Nicholas leaned in close. “How do you know?”
He shrugged. “Just a feeling. I think I’ve piqued her curiosity about me.”
Nicholas laughed. “Half the human females around here have a piqued curiosity about you. What you need to do is settle down and find a mate.”
“No.”
His friend stepped in front of him. Nicholas sported a concerned expression of narrowed eyes and knitted brows. “Look, it’s been over a few hundred years since you’ve had a permanent mate. You can’t have an endless parade of women in and out of your bed all the time.”
“Who says I can’t?”
Nicholas crossed his arms. “It gets old, my friend. Take Tatiana, for example. I wasn’t looking for a mate necessarily, but when I found her, I was grateful. I never thought I’d ever love again after Cleopatra.”
His fingers clenched at the thought of his first wife. Dagmar had been his only true love, and her existence had ended over several hundred years before. He’d never go through losing his heart to anyone else again. “That’s you, not me. I don’t want a mate.”
Nicholas shrugged. “You’ll see differently in time, I’m sure.” He turned to the trove of men trolling the scene for clues. “Do you think they’ll want to talk to you about this?”
“More than likely.” He sighed, dropping his arm. “I guess I’d better get it over with.”
He moved to approach the detectives and answer any questions they had for him. They grilled him like a well-done steak, but he didn’t care. His mind remained on the stoic chestnut-haired woman he’d danced with earlier. She’d clung to him and held on as if she were afraid to let go, much like his wife, Dagmar, had so long before. Even Melissa, his previous fling who died in a car accident, had never held onto him like that. He found the woman’s embrace refreshing, for most modern women wanted things their own way and didn’t want a man to lean on.
Drake remembered the curve of her face well, including the smoldering depths of her whiskey-colored eyes. She wanted him, he sensed, but some prudent side of her remained restrained. He’d entertained the thought of taking her to bed tonight, but when her boyfriend lay in the alleyway bleeding to death, his glamour broke and she rushed to her man. When he witnessed her caring and compassion, a stab of jealousy pierced his non-beating heart. Would a woman ever care that much about him ever again?
* * * *
Pushing back her tears, Christine stared blindly at the blank forms sitting on her desk. She needed to remain strong for David. He would pull through this, and then things would be okay. They’d have their days of fun again.
“Christine,” Captain Lou Carpenter yelled from his office. “Come in here.”
Christine rose on shaky legs and walked to the captain’s office. She still wore her bloodstained clothes because she didn’t want to waste time to go home and change when she needed to fill out all the paperwork regarding David’s attack. So far, the only thing she’d filled out was his name and put a few more teeth marks into her pen.
She walked into the postage-stamp-sized office composed of four glass walls outfitted with cheap metal shades that had seen better days. A whirring tabletop fan looking like a refugee from a military surplus store buzzed in the corner, doing nothing more than blowing stale cigar smoke around.
Christine slid into the battered chair across from the captain’s desk. “Yes?” Her throat constricted from unshed tears, but she refused to give in. To cry was a sign of weakness.
Lou leaned forward and placed both hairy, meaty forearms on the green blotter covering the top of the beaten metal desk. His round eyes conveyed the depth of his concern.
“How are you doing?”
“As well as can be expected.”
He pointed to her bloodstained clothing. “Why didn’t you change?”
“I just wanted to get the paperwork started. Besides, I want to be here when the hospital called about David’s condition.”
Lou rubbed both hands over his bald head then over his face. He looked up, his face composed with a sorrowful expression.
“I’m sorry, but David died fifteen minutes ago.”
Numbness circulated throughout her body while the air grew thick and stuffy. What the hell? She could barely breathe as she mulled the words over in an effort to understand the meaning. “Are you sure?”
“I just got off the phone with the hospital. The attack he suffered was too vicious, and they couldn’t get him stabilized. I’m so sorry. I know how close you were to David.”
Stunned disbelief surged, making the tightness in her throat grow. She paused then swallowed hard. “I’d like to make his funeral arrangements.”
“I don’t think you should.”
She bent from her waist and hugged herself tightly. “Look, he has no family and I’m the closest thing to that. We’ve often talked about what we’d like to happen to us, so I know what his wishes are.”
Lou’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you can do this?”
Christine nodded. “Yes, I can.”
* * * *
The boat rocked uneasily in the waters of the BeaumontBay. Christine couldn’t have picked a better day to scatter David’s ashes. The sun shone brightly overhead without a hint of clouds, dappling the gorgeous sapphire-blue water. In the distance, she could see a pod of dolphins jumping and playing in the warmth of the sea.
David’s chilly urn rested her hands, slightly numbing her fingers. She held the handcrafted copper vessel all the way out here, silent and subdued. Others from the department had accompanied her, including Lou Carpenter. She blocked out their inane chatter from her mind while she held onto David for the last time. They’d often talked about what they wanted done with their remains after death, a ghoulish topic to most to say the least. David always wanted to be cremated and scattered at sea. She wanted a little crypt in the cemetery near her grandparents.
