Alexandra Sabian 2 - Blood Secrets

by Jeannie Holmes

  As a result of her transgression, she’d been placed on administrative suspension and ordered to remain within the city limits until the powers-that-be called her to their headquarters in Louisville, Kentucky. Once summoned, she’d face an official inquiry before the Tribunal, the vampire equivalent of an internal affairs committee, and answer for numerous violations of the Enforcer code of conduct. The most serious charge was one of corruption, which if found guilty carried a mandatory death sentence.

  “How long ago was the car found?” Varik asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

  Alex stretched and pushed herself into a seated position, back resting against the headboard.

  “Are you certain about that?” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Right. Yeah, I know where it is. I’m bringing Alex along for this one.”

  She frowned as Damian’s voice rose, and Varik was forced to hold the cell phone away from his ear.

  “—no way in hell you’re bringing her,” Damian shouted. “Sabian is suspended until further notice. You know that.”

  “Yeah, I know that. I also know that if we’re going to get anywhere with this investigation, we need all the available talent we can get,” Varik snarled.

  Damian remained silent.

  “Varik,” Alex whispered. “If he—”

  “Fine.” Damian’s grudging response cut her off. “Bring her along, but you’re responsible for her while she’s on-scene.”

  Varik winked at her. “Agreed. We’re on our way.”

  “What—” She gestured to his phone and shook her head. “How do you do that?”

  He turned to face her squarely. “How do I do what?”

  “Get Damian to agree to whatever you want.”

  He grinned, showing the full extent of his fangs. “It’s part of my French pig charm, chérie.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So what’s this scene we’re going to?”

  “You’re familiar with the Mindy Johnson case?”

  “The girl who disappeared three days ago.”

  He nodded. “Someone located her car in front of the women’s dorms at Nassau County Community College. Damian and the forensic team are there now.”

  “Sounds like the scene is under control. Why bring me in?”

  Varik rose and pulled her up along with him. “Because you have an ability to see things others don’t.”

  “You want me to use my psychometry to get a vision of what happened to Mindy?” She tried to move away but he held her close. “It doesn’t work like that, Varik. I can’t control the visions.”

  “I know.”

  “There is no guarantee I’ll even sense anything.”

  He kissed her forehead. “Will you at least try?”

  Reluctantly, she nodded.

  “Thank you.”

  They took turns in the bathroom, and she was surprised by how easily they fell into a familiar routine. As she washed up, Alex checked her reflection in the age-spotted mirror above the sink. The bruising that had encompassed her ribs, stomach, and the right side of her face had finally disappeared but the fractured cheekbone hadn’t fully healed. She could still feel the soreness when she smiled. A bright pink scar ran diagonally over her right biceps, the result of a sniper’s bullet grazing her arm.

  She secured her shoulder-length auburn hair in a low ponytail. Another scar marred the left side of her neck, a jagged slash starting behind her ear and extending to her collarbone. She fingered the scar, a permanent reminder of a chapter in her life she thought was behind her. Fate, however, had other plans for her.

  As if summoned by her thoughts, Varik appeared in the mirror, leaning against the doorjamb. His dark eyes steadily meeting her reflected gaze. “Ready to go?”

  She nodded. “I just have to get my sidearm.”

  He grabbed her arm as she tried to push past him. His thumb traced the blemish on her neck. “I’m sorry I caused you pain,” he murmured.

  Six years ago, when they’d been engaged to be married, he attacked her, savaging her neck. He’d taken her blood and forged a psychic bond between them. Time and distance had weakened the blood-bond, but a few weeks ago she’d turned the tables and attacked him, re-strengthening the bond. It hadn’t been a conscious thought, unlike when she later slept with him and continued to sleep with him even though a portion of her said she shouldn’t.

  Her attention flicked to a matching mark on his neck. She followed the jagged edge of the healed wound with her finger. “I know,” she whispered. “But now isn’t the time to discuss it.”

  “You always say that.”

  “We’ll discuss it later.” She gave him a quick kiss. “I swear.”

  He released her in silent agreement.

  She grabbed her Glock from the side table and paused to give Dweezil’s exposed belly a quick rub. “Behave yourself,” she told the purring cat. “No barfing on the bed or carpet.”

  Dweezil yawned and stretched in response.

  Varik was shaking his head when she joined him at the door. “Sometimes I think you like that cat more than me.”

  “Love me, love my cat.”

  The door automatically locked behind them as they headed for the elevators. “Actually, I’m quite fond of your pus—”

  She punched his arm. “Don’t you dare complete that sentence, Varik Baudelaire, or I’ll kick your ass right here.”

  He clutched his shoulder, laughing. “Promises, promises.”

  Alex growled in frustration and hurried ahead, wanting to place some distance between them before she really did hurt him, and pressed the elevator call button. She was still sorting out her feelings for Varik, and even though she cared for him, he often irritated her, especially with his insistence on providing for her.

