Emily Sabian steered her rental car off Interstate 55 and skidded to a halt in the center of Jefferson Boulevard. “Oh, no,” she breathed.
Flames engulfed Crimson Swan. Fiery fingers scorched their way up the building’s sides and waved at her from windows. The bell tower leaned precariously to one side. Showers of embers erupted from its interior like macabre Roman candles.
“Stephen.” She hit the gas, and the car sped forward. “Oh, Alex.”
Police cars and fire trucks blocked the street. She pulled onto the shoulder behind a row of sheriff’s department cruisers. Emily sprang from her rental and dashed toward the blaze, shouldering her purse as she ran.
A Nassau County deputy standing in front of a police barricade waved for her to stop as she neared the fire. “Sorry, ma’am. Authorized personnel only. No civilians allowed inside the perimeter.”
“You don’t understand,” she said breathlessly, while rummaging through her bag. She extracted her wallet and flipped it open to show her Kentucky driver’s license. “I’m Emily Sabian.” She pointed over the deputy’s shoulder to the blaze. “Crimson Swan is my son’s bar.”
The deputy studied her identification and then her face before shaking his head. “Sorry, but I can’t let you through.”
“But my son! My daughter! Were they in the bar? Are they hurt?”
“I can’t tell you anything. You’ll have to wait.”
“Now, you listen to me,” she said, and leaned over the wooden barricade. She poked the deputy’s brass nameplate pinned to his shirt. “I want to know where my children are, Deputy Black, and if you don’t let me through, I swear—”
“Emily!” someone shouted from behind the deputy.
She glanced over the officer’s shoulder, and relief washed over her. “Varik!” she called, and waved to him.
“It’s all right,” he told the deputy as he approached. Light from the blaze reflected off the silver badge clipped to his belt. “You can let her through.”
Deputy Black scowled but moved aside.
Emily ducked under the barricade and rushed to meet Varik. She wrapped him in a quick embrace and then stepped back, searching his soot-streaked face. “Alex and Stephen—where are they?”
Varik slipped his arm around her waist and guided her away from the blaze, toward a silently waiting ambulance. “Alex was in the apartment in the bell tower when the fire started.” He gave her a reassuring squeeze and forced her to keep walking when she tried to stop. “She got out, but whoever set the fire attacked her in the alleyway behind the bar.”
“How badly is she hurt?”
“Minor burns and blisters, cuts from exploding glass, bruises.” They’d reached the ambulance, and he turned to face her. “She’s got a nasty black eye and most likely a fractured cheekbone.”
Emily’s heart dropped into her stomach. “And Stephen?”
Shouts from the blaze distracted them. The leaning bell tower succumbed to gravity’s pull and fell into the heart of the inferno. Firefighters scrambled to escape the flaming rubble ejected into the parking lot like earthly meteors.
“Varik?” She touched his arm, pulling his gaze back to her. “Where’s Stephen?”
Emotions swam in the depths of his golden eyes. A muscle jumped along his jaw.
Despair swept her up into its unforgiving tide. Tears trailed over her cheeks, and she clasped her hands in front of her. “No, please. He couldn’t have been in there. No!”
Varik wrapped her in his arms, stroking her tangled curls. “We don’t know,” he whispered. “We just don’t know. The bar was closed, so Alex is the only witness. She hasn’t—”
Emily pushed him away and angrily wiped her wet cheeks. “I want to see Alex.”
He nodded and knocked on the ambulance’s rear door. It opened, and he gestured for the paramedic inside to step out. “Enforcer Sabian’s mother wants to see her.”
The paramedic glanced at Emily and hopped down to the pavement. “I gave her something for the pain. She’s resting now, but she really needs to go to the hospital for X rays.”
“Has she said anything?” Varik asked.
“Nothing coherent.”
Emily accepted Varik’s hand as she climbed into the ambulance. The bright overhead light made her squint and shield her eyes. She perched on the edge of the low built-in bench and shuddered.
