For Love or Vengeance

by Caridad Piñeiro

  Befuddled that it was so difficult to gauge his true emotions, she opened her inner eye just a bit, and let that special vision probe him.

  Within him she found acceptance of her, much as his tone had implied. She also found desire, so strong that she pulled her vision back abruptly. She didn’t want to explore that any more.

  Was his desire for her even stronger than hers for him? The possibility created a coil of warmth in her center. Had her itching to once again release that special sight to confirm she hadn’t made a mistake.

  But she didn’t.

  Her new partner was far too dangerous a mix of brains, honor, and a too-wicked body. Best leave him alone for now. She concentrated instead on processing all she had seen at the crime scene, as well as the disjointed images that had come to her when she touched the body. Images of the red rose, and rough hands posing the body. The muddled sound of voices, too indistinct to be of any help.

  Mentally, she compared those images to everything she had already gathered from the prior victims.

  The rose stood out in her memory, blood red and jarring against the pale skin of the victim’s naked body and the dull gray of the alley floor.

  “What did you think about the rose?” she asked Miguel.

  He shrugged. “Sometimes a rose is just a rose.”

  “Do you really think that?” she pressed, leaning toward him to get a better read of his expression.

  He shot her a glance and his lips thinned into a tight line. “No. I think we’re going to have even less time to catch him before he grabs someone else.”

  Sadly, she totally agreed.

  Chapter Eight

  At the precinct, the interrogation of the two sanitation workers yielded no more information than what Helene and Miguel had gathered from their visit to the crime scene. She tried to tamp down her frustration. It wasn’t easy. She needed to stop this killer!

  With a copy of the victim’s license in hand, they drove to the victim’s residence—a small studio apartment on the edges of Chelsea. The manager of the building opened the door to the apartment for them without hesitation, although he hung around at the entrance, shouting out questions about what had happened to the victim. They ignored him as they worked, each of them focused on a different task. Though Helene was keenly aware of what Miguel was doing.

  It was a first for her—being so attuned to her partner that verbal communication was unnecessary. She just knew Miguel would do things correctly, which lifted a huge burden from her. One that she hadn’t really even acknowledged until now.

  It felt good not to be going it alone. To have Miguel to rely on.

  As at other victims’ homes, they found a few newspapers with casting calls and jobs for performers. Victim number five had circled several listings. They would have to follow up on those ads. Compare them to what they’d found for the earlier homicides.

  A knapsack sat leaning against a tiny, cluttered desk. Helene bent and peered into the bag. “There’s a laptop in here. We’ll have to send it to the lab. See what’s on it.”

  “Hopefully something useful.” Miguel walked to the center of the room, placed his hands on his hips, and blew out a tired sigh. “No signs of forced entry. No signs of anything out of the ordinary.”

  “Which probably confirms what we already suspected—that the killer lures the victims to another location. My guess is a bogus job audition.”

  “Then he slips them something to knock them out and ties them up,” Miguel said.

  “Follows with a chaser of torture, murder, and the posing.”

  He waggled a finger. “The posing is what gets me. There’s a message there. A message that we’re missing.”

  She walked over to him, snagged his finger, and playfully tugged on it. “It’ll hit you when you least expect it.”

  It was hitting him already, Miguel thought. Just how close Helene was, and how warm and smooth the skin of her fingers felt against his.

  Covering up his reaction with a cough, he said, “It’ll come to me. To us.”

  She slowly released his finger. “To us. Yes, d—definitely.” The slight stammer in her words told him she, too, had felt something in that simple touch.

  She quickly took a step back from him. “NYPD CSU will be here shortly to process this residence. We should ask them for the knapsack and all the paperwork on the desk once they’re through with them.”

  He nodded. “Meanwhile, let’s head back to the office and start tracking down employer and phone logs. See if there’s anything there that can help us.”

  Miguel watched intently as Helene moved from the bulletin board to the map, methodically filling in information and sticking pins into the new locations for the fifth homicide.

  When she finished, she stood there carefully surveying what she had done, intense in her concentration. For a moment, he wondered. What it would be like if she directed all that intensity toward him, to have all that femininity, intelligence, and passion focused on only him?

  She whirled, jerking his mind back to the task at hand.

  She walked back to the table and stood close to where he was seated. “Nothing different yet. Same area where he’s hunting. We’ve got to narrow down that area to find him.”

  Miguel flipped through his notes. “I don’t think their last actual acting gigs will help. I’m willing to bet they’re unrelated to their murders.”

  Helene tapped a long finger to her full lips. “I think you’re right. None of the victims worked on any of the same projects or jobs.”

  “No evidence from the bodies to lead us to where they were murdered, either,” he said with another flip through his papers.

  “Nothing to give us a clue as to where they went for their final auditions for the murderer. Only a bunch of calls to prepaid cell phone numbers right before they disappeared.” She went back to her notes and examined them again. “Where did the Butcher buy the cell phones? Did he go out of his way to hide his tracks, or just pick them up on his way to work?”

  Miguel nodded. “Definitely need to follow that lead, princess.”