  Her apartment had been damaged in a fire and wasn’t ready for her return. She’d been staying with her brother, Stephen, in a studio apartment he rented out over Crimson Swan, Jefferson’s only legal blood bar for vampires. However, arsonists led by Harvey Manser, the now former sheriff of Nassau County, had destroyed the bar, leaving her homeless once again.

  The hotel room that became her temporary shelter had originally been reserved by Varik when he first arrived in town. Her suspension from the Bureau left Jefferson without an Enforcer so the Bureau had assigned Varik as her provisional replacement and had provided him with a short-term apartment, not that he’d been there often. He gave his hotel room to Alex and had been staying with her most nights. She’d offered to reserve her own room but he’d insisted, claiming that the room was already paid in advance.

  She didn’t believe his story. However, a check with the hotel’s manager had yielded no information of value other than gaining access to the hotel’s after-hours gym.

  The elevator arrived as Varik joined her, and the doors slid open. He gestured for her to enter first then walked in with a knowing smirk. She ignored him and pushed the button that would take them to the lobby.

  As the doors shut, she heard another door open and close somewhere in the distance, bringing to mind her encounter—or lack of an encounter—in the Hall of Records. In the excitement that followed her trip to the Shadowlands, she’d forgotten about it. She was certain someone had been in the Hall. Why had they not shown themselves?

  Machinery whirred overhead and while the elevator descended, she was on edge. Dread settled over her like a shroud and she couldn’t shake it. Irrational visions of monsters lying in wait in the lobby flittered through her mind. The same sense of a forgotten dream nibbling at the corners of her consciousness made her shudder.

  Varik draped an arm over her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded and stepped away. “Just a little nervous to face Damian,” she lied.

  His eyes narrowed but he didn’t press her.

  The elevator reached the first floor, and the doors opened to reveal a well-lit and empty lobby.

  Alex silently chided herself as they passed the vacant front desk. She had an opportunity to make u
p for some of her mistakes and was allowing the events of recent weeks to get to her. She was back in the field, where she wanted to be, and she needed to get her head in the right place.

  And yet when she stepped into the rainy dawn, the sense that some unseen menace lay in wait, watching her from the darkness, made her reach for Varik’s hand.

  He shot her a questioning look, but he never broke stride, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

  Once surrounded by the security of his sleek black Corvette and heading into the morning in silence, Alex pushed aside the anxiety that still swirled around her like a palpable cloud, determined not to squander the opportunity she’d been given.

  And even more determined to stop jumping at shadows.

  Basements weren’t possible in southern Mississippi for two reasons: a high water table and a layer of shifting clay within the ground. That was why so many old houses had immense attic space to compensate.

  Above- or belowground didn’t matter to Peter. All he needed was privacy and the attic offered it. It had taken him nearly a year to perfect the space, tailoring it to his needs. The time had been wisely spent.

  A door in the second-floor hall opened to stairs that led to one section of the attic. A very small portion used for actual storage.

  The doorway to the remainder was well hidden. He’d made certain it wouldn’t be noticed by the casual observer. Not that he had any visitors.

  A false panel concealed behind an oversized print of Marcel Duchamp’s Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 hid another set of narrow stairs. The Cubist painting depicted both a woman and a staircase consisting of blocks and overlapping angles with little separating the moving nude figure from the irregular background.

  The irony was too much. He laughed every time he opened the panel and climbed the hidden stairs, as he did now. Reaching the top step, he entered the wide expanse that was his private heaven.

  Shelves containing his most precious collection lined the walls. Bins filled with all the bits needed to create his masterpieces were arranged in a neat row on his workstation. Lamps hung overhead and bathed the table in soft light.

  As Peter crossed the time-worn wooden flooring, he felt a rush of power filtering up from the archaic sigils he’d carefully carved into the boards. Each held meaning and purpose, and all were designed to bring him the one thing he most desired.

  He pulled a rolling stool from under the table and sat down with a sigh. It felt good to be returning to work. He pushed a button on a remote control and the opening overture for Carmen filtered through concealed speakers. His eyes slipped shut. The music surrounded him, caressed him, and lulled his senses into a peaceful calm.

  Last night had been a very good night. He’d seen her. It had been a brief glimpse only, but it had been enough to rekindle his desire, to assure him that his work was not in vain.

  He’d even heard her voice. Her sweet, angelic voice calling to him, seeking him out. He’d wanted to answer, to go to her, but he abstained. She wasn’t ready, and he had to be patient. She would come to him soon enough.

  Opening his eyes, he removed the protective drape from his current work. It was crude but the subtle features were taking shape in the face. Each doll he created was perfect, an exact copy of his models. However, this one was a replica of a very special model, and like the others, it would be imbued with a vital essence that would bring her to him.

  His gaze flickered across the attic to his latest acquisition.

  She stared at him, eyes wide and full of wonder. She hadn’t struggled in the same manner as her predecessor so the bindings were minimal. Bands across her forehead and throat kept her head immobile. Her arms lay naturally along her sides with black straps holding them securely in place at the elbows and wrists. A special harness crossed over her shoulders and then over her stomach. More straps held her thighs and shins in place.

  Her mouth remained uncovered, however, and she said nothing. The drugs kept her pliant.