Alex lay on her left side on a gurney, with a large black-and-tan cat curled up in her arms. Bruises covered the upper portion of her right arm. The recent bullet wound streaked across her biceps, a red slash in a field of purple. The right side of her face was swollen and a mottled blue and red. An IV line pumped fluids into her system. Her breathing was slow and steady, but Emily heard a slight wheeze when she exhaled, signs of mild smoke inhalation.
She gently kissed the top of her head.
Alex twitched in her sleep. “Come back,” she muttered.
“Shh,” Emily murmured, smoothing Alex’s hair away from her face. “Momma’s here. I’m here, sweetheart.”
“Daddy.” Alex groaned and reached for something in her sleep. “Don’t leave me.”
Fresh tears stung Emily’s eyes. Her son was missing and her daughter was in pain. She clasped Alex’s searching hand and wished that just this once, it was she whom Alex called for in her sleep.
Alex stood in the den of her childhood home and knew she was dreaming again.
Sunlight poured through the windows to her right, illuminating the ornate blue-and-white wallpaper. Hardwood floors creaked beneath her feet as she moved in a slow circle. A tufted gold sofa stood at an angle to the heavy console-style television. Two matching chairs faced each other over the coffee table, and knickknacks covered every available horizontal surface.
Soft music, a scratchy version of Billie Holliday’s “Blue Moon,” drifted into the room from the record player in the corner. She smiled and scanned the room once more. Her gaze fell on the calendar above the record player and her smile faded.
The days of the week had been ticked off with neat black X’s, and today—the date in the dream—was March 16, 1968. The day her father’s body was found.
Alex looked at the windows again. The sunlight was waning with the afternoon’s slow demise. She shook her head. She no longer wanted to be here. She didn’t want to see, didn’t want to remember.
The front door in the unseen foyer burst open, and a child screamed for her mother.
Footsteps hurried from the back of the house. “Alexandra!” Emily Sabian called, rushing through the den.
Alex watched as her mother disappeared into the foyer only to reappear a second later carrying a hysterical five-year-old girl. Emily sat on the edge of one of the chairs, holding her daughter in her arms. The young Alex clung to her mother, sobbing uncontrollably, tears streaming down her scarlet face.
“No,” the older Alex whispered. “I don’t want to remember this. Wake up.” She pounded her fists against her thighs. “Wake up.”
“Honey,” Emily whispered, fear making her voice tremble. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
The younger Alex pointed to the windows, her voice hitching with hiccups and sobs. “Da-dad-daddy!”
Older Alex hugged herself, wanting to look away, to shut out the memory-turned-nightmare.
Emily stared at the window, and all color drained from her face. “Honey, what about your daddy? Do you know where he is?”
Older Alex nodded along with younger Alex. “Cemetery,” they whispered in unison.
“Where in the cemetery, honey?”
The dream wavered, and the scene shifted from the interior of her childhood home. Alex found herself standing in the fading sunlight of a Kentucky spring afternoon. Gravestones surrounded her on all sides in endless rows, and an unworldly calm pressed down on her, weakening her knees. She could still hear her younger self’s sobs echoing through the cemetery. She sank to the ground, staring at the body in front of her.
Her father’s once sparkling green eyes, now silvered with the film
of death, were wide and staring. Blood stained the collar and front of his crisp white dress shirt. The wooden stake protruding from his chest cast a long shadow over his face.
She heard her mother’s anguished wail in the distance, and Alex screamed with her.
twelve
October 15
TASHA RUBBED HER HANDS TOGETHER, TRYING TO WARM them. The rain began during the early-morning hours and had been a steady downpour ever since, bringing with it a cold wind blowing in from the north. She leaned against the trunk of her car, huddled in her fleece-lined jacket topped by a bright yellow poncho, and watched the firemen sifting through the still-smoldering ruins of Crimson Swan.
Two exterior walls remained standing, but the others had collapsed when their supports succumbed to the flames. Piles of bricks and charred cinder blocks formed a new jagged foundation. Steel girders broke through the skin of ash like the twisted and broken ribs of a monstrous demon.
