DARK VENGEANCE, Part One

by Reinke, Sara

  Lina fumed again. “I was cleared of those charges.”

  “Just recently.” He nodded once. “I know.”

  “I’m sure you don’t need me to explain legal procedure to you, but that means they found insufficient evidence to…” Her voice, sharp and outraged at first abruptly faltered. “Wait, you said that body we found was exsanguinated?”

  “Did I?” He feigned innocence pretty well.

  That was how the Brethren left their victims in the aftermath of feeding: drained of blood. And Brandon’s been saying all along that he’s sensed other Brethren here, she thought. Oh, God, is he right, then?

  “The news only said mutilated,” she said. “Partially eaten by alligators—that’s what you told them.”

  With an aw-shucks sort of smile she didn’t buy for a minute, Elías shrugged. “I do that sometimes. Withhold information from the media on purpose. Especially if I think it’s going to help me narrow down suspects in a case. But then…” He dropped her a wink. “I’m sure you don’t need me to explain legal procedure to you, either.”

  Lina frowned. “Am I a suspect?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “So your plan is to keep stalking me until you figure it out?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  With an exasperated growl, Lina spun on her heel and started to march back across the street. It would have made the perfect, righteously indignant exit had traffic not been against her, forcing her to remain curbside with him.

  “You know, according to CNN.com, you were supposed to have been considered armed and potentially dangerous,” Elías remarked.

  She awarded him a withering glare. “You want to frisk me or something?”

  He raised a speculative brow. “Might not be a bad idea.”

  “Get a warrant, asshole.”

  He laughed. “Don’t need one. I’ve got probable cause. You came across the street to confront me. I’m concerned for my personal safety now.”

  “Get bent.”

  “You want me to search you here, against the hood of my car, in front of God and everyone in that restaurant—including your mother?” His brow raised. “Or you want to step over here beside this beauty shop and put your hands on the wall? It’s up to you.”

  He was only half-playing; she could tell by the glint in his eye. If she went along, he’d probably play the consummate professional, let her go on about her business afterwards, maybe even leave her the hell alone. But if she refused—if she offered any resistance—she had no doubt he’d do exactly as he’d said, all in plain sight of the restaurant’s crowded patio.

  “You son of a bitch.” Fists balled, brows furrowed, she stomped toward the side of the salon building.

  “Hey, it was your idea.” He pretended to be wounded.

  Facing the coral-colored stucco, Lina spread her hands and feet, bracing herself against the wall. Elías stepped behind her and began a brisk, perfunctory pat down, his hands clapping lightly against her arms, then shoulders, working his way down.

  “Enjoying yourself?” she asked with a scowl as he reached her hips.

  He chuckled as if amused by her furious indignation. He smelled good, she realized to her aggravation; his cologne something spicy and faint, but pleasantly discernable. “You know what I don’t get?” he asked. “How you wound up in the middle of all that mess in the first place. You were a good cop.”

  Her eyes flashed. “How the hell would you know?”

  “I asked your boss.”

  Startled, she turned her head to look over her shoulder. “You talked to Lieutenant Fairfax?”

  Elías nodded. “I called him up, said you’d applied for a job with our division, asked what he thought of you.” When she frowned, he said, “You’d rather me have told him you’re a suspect in a homicide again? Anyway, he told me you were a good cop. Honest, dependable, hard-working. Said we’d be damn lucky to have you—his exact words.” His brows lifted, his brown eyes round, any hint of mischievousness gone. “So what happened?”

  She shook her head and turned to face him, meaning to shove him aside and get the hell out of there. “None of your business.”

  As she moved to stomp away, he caught her by the arm. “Tell me you had nothing to do with the body in the culvert yesterday and I’ll believe you.”

  Angrily, she shrugged him loose. “I didn’t. And I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not.”

  “Yeah, you do.”

  The pisser of it was he was right. She did care what he thought, if only because he was a cop—and deep down inside, she still was, too. “I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “But you know something about it, don’t you? Something you’re not telling me.”

