“Damn it,” Olivia said on a sigh. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
“Since there are two, we’ll cover a hell of a lot more ground if we split up, and I have something that should help us track down at least one.”
Pete pulled a small glass vial out of the pocket of his long coat and held it up for her to see. Olivia leaned closer with a puzzled look as she stared at what looked like blood.
“What is that?” she asked hesitantly.
“A gift from Millicent and Xavier.” Pete grinned and placed it in her hand.
“I guess Xavier still doesn’t sleep much.” Olivia cracked a smile. “What did he make for us?”
“He used the DNA sample from Ronald’s wounds to create a synthetic version of that rogue’s blood—we’re calling him Rogue One. Xavier thought that it might help us track him down. Apparently, he’s been working on something like this for a while and was psyched to have a chance to use it.”
“Him?” Olivia arched one eyebrow at her progeny. “You tasted it already?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He flashed his fangs and elbowed Shane, who clearly saw no humor in the situation. “Xavier should win the fuckin’ Nobel Prize for the shit he comes up with. Anyway, I’ve got his blood scent now and so does Shane. So, in theory, if the rogue is in the area, then we should be able to track him.” He narrowed his eyes, and they flickered red. “I can smell him in here, that’s for shit sure, but Xavier said this may only last a few hours, so we should get moving.”
“Synthetic blood as a tracking device? Cool.” Olivia smiled and shook her head as she uncapped the vial and raised it in a toast to Pete and Shane. “Here’s to Xavier, my brilliant friend,” she said throwing it back like a shot.
The scent of rotting flesh filled her head, and the taste of dirt coated her tongue. Olivia fought the urge to vomit and grabbed the broken metal stall for extra support. The metal bent beneath her grip like clay, and for a second she thought she was going to pass out.
Her green eyes fluttered open and filled with tears. “Holy shit,” she whispered. “That tasted like concentrated evil.”
“Yeah. Evil dipped in dog shit.” Pete grimaced and patted her on the shoulder. “I didn’t know if you’d have the same experience, so I figured I’d let you try it for yourself. Why do you think it tastes so bad?”
“I have no idea.” She wiped at her tearing eyes. “Jesus. Even the junkies I’ve fed on tasted better than this.” She grimaced and shivered. “Well, that’s not a scent or taste I will easily forget.”
Olivia pushed past Pete and Shane to the fresh air outside and leaned against the brick wall.
“We split up, but keep communication open.” She tugged her gloves on tighter and tried to focus on the scent of Rogue One that still lingered in the air.
“Since I have no ability to telepath with either of you, I will go hunting with one of you.”
“Not me,” Olivia said as she adjusted the gun in her holster. “I’ve been to this dance before, but Pete has never hunted rogues, so you go with him.”
Why do I feel like I just got stuck with the class dork? Pete’s teasing voice drifted into her head.
He may be a stiff, but he’s got centuries of experience, and I’ll feel better if you hunt with him. You’re going to be a father, remember?
“It’s quite rude to telepath when I am standing right here,” Shane said with mild irritation.
“Whatever.” Olivia rolled her eyes. “If you find the rogue, don’t kill it. Incapacitate it, and get it to the Presidium. We need it to confess or, at the very least, read its blood memories, so we can find out who turned it and get it to tell us where they’re holing up during the day.”
“Any ideas where to start?” Pete asked.
“Sewer and subway tunnels are most likely or any abandoned buildings in the area. I suggest we start with all of the above-ground options tonight while it’s dark. I’m going to swing by Jerry’s place and see if he’s heard anything.”
“Who is Jerry? And if he is an informant, why have I not heard of him before?” Shane asked coolly.
“He’s my friend,” Olivia said evenly. “Not an informant. He wouldn’t talk to you or Pete because he doesn’t know you.”
Shane narrowed his eyes but didn’t respond. It was only a half-truth. Jerry was her friend, but he was also her best informant. If anyone got wind of a rogue coven, it would be him.