A blaring horn made her look toward the street. Cars slowed on Jefferson Boulevard as morning commuters and rubberneckers excitedly pointed to the wreckage. Uniformed police waved traffic around the emergency equipment.
Satellite news trucks filled the gaps between the emergency vehicles. Reporters lined the sidewalk, facing the street, with the bar’s burned-out skeleton behind them. The media began arriving as soon as word of Crimson Swan’s destruction and the subsequent disappearance of Stephen Sabian spread. The two events combined with a potential serial killer using Jefferson as a dumping ground sparked their imaginations. The facts that Alex had been injured in the blaze, Emily Sabian had arrived in the middle of the night, and the FBPI had a current “no comment” policy only fueled their speculation.
Across the street, a crowd of onlookers gathered in front of the strip mall, some cheering and clapping in obvious delight while others stoically watched the residual chaos.
Tasha shook her head. “Get a life, people,” she muttered, and blew into her frozen hands, wishing for a warm cup of tea. She could understand the jubilation some of Jefferson’s residents would feel over the blood bar’s destruction, but understanding didn’t equal condoning criminal behavior.
Squealing brakes made her turn quickly toward the street. Two black Ford Expeditions made a quick U-turn in the center of the street, jumped the curb, and pulled into the bar’s already crowded parking lot.
Tasha jammed her hands into her jacket pockets. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as the Expeditions’ doors opened and several men climbed out of each. She counted four in the lead vehicle and six in the other. The silver badges around their necks identified them all as Enforcers.
She’d been expecting them. News of Stephen’s kidnapping traveled quickly, and seeing as the Sabians were considered the vampires’ version of the Kennedy family, the FBPI wasn’t interested in taking chances on local law enforcement screwing up. Since a mobile lab was already on-site, Varik had briefly explained that more Enforcers were being pulled from the Jackson field office. She watched as they unloaded equipment with the speed and efficiency of a military unit but shifted her focus to the vampire approaching her.
He was tall, well over six feet—closer to seven—and his skin was the lustrous hue of polished ebony. Dark eyes scanned the bar’s remains and then settled on her.
Every fiber of her body screamed for her to run, but she held her ground.
“Lieutenant Lockwood?” His voice was a deep, resonating bass that vibrated the air around her.
She nodded.
“Chief Enforcer Damian Alberez with the Federal Bureau of Preternatural Investigation,” he said, extending his hand.
Tasha grasped his hand and was relieved to see that hers didn’t tremble. Varik said Alberez had flown in from Louisville at the personal request of Emily Sabian to take over the investigations into Crimson Swan, Stephen’s kidnapping, the murders, and even the shooting at Maggie’s Place. Tasha wasn’t happy about being forced to the sidelines yet again, but faced with his imposing stature, she was reconsidering her plans to fight to remain in the investigative loop. “Good to meet you, Chief. Varik told me you were coming.”
“Where is Enforcer Baudelaire?”
“He set up Alex and her mother at one of the local hotels.” She watched him surveying the area like a wolf assesses a herd of elk, searching for weakness, and again felt a strong desire to run. “He said he would stay with them until you ordered otherwise.”
Alberez grunted. “What’s Enforcer Sabian’s condition?”
“Moderate smoke inhalation, minor burns, hell of a lot of bruises, and some small scrapes. The assailant clocked her face pretty well and chipped a cheekbone. Doctors said she’d be fully healed in a week or so and released her.”
“And her brother?”
“Aside from the ransom note, no word.” She produced a small clear plastic evidence bag containing a crumpled and bloodstained note that Varik had given to her. Uneven and broken letters scrawled a message across the page: We have your brother. All vampires leave town or he dies. You have until midnight, October 16.
Alberez took the note and looked it over. He snapped his fingers, and one of the Enforcers near the SUVs hurried to his side. “Get this to the lab. I want to know everything there is about it, especially if that’s vampire or human blood.”
“Yes, sir,” the Enforcer responded, and sprinted for one of the Expeditions. He leapt into it and backed wildly out of the lot, then sped toward downtown.
