She stared at him, her brain sluggishly deciphering his words. When she finally spoke, her voice was a harsh whisper. “You’re leading the investigation?”
“Given the circumstances, it’s best for someone outside of the JPD to oversee it. I know it’s hard, but I need to ask you some questions.”
Tasha sipped her tea and nodded.
“You said you received a phone call earlier?”
“That’s right. Caller said essentially the same thing as the message on the mirror. The voice was distorted somehow, like something mechanical.”
“Maybe one of those voice-changer toys that are always popular around Halloween?”
“Yeah, could be.”
“Is there anyone you can think of who’d want to hurt you? Someone with a grudge?”
“I’m a cop, Harvey. Take your pick of about six thousand Jefferson residents.” She sipped her tea. “Could this be tied to the vampire murders somehow?”
Harvey scratched his balding head. “Maybe. We’ll look into it.”
“I should call Alex. Maybe she could—”
“Tasha, you know how the vamps work. They look after their own and to hell with us humans.”
“I know, but I thought that since the FBPI has that mobile lab in town, maybe they could find something our guys miss.”
Harvey fidgeted in his seat. “Unless it’s proof this is tied to the murders, they aren’t going to touch anything we dig up here. Best to just let me and my boys handle this.”
Tasha began to protest, but a deputy appeared in the doorway. “Sheriff?” She and Harvey looked to him, and he shuffled his feet. “Sorry to interrupt, but you got a phone call.”
Harvey sighed and patted Tasha’s arm as he stood. “I’ve got to take care of this, but don’t you worry. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Tasha watched him retreat down the hall with the deputy in tow. She stared at her reflection in her teacup and silently prayed for Harvey’s promise not to be an empty one.
Where was everyone?
He didn’t see signs of anyone taking their positions, and the clock was ticking. The vamp would be home soon. If they missed their opportunity—
The cell phone hooked to his belt vibrated. He pulled it free and answered.
“The girl wasn’t part of the plan,” a gruff voice said.
His heart faltered and threatened to stop. “What girl?”
“Tasha Lockwood, you idiot,” Harvey Manser snarled. “Someone broke into her house, threatened her.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. His secret was safe for now. “It wasn’t me. Talk to Tubby. Maybe he knows something.”
“I just did. He says he doesn’t know anything.”
“What about Martin and Bill? Have you talked to them?”
“No, but I will. Where are you?”
“On my way to Crimson Swan, like we planned. You?”
“The same. You’re to observe and record only. Do not interfere. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fire proceedeth out of their mouths.”
“And devoureth their enemies,” he completed the biblical quote.
“Amen,” Harvey intoned, and the line fell silent.
He returned the phone to his belt and steered his car down Jefferson Boulevard toward the blood bar. He’d suggested the biblical passage as the Human Separatist Movement’s code for Judgment Day. Since the inspiration for ridding Jefferson of its demons was the Lord’s act of casting Satan and his minions into the lake of fire, he thought it was fitting.
The fact that Tasha Lockwood had been threatened bothered him. He’d always liked Tasha despite the fact that she associated with that vamp bitch Enforcer. The lieutenant had always been decent to him, especially after Claire died.
He waited in the shadows alongside the strip mall on the opposite side of Jefferson Boulevard from Crimson Swan. From here he could remain hidden but still see the action as it unfolded. His role was simple: observe the passing of judgment, and if needs be, he could stop anyone who may try to prevent HSM from carrying out their task. Otherwise, he was an observer and nothing more.
No vehicles were parked in the bar’s lot, not even the owner’s pickup. That would change. He’d been observing the vamp’s comings and goings. It usually returned late after escorting one of the human whores to her home. He was certain the vamp and donor were more than employer and employee. Not that it would matter after tonight.
He didn’t have to wait long before he saw shadows darting along the bar’s walls and ducking around corners. HSM members were moving into position, waiting for the vamp to arrive.
