Assassins Bite

by Mary Hughes

  I smiled up at him.

  “That was…that was…wow.” He stared at me like he’d been hit by one of the trucks he drove.

  I felt quite pleased with myself, for all of a dozen heartbeats.

  He swallowed hard. His eyes shut. “But we can’t—”

  Luckily, my phone rang before he could fully stab me with what we couldn’t. I knew what he was going to say: criminal and cop, vampire and human; we were opposite sides of the coin and could never be together, and I didn’t want to hear that.

  So I answered my phone instead, idiot that I was.

  “Officer Ruffles!” Tight-Ass’s voice screamed steam-kettle high in my ear. “Your shift report was due an hour ago.”

  “Sorry sir!” I jumped to my feet. “But I was still on patrol—”

  “What did I say about overtime? No money for overtime! I told you to keep your nose clean. Get your ass in here now and get your paperwork filed. That’s an order!”

  I hung up. “I have to go.”

  “I heard.” He gave me a quick kiss that thrilled me down to my toes. “Go nail that paperwork.”

  I ran all the way to the cop shop. As I clomped triple-time, I realized it was after seven and on top of it all I’d missed my meeting with Elena. The wind of running made my eyes water. Not crying. That’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

  Tight-Ass glared at me as I came running in, his face a new shade of red called heart attack.

  “Report, sir. Right away.” I ran past him up the stairs. When I got to the detectives’ pen the good news was it was only 7:15, the bad news was Elena had already gone, the good news was Dirk had also already gone, and the best news was he’d taken the crunchy worms with him.

  The worst news was first shift was here. There were no free desks or computers.

  I begged, pleaded, and finally got Lieutenant Roet to vacate by promising to babysit free for his anniversary, me alone with eight kids under the age of ten but I was desperate. I sat down to write my report and the tension in my shoulders immediately doubled. What could I actually say? Tight-Ass told me to investigate Elena. I’d done everything but.

  My gaze flicked around the desk for inspiration. The fountain, the pictures. The latest issue of Sass-Cgal magazine, its cover screaming GIRL TALK—How to make nice with your new boy’s ex!! Just for kicks I flipped to the article’s page but aside from point three, “Take a deep breath, this won’t be easy”, I didn’t see anything that would help me with Tight-Ass’s report.

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I considered my options. Truth or lie? Lying would be easier, but I’m a cop, sworn to protect and serve, defender of truth, justice and apple pie. Other people lie to protect themselves; I lie only to protect others.

  So. Put on my big girl panties, tell the truth and take the consequences. With a deep breath, I pulled up an activity log form and started typing.

  I admit I slanted the facts a little. Hey, I’m honest, not stupid. I wrote that Elena had told me to watch out for a certain Suspicious Character while on my beat, and to gain her trust I did. I added that I had a meeting scheduled with her and would winkle information out of her then. After which I opened a blank appointment form and noted the meeting, even though I’d missed it.

  I totally omitted that I’d missed it because I was deep-throating Mr. Suspicious.

  But when I got to the incident at the band shell, I had another problem. I opened the Firearms Discharge Report, then closed it, then opened it again. Thank goodness I hadn’t arrested Blackthorne—that would have been another three forms including a personal property catalog and fingerprint cards.

  I closed it. The report would trigger an internal investigation. I wasn’t sure Tight-Ass was ready to hear I’d shot a guy a dozen times and he’d not only lived through it, he was as right as rain.

  More, police paperwork was often available to the public, so I had to consider whether the world was ready to hear about it.

  My conscience stung me. Damn it. I’d fired my gun, not once, but several times. Coming clean was part of the job; it’s important that those in authority have accountability. Being held to the standard of public scrutiny was part of the police gig.

  So I opened it again and made myself start typing. I was as honest as I could be, even mentioning the guys were fangy, although I noted that could be due to prosthetics.

  But when I clicked Save, I felt the distinct shiver of someone walking over my grave.

  Sure enough, as I logged off the computer and Roet reminded me of his anniversary with a pitying look—but out of the corner of my eye, I saw him punch air—the jet-engine whine cut through all the way from downstairs. “What the hell—? Ruffles!”