  You wouldn’t believe me if I did, she thought. Stepping back, she pulled her hand away. “I need to go.”

  “One cop to another,” he pressed. “Come on, Lina.”

  She shook her head and turned, hurrying toward the crosswalk.

  “I’ll get a warrant, if I have to,” he called after her.

  She was already dashing across the street. “Knock yourself out!”

  ****

  “Jackie texted,” Latisha said from the passenger’s seat on the way home, her purse open in her lap, her cell phone unfolded in her hand. “Said something’s come up. He and Brandon won’t be back until supper time.” With a chuckle, she snapped her phone closed. “Probably has to do with motorcycles. I swear, anymore that’s all Jackie thinks about. That and his mysterious new girlfriend.”

  “Her name’s Taya,” Lina supplied, cutting a glance at the rearview mirror to see if she could catch a glimpse of Elías’s grey Charger tailing them. “He’s inviting her over for dinner some time next week so we can all meet her.”

  She didn’t mention that Brandon had already met Taya, figuring that Latisha would find this insulting.

  “Looks like it’s up to us to plan supper tonight.” Latisha tucked the phone back into her purse. “What do you think? I’ve got some mahi mahi in the fridge. Or we could go out again.”

  “That’s okay, Mama. I’ll fix the fish,” Lina said, because despite her repeated reassurances to the contrary, Latisha was worn out. In fact, when the women arrived back at the bungalow, Latisha quickly retreated to the bedroom for awhile, kicking off her shoes and stretching out on the bed.

  “I’m just going to take a little nap,” she murmured as, worried, Lina sat down beside her. Reaching up, Latisha stroked Lina’s face with her hand and smiled gently. “Don’t let me sleep too long, okay? I’ll be up half the night otherwise.”

  “I won’t, Mama,” Lina promised, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

  She shut the bedroom door quietly behind her and went into the living room. Sitting on the couch, she drew her legs beneath her and thumbed the power button on the remote control to turn on the TV. From the lanai, midafternoon sunshine dimmed abruptly behind a cloud bank. Typical for the season, the otherwise gorgeous day was about to be disrupted by a brief but fervent shower.

  Hope the guys are done at the beach, she thought idly as she channel-surfed, not really paying much attention to the selection at hand. Her mind was distracted, both with lingering concern for her mother, and with curiosity. I wonder why they won’t be back until later. I guess Jackie didn’t say for sure. But still… Frowning slightly, she looked behind her. Though there was nothing there but the living room wall, it was the general direction of the Cadana house. I wonder if their plans involve Pilar somehow.

  The previous evening, a number of cars and motorcycles had been parked in the Cadana driveway. Lina had listened to them coming and going until well after dark. Unfurling her legs, she stood and went to the front windows, parting the curtains with her hand to look outside. Today, the driveway next door was conspicuously empty—but to her surprise, she found that Latisha’s was not. Parked behind her mother’s almond-colored Honda was Elías Velasco’s unmistakable Charger.

  “What i
n the hell…?” Lina murmured, her frown deepening. With a glance to make sure Latisha’s bedroom door was closed, her mother undisturbed beyond it, she marched to the front door and went outside, fists balled as she strode, barefooted, across the lawn.

  “What’s your problem?” she demanded as she reached his car.

  He’d apparently only just pulled in, because the car had been idling, and he killed the engine now. When he smirked as if amused, presumably by her, she fumed.

  “Look,” she snarled, planting her hands on his window sill and leaning down to meet his gaze. “You either get a goddamn warrant to keep sniffing around after me, or I’m going to call whoever the hell is in charge of your precinct and file a harassment complaint. You got it?”

  Holding up his hands in mock surrender, he said, “Got it.”

  “Good. Get out of here.”

  “I came to apologize,” he said, and when she blinked in surprise, it must have looked comical to him, because he chuckled. “Seriously. I’m sorry for the pat down earlier. I shouldn’t have done that. It was totally out of line.”

  Still dumbstruck, she leaned back from his car. “Uh,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ears. “No, you weren’t. Not really. I mean…” She shrugged. “You were right. I sort of gave you probable cause.”

