by Karen Greco
"EMTs are on the way," Max said. He sounded authoritative and decidedly unfriendly.
"Call them off," I groaned. I was not going back to the hospital. "I just need some sleep."
"You need to get looked at," Frankie said.
"So THIS is what you two can agree on?" I spat out. "And, Babe, what the hell was that?" I would swear it was moonshine.
"Something that can kick your ass and wake you up." She was on the top of a step stool, returning the dusty bottle to its perch high above the bar. She moved her way back down and looked sternly at me. "No hospital for you," she said matter-of-factly. "But someone needs to take you home and you need to rest."
"I've got my bike...." My protest faded as soon as I saw her face. I felt five years old again.
"You are in no condition to drive, especially after what I just gave you," Babe said as she crossed her arms. "Max, take her home."
She huffed away and started clearing the dirty glasses from the bar. She was done talking about it, and so, apparently, were the rest of us.
Max strode out the door. "I'll pull my car around to the front."
Frankie wrapped his arms gingerly around my middle and began to haul me up.
"I can do it," I hissed at him.
"Really?" His amusement was grating, especially since he was right. I gave in and let him hoist me to my feet.
"Thanks," I muttered. With his arm still around my waist, we began to walk slowly towards the door.
The icy air stung at my face but it cleared the cobwebs out of my mind. I got my footing back and gingerly let go of Frankie.
"You feel that?" he asked, his eyes scanning the darkness.
I was about to tell him he was nuts when something hit me. My body began tingling and my heart started racing. I too began searching the darkness, but I saw nothing.
"He's out there," Frankie nodded into the blackness.
"Seriously?" This was kind of freaking me out.
Frankie shushed me. A moment later, a sly grin began to crack his stoic facade. "I think I know where he is," he whispered.
A black Suburban pulled to the front of the bar, and Frankie opened the door and lifted me up to the seat. Max was in the driver’s side, looking concerned.
"Make sure she gets into her apartment," Frankie commanded. "Don't leave the house, Nina," he continued. "I'll swing by later." He squeezed my hand and I quickly caught his eyes. They were a bright, shining blue. He was ready to hunt. His body was a blur as he raced away from the SUV.
"I thought these were only for FBI agents on TV and in the movies. I didn't think you guys actually drove SUVs like this!" I said as I yanked the door closed.
"I see you're feeling better," Max said as he rolled his eyes at my comment. "So, where are we going?"
"You know where Olneyville is?" I responded.
"You really hang out in the nicest parts of town." He glanced at me and turned on the GPS.
I shrugged. My parents owned an old factory building that I was slowly converting into apartments. Apart from the small toy factory that rented the top floor space, I was the only tenant. Well, used to be the only tenant. Frankie was moving into his basement lair sometime before daybreak.
Max was right. Olneyville was a seriously crappy old industrial area. But the building was solid, my apartment was huge, and the area was pretty desolate, which was good for privacy. In terms of personal safety, hell, I was part vampire. The local thugs didn't scare me.
I looked into the side mirror, scanning the general direction where Frankie slipped into darkness.
"Want to give me the address, or do you want to keep sitting here?" Max tapped his fingers impatiently on the wheel.
"Sorry," I said, flustered. "50 Agnes Street."
"Now we're making some progress!" Max typed into the machine. Once the address was in place, he pulled onto Wickenden Street and headed towards the highway.
Now settled into his car, I glanced in the back seat. The seats were down, and I could have sworn there was a surfboard taking up space in the back.
"There's a storm coming in, and I heard there could be some decent swells." Max grinned sheepishly as he pulled onto the highway.
"I had a feeling you surfed," I watched the cars whiz by on Route 95. "But you may want to rethink your surfing plans. It's not just any storm. They are talking nor'easter. Those are no joke."
Max eased the car onto an exit ramp to a secondary highway, "A little storm doesn't scare me."
