Honor at Stake (Love at First Bite Book 1)

by Declan Finn

  It was even more interesting to note that they were both still alive. Well, a first time for everything. She looked over, and down the street.

  Scarface ran with a bad limp, his knee not healing as fast as he wanted it to. He was still making good time, however.

  Then he felt something.

  He looked up at a form on a distant rooftop, sensing that something was watching him. He snorted and kept running, faster this time.

  Until he tripped and fell headlong into a garbage bin.

  Merle Kraft pulled back his foot and stepped out into the street. “Miss me?”

  Scarface looked up. No one could move that fast.

  “I’m faster than I look.”

  The next moment, Merle was flying through the air, hurled by the adversary. He absorbed the impact with his arms and rolled with it, coming to his feet. Merle blinked and saw Scarface, on his feet once more, looming over him like a heavy smog bank.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Scarface looked at him and sniffed, as if Merle wasn’t worth his time. Then he turned and limped away, this time with less of a limp.

  “Screw it,” Merle muttered. He looked around the alley and spotted a fallen stop sign that had been taken out by a stray motorist. Maybe half of the original pole for the sign was intact and attached to the metal. He grabbed it and stood.

  The sound of the metal scraping along the concrete caught the killer’s attention. Scarface turned and glanced at Merle’s new weapon.

  “I’ll give you one shot,” Scarface said with a voice as gravelly as a rockslide. He grinned. “Then I kill you.”

  Merle narrowed his eyes. He raised it as if he was about to bash Scarface’s head in, and swung it like a baseball bat.

  In mid-swing, Merle twisted the radius of the sign ninety degrees, pointing the edge at Scarface’s neck, the stop sign becoming an axe blade, which sent Scarface’s skull flying.

  The blonde police officer came around to the mouth of the alley and stopped, gun drawn. She looked down at the body and wrinkled her nose, lowering her gun. “You cut his head off? Well, I guess that’s one way to do it. I thought you wanted him alive.”

  “That was before I decided he wasn't going to give me any information anyway. Now he gets to wear this year's fashion in body bags.”

  Kraft crouched by the dead man’s side before searching his pockets. His hands stopped and came out with a set of FBI credentials and a badge.

  “Well, I guess we don’t have to look further for proof that this is our murderer.” He stood. “That was almost too easy. I don’t even think I’ve been here for three hours, and already I’ve solved the problem, or at least part of it.”

  Kelly raised a brow. “This you call easy? What do you call a normal night out?”

  Merle smiled. “You know I can’t tell you about my special projects. They’re so top secret I’m to kill myself if I even remember them.”

  She laughed. “Point taken. You want to leave Scarface here and call it in, or do you want to hang out with the corpse?”

  He tucked the contents of Scarface’s pockets into the inside of his windbreaker. “Let’s head back to the apartment, I want to see if I can salvage anything from the remnants.”

  “Okay. I’ll stay with the body and call—”

  Merle turned to her. “Nyet, nien, heck no, meschula. We’ve already had one freak around here, and I’m keeping you close. Stay with the car and make sure no one dynamites it, but that’s all, okay?”

  She was about to object that she was a fully-grown, heavily-armed, NYPD officer. Then she recalled how many times she had shot the bastard, and changed her mind. “So, what did you find in the apartment?”

  “Our friend Mister Freak destroyed the laser mic with what looks like his bare hands. I think the computer went the same way. Also, I’m fairly certain I saw dried blood on his teeth.”

  Kelly rolled her eyes. “Why can’t the freaks just stay in San Francisco?”

  His midnight blue eyes flashed dramatically. “Because they pay me to come out here.”

  Amanda looked down, thinking. I don’t think these are our enemies. Yes, these two might be of use after all.

  * * * *

  March 7th, 12:10 a.m.

  FBI Special Agent in Charge Alice Demers looked around the apartment, noting its ruined condition. “Nice work. You’re both all right? Nothing wrong? From the amount of damage, I’d expect at least a body.”