“If we don’t find either of them tonight, then we meet at the club tomorrow night and then go deal with Augustus. You two take the East Village, and I’ll cover the West Village. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Pete winked. “Boss lady.”
Olivia watched Pete and Shane launch into the sky as she prayed they would find the rogue before sun up. The last thing she wanted to do was go before Augustus empty-handed. It could mean the end of Maya or even the end of her entire coven.
Chapter 7
Doug had a headache to beat all fucking headaches, and if he didn’t get out of the damn nightclub in a few minutes, he was going to vomit all over these fishnet-and-eyeliner-wearing civilians. He’d been battling the loud music and flailing drunk dancers for the past hour and a half in order to question some of the people who had been there last night. The best lead came from the little waitress who looked even more out of place here than he did.
He went back to the end of the bar where Tom had been parked much of the time, interviewing Maya and Trixie. Tom was a good man and deep down, a good cop, but nothing fucked him up more than a pretty girl paying him some attention. Not that Doug was one to criticize weakness for a pretty lady, especially given his less than professional moment with Olivia in her office.
“Hey.” He nudged Tom and gave a tight smile to Maya, who was lingering nearby. “I spoke to Suzie, the waitress, and she said that Brittany was here last night with Michael Moriarty and his crew.”
“Michael Moriarty, as in the son of Tony Moriarty, owner of Moriarty Construction and our very own NYC crime family?” Tom took a sip of his water. “Guess we better pay a visit to little Michael.”
“Anything, but let’s get the hell out of here,” Doug shouted. “This music is giving me a massive migraine.”
“Thanks for your help, ladies.” Tom tossed a tip on the bar and waved to Maya, who gave him a flirty wink and blew him a kiss. Doug shook his head. Tom either didn’t see it or acted like he didn’t.
Doug pushed open the heavy wooden door and sucked in a breath of city air. He snagged the pack of gum from his pocket and made quick work of unwrapping a piece and popping it in his mouth. He still had the taste of Olivia on his tongue, and it was messing with his concentration.
“Not a fan of nightclubs, eh detective?” Damien asked with a barely hidden smile.
“Not my thing, I guess.” Doug waved Damien to the other side of the door, away from the people who were still waiting in line and hoping to get into the club. “Olivia and Suzie said that Michael Moriarty came here with a date but that she left before he did. Is that true?”
“Oh man.” Damien ran a large hand over his head, and if Doug didn’t know better, he thought the big guy was about to cry. Looked like Damien was a gentle giant. “Did something happen to her?”
“Yeah,” Tom replied wryly. “Raped, murdered, and dumped in a public restroom. So help us out. What did you see?”
“She ran out of here last night right before closing.” He fiddled with the clipboard, and his mouth set in a tight line. “She was crying and muttering something about how no one treats her that way.”
“Would that someone be Moriarty?”
“Yes,” Damien hissed as his eyes darkened.
“What about Moriarty and the rest of his group?” Tom asked. “When did they take off?”
“They left in his limo not long after that, but he didn’t ask about the girl or where she went.” Damien’s brow furrowed, and a puzzled look came over him. “Come to think of it, I’m surprised he’s not here tonight.”
“Why is that?” Doug made a note and exchanged a knowing look with Tom. “He’s a regular here?”
“Yeah. He can be found in one of the VIP booths every Friday and Saturday night for sure. Weeknights too, sometimes.” A look of contempt came over his face. “He’s been after Olivia for ages. I guess he figures that if he drops enough money here, she’ll pay attention to him.”
“Mm-hmm.” Doug’s jaw clenched, and he kept his eyes on his notes as he tightened his grip on the stubby pencil. “I can’t imagine a classy lady like Olivia would be interested in the likes of Michael Moriarty.” He tried not to sound like a possessive lover but failed miserably. “Anything else you can think of that might help us? Was she here the night before as well? Do you know if she knew Ronald Davis?”
“No, I don’t think so, but if I remember anything, I’ll be sure to contact you.” Shouts and whining from the line behind them caught Damien’s attention. “I better get back to the door. This mob can get ugly pretty quick.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Doug handed the big bouncer his card. “If you remember anything else that might be useful, give me a call.”