"You want the Olneyville Square exit. It's coming up," I warned as Max whipped around cars like a NASCAR pro.
He tapped the GPS and glanced at me. He slowed as he eased onto the exit ramp, and stopped at a red light.
Olneyville was like a ghost town. On the edges of Providence, it was once the manufacturing hub of the state. But as factory jobs dried up, so did this pocket of the city.
Max made a left turn into the desolate industrial area. Old factory buildings lined both sides on the street, stark gang symbols graffitied onto the old, red, brick walls. Some buildings were crumbling in on themselves.
Max hooked another left and braked in front of the smallest of the factory buildings, as the GPS sing-songed, "You have reached your destination." I reached into my bag and pulled out a garage door opener. With the press of a button, an industrial garage door opened.
"Go on -- pull right in. It's safer for your car." I pressed the button again once the car cleared the doorway.
Inside was a small parking garage. Since I was the lone tenant, Max's was the only car there. With it parked, I led Max through a doorway that opened onto a hall, pulled out my keys and unlocked the fire door. With a satisfying whoosh, I pushed the door off to the side and walked into my apartment.
I motioned for Max to come inside, and he followed me down the dark narrow hallway. Once we reached the end, I hit the light switch, illuminating the airy loft.
Max looked around and let out a low whistle, taking it all in. A galley kitchen spread down the wall on the left. On the gleaming countertop sat a lit Our Lady of Guadalupe candle, just like the one at Babe's. Running the length of the kitchen was a large rustic wooden table, with benches on either side.
Directly in front of us was a living area, with two deep purple couches facing each other; a distressed wood coffee table sat between them. On the far wall was an office, although it looked more like a space shuttle command center with all the computer equipment, most still unplugged, on the oversized desk.
The living room area separated the kitchen from a huge workout area in the corner. There was a treadmill, free weights, a spin bike, and a heavy bag. A pull-up bar hung from the ceiling.
In the other corner, my large four-poster bed sat at a diagonal angle. Long pieces of silk snaked down the posts, ready to shield the bed from the rest of the room. The armoire stood to the left of the bed, and a small changing area was to the right. The changing area was separated from the space by beautiful Japanese screens.
My private bath was off the narrow hallway, just behind the kitchen. It was large and while not exactly luxurious, an old claw foot tub gave it loads of character.
And strewn about the apartment were random boxes of my still-unpacked life.
Max took me up on the invitation to sit down on one of the overstuffed couches. Then he raised his eyebrows and nodded. "No wonder you live here."
"Did you want a beer? I think have some Raging Bitch in the fridge." I headed into the kitchen.
"Thanks, I'd like that," Max said with a smile. Damn, he had a nice smile.
I opened the fridge, and the cold air felt good on my now flushed face. I dug out his beer and slammed it against the edge of the counter to remove the cap.
"Don't cook much, do you?" he asked.
I turned to see him looking at my immaculate kitchen. Only the burning Veladoras was on the counter. My mouth tugged up at a small smile and I shook my head.
"Look, Nina," he paused, collecting his thoughts. "I really could use your
help with this case..."
"I am just going to take a quick shower." I felt pretty wrecked after the past few days. "Then I will have a beer with you. And you can ask me three questions."
"Just three?" He looked a little crushed when I nodded.
I lit a few candles before making my way to the bathroom. There were very few overhead lights in my apartment -- the florescent bulbs made my head ache. But the space was loaded with candles, including a giant candelabra with five tapered candles at the entry to the living room. It cast a warm glow around a good portion of the loft. Moonlight streamed in from the old factory windows, causing the shadows to dance seductively with the bluish light.
Once in the bathroom, I turned the faucets. The sound of water rushing out of the showerhead immediately set me at ease. I stripped down, giving the water a minute to heat up, and then I stepped into the hot spray.