  "Well, we left you one outside. You’re right though, I fully expected him to go down here as well. Expected him to go down several times here, as a matter of fact.”

  Demers looked around the room for a chair, then shrugged and leaned against the wall, her hands in her trench coat pockets. “Anyway, I’m glad this is over quickly.”

  Kristen smiled. “Nice to know we have our priorities straight. Wouldn’t it help to know why the guy killed one of yours?”

  “Oh, it would, it would help immensely. However, having bagged the killer will at least hold my superiors over until we can get whoever sent the bastard. It’s always a good start to get the triggerman.”

  “Or in this case, the tooth fairy,” Kristen muttered.

  “Hm?” Demers looked at her quizzically, as if trying to decipher what she meant.

  Merle raised a hand. “I think he used his teeth to rip out at least part of the Agent’s throat. I think there was dried blood on his teeth.”

  The silver-haired woman concentrated. “Well, that would explain some things. The evidence retrieval team swabbed the wound on our guy. Apparently, they found some kind of microscopic…things.”

  “Things? You mean organisms?”

  “They were described to me as some kind of parasite, but that’s just a guess.”

  Kelly furrowed her brow. “A guess? They don’t know?”

  “They’ve never seen anything like it before. From your description, I’d say that had something to do with the oddities about your attacker.”

  Merle chuckled. “Oddities. Like the ability to jump through a window and onto the street, even though I must’ve at least cracked his kneecaps and broken his spine? Or do you mean his ability to take shots from a .45 without staggering, even though he had a wooden table leg jammed through his knee?”

  “Any of the above. Any idea what the Hell he is?”

  “Given what I've come across, there are a range of options. It could be anything from strange anatomy to drug use to body hacking by Doctor Frankenstein. Like the Catholic church and exorcisms, I like to rule out everything else before we jump to a prognosis of demonic possession. I know they like to say I specialize in weird, but the deep dark secret is that most of my cases end with variations on Scooby-Doo.”

  Kristen looked at him. “How so?”

  “I once handled a case of someone who'd been stabbed in the heart, but didn't die. Found out that his organs were mirrored. It happens.”

  Demers shook her head. “I guess it doesn't matter right now. At the moment, my main concern is about who sent this guy. With any luck, our man used proper protocol and had his laser mic connected to the computer so it could digitize the recording and post it on a secure site.”

  “You mean you haven’t checked if he uploaded it yet? If you don’t know already, then it’s not going to help much.”

  “True. We wouldn’t know the site, and the Web’s a big place, but it’ll give us something.” Demers’ phone rang. She answered, then nodded a few times before saying, “Thanks.”

  She looked at the two people in front of her. “Sorry to tell you, but there doesn’t seem to be a body left, just a dirty alleyway.”

  “I was afraid there’d be someone else around.” He looked at Kristen. “Aren’t you glad you listened to me?”

  “Yes, and I’ll remind you of that next time an alimony check comes in.”

  Merle smiled. He never paid alimony, for the simple reason that she didn’t want any. Even when he sent a check, Kristen shredded it, then burned the
remains. During their first year of separation, there was one time she almost did the same to a check meant for their son for his birthday.

  “So, now what? I get to go home now?”

  Alice nodded. “On the first plane out. I hear they want you to consult on a Wiccan cult in San Francisco, and they’ve been having trouble with the 8th Church of Satan, reformed.”

  “Would you mind if I at least put off the flight until tonight? I’d like to see my son.” He turned to Kristen. “You don’t mind if I come see Arthur, right?”

  She beamed. “Of course.”

  Demers laughed. “Arthur? You’re Merlin and you named him Arthur?”

  Merle glared at her and pointed at Kelly. “It was her idea, not mine.”

  “It makes me wonder who sent the divorce papers. You’re both nuts.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Boston Shaman

  March 7th, 12:40 a.m.

  Amanda Colt stood in front of Marco's brownstone and considered not going in. She merely stared at the street, wondering how she would come up with a report of the night's events.