Minutes ticked away. Finally, a blue Dodge pickup appeared, moving slowly down the boulevard. He picked up the camcorder and began filming.
The truck turned into the bar’s lot and parked beneath a streetlamp. The demon’s golden curls shone under the fluorescent light as it locked up the truck. He could hear it whistling while it strolled along the sidewalk toward the alley behind the bar, heading for the private entrance in the rear.
A shadow broke away from the side of the building. The vamp spun to face the attacker. More shadows peeled away from the darkness. They surrounded and descended on the vamp. Shouts and curses echoed in the night. The vamp lashed out at two rushing attackers, and they dropped to the pavement, unmoving.
He watched the fight and offered silent encouragement.
Another set of shadows leapt into the melee. The vamp whirled to face them, and another shadow materialized from the darkness of the alley. It assumed a shooter’s stance and raised its arms. No gunshot sounded, but the vamp cried out in pain nonetheless. Its back arched, and its limbs jerked spasmodically. It fell to the ground and the shooter shadow advanced.
The vamp tried to rise. The shooter shadow halted, and he heard the distinctive rapid clicking of a Taser. The vamp shrieked and writhed on the ground.
He smiled.
Using a Taser to subdue the demon had also been his idea. It’d come to him after reading a forensic science article regarding vampires’ heightened sensitivity to electrical currents. A genetic fluke left them with higher levels of iron in their bodies. The article stated that Tasers could be used effectively to subdue vamps, a handy tip when faced with a bloodsucker hyped on Midnight.
The shooter shadow was now standing over the unmoving vamp. The other shadows were gathering around, supporting those who had taken the brunt of the vamp’s counterattack.
A van emerged from behind the bar, and a side door slid open. The shooter shadow knelt down and jammed something into the vamp’s arm. The shooter then stood and gestured for the others to load the vamp into the van.
He watched the van leave the lot, turning toward the interstate. It sped beneath the overpass, heading past Maggie’s Place and into the rural county. Phase one of Judgment Day was over.
Crashing glass and the whoosh of igniting flames pulled his attention back to the bar.
The shooter shadow, his balding head gleaming, triumphantly stood in the center of the parking lot as the others darted around the building. They lobbed makeshift torches into windows. Buckets of accelerant were tossed in through the broken windows. Flaming bottles smashed against the front doors and walls. They even torched the vamp’s truck.
He settled into his seat and smiled. As he watched the inferno devour Crimson Swan, he couldn’t help but feel as though he were at the movies with Claire sitting beside him, and he wished he’d brought a bucket of popcorn.
Alex bolted from the bed. Her gaze darted around the darkened room. Her ears strained to catch the faint noise that had awakened her.
Dweezil yawned, and then his head bobbed as he sniffed the air.
Click-click-click. A muffled cry.
She crept through the studio apartment and pressed her back to the wall beside the window overlooking Crimson Swan’s parking lot. She caught the corner of the blinds with her finger and peered into the night. Her blood turned to ice.
Adrenaline surged into her bloodstream and revived her tired and dulled senses. She crossed the studio to the bedroom and reached for her FBPI-issued Glock G31 .357-caliber sidearm on the side table. She pulled three fifteen-round-capacity clips from the drawer and retrieved a leather shoulder holster from behind the corner of the shoji screen. She slipped it on while stuffing her bare feet into her hiking boots.
She slid one of the clips home in the Glock and chambered a round. The two remaining clips were secured in the carrying case on the right side of her holster.
The sound of a racing engine pulled her back to the window. The shadow gang roughly hoisted Stephen into the rear of a van.
“Damn it all to hell!” she shouted, and sprinted for the door.
A small explosion shook the building.
Dweezil and the smoke alarm over her head both screeched their displeasure. The smell of burning pine and the chemical sting of diesel soon permeated the air.
Black smoke seeped around the apartment’s windows and curled under the door. It seared her lungs, and she coughed violently as she thumbed on the safety and stowed her Glock in her holster. Tears blurred her vision as she grabbed her badge from the nightstand.
