Quicksilver (The Bloodline Series Book 2)

by Gabriella Messina

  “I should have been dead.” Sam moved quickly, making it from the chair to Vincent’s lap in record time. “You saved me,” she whispered as she leaned in close, her lips poised above his… but then she stopped, a frown marring her brow again. “Wait a minute… You said you didn’t know me, right?”

  “Right.”

  Sam leaned back. “Well, you were here because Ivan sent for you to look after me. So, if you didn’t know what I looked like or anything…”

  Vincent smiled as he shifted slightly in the chair. “Ivan… always played a cautious hand… His message to me was very vague, only said that he needed me to come and look after his grand-daughter. I assumed he meant a little girl.”

  “You thought I was a little girl?” Sam leaned back slightly, the collar of her robe opening as she moved and revealing a generous portion of her neck and breasts. “I’m definitely not a little girl.”

  Vincent leaned in, kissing her neck as he slipped the robe back off her shoulders. “Definitely not.”

  Sam ran her fingers through his hair, and felt the pressure of his fresh arousal against her leg. Vincent’s lips were making their way down from her neck to her collarbone and shoulders as his hands started roaming with obvious intent. “Vincent, we should probably stop.”

  “Why?” Vincent asked, his breath hot against her skin.

  “Well, um… don’t you want to finish your breakfast?”

  Vincent raised his head, a mischievous glint in his brown eyes. “Not hungry for that anymore.” He leaned in to kiss her...

  Ring… Ring…

  “Let it ring, love.” Vincent went for her neck yet again, and Sam was sorely tempted to simply ignore the phone and succumb once more to the expert lovemaking of the Irishman… but… it could be about…

  “My suspension.” She pushed Vincent away, just far enough to get him away from her neck. “It may be about my suspension.” He was silent a moment, his lips firmly pressed together. Then, Vincent nodded, and reluctantly released her.

  Sam hopped up, pulling her robe back around her as she grabbed up her cell phone. The caller ID told her what she needed to know. It wasn’t the Lieutenant, or IAB… it was --

  “Sam? It’s Frank Ronne. Listen, uh, that information you were looking for… I’ve got it.”

  Chapter 31

  Joe Coffee

  E. 13th Street

  The seat that Frank Ronne had chosen was perfectly positioned to see everyone that came in, which was the whole point of choosing it. He glanced at his watch, a smooth movement that caught the attention of several women in the coffee house. Rather, it added fresh interest to the focus that had already been on him since he came in. He sighed lightly, reaching for his coffee and enjoying a savory sip as he glanced once more around the industrial chic interior. He preferred a cozier atmosphere himself, but this was close to Sam’s apartment, and his usual spot had been packed to brimming with NYU students at this hour.

  In all honesty, going directly to her apartment would have been ideal, but Ronne had gotten the distinct impression that she wasn’t alone. So, the coffee shop it was.

  Ronne slipped his glasses off for a moment, rubbing his eyes. It had been a long night of research, but he had been determined to find what Sam was looking for as quickly as possible, and succeeded at about five this morning. A couple of hour’s sleep, a shower and careful shaving around his goatee and he was presentable. Of course, Ronne’s “presentable” was by most people’s standards fastidiously put together, his chestnut hair trimmed and neat, his jeans perfectly pressed, as was his button-down shirt, and his dressy leather shoes shined. He replaced the dark-rimmed glasses, perching them on his high-bridged nose, his ice blue eyes briefly widening as they adjusted to the focus. He glanced at his watch again, wondering how long it really did take to get here from Delancey Street when the door opened, and a rush of Spring air wafted in as Sam Karolyi entered.

  Ronne made ready to stand, his height sure to get her attention even before he raised his hand in a wave. Sam had seen him already, though, and was already on her way over to the table.

  “Sorry I’m late. Something came up that I had to take care of.” Sam cast her eyes down at the table at that, and Ronne could detect the faintest of blushes creeping across her cheeks. Naughty girl… Ronne thought, recalling his suspicion that she hadn’t been alone. If he’d been of a more jealous type, he might have been irked by the suggestion, but Ronne knew what his place was.