“No problem.” He tucked the card in the pocket of his slacks and returned to his post at the door.
Doug pulled out without saying a word, and they drove for five minutes before Tom finally broke the silence.
“I take it you’re headed for Moriarty’s apartment?” Tom rolled down the window and adjusted the rearview mirror on the passenger side. “It’s close to midnight. Don’t you think it’s a little late to be calling on him?”
“No,” Doug said tightly. “By all accounts it was out of the ordinary for him to be absent from the club tonight, and he happens to be a no-show the night after his date ends up dead? That’s far too coincidental, and besides, he’s the best lead we’ve got.”
“Okay.” Tom adjusted his position in the seat. “I can see him as a possible killer for the girl, but what about Ronald Davis?”
“Not sure yet.” Doug shrugged. “Who knows, maybe Davis flirted with one of Moriarty’s dates, and he didn’t like it.”
“You’re grasping at straws, my friend.” Tom tapped his fingers on the side of the car. “But you’re right about it being our best lead.”
They pulled up in front of Moriarty’s swanky Upper West Side apartment overlooking the Hudson River, and the doorman looked at them with disdain. Moriarty’s family owned three apartments in the building, and chances were that this guy was buried in their deep pockets, so a hell of a lot of good he was going to be.
“You can’t park that here.” The doorman waved at them with his white-gloved hand and shook his head vigorously. His gold buttons blinked as they caught the light of the passing cars. “Move along.”
Tom and Doug flashed their badges simultaneously as they exited the car, which had the seasoned doorman rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath.
“What was that?” Tom asked with a big smile. “I didn’t quite catch that. Did you, Paxton?”
“No.” Doug glanced past the doorman to the empty, but brightly lit, lobby. “We’re here to see Michael Moriarty.”
“He’s not here.” The older man clasped his hands behind his back and avoided looking at them. “He went out last night and hasn’t been back since.”
Doug and Tom exchanged a curious look.
“How can you be sure?” Tom asked. “You’re on the night shift, so what if he came back during the day?”
“When I went off my shift at 6:00 a.m., I told Bert, the day shift guy, that Moriarty hadn’t come back and to keep his eye out for him.” He dropped his voice and leaned closer, clearly not wanting anyone to overhear, even though they seemed to be the only ones around. “Sometimes the kid goes on a bender, and when he comes home, he causes a scene. His father hates it, so it’s up to us to get him to his apartment with as little fuss as possible. Spoiled brat, if you ask me.”
“So, I take it that Bert told you he never came back and that it would likely be your problem again?” Doug suppressed a grin. He could only imagine the crap this poor guy put up with from Moriarty. “That can’t be much fun.”
The doorman nodded curtly and glanced at the camera in the doorway, clearly nervous that he’d be caught talking to cops on camera.
“Would you please call us when Moriarty shows up?” Doug handed him his card. “He’s not in any trouble. We just need to ask him a couple questions.”
As Doug pulled away in the shadow of the towering steel building, he couldn’t squelch the nagging feeling in his gut that Moriarty was involved in this mess. His date had stormed out on him, then she turned up dead, and now he seemed to have skipped town. Moriarty was looking more and more like their prime suspect, but Tom was right, there was still no explanation for why he would have killed Ronald Davis.
* * *
“Tell me again why we’re coming back here when we could be going home?” Tom asked as he slammed the door shut on the sedan. “We’ve been working all night. The sun is gonna be up soon, and I need some sleep. I’m old and tired.”
“By all accounts, Moriarty and four of his crew have vanished. They never came back to their apartments, and nobody has seen them since they pulled out of here in his limo. The driver and car are missing too, and the last place anybody saw them was here. We could get old and gray sitting around waiting to get a copy of his cell phone records.”
“I’m already old and gray.” Tom shook his head and let out a weary sigh. “You said that the Hollingsworth broad lives here in the building?” He glanced at the spire of the old church. “That’s just weird. This place was creepy when it was full of people, and now it’s really fuckin’ creepy. The place is closed, man.”
