by Tracy Tappan
It certainly fit Dr. Tonĩ Parthen, the hematologist who’d consulted with John on a murder case back in January, a murder investigation that’d turned into a disappearing dead guy case when the corpse had poofed itself out of the morgue. Yeah, high weird factor. That same January night, another amazing thing had happened. The beautiful, sexy, funny, smart hematologist John had been crazy about for months finally gave him her phone number. And after that…? Fate had toe-tagged his chance at life in the ’burbs with the hottest woman going on two legs; Tonĩ had gotten into a car accident and then utterly and completely disappeared.
The original missing of the seven.
Oh, wait, she hadn’t completely disappeared, had she? He’d seen her one last time in the company of a group of suspicious-acting people at Scripps Hospital. One man from that bunch had tried to feed John some hooey about Tonĩ having been out of touch because she’d been going through a classified interview process for a position at a top secret research institute. Yeah, right. Pull my other leg for a while. Another man in that suspicious-looking group had just so happened to have black hair, black-looking eyes, and black teeth tattooed on his forearms—not black flames, but still.
John had opted not to believe their story, which had prompted Teeth-Tattooed Asshole to knock his lights out with a punch that still gave John headaches sometimes. High weird factor again. John had only ever seen strength like that on guys strung out on PCP, yet he’d bet his right arm that Teeth-Tattooed Asshole hadn’t been amped up on any drug. After that…?
Tonĩ had gone missing again, this time for good. Neither he nor Pablo had found a trace or a lead in five months. Nothing. Jesus, but someone might as well cut off his dick for how impotent he felt about— His face flushed with warmth. That was, actually…not the best analogy to be using these days.
“I-I’m leaving town, okay,” Miss Mawbry stammered from her door crack. “I’ve been with my travel agent all day arranging a flight back home to my mom. I’m taking the red eye out in three hours, and…there’s nothing you can do about this, anyway. You can’t beat these men. I saw them get shot, and they just kept coming and coming.” A tear trickled down her cheek. “They’re like machines or something, I’m telling you.”
John lifted his brows and glanced at Pablo. She saw them get shot? He tugged the cigarette out of his mouth. “Shot by whom?”
Kendra hugged herself. “These men who saved us, four of them, a special security team, they said.”
John dragged hard on his cigarette. Well, that was one Holy Mother of a revelation. “What kind of security team?”
“I don’t know.” She clutched the doorknob. “Look, I’ve told you all that I—”
“Miss Mawbry,” John cut in, calling up a compassionate smile. “I understand that what you went through was harrowing, but you obviously have some valuable information, and this is an official criminal investigation. We need to ask you some questions.”
She still hesitated, her lower lip quivering.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist.” John kept his expression neutral, hoping he wouldn’t have to really insist.
“All right.” She closed the door long enough to unhook the chain, then re-opened it.
John snuffed out his Marlboro in a potted plant on her porch, then crammed the butt into his jeans pocket. He and Pablo stepped into Kendra’s little seaside bungalow.
The décor ran along a beach theme, with pristine white bamboo furniture and sea-blue cushions. A glass bowl filled with sand and seashells sat on a bulky glass coffee table, and a huge built-in white bookshelf displayed sunset-colored candles, pieces of driftwood, a large conch shell, and tall, colorful hardbound books on photography. Everything was immaculately kept: what he and Pablo had lamentably referred to as an “evidence free zone” when they’d been through here the first time around. The CSIs had found only a few hair fibers, though nothing fresh enough for DNA sampling, and traces of silicon, quartz, and feldspar on the carpet: sand typical of the San Diego region. Real late-breaking news.
Kendra herself was just as tidy in appearance, a beautiful woman, like all the victims, although with over-dyed brassy hair that John didn’t personally find attractive.
Reaching into his breast pocket again, John pulled out a small notebook and pen. He got right to the point. “Have you ever been told that there’s something different about your blood, Miss Mawbry?”