I really was not up for talking to Max about the damned dagger, and I wished the weapon could have been an easy-to-find hunting knife. But the truth was, these daggers were ancient and rare. As I understood, there were only five left, three of which were supposed to be in Europe. The vampires that held those three never made the trip over. My father had the fourth, the one now in my possession. I heard the fifth was entombed somewhere in Egypt.
I didn't have time to tell Dr. O about the dagger, and now Max was expecting me to chat about them. I rubbed shampoo into my hair with gusto, my frustration growing the more I thought about him. I liked him, dammit. And I had no interest in layering lie on top of lie. But I had no choice.
I rinsed the shampoo out of my hair, bubbles circling the drain. Maybe this borderline obsession with him was due to a long dry spell. I hadn’t been on an actual date in like five years. Of course, I had hooked up a few times, but the last time was maybe a year ago. Frankie and I went to Chicago for a few days to blow off steam. He was hot and in a band.
If I could just get this out of my system, maybe I would be clear to focus on my work once again. It was, after all, a matter of life and death.
I turned off the water and grabbed a towel. I padded out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around me.
"Let me just throw something on!" I called out. Then I swept towards the changing area.
Behind the screens, I stripped off the damp towel. I pulled out an old white tank top and a pair of torn sweat pants from the dresser and yanked them on quickly.
I went back to the kitchen, pulled out another beer, and cracked it open on the counter.
I sunk down onto the couch across from Max and took a long swig of my beer.
"So," I said. "You're a Federal Agent? You don't look like a Fed."
"What's a Fed supposed to look like?" He was mocking me but he was good-natured about it.
"Not a surfer," I smiled.
I liked the way his eyes lit up when he smiled.
"I'm not from around here."
"No kidding," I chuckled. "California or Hawaii?"
"California." His smiled broadened.
"Okay, so why Providence? It's freezing, and the surf sucks in the Atlantic."
Max laughed. "I'm here helping the police department with some gang trouble. Apparently, I am considered a gang expert. I wrote a book on it once."
I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had just impressed me.
"What about you?" He leaned towards me, his arms on his knees. I was grateful for the coffee table between us. "You from around here?"
I shrugged, took an exaggerated gulp from my beer and looked down at my bare feet. I wasn't ready to answer that question yet.
Max got up and negotiated his way around the coffee table. He sat down beside me.
"You went through something pretty terrifying last night, and I don't blame you if you don't want to talk about it, but the dagger at my crime scene today looked an awful lot like the one that did this." He brushed his fingers softly along the raised pink scar that was oddly not healing.
"I'm fine," I croaked out. If the slight quiver in my voice didn’t give away how I was feeling about Max, my sudden shiver did. I closed my eyes briefly and imagined kissing him. Bad idea. A fire in my belly roared. My eyes snapped back open.
"So, can you tell me anything?" he shifted a bit closer.
I took another gulp of the icy brew, hoping that it would cool me down a bit. "Show me those pictures again," I said, steadying my thoughts. I needed to take another look. If that was indeed the dagger, it was too much of a coincidence.
Max pulled out his phone and handed it to me. I tried to look disgusted by all the gore, but the composition of the pictures was intriguing. The bodies laid into the shape of a star, similar to the bodies I saw last night. Just less of them.
"What do you think the dagger was used for?" I asked, my eyes still taking in the crime scene. "Stabbing?"
"We think it was used to carve their hearts out," he said methodically.
"Was that cause of death?" I asked. My tone was almost as clinical as his.
"Waiting on the autopsy," he responded, eying me warily.
"Did they bleed out?" I squinted, looking intently on the images.
"We think so." Max pursed his lips. "Why?"
"That's not a lot of blood for four victims." I immediately kicked myself. Oh yeah, I just own a little dive bar.
"I would assume, you know, puddles..." I tried to recover from my gaff.
"You're right." He looked slightly impressed. "And you know this, how?"
"I watch way too much TV." I laughed a little nervously when I realized that there was no television in my apartment. "At the bar. Alfonso loves those CSI shows."
I took another swig. My hands were shaking.
