to decide. Because until you say yes, I can’t tell you anything more.”
Britt groaned and threw one arm across his face. What did a guy have to do to get some sleep around here? Besides the noise emanating from every window and door in his apartment, sunshine filtered through his shoddy window blind leaving white spots of light all over him. He had to buy a new blind and soon—and maybe some earplugs.
Lifting himself onto one elbow, he eyed the clock he’d thrown halfway across the room in the wee hours of the morning. It had gone off at the wrong time and he’d tossed it without thinking. By the looks of things, the clock had barely missed the lamp. It hadn’t missed the wall. A nice dent now creased the sheetrock.
“Meow.” CB jumped onto the end of the bed and dug his claws into Britt’s feet.
“Damn it, you can’t be hungry again, CB. I just fed you at seven.” Britt sat up, ran a hand through his hair, and dropped his feet onto the floor. He’d named the cat CB. It didn’t mean a darned thing, but he liked the sound of it.
The furry beast wouldn’t leave. Britt tried to make it realize he wouldn’t make a good pet owner, but CB didn’t seem to care. He liked Britt anyway.
“C’mon let’s see what we can find for you to eat,” he said.
The last hour or so had been hell trying to sleep. Usually his neighbors were quiet enough, except for Mrs. Vincelli, who had just given birth to twin boys. But that didn’t matter to Britt. He was used to hearing the rugrats cry.
The coffee machine bubbled and clicked, then began percolating. The earthy aroma wafted though the kitchen and Britt inhaled the scent while he dug out a can of cat food. CB purred patiently beside a casserole dish Britt had never used. It had probably been a wedding present. If so, what better use for it?
Maybe having a cat wasn’t so bad after all. Against his better judgment, Britt liked having the mangy tiger-striped Tom around. So far, anyway. Heck, he didn’t even have to have a litter box. CB came and went as he pleased via the fire escape now that Britt had opened the stairs to the roof. Quite an intelligent cat.
With coffee in hand, he crossed to the window and looked out. He could see unmarked cop cars everywhere. “Explains the noise,” he said to CB, as if the cat cared.
By the type of vehicles he saw outside, he knew forensic officers and investigators were in the building. Did that mean Jess was here too? He took another drink of his steaming brew and breathed out a sigh of enjoyment. Once in a while, he could almost forget what a dismal mess his life had become.
A loud knock on the door reminded him he never got to feel that way for long.
Draining the last of his coffee, he set the mug on the kitchen table and went to greet the person who, no doubt, would be a police officer on a mission to crucify him.
“Yeah?”
Surprise. Not a cop but a courier. And dressed in a red and white uniform consisting of a pair of stupid looking Bermuda shorts. Reason enough for any real man to quit his job, in Britt’s estimation.
He crossed his arms and gave the guy the ‘waddaya want’ scrutiny.
“Sign here,” the courier said, trying to shove some computerized gadget at him.
“What for?” He dropped his arms to his sides. No way could this parcel be for him. He didn’t have family any more, unless you counted one angry ex-wife. Angry because he had no money left, so she wasn’t able to squeeze him for any more cash. The fact that she earned more money than him to start with didn’t seem to bother her. And she’d already gotten half his pension. She called him at least once a year to make sure he was still broke. Hard to believe he’d once thought she was the woman of his dreams.
“I’ve got a parcel for you. What else?” The guy frowned at him and rolled his eyes.
“I don’t care much for you attitude,” Britt grabbed the device and scrawled his name across the glass screen. “Where’s this parcel?” He still expected it to be a subpoena from his ex. She hadn’t tried to take him to court yet this year.
“Have a nice day,” the courier mumbled, and shoved a cereal box sized parcel at him. It was heavy. Really heavy, for such a small package.
First thing Britt noticed was it didn’t have a return address. Didn’t couriers insist on return addresses? Not to mention, the courier hadn’t asked his name. The thought that it might be a mail-bomb crossed his mind for about two whole seconds. People might hate him, but nobody hated him enough to kill him. Not even Veronica, his ex.
He gave the parcel a shake. Nothing inside moved. Whatever the box was, it was solid. It was also of little importance to him at the moment. He set the package on the counter in the kitchen, refilled his cup, and went back to the news. There’d been nothing at all reported about Bergeron. Maybe this wasn’t Park Avenue, but even in this part of the city, a transient’s throat being slit should be newsworthy. So who’d killed the story? Who would have that kind of cl
out? He knew from personal experience getting the media to lay off a case was nearly impossible. Come to think of it, his ex-partner, Devon, only handled high priority cases these days. The important ones that affected politicians, or cases that had the possibility of making the police force look bad. High priority. So what about this case made the issue high priority? A penniless transient with his throat slit open? Why would that require a full fledged team of police and CSI in the building?
Something definitely smelled.
Jess woke with a start. It was always that way. One minute nothing, the next minute life. Every evening she awoke alone in the rectory’s basement. She preferred it that way. It wasn’t like she had to sleep in a coffin like vampires did in the movies, but since her body was in a deathlike state when she slept, both she and Regent felt it was better for her to sleep where no one could happen upon her.
The sun was losing strength as it hovered near the horizon. Being in it without sunglasses hurt her eyes, but most vampires would fry in the same amount of light, so she couldn’t complain.
Half an hour later she arrived at Britt’s building. Officers from her unit guarded the doors and monitored everyone who entered and left.
“Lieutenant Vandermire, the forensic people are just finishing up. They want to speak with you,” Officer Brooks said, stepping aside and letting Jess enter the stairwell to the basement.
“Thanks Brooks.” She went downstairs.
“Jess, over here!” Sampson Case raised his bald head and motioned for her to come inside the room. He reminded her of “Q” in the James Bond movies, only his specialty was vampire forensics.
“This is quite a unique case we’ve got here,” he said, getting off his knees and brushing his gloved hands clean of the floor’s debris.
“How so?”
“Bergeron was definitely vamped and then had his throat slit with some sort of curved knife in an attempt to hide the wound.” He shrugged. “But whoever did this either wasn’t very adept at covering up, or they wanted us to know what happened to the kid. I’ve sent blood samples off to the lab to verify that VNA is present.”
Grave Illusions Page 5