  “Not a problem.” Ronne relaxed back into his chair and gestured toward the chalkboard menu at the back above the service counter. “Coffee?”

  Sam grinned as she sat down. “Yes, please. Um --”

  “Wait,” Ronne stopped her, holding his hand up as he frowned lightly. “I’ve got it. Cream… and stevia.”

  “Yep.”

  Ronne’s frown faded, a wide smile breaking across his handsome face. “Yep. Of course.” He stood quickly, his lean physique making his height even more impressive. “I’ll just be a moment.”

  There was no line, thankfully, and Ronne returned in no time with a large cup of coffee for Sam and another for himself. He waited a moment while she took a cautious sip of the hot beverage, then finished off the cold remnants of his first cup.

  “How did you find everything so quickly?” The question so soon in their meeting caught Ronne off-guard and he found himself fighting the urge to cough as the drops of cold coffee hit the back of his throat at an odd angle. He swallowed hard several times, trying to soothe the irritation and gain control as quickly as possible before she noticed his discomfort. Ronne’s mind was working like a machine, running through the details of what he had done, how he had done it, processing everything and condensing it to the story that Sam was going to get.

  “Are you alright?” Sam’s face was full of concern when he looked up. No suspicion that he could see, but she may just be good at hiding her thoughts and emotions. Ronne managed to get a small smile out and swallowed hard again. The tension in his throat eased and he cleared his throat carefully.

  “Tried to… go the wrong way… I’m alright, thank you.”

  “Good.” Sam’s posture relaxed visibly and she took another careful sip of her hot coffee. “So, what were you able to find?”

  Ronne reached around, quickly rummaging through the pockets of his jacket and pulling out a small spiral-bound notebook. “It’s all in there. The bomber’s name was Aharon Abdulrahman. He was here on a student visa from Yemen, studying at Hunter College.”

  “What was he studying?” Sam asked, leafing through the pages of the notebook, skimming the writing within.

  “American literature.”

  Sam chuckled. “No shit?”

  Ronne smiled. “I shit you not. He was evidently doing his senior thesis on the relationship between English and American Literature as evidenced by the Trans-Atlantic friendship between Charles Dickens and Edgar Allan Poe.”

  “Dickens and Poe?”

  Ronne nodded. “Quoth the Raven, ‘What the fuck?’” Sam slowly looked up from the papers, her glare threatening to break into laughter any second. Ronne shrugged. “Sorry… I was making a Poe attempt at humor.” Sam lowered her gaze back to the notebook, but her shoulders were shaking as she laughed.

  “It certainly is an… unusual choice.” Sam said, her finger running along the page in front of her. “Ordinarily they go for the obvious… technical programs, engineering, piloting, blah blah blah… This is interesting… He took chemistry, even though he tested out.”

  “And it wasn’t required for the major.” Ronne leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand in a thoughtful pose. “Yeah, I thought that was interesting, too. “

  Sam skimmed the last page, then closed the notebook, leaving it between them on the table. “He wouldn’t need it to make the pipe bombs. You can get those directions on the internet, any moron can figure it out and do it in an afternoon with the right ingredients.”

  “About that...” Ronne glanced ar
ound, checking to see if anyone was close enough to hear him. He leaned in across the table, Sam following suit, their foreheads inches from each other. Ronne pursed his lips, glanced again at the nearest people, then cleared his throat. “My source told me that there was trace residue on the bomb of a powdery substance. They thought it could be…” He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “They thought it could be anthrax, so they sent it for testing. Turns out, it wasn’t anthrax. The powder was a basic form of meth, mixed with a couple of other drugs.”

  “Meth? He was going to bomb people with meth?”

  A frown creased Ronne’s brow. “Not just meth. The powder didn’t contain anthrax spores, but it did contain…” He looked around again. “My source said there were traces of a virus in the powder. A live virus.” He watched Sam’s face as the words sank in, her eyes tearing and her bottom lip quivering slightly before she pressed the upper on down, stilling it. She lowered her eyes, and Ronne hesitated before continuing. “He said… it was like nothing he’d ever seen before. A retrovirus like HIV attached to a gel of some kind that lined the inside of the pipe.”