“What?” She blinked, the question clearly catching her off guard. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You gave blood this past weekend at the Balboa Park June Blood Drive, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, three other women also—” His notebook fluttered slightly. Dammit, his hands were trembling. He shoved the notebook and pen back into his shirt, then stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and squeezed them into fists. He hated it when this happened. Hated it even more that he didn’t know why the pills he was taking for his insert-foreign-medical-term-here problem weren’t working anymore. He probably wasn’t going to find out any time soon, either, seeing as the only doctor he’d ever liked was a sexy blonde hematologist.
“Um…” John regrouped. “Three other kidnap victims also gave blood at the same drive. We’re trying to figure out if there’s a link between your blood and the other victims’, so maybe we can prevent this kind of thing from happening in the future.” By virtue of a court order, he’d obtained the medical records of all the missings and had an expert examining the blood work for similarities. So far, nada.
“O-oh, yes. Two other women were also there.”
“There?” John frowned. “Where?”
“We were all taken to a warehouse, where we were handed over to these gross guys as some kind of payment. We all thought it was a twisted white slavery thing, but then one of the men mentioned something about wanting to impregnate us. I’m a little hazy on the conversation because I was just, uh…” She edged away from him, moving to stand next to a window, her fingers toying with the curtains. “Anyway, th-the whole thing’s confusing because the people at the research institute said that those men worked for scientific competitors who—”
“I’m sorry, wait.” John held up a hand, his heart lurching to a halt inside his chest. “Did you just say research institute?”
“Yes. Although, frankly, it didn’t look like one. The place was a mansion with—”
The living room window exploded.
Kendra screamed as two large booted feet smashed in through the glass beside her, a muscular body swinging in after the boots, a rifle following…The butt was rammed into John’s gut.
John went hurtling backward, air evacuating his lungs as if his bronchiole had caught fire, and crashed into Pablo. He heard a sharp crack around his wheezes for breath as Pablo’s skull met the wall, then his partner sank to the floor in a puddle.
Shit! John staggered forward, yanking his Beretta out from his shoulder holster. “Police!” he yelled, adrenaline slamming through his body. He straight-armed the gun at the huge, black-haired intruder. “Freeze!”
The perp clearly could give all of two shits about a gun being pointed at him. He stared insolently at John as he stood by the broken window with one hand wrapped around the back of Kendra’s neck…almost as if he thought he couldn’t be killed. High fucking weird factor. The man was holding an AK-47 assault rifle with almost causal indifference. John catalogued the nasty scar on his upper lip.
“Please!” Kendra wailed, her face awash with tears. “Don’t let him take me, p-please. Not him!”
Hell if this asshole will… John bared his teeth. “Drop your weapon or I’ll—”
A second man clambered through the jagged hole of window.
“Hold!” John tightened his grip on his Beretta. “Not another move or—!” The command stopped coming out of his mouth, just stopped.
This new perp had a tattoo on his cheek that was the exact same one as the guy at the murder scene John had investigated with T
onĩ Parthen. As in, the corpse. The same damned face, too. “Impossible.” John’s harsh whisper grated in his chest. “You’re dead.”
“Wrong-o, copper.” Jaw Tattoo aimed a Walther at him. “You are.” Blam!
John shouted in pain as a bullet raked a streak of fire across his upper right arm. He reeled sideways, cursing through gritted teeth. His hand shook, but he managed to squeeze off a shot of his own before his arm dropped like a dead weight. He winged Jaw Tattoo, liquid spouting up from the guy’s left shoulder and spraying the curtains behind him. John went down on one knee, the world sloshing into a watery haze. He watched as if from a long tunnel as the curtain smoked and melted. What…? Acid. He blinked hard to right his vision as—
A third intruder came in through the broken window.
This man swung inside in a blur of speed, his trench coat belling out behind him. One hand gripped the upper window sill, the other was clenched around a…Jesus, a military issue M4. Who the hell…?
“Help!” Kendra screeched with renewed fervor. “Help me!”