  Peter smiled and picked up the new doll’s head from the table.

  This one was special.

  This was the one that would finally bring Alexandra to him.

  This was the one that would make her his.

  Forever.

  two

  LIEUTENANT TASHA LOCKWOOD STARED AT THE LETTER on her kitchen table. Beside it, a teacup sat ignored, the water long since grown cold and murky with over-brewed tea. Instead, she cradled a glass of golden liquid and slowly melting ice cubes.

  The letter was printed on heavy linen paper. Balanced scales of justice dominated the neatly printed header for Barnes, Butler, Lockwood, & Associates, the Baton Rouge law firm in which her ex-husband was a partner. Her eyes scanned the letter but her brain still refused to believe the words.

  … presence required in Nassau County Family Court on December 4 to answer the petition for sole physical and legal custody of the minor child, Maya Lockwood …

  Ten years after their divorce, Caleb was suing her for sole custody of their daughter.

  She hadn’t argued when he was granted primary custody and she only received visitation rights. She hadn’t even argued when he filed a relocation petition with the court after he was offered the partnership in the law firm. However, she wasn’t going to let him take Maya completely away.

  She lifted her glass and drained the golden liquid. Its slightly smoky taste was mellowed by the ice, just the way she liked it. Although the bourbon was chilled, it still burned as it slid down her throat. She shuddered and set the glass on the table with a soft thump.

  Her phone rang and she automatically reached for her cell before she realized it was her personal home line. She frowned. Who would be calling her this early in the morning?

  Pushing herself up from the table, Tasha picked up the cordless receiver. “Hello?”

  “Judging from the angry message you left in my voice mail, I’m assuming you got my letter.”

  “What the hell is going on, Caleb?” She backed against the wall for support. “Is something wrong with Maya?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with Maya.”

  “Then why are you trying to change the custody agreement?”

  Caleb sighed and the familiar squeak-pop of his favorite reclining chair sounded over the line. “Maya doesn’t want to come to Jefferson anymore, Tasha. She says she’s happy here with her friends, me, and Shantee, and doesn’t want to leave anymore.”

  A knife lodged in Tasha’s stomach, cold, hard, and painful. “I don’t believe that, and who the hell is Shantee?”

  “Believe what you want, but I’m telling you exactly what Maya’s told me.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Shantee is my wife.”

  The knife in Tasha’s stomach slowly twisted. “Your wife? You got remarried and didn’t tell me?”

  “I sent you an invitation.”

  “I didn’t get it.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “You could’ve at least called.”

  “I did.” His voice adopted an irritated edge. “If you weren’t so busy playing a vampire’s bitch—”

  “I am not a vampire’s bitch! I’m the fucking liaison officer for Jefferson PD, Nassau County Sheriff’s Department, and the FBPI. It’s my job to work with vampires.”

  “And given your fear of them, how’s that working out for you?”

  “Don’t be a dick, Caleb, and stop trying to change the subject.” She moved to the table and poured another round of bourbon. “I’m not going to let you take Maya.”

  “I’m not taking her, Tasha. I’ve already got her. This is her decision. I’m just trying to do what’s best for her.”

  “What’s best is for her to spend time with her mother.” She gulped down the bourbon. “Not some wannabe stepmother floozy she barely knows.”

  Silence consumed the line, and Tasha quietly cursed herself. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I shouldn’t have—”

  “I have to get ready for work,” he interjected.

  �
��Caleb—”

  “Good-bye, Tasha.”

  The line clicked closed before she could respond. She returned the cordless handset to its cradle and sucked in a deep breath.

  Caleb had been her first love. She was a high-school junior and he was a college freshman. After dating for three years, they married, and she joined the Jefferson Police Department while he worked full-time on his law degree. She enrolled in night classes and studied criminal justice. Maya was born a few years later. Life had been hard but good.

  For a while.

  Tasha first began drinking to relax from the rigors of working as a patrol officer. It was no big deal to have a few beers with her fellow officers after a shift. However, Tasha soon found herself sneaking shots before her shifts and then during. She told herself it wasn’t a problem, that everyone had their ways of coping. She rationalized it by saying she risked her life and deserved a little liquid compensation once in a while. No harm and no foul so long as no one saw her and the bad guys were going to jail.

  Then Tasha’s drinking caught up with her a few months after she earned her detective’s badge. She failed to report for an important court date. The police chief wanted her fired on the spot. Caleb convinced the chief to place her on administrative leave, and she entered a treatment program.

  When she returned from rehab, Caleb and three-year-old Maya were gone and divorce papers left in their stead. Tasha was devastated but didn’t fight Caleb’s demands for primary custody of their daughter. She was newly out of treatment, struggling to deal with her addiction and still maintain her job as a police officer. Maya was happy and well cared for with Caleb. The court awarded Tasha visitations once a month, every other major holiday, and four weeks during the summer.

  That was ten years ago. Why was Caleb now seeking sole custody? Tasha glanced at the empty bourbon glass on the table. Did he know about her relapse? About her violating the chain of evidence?