  “Thanks,” she said, clearly uncomfortable and obviously unaccustomed to such approval. He wondered whether commendation from men was an uncommon thing for her.

  He wanted to make sure she’d get used to it. That maybe the change being drawn out of her from being around him would be a welcome and useful thing for her. A smile blossomed on her face as she seemed to realize it also and she added, “I guess we should get on it then, partner.”

  “For sure, princess,” he answered, the tone teasing. The emphasis on her nickname was decidedly endearing. He was pleasantly pleased when Helene didn’t complain about it.

  Hours later Miguel finally had the name of the cell phone provider and confirmation that the phones were sold in large lots. The carrier’s supervisor said he’d have to check their records to see who the phones had been sold to, but warned him that sometimes their buyers resold the phones in smaller lots to other businesses.

  “We’ll need that information as soon as possible. No later than tomorrow,” Miguel told the supervisor.

  “I’ll get working on it immediately,” the woman replied, and despite the tired tones of her voice, he got the sense she would do as she promised.

  He hung up the phone and met Helene’s gaze. “There’s not much to do now but wait.”

  She peeked at her watch. “It’s past midnight. We probably won’t hear from her again until the morning.”

  “Time to call it a night,” he said, and rose from the table. A stitch in his side made him wince, snaring her attention.

  “You okay?” Her rich manicured brows knitted together as she focused on him, her concern evident.

  “Just a cramp. Happens every now and then.”

  She motioned to his side. “Is that where you were shot?”

  He reached for his papers and began putting them in order, avoiding her question, but she didn’t get the message.

  “So, is it? Th
e shot broke a few ribs?”

  He slammed his files shut, jammed his fists on the table, and reluctantly raised his gaze to hers. “Two ribs. I got off easy.”

  She walked over to him, her gaze never leaving his. When she was barely a foot away, she said, “Why does it bother you that you lived and she died?”

  Her gaze, that amazingly vibrant, nearly fathomless gaze, held no condemnation, only puzzlement. She truly didn’t get it. He wasn’t sure she ever would. He tried to explain because it was important that she understand him. Understand what mattered to him.

  “My job was to protect her,” he finally said through a tightness in his chest that threatened to strangle him.

  To his shock, she reached up and cradled the side of his face. Her palm was smooth. So smooth. So warm and…comforting. He had never expected that a woman as hard as Helene could offer comfort, but there it was, adding yet another intriguing layer to his partner. That sensation coursed through him, freeing up the tension in his chest so he could breathe again.

  “It was her time. Nothing you did could have changed that,” she said with absolute certainty.

  Her words resonated within him, bringing unexpected peace as if she were a priest who had just granted him absolution.

  He brushed his hand against the thick waves of her hair and urged them away from her cheek. Then he dug his fingers into their softness, cupped her jaw, and tracked his thumb along the edge of her mouth.

  “Thank you,” he said, at a loss to find any other words to express what he was feeling. Knowing in his gut that there was only one thing that might.

  He leaned forward until her warm breath spilled against his lips. Her gaze filled with part surprise and part anticipation. A heartbeat later, he allowed insanity to take over.

  Chapter Nine

  Helene’s breath became trapped in her chest as Miguel closed the distance between them and covered her mouth with his.

  Craziness, she thought for a millisecond before all that he was—all that goodness and honor and sexiness—made her lose her head. Her supposedly more powerful refined goddess senses didn’t stand a chance against the wonder of his kiss.

  He moved lightly against her mouth, an invitation rather than a command, as if knowing the latter would have been refused. Tentatively she accepted, meeting the sweep of his lips and deepening the contact. She opened her mouth to taste him and permit his exploration as he eased the tip of his tongue in to graze hers.

  She moaned with need and the unexpected desire he aroused. The sound was loud in the quiet of the room. So loud it awakened them from whatever insanity had possessed them, breaking them apart.

  They were both breathing heavily as she stood there, her fists clenched against the desire to reach for him again.

  Someone walking in might have assumed they were fighting. And maybe they were. She was definitely fighting—for control.

  He spoke first. “I’m sorry, Helene. That was out of line.”

  “No need to apologize. We’re both adults and desire is a natural thing,” she said, attempting to downplay her fear that it had been much more than passion that had brought them together.

  It worked. Miguel wasn’t the kind of man who indulged in desire just for desire’s sake. That would be too shallow. His lips—those mobile, engaging lips that had only seconds before brought her such pleasure—became a pencil-thin line.

  “It won’t happen again,” he said, and before she could utter another word, he stalked from the room.

  “You look like you could use another,” Foley said, and nudged one more shot of tequila at her. “This one’s on the house.”

  She shook her head and smiled. “I warned you the other day, Daniel. All the sweet-talking and liquor in the world are not going to get you a taste of me.”

  A devilish grin swept onto his lips. “A man can try, can’t he? After all, I’ve got nothing to lose.”

  “Man? A vamp, you mean. As for losing—” She picked up the shot and downed it in one gulp. “It could get expensive to keep giving me free shots.”

  Foley crossed forearms on the bar, the grin still alive on his face. “And why would I keep giving you free shots if they’re not going to get you in my bed?”