  “How about we start all over again?” he asked, then, affecting wide-eyed innocence, he stuck out his hand to her. “Miss Jones? What a surprise to see you again.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh, charmed by him despite herself, then accepted the shake. “Call me Lina.”

  Elías nodded once. “Mind if I ask you a few questions, Lina? Pick your brain? Draw on some of your previous police experience to help with a couple of cases I’m working on?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “You don’t consider me a suspect anymore?”

  “You gave me your word.” He opened the car door and stepped out. “I told you I’d believe you if you did.”

  The rain clouds parted overhead, the threatened shower apparently averted, and sunlight streamed down with bright, unexpected glare. Shading her eyes with the blade of her hand, she looked up at him. He was actually pretty handsome, she noticed, especially when he smiled, as he did now in exchange for her own. “Come on inside,” she said to him. “It’s too hot to talk out here.”

  ****

  “We’ll have to be quiet,” she said as she ushered Elías through the front door and into the living room. “My mother’s asleep in the other room. She’s been sick these past few months.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said politely, sitting down on one end of the couch at her wave of invitation.

  “She had breast cancer,” Lina said. “She’s had a mastectomy, gone through all of the treatments already, chemo and radiation. The doctors think they got it all, but she still gets tired pretty easily.”

  Feeling foolish, wondering why in the hell she was standing there, blabbing her entire life’s story to him, she forced herself to shut up. Tangling her hands together nervously, she said, “Would, uh, you like something to drink? A glass of lemonade?”

  “Some ice water would be nice, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “No, not at all.” Grateful for the reprieve to recollect herself, Lina darted into the kitchen. As she fixed him a glass, dropping ice cubes inside, she glanced through the window at him. “So…you’re from Miami?”

  “Born and raised,” he replied, reaching beneath his jacket lapel.

  “So, uh, been here long?” she asked, pouring his drink. From her vantage, she watched as he pulled out a small plastic bottle from an inside pocket, obviously not realizing she could see him through the window.

  “A little more than a year,” he replied, popping the cap off and tapping the lip of the bottle against his palm, spilling some pills out. Tilting his head back, he drew his hand to his mouth, popping them in. He managed a grimace, as if they tasted bad and glanced up as she walked back into the living room, glass in hand. “Thanks,” he said, accepting it.

  “Are you okay?” Lina asked.

  He took a long drink of water, draining the glass in a few long, fervent swallows, leaving the ice cubes to clink together. “I’m fine.”

  “You sure? You don’t look so hot.”

  Actually, he did look hot—which was exactly what she worried the problem was. His face was glossed with a light sheen of perspiration, his hair clinging to his forehead in dark, damp strands. As he set his down on the coaster she’d scooted across the coffee table toward him, she noticed his hands shook slightly. She wondered off-hand if maybe the outside heat had gotten to him.

  He managed a smile. “My blood sugar’s low. That’s all.”

  “Are you diabetic?” she asked and he nodded.

  “And I skipped lunch today. I know better.”

  “I can fix you something…” she began, moving to stand.

  “It’s okay. I just took some glucose tablets. Give me a few minutes. I’ll be fine.” Because she frowned at him, dubious, he chuckled. “Really. But thanks for your concern.”

  For a long moment, she sat there, watching him, holding his gaze, wishing yet again that she had Brandon’s gift of telepathy so she could tell what was going on behind his eyes.

  “You said you wanted to ask me some questions?” she asked at length.

  “About the cases I’m working on,” he agreed.

  “The canal deaths? You said they were murders.”

  “Not officially classed as such, no,” he conceded. “But that’s the direction we’re going with them, yeah. You were right yesterday, what you asked me at the station. I think they may be gang-related.”

  Her brow raised, inquisitive and he leaned closer. “I’ve got a tentative ID on that body you found,” he said in a low voice that clearly implied he was sharing information with her that hadn’t yet been made public. “Pepe Minoza Cervantes. He’s an de facto gang leader around here. There are basically two factions in this area: Los Pandieros, out of Miami—I told you about them already—and Los Guerreros, who are mostly local, into small-time shit. Pepe and his crew had been horning in since they moved here. That’s their way—infiltrate another gang’s territory, then take them over by force.