  “To keep it alive for transmission.” Sam murmured. She turned abruptly in her chair, looking out the window to the street, busy with traffic both vehicle and pedestrian. City buses and taxis driving back and forth… NYU students hefting their backpacks as they passed… A nanny pushing a stroller with twin toddlers inside… “They want to infect the whole city.” She whispered, her voice fading away at the end as emotion constricted her throat.

  Ronne could hear the change in her breathing, the slight gasping sound that indicated her emotional disturbance more than tears or outcry would. He felt a twinge of guilt for being the bearer of such tidings, though they must be told.

  “You know what it is, don’t you?”

  Sam was silent, and Ronne wondered if she’d even heard him. Then slowly she turned back to him, her face pale, her eyes large and haunted by whatever secret knowledge she had. She swallowed hard before she spoke.

  “Yes, Frank… I know what it is.” Sam flashed a wan smile and quickly drained her coffee cup. “I have to go. Thank you, Frank.” Sam stood quickly, heading for the exit before Ronne could even get up. He did get up, however, and hurried after her, catching her a few minutes before she reached the corner.

  “Wait a minute, hang on!” Ronne stood there, his exasperation evident as he looked down at Sam. She was a solid foot shorter than him, and slender to boot… Ronne feared he could crush her with a hug, and in the same moment wondered why he was even thinking about that possibility. “Sam, what is going on?”

  “You need to stay out of this, Frank, for your own good.” She pulled out her mobile phone, holding it in her hand as she looked at him expectantly, perhaps expecting him to just walk away. If only it was that simple, Ronne thought as he looked at the pretty young woman in front of him. Sam was… special… and that frustrating layer of specialness was making this whole thing much more difficult than it needed to be.

  “There’s one other thing. Lenny got in touch with me… Said he couldn’t reach you or something… He said to tell you there’s a shipment coming in tomorrow night. PERV-E. It’ll be in a warehouse in Brooklyn...” Ronne reached in his pocket, grabbing the notebook and a pen and scribbling quickly on an empty page. “Here.” He handed her the notebook. “You couldn’t have read everything in there… And you’ll need the information.”

  Sam took the notebook and slid it into her own pocket. “Thank you.”

  “Of course. Are you… are you going to be alright?”

  Sam smiled a small smile. “Yeah. Just do me a favor?”

  “Anything.”

  “Keep an eye on Lenny and his family, okay? Him helping me in any way… Anyone helping me… the risk…”

  “Absolutely.”

  Sam heaved a relieved sigh, and nodded. They stood awkwardly for a moment, and Ronne wondered what to do next when abruptly Sam stepped forward, her arms going around him quickly in a hug. Ronne didn’t hesitate, putting his arms around his partner and hugging her tightly.

  “That didn’t make things weird, did it?” Sam muttered against his jacket.

  “No.” Ronne shook his head. “Friends hug, right?” Without waiting for a response, Ronne leaned down, his chin resting on her head. He felt her stagger slightly as the rush went through him. It was like a high wind gusting through your mind and body, organizing everything and syncing it.

  Sam broke the hug, backing up a couple of steps. “I’ve gotta go. See ya later, Frank.”

  “See ya.”

  Ronne watched her hurry away down the street, disappearing into the crowd. Even after she disappeared, though, he could see her… the feeling of her presence was clear now, as she crossed street after street, then headed down into the subway and out of his mind’s sight. His smile faded, and Ronne pulled out his mobile and dialed. It rang several times before the other end of the line was picked up. Ronne didn’t wait for a greeting, didn’t expect one…

  “It’s me. You were right. All I had to do was touch her, skin to skin… No, not like that, she’s already mated to Kremer… but she felt it, I could tell. And I saw her. It worked.”