  Whoops. Feet, don’t fail me now. I hopped down the stairs and had almost made it out the front door when a pumpkin head stuck out of the corner office.

  “Officer Ruffles!”

  I reluctantly clomped back. My eyes fastened onto the tombstone nameplate, “tombstone” feeling particularly apropos. “Yes sir, Captain Tight-, um, Tit Us?”

  “What the hell is this?” He jabbed a finger at his computer monitor.

  I could’ve pretended ignorance but what would be the point? “Sir, I can explain—”

  “What the hell, Ruffles! You fired your gun.”

  “Yes, sir.” At least it wasn’t the vampire problem. “I had to. If you’ll read under Circumstances—”

  “Do you know how costly this will be?”

  “I’ll pay for the bullets, sir—”

  “It’s not the damned bullets, Officer. It’s the mandatory review!” His hands were flapping like meat fans, his voice ripping past jet engine toward launch velocity. “Review consultant, a hundred twenty bucks an hour. Mandatory counseling with a psychologist who will cost double that!”

  I rocked on my feet, looking anywhere but his face, purpled with imminent explosion. “But sir, I had to do my job—”

  “Shut. Up.” He pounded the desk. “Put it there.”

  The blood drained from my body. I stopped rocking; I stopped breathing, as I washed cold, then hot, then cold again. Was he asking for my badge?

  Chapter Eleven

  My throat seized. How could I lose my badge on my second night? I squeaked, “Sir?”

  “Your gun. Give me your gun. Now, Ruffles. I’ll have Chief Dirkson lock it up with your idiot brother’s in the safe.”

  I started breathing again, although not well. I fumbled my gun out with numb fingers and set it on the desk.

  I clomped out on ice cubes for feet. Principles be damned. I should have lied.

  The sun was fresh and new in the east, the day’s promise crisp and pure. As I headed home, it tried to ease my palpitating heart and ragged breathing but I was too mortified.

  Then I remembered I still had my backup gun, a Glock 27.

  Immediately I felt better. When I realized Elena was third shift too, probably home, winding down from work, I felt better yet. Maybe we could still meet. Maybe I could save one thing from the shitter.

  I headed for Strongwells’ apartment building on Seventh and Lincoln. The northeast side of Meiers Corners is working class, the houses small and plain but solid and well-kept. I can say from growing up there that what those homes lacked in money, they more than made up for with love.

  Amid the general age of the neighborhood, Strongwells’ apartments stood out. The four-story cream-brick building boasted beveled glass, gleaming metals, beautifully varnished wood and, as I mounted the stoop, evidence of a Steel Security system—very discreet, very pricey and very un-north side, where people still left their doors unlocked and their curtains open at night. I’d trick-or-treated here but I’d never been inside. I checked around the door. No intercom or buzzer. I knocked, rat-a-tat.

  I’d barely gotten out the tat when the door opened to a guy in a black cutaway coat strai
ght out of Butlers Monthly, and I don’t mean a magazine of Gerards. His tones were very upper-crust. “I’m Daniel Butler. May I help you?”

  Butler wasn’t much taller than me, but he intimidated me. Not the upper-crust part; I’m not class conscious and even if I were, we prize hard work in Meiers Corners over simply having money. You know the saying: Hand a man a wad of cash and all he can do is spend it; teach a man to work and he can earn more each day. Which totally ignores the investment option, but like jingles, proverbs don’t have to be nuanced—they just have to be catchy.

  “I’m looking for Elena Strongwell.”

  “I’m sorry, Officer. Detective Strongwell isn’t here, but I’m expecting her back soon. Would you like to wait inside?”

  “Great.” I stepped over the threshold, expecting a fancy lobby. I was smacked in the face with sweeping staircase, glossy wood floors and richly colored walls with museum-quality art. No mere lobby, this. A mansion foyer wasn’t as snazzy. I sucked in a breath—and with it, the dark aroma of strong coffee dusted with the sugary scent of fresh-baked cookies. My stomach growled. I blushed. “Sorry. I just came off shift.”

  “Detective Strongwell likes to have breakfast when she comes off shift. Follow me to the kitchen. Mrs. Cook will make you your preferences.”