Christine hugged the urn. She didn’t want to let him go, at least not yet. It had taken her over two weeks to plan this trip out here. She’d placed the urn on her mantle and would stare at the nameplate on it at night when she had the temptation to call him to see what’s up. Sometimes, she even forgot he was gone.
So many times, she wanted to cry and rage against his death, but she couldn’t. It was if some monster kept a stranglehold against her emotions.
“Are you all right?” Lou asked and slid into the bench seat next to her.
“As well as to be expected under the circumstances,” she said with a sigh. “I really didn’t ever want to have to do this.”
Lou took her hand into his own and squeezed gently, very calm and reassuring. “None of us ever plan on this. It’s sort of like a wound. It hurts like hell in the beginning, but over time, it heals over. Unfortunately, there will always be a scar.”
Just like my heart. There would always be a spot there for David as long as she lived. He was one man she’d never forget.
The boat stopped about a mile away from shore and dropped anchor. She clutched the urn and stood on shaky legs. “Before I commit David to his final resting place, I’d like to have everyone say a few words.” She handed the urn to Lou, who mumbled a few words amidst his tears. Each of the detectives, teary-eyed, said something, except for her. She continued to remain strong.
Once the urn came back to her hands, Christine said her final words to David’s remains, “Good-bye, my friend. I’ll love and miss you always. You’re never far from my thoughts. Now rest in peace.”
She turned and dumped the contents of the urn into the water. Gray ash escaped into the crystal blue sea. They formed a vague human shape briefly, eliciting a collective gasp from the throng. The outline hovered for a moment, and then dissolved to become one with the sea and nature forever.
Christine shook the copper vessel to make sure all the ash fell into the water. Once finished, she capped the urn, set it down on the deck and resumed her seat. She said nothing and stared at the floorboards of the craft. Why hadn’t she been there
to protect him? He’d always had her back, just as she had his. This one time she’d let him down.
Lou resumed his place beside her and tried to engage her into conversation, but she refused to talk to him or anyone. She retreated into the one space inside herself where she let no one venture. The last thing she would ever do was allow anyone into to her life and be close to her.
David had been as close as she allowed him to be. She learned long ago never to trust anyone enough with herself or her secrets. Mom had taught her that through beatings and mental abuse. Good, old crack-addicted Mom, who had tried to sell her for a few rocks here and there, thought only of her self-gratification. Nothing else mattered. No wonder she hated the woman.
Shoved out into the streets at sixteen, she’d made her way through and became a police detective in the process. She had shared choice bits and pieces of her past with David since he had an almost similar one.
Christine leaned back as the boat pulled up anchor and headed back to shore, the nose of the vessel bobbing with each wrinkle of wave. She would have loved to know who her father was, but even Mom didn’t know. Probably one of Mom’s many johns.
She stiffened. No time to think of that now. She had to go back undercover and find out who killed David before they struck again.
* * * *
“Sit down, Christine,” Lou Carpenter said and gestured to the chair in front of his cheap, well-worn metal desk.
She sat and exhaled a hard breath. She’d spent all weekend going through David’s things at his apartment and getting them ready for charity or the Dumpster. She put it off as long as she could, but time ran out. David’s landlord wanted everything gone so he could get the apartment ready for a new tenant. Her chest had hurt the entire time she packed up his things. One thing she did keep was their photo from the Grand Canyon when they vacationed together. When they returned, everyone had assumed they were having an affair, but not so. They stayed in their own hotel rooms. Never once did David ever try to come onto her. “What’s up, Cap?”
Lou scooped his pudgy fingers through the tufts of remaining hair, making the coarse strands appear as if he’d stuck his finger in a light socket. “Look, I know how tough this has been all for you. I’m putting you on administrative leave for as long as you need.”
The flesh of her face heated. “Why?”
“You’ve got too much of a personal stake in this. I think you need time to grieve. As a matter of fact, you might want to take a vacation. I can arrange for a coupla weeks off for ya.”
Christine’s hands curled at her sides. “No thanks. I just want to solve David’s murder.”
His eyes blazed. “Didn’t you hear me? I’m taking you off the case.”
She wasn’t giving into this one. “No dice, Cap. I’m staying on the case.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I want to stay.”
“It’s out of my hands now, Christine. The word from above is that you’re to stay home until David’s murder is solved.”
Silently, she seethed. How dare he stop her? “So that’s it? No chance to plead my case before the superiors?”
“I’m afraid there isn’t.” Lou rose and circled his desk. He stopped at the corner and slid his generous ass on the edge, his hands in his lap. “Go home and take some time off. God knows you deserve it.”
She stood. A tight circle wrapped her throat like a hand attempting to strangle the life out of her, making it difficult to breathe. It wasn’t Lou’s lousy aftershave doing it for a change. Her emotions remained too bottled up inside of her. She’d blow soon and would need to be by herself when that happened.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said with a smile. Over the years, she’d gotten quite good at hiding any emotion on her face, a trait that had served her well. She gave him a weak grin and said, “A little time off would be good.”
“That’s the spirit.” Lou touched her arm affectionately. “When you come back, I’ll make sure you’re briefed as to the progress of David’s case.”