  And how am I going to convince him that Merle and his lot are not our enemies?

  “Are you waiting for something to happen?”

  Amanda didn't even look over her shoulder at Ibrahim. “Nyet.”

  “How did the night go?”

  “Surprisingly well, Bram. Merle Kraft seems to be quite good at what he does. He may be useful. They seem to be aware of the parasitic nature of the vampire virus. After all, we never heard back from the CDC after Marco's father sent out the sample in January. I assume the FBI got involved.”

  “I always wondered why the Catalanos never heard back from them. Even in the form of FBI agents.”

  Amanda sighed. “It is time. I will check. If he is asleep, I will know I tried…”

  “One of these days, you two have to get your stories straight on what the two of you are.”

  “Just friends.”

  As Amanda sprang for the window at the front of the building, she could just hear Ibrahim mutter, “Yeah, heard that one before.”

  Amanda ignored him, and slid the window open, then pulled herself into Marco's room. She looked around. It was mostly books and book cases. One would think that he was solely interested in academics.

  She crept silently, and noticed the bed was occupied, as she expected. Marco was face up, under blankets. He looked relatively peaceful for once, which was an interesting change. She was half expecting that his face would be locked into one of intense concentration, or one of his amused smiles, even in his sleep. Stupid, but with Marco, expecting things to happen rationally just didn't seem to be on the agenda.

  Amanda stood at the side of his bed, and made certain that she didn't breathe for a moment. After realizing that Marco really wasn't going to spring up from a sound sleep, she whispered, “Are you awake?”

  Marco's smile slipped into place, and he didn't even open his eyes. “You move perfectly silent, but I can still smell your soap.” He sat up in bed, not the least bit self-conscious about Amanda being in his bedroom while he wore only underwear and a t-shirt. “So, find out anything interesting?”

  “Merle is someone we should look into.”

  “Good.”

  “You don't want to know everything?”

  “What in particular do you think I need to know?”

  “Everything. He moves quickly. He killed Scarface.”

  Marco's mouth twitched. “The schmuck who pushed you in front of the train? Well, it's something.”

  She almost smiled. He didn't mention Lily for once. I really shouldn't be happy about that.

  Amanda then started filling him in, from how preternaturally fast Merle Kraft was, to Scarface being in the perch for the murdered FBI agent, to exactly how Merle had killed him.

  Marco cocked his head. “Merle sounds rather interesting. I would love to know exactly what the whole UN thing was about. What they're looking for might be of use to us. And knowing what the vampires are here for would definitely help.”

  “I know you’re wary of the Feds,” she tested, “but Merle seems like someone we want on our side.”

  He gave a thoughtful hmph, and said, “Maybe if we bring him into the loop, he could give Hector some health insurance.”

  Amanda nodded. The head of Los Tigres had been viciously worked over by Enrico and the rest of his mafia thugs in order to trace the strange happenings going on in both Bensonhurst and Greenpoint.

  “How is he doing?”

  “He's still alive and conscious. He won't need physical therapy by the time he's done healing, so that’s something.” He brightened. “Oh, and we're getting Enrico's thug to foot the bill on Vega's medical arrangements and hospital stay. I encouraged Hector to stay in the hospital for a few days, and, trust me, he is being overbilled.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “Well, I talked to billing and–”

  “I mean getting one of the mafia to pay?”

  “I think it helps that the thug I got the drop on is the one who worked Vega over. So, our friend Enrico wasn't too fond of him during negotiations.”

  “Ahh.”

  Marco leaned back and thought a moment, eyes closed. “Now, as far as Merle goes, what do you want to do? With regard to bringing him in, I mean?”

  “We should do some more research. That would be good.”

  “Where would you want to start?”

  “I will go up to Boston,” Amanda told him. “See what Merle's delinquent brother says about him.”

  “Is it safe for you to travel like that?” he asked, suddenly concerned.

  Amanda grinned and smacked him on the arm. “It is called the shuttle. One hour up, one hour back. I will spend more time getting to and from the plane than I will be on the plane itself. Relax.”