  “Things kind of came to a head between them last year when Los Guerreros’s leader turned up murdered, Enrique Montoya Ramirez. He ran a bike shop downtown. Whoever killed him did it gangster-style—point blank, back of the head.”

  “You think this Cervantes guy was involved?” she asked.

  “I’d bet my badge on it,” he replied. “But not on his own. Pepe’s been running the show for Los Pandieros up here for the past year, what we call el Jefecito, the ‘little boss.’ His brother, Tejano, is El Jefazo—the ‘big boss’—down in Miami. Been in and out of prison for two-thirds of his adult life. He’s the one calling the shots. Pepe just towed the line. Tejano’s probably the last person in the world anyone in their right mind would want to fuck with. And that’s exactly what someone did by killing his brother.”

  “So how did Pepe Cervantes wind up dead?” Lina asked. “You said he’d been drained of blood?”

  Elías nodded. “When I ran the MO through ViCAP, it turned up the cases from your neck of the woods. Something about a vampire cult? I’ve worked gang detail for a long time, and I’ve never seen anything like that before. I was hoping maybe we can compare notes, see if anything correlates with here.”

  Lina glanced away. “I wasn’t really involved in investigating those cases,” she said. She wasn’t sure if she felt more uncomfortable with the direction he was going—because the murders he referred to had been committed by actual vampires, rogue members of Brandon’s Brethren family who had attacked and fed on human, not cultist wannabes—or excited because Elías wasn’t talking to her as a witness or a possible suspect. He was talking to her like she was still a cop. He was talking shop.

  “Yeah, but you knew one of the victims, right?” he asked.

  “Jude Hannam.” She no
dded, because her ex-boyfriend had been among those slain by Brandon’s older brother, Caine.

  “That’s why you were originally named a suspect,” Elías continued. “And your former partner said you went into a nightclub while on duty where his body was eventually found.”

  Jesus, she thought. He really had done his homework. With a sigh and another distracted glance, she tried to collect herself, to pull together in her mind exactly what she’d been told to say in order to clear herself. Augustus Noble’s lawyers had dictated it to her, and she’d regurgitated it accordingly, a dutiful little parrot, and within moments, her months of being a fugitive had ended, no muss, no fuss.

  “I went there to look for Jude,” she said. “He’d come to me just prior to that night while we both attended a friend’s wedding. He told me he’d been receiving threats from a former inmate he’d helped to prosecute during his employment with the district attorney’s office some years earlier. He’d claimed the guy was into vampire cultism, but I didn’t believe him at the time. He was drunk when he told me, and we argued. He called me the night he was killed and told me someone had broken into his apartment, attacked him and his girlfriend. He said he was in trouble and told me his assailant had abducted him, taken him to a goth bar and was further threatening him. He expressed concern for his safety, but I didn’t call it in because I thought he’d been drinking again. I went to investigate for myself. I found his body inside the nightclub.”

  Elías studied her a moment. “Why did you run after that?”

  “Because I was afraid,” she replied evenly. “Plenty of people had seen us arguing at the wedding. I thought I would get blamed for his death.”

  “So who really killed him?” Elías asked. “The reports I found weren’t very clear, and your lieutenant…Fairfax, wasn’t it? He wasn’t exactly forthcoming, either.”

  That’s because Augustus Noble has very deep pockets, Lina wished she could say. Deep enough to buy a whole hell of a lot of silence—enough so that I bet if he knew you were sniffing around like you are, Detective Velasco, he and his trusty wallet would be paying you a quick call, too.

  “Jude never told me who his stalker was, not by name. And by the time I found Jude, he was already dead. The club was packed—so much so, he’d been murdered in a back corner and no one knew. It could have been anyone.” She offered an apologetic shrug. “Last I heard, the case was still open.”