"Sorry." Max noticed my discomfort and took the phone out of my hands, then he reached over and held them. "Are you alright?"
I closed my eyes and, for the first time since all this crap began to happen, felt completely exhausted.
The mysterious Marcello, the ancient dagger, the spike in “unexplained” phenomena that drew me back home. The supernatural forces were building in this City, and I was here to battle them. But I wasn't expecting these forces to hit so close to home. Everything was about to change. This could be my last night to feel more human than beast.
Max touched the side of my face. "Why don't you try to lie down?"
"Will you stay?" I was too tired to hold on to my bravado.
Max picked me up in his muscular arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he carried me to the bed. His touch was strong and reassuring, but also surprisingly gentle.
"I'll stay as long as you want," Max stroked the side of my face again.
"Thanks."
Our eyes locked. I willed myself not to pull away this time, and he bent into me.
I parted my mouth and he slowly slid his tongue in. We began exploring each other gingerly, and then our tongues began to dance with greater urgency.
I yanked at his t-shirt and he smiled and pulled it off. I drank in his golden, rock-solid form, chiseled to perfection by years spent chasing the waves.
I wrapped my hands around him and pulled him on top of me. He moved his hands down the sides of me body, feeling each curve from my breasts down to my hips.
I guided his right hand under my tank top and to my breast. Running his fingers lightly over it, he caressed me softly, teasingly. My mind was screaming at me to get off this runaway train, but my body refused stop.
I trained my hand lower until I found his zipper, and began pulling at it. My hands fumbled a bit at my urgency. It finally relinquished. As I began to slide it down, a knock on the door interrupted us.
Max stopped and eyed me curiously. I shrugged and ignored it.
The banging became louder, and then Frankie's voice called out, "Come on, Nina! Open the bloody door!"
I sighed and pulled away from Max. Talk about a mood breaker.
Adjusting my disheveled clothing, I strode across the apartment and flung open the door.
&nb
sp; "What, Frankie?" I growled.
"That's a hell of a greeting, Love," Frankie took in my appearance and smirked. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
"I have to think about that." I glowered at him.
"That's a fine thank-you for bringing your bike home." He dangled the keys.
"Shit, Frankie, where'd you leave it?" This was a crappy neighborhood and the bike could get stolen.
"Relax!" He moved aside and I saw it gleaming in the hallway.
"You rode it down my hallway?" I shook my head, incredulous. I suppose scuffmarks on the recently restored hardwood floors were better than a stolen bike.
"Now doesn't that merit an invitation?" He laid on the puppy dog eyes a little thick.
"Frankie, please come in," I sighed and walked down the hallway into the kitchen. Max was pulling on his shirt. His expression darkened when he saw Frankie behind me.
"You leaving?" Frankie grinned at Max like a Cheshire cat, shrugged his backpack off and plopped himself on the sofa. He unzipped the bag and began pulling out large, leather-bound books that were a few birthdays short of ancient. "Because I need Nina's help...with...work."
Frankie nodded at me, like he was looking for some sort of expression of gratitude for not blowing my cover.
"Did you want coffee?" I pulled a bag of coffee from the fridge.
"No, thanks," Max said, eying the strange tomes. "I'll let you get to it."
I followed him to the door. "Sorry about this." I motioned towards the living room where Frankie was flipping through a magazine.
Max turned and leaned against the doorframe. "Make it up to me."
"How?" I smiled slightly, and felt my lower body tingle.
"Let me take you to dinner." He snaked his arms around my waist, and I leaned into him and nodded.
"I'll pick you up at 8:30." He kissed me on the forehead and walked towards the garage. I enjoyed his perfect ass for a minute, then shoved the door closed.
Frankie and I had work to do.
CHAPTER 9
I shuffled lazily back into the living room, yawning. It wasn't that late, but I was exhausted. Frankie hid behind one of his enormous books. I could sense the smirk even if I couldn't see it.