“Good. I want David’s killer caught as soon as possible.”
“He or she will be. In the meantime, get out of here.”
Christine hugged Lou despite her urge to gag at his cologne. At one time, the scent had probably been good, but mixed with sweat, it turned sour. “See ya in a few weeks.”
With that, Christine gathered her things and headed out the door. She jumped into her Mustang and sped down the freeway toward home. On the way, she stopped at the corner market and picked up the ingredients for beef bourguignon without thinking.
She started to chop the carrots and mushrooms when the explosion of emotion and feelings crashed in on her. She slammed the knife against the full cutting board and fell to her knees on the floor, surrounded bits of carrot and mushrooms scattered in crazy patterns. She rocked as the tears flowed. Beef bourguignon had been David’s favorite dish, and she didn’t care for making the dish because the preparation was so labor intensive. She did make the meal a lot because David loved the dish so much.
Her chest ached as she cried. How dare someone do this to David? He’d been her rock in times of trouble she let him be. He was so sweet and innocent. How could this have happened?
Christine’s breath hitched hard as the last of her tears and sobbing faded away, her mind suddenly clearer now than ever before. She couldn’t let David down. They may have taken her off the case, but she had all this available time now, so why couldn’t she investigate the case on her own? The department didn’t have to know everything going on in her life, especially when she wasn’t on its dime.
She wiped the last of her tears away. Her tide of grief passed with the speed of wind whipping through a cornfield. The time to mourn was over.
Christine stood and pulled herself together a bit more. Her makeup was probably running down her face, but she didn’t care at the moment. She had become an empty vessel, ready to be filled with information to find David’s killer and bring them to justice. She owed him that much.
* * * *
Sleep eluded her again tonight. Christine gave half a thought to taking a sleeping pill, but she disregarded the notion. The medication made her feel out of touch all day, and she didn’t need the distraction.
Christine flipped to her right side and looked at the window. Gauzy curtains danced on the crisp wind of the night, an indication that autumn lay not too far away. The full moon showered the earth with a silvery pall, bathing everything in an eerie whitish glow. On nights like this, she and David would sit on her porch swing and contemplate life. They would get into the most odd and philosophical conversations ever. She’d miss that. No one else existed whom she could talk to in the way she did with David.
Her eyelids grew heavy, feeling almost as if two giant boulders had been attached to them. Good. She’d be falling asleep naturally and getting up pretty much when she wanted to the next day with a clear head. She grinned. It felt good knowing she didn’t have to get up at five am during the week to get ready for work.
She closed her eyes and let her thoughts roll on.
“Chrissy.”
Christine’s eyes snapped open. Her heart raced at the sound of David’s voice and pounded at her temples like a thousand elephants charging through. Where did that come from? She lay silent and listened to the sound of blood pulsing in her ears waiting to see if she heard the voice again.
Nothing happened.
The ticktock of the miniature grandfather clock out in the living room broke the eerie silence. She exhaled a hard breath. It was just the fact she made the beef bourguignon tonight brought on the sound of his voice, just a psychological hold over from her grief session in the kitchen.
She closed her eyes again,
David’s voice called softly again. “Chrissy,”
She jerked up. Now she knew she heard his voice as plainly as she would anything else. “David? Is that you?”
A silhouette figure emerged from the depth of shadow hovering near her wardrobe.
“It’s me,” he said.
He walked toward her soundlessly, almost as if he glided. Christine’s breath caught. An icy ball of terror formed in her belly and lay there like a brick. “You’re not real,” she choked out in a strangled whisper. “You’re just a figment of my imagination.”
“I’m here,” he stated from the darkness.
She couldn’t see his face, but she knew the figure to be him just the same.
“I told you I’d find a way back.”
“But you’re dead. I scattered your ashes out to sea the other day.”
Sudden footsteps propelled him out of the shadow and into the moonlight. Why hadn’t she heard that before? She gasped.
David’s tanned face had blanched into a pasty white color, his lips as red as a rose. His navy-hued eyes had lost their color and had turned an icy blue, piercing and direct. A suit composed of black leather covered him from head to toe.
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did.” She lowered her head and stared at the blue flowers on her comforter. “I’m dreaming. It’s the only explanation for this.”
David reached out, placed an icy forefinger under her chin, and lifted her face. “It’s no dream, Chrissy. I’m just as real as you are.”
“No, you’re not. You were cremated, and I scattered your ashes out at sea.” She pointed to the bronze urn sitting on her dresser. “See that? That’s what carried your ashes and that’s what I took out to sea.”
Christine shook with terror though she knew this all to be a dream despite its deep, disturbing reality.
The David-thingy walked over to the dresser and peered at the urn, his eyes narrowing. “Impressive, though I must tell you that it wasn’t me in the urn.” He spread his arms. “How could it be when I’m right here?”
She swallowed the growing lump in her throat summoning her courage. “What do you want?”
Ranson, Tracy L. - Prince of Darkness [Bloodborn 3] (Siren Publishing Classic) Page 2