  Ronne hung up the phone and rubbed at the back of his neck, pulling his collar up to cover the mark there… the small tattoo of a bird that marked him for what he was, and what he would be to her…

  Chapter 32

  Mulberry Street, Little Italy

  Sam took a final long drag from her cigarette, blowing the puff of smoke out as she rummaged through her pockets and pulled out a fresh one. Using the embers that remained of the first, she lit the second cigarette and inhaled again, drawing in the smoke that was doing something to calm her nerves, but not much to untie the knots in her stomach. The tension in her abdomen had been building since she’d spoken to Vincent on the way from the coffee shop. He had promised to hurry, to meet her here, but the twenty minutes since that call had seemed like hours. The panic that had set in after Ronne told her about the bio-weapon that was contained in the pipe bomb had not abated, and would crash through Sam in fresh waves every time she saw a child go by.

  Ronne… That had been mega weird, too. Sam wondered if her partner had felt the strange rush that she had when they embraced. It had been incredibly sensual, though not sexual, and the impact of it had nearly knocked her down. Even now as Sam stood in the middle of Little Italy, watching the restaurants preparing for the evening and night dining crowds that would be appearing soon, she could still feel it… like a gentle hand resting on the back of her head. Strange…

  Sam lowered her cigarette, clearing the smoke away from her nose and mouth so she could scent the air. There… it was faint, but it was Vincent… Step by step, he was getting closer. Sam relaxed a bit and took another drag from the cigarette. The plan for the evening would likely rule out the smoking of cigarettes, so she felt she may as well enjoy it while she had the chance.

  Sam caught his scent again on the wind, and turned toward its source. Vincent rounded the corner a couple of blocks down Mulberry. He slowed slightly, clearly scenting, and when he caught Sam’s his eyes immediately fixed on her and he sped up…

  But Vincent wasn’t alone…

  “What is he doing here?” Sam was irate as Vincent reached her, followed a few beats later by a slightly winded Ben.

  “Nice…to see you…too.” Ben wheezed out, leaning against a parked car which immediately started to alarm. The three quickly scooted away down Mulberry. The smells of the ever-encroaching Chinatown were ahead of them, as were several Canal Street Stations, one of which held the train they needed.

  “Vincent, why is Benny here?”

  Vincent glanced briefly back at Ben as he shuffled along behind them trying to catch his breath. Vincent kept he voice low as he replied. “They know who he is, who he is to you… Under the circumstances, he’s safer with us than on his own. Besides, he’s your family --”

  “And family takes care of fami
ly.” They both turned to look back at the sound of Ben’s voice. He flashed a crooked grin. “You aren’t getting rid of me, so stop trying.”

  Sam could feel tears welling in her eyes at the display of loyalty and affection that Ben was showing. She should have expected no less from her childhood friend. Family… yes, Vincent was right, they were family. Sam quickly nodded her acceptance of his staying, hoping the movement was enough to conceal the moisture in her eyes. The last thing she needed right now was for either of them to notice and say something…

  “So,” Vincent began, searching for a cigarette for himself. “This partner of yours… his information was good?”

  Sam nodded emphatically. “It came from Lenny, so absolutely. It’s not really much time to make a plan, but…”

  “We have to do something. Right.“ Vincent smoked in silence, looking up and down Canal Street with a small frown creasing his brow.

  “Sam? What’s going on?”

  Sam looked at her best friend. Ben’s forehead was creased, too, but they were worried creases. Sam hesitated, debating whether to tell him the truth, and realizing in almost the same instant that there was no room for debate… he was here, he was part of this now… he had to know.

  “There’s a large shipment of drugs coming into a warehouse in Brooklyn today. The drug is a meth mixture, and the werewolves are using it… to make money to support their cause.” Sam stopped a moment, letting the import of it sink in. Ben’s frown turned thoughtful, then completely disappeared as his eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath the swath of black hair hanging over his forehead.

  “Wait a minute, we’re not going to --”

  “Destroy it?” Vincent chuckled, his smile sending chills up Sam’s spine and sending her thoughts in a decidedly more sensual direction. “Yes, Ben… We’re going to destroy it.”

  “Do you think that is a good idea, oh Wise One?”

  “Ben.” Sam stepped closer to him, lowering her voice so that only he could hear her as she continued. “The werewolves have a weapon. Remember the Saint Patty’s Day bomb?” Ben nodded. “Yeah, well, that bomb had a gel-like substance inside of it… laced with the virus.” She watched his expression run the gamut of emotions as her words, and their catastrophic import, sunk in.