  She raised one brow and shot him a playful glare because there was just something about Foley that inspired lightheartedness. Or at least this Foley. She had learned his story during her last visit to the Blood Bank and knew he hadn’t always been this way.

  Foley responded with amusement. “Oh, right. I forgot you could turn me into a toad or melt me with the light of a thousand suns, Nemesis.” For good measure, he raised an arm to his forehead and struck a theatrical pose.

  “My name’s Helene.”

  “For the moment, my love. When you go back to Olympus—”

  “I’ll never go back,” she cut in, and shot him a glare, laser-sharp and hot with anger.

  He held up his hands in apology. “Sorry, Helene. Forgot about the daddy issues.”

  “I think I’m hungry. Care for some Chinese?” she asked, and watched the color drain from his face.

  “I guess I deserved that,” he said, and turned to walk away.

  She grabbed hold of his hand. “No, wait. I’m sorry,” she said. Seemed like she was saying those words more often in the last week than she had for centuries.

  “Me too. We shared some confidences, and—”

  “And maybe that was a mistake,” she finished for him.

  He surprised her with a reassuring squeeze of her hand. “What I was going to say is that I shouldn’t have used it against you. As a dig. Friends don’t do that.”

  Helene eyed him warily, even released her second sight to confirm his state of mind. One hundred percent repentant. Totally truthful. A trait she hadn’t encountered very often, especially in men. And yet, here Fate had plopped two incredibly honest men in her lap within days.

  “Are we friends, Daniel?” she asked. In all her life, she’d had no real friends. She hadn’t realized before this week just how lonely her existence had been.

  Foley smiled and slowly nodded. “We are, and I can see from your expression—” he raised his hand and circled a finger around her face—“that’s all we’ll ever be, because there’s another man in your life.”

  With a puff of breath, she chuckled at his comment. “Another man? Can you see a mortal handling me?”

  Gently, he brushed some curls back from her cheek. Just as Miguel had done earlier. “He’s already touched and tasted, Helene. I imagine you’d let him do it again if he tried it again.”

  Which, unfortunately, he wouldn’t.

  Foley stepped away, picked up a bottle of Cuervo and a shot glass, and returned to where she sat at the bar. He set the glass beside hers and refilled both of them.

  He motioned to the shots. “Let’s drink to our confusion.”

  Confusion. An apt way to describe the storm of emotions she’d been experiencing lately. And as peaceful as Daniel seemed on the surface, she’d realized from their night of shared secrets that beneath the calm, he was still troubled.

  “To new…friends, Daniel.” She raised her glass and he picked up his, but leaned forward and whispered, “It’s Foley in here. Don’t want the locals getting too familiar.”

  “Foley it is, then,” she said, and downed the shot.

  The heat of the liquor warmed a path down to her stomach, though the alcohol didn’t do much to her system. Like vampires, there was little that truly affected her. It was more the camaraderie of it, sitting there watching the world go by. Finding a friendly face and sharing with an unlikely ally.

  She enjoyed sitting there talking with Foley and having a drink. Listening to one of his tales of woe—namely that he was thirsting after another bite from the lover of a friend. A woman who had saved his life, but belonged to someone else.

  “Love’s a bitch, Foley,” she said, and he reared back in surprise.

  “Love? You think I love her?” he asked, looking seriousl
y disturbed by the possibility.

  “I think it’s about more than another bite of something tasty. There are lots of tasty bits in here.” Helene swiveled in her seat and waved in the direction of the dozens of women in the bar who would surely satisfy Foley’s blood lust.

  Foley glanced around, but with a shrug he said. “Girls, one and all. Once you’ve had the taste of a real woman…”

  She understood. She’d had her taste of a real man tonight and the flavor lingered. So strongly that, as Daniel had guessed, anything else was second best.

  This time she was the one who grabbed the bottle and refilled the glasses. “Drink up, my friend. Maybe we can wash the taste from our mouths with this fine liquor.”

  Chapter Ten

  The elevator doors opened and even from across the room Miguel felt Helene’s presence.

  Didn’t she ever sleep? Then again, he could ask himself the same thing. Lately, the answer would be, “No.”

  His lack of sleep last night had not been about guilt-filled nightmares, but about the current case—and Helene. A lot about Helene. And the craziness of their kiss. After that brief encounter, it had taken him hours to drive her from his thoughts. When sleep had finally claimed him, so had nightmares about the case, sinking their teeth deep into his mind and refusing to let go.

  Miguel had thought about their kiss as he pounded the pavement during a quick jog in the early morning hours. He had wondered how she’d be this morning—playful or withdrawn? Open to moving into another phase in their relationship?

  Or would she reject him? He could understand if she did. They were working on a difficult case and needed to focus.

  Which he’d somehow managed to do during his jog, pushing away thoughts of Helene to concentrate on the investigation. His mind had been tattooed with pictures of the victims and their poses. Poses he knew were a key to finding the killer, if they could only unlock their meaning.

  “G’morning,” he said as he approached her desk.

  A slow, calculated raise of her head communicated her state of mind even before the words left her mouth. “What’s so good about it?”