Dweezil howled as another thunderous boom vibrated the floor beneath her. She dropped a blanket over him and scooped him into her arms. Crimson Swan was on fire, and they had to get out quickly. She threw open the apartment door. More smoke rolled in, blinding her.
Coughing and holding on tightly to the howling, blanket-wrapped Dweezil, she hurried down the stairs.
Flames raced along the walls and the open doorway leading to the bar. They rolled along the ceiling like the rippling skin of a dying beast. She heard the glasses behind the bar shattering from the heat. Bottles of alcohol exploded in tiny fireballs. She winced when she noticed the framed Bela Lugosi poster, bubbling and peeling as the fire closed around it.
The stairs leading to Stephen’s loft above the bar were already blocked by flames and debris. She stood in their shared entrance, momentarily frozen with indecision.
A beam collapsed within the bar, sending a shower of sparks and molten glass into the tower’s stairwell.
Dweezil howled and tried to climb out of the blanket.
“Hush,” she said, tightening her grip. “We’re getting out of here.”
She could feel her skin beginning to blister. Her lungs ached from the superheated air. Her eyes watered from the smoke. She reached for the outer steel door and screamed as the hot metal burned the palm of her hand.
“Damn it!” She kicked the door, but it refused to open. She kicked again.
The whine of fatigued metal spurred her on.
She kicked again.
The door shuddered but didn’t give way.
She screamed in frustration. She kicked a final time, and the door flew off its hinges.
Flames burst through the open door, seeking new fuel. Alex ducked to the floor, seeking cleaner air. Fire curled up the door’s frame and along the ceiling. An opening formed, and with a desperate shout, she leapt into the blaze.
She landed heavily and staggered away from the burning building. The alley was a kaleidoscope of flickering light and shadows. Stephen’s attackers were undoubtedly still in the area. Tears filled her eyes, and she couldn’t distinguish between a natural shadow and a possible assailant. Holding Dweezil also made it impossible for her to carry her weapon at the ready. She could only hope she slipped past the arsonists unnoticed.
She made it to the corner of Crimson Swan and braced herself against the rough brick. Coughing, she loosened her grip on the blanket.
Dweezil peered out from his shelter. His green-and-gold eyes reflected the fire raging behind her. He hissed and struggled to break free.
She tightened her grip. “Not yet.” She coughed. She wiped her eyes against a corner of the blanket. “It’s still not safe.”
The cat howled in protest.
“Oh, be quiet.” Alex pushed away from the wall.
As she rounded a Dumpster, something hard slammed into her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. She twisted to land on her back, trying to keep from crushing Dweezil. The cat rocketed from the blanket with a screeching howl and leapt for the safety of the Dumpster.
Alex struggled to regain her breath. Starbursts strobed before her eyes. A figure appeared over her, holding an aluminum bat in its hands.
Cruel, dark eyes blazed with hatred as they stared down at her through the holes of a blue-and-gray ski mask. “Not so high and mighty now, are you?”
Air filled her lungs. “Who—”
A foot crashed into her side. “Don’t interrupt me, bitch!”
Alex coughed and tasted blood.
“Didn’t anyone teach you it’s bad manners to interrupt when others are talking?” He knelt beside her; his rough hands slipped beneath her shirt. “Got a message for you and your friends.”
She seized his wrist and squeezed. Bones cracked and flesh bruised.
Her assailant cried out and swung the bat, striking her healing bullet wound.
Pain flared along her arm, numbing it, and she was forced to relinquish her hold.
“Fucking bitch,” the hooded man snarled, and jabbed her in the face with the bat’s rounded end, slamming the back of her head into the pavement.
A dark screeching mass flew over her and attached itself to the man’s hooded face. He screamed and reeled away.