  “At least you didn't say what could go wrong?” He let out a breath, and rubbed his eyes. Apparently, he wasn't as awake when she came in as he implied. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why aren't you involved with anybody? I mean, you're striking, and you're smart, and, heck, I enjoy being with you, and I'm impossible to please.”

  Amanda gave him a sad little smile. “Maybe I'm a woman that men prefer to keep in the friend zone.”

  Marco's smile turned sad, almost a mirror of hers. He slid his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. “No. You're not. You're beautiful. And stunning. And any man would risk death to enjoy the touch of your hand. Any man would want to be worthy of you. To be good enough for you.” Marco met her eyes and looked into them deeply. There was an odd fire there, one she had never seen burn in him before. It was like everything else about him–but instead of a passionate hate or a passionate determination, this was simply passionate. “Any man would want to be the best version of themselves in order to be worth your affection.”

  Amanda leaned forward, staring into his eyes. “And what if he thinks he isn't?”

  The light in his eyes, and the heat behind them, started to fade, as his eyes started to droop. He was falling asleep on her, despite his best efforts. “Then you find him, you take his sorry butt,” he said as his eyes closed and his head nodded, “you grab him, and you kiss him senseless.”

  Amanda moved towards him, and he slumped over more. “And what about you?” she whispered.

  “I wish I were good enough,” he muttered.

  “What if you were?”

  Marco was asleep.

  Amanda leaned over and kissed him gently on the lips. “I'll get you later.”

  * * * *

  April 9th, Queens, NY. 5:30 PM

  Marco Catalano waited in line behind dozens of cars at the departure area of LaGuardia airport.

  “Bloody idiots,” he muttered under his breath, glancing at his car's clock. “You would think that someone would be able to figure out how to drive in an orderly fashion. You think that I could have you eat some of the taxi drivers?”

  Amanda
laughed, and lightly swatted his arm. “I could just get out of the car and walk the rest of the way.”

  “You’d get run over. Didn't you have enough problems with the number seven train? You want to take on a horde of angry New York drivers? No.”

  “How sweet. Even though I’m immortal, you are still so protective. I am only going to Boston.”

  “Yeah, well, Boston. Home of the Red Sox. They're automatically evil. There's a reason Babe Ruth ran screaming from the area.”

  The vampire rolled her eyes. “He did not hate Boston that much.”

  “How would you–” He stopped short, almost hitting the taxi in front of him. “Wait, you knew Babe Ruth?”

  “No. I read the articles at the time.”

  “Oh, okay. Amanda? I hate to be rude about this, but just how old are you?”

  Amanda smiled. The car stopped, and she leaned over, kissed him on the cheek, and said, “I will see you in a few hours.”

  “Nice answer,” he said to her back. She gave him a wave as she closed the door and moved for the front doors.

  Thankfully, getting on the Grand Central Parkway to Brooklyn was easier than fighting with the traffic around LaGuardia airport. There are days where I'd much rather be driving an M1-A1 Abrams tank.

  Marco slipped a CD into the player, and cycled through the songs until he found the one cut that exemplified his mood: Let the Bodies Hit the Floor.

  Marco opened the window, put the speakers on full blast, and started singing along.

  Traffic started to clear up shortly thereafter. The looks fellow drivers gave him might have had something to do with it.

  It didn't take long to get to his next location: St. Anthony-St. Alphonsus Church.

  This time, Father Rodgers was already waiting for Marco at the front of his church. “Marco! How are you?”

  Marco shrugged as he came up the stairs. “Meh, I'm alive, and still occasionally spending time in daylight. Amanda's gone to Boston, there's not a hell of a lot for me to do.”

  “I thought you were a student. Why not just study?”

  “You're kidding me, right? That’s a last resort. I've memorized the bloody books and my notes by now. I'm not going back to reread them a third time. It would get a little boring. Now, let's go inside. I think I need a drink.”