  Mrs. Cook and Mr. Butler? Was this an apartment building or a manor? Butler led me to a gorgeous kitchen, all gleaming appliances and good smells.

  A baby’s infectious chortle greeted me. A woman with white hair and snapping black eyes tickled little feet with one hand while frosting a cake with the other.

  “How is our young master Rorik?” Butler beamed at the boy in the bouncy swing like a proud grandpa.

  The woman pointed at the child’s tray, decorated with cookie crumbs. “Developing quite a sweet tooth, Mr. Butler.”

  “We have that in common then.” The butler snatched up a cookie, steam still rising from it. He bounced it on his fingertips, pausing only to take bite after bite, until it was gone. “Your best batch, Mrs. Cook.”

  “Those are for company.” Underneath her scold was a pleased smile.

  “Company, hmm?” Butler snatched another cookie and tossed it to me. “Enjoy.”

  The boy squealed in delight.

  I caught it. Any other time my Ruffles genes would ensure I bobbled and dropped, but it was burning hot, so naturally I grabbed it securely. I juggled it like the butler had, filling the air with a buttery sweetness. Long before the cookie was cool enough to eat I snatched a bite. It melted in my mouth. Fuck it. I ate the whole thing, burned tongue be damned.

  Clacks came from the bouncy swing, plywood hitting plastic. Along with the cookie crumbs on the tray were puzzle pieces and a frame. As I licked my fingers, the baby started efficiently placing pieces in the frame, his brown eyes intent. He had Elena’s coloring, both the eyes and the curly black hair. I said, “How old is he?”

  “Nine months.” Mrs. Cook smiled as baby Rorik placed the last piece then looked up at her with a snaggle-toothed grin. “He’s very advanced for his age.”

  A chill crept over my skin, the same sort of chill that I got around Blackthorne, Bo and a few others. I knew Blackthorne and Bo were vampires. Now I wondered about the others.

  From the front of the building, a door slammed. “I don’t care, Bo. I can’t keep up with one of them, much less two. I say some protection is better than no protection.”

  “And I say no protection is better than questionable protection.” That deep voice—I’d heard it night before last, trying to vampire mind-wipe me. It was Elena’s Viking of a husband, Bo Strongwell.

  I let out a relieved breath. It was Bo I was sensing. Nothing to do with the baby at all.

  The kitchen door swooshed open. “I’m starving, Mrs. Cook. What’s for breakfast?” Elena strode in, followed closely by her blond giant of a hubby. “Rorik’s awake?” The moment she entered she had eyes for no one but her son. “Good morning, sweetie.” She swooped in on him and snatched him out of his seat to swing him into her arms. He giggled louder than even with Mrs. Cook’s tickling.

  Then he distinctly said, “Hi Mama!”

  I frowned. I’d done my share of babysitting and I didn’t remember children talking at nine months.

  “Who loves you, baby?” Elena nuzzled her son’s belly, giving him big smacky kisses.

  “Mama luffs me,” he said, clear as a bell.

  Odd. Then again, my mother told me Dirk was born talking. Probably Rorik was simply advanced for his age, as Mrs. Cook said.

  He looked over Elena’s head at me, his brown eyes considering. “Cop!”

  I reared back in surprise.

  Bo was looking at me too, with the exact same considering look in his blue gaze. “Officer Ruffles? Why are you here?”

  “Elena asked me to meet her earlier.” I paused, wondering if I should mention his call the other night. “I was delayed until now. Paperwork.”

  “Come back tonight. It’s family time now.”

  “No, Bo, it’s okay.” Elena plunked her son on her hip and smiled at me. “Hey, Sun-Hee. Thanks for coming by. Let’s head to the parlor. Mrs. Cook, could you bring us a couple plates of chiles rellenos for breakfast?”

  When Bo leveled a look at her, she said, “What? It’s got eggs.” He just sighed.

  She led me through the entry area to a closed door. Bo brought up the rear like he was getting ready for a battle.

  I don’t know what I was expecting when she opened the door, but “the parlor” wasn’t a room so much as a chamber. Blue-and-ivory striped wallpaper, blond wainscoting, stuffed sofas, lacy pillows and a brick fireplace smirked at my shell-shocked expression.