Shadows crowded into the edges of Alex’s consciousness. She heard Dweezil’s howl and felt his furry body sweep past her outstretched hand. Through blurry eyes she caught a glimpse of dark hair and bloody scratches as her assailant ran by her. Her vision cleared briefly as an image of Varik asleep in a hotel bed filled her mind.
Varik. She directed her call along the blood-bond’s path.
His slumbering mind latched upon hers and awakened. His eyes opened, and he sat up, searching for her. Surprise turned to horror and fear. Alex!
Help me. She tried to sustain the connection, but the image faded and darkness claimed her.
Harvey stood next to his car, watching the crews trying to salvage what they could of Crimson Swan. Outwardly, he kept a grim face for the rescue teams and camera crews. Inwardly, he jumped for joy with each fiery column that continued to leap skyward.
“Looks like a total loss, huh, Sheriff?” Deputy Case said from beside him.
“Yep, looks that way.”
Part of the roof collapsed, followed by gasps and screams from the crowd behind the hastily erected police barricade. He smiled, then coughed to cover it, trying to keep from appearing too happy with the bar’s destruction.
“You think everyone got out?” Deputy Case asked, blowing into his cupped hands to warm them.
Harvey shrugged. “If not, we’ll hear about it soon enough,” he said, looking over the crowd.
More shouts and screams from the crowd pulled his attention back to the fire. An exterior wall collapsed in a column of fire, sparks, and smoke, sending firefighters in a mad scramble to get out of harm’s way.
Thick smoke wafted across his face. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, intending to use it as a makeshift mask, but the pocket was empty. He patted his other pockets, growing increasingly alarmed as he failed to locate it.
“Problem, Sheriff?” Deputy Case inquired.
“I can’t find—” A horrific realization settled over him. His handkerchief. He’d been using it at the impound yard, but he didn’t remember putting it in his pocket when he left. He must have dropped it when the tech startled him.
“Can’t find what?” Deputy Case asked.
“Nothing. It’s not important,” he lied.
How could he have been so stupid as to forget his handkerchief? Maybe the techs would think it belonged to Sabian or was a stray bit of garbage. He clung to that thin hope and lit a cigarette with shaking hands.
/> Varik’s Corvette jerked to a halt beside the entrance of Crimson Swan’s parking lot. He jumped from the car and ran toward the flames.
He ran blindly around fire trucks and the men working to kill the blaze. He leapt over snaking hoses and dodged streams of water. His heart slammed against his ribs in a furious rhythm fueled by adrenaline and fear. The image of a battered Alex lying in an alley was already fading from his mind.
He charged into the alleyway and skidded to a halt, listening, but heard only the steady splashing of water, the distant pop of exploding liquor bottles, and the shouts of firemen. “Alex!”
No response.
Sweat dripped into his eyes, and he angrily brushed it away. He reached out to her with his mind. No welcoming warmth greeted his probing senses. Nausea twisted his insides. “Alex! Where are you?”
A faint noise stopped him in mid-stride. He took a deep breath and waited, hoping to hear the noise again.
Nothing.
He took another step. “Alex?”
A fresh shot of adrenaline jolted his heart when he saw a pale hand covered in blood. His feet raced over the pavement, and he dropped to his knees beside Alex.
She lay on her side. Fresh blood coated her face and arms. Blisters ruptured under his fingers as he gently rolled her over, searching for a pulse and finding the slow, steady rhythm.
“Alex? Baby?” He stroked her swollen cheek and felt something shift beneath her skin. Anger bubbled to the surface and burned away his fear.
Dweezil emerged from beneath a nearby Dumpster. The cat climbed onto her chest, curling his tail around his feet, and bunched up until he resembled a ragged black-and-tan meat loaf. He blinked at Varik and mewed, long and sorrowfully.
Varik scooped Alex into his arms. The cat protested the change but didn’t move. Carrying them both, he hurried back toward the parking lot and more approaching sirens. “I’ll find whoever did this, baby,” he vowed. “I’ll find them and I’ll fucking cut out their hearts.”
Blood Law Page 18