John tried to raise his Beretta again, but his arm wouldn’t obey the order. Damnit to hell. He was going to die and let down Miss Mawbry. No…! Gritting out a yell, John used all of his strength to haul up his arm. He shot wildly at the new intruder, bullets zinging.
Several chunks of flesh erupted off the top of the new man’s shoulder. “Aargh!”
A fourth man started to come in through the shattered window now, too. John caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the man’s bicep, not flames or teeth, but a skull of some kind.
Trench Coat whirled toward the window and punched the man hard in the chest, sending him flying back out.
John’s finger spasmed around the trigger. “Everybody down!” More bullets hit the window, sending slivers of glass crashing down from the upper pane like lethal icicles.
Trench Coat skidded sideways. “Stop shooting at me, you fucking idiot! I’m on your side!”
Sweat poured into John’s eyes, blinding him.
Kendra shrieked as Scar Lip swept her onto his shoulder and charged out the front door.
“Shitfuckpiss!” Trench Coat started after the two, but Jaw Tattoo grabbed him by the lapels and slammed him against the wall. Plaster fractured into an outline of the man’s big body, and he groaned in pain. Clutching his shoulder, his face blanching a sickly shade of white, he slid down the wall and landed on his butt, leaving a wide streak of shiny red blood behind him.
Police sirens wailed in the distance. John nearly wept with relief. Backup was on the way. He wobbled to his feet and moved to stand over the fallen intruder.
Kendra’s screams faded down the street.
“You stupid prick,” the man ground out, his eyes flashing a livid silver. “I could’ve stopped them, if not for you. Ah, Christ.” His lids closed. “You have no idea what kind of rathole they’re taking her to.”
John leveled his gun at the man’s head, his arm throbbing as if it was half-amputated. “You’re under arrest,” he croaked. The muzzle of his gun began to shake wildly.
The man glared, blood from his shoulder seeping steadily between his fingers. “You’re going to…blow my fucking head off.” He grunted once, then toppled over unconscious.
Chapter Nineteen
Community of Ţărână, 12:07 p.m.
Luvera stood in front of Shọn’s door, tugging on her apron strings and shifting from foot to foot. What was she doing here? The answer jumped immediately into her mind: being an idiot, that’s what. Hugely dim-witted. If somebody came by—it was the lunch hour, for heaven’s sake—what would they think if they saw her…doing what? Contemplating a kiss? No. She wasn’t here to take up Shọn on his offer. Definitely not. Shọn only wanted to kiss her for his own selfish reasons. It’d be foolish to think that the mechanics of a kiss alone, with no deep feelings involved, would fill the empty hole in her gut that now rivaled the size of the Grand Canyon.
She stopped fidgeting and pressed a hand over her eyes. She wasn’t so pathetic that she was considering breaking a sacred no-fraternization law in order to confirm that she wasn’t an uninteresting dowd, was she?
I mean, just look at you.
Her ears stung with the echo of Alex’s words. The Blue Mosque on the door blurred, and—
She snapped her head around at the sound of men approaching. Several warriors were coming up the grand staircase! Oh, stars, she had to get out of here before—
Shọn’s door sprang open. A hand lashed out, caught her by the wrist, and yanked her inside.
“Shọn!” she yelped.
The door shut quickly behind her, and Shọn stepped back, his lower lip caught between his teeth.
“I’m not here. I-I mean, I didn’t come here.”
“I’ve been smelling you out there for a while, Luvera.”
She moaned, letting her head droop forward. “Why did I come here?”
“Maybe you’re finally smartening up and deciding to hang with a man who actually wants you.”
She jerked her head back up. How much of her conversation with Alex had Shọn overhead? Her belly quivered as she watched his gaze move over her. Beneath the sullen swoop of his long lashes, Shọn’s eyes were velvet night, such a clear, glossy black that she had the uncomfortable feeling he was stripping her of all her secrets again. She moved over to his wet bar, and with a shrinking feeling, she asked, “Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Yes.”
Exhaling roughly, she shot him an irritated look. “The question was serious, Shọn. You could’ve at least put some thought into it.” They stared at each other for a long moment.