“Yeah, but I think she and her staff know more than they’re letting on, and I want to know what it is.”
“Kid,” Tom said on a sigh. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Doug pulled his jacket out of the car and questioned his motives as much as Tom did. When he looked up, the gothic lettering of the nightclub’s sign glared at him accusingly. They shouldn’t be doing this.
He pulled his jacket on and stepped onto the cracked sidewalk in front of the club. Damien, the velvet rope, and the throngs of people were gone. Doug glanced at his watch and saw it was well past last call. He tugged on the doors of the club only to find them locked, and his heart sank. He didn’t realize until that moment how much he wanted to see her—to taste her.
“See, kid,” Tom said wearily as he leaned against the hood of their car. “They closed shop, and I don’t see any door to her apartment. Let’s go, huh? We can come at them again after we get some sleep.”
The high-pitched pinging sound of a bottle clinking down the pavement caught their attention, and Doug’s senses went into overdrive. They exchanged curious looks. Doug looked to his left toward the sound, but the sidewalks were empty, and the narrow street was void of moving cars. The only movement was farther down at the intersection of Sixth Avenue, but here on King Street it was quiet—too quiet.
The clinking sound echoed again, and this time they could tell it was coming from the narrow alley on the side of the club. Doug placed his finger on his lips and nodded toward the alley. He reached inside his jacket and wrapped his fingers around the steel butt of his gun as he and Tom inched closer.
Tom drew his gun and secured it in front of him as he sidled up quietly next to Doug. Maybe it was Damien or Olivia putting garbage out? It could be a cat or a drunk making his home next to a dumpster, but Doug couldn’t squelch the sense that it was something more. Maybe it was the case, or maybe it was because an unnatural quiet had settled over the street.
As they moved slowly along the front wall of the club toward the alley, the lights of the nightclub sign flickered before going out and leaving them in the dark. No working streetlamps, and the sky was just beginning to lighten. Great.
“I don’t like this, kid.” Tom glanced around nervously.
Doug pee
red around the side of the building, but the alley was even darker than the damn street. He froze as the clinking sound of the bottle rattled again, and seconds later, an old Heineken bottle rolled past their feet.
A low, deep laugh floated toward them and chilled him to his core.
Doug and Tom raised their guns and swung around, but a split second later, something flew toward them. A dark shadow, seemingly death itself, grabbed Doug by the jacket, tossing him through the air, down the alley, and into the side of the dumpster. Lights bloomed behind his eyes, and his entire body went numb, as he slammed into the cold metal before landing in a groaning heap on the concrete.
Tom fired two shots, but someone or something tackled him to the ground, and through the head-spinning haze of pain, Doug could hear him screaming. He willed his body to move, to get up and help his partner, who was on the ground with someone on top of him. Doug rolled onto his side, gasping for air with his face pressed against the gravel, as he fought to stay conscious.
The numbness ebbed cruelly, as sharp pain radiated down his neck and back. He reached blindly around for his gun, but he could barely see anything. The world was spinning, and his head felt like it was going to crack open. He could hear his attacker move slowly toward him with the same low laugh he’d heard a moment ago. He inched closer as Doug vaguely recalled he had a gun in his ankle holster. Grunting from effort and biting back nausea, he snagged the gun from its hiding place.
“Police,” Doug shouted.
The man kept coming. Doug blinked as either blood or sweat dripped into his eye, and he squeezed off two rounds, one of which he was certain hit the guy in the chest. Through blurred vision he saw the guy jerk as the bullet impacted, but all it seemed to do was piss him off.
Behind him Doug saw Tom’s motionless body, and Doug knew he was dead. A dark shadow whisked in front of him, picked him up by the neck with one hand, and held him in the air like a rag doll. All he could see was a figure, a dark outline in the middle of a fuzzy sea of gray, while white spots danced before his eyes as the grip on his neck increased.
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