“I have my people searching the alley where Alex was found per Varik’s instructions,” Tasha said, once Alberez focused on her again. “We’re working on the assumption that whoever attacked her and left the note is involved with Stephen’s kidnapping and possibly the murders.”
“Is that the alley?”
Tasha glanced over her shoulder, following the line of his arm as he pointed. “Yes.”
He snapped his fingers again and gestured toward the alley.
Four Enforcers picked up what looked to Tasha like heavy steel suitcases and hurried away. Two more had donned hip waders normally used for fishing and were already picking their way through the debris field of Crimson Swan. The others were busy setting up the framework for a command tent.
She returned her attention to Alberez, gearing up for the fight she was destined to lose. “I’ve got a forensic team scouring the area. Why don’t you let my guys handle it, since they’re already knee-deep in it?”
“I’m sure your people are capable, Lieutenant, but the destruction of a blood bar, attacks on a federal agent, and the disappearance of Stephen Sabian—combined with the recent murder of vampires and a mass shooting—make this a federal case.”
“So, you’re going to sweep in here and throw my people under the bus.”
“I’m not throwing anyone under the bus.”
“Then let my guys work the scene. They’ve been here since last night. At the very least, allow them to work with your people and let Harvey keep the shooting.”
He shook his head. “I’ll be happy to share any information we gain from the evidence we gather, but this and the diner shooting are now federal investigations. The best thing for you and your people to do is clear out. Let us do our jobs.” He half turned as one of the other Enforcers approached. “Excuse me, Lieutenant.”
Tasha watched the two Enforcers walk away, deep in conversation. She saw her forensic team emerging from the alley with looks ranging from disbelief to anger on their grime-streaked faces. She yanked her car door open and climbed in. If she couldn’t work the scene, then she’d go where she could work.
She navigated her car through the throng of reporters and into traffic along Jefferson Boulevard. She’d head back to the department and go over the files again. Maybe she’d get lucky and find something they’d missed.
Her radio crackled. “Dispatch to Lieutenant Lockwood.”
She picked up the mike and pressed the broadcast button. “Lieutenant Lockwood, go ahead.”
“We just re
ceived a call about a body over at the high school.”
Ice water pumped into her veins. “Another shooting?”
“Negative. Caller said it’s a vampire, like the others.”
“Damn it,” she muttered, and then responded over the radio. “On my way, and call Enforcer Baudelaire. I’m sure he’s going to want to see this.”
“Affirmative. Dispatch, out.”
Tasha dropped the mike and flipped on her lights and siren. Her hands clutched the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white. “Fucking vamps. When the hell is this going to end?”
Varik unlocked the door of the Governor’s Suite and pushed it open with his foot. Alex had lost all her clothing and supplies for Dweezil in the fire. He’d gone shopping while she was still asleep and picked up a couple of outfits for her, as well as stuff for the cat. The luxury hotel in the heart of downtown Jefferson wasn’t happy about having an animal in the room, but his status as the FBPI’s director of special operations didn’t leave much room for argument.
He still had a room reserved at a cheap hotel near the interstate, but he’d checked Alex and Emily into the suite under assumed names. Flashing his FBPI creds to the manager at four in the morning had deterred the man from balking at the falsification of records. Once they were settled in the bedrooms, he’d collapsed on the couch for a few hours of sleep.
As he fumbled with the bags and door, Emily appeared from one of the bedrooms and hurried to him. “Here, let me help.” She grabbed the fast-food bag dangling from his mouth and the cardboard tray filled with steaming coffee cups. As she turned away, she asked of no one in particular, “Why do men have to load themselves up so? You could’ve made two trips.”
“Efficiency,” he answered. He dropped onto the couch the discount-store bags looped over his arm and clutched in his hand. Wiggling his fingers, he was relieved to have the blood flow restored.
Emily paused in her emptying of the fast-food bag’s contents. “Has there been any word on Stephen?”
“Not yet, but Damian’s in town. He’s at Crimson Swan now.”
Blood Law Page 19