Not many women would call Shọn handsome—he was too frightening and off-putting for such a term—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t arresting, attractive in the way a predator could be, dark and lean, striking in his ferocity. His eyes glowed feral bright, his canines were glistening white points, and his black hair was as unruly as if he’d already seduced a dozen off-limits females in the past hour. He was Alex’s exact opposite in every way, blackest midnight against Alex’s rosy sunshine. Next to either man, she was a wren, a bird without fancy plumage: boring, colorless, characterless. She blinked back tears.
Shon snapped his lower lip against his teeth. “I’ve lived in Ţărână for thirty-nine years, and I thought you were pretty from the first day I arrived.” One dark brow rose. “You need more thinking than that?”
She swallowed convulsively. “Oh.” That was kind of…nice to hear.
He strode forward and took her by the hand, leading her over to his bed.
Her legs just followed him.
He let go long enough to shove the mound of blankets and clothes to the middle of the mattress, then he reclaimed her hand and urged her to sit down.
It didn’t mean anything. She was just sitting. On his bed.
He plopped down next to her, then immediately surged back to his feet. “Do you want a drink or something?”
“I don’t know.” She peered up at him. “Are you going to have something?”
His dark eyes moved over her face. “No.” He eased back down and took her hand again, brushing his thumb over the top in an intimate caress.
A startling tingle shivered up her forearm. She jerked her hand from his. “I-I don’t think I should be here, actually.” She sprang back up to her feet and took a step backward. Thirty-nine years of liking her? She was letting herself be manipulated again, just wanting those words to be true so much. “This is…we’re going to make a mistake.” She made enough mistakes in her life accidentally. No need to set out to do something wrong on purpose.
Shọn watched her with his still eyes. “Do you remember the first day my brothers and I came through the Hell Tunnels into Ţărână?” he asked her. “I remember. I was thirteen and you were ten. You were dressed in a pair of overalls and a red shirt, your hair hanging over your shoulders in two braids. I thought you looked like a milkmaid, the cutest thing I’d ever seen in my life.”<
br />
An aching pressure settled in her belly.
“Let me kiss you, Luvera.” His voice was deep and seductive, as if he knew exactly what he was doing. Though he couldn’t, could he?
“What if we get aroused?” she whispered, a thread of nervousness curling through her.
Mutely, Shọn shifted his jaw back and forth. Apparently that was the plan.
She grimaced at him. “It’ll hurt.”
“We’ll go slow.” Shọn pulled her down again. But not onto his bed.
She landed on his lap, her breath snagging in her throat when her bottom met his hard thighs, the side of one of her breasts pressing against his muscular chest.
He burrowed his fingers into her hair, and her bun unraveled, her long black hair cascading down her back. “That’s good,” he breathed, his eyes staining darker with desire.
She gasped as he tumbled her onto the mattress and rolled half on top of her, one thigh wedging between her legs, his broad shoulders blocking her view of the room. He lowered his dark head, hovering an inch away from a kiss, his hot breath sluicing over her lips.
Her mouth tightened reflexively, her instincts balking; Shọn wasn’t her mate.
Here’s the reality of how things are going to play out. Alex and Jennilĩth are going to hook up in marital bliss while you waste your life in pathetic solitude, never experiencing a damned thing because you wanted to wait for a mate.
Her heart wrenched painfully. She clasped Shọn by the cheeks and drew him the last short distance toward her, their mouths touching. They froze, their lips barely clinging as both of them discovered the silky warmth that was a kiss.
Shọn’s lips lowered again, slowly, and then with a groan he covered her mouth fully with his own. His hand tightened in the back of her hair as he slanted his lips hard over hers.
Heat snaked through her belly. She hadn’t expected him to be this heavy and warm. Or to smell so potent. Her lashes trembled against her cheeks as her sinuses opened to the heady scent of him, the musk of unmated male Vârcolac filling her head and drifting down the back of her throat, eddying through her lungs. Excitement rushed through her, lighting her eyes behind her lids with Pure-bred fire.