  Elena turned, bouncing Rorik on her hip, and saw my face. “Yeah, it hit me that way the first time too. You get used to it. Come on in.”

  We sat on a large sofa. Bo leaned against the doorjamb, the epitome of stern and dangerous, clashing a bit with the lace.

  Mr. Butler wheeled in a cart wafting the biting aroma of rich dark coffee. He poured three cups and handed me one. I forgave all the frills and furbelows, elevated to caffeine heaven.

  Elena set Rorik on his tiny feet and sipped her coffee. The boy staggered away, leaning on various bits of furniture as he motored toward a tall cabinet, combination lock prominent. Walking at nine months? Definitely advanced.

  Elena said, “So did you find Blackthorne?”

  “Yes. Twice.” I blushed. “Um, the first time is the one you’ll be interested in.”

  “Which means it’s actually the second I’d find interesting, but go ahead and tell me the first.”

  My cheeks felt hot enough to fry eggs. “Right.” I outlined the events at the band shell, my face thankfully cooling as my narrative progressed. A frown of almost-recognition crossed her face when I talked about RVPD Most Wanted Elle Louise Smith, but it disappeared as I started on the attack. I was reminding myself to use “fangy guys” instead of the v-word, when Rorik said clearly, “Mama. Gun.”

  The tall cabinet stood open. The boy was on his tiptoes, reaching for a tube inside.

  Elena shot to her feet. “Oh no, honey. Mama will take that.” She rushed to the boy and lifted the tube from his questing hands. “This cabinet was locked. I’d swear to it.”

  My eyes widened. “Is that what I think it is?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “If you think it’s an M203 grenade launcher, it’s what you think it is.”

  “Deep fried damn. Is that police issue, or just for supercops?”

  She barked a laugh. “It was my birthday present.” Then she blushed and glanced at her big handsome hubby. “One of them, at any rate.”

  “You own an M203?” I leaped to my feet, barely suppressing the urge to pull out my phone, activate the light and wave it in the air. I did clap my hands together and squee in a complete fangirl moment. �
��You are my hero.”

  “Oh, Sun-Hee.” She handed off the grenade launcher to her husband and swept me into a hug. “What would I do without you? You make me feel ten feet tall and able to fly.”

  “Cops.” Bo glanced heavenward as he put the thing back and relocked the cabinet. But then he smiled, his gaze warm on his wife. Rorik laughed and clapped his chubby little hands.

  Elena smiled back at Bo. Since I was still wrapped in her hug I felt, not left out, but part of the family.

  A better family. One that didn’t bumble through life but met it head on.

  Then Elena released me and the moment was over. I sighed and let go of the fantasy, returned to the couch and finished my story.

  Elena was the first to speak after I was done. “Did you run the plates on the sedan?”

  “Stolen,” I said. “I would have pursued at the time or looked for trace evidence but then the vampires attacked—” I clapped my hand over my mouth. I hadn’t meant to use the v-word.

  “Vampires?” Bo stepped directly in front of me, hitting me with red pinwheels for eyes. “Those weren’t vampires.” The dark, echoey voice was the same one he’d used on the phone.

  “Sorry, Bo,” Elena said. “Sun-Hee knows.”

  I nodded, relieved I wouldn’t need to pretend. “I do, you know.”

  Bo’s pinwheel eyes froze then iced to a distinctly peeved Arctic blue. “You shouldn’t remember. I erased you.”

  “Apparently the echo voice doesn’t work on me,” I said.

  Elena sipped coffee. “So we might as well tell her the rest.”

  “Fuck it.” Bo threw his hands into the air. “Why don’t we tell everyone?”

  “The baby,” Elena said.

  “She used ‘damn’.” He tipped his head at me, the barest pout in his tone.

  Her lips twitched. “Deep fried damn doesn’t count.”

  “Freya take it then.” His arms crossed. After a beat, one finger tapped on a massive biceps. His lips pressed tighter until they were a white line. Then everything exploded outward. “No. I don’t get it, Elena. Our existence is supposed to be secret. Our very lives depend on it. But you insist on telling